#fbi self insert

[thestarrynightslover]

When You Know, You Know

Pairing: Stuart Scola x Reader

Word count: 1,525

Warnings: None, just fluff.

Summary: You and Stuart had been dating for quite a while when it was finally time to tie the knot. Marriage imagine.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the FBI shows, or its characters, also not associated with it in any way or know anyone involved with it.

A/N: So, this is my first Stuart Scola fic and I can only hope that it isn’t too bad. Feel free to send feedback! 

(y/n) = (your name) (y/l/n) = (your last name) (y/n/n) = (your nickname)

| masterlist |

As he took in your figure in that gorgeous wedding dress, your fiancé — soon-to-be-husband — couldn't help but drop his jaw.

Stuart Scola had faced a lot throughout his life. From getting to succeed in the Wall Street jungle, to facing his family's judgment for his career change — and losing all of his so-called friends —, to making it in the FBI, with all the mockery that followed him everywhere. Not to mention the job itself, deliberately putting himself in harm's way every day… But nothing had scared or got him as nervous as asking you out for the first time.

It wasn't that you were a scary person or anything because you weren't. He just looked at you like there was no one else from day one, and, because of that, you seemed too good, too much, to ever wanna go out with him of all people. And, somehow, he just knew that you were his only shot, because you'd ruined him for anyone else without even trying.

It was a hot, sunny day when the two of you met: Stuart was working on a case that had him chasing a perp through the streets of New York City, as usual. Everything was going by the same old way until he disastrously bumped into — more like fell on top of — someone, correcting his own thoughts, as he took a look at you beneath him, he began to think of you as the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and, of course, that had to had happened while he was on the job and shamefully on top of, who hadn’t banged your head in the cement solely because the agent’s reflexes had kicked in and he’d quickly put his hand under it. Right as he’d started to lift himself, Scola had a jumpscare out of his admiration trance when his radio sounded, awfully loud: it was OA telling the other agents that he’d caught the criminal, so everybody could stop the chase and head back to HQ. A minute too long after the radio message came through and Stuart didn’t make another move to leave the awkward position the two of you were into, you decided it was time you’d reacted:

“So, um, you’re really not planning on going anywhere, officer?” You asked, mistaking his bulletproof vest for one regular cops would wear.

“Y- yeah, of course, ma’am, I’m so- sorry for the inconvenience,” he started, already the most nervous he’d ever been. “I’m actually an FBI agent but that’s a common mistake.” He said already standing up and helping you up before people stopped going around your lying figure to start going over you. “Are you okay, though?” He asked, truly worried as you hadn’t stated anything else.

“Yeah, I- I think so. My butt took most of our fall though!” You attempted at a joke, only then starting to realize how handsome the guy standing in front of you was. And you’d already found his nervousness cute. The actual thought in your head was: handsome, cute, employed, and polite in NYC? What a catch — okay, maybe your expectations were a tad low. Still, you’d never really had the opportunity to meet one of those in the city you’d moved into not long ago. But what really settled your delight for the man was how flustered he’d looked as he said:

“Maybe I can help with that, back at HQ!” A moment later, he added: “Not in that way! Of c- course, I don’t mean any disrespect of any kind! I just thought that maybe, maybe-”

“It’s okay, agent, um,” you started stopping to read the nametag on his vest, “Scola. I’ll be fine!”

“Oh, please, call me Stuart. If you’d like, of course…”

“Stuart it is, then! I’m (y/n) (y/l/n).” You answered, as a small smile started forming on your lips, mirroring his own smile. That was when he heard in his ear comm the gruff voice of Jubal shouting to his agent:

“Ask her out and get back here already, Scola!” In agreement with the boss, Stuart heard basically his entire FBI team shout:

“Ask her! Ask her!”

So he gulped down and said: “Listen, (y/n), I, uh, was wondering if you may consider going out with me any of these days?” He phrased it so politely that you were barely sure what he was asking but you, obviously, already knew your answer.

“Yes, Stuart, I’d very much like that.”

“Well- Well, I, uh, I’m very glad to hear that! But now I have to go back to work…” He said, starting to turn around but your voice stopped his movements:

“Okay but aren’t you gonna ask for my number?” You asked amused as hell by the man in front of you.

“Ah, yes! Yes, of course!” He said taking out his phone so you could put your number in it.

So, now — as you walked down the church's decorated aisle —, all he kept thinking was that, somehow, you managed to become more perfect every day, and, that he was damn lucky to get to love you. With those thoughts on repeat and with his mouth still open was how you met him at the altar.

"Stuart!" You hissed, "close your mouth or the photos will look awful!" He did as you told him, very slowly. You being that closer to him… Your smell along with all of that princess-like production… How could he possibly think?

"Sorry, darling…" He started to say, still looking very much taken aback. "It's just that… I still can't believe that I'm actually marrying you…" Hearing that, you gave him a bright knowing smile. Same old Stu…

"Huh… Well, then, maybe you'd like to confirm with the priest?" You asked him playfully, just to try and get him back to Earth.

"Uh? Priest, yeah. That sounds good!" But when he turned to the man in the robe, you realized he was actually doing it. “Excuse me, um, sir, but can you confirm that I really am marrying this gorgeous woman?” For God’s sake, you wanted to slap him. To look outraged. To pretend you didn’t know him. But all you could do was grin even more widely than you were already doing. Your stupid, romantic man…

“Yes, my son, I can confirm that. If it’s what you both desire, of course.” The priest answered with a kind smile.

“I can only hope that is what she desires cause there’s nothing I’d want more!” He shot back, giving you a wink.

“Okay, I think we can get on with the ceremony now that you’re no longer looking like a codfish.” You said, trying to sound annoyed while hiding your smile. 

That seemed to convince the priest, who took the chance to salute the guests and the two of you, properly starting your wedding.

Now, you would be lying if you tried to say that most of his words made it to your ears. Just like your soon-to-be husband, you had completely zoned out. He was really going to be yours for the rest of your lives. Stuart Scola. That magnetic force of man was going to be your lover for the ages to come.

And, with that on your mind, you were somehow awakened from your trail of thoughts when the priest asked:

“Miss (y/n) (y/l/n), will you take mister Stuart Scola to be your husband?” To which you happily responded with a sonorous:

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes!” So it was time for your fiancé to answer his question.

“Mister Stuart Scola, will you take Miss (y/n) (y/l/n) to be your wife?”

“Of course I will, sir!”

“Then I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride!”

And, so, your husband did as he was told. Giving you your first kiss as a married woman. And what a kiss! It was a good thing he was holding you, otherwise, your legs might have succumbed.

Following that was the applause from all of your guests and the reception party. All of which seemed to go by in a blur, as much as you kept trying to make lasting memories, and, next thing you knew, it was just you and Stuart at the hotel where you were spending your honeymoon. As you reached the room, before you could barely think about anything, your husband surprised you by taking your feet off the ground, and carrying you bridal-style through the door. About which he just said:

“Traditions are traditions, honey!”

“Oh, Stu!” You squealed out, not caring that the other guests might hear you.

Then, he walked you both to the bed, where he gently laid you, only to start tickling you, who, obviously, burst out in laughter.

“Stu! Stuart, please stop! I can’t breathe!” Hearing that, he immediately stopped.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” He asked, his voice filled with concern. The moment he asked it though, you took the opportunity to start tickling him back, which only got you both into an established tickle fight intercaled with quick kisses here and there.

Yeah, it was gonna be a long night…

[alexander-arcturus-black-lupin]

FBI!Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

TW: Voyeurism, Dacreaphilia, Degradation,

The drive seemed longer and shorter at the same time. You underwear felt so tight against you. Suddenly he stopped along the road.

"Out." On his command you scrambled out of the car and stood outside. He got out and slowly walked over to you. Due to the sun you were sweating, so your clothes were sticking to you. His eyes raked over you and you felt your clothes grow tighter.

"Unbutton your shirt." You clenched your legs with need and almost tore of the material. He had parked under a tree yet you felt the sweat trickle down your breasts.

"And your shorts." You followed suit till you were left in your underwear. He slowly closed the gap between the two of you and kissed you slipping his hands into your panties.

"So so fucking wet." He moved down and took your panties in his hands bringing it down. He immeadiately latched onto you and drew you to an organism. He pushed you against the side of the car and continued to eat you out.

Over and Over he kept muttering, "...so fucking delicious," intentionally speaking into your clit causing you to shudder even more,"

Your legs giving out after your second one.

The drive to your apartment you were naked.

Yup.

Tears in your eyes at the humiliation, yet you were so turned on. How fucked up were you?

SPENCER REID [Only] Taglist: @controversialkattyluv @bunny-script @futuremrsreid @nan0p0d @andomgcholesterol

More?

[fraternum-momentum]

rlly random thought but fbi man x neet dc kitten or smthn

[spinaholi]

i’m convinced brennan only wanted to do junior year as a way to systematically take revenge for all the outrageous bits he’s been through. oh hilda hilda? heres my fbi agent self insert npc, oh insight check on that piece of set dressing? straight to the vulture dimension for you! with a prop mini and projections all locked and loaded babyyy

[cyberbabyangell]

₊˚⊹☆after becoming a shifter...

hello! its been a while because school started, also because i had no idea what to post while i wrote about the innerspace..i was bombarded with 99+ likes and reposts so THANK YOU SO MUCH?? 😭 so did that happen on tiktok- i had 110 followers when i last checked, its been a month im at 300 😨 anyway i love u guys mwah 🫶

I legit forgot the concept of OCs 😭 like whenever i """create other people""" it's always people i know/ill script in one of my many drs, when i see people create someone i'm like "..OHR IGHT THIS IS YOUR CHARACTER AND NOT SOMEONE YOU KNOW IN ANOTHER UNIVERSE......."

I get so confused at the "life is short, YOLO" philosophies and it genuinely doesn't sit right with me anymore 😭

my brain somehow decided to put "shifter" as the default setting for every human my age i meet. "yeah i do that in my drs!" "in your WHAT." ".. sorry 😊"

i lost interest in media i know im NOT going to shift to 😭 like its a bit annoying but to me new media=new drs, and i dont willingly watch stuff i know im not shifting to which is so dumb.

self insert EVERYWHERE. im rarely the main character like in most my drs im less powerful than them, but i always see myself as this perfect being everyone loves and does everything right. kinda like the lucky girl in deadpool 2

whenever i see pretty people in the streets or meet nice people, im like "you're becoming my friend in my dr." so i may have 453455 friends that come from here that ive seen ONCE and probably even forgot about.

i kinda stopped asking questions to myself because in my waiting room rn i have a library with the answers to everything so.

i like dilemmas from my drs but i know they don't really matter because i'll go to a reality that has the perfect middle ground or a perfect 3rd option, even if its something that's currently beyond my comprehension

i like reminding myself im literally everything. like also objects cause its funny

whenever i see someone i admire or i like what they do i snatch it from them. "omg i like these songs!" and boom i sung those in my dr. "omg i love this content!" and boom i pioneered it.

i'm trying to get used to not be in 2024. theres not a single dr i shift to in 2024, and if i get caught lacking i might go on an fbi watchlist. like NOBODY can catch me saying rizz or singing songs that haven't been released yet. (also side note. IT SOUNDS SO TORTUROUS TO NOT BE ABLE TO LISTEN TO 80% OF MY CURRENT PLAYLIST CAUSE IT HASNT RELEASED YET. i be humming doing it first in 2020 😾)

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★���. ࿐࿔

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖✶ ✦　　

[postmodernbeliever]

how to relax - fox mulder x female reader (smut)

a seemingly endless case in the middle of nowhere has you stressed out of your mind, to the point where the only thing that doesn't push you too far is fox mulder. with all that stress and no way to reel yourself in, your partner decides he wants to help show you how to relax.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

wrote this bc sometimes we (i) just need a (toe curling) self-insert to satisfy our (my) daydreams. i dedicate this to all those who are chubby and in love with fox mulder. if you prefer to read on ao3, you can find me at the same username.

my ao3 | word count; 5,419 (i got excited, okay?)

content tags (i copied from ao3 bc im lazy): dom fox mulder, praise kink, fluff and smut, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, hand & finger kink, subspace, size difference, belly bulge, co-workers, mutual pining, idiots in love, pet names, stress relief, cross-posted on ao3, smut, subtle plus size reader, soft fox mulder, mentions of freudian shit bc come on this is the x files, talking you through it, fox is literally so awoooooga the whole time, fox gets cocky as always, fox mulder the munch, bathroom sex, fox just can’t help himself literally so i hope you enjoy

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°

you’d been beyond stressed all day, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary for you. what was frustrating was that you had managed to grow so agitated that it seemed nothing could help you calm down. 

your work with the fbi was your life, in all its stress-inducing, time-consuming, hair-splitting glory. you were as tight-assed as they came (ask literally anybody!) all of that pressure on top of a naturally anxious and irritable demeanor made you difficult to enjoy being around, and you knew it. but today, of all days, it was truly catching up to you physically. the muscles of your jaw were sore from the tension they held, fighting between your teeth for release. your head swelled between your eyes and nose, pulsing softly like a glowing light that wouldn’t dim. your throat was dry, your footsteps heavy, your hands restless; you were wound so tight that everyone you encountered feared you might snap like a rubber band, lashing against them in recoil. 

fox mulder was the only one who had stayed on your good side all day, which is surprising, given your partner was typically the casual aggressor of your everyday life- what with his constant nagging and ridiculous speculations about every crime you investigated. he never once changed his attitude, let alone change the color shirt he wore to work every day. yet it seemed this time he was off the hook, because the case you’d both been assigned was dragging like no other. 

it was your fifth day in the desolate yellow countryside of a rural town you so lovingly renamed as bumblefuck, virginia; all you possessed was an immaterial, mulder-esque lead that couldn’t be pinned down (as your fellow agent was torn between shapeshifter and werewolf). on top of that were ten dead bodies, no evidence, and a motel room with broken air conditioning, complete with a leaky sink. you were sick to death of the heat, and the town, and the local policemen who seemed to have but two executive functions: hit on you or ignore your assertions. for a stagnant fifth day, you’d experienced more frustration than ever- the cops have begun to give up on catching a suspect, fox was investigating muddy footprints all afternoon like the freak he is, and you were stuck to sit in the closet-sized archives room at the local library where teenagers and nagging townspeople came in to ogle the “fbi lady”… jesus, no wonder your head hurts. 

fox came by every so often to check on you that afternoon. once with a cup of coffee, once with half of a sandwich he’d thoughtfully taken a bite out of to piss you off, and again with dirt all over his face and a wild story about how he caught a glimpse of his x file mid-attack. if you weren’t used to his personality by now it might’ve made things worse, but in a way his teasing and subtle acts of service were the only soothing memories you had to reflect on. he was a moment of consistency between the endless chaotic installments of the afternoon. 

at the end of the day, you were mentally exhausted, hungry for the other half of that sandwich fox ate, and in need of the shitty motel bed; at the very least some peace and quiet, just for one night. but it seemed your partner wouldn’t let you have it. 

you’d had about an hour to yourself before fox materialized in your motel room. after a shower that quickly ran cold, you slipped into a sweatshirt, a threadbare set of sleep shorts that were a bit tight for your pudgy legs, and two flimsy socks that didn’t match because you hadn’t packed for a trip this long. you’d tried watching the television, but the antennae were spotty no matter how you arranged them. the air conditioning machine clanked and whistled nonstop, and hiding under your pillows didn’t dull the racket. the best part was when you tried to light the little bedside yankee candle and the lighter ran out of fluid- but not before it sparked and burned your thumb. you’d finally begun to decompress when a familiar knock sounded from outside. summoning a forcibly loud groan- so your tall visitor heard exactly how you felt- you clambered off the creaking bed and towards the door, which revealed his trademark smug smile. 

“good evening, watson!”

“what do you want?” you sighed, closing your eyes. 

you felt his hand push your shoulder to the side, and the man squeezed past you into the room. you scoffed and said, “oh, please, make yourself at home!” 

“i will, thank you,” fox teased. “i came to check on you.”

“because?”

“well, you’ve been a wreck all day! didn’t laugh at one of my jokes. you nearly bit the sheriff's head off tonight when we checked in at the station before leaving… i just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“oh? well, you know what? no, mulder, i’m not okay. we’ve been stranded out in the middle of nowhere for a week with no leads and no progress and the food here sucks and i haven’t had a single good night’s sleep and all my socks are dirty!” you ranted, pacing in front of the half-open door like a lunatic. 

fox grinned as if he knew something you didn’t and turned from you, heading towards the tiny bathroom tucked in the corner of the room. you slammed the front door shut and followed him, snapping, “what, you come in asking how i feel and just walk away? explain to me how that makes any sense, mulder!”

the agent leaned against the bathroom sink, hands laid curiously on the lip of the counter. he dutifully watched the little crystal droplets that fell rhythmically down the ceramic bowl. the air surrounding him felt charged, like if you stepped too close, you’d get shocked; almost as if his thoughts were electrifying the oxygen. 

he frustrated you beyond belief sometimes. the man stood in your bathroom like his day was going perfectly fine. a gray t-shirt clung to his lean arms, hugging the curves of his biceps like it was tailored for him alone; his sweatpants were black and littered with lint from the hairy couch in his apartment, and they hung low on his hips, peeping the waistband of his black boxers like a well-known secret. his hair was pointing every which way in its tawny misdirection, and he had the nerve to inspect your sink, and lick his lips like he had all the time in the world to enjoy the southern sticks and lupine mysteries, all while you had to scour newspapers and sleep in ten minute increments to survive. 

“mulder, what the hell are you doing?” 

“your sink is leaking.” 

“yeah, i know, sherlock.”

“did you ask them to fix it?”

“mulder, i will not hesitate to kick you out.”

“jeez, somebody’s worked up.”

the man pivoted on his feet, facing you with a newfound sense of purpose. you were prepared to object his statement, but were silenced by his hands finding your hips. he was so quick to slide you up onto the counter that you forgot your rebuttal- in fact, in his rush to relocate you, you’d forgotten to think entirely. he had your thighs pinned to the cold, white countertop, and parted so he could press his tummy to the spot where your legs met. his shirt rode up in the moment, and you could feel the warmth of his bare skin against the fabric of your shorts. 

fox’s hands felt rough. you stared at them, at the sheer size, and recollected all the little stolen glances of those fingers sifting through his filing cabinets, or analyzing your field notes, or polishing his gun. countless vivid reminders of the strength of them as they pulled you back from bullets and unexpected staircases flashed before your eyes. how often you longed for them, you couldn’t say, but it was clear to you now as those same hands held you down that you had taken a serious liking to them. 

it took you a while, but you managed to mutter, “what are you doing?”

fox could only smile wider and say, “you need to relax, don’t you?” 

“what does that-”

“why don’t you let me help you?” 

you swallowed thickly, feeling a bubbling heat rise in your belly. his calloused palms rode up your legs, finding room for his thumbs to begin drawing soft, sweeping circles against your hip bones. your brain clouded so fast you forgot to answer. 

“i’ve never seen you so aggravated before… like, by every little thing. i mean, i know you get annoyed, but these past couple days have been so rough for you, haven’t they? just can’t calm down, can you? you look so tired, so tense. i can feel all the tension you’re keeping right… here,” he consoled, letting up on your hips to press a hand to your lower abdomen. when you sucked in a nervous breath, the man pressed a little harder, and you twitched beneath him. “i can fix that for you, if you want. show you how to relax a little.” 

“y-you’re not even supposed to be in here,” you wheezed, “agents… agents aren’t supposed to consort in the same room, mulder, remember?”

“awh, come on, don’t start following the rules on me now! don’t you wanna feel better, honey?” 

fox spoke like every word was a secret, leaning in close to your ear. the scruff of his five o’clock shadow brushed against your fresh face, eliciting a spidery chill down your spine. 

“what’s gotten into you, mulder?”

“i asked you a question, sweetheart.”

you panicked, swallowing air like it was water. these kinds of questions felt new coming from him. anxiously, you let out a shaky breath and nodded, hoping that was enough. you couldn’t handle much else.

“is that a yes?”

“...mhm.”

“can you say yes for me?”

fuck. “yes.”

“good girl. it’ll help, i promise.” 

it seemed he couldn’t be going any slower than he was just then, gingerly removing his hands from your waist and biting his lower lip like the reincarnate of a dream you’d entertained too many times before. you watched with a spinning head as his long, spindly fingers hooked under the waistband of your shorts. his pale eyes twinkled at you, sage steeped in milk, as he asked, “can i?” in that lilting voice he uses only when the room is begging for quiet. when you eagerly nodded, he chuckled, “lift up for me a little, okay?” 

you followed orders and pressed your shaky hands to the tile, raising your hips so he had room to slide your shorts down. his face melted at the sight of you underneath. 

night after night, he’d fantasized about those doe eyes of yours watching him free you up like this, but he never imagined he’d get the chance. until this afternoon, when he resolved to create the chance. through all these years working beside you, he’s only grown to admire you more. you were cunning, you were gentle with kids, you were smarter than he ever could be (even if you disagreed.) but you were also tired. you lived alone, you slept alone, you never asked for help and you declined every offer. fox hated to see you facilitate your own frustration. and this past week has only exacerbated his need to fix it- watching you so angry, so pent up, so in need of attention- he couldn't bear to let you suffer any longer. it seems he’s been lucky, too, because you sat quietly, patiently, all so that he could take care of you. grateful for the opportunity, fox didn’t want to waste any more time. 

with those dreamy fingertips grazing your underwear, fox was the spitting image of boyish charm. he admired the worn black and grey striped fabric covering what was left of you, thinking aloud, “had these for a while, huh?” 

“since i was in college,” you muttered, “everything i wore was dark back then.”

“nothing’s changed. you’re very punk rock,” he winked.

you didn’t know you were capable of laughing in your current state, but it came bubbling up in a nervous overflow. he watched your lips curl, and the way you threw your head back like you couldn’t stop yourself. you felt embarrassed to be so swayed by his stupid humor, but you had no choice. not when he had you wrapped around his finger like this.

“you’re a dork.”

“you like it, though,” he reassured. 

you watched the man hesitate, eyes darting down to your lips; you closed your eyes, hoping it would nudge him in the right direction, and you were right. fox had to crane his neck down a bit- because even with you on the counter, he was still taller- but he made himself level, and he pressed his lips to yours so gently you almost didn’t feel him there. what announced him was the taste of him, actually; stale coffee on his tongue, and what you deduced to be the black-label chapstick, the kind that tasted like medicine. you toppled into him like you were falling off a cliff, clinging to the hem of his shirt in longing. 

fox seemed to like how you hung on him. it made him feel risky. his hands meandered across your tummy, pushing up under your sweatshirt and roaming the soft skin of your back. he caught your bottom lip between his teeth and tugged softly, and when you opened your eyes in surprise, he nudged your nose like a kitten and let it go. he was good at taking control like this, at making your nerves ebb and flow to his pace. you were so entranced in the way his lips meshed with yours that when his dominant hand found its way to your hips again, you mewled in anticipation. 

“you sound a lot prettier when you’re not arguing with me,” fox joked. you met him with a soft sound from the back of your throat, and his eyebrows furrowed in amusement. “can barely speak, can you?”

“mm-mm,” you answered, trying to trap his lips again, but he pulled away. 

his eyes shifted shade, and you were now seeing yourself reflected in much darker irises. your back shivered against the mirror on the wall. he broke eye contact and let it linger on your legs, his palms swiping over the skin with intention. swiftly, he bent over and began pressing kisses to your inner thighs. you let out a strangled whine, which made him shudder.

“you want me to get to it, hm?”

“please, f… mulder,” you whispered, blushing like a fool. 

the man rose again to lock you in a soft kiss, one so much more loving than the others that it let butterflies loose in your chest. interrupting their fluttering, he prodded, “what was that?”

it was out of you before you had a chance to weigh the outcomes. “please, fox.” 

having teased long enough, fox dropped to his knees and pushed your panties aside. his mouth was so slick from all the time it spent on yours that it was dangerously warm as it pressed against your heat. you let out a lewd string of moans as his tongue trailed a long, torturous stripe between your folds, taking his sweet time getting to the top. he felt you throbbing, all the blood in your body pulsing like a heartbeat for him. his lips, just a bit swollen, peppered a few gentle kisses to the skin before surrounding your bud and starting to suck. 

you squeezed your eyes shut so hard it nearly brought your headache back. fox grunted between your hips, the pads of his fingers pressing hard into your bones. you softened for his tongue as it swirled inside your pussy, tracing shapes to drive you insane. your hands burrowed into his cropped cut and tugged in desperation, which he liked so much it practically made him growl; the sound bounced between your walls, sending a sensation into your stomach that made your legs tremble. he felt so good inside you like this, lapping like a puppy at your water; you bucked against his big nose, craving the friction, and he responded with relentless thirst for you.  

“fuck!” you whined, “fox- agh,”

coming up for a gulp of air, you caught a glimpse of his slick chin as it glinted in the yellow light. “feels good?” 

“shit,” you panted, “yes, obviously… more,” 

“more, huh?” fox licked his lips with hungry eyes. “i’m gonna need you to say please, baby.”

“jesus, fox, please! pretty please, baby, please just keep going,” 

“fuck, don’t call me names…” the man swooned at the broken cry in your voice, resolving to give you whatever you needed until the day you die. now wasn’t the time for confession, though, so he filed that away for later. “pretty please. god, you’re good.”

you nearly choked as he pushed two fingers into you, curling them in a rough come-hither motion. he bombarded you with himself, sucking hard on your clit and fucking his fingers into the swelling spot inside you, making you lurch against his touch like an animal. with your head thrown back against the motel mirror and pretty mouth gasping for him, he realized that his dreams could never do this moment justice. the sugary, tangy taste you left on his tongue, your soft skin that smelled like shower suffocating him, the way his name rolled off your tongue- you were the real fucking deal, not some half-assed daydream that got him off at night. you were beautiful, and for not being a praying man, being on his knees before you felt right. who was he to stand eye to eye with you, when down here where you were perched above him like an angel, he had so much more room to worship you? 

“fuck, i- oh, i’m…” you whimpered, grinding against his face with fervor. 

“let it go, honey, come on,” he cooed, “i’ll take care of you.” 

“b-but i- i’ve never- oh my god!”

the agent watched you battle with yourself, all the while writhing on the countertop, so he carefully brought his thumb to your clit and picked up the pace. he rose to you again, using his free arm to slither around the base of your back and pull your body flush against his. you bunched his shirt in your fists helplessly and hid your face in his shoulder. it took all his strength not to collapse right then and there, but he kept moving for you, and you rocked against his palm like you were made for it. when he realized you were going to need a little more help, he gave it to you. 

you were stressed, after all, and sometimes somebody’s just got to talk you through it, right?

“never had it this good before, hm? nobody’s ever made you cum, sweetheart? you poor thing,” fox twitted, clicking his tongue. “you work so hard. my smart girl, so good at her job, so independent… you deserve to be taken care of, to feel good, baby. to let go of all that stress,” 

you struggled to think straight as his gruff voice battled the ringing in your ears. his palm pressed against your back with so much care, like if he moved it you’d shatter into a million pieces. it was all so much, to have your partner with you like this; to hear him breathing beside you, to feel his fingers in a place you’d never thought they’d be. he saw the gears turning in your head still, and he wanted to shut your brain off for good. and god, did he. fox coaxed it right out of you like it was his job. 

“come on, good girl, you can do it,” he whispered. “cum for me, honey, i know you can. show me you can.”

for every moment of danger you found yourself stuck in, fox was there to protect you. when you got reprimanded by a director, he was there to hold your hand behind the safety of the desk. when you were late and needed a cover, he was prepared with a detailed story. you’d forgotten a raincoat a comical number of times, so many in fact that he began keeping a spare in his office for you to borrow. fox was always there, waiting to help you, to guide you, and if it was fucked up (so far as to call it freudian) then so be it- you needed it from him. you needed his safety, his warmth, the strength of his arms around you. his reassurance. 

and to hear him care for you like this, too, to pull on your strings and unravel you like a tired tapestry… god, nothing ever felt so good. 

fox’s eyes rolled back as you twitched on his fingers, moaning his name like a prayer into the stuffy bathroom air. your hands struggled to find a place to stay as they combed through his hair frantically, tugging and trembling; it was like you’d never been touched before in your life. you had, but very few times, and it was just like he said- nobody had done it right. but he had. it felt like his hands were crafted to please you. they knew exactly where to touch, how fast, how gentle, how deep. the man figured you out instantly, which was as exciting as it was terrifying. you’ve never felt so out of it in your entire life. 

you panted wildly, and fox gave soft kisses to your hair while you tried to regain your composure. but you couldn’t. you couldn’t get a grasp on anything. the world was floating in limbo around you, all inconstant; the countertop felt as foreign to you as flying did. but even in your daze, you craved more- the second he stopped, you needed him to start again. you could barely speak, but he heard your mumblings: “m…more, more, f… foxie,”

that nickname gave him goosebumps. slowly, he said, “baby, i don’t have anything with me for that,”

“don’t care. please.” you begged. there was no way he could say no to you, not when your pretty, cloudy eyes looked up at him how they did. 

“okay, baby, okay.” 

fox gave no warning, but nothing would have prepared you anyway- you instinctively opened your hips wider just to make enough room for him. he pushed all the way in, letting himself bottom out; the man let out a moan so guttural that you clenched around him in reflex. you were lucky enough to see him make that pretty ‘o’ face, and that might’ve been enough for you, honestly, but it wasn’t for him. he needed you, and he needed you fast. 

his thrusts were no match for all the grinding you could do. he snapped back and forth like a whip, hips rolling so hard that it felt like he was digging inside you deeper each time. you dragged your nails down his back, trying to find something to hold onto, but his moans in your ear as he hid his face in your neck were so distracting you kept having to start over. 

“jesus, baby, you’re so tight for me,” he grumbled, “feels so good, you’re doing so good… fuck, my good girl.”

his praise made every nerve in your body short-circuit. it didn’t matter how he moved, you couldn’t stop babbling. he tugged your hips forward a little more, making you slump against the mirror, and you clutched the countertop for dear life. 

“can’t use your words, huh, baby? look at you, smartest analyst in the fbi and you can barely speak, all because of me,” he tormented. the man pressed his right hand against your tummy again, just like he had before, and he growled with lust. he seized your hand and pressed it flat beneath his in the same spot, and he fucked you harder, forcing it down until you felt his thrusting beneath your palm. you never thought you’d feel anything like this, not with your soft stomach, but he was making it possible.

“you feel that, pretty? feel me inside you, filling you up? you’re mine now. all mine.”

you had no control. you whined, “foxie,” jerking your hips against his cock in a craze. 

“god, that’s right, that’s my girl.” he smiled.

“s-so… a-agh, please!”

“mm, i know, baby, keep going,” 

you had no more words left, you’d used them all. fox had figured out how to take away all your stress, yet in the process, he took your whole mind with it. now you were just his, a thing to be kissed, a fleshy body for him to praise. for a control freak, you loved being the one under another’s control for once. 

you scratched at fox’s shoulders, a mindless drop of drool dribbling from the corner of your mouth. you felt his cock as it swelled against your slick walls, and how it poked against your insides, and if that weren’t enough, he moved his hand to your clit again and resumed rubbing those blissful circles into it. you could only sit there and grind against his touch, muttering strings of curses and unintelligible sounds.

“agh, baby, you’re so pretty like this,” his moans were growing harsh, turning into whines. “all fucked out, mm, so pretty for me,”

his hips started snapping erratically, and your back arched against the increasing speed. his teeth met your shoulder and he bit softly, grumbling, “i’m so close,”

in what felt like a cry but came out as a strangled whimper, you warned, “m’gonna… agh…” 

fox watched your face screw up in pleasure, and it pushed him right over the edge. your body collapsed as you let go, and he rushed to hold you to him and keep you upright. all the way in your gut, where your hand once rested, you felt him pooling all over, thick and warm. his thumb swirled you slowly, working you through it so you didn’t get too shocked. he was stationary for a while, unable to move from the overstimulation; but when he did, he watched the stuff bubble out of you, though only just a bit. his throat closing up at the sight. he gathered some of it on his fingers and raised them to your lips, and you licked them sweetly. his stomach churned as you gazed down at his hand with foggy eyes, somehow still lustful after all he’d done to tire you out. 

“good job, baby, you were so good for me,” he crooned, leaving sloppy, tired kisses all over your neck. “someone’s gotta take care of you, don’t they?” 

you just murmured little hums, and he loved every second of it. 

“you hear me, pretty girl? nobody takes better care of you than me, you got it? who takes good care of you?” 

“foxie,” you admitted in your mindless bliss. 

“that’s right, baby, foxie does. you’re all mine, honey,” he gushed. “not so stressed anymore, are you?”

“mm-mm.”

“are you okay? take a deep breath for me.”

you tried to speak, but the words weren’t forming. you couldn’t string anything together. all you could do was make quiet noises and mutter his name. “mmph… foxie,”

“here, come here, honey.” 

fox tucked his hands beneath your thighs, and after instructing you to wrap your arms around his neck nice and tight, he carried you from the croaking bathroom sink to the motel bed, where he took extra care in laying you down comfortably. he climbed on top of you and adjusted your shirt, smoothing the fabric over your plush tummy and drawing a dopey smile from you. 

“stuck in your head, hm?” fox asked. 

he’d read up on this type of thing before- subspaces. typically common in BDSM practices, but not exclusively. there was a study conducted that detailed the experience theoretically as a headspace induced by rushes of endorphins, causing the receiver to fall into a trance-like state. he remembered reading how when someone is in a subspace their ability to communicate can be impaired and so can their judgment. it was also suggested that asking grounding questions may help coax people out of them (don’t ask how he found such a study.) so being the guy he is, he took everything very slowly from there, and followed the science. 

“can you hear me, sweetheart?” 

“mm.”

“good. what’s my name?” 

your stomach fluttered at the question, and warmth pooled between your hips at the softness with which he asked, but your brain was two steps behind. it took you a minute to answer, and you could only do it with your eyes closed. “foxie,” you muttered. 

“good girl, good job. that’s right,” he rewarded you with a kiss to the collarbone. beneath his breath he muttered, “fuck, if that isn’t cute.”

he could see you were somewhere else. all of your behavior was so needy. you might’ve thought you were a headcase before, but he’s no stranger to id impulses either; he saw how you pushed into his palms, how you refused to let go of his shirt, and he just wanted to help you through it. he wanted to make sure you felt safe. 

“baby, can you open your eyes for me? can you let me see your pretty eyes?” 

you peeked through one and saw his handsome face staring back at you, that toothy grin blooming flowers in your chest. slowly you opened the other, and even though the world was swirling, you managed to keep them open.

“you’re doing so good, thank you, baby,” he chuckled. “now, i’m gonna put your shorts back on, okay?”

“m’kay.” 

you took a deep breath. he watched your chest rise and fall, and your cheeks burn even redder than he thought possible. your hand held his wrist tightly, tight enough that he prayed your nails would leave little moon-shaped marks behind. you shook your head and tried to wipe away the fuzzy feeling. 

“what’s my name again?” he asked, noticing how hard you were trying to focus. he tapped on your hip so you’d know to lift them, and he wriggled your shorts back on, admiring how they hugged the skin.  

“f-fox.”

“good. what’s my job?” 

“you’re… a profiler,” you volleyed, feeling a little more grounded with each passing second. 

“good girl. and where are we, honey?”

you squinted at him and smiled, “bumblefuck, virginia.” 

when fox laughed, it felt like all the angels rung their bells. something about seeing his face light up and whatever was plaguing him, whatever he was in danger of, just wash away in the moment was nothing short of enlightenment. you wished he’d laugh more, so you could see divine intervention on the regular. 

“coming back to me, hm?” 

“yeah,” you giggled. 

fox leaned down and pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “i’m trying not to let my ego explode right now, you know,” he smirked, “i never thought you wanted me so bad.” 

you blushed, hiding behind your hands. “i… oh, god.”

“no, no, it was cute! really. you… you don’t know how badly i’ve wanted to do that.” he promised. 

“i’ve never felt-” you paused, wondering if it was worth saying. yet, if he could bring you back to earth after fucking you stupid, what secrets could you hide from him? “i’ve never felt like this about anyone before.”

“who, me?” fox laughed.

“mhm. it’s just…  agh. you. it’s only you, fox. embarrassingly so.”

it was his turn to blush then. fox leaned down to catch you in one more kiss, and you felt his hand search the bedsheets for yours so he could tangle your fingers with his own. he didn’t want to break away, so he said it right into your mouth, pausing for air: “god- i have- loved- you for- so long.”

fox couldn’t help but feel proud of himself as he laid down between your legs, resting his head on your warm belly like it was a pillow. you instinctively took to his hair, playing with the chocolatey tufts and wishing he’d never move. he fit so perfectly right there, and now you couldn’t ever let him go. you didn’t want to.

with one last kiss to your hip, fox grinned. “told you i could help.”

[jadeinretrogrde]

Brennan will definitely be having his self-insert FBI character opening up a thorough investigation on British Kristen any day now. there will probably be a task force

[zvdvdlvr]

— Olive Garden Gift Card

🌌 — synopsis. You meet your dad.

🌌 — warnings. This is basically a self-fucking-insert. You have a sister and good grandparents but youre stepdad left! Fix-It!Rossi. Don’t read this if you don’t have daddy issues.

     The sun had just dipped over the tall building when you entered the FBI building. You knew going in here was a gamble. Why would a big shot FBI boss believe an almost 22 year old woman claiming that he’s her daughter?

     No matter, you told yourself as you wittily convinced the security officer to let you in the building. Your mother was dead now and you wanted to at least let him know you existed. Even if he did already know, you wanted to tell him of your mother’s death. The dark blue folder with paint stained in the back (courtesy of your little sister) stopped shaking after taking a calming breath in the elevator.

     You had memorized the layout of the room memorized after weeks of planning what you would say and how you would say it, so actually entering the room made your heart beat a little faster. To think you were actually going to see your biological father- your dad- made you mad and a little nervous.

     Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner looked up at the figure at the door. Her face was solemn, but the way her eyebrows were set made Hotch think she was nervous. She had a familiar frown. The girl wore a pair of dark jeans with brown square-toed boots. The Carhartt shirt she wore was black. “Hello. SSA Hotchner. What can I do for you?” He asked, sticking his hand out.

     “I was asked to give this to you,” you said after shaking your dad’s hand. You tried to keep your voice calm. You couldn’t believe you were actually standing in front of your father. From a young age you knew you were different. All the other boys and girls weren’t in their mom’s wedding as the flower girl or ring bearer. All the other boys and girls didn’t call their male parent by their first name. All the other boys and girls had the same last name as everyone in the house. Except you.

     Aaron looked at the tightly-written cursive on the back of the envelope and felt a pang of familiarity in his heart. “I- I’m sorry, who are you?”

     After saying your last name- your mother’s last name- you saw it.

     “I’ll read fast.” You watched your father’s eyes dart over the front page. Your mother’s handwriting took up most of the back as well, but you were ready for Aaron to usher you out of his office and apologize for your loss so you stayed rigid in your seat. The cold leather of the chair did nothing to soothe you. Aaron’s cologne made you want to heave. What would he say?

     Another minute passed before Aaron placed the letter in his desk and took out photos from the envelope. You didn’t know what your mother wrote, but you read the captions and years on the back and your eyes filled with unshed tears as you relived those memories.

     After examining the photos with an unreadable expression, Aaron looked up at you. “I didn’t realize your mother was pregnant when she left,” he murmured, glancing down at the photo of you at age six with a pink hat and camo jacket on your mother’s shoulders. In your hands you held a small trout. In your mother’s hands was a larger trout. You were so proud because that was the first fish you had ever caught.

     You nodded. “She told me everything.” You tried to keep yourself neutral until Hotch told you to get out.

     “Y/n,” he said slowly, examining you closely. You had your mother’s flat nose, hooded eyes, and plump lips. You had Aaron’s high cheekbones, sharp jawline, and serious eyebrows. Aaron knew you were a spitfire- a dangerous combination of him and your mother. “What do you want to do? What do you want me��to do?” His tone was quiet and you knew you had done it. He didn’t care. Not about you or your dead mother or the little sister that you cared so deeply for. Well, fine.

     That caught you off guard. “I don’t care. I just wanted to come tell you that you have two other kids and that my mother was dead.” You felt your throat tighten at the mention of your little sister. Your grandparents were currently watching her since your stepfather had divorced your mother and wanted nothing to do with either of you. “So I did that. I, uh…” your jaw clenched and you looked at the framed picture of the happy family of three: consisting of Aaron Hotchner, his wife, and son. You didn’t want to cry in front of a man you didn’t even know, so you swallowed and set your eyes to him. “I’ll leave you to your life.”

     You tried to ignore the way your bottom lip trembled and how a single tear slipped down your cheek as you closed the door to his office rather loudly. You tilted your head up and your shoulders kept solid as you walked past your dad’s office, your dad’s team, and your dad. This time you were the one doing the walking away.

— 🌌

     You had promised your sister to pick up a present for her. Despite the pretty big age gap between the two of you, you and Ava go along well. You had planned to stay for a couple days in Virginia, so you had time to thrift for gifts for your loving grandparents (read: mother’s mom and dad) and sister.

     Right now, though, you were strolling through a small book store on a darker lit area of the town. Sure, you knew you probably stuck out like a sore thumb with your appearance, but you had always harbored a love to read. You were just pulling out a Sylvia Plath to add to the growing pile of Vonnegut and Wiesel book on your arm. You counted those books and decided another one wouldn’t hurt.

     “Already read you,” you murmured, walking slowly past an aisle of titles.

     “Do you want me to carry those for you?”

     You turned around, remembering the stainless steel knife your stepdad had gifted you long ago in your front jeans pocket. In front of you was an older gentleman in an expensive suit. The lines across his face told you he was older, wiser. “Uh… no. Thank you though.”

     He nodded and stuck his hand out for you to shake. “My name is David. David Rossi.”

     This David Rossi fellow worked with Aaron, you recalled. You had done your research. “I see. Did Hotchner send you?”

     Rossi shook his head and followed you. “No. I came here on my own accord. You left in a hurry,” he said. You made your way to the fictional section- you were a sucker for some fictional romance.

     “I don’t think he wanted me there. He has a life and so do I. I just… my mother wanted me to give him that letter and I… just wanted to meet dear old dad,” you replied dryly. You didn’t regret seeing him- you had planned for the scenario that he didn’t want you. Hell, you had already lived with not knowing your dad and thinking about him for your whole life. This just gave you a reason to never think about him again. “Why are you even here?”

     “I wanted to talk to you,” he answered immediately. “Try to convince you to stay for a couple more days. I think you’re isolating yourself from your dad because you’ve been let down by other men before. I think you’re trying to protect yourself from what you want. I know that you wouldn’t have stuck around if you didn’t at least have a little hope for talking to your dad again.”

     “Please don’t call him that,” you requested tensely. You didn’t like that word. Dad. It made you shudder as you reached out to examine a book by Margaret Atwood. “But you’re right. I am scared. I have- I have other priorities. People need me and I need her. We’re all we have and I’m not about to waste my life away trying to prove to some man that I- his blood- an worth his while. I’m tired of that, sir. But thanks for trying.”

     You picked up the book and moved to the register. Rossi followed you, watching as you paid the price with cash. “Receipt in the bag please,” you said with a bright smile. “Thank you, Joe.” 

     “You’re more than welcome,” the man replied smoothly, returning your smile. You didn’t acknowledge the man known as David Rossi as you unlocked your rent truck.

     “Please just come talk to him again. He wants to talk to you, I can tell. He just needs to talk to his wife and son,” Rossi tried again.

     Shaking your head, you scoffed. “‘Wife and son’? No. No, I’m good.”

    “Before you leave. If not for him, sit down and eat lunch with me and the rest of the team. You’re an intriguing individual.”

     You buckled your seat belt and leaned back in your seat. “No. I’m not.”

     Before you had shut the door and left, you heard Rossi yell “You know the building!”

— 🌌

     Much to your own dismay, you did end up showing up to the building two days later. In your hand was an Olive Garden gift card you’d been saving for a special occasion. Hopefully David liked Italian.

     But you also tried to hide the little flicker of hope that burned in your chest. ‘He wants to talk to you, I can tell’ is what David had told you.

     Your phone rang, though, as soon as you had entered the building. The security man recognized you immediately and handed you a guest badge as you accepted the call from your Grandmother. “Hi Gramma,” you greeted brightly, genuinely happy to hear from the woman.

     “Hi puddin’ pie! Ava wants to talk to you since we missed your call last night,” the woman explained.

     “Put her on,” you said, pulling your jeans up by the belt loop and tucking in your pocket as the phone crackled. You were wearing a light washed pair of jeans, the ones your mother was so proud of when she bought and guessed your size. Jean shopping was always difficult, but your mother always seemed to get you the perfect pair.

     “Hi y/n! How’s Virginia? Did you get me anything?” Ava asked.

     Pushing the button to the BAU’s floor, you laughed. “No? I didn’t know you wanted anything you crazy girl. Too late now, I’m on my way home now.”

     You heard Ava groan loudly and your grandma’s laugh from the other line. You smiled, happy to call them your family. “Y/n! I told you what-“

     “I’m just teasing, kiddo. It’s a surprise though. I’ve got a couple more days here until you can see it,” you explained, waiting for the door to open.

     “Well… is it cool? Like a tank or a grenade or- or a really big skull?” Ava asked.

     You stepped out of the elevator and stood to the side, not wanting to end the call. “I told you, Ave, it’s a surprise. I can’t tell you otherwise I’ll die.”

     Ava’s laughter filled the line and your heart ached for the little girl. She had gone through so much. So had you, but she was more important.

     You scratched your head and your smile faded after seeing the corner of his lips lift. He was standing in the middle of the bullpen, listening to his agent’s conversation. He tilted his head towards his office. You raised an eyebrow and he just nodded before excusing himself to wait for you.

     Pocketing the gift card, you kept your head solid and your back straight as you walked in. “Well, I gotta go, Ava-Girl. Give Papa some hell and keep the cows clean, yeah?”

     “Okay. You’ll call tonight, right? Papa said he wanted to call, but is busy fixing Mr. O’Donnel’s wiring.”

     “Yeah, yeah I’ll call, Ave. Be good for Gramma okay? Give her a hug for me. Love you, kiddo,” you said quietly as you quickly walked past Aaron’s open door.

     “I love you too, y/n. Have fun and be safe,” Ava replied before hanging up.

     Rossi smiled at you. “Good evening,” he greeted. You resisted the urge to laugh at the smugness of his smile. “We’re almost off. Are you going to talk to your da- Hotch?”

     “If he wants to,” you replied. “I have a gift card for Olive Garden. Is that offer for-“

     “Yes. Do you want the whole team to come with? They might ask a lot of questions but they all mean well,” Rossi asked.

     “I mean, I’m a complete stranger to you all so it’s up to them. I’ll pay,” you answered, feeling your billfold in your back pocket.

     “Nonsense. Do you… do you want to talk to Hotch first? We can go and reserve a table,” Rossi offered. You wondered how you were going from avoiding the whole lot of people all together to going to dinner with them.

     You nodded slowly. “Yeah. That would probably be best. Thank you, Rossi.”

     “Just David, kid, and don’t worry about it,” he said, laying a hand on your shoulder before heading out to get the team.

     This time, you entered Aaron’s office without knocking. “David and the team are meeting us at Olive Garden. Are you- do you want to come?”

     Hotch stood up, arms hanging awkwardly at his side. “Do you want me there?”

    “I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t… I also thought we should, uh, talk. Or you talk and I listen. You know what I have to say.”

     Aaron nodded, still rigid. “I don’t- I liked your mother, y/n. I did. We just had different plans for our future. I wasn’t in love with her, but she was a good soul, a good mother. I didn’t know she was… with child when we parted ways,” he explained cautiously, examining you for your reaction.

     “Do you love your wife? And son?” You asked, voice oddly calm.

     Aaron nodded. “I do. I do but I want to be in your life. You said you had a little sister?”

     “Yes but I don’t want you to feel like you have to just because you hooked up with my ma. I want you to want to know us.”

     Aaron nodded. “I do. I really do, y/n. Just give me a chance and some time. I talked to Haley and Jack and they… well, they’d like to meet you.”

     Swallowing, you nodded. “Okay. Okay, well. We can start with dinner.”

     “Dinner,” Hotch repeated, arm twitching as he nodded.

     An solemn silence filled the air as you gnawed at your lips. The rigid, wide-eyed man in front of you did want to know you. You felt your eyes sting knowing that this would either heal you or break you. But you wanted to try. For you, your mother, and your sister.

     “Come here, y/n,” Aaron murmured, bottom lip shaking ever so slightly as he opened his arms.

     It was embarrassing how hard you collided into your dad’s arms. You probably would have even laughed if you weren’t so overwhelmed with actually hugging him.

     Aaron closed his eyes as tears fell down his own face. He really really really hoped he didn’t screw this up.

     You finally pulled away and sniffed, knowing you probably looked like a mess. “So you are going to Olive Garden with us?”

     A watery laugh bubbled out of Aaron throat as he hugged you even tighter. “I’d love to get Olive Garden with you.”

[sanctum-of-ramshackle]

Behind The Screen

[TWST AU]: Self-Aware AU, but with logical takes.

[Synopsis]: In this timeline, MC/Yuu/[Y/N] was playing TWST one day and then something off-putting happens.

[TW]: Mild cursing

[(A/N)]: I know. This AU has been done multiple times with most of them being…possessive. I decided to try the concept, but with my own take on it. Also MC/Yuu/[Y/N] is around 16-18 years old in this AU.

MC/Yuu/[Y/N] is just your ordinary gamer who loves the game, Disney: Twisted Wonderland.

They played that game almost everyday ever since it was first released.

They get to experience everything from leveling up the characters (especially their favorites who may or may not be bias towards) to collecting items.

MC/Yuu/[Y/N] fell in love with the storyline and laugh at the humor whenever something ironic and sarcastic happens.

All fun and literal games until one day something happens.

As MC/Yuu/[Y/N] logs into TWST and expected a character greeting them with a gift each day, there wasn’t anybody on the screen.

They thought it’s probably a glitch. It happens.

Shrugging off the weird occurrence, they continue the game as usual, leveling up the characters and winning in battles.

As they were reading through a chapter, something slips up.

Ace Trappola, everyone’s favorite little bastard accidentally mentioned how MC/Yuu/[Y/N] look stupidly cute today with their new haircut.

They freaked out a little.

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: Okay. I may need more sleep or did I hear Ace right about my looks for today?

Ace: *Sweatdrops*

Deuce: *Whispers* Ace, say your line. You’ll blow our cover.

Ace: *Whispers back* You too, Dunce-face. You’ll get us in trouble.

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: …I’m not dealing with this shit.

Ace: No wait-

They exit out of the game and starts texting to a friend of theirs asking advice on what to do with a possibly possessed app game operated by the Japanese branch of the huge corporation.

[MC/Yuu/[Y/N]’s Bedroom]

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: Okay, that’s it. I’m reporting this to the development team and possibly FBI because what kind of sick game is this?

Riddle: No wait! Prefect!

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: Don’t “Prefect” me! I know how this shit goes, and it ends badly.

Lilia: Oh dear. You read too many Yandere fics, haven’t you.

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: …How do you know that?

Ace: Duh! It’s obvious. We’re in your phone. We sometimes sneak into your search history.

Jack: I’m afraid to ask questions about your…free time.

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: You don’t have to know, Jack.

Vil: You need a better wallpaper, honestly. Who edited this abomination?

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: Uhh…I did the wallpaper.

Vil: …You need to work on your photoshop skills.

[MC/Yuu/[Y/N]’s Bedroom]

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: You’re telling me you listened to everything I spoke about this past year?

Riddle: Unfortunately, yes.

Leona: You cursed at us for being “too handsome” and “how stubborn” we can be.

Azul: Let’s not forget you spilled some secrets nobody else would know. You still sleep with a stuffed dolphin after 4.

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: Luckily nobody ask for my phone.

Kalim: Your world sounds a lot of fun to learn about. I always wonder what it’s like outside with no magic involved.

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: Believe my words, it’s not pretty.

Vil: I heard you talked about some fashion brands. Louis Vuitton?

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: Yeah…That and other brands are expensive as Hell here.

Idia: I was wondering about your Otaku culture…

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: Oh! There is enough to talk about with new anime and manga coming out everyday.

Malleus: *Peeks into images of Gargoyles*

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: Tsunotarou? What are you doing on Google Images?

Malleus: Oh. Forgive me, Child of Man. I was curious about your device.

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: Nah, it’s fine. Just be careful when you’re searching for something.

[MC/Yuu/[Y/N]’s Bedroom]

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: *Fanning over a character* Jesus Christ! I can’t with this guy!

[Insert an image of Yoru from Valorant.]

[(A/N): I couldn’t help myself.]

Deuce: Huh? Hey, isn’t he from-

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: Oh, yeah. I sometimes dabble into Valorant and he’s one of my mains.

Ace: So your type is the edgy bad boy type~?

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: Don’t even try, Ace.

Ace: *Threw his hands up in defense* What? It’s not like I can leave here.

MC/Yuu/[Y/N]: Touché.

✨[Reblogs helps creators and creates for more content]💫

[cadaver-sniffing-dog]

top 5 things about twin peaks

1) the atmosphere that envelops you, comforts you, and occupies ur every thought!!

2) agent cooper finds joy in everything

3) the scene where someone does the worm

4) law enforcement and the fbi are entirely incompetent

5) david lynch self insert character

[insufferableprotagonistpoll]

Propaganda why Bella Swan is insufferable:

Feels like low hanging fruit, but characters that are supposed to be self inserts will always be bland boring bad ideas if you want to make a truly interesting character. Especially self inserts that go along with things like stalking and abuse from their love interests for the sake of continuing the story, because it kinda makes them seem like a mannequin who just there to be passed around like the punching bag in super smash bros, you know what I mean

complete bland character that all the boys somehow fall in love with. just gets pushed around by the plot. she's interesting as cardboard while everyone around her is more interesting.

She spends the entirety of three books looking down on others, being completely braindead, worrying that she's old at age 18 for an entire book, has a horror movie pregnancyand birth, and then becomes the most specialist vampire to ever vampire. And through all that her personality and thought processes that she had page 1 of Twilight she has on the last page of Breaking Dawn.

She has the personality of a rock, but for some reason everyone is obsessed with her.

Propaganda why Tony Stark is insufferable:

She’s a hypocrite who is ready to restrict the freedom of others when they make one mistake, but when he makes a mistake he figures he’s able to handle himself

Super long, sorry lol

Thinking about how in Homecoming when Peter accidentally caused that boat to get split in half because the Vulture’s gun exploded and Tony was acting like as if Peter was completely in the wrong for going there just because he did it without his permission. He was acting like as if Peter was out of line and “disobeyed him”, trying to act like his father. And then I remember how in CACW he’s the one who scouted Peter in the first place just because he saw he might be useful against a personal squabble between him and Captain America despite knowing that he was a kid and he’s just now acknowledging how dangerous it is because Peter “acted on his own”

Completely hijacking Peter’s superhero story and trying to control his every move (Training wheels protocol and baby monitor thing he put in the suit), acting like Peter should’ve known that Tony would send someone in despite the fact that he’d been ignoring him for 2 months since Civil War and not keeping him updated on anything!!

How the hell is peter supposed to know Tony is going to listen to him when he treats him like a kid instead of a superhero when it’s convenient for him? And when Tony loses his temper after Peter says he’s 15 not 14 like “the adult is talking” bitch he could literally flatten you without your suit!!!

I guess in a way he is acting like a father but like the absentee kind. He’s more like a sperm donor father trying to act like he has any rights over Peter’s life smh.

It’s not that reprimanding Peter for the situation is bad, but the way he makes it seem as if Peter is irredeemable as if Tony wasn't a literal weapons dealer lmfao. He could’ve said what was the truth about it without completely invalidating him saying shit like “no thanks to you” after Peter asked if everyone is okay when it’s literally thanks to Peter finding a lead on those guys in the first place that they were even noticed and it’s not like the FBI being there could’ve in no way caused a similar situation.

And then near the end of the movie when he’s getting crushed by the building rubble screaming and crying for someone to help him where the fuck is Tony?? That scene just proved that he never needed Tony’s suit in the first place to be Spider-Man since he had to use 100% his own strength to lift it off of him. I know he would’ve found the motivation even if Tony hadn’t been involved in the first place to give him the suit, take it away from him and have the words “if you’re nothing without the suit you shouldn’t have it“ echo in his head. Why did Tony even take the suit away? Like as if he expects Peter to stop being spoderman without it??? Holy fuck. This is why you don’t make it out of endgame /j /srs.

When Tony took this suit away from Peter he was like “God I sound like my dad“ shouldn’t that be a red flag to him? Wasn’t he literally just saying that he wished his dad was better than he was?? Lmfao

Tony is so annoying. When they first meet he straight up bullies Peter into fighting for his personal bullshit, insults and objectifies Aunt May in front of him, spits into his trashcan and is in general being pushy af. He blackmails Peter when he doesn’t wanna come to Germany with him AND HE DOESNT EVEN EXPLAIN WHY HE WANTS HIM TO COME. Uncomfortable vibes lol.

Tony being the one to tell peter “if Captain America wanted to hurt you he would’ve” when Peter was trying to state his case, yet HE’S also the one who put Peter in harms way when he didn’t even want to go with him???

Telling Peter that he should stick to being a “friendly neighborhood Spider-Man” (stealing his thing once again) when that’s what Peter _was_ doing before Tony took him out of his zone and filled his head with grander things to be apart of….bitch? Die. Ohh waaaait (jkjk) but yeah

There’s the usual “he’s a war criminal who only felt bad about it when he realized his weapons were killing white Americans as well as Arab people” reason, and also he’s just super annoying. You had to be there for the original Avengers shitty dialogue a la “we have a Hulk” that had Tumblr in a vicious chokehold. Also he was supposed to FINALLY go away after destroying all his suits in Iron Man 3 but he just… didn’t! Which is bullshit.

Portrayed as a hero because? He chose to no longer mass produce war weapons and bombs after suffering the consequences. Huge hypocrite. Doesn't care about anyone but himself. Will backstab people if they believe in human rights when it's inconvenient to him. Seen as a hero while he's the personification of privileged people saying they're not privileged

>Makes weapons

>Billionaire

>Made multiple AI Surveillance Robots

>Gaslight a child into fighting a super soldier in a foreign country for him

>His fans are annoying

[something-tofightfor]

The Truth Is Out There: Closure

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Female Art Conservator/Restoration Specialist FBI Agent

Word Count: 7,390

Chapter Rating: M (language, talk of drug use, mentions of sex)

Series Warnings: Sex Pollen (with a twist), no use of Y/N, female reader insert, Reader works for the FBI in art restoration/conservation and has a nickname that is used often by Marcus. In this house we cannot stand Teresa and Jane and that is reflected in this story.

Summary: The morning after brings new challenges for you and Marcus, but you’re both surprisingly prepared.

Author’s Note: This is the end. and I hope it’s satisfying for you. Thank you all for reading and for following along and for leaving me so many fantastic comments and reblogs. I’m going to start going through and replying tomorrow, so please don’t think I’ve been ignoring you. 

Thank you for letting me take some time off from regularly scheduled projects to crank this one out. I had a BLAST writing it. 

I might come back to these two at a later date - who knows. We’ll see. I appreciate every single one of you that encouraged and supported this story from beginning to end. You are incredible. 

Masterlist / Unrequited / One Breath / The Truth / This Is Not Happening / Three Words / Soft Light / Sleepless

He opened his eyes well before you did the next morning, Marcus careful not to jostle the mattress too much as he came to. Did yesterday really happen? Taking a breath, he turned his head to the side, catching a glimpse of your profile in the thin beam of light shining through the closed curtains. It did. 

Marcus used every ounce of self control not to reach for you. Instead, he closed his eyes again, a contented smile spreading across his face. It finally did. 

Keeping you at arm’s length for a year had been the most difficult thing he’d ever done. The fact that everything had come to a head in one unforgettable night wasn’t something he fully understood, but he knew he couldn’t question it. 

Not when that single night had given him exactly what he’d wanted - and what you’d wanted - in only a few hours. Marcus rolled toward you, extending his arm and slipping it over your body. Part of him hoped you’d stay asleep. Another part of him wanted you to wake up just so that he could watch your features come alive as you also realized that the previous day had been something that you’d actually experienced. It wasn’t just something that we imagined.

You stayed asleep though, your quiet breathing steady. It only took him a few seconds to move even closer, the tips of his fingers dragging up and over the center of your back with just enough contact that he could feel the heat from your skin. We’re going to have to get up, but it can wait. Marcus closed his eyes again, exhaling - and he let his mind wander. 

It had started as soon as he’d landed in DC, getting settled in his new position and used to his new team. He’d met you after only a few days on the East coast, and despite the fact that he’d still been waiting on Teresa’s answer to his questions, he’d been drawn to you. 

It was a physical attraction, sure. Just because he was with Teresa didn’t mean that he was ignorant of what was happening around him. But it was also the way that you’d been so confident in your position, greeting him with an air of professional interest and telling him you’d heard of him - that you were excited to work with him. It was the way you were friendly but not overly so, understanding of the fact that he had a woman in Texas that would be moving to be with him as soon as she could. 

You kept your distance, though you never shied away from being his friend or striking up a conversation. And he’d appreciated the way your eyes flashed when he told you what had happened with Teresa and Jane, your sympathy genuine but not at all the same kind of pity that so many others were unable to hide.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I guess  that means you’re going to need an actual friend out here, hmm?” You shrugged your shoulders, cocking your head to the side. “DC’s a lot busier than Texas, Agent Pike. Plenty of people here that might try and steer you in the wrong direction if you let ‘em.” 

He paused, putting a hand on his hip and eyeing you. “You’re going to point me in the right one, then? Toward all the good people?” It was easy to talk to you and even easier to joke with you, and after a couple weeks of silently moping in his half-unpacked condo, it felt good to relax, even just a little. “How do I know you’re not one of the ones that are going to -”

“You don’t.” You leaned back in your chair, holding out both hands and shrugging. “Guess that’s just something you’re going to have to find out for yourself.” 

The friendship had bloomed quickly, you and Marcus eating lunch together a few days a week when your caseload allowed it. You went out together with the rest of your team, the two of you teaming up on trivia nights and getting to know each other in the safety of additional company. It was enough for Marcus - the man not wanting to jump into yet another ill-timed infatuation with someone that had sparked his interest. It was especially true since he couldn’t get Teresa and the way she’d treated him out of his mind. 

And then, after another month and a half - and his return from Texas without having any sort of meaningful conversation with Teresa -  you’d started trading text messages back and forth outside of office hours, sending him restaurant recommendations and updating him on the shows you were watching that you thought he might enjoy. The texts turned into hours spent together binging those TV shows and movies, your friendship growing stronger by the day and naturally evolving faster than he’d been prepared for.

It had been Marcus that invited you to dinner alone for the first time, and Marcus that started the actual flirting. It was Marcus that had taken your hand and squeezed it while you walked through the Constitution Gardens. 

But it was you that laced your fingers with his, you that leaned your head against his shoulder as the two of you watched TV on your couch. And it was you that kissed him for the first time - the press of your lips against his cheek a chaste thing, despite the look in your eyes when you pulled away.. That kiss had come after he’d given you your nickname - a half-assed explanation that sounded much better in his head sounding hollow as he spoke it. 

He old you one of the reasons for your nickname, but he hadn’t been able to tell you the entire truth. 

He hadn’t been able or ready to admit that he didn’t only call you Scully because of the way you were with him at work, but because if there was one thing Marcus understood, it was thinly concealed desire and feeling things that you couldn’t explain. And those were two things that it was getting harder for him to ignore the more time he spent around you. 

You’d never pushed him for more, and he appreciated that. He was content to be your friend and only your friend because it meant that nothing would change between you and leave him more alone than the failed relationship with Teresa had. It was selfish and he knew it, but the thought of losing you - or even pushing you away when you realized just how much Lisbon and Jane still affected him - was something he refused to consider.

That lasted until one day you’d been in a terrible mood at work. 

After a few hours of coaxing, he finally got the explanation that a date had gone terribly the night before. Hearing the disappointment in your voice yet again led him to throwing his hands in the air and telling you that if you wanted to go on a real date, he was right there. 

Waiting for you answer in the silence of your office had been nerve wracking, but you’d agreed much faster than he’d anticipated. That simple yes set an almost perfect few weeks -  including a series of dates that weren’t much different from what you had been doing previously in terms of where you went and how you spoke to each other - into motion. 

Those dates, though, had been accompanied with more touching, tentative hugs and timid pecks on the cheek that turned into deeper kisses and bodies pressed together. But each of those nights ended with Marcus feeling guilty that there was a part of him that felt the Teresa situation was unresolved - that he still wanted to talk to her and say his piece.  

And that guilt grew the closer you and Marcus got to actual intimacy. He found it harder to concentrate on you and your time together when she was nagging at the back of his mind. It all came to a head when the two of you had ended up on his couch, Marcus atop you, balanced on one knee and his other foot flat on the floor. 

It was too much, and even though it was happening at a much more reasonable pace than with Teresa, he knew you deserved more than what he was giving you. So he’d put a stop to it, explaining everything as best as he could without giving everything away.

He’d expected you to end the friendship then and there, your frustration with his continued focus on Teresa ruining what the two of you had built. But you didn’t. And to your credit, you never purposely let him know how much it hurt to step so far back that the two of you left real space between each other on the couch again, or that you didn’t take each other’s hands as you walked down sidewalks or send each other the same types of texts that you’d grown accustomed to.

There was distance but it was never outright cold between you. As things settled back into a semblance of what they’d been, Marcus resigned himself to watching you date again. He even went so far as to ask you about each one, though he had to choke the words out every time. 

You did the same with him when he started casually seeing women in an attempt to get back out there. But he saw the hurt in your eyes and heard it in your voice when you replied to his stories or asked follow up questions. She doesn’t want the answers but she’s still curious.

He’d done a much better job at hiding his emotions than you had. On the inside, he was suffering. 

And the more he thought about it, the more he realized that it wasn’t Teresa or lingering feelings that were keeping you apart. It was only him, and his fear of losing something else he cared about because he’d failed. He still wanted to officially close the Teresa chapter to his own satisfaction before anything happened between you, though.

So when the opportunity presented itself, he jumped. 

He’d told you that it was happening because above all else, Marcus wanted to be honest. He wanted you to know that he was trying, and needed you to understand that he was trying to move forward. But he didn’t anticipate just how much knowing that he would be seeing Teresa would bother you. And as he sat at home on Sunday thinking about it, he knew that he’d fucked up big time by bringing it up the way he had. 

As soon as he’d seen Teresa, the woman stepping out of the hotel she’d asked him to pick her up from, Marcus knew that the decision he’d made was the right one. He felt nothing but contempt for her - no tug on his heart, no butterflies in his stomach, no heat rising in his cheeks. The whole time they’d been at lunch, catching up without actually talking in depth about anything, his mind had been on you. So when he saw that there was a missed voicemail with your name attached, he hadn’t been able to listen to it soon enough. 

And when he’d heard your voice - and the barely concealed terror in it, though you’d tried to stay calm - throwing cash onto the table and sprinting toward his car had been the only logical response. 

“M…Marcus? You’re breathing hard. Are you alright?” Sucking in a breath, he refocused his attention, finding that you were already awake and studying him. Shit, I missed it. “You trying to figure out how you can get out of bed without -”

“Absolutely not.” With the hand on your back pressed against your skin, he raised a brow. “I’m just thinking, I guess. About -”

“About how it’s like none of yesterday was real?” You frowned, head turning toward the pillow as you yawned. “About how aside from being sore and tired, I feel absolutely fine, and not at all like ten hours ago, when it felt like if you weren’t inside me, I was going to lose it?” 

“Y… yes?” He laughed at how serious you sounded, leaning closer to settle his forehead against yours. “All of that?” The room was quiet again, the only sound the soft rustle of the blankets as you stretched your legs. “You were going to lose it? Is that really -”

 “Shut up, Marcus, and kiss me good morning already. I know you want to.” You moved even as you spoke, repositioning yourself without lifting your head so that you could press your lips against his. He kissed you in return, both eyes slipping closed before his hand slid even further up your back, urging you closer. You parted your lips at the first sign of his tongue, and as the kiss deepend, Marcus’ instincts took over. 

Marcus leaned in, your body twisting so that you were on your back, some of his weight shifting to settle atop you. To his surprise, you gasped and then nipped hard at his lip, the man jolting away from you and frowning. What the - “Absolutely not, Agent Pike. My body needs at least a few days to recover from that marathon last night, and -”

He laughed first, the sound ringing through the room, and seconds later, you joined him, his body slumping against yours again as he lowered his head to kiss you quickly. “That’s not where this was headed, Scully. I swear. It -” 

The ringing of the phone interrupted him, both of you freezing at the sound. There’s only a handful of people that know we’re here, so … “Looks like it’s time for our debrief, hmm?” You shoved him away, groaning. “Do you think they’ll let us shower before we’re expected back in the office?” 

— 

Two hours later, he was in one of the briefing rooms, waiting. 

After your showers - separate and not nearly long enough for his liking - you’d headed back to the J. Edgar Hoover building, the same three DEA agents and your boss waiting to greet you. You’d been separated almost immediately, Deanna and an FBI agent pulling you down one hallway and Scott and Cavanaugh leading him in another. 

He’d gone through a repeat of the previous day’s testing, answering questions about how he felt and what had happened in the hotel room while under the influence while he was poked and prodded by a nurse. Marcus answered everything, doing his best to give straightforward and simple answers. He hadn’t wanted to reveal anything but facts because it didn’t feel right to talk in detail about what had happened without you present. 

And once the initial questions and examinations were over, the secondary ones began. 

Those felt much more routine, and even though Marcus was more than certain he didn’t need to take precautions when it came to anything getting shared between you, he let the nurse perform her duties. The woman took even more samples and offered treatment in the form of preventative medication, though she was clinical about it - putting Marcus at ease.. 

The last thing that happened before he was escorted to the conference room was a mandatory hydration IV. Marcus planned on using the down time to think through everything, preparing himself for what came next. Instead, he dozed off in the chair as the liquid flowed from the hanging bag and into his arm, cheek resting on the palm of his right hand. 

Scott had assured him that you’d be joining him as soon as you finished your own examinations before excusing himself to confer with the DEA. But in the ten minutes Marcus was alone and waiting, the silence seemed to stretch on and on. I hope she’s alright. I hope - 

“Brought you breakfast.” He heard your voice when the door opened, Marcus’ head whipping toward the sound. “I made them go and get us something that wasn’t from the cafeteria.” You had a bag over one arm and a cardboard drink carrier in the other - two cups of coffee nestled inside. “Banana chocolate chip pancakes with cinnamon and extra butter and syrup for you, and -”

My favorite. “Did you make them go to Ted’s?” Marcus reached for the containers, his eyes locked on the bandage on your inner arm, though he was smiling. She had an IV too. “Because -”

“I did.” You slid into the seat next to his, turning to stare at the man. “It’s the least they could do for us, right? I swear I’ve never been poked and prodded so much before.” Tapping on the lid of one coffee cup, you raised a brow. “This one’s yours. Not sure caffeine is the right call after an IV to rehydrate us, but … fuck it, right?” 

He grinned and reached for the cup, bringing it to his lips and taking a small sip. “Shit, Scully, how’d you have time to think of doing this? It was go-go-go for me, up until the IV.” 

“Same here.” You wet your lips, picking up a piece of toast. “But as soon as they told me I had 40 minutes to sit, I brought up the fact that you and I hadn’t really had a chance to eat since yesterday afternoon. I think Deanna’s assistant is afraid of me, because that girl ran out of the room almost as fast as I gave her our order.” Afraid of you? Hmm. 

“Thank you for thinking of me.” He bit into the pancakes, barely holding back a quiet moan of satisfaction. “And thank you for thinking of Ted’s, because this is perfect.” 

“You uh…” Clearing your throat, you lowered your chin and took a deep breath before meeting his eyes again. “You said once while we were out with the team that after a night of good sex, there was nothing like pancakes to set the tone for the next day.” Holy shit, she remembered that? That was just while we were all hanging out and having some beers. I didn’t even know she heard me. “I guess I just sort of assumed that last night was good, and -”

“Hey.” He set his fork down and reached for you, settling one hand on your forearm. “You assumed right.” Marcus squeezed, saying your name. “Very right. And I know that we didn’t really get to talk earlier, but after we get out of here, maybe we could -”

The sound of the door opening drew his attention away from you, and the sound of your sharp inhale was paired with the drop of his stomach as a third person stepped in. No fucking way. “Scott told me to come in here and wait. I’m here for the debrief.” 

“Why?” He frowned as he spoke, leaving his hand in place on your arm. “Why are you -” 

Teresa’s eyes moved between both of you, one corner of her mouth twitching at the placement of his fingers. “Because I heard a lot of what happened in the hallway, and they’re covering their bases, Marcus. You know how these things go. Better to be safe than sorry and let me know what I’m allowed to say.” 

You were quiet, but he felt the way your muscles tensed, your back going straight. Of course this is … shit. He gave you another squeeze and then let go, returning to his food. There was a tension in the room that was almost as palpable as it had been the day before when there was glass between you and Teresa, and as he chewed through his meal, Marcus looked everywhere but at the dark haired woman across the table from where you sat. 

“Well this is awkward.” You pushed your to-go container away a few minutes later, crossing your arms and leaning back. “I don’t think we’ve actually been introduced, Teresa.” Marcus watched helplessly as you shifted on your chair and then leaned forward, arching a brow. “But Marcus has told me so much about you I feel like I know all of the most important things.” 

He didn’t know what you were doing - or what you hoped to accomplish - by making conversation with the other woman. He knew where you stood when it came to your feelings about Teresa, and actually had a better idea than he had only hours earlier. But that doesn’t mean that I want her to be a part of this, or have her feel like she - “Marcus does like to talk.” Teresa was eyeing you, lips set into a smirk. “But he didn’t say anything about you yesterday.” 

It cut through him - but the woman was right, even though he hadn’t kept you from her for the reasons Teresa was implying. Fuck. Fuck, she’s going to ruin it again. And after last night if that happens, I’ll….  I don’t know what I’ll do. He sipped his coffee again, coughing quietly when you spoke up. “Nah, I imagine he wouldn’t have. We got into a fight over the weekend, so we weren’t actually talking yesterday morning.” 

“Didn’t seem like that yesterday. He got your voicemail and we came right over.” She frowned, looking between the two of you. Marcus opened his mouth to reply but you beat him to it, the man watching as you lifted your coffee and took a long sip. 

“It’s complicated.” You set the cup down, one fingertip tracing over the lid’s edge. “But you’d know a lot about that, wouldn’t you?” You were toeing the line - and he would have been lying if he tried to say it didn’t turn him on to watch the razor thin patience you had for the woman play out in real time. 

It wasn’t all on Teresa - and he knew that you knew it, but he wasn’t going to intervene after so many months of you suffering quietly from a distance. I want to see where this goes. “Look.” She sighed, head shaking back and forth a few times. “I tried to call you a few times last night. I know we didn’t leave things in the best place yesterday, Marcus. I’m sure you were stressed because of whatever was in that room, so…” She trailed off, chewing on her lower lip. “So maybe after the debrief, we can go somewhere and talk? Finish the conversation we were having about -”

“No.” He flattened both hands on the tabletop, scoffing. “Teresa, I was stressed yesterday but that doesn’t mean I didn’t mean what I said. In fact…” He risked a glance over at you, the tiny smile on your face knowing. “It was more true than you realize. I think after this -” he gestured to the room, finally looking at Teresa. “I don’t think we’ll need to say anything else to each other again.” 

The words affected her - he’d give her that. He could see the hurt in her eyes, watched as her lips parted in surprise and she recoiled slightly in her chair. But I don’t feel… I don’t feel bad. At all. “Can we do this alone, please? Not with someone else in the -”

“Oh, just feel free to pretend like I’m not even here.” You laughed, waving one hand in the air. “It’s what I’m going to do about you as soon as Scott and Cavanaugh come in and we start this.” He barely contained his laughter, Marcus’ chest going tight at the easy way you were responding to the woman - like you had nothing to lose. I guess she doesn’t. It doesn’t matter what Teresa thinks of her, and she knows that I … 

“Well that’s rude.” Teresa’s eyes narrowed. “Marcus and I are -”

The opening door startled all three of you, and as your SSA and Scott stepped into the room, you went quiet. Good, let’s get this over with. “Good morning, you two.” Cavanaugh dropped into a seat at one end of the table, folding his hands together. “Feeling alright?” 

Marcus wondered what the other man knew, and when he caught his eye, the glint of amusement there told him that Cavanaugh was well aware of what the drug’s properties were. Great. “Yeah. Tired, but yeah. Feels kind of like a hangover but without the headache?”

“It does.” You agreed, reaching for your coffee. “We fell asleep early last night, too - and didn’t wake up until this morning. You’d think we’d be well rested.” Spinning your cup in a slow circle, you bit your lower lip. “How long will this last, Scott? Deanna said you’d give us all the details.”

“Feeling tired is normal.” Scott nodded, sliding folders across the table to you, Marcus and Teresa before he and Scott opened the remaining two. “Even if you do nothing to alleviate the symptoms of ingestion, people have said that they were tired after taking it, just because their bodies were in hyperdrive for so many hours.”

“Symptoms of ingestion?” Teresa wet her lips. “What -”

“Agents, before we start, I wanted to let you know that you’re off for the rest of the week.” Cavanaugh said your names, one hand slicing through the air. “And that means until Monday. Fully paid, since this isn’t a punishment, it’s just to make sure that any lingering effects aren’t going to keep you from doing your jobs.” Because they think we might just jump each other in the field?

He opened his mouth to argue, but Marcus realized that he didn’t want to. If we’re both off, then that means … You turned your head slowly toward him, a smile on your lips. That means we can spend more time together. “Got it, boss.” You nodded at Marcus before returning your attention to the other man, one finger tapping on the unopened envelope. “Do we get to keep these?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Scott spoke, sighing. “The existence of this is being kept classified for right now. We can’t keep it off the streets entirely, but keeping people from knowing about it is important. As both of you know, the effects are powerful. And even though it takes some time to kick in, they linger.” He was nodding as Scott continued, one hand rising to rub at the back of his neck. They do. “The information will be available for you to access on an encrypted network, but the actual paperwork we need to keep, we just wanted you to have something to look at today if you wanted to.” 

“Ok, but what does it do? All I saw was the two of them getting irritable. It didn’t seem … that bad. Is it dangerous?” Teresa was looking between the DEA agent and the papers, frowning. “Lapis? What does that even mean?”

“Might want to use layman’s terms, Scott.” You took a deep breath. “Skip the scientific bullshit and just get to the truth. Make it a little easier for everyone to understand.” 

“What is said in this room is classified information, first and foremost.” Scott looked around the table, making eye contact with each of you. “Agents, you’ve given us separate reports, and have already covered a lot, but there are some things that I’ll need to ask before you go, just to tie up loose ends.” Sure. Understandable. He swallowed hard, taking a deep breath. “Ms. Lisbon, th-”

“She’s married. Her last name is Jane.” Marcus barely held back a snort of laughter at your interjection, watching as you pointed. “See? Ring on her finger.” You were antagonizing the woman, and Marcus couldn’t say he was surprised. She’s not normally like this. I wonder … I wonder why now. 

“My apologies. Mrs. Jane.” Scott pressed his lips together. “The drug that was concealed in the paintings is a new variation of a recreational drug that is used in a variety of ways. As best as we know, it was developed to be a tool for less… intensive interrogation.” Interrogation? He snuck a look at you, taking in the confused expression you wore. “There are two components to it that interact, and one of them is… the easiest way to describe it is a truth serum. But it’s a little more complicated than that, because it doesn’t exactly force the truth, it just lowers your capacity to reason and results in … well, not holding back.” 

“So basically, you say the first thing that comes to mind.” He nodded, Teresa eyeing Marcus before turning her attention to you. “Yeah, that definitely happened.” 

“It did.” Scott laughed, pointing at you. “And since you inhaled smaller doses for longer before Marcus entered the room, that part was something that we saw while you were still in there together.” You nodded twice, though you stayed quiet. He risked a glance at Teresa and saw that the woman’s attention was still focused on you, her brows knit. She has no idea where this is going.  “The other component of Lapis is a drug that increases sex drive and raises the body’s level of arousal to the point where it becomes almost impossible to ignore. However, from what we’ve learned and observed, the impact is more potent toward someone there’s already a connection with.” 

He heard her gasp, Marcus watching as Teresa lifted a hand to cover her mouth. He expected her to turn her attention to him, but instead the woman still stared at you, the look in her eyes hard. Why is she angry? It’s not like this was planned. “We talked about it last night, Scott.” You reached over, touching Marcus’ hand. “And we’re both curious about why this combination is … what’s the point of mixing those two things together?”

“Think about it.” Cavanaugh leaned forward, both palms flat on the table. “People already tend to be a little more uninhibited and honest during sex, especially with people they’re involved with. But what if that was magnified? What if that honesty lasted?” Marcus’ frown deepened, the man shifting in his chair. We were honest between the sex, too. And before … and … after. So - 

“Oh, shit.” You stood, pushing away from the table and crossing your arms. “People might not even realize that they’ve been drugged. And if they do, they’ll just think someone … I don’t know, roofied them or something. Marcus and I were just talking without thinking before we spoke, and it felt normal up until we got into the room … oh, shit.” 

“So this is how criminals get people to talk. It’s how they’ll be able to find out secrets and what people are hiding, or what they really think.” He scoffed. “Slip someone the powder, or -”

“We’ve actually seen it in pill form, too. It’s the same color blue, and that’s how we knew what it was.” Scott held up a hand. “But both of you are right. Taking it, you’re not in any real physical danger from the drug itself. Yeah, it’ll make things … interesting for a while, but you both said that by the time you’d exhausted yourselves, you were able to go to sleep. You were in control of yourselves the whole time, you just couldn’t stop with the honesty.” Or the sex. 

“So you’re telling me…” Teresa began, her tone full of disbelief. “That the FBI put the two of you up in a thousand dollar a night hotel room just so that you could have hours of sex?” She rolled her eyes. “You said that you were fighting yesterday morning, and the two of you aren’t even together. Is that a joke?” 

“No, Teresa, it’s not.” Marcus leaned forward. “What was the alternative? Letting us go home? Telling us to get into our cars and drive somewhere? Having us spend the night in the clean room, with a wall of glass windows and fifteen cameras?” He pointed at the door, the anger rising in his chest. “We were drugged on FBI property, and putting us up in that hotel was the best way that they could keep an eye on us and make sure -”

“So they watched you? Did they film it?” She smiled, but there was no joy in it, the woman closing her eyes briefly. “Was there someone in the room with you to make sure you were alright?” 

“No. But I’m sure they were somewhere in the building.” You sounded calm and when Marcus looked over at you, he saw that you had a hand on your hip, the other arm hanging loosely at your side. “Right? If we’d needed you for anything, all we had to do was call.” 

“Exactly.”  He took a breath. “There was no reason to stay with you. You’re both adults, and you understood the risks of staying in the same suite while under the influence. But if either of you had reacted badly to the Lapis, we would have been there in minutes to get you to a hospital.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “Long story short, the two of you are part of a very small group of people that have been exposed to this drug - that we know of. Your reaction to it is in line with what others that we’ve encountered have experienced, though certain responses were … heightened. And getting to observe you in the beginning stages of effect and to interview you again today has helped. So has having such a large quantity remaining to study.” Good. At least something worthwhile for them came out of this. 

“And me?” Teresa tilted her head to the side. “What does me knowing this do?” 

“Mrs. Jane, to be honest, if you hadn’t been in that hallway last night, you wouldn’t need to be here today.” Cavanaugh sighed. “We brought you in here so that you understood what you’d seen, and could give you a chance to ask questions if you had them.” He paused, fingers moving restlessly over the folder on the table. “You weren’t impacted by the drug itself. You didn’t experience what these two did, and when you leave here today, your life won’t be changed in any way.” That’s not quite true. “We take care of our Agents, as you should know, and we wanted to be sure that they had the support they needed. The hotel was close, so it made much more sense than keeping them here or sending them home.” 

He didn’t know why they were explaining things in such detail to the woman. Teresa had already gotten much more of an update than Marcus would have given her, but as the silence stretched, he realized that he didn’t care. “Do you need her in here anymore?” Marcus gestured toward the woman, shaking his head. “Because you said that you had more questions for us, and I’m assuming it’s based on what happened in the room.” He took a breath, wetting his lips. “I’d rather she not be here for any of that.”

“But -” Teresa flipped open the envelope, averting her eyes to scan the pages. “You haven’t explained anything. It’s a truth serum sex drug, so …” She flipped through them, looking up at Scott. “What if only one person takes it? How would they react to being around someone else that didn’t?”

“Well we can’t answer that, Teresa, because both Marcus and I got dosed.” You sighed, lowering your head. “All we know is what happens when two people take it.” 

“You sure that truth part wore off? Marcus seems normal, but you’re being extremely -” 

“I don’t need a truth serum to be honest with you, Teresa. I’ll do it just because I don’t like you..” Leaning forward, you propped your chin on one hand. Ok, seeing her like this is … damn. He wanted to kiss you - wanted to grab you and pull you back into his lap and wrap his arms around you, and three other people - including his ex - being two feet away didn’t change that. “And you and Marcus aren’t anything anymore, especially since he just made it pretty clear that after today, he doesn’t -”

“The data will be available to you on a closed network, Mrs. Jane. We’ve told you the basics of what we do know, but like with any new drug or substance that we’re made aware of, it’s going to take time to learn everything about it.” Cavanaugh stood, interrupting the two of you and crossing his arms. “But I agree with Marcus. I don’t think you need to be in here for the last of their debriefing, so if you want to come with me, we’ll let them finish.” No, wait. 

“Wait a second.” He took a deep breath, eyes locked on his former fiancee’s. “Can I have a few minutes with Teresa before she goes?” Marcus’ heart was pounding, but he’d never been more certain of anything in his life. “I’m sorry to be a pain in the ass, and I’m sure you’re on a schedule, but -” 

“Of course. We can go into the hall and let you have the room.” He looked away from his ex and at you, not knowing what to expect. But you looked hopeful, the set of your shoulders straight. And without thinking, he reached a hand out. 

“Marcus?” You blinked, stepping forward and taking it. “Are -”

“I meant it.” He didn’t look away. “All of it. I just need… to do this.” 

“Of course.” You squeezed his hand as you leaned down, kissing his cheek. “I meant it too.” When you straightened up and let go, you grabbed for your folder before following the other two men from the room. 

After the door closed behind you, leaving him sitting across the table from the second woman he’d thought he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, Marcus reached for his almost empty cup of coffee. “What do you want to say to me, Teresa?” 

She pushed away from the table, gripping the edge and then glancing up. “I thought … I thought that coming here, we’d talk about what happened. I thought that we’d have time to really… catch up.” Catch up? That’s what you thought? “But now it seems like you just want to get rid of me to get back to -” She pointed at the doorway. “Her.” 

“You mean get back to my life?” He laughed, running a hand through his hair and then over his jaw, fingers catching on the stubble there. “Teresa, a couple years ago, I thought you were going to be my life.” He knew that once he started speaking, he wouldn’t be able to stop. Say what you need to say, but don’t … don’t go overboard. “I couldn’t wait to get here with you and start that. Start … fresh. But because of what you did? Because of how badly it fucked me up? I couldn’t do any of it.” 

“I didn’t -” She scoffed, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes. “The way you reacted wasn’t my fault. I thought you’d understand.” Yeah, you thought. 

“The way I reacted was my fault, and I know that. But the way you treated me? The way you left me for another man ten minutes after accepting my proposal and agreeing to move out here with me? The way you didn’t even try to explain?” He slammed his coffee cup onto the table, the top coming dislodged and sliding slightly askew. “You really think that calling and saying “Hey, Marcus, I’m not coming. This case made me realize a lot of things. I hope … I hope you don’t hate me” was the right thing to do? I figured it was Jane, but had to hear about it from Fischer.” 

“It was hard, Marcus. It wasn’t that I didn’t care about you, I just couldn’t …” 

“Then you shouldn’t have agreed. You shouldn’t have led me on. Dating is one thing, and I understand keeping things casual, but the commitment?  I was an idiot for letting it happen the way it did, and an even bigger idiot for thinking that I could actually compare to him in the long run.” Marcus wet his lips, finally looking away and toward the room’s windows, which were completely covered by closed blinds. “I shouldn’t have had to compare, and I know that now. But it took me way too long to get to that point.” He pointed at where you’d been sitting, head shaking back and forth. “Yeah, Teresa. I want to get back to her. I want to make up for all the lost time I spent not letting myself believe that I could actually have what I wanted.” 

He took a breath, thinking. There was more he could have said - letting the anger he’d felt for so many months seep into his voice entirely, or raising his voice like his father had done so many times with his mother. But that won’t help. It never does. “I won’t apologize for something that I… that I don’t regret.” 

“I know.” He smiled. “I stopped expecting an apology a long time ago. All I wanted from this was for you to let me explain. I needed to know that you understand that this is it. We’re not friends. We’re not anything, not anymore.” He settled back in the chair, rolling out his shoulders. “Not that you care, but … I’m actually kind of glad the Lapis happened. It was the push I needed.” 

“With me?” 

“No, not with you. With her.” Not everything is about you. “But I don’t need to tell you this, I need to tell Scully, so…” Say goodbye. “So if you’ve got nothing to say, then I’m good, because the sooner we finish this debriefing and I get out of here, the better.” 

He wondered if she’d say anything - wondered if the woman would respond to what he’d laid out. But the look in her eyes didn’t change, and when Teresa stood, reaching for her bag, Marcus knew that it didn’t really matter. It never did. It never should have. She fidgeted for a few seconds, the woman’s frown deepening and her jaw working like she wanted to say something. 

But she didn’t, letting out a breath and then turning toward the door. Teresa paused with her hand on the doorknob, turning to look back at him. “I have a daughter, Marcus. Patrick and I, we…” He felt nothing at the admission, though he thought back to his last conversation with the other man - when he’d asked what Patrick was offering Teresa in the future. Good for you. “I could never regret her.” 

“I wouldn’t want you to. Congratulations.” He fell silent, watching as Teresa bit her lip and curled her fingers into a loose fist before relaxing it. 

“I… goodbye, Marcus.” She opened the door and then walked through it, pulling it shut behind her. Once he was alone in the empty room, he let this breath out in a rush, covering his face with both hands. The only thing he felt was relief, a weight finally lifted off of his shoulders. It’s done. It’s over. 

A knock at the door startled him, Marcus’ head shooting up as you peeked your head in, a soft smile on your lips. Let’s start over. “Marcus?”

“Sorry, nobody in here but the FBI’s most unwanted.” He kept a straight face but you didn’t, the smile turning into a grin as you stepped fully into the room, making your way over to where he sat. 

“Unwanted? What do I have to do to change your mind about that?” Stopping as you reached him, you took a shallow breath. “You alright?” 

“I’m great.” Tilting his chin up, he nodded, . “I’ve been waiting for that for a long time.” You murmured the word good back at him and then settled back into the chair you’d vacated, angling it to face him. “But I’ve also been waiting for this.” 

“For what?” Narrowing your eyes, you bit your lip. “A -”

“Will you have dinner with me tonight?” Scooting closer, he reached for your hand, letting his fingers trail over your knuckles.  “I’ve got some unexpected time off of work, so we can make it a late one…” 

“Yeah.” The smile was back, your eyes lighting up as you leaned in, your lips pressing against his for a split second. “Yeah, I’d like that. A lot.”

— 

Thank you again for reading.  Tag list reblog coming soon. 

[ceranchia]

ok they're here. meet emery "em" hadley ; also known as "two-hands". they're my black ops / cold war self-insert !! they're apart of the FBI counterintelligence division;

they more or less knew Adler prior to the events of BO:CW ;; and the two end up reconnecting during BO:CW due to the fbi having some intel on spies related to the whole perseus thing ( a lot of this is a wip )

more or less think of emery as a more depressed version of dale cooper but in a cod setting

[dreaming-marchling]

Fanfic writer ask meme: nr F ❤️

N: Any fic ideas brewing that you’d care to share?

I've had a fic idea for my next F&F story for a looonnnggg time. I'm extremely unlikely to write any non-MiT stories for Brian and Dom until the main series is complete just because it's a lot for me to keep track of so I'd rather funnel everything into the series over a new idea. That said, my brain occasionally gnaws at the idea of a post-first movie thing where Dom tells someone (non-team) who is going back up across the border to Miami to bring Brian back with him. It's been long enough that tempers have cooled and self-awareness about their role in their downfall have kicked in and they've seen what happened with Verone and they're like "clearly the FBI is messing with him, he's family, he needs to be with us" so Dom tells this friend that's been working with them to offer Brian a place with them, bring him back, "take care" of him. Miscommunication abound, the guy thinks Dom wants to kill Brian for betrayal and beats him up, stuffs him in the trunk and drives in sweltering heat with Brian pretty much half dead by the time he gets to their safehouse in Mexico. Hurt, comfort, apologies, tears from there. It would be a lot of fun to write, I started it like forever ago, but I don't anticipate it turning into a fic anytime soon.

R: Which writers (fanfic or otherwise) do you consider the biggest influence on you and your writing?

Aspeninthesunlight wrote a massive story A Year Like None Other for Harry Potter that truly expanded my view of what fanfiction could be. It's got so many threads and it was so intricate with the details and the payoff, I was just in awe that fanfiction was allowed to be like that!

F: Is there a song or a playlist to associate with [insert fic]?

I did a lot of early Brian daydreaming to Push and Bent by Matchbox 20!

Thank you!! :)

[leiascully]

Twenty Questions for Fanfic Writers

Tagged by @sunflowerseedsandscience! Thank you!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

740, but I have a few ficlets I have yet to add.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

1,708,613

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Uhhhh, a lot. Here are the top 10:

The X-Files (279)

Battlestar Galactica (2003) (91)

Doctor Who (2005) (79)

House M.D. (78)

Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling (46) (I don't write for this anymore, but I haven't orphaned my stuff)

The West Wing (23)

Leverage (US TV 2008) (20)

The Avengers (Marvel Movies) (18) (I don't write Marvel anymore either)

Welcome to Night Vale (18)

Green Wing (15)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

I'm sticking just to XF fics here:

Visitor

Baseball Metaphors

Resident

I Want To Believe (It's Not Lead Poisoning) (XF/WtNV crossover)

Ceremony of Innocence

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yep, pretty much every single one, even if it's just :). If someone takes the time to comment, I try to at least thank them. But I totally understand why other authors don't have the bandwidth. I'm also not a popular author in a juggernaut fandom getting hundreds of comments a week - I set aside a little time a few times a month if needed.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I've written a bunch of apocalyptic fic(lets) where it's heavily implied they die at the end or at least that death is imminent, so probably those.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably Baseball Metaphors.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not often. Sometimes people will leave rude comments, but it's rare.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes, I believe it's a fascinating way to explore characters.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the wildest one you’ve written?

Yeah, I do. I wrote a Battlestar Galactica/XF crossover once with @dashakay. I wrote a House MD/XF crossover too, and the Welcome to Night Vale crossover mentioned above, and one for The Fall.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not as far as I know in terms of things that had my name scrubbed off them. I've had other writing stolen or borrowed, and people have uploaded my fics to other sites without permission.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I think so, but I can't remember which one(s).

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Many times! My wife and I used to co-write fic all the time when we were young and silly and wrote hundreds of thousands of words of self-insert universes.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

MSR has lasted the longest besides Han/Leia. Also I strongly ship River/Doctor. The big vibe is "ships that feel queer".

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I mean at this point literally anything. I'd love to finish The FBI's Most Unwanted.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Banter, character voice, poetic prose, ambiance.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I keep hearing about this thing called plot. Never met her, though.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I've written a whole fic in another language, so why not.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Star Wars. Nothing worth reading, though.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Oh gosh, I can't choose.

@suitablyaggrieved I would love to hear your answers! And anyone else who's intrigued.