#wouldn’t tell the fbi shit

[pathologicalreid]

the space between us | S.R.

previously

The adjustment between never being home and always being home seems to take a toll on you.

who? spencer reid x fem!retired!reader category: flangst content warnings: the events of stuck between a rock and a hard place apply, briefly mentions a baby, reader trying to cope with a 180-turn in life, anxiety word count: 2.16k a/n: i meant for this to be fluff and it's definitely a tad angsty. good thing i'm obsessed with spencer and retired!reader. they'll be back.

Slowly but surely, you convinced yourself that the dark green walls of the apartment were closing in on you. Sitting up in bed, you looked at the time on your phone before quickly scrolling through the notifications, half expecting a text from Andi Swann asking you to come in.

She wouldn’t do that though, because she’s not your Unit Chief anymore, and you no longer work for the FBI.

The only text message you saw that piqued your interest was from your husband, letting you know that he was flying home.

Tossing your blanket off of your legs, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. Hissing at the feeling of the cold hardwood floors beneath your bare feet, you wrapped your arms around yourself and made way for the kitchen. Creeping slowly on your way, you made sure to keep your footsteps light.

Gingerly, you flipped the light on, wincing as the fluorescence flooded your vision. As your eyes adjusted, you reached up to the cabinet, grabbed a cup, and set it on the counter.

“You’re sneaking around again,” a voice said from behind you.

Jumping, you put a hand over your chest and spun around, “You scared the shit out of me.” You frowned at Spencer, “I thought you were flying home. I just got your text.”

He nodded, walking into the warm light of the kitchen, “I texted you four hours ago that I was flying home from Connecticut.” His hair was messy, and he had already taken his contacts out, telling you that he had been in the bathroom – he had passed by you while you were sleeping.

Your lips tightened to form a small “o”. Leaning back against the counter, you crossed your arms in front of your chest, “How was Hartford?”

Intently, you watched Spencer as he pushed his glasses up on his nose. “It was fine, the UnSub’s in custody, we’ll build the rest of the case from Quantico.” His tone was strictly no-nonsense when he repeated himself, “You’re sneaking around again.”

Letting your arms fall to your sides, you shrugged helplessly. “I don’t do it consciously, you know?” You told him, reaching behind your back to hoist yourself up so you’re sat on the kitchen counter, legs dangling in the air.

“I know,” he said gently, stepping forward so that he was standing directly in front of you. You parted your knees so that he could stand flush with the counter, allowing for minimal space between the two of you. “The fact that you’re doing it subconsciously makes me wonder if there’s a part of you that feels like you need to be quiet in the apartment,” he murmured, reaching up and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You pursed your lips for a moment, thinking about an answer before you responded, “It’s late, I don’t want to bother anyone by walking too loudly.”

Based on the look in his eyes, you can tell that he doesn’t believe you, “It’s an old building, the floors are thick and well insulated. Also, the apartment below us is vacant, and you know that.” His words are borderline accusatory, and rightfully so. “Do you feel safe here?”

Surprised, your eyes flittered up to meet his, “Yes,” you answered almost instantaneously.

“Do you not feel at home here?” He asked, further pressing his agenda.

When you and Spencer decided to move in together, you were living in a studio apartment, so his place just felt like the obvious choice. At the time, you weren’t home long enough to make it home, and now it seemed like you were past the point of no return. “Can we go to bed?” You asked softly.

Spencer tenderly placed his hands on either side of your waist, “You’re deflecting. What’s so wrong that you don’t feel like you can talk to me, baby?” You should’ve known better than to answer a question with a question.

Averting your eyes, you looked up at the ceiling in hopes that the action would quell the tears that were filling your waterline. “I just feel so out of place,” you answered, emotion closing your throat.

“In the apartment?” He whispered softly.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, you shook your head. Giving up on your dreams of stopping your tears, you bowed your head and let them fall. “In my life,” you clarified. “I thought it would be easy to just go from being an undercover agent to being at home. Maybe that was a lost cause, but I didn’t think it’d be so hard.”

Never wavering, Spencer stayed resilient with you as the dam broke, letting you lean your head on his shoulder and rubbing soothing circles on your back as you cried. “You’re going through one hell of an adjustment period right now.”

Nodding tearfully, you pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes, “I feel like I haven’t been a real person in almost ten years. I don’t know who I am without that fucking job and it’s mauling me.” Briefly, Spencer stepped away from you, filling the cup that you had gotten out with water and handing it to you. “God, I’m a disaster. I’m so sorry,” you muttered, looking down at the glass of water you’d clasped in both hands.

“You are not a disaster,” he insisted. “You’re going through an unfathomable experience and you’re not giving yourself enough leeway,” he stressed, hooking a finger beneath your chin, and lifting your head.

Everything about him seemed soft, and you felt like pieces of broken glass – flying around and damaging everything in sight. You lifted the glass in your shaky hands, bringing the lip of the cup to your own and downing half of its contents.

Spencer studied your facial expression before he spoke again, “I know exactly who you are. You are the single most selfless person I have ever met,” he told you earnestly. “You spent nine years of your life rescuing tens of thousands of people, giving up holidays and birthdays and time with loved ones for the benefit of total strangers.”

Sniffling, you shook your head, “Spence,”

“No, this is true, and I need you to listen to me,” he urged. “One time, you had gotten back from five weeks undercover and, before catching up on sleep, you went to Henry’s birthday party. Solely because you had missed it the year before.” Hesitating for a moment, he resumed singing your praises, “You’re brilliant and funny and beautiful, but I need you to stop being so magnanimous.”

You pulled back, furrowing your brows in innate confusion, “What?”

He nodded, affirming his point. “I need you to be selfish. Operate with your self-interest in mind. Use that to discover yourself. If you keep throwing pieces of yourself away in order to make the people around you happy, then you’ll never really identify your adult self.”

“I don’t know where to start,” you confessed. You were always working; the FBI was your life. “Everyone is telling me to do different things,” you murmured. Spencer wanted you to be selfish, your mother wanted you to have a baby, and every single one of your friends had offered their stress relief methods – most of them unsolicited.

The understanding in his expression made your chest ache, “I think you should talk to someone. Not me, not Garcia, definitely not your mom, but a professional. You should talk your experiences out with someone who can help you work through it, not just like you do with me. I know you hold back details when it’s with me.”

Uncertain, you tried to wrap your arms around yourself again, but Spencer didn’t let you close yourself off. “Okay,” you ventured, “I’ll look into it.”

Putting his hands up, he smiled softly at you, “That’s all I ask.” He stepped back, allowing you to get off of the counter and stand. Spencer gently ushered you into the living room, sitting down next to you on the couch.

Instinctively, you leaned into his warmth as he draped an arm over your shoulders. “I need a hobby. Something to do other than sit at home all day,” you thought aloud.

“We can look for ideas in the morning,” Spencer offered. “Maybe we can go to the store this weekend for supplies.”

Turning your head to face him, you pressed your lips into a thin white line, “Hey, Spence?”

He hummed, “Yes, love?”

“We could get a house,” you proposed. “It could be a good new start for the both of us, and we have the money,” the more you spoke about it, the more you liked the idea. A new start for the new you. Technically, the two of you were still newlyweds, it felt like something you were supposed to do. “We wouldn’t have to keep your books on the floor anymore,” you murmured, absentmindedly drawing shapes on his t-shirt with your index finger.

Your eyes flickered up to see him smiling. “We absolutely can get a house, and you won’t have to tip-toe,” he said pointedly, “it’ll be our space.”

Mirroring his smile, you adjusted slightly on the couch, “Our house.”

As you tucked your feet underneath yourself, you felt his eyes on you, “Are you sleeping alright?”

Groaning, you wiped a hand down your face, “You worry too much. We were doing so well.”

“Did you know that your coping mechanism is avoidance?” He remarked, a hint of teasing in his voice.

You rolled your eyes, “I sleep fine,” you answered simply. It was true, once you were asleep, you slept perfectly fine until the morning. It was falling asleep that you had a hard time with, lying awake and wondering if when you finally fell asleep you would be greeted by nightmares. Nightmares that you had been waiting weeks for but had yet to come. “Let’s uh… let’s call it a problem for the professional,” you faltered.

He nodded understandingly, “You just let me know if there’s anything you need, okay? Anything at all.”

Allowing your body to meld into his, you hummed, “How are you doing with all of this?”

“I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night, just to make sure you’re still breathing,” he confessed. Adjusting his glasses, he pulled you a little closer to him. “I’ve seen you more in the past six weeks than I had the previous year, and, selfishly, I’m glad that we get more time together.”

With one hand, you reached up and cupped his cheek with your palm, “I am too, love. It’s new, even though we’ve been together for years, I think we’re lucky to have something that feels new.”

He turned his head to press a kiss to the center of your palm before taking your hand in his, “I think I’m lucky to have you.”

“Sweet talker,” you teased lightly.

You nudged him gently when he went quiet. “I love having you be at home when I get home,” he whispered as if it was a secret. “I suppose I never really thought much of it because it always seemed like an unattainable fantasy.”

But now you were home when he came home. He took time off to spend with you right after you had gotten out of the hospital, but for the past six weeks, every time he walked in the door, you were around. It was almost like the two of you had entered your honeymoon phase. Although, you supposed you had, “Did anyone ask you about the party?”

Spencer chuckled, “Of course they did.”

Part of you supposed it was your penance for getting married in secret – mostly secret, everyone always seemed to forget that Rossi was there – that the BAU was insistent on giving the two of you a wedding. “I never knew profilers had such great memories,” you pondered. “No one else asks me about it.”

“They just want to make sure you’re alright before turning it into a celebration,” he explained. “For the BAU, taking a step back is a big deal,” he leaned his head to the side so that his chin was resting on the top of your head, “you know that, though.”

Nodding softly, you shut your eyes, “I don’t suppose they’d be willing to do a combo housewarming and wedding celebration.”

“Not a chance,” Spencer answered almost a bit too quickly.

You sighed in mock defeat, “We’ll just have to have a party a weekend until Garcia runs out of ideas.”

Slowly, you felt yourself falling asleep again, “Do you want to go to bed?” Spencer murmured.

There was just a moment before you hummed, “In a minute.” You pulled on the sleeves of your sweatshirt so they would cover your hands, “Hey, Spence?”

“Hm?” He said, drowsiness growing in his voice.

You tipped your head back and looked up at him, “I love being home when you get home, too.”

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[wayward-dreamer]

Couldn't Resist

Square/s Filled: Car sex @spnaubingo

Pairing: Dean x F!Reader

Word count: 915

Summary: Y/N can't resist Dean when he's wearing a suit.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, smut: dirty talk, unprotected sex (wrap it up people), car sex, public sex

A/N: Just felt like writing something short, hope you all like it! Happy reading :)

“God, we shouldn’t be doing this���”

“You’re the one who jumped me, sweetheart-”

Dean’s words were interrupted as Y/N’s lips molded to his, the kiss passionate and rough, matching the frenzy of her hands unbuttoning the top of his white shirt, knowing they didn’t have the time or the space to undress completely but she still needed to feel him. They were on a case, both of them talking to witnesses while Sam was doing research back at the motel, and well… when she saw Dean in his FBI suit she really couldn’t resist any longer than she already had since that morning. So on the drive back to the motel, she told him to pull into an alleyway next to a strip mall, climbing into his lap just as he turned off the engine to the car. It was broad daylight, there were side exits to the stores so anyone could walk out and see them, but she really couldn’t give a fuck in that moment. With her boyfriend’s hard cock pressing against her wet panties, the only thing she cared about was freeing him from the confines of his dress pants as much as she could, and getting him inside her immediately.

“What did you tell Sam?” she asked, breathlessly as his lips moved down her neck.

“Baby needed fuel,” he replied between kisses along her neck.

Y/N glanced over her shoulder to see a man walk past the alley, too distracted by his phone. Anyone walking past could easily look down the length of the lane and see them through the windshield.

“We should hurry,” she muttered, reaching for his belt.

Dean smirked as his palms slid up her thighs and over the curve of her ass, her black skirt bunched up around her waist, her own white shirt open down to her stomach with her white lace bra exposed to him, and hopefully only him. He pulled her panties aside just as she undid his pants, wrapping her hand around his incredible girth as she lifted herself up, slightly. There wasn’t any time to waste, so she didn’t, sinking down on him and letting out a rough gasp as his shaft stretched her walls, completely sheathed by them. He held onto her hips and helped her rock against him, her hands clenching his shirt tight as she threw her back, moaning loudly at the feel of his cock pumping in and out of her tight heat.

“Fuck, this is the best idea you’ve ever had, babe,” he groaned, his neck straining, veins pressed against his skin as he laid his head back against the top of the seat. “You look so fucking good like this, love it when my good girl gets so deseprate for me.”

She moaned wantonly as she continued to ride him, his hands pulling her hips down hard and fast, just the way she liked it. The head of his shaft was pressing against her g-spot with every thrust, her walls gripping him tight every time and she knew she wouldn’t be able to hold on for too long. Which was probably a good thing because of where they were. Quickies in the Impala were few and far between considering they were always with Sam, so whenever they found some time alone, they had to take it.

“Oh fuck, oh god, Dean,” she whimpered, dropping her back down and staring deep into his green orbs. “Love the way you feel, love feeling your cock inside me…”

“Shit,” he hissed, his lips pulling into a grin as he watched her. “So perfect, look so good riding my cock, sweetheart. You close?”

“Yeah,” she gasped, taking his hand and bringing it between her legs.

Y/N bounced faster on Dean’s lap just as his fingers circled her swollen nub, sounds of pleasure leaving both of them as they chased that blissful release. Her head tipped back as her hand pressed into the top of the car for leverage, her moans growing louder as her hips faltered, and he knew how close she was. With one last moan from both of them, her core tightened, her walls clenching around his throbbing cock, wetness covered him just as spurts of his seed spilled inside her. They both tried catching their breath as they came down from the high, a soft giggle escaping her as her eyes met his.

“Fuck, that was awesome,” he smirked, pulling her down for a searing kiss.

She hummed against his lips, wrapping her arms around his neck as she pushed herself closer to him. They were lost in the moment until she briefly opened her eyes, her peripheral view catching someone opening the back door to one of the stores. She ripped her mouth away from Dean’s, leaving him stunned in his seat as she climbed off his lap.

“Someone’s there,” she huffed, quickly fixing her clothes.

That launched him into action as well, making sure he was decent before starting the car, the engine roaring to life. He drove forward, looking through the rearview mirror and grinning as he saw the confused store owner watching them leave. As he pulled out onto the main road, they looked at each other, both of them erupting into laughter. He took her hand in his and brought to his lips, planting a soft kiss to her knuckles as they made their way back to the motel.

His girl was full of surprises and he loved it.

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Two Three Four

TW Human trafficking discussions of injury

The front door is locked.

Eddie is almost winded, hobbling all this way on his sore feet. There’s a neat little screen on the wall that, briefly, woke up and flickered an angry red when Eddie had tried the door handle. Like that wasn’t hugely unsettling.

He found he just didn’t have it in him to try it again. Where would he go, anyway? Just getting to the gate would take him hours, and he doesn’t have any fucking shoes; he’s still wearing the white nightdress and nothing else.

Eddie eyes the curve of the sweeping staircase. No. No way. He’d have to go up it backward and on his butt to even make it, one slow step at a time. Steve said he’d got Eddie a room ready but...no.

No.

There’s probably fifty fucking rooms up there anyway, what with the size of the place; Eddie wouldn’t stand a chance, and he definitely doesn’t feel right snooping around like that. The back of his neck prickles at just the thought of doing something like that.

He needs the bathroom though. Too much bread, too much dairy. The milkshake, the creamy pasta. Eddie’s not one hundred percent sure if he’s going to vomit or just straight up shit himself, but there’s something uncomfortable happening. The stabbing, trapped wind type feelings occasionally taking Eddie’s breath away, they’re so sharp.

Okay. Logically this place is so fancy, there has to be a downstairs bathroom; which there is, Eddie finds it on the second try, after fully ten minutes of slow, painful shuffling.

It turns out to be a horrendously explosive shit, which Eddie is kind of glad about because being sick is the worst, and he feels much better after a traumatic twenty minutes in one of the fanciest bathrooms he’s ever seen.

Eddie tries his best to hunt around the lounge, but the TV and sound system are so sleek and stylish, Eddie can’t see an obvious way to control either. He’s frightened to touch the books in case they’re like, collectors items, or something. He sighs wistfully at them anyway; he hasn't been allowed to read a book in years. Well behaved Omega most certainly don't read. They might start...having aspirations and thinking for themselves and stuff like that, so it was absolutely not permitted at the ranch.

His feet are throbbing, but he didn’t think to ask for painkillers. There’s nothing for him to do but sit on the couch and feel sorry for himself.

He tells himself this is better than the ranch. It’s better. He’s safe here. He’s going to see Wayne again. Hagan’s probably been arrested already; everyone else has been rescued too. Well at least, Eddie hopes so. All of that being a lie at this point...why would Steve go to so much effort to fabricate a lie like that?

It’s a slippery slope, that thought, so Eddie tries not to entertain it. He’s spoken to Hopper himself; seen his FBI card. It has to be true, surely? Everyone is okay, Eddie tells himself on repeat.

Everyone has been rescued.

Eddie just has to...endure. He can do that.

He’s been doing it for years.

The couch is too soft to sleep on. The beds in the dorm had mattresses so thin they might as well have been a folded over blanket, so Eddie has gotten used to the creaky noises and sleeping on something almost completely solid, no give at all in the wooden slats of the bed frames.

It’s quiet here. No movement, no breathing, no whispered conversations between Omega or the footsteps of guards on patrol. Nothing.

It’s been dark for a while when Eddie realizes he’s getting cold; the thermostat, or however this place works, must have turned over to it’s night time setting.

Eddie finds blankets in the big fancy Ottoman. The room feels...too big. Too big and empty. All that fancy glass reflecting the room and making it look twice as big. He feels defenseless, open. It’s not a nice feeling.

The silence is oppressive.

Eddie shifts the Ottoman, it takes a huge effort to push, the thing is heavy, but he manages to butt it right up into the corner of the ‘L’ shaped couch. Eddie lays one blanket out on the rug, snugged right up in the small space he’s made for himself between the Ottoman and the couch, Eddie nests in the protected little triangle of space. One blanket to lie on, the warmer one pulled over top of him. He does take one cushion off the couch, for his head.

He’s warmer, and feels safer, here. It still takes him hours to fall into an unsettled and fitful sleep.

Eddie didn’t reach any kind of deep sleep; he knows he didn’t. He knows because he’s blinking, alert and awake from the noises he can hear. The front door, keys being put down, footsteps.

Foot steps on the stairs.

And Eddie didn’t experience any of the confusion that comes with being woken from decent sleep. No. He’s awake, fully alert, and he knows exactly where he is and what’s happening.

He hears those same footsteps come back down the stairs, “Eddie?”

“Here,” Eddie forces himself up, bracing his arms on the couch, knees both clicking after being curled up tight for so long.

Steve looks like shit. He definitely hasn’t slept. But then, neither has Eddie, not really, and considering Eddie’s now eaten two meals and slept a night wearing a practically see through white nightdress, there’s no way he looks any better himself; he’s got to be grubby.

Steve also looks aghast, “Eddie, I’m so sorry. I got...distracted. That’s not an excuse for just...leaving. Did you sleep there the whole night?”

Eddie nods, there doesn’t really need to be an explanation.

“Shit. Shit, okay. Okay, lets...you hungry? I’m starving. I know we ordered you clothes, but I should have given you something better than-” Steve sighs, a sharp sound, before rubbing at his forehead for a second. “Right, breakfast first? Anything you want? Pretty sure I have the stuff for cheese omelettes? And I know I’ve got sausage and bacon.”

Eddie can’t help but wince at the thought of yesterdays fecal catastrophe. It must show, Steve frowning at him from under his floppy preppy hair, “all the rich food it, uhm, gave me a tummy ache? So...just some scrambled eggs would be really, really great.”

Steve looks at him for a long moment, probably rethinking yesterday, “yeah, yeah okay, scrambled eggs,” and he heads off into the kitchen, Eddie forcing himself to limp weakly along behind.

Steve does make a mean plate of scrambled eggs, and it really does hit the spot. Eddie dodges the coffee, having a glass of OJ instead. “Okay, so lets...lets figure what to priorities here. Shower, you can borrow some of my clothes, and I’ll check your feet, does that sound okay?”

“Yeah...but you, you look real tired Steve, I mean it can wait-”

“No, no it’s fine. I won’t be able to rest if I don’t know you’re okay, plus...you look kind of tired there yourself...which isn’t surprising considering I abandoned you and forced you to spend the night on the floor-”

“Steve.”

“I...sorry. Again. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve ripped pretty much everything Hagan owned right out from under him. Or at least I will have, by lunch time today.”

And yeah...to be fair. Eddie does feel better. It’s cold comfort, but Eddie can be small and spiteful and bitter with the best of them so...yeah. Imagining Hagan sat in a cell somewhere, knowing his empire is being dismantled brick by brick. Yeah. Why not? Eddie can enjoy that for a minute. “Yeah, that’s...really good to hear.”

“Good.” They smile at each other for a long few seconds. And then Eddie yawns. And Steve yawns. And it sets off a horrible cycle of them yawning at each other across the table.

“Okay, lets get you sorted out.”

Eddie braces himself for the limp to the stairs, which he manages, shuffling gamely along with Steve hovering. For the split second Eddie allows himself to stop concentrating and actually look up at Steve...he sees Steve watching his move very intently, but also guilty as fuck.

The stairs are another matter. Having all of his weight on one foot while he lifts the other is...horrible. Stepping up is even worse, so much so that Eddie flinches from it the first time and nearly falls off the first step.

Steve steadies him.

On the second wobble, along with a pained hiss, Eddie finds himself just being...scooped up. Just straight up lifted, and he flails for a second before what’s just happened catches up to him, and his flailing ends with his arms locked around Steve’s neck.

Eddie will forever deny the panicked ‘yip’ noise that had come out of him.

Steve heard it though, and Steve’s grinning from inches away as he, very effortlessly, carries Eddie up the stairs.

Which, first of all, what a bastard, and second of all Eddie will not think about how fucking hot it is that Steve can throw him around if he wants to.

Steve has laid out a bunch of towels ready, and a change of clothes; just sleep pants and a tee shirt, a pair of boxers, but it looks like absolute heaven to Eddie. So does the whole of the bathroom, if he’s being honest. Even though this is a guest room and guest bath– which blows Eddie’s mind all on it’s own, he’s pretty sure that with a bit of inventive interior design, a family of four could live comfortably in this space.

So yeah, Eddie is able to sit safe and sound on a ledge in the bath and hose himself down. It’s not a proper shower, but Eddie doesn’t want to stand for that really, especially not with how it would soak his scabs, so this is perfect for now.

He finally feels clean after, which is a huge improvement.

Once he’s dressed, resting on a thick and fluffy towel Steve had considerately left on the toilet seat, he waits. Steve had been for his own shower real quick, once Eddie was settled safely, and he comes back toting a first aid kit in a green bag with a white cross on the side.

Steve takes a towel to cushion his knees, again not seeming worried about kneeling in front of an Omega, which is a nice change of pace.

“Oh,” Eddie says, at the same second Steve freezes in place, “the thing I could smell…” Steve has showered, and he couldn’t have reapplied blockers. Steve’s scent is only vague in the house downstairs, just a nice background scent; Alpha and comfort and home and safe...but now it’s hitting Eddie full in the face. Eddie sways forward mindlessly, trying to get closer to the source, Steve reaching out to steady him by the shoulder.

Eddie almost feels like he’s blinking awake, and Steve is right there. Like, two inches away, licking his lips and looking at Eddie with eyes so blown they’re almost back, “yeah,” Steve swallows thickly, and then visibly jumps when his phone rings. He looks startled by the noise, “sorry. Sorry I should- yeah, what is it, Henderson?”

And Steve leaves the room. Eddie feels kind of foggy, but also all kind of wonderful. Steve’s scent is...it’s good. It’s real nice. It’s...probably perfect. Smells like home and safe and mate and all that good shit Eddie had secretly dreamed about in the darkness of the dorm room at the ranch, trying to keep himself sane.

Eddie can hear Steve talking, “yeah, multiple accounts. Yeah, I know, but there wasn’t enough in there so I cleared out...no, no, you think Eddie only cost a quarter mil?” Steve laughs, “yeah, it was quite a bit more, yeah.” Steve sighs, “shut up, Henderson. Oh my god, no I did not get a receipt.”

@stylelovechild @steddieonthen @marklee-blackmore @sticknpokelightningbolt @resident-gay-bitch @somegirlsomewhere @mugloversonly @weekend-dreamer7 @lololol-1234 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @mx-jinxous @goodolefashionedloverboi @bogwitchlesbian @lunaraquaenby @steddieinthesun @pluto-pepsi @disrespectedgoatman @i-eat-spinal-cords @waelkyring @kal-ology @grtwdsmwhr @v3lv3tf0x @itsall-taken-blog @nrvscig @dragonmama76 @scarletyeager @slv-333 @abstractnaturaldisaster @tinyplanet95

[absurdthirst]

The Cinderella Effect {Javier Peña x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.2k

Warnings: Stranger sex, fingering, angst, slightly cum kink, semi-public sex, handjob, oral sex (female receiving)

Comments: Meeting up with your boss at a masked ball at the Embassy,  you indulge in a night you never dreamed would happen. For his womanizing, Javier Peña never looked at you. So you never figured that he would go looking for you the day after. 

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers​

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Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Javi is bored, sick of these functions for the DEA. If only these department heads actually went out in the field, they wouldn’t be enjoying these swanky parties while their men and women risked their lives, he knows it firsthand how dangerous it is and if he knew how these assholes were partying it up while he was chasing down Escobar, he would’ve lost his shit. Still, he’s one of them now. Lost in the fucking bureaucracy since he’s “too old” for the field. 

He leans against the bar, face itching from the stupid mask he has to use that his assistant bought for him last minute for this masquerade ball. Bunch of bullshit if you ask him. Until he sees her. This woman walks into the ballroom and he is swallowing harshly. Her dress is form fitting but not tight enough to be inappropriate. He can’t help the way his feet move towards her.

**** 

You are nervous as hell, walking into the ballroom, and suddenly your dress feels too tight and the mask is too itchy. You want to rip it off but you can’t, knowing he will recognize you. Your boss, Javier Peña, has for the better part, been the reason you have remained at the DEA. You shouldn’t want him but you do. As his assistant, you help him every day but he doesn’t notice you, too busy with his work and those hookups you know he has with the women from the FBI. He won’t fuck within his department. He’s made that very clear. So tonight is all you have to enjoy yourself, deciding that you’d attend since it’s a masquerade and you can hide behind the mask and hopefully avoid seeing Javier. You want to enjoy yourself tonight, be someone other than yourself.

Javi moves between the couples, touching shoulders and parting the way to where she is standing. She’s aloof, looking around like everyone in the room is beneath her. Maybe they are, although Javi never likes pretentious assholes, she seems regal - like a princess. He snorts to himself, scoffing internally at the idea that a princess would ever attend a DEA function, but still he has to talk to her. She is the one person who has captured his attention and he wants to see if her allure was just skin deep. Making his way to her side, she doesn’t see him at first, allowing him to lean in close and catch a whiff of her seductive perfume. “Looking for someone?” He asks quietly. 

You manage to swallow your gasp as you turn to look at Javier, certain that he will recognize you. “Uh, no - no one in particular.” You answer, wondering if he will recognize your voice.

There is something familiar about this woman, but he can’t put his finger on it. Carefully examining the eyes doesn’t bring any recognition, so he leans a little closer, confidence building now that he knows you're alone. He’s got charm and knows how to use it when he wants to. “Then it’s a good thing that I found you first.” He flirts, keeping his dark eyes on yours beneath the masks. 

You exhale shakily, the words on the tip of your tongue to tell your boss it’s you but you don’t. Maybe tonight, you can be on the receiving end of his flirtations instead of having to manage them for him once he gets bored. You are here tonight to be someone else and that’s what you are doing to do. “Definitely a good thing. Except I need a drink. Would you mind escorting me to the bar?” You ask, a smirk playing on your lips.

The invitation came easy and it makes Javi send you a smirk of his own. Nodding his head to the side, he offers you his arm to take. “What else can I do but escort a beautiful woman?” He asks, pleased when your fingers wrap around the juncture of his elbow. “Although, I would like to know your name.” He turns and steers you towards the open bar in the far corner of the room. 

You let him guide you and you know you can’t give him your name, it would give you up. You’re a little disappointed he doesn’t recognize you, honestly telling you that you don’t matter to him other than in a work capacity, but you’d already known that and tonight is about being someone else. You click your tongue, “ah ah ah. You have to earn my name. I know who you are…the infamous Javier Peña. Maybe I’ll tell you my name once you’ve earned it.” You tease as you approach the bar.

He’s disappointed you won’t tell him your name and slightly uneasy that you know his. His reputation is one that has followed him like a cloud, and he hadn’t done much to change it. Instead of letting it get to him, he grins. “Then I will just have to make sure I earn it, hmm?” He raises a hand when the bartender comes over. 

“What can I get for you, sir?” 

He turns to you, wanting you to order whatever you want first. “Lady’s first.”

You smile at him before you order a whiskey, neat. You want something you can sip and not drink too fast. The last thing you want to do is get drunk and end up telling Javi who you are. He'd be halfway across the room before you can finish your name. He seems impressed with your drink order and you lean against the bar, admiring his profile as he orders the same. 

"So...do you work for the DEA?" He asks, trying to figure out who you are. Maybe you're just party crashing. Which honestly, he would think is hilarious considering the 'security' the DEA tries to uphold. 

"I work for the DEA." You confirm and he tilts his head, "which department?" 

You shake your head, "now that would ruin the mystery. Come on, let's just enjoy tonight." You plead softly, not wanting him to continue his interrogation.

There is a slight pout on his face, but he doesn’t press the issue. “The fact that you don’t want me to know who you are makes you even more impressive in this crowd.” He tells you, glancing around. “All of these fuckers can’t wait to tell you who they are and how much power they wield.” It’s refreshing, although frustrating. He wonders if you are someone he’s slept with in Colombia, narrowing his eyes at the thought. “You were never in Colombia, were you?”

You shake your head, “no. No. I’ve been in D.C for years. As for these men…most of them are insecure and have small pricks that they inflict on their poor mistresses while their wives go around D.C hobnobbing with their counterparts comparing their latest purse their husband bought after his latest affair got discovered.” You snort, having first hand experience. 

You’ve ordered enough “I’m sorry” bouquets for half the men in this room. You have never done that for Javi. As much as his reputation precedes him, he has always been upfront about his intentions, never bs-ing about how he wants a relationship before he turns around and fucks someone else.

Javi chuckles and has to agree. “Sounds like you know all of that firsthand.” He wonders if you are a secretary for one of them, trying to remember what a few of them look like. He’s quit trying to sweet talk any of them, and he doesn’t sleep with anyone around the office anymore after it back fired on him. 

He should have already said a polite “goodnight” to you and walked away, but he finds you irresistible and you don’t seem tired of his company. “I’m sorry you have to deal with that. Men are assholes. I say that as one myself.”

You chuckle, “the women are no better. Most of them try to prove themselves by stepping on each other to impress their male bosses which is bullshit to me. People should get their jobs based on their merits, not if they have a cock or not.” Your eyes widen when you realize how brash you’re being. “I, uh, sorry. Office hierarchy isn’t exactly a party conversation.” You fluster, taking a sip of your drink.

Javi smirks, leaning in to whisper in your ear, “that’s what’s making this fun.” He leans back and takes a sip of his drink. “I admire someone who cuts through the bullshit.” He tells you. “I fucking hate politics.” It’s laughable, considering he had come back to this, unable to settle down and help his pop run the ranch in Texas. 

He knew he hadn't; he couldn't do field work again, but he had taken up the DEAs offer of a position in D.C. wondering how long it would be before his ass landed in hot water again for running his mouth.

You know how much he hates bureaucracy, giving you all of his files to type up because he hates reports. “Me too. All the lies and deception and for what? The bad guys to just have more time to do bad things while we have to cut through the red tape.” You shake your head, “to hating politics.” You toast and he clinks his glass against yours. Your heart thumps at the soft look in his eyes, knowing he has never looked at you like that when you are working with him as his assistant. You swallow another gulp of the amber liquid, ignoring the burn in the back of your throat. 

“You wanna dance?” He asks and your eyes widen. 

“Me?” You ask and he chuckles. 

“No, the gorgeous woman behind you.” You see him roll his eyes and you chuckle nervously, setting down your glass. 

“Sure.” You tell him, taking his outstretched hand.

The song ends and the next one is slower, sensual. Perfect for pulling the mysterious woman into his arms and using it as an excuse to press close to you. Feeling the lines of your body mold against his and leaning in close enough that he could taste the whiskey on your breath. His hand is splayed low on your back, not enough to get him slapped, but enough to feel the curve of your ass. 

“So you hate office politics, like whiskey and keeping a man guessing.” He hums playfully. “What else should I know about the woman in my arms?”

You smile wryly, loving how you have him on edge for a change. “Well, I love having a man on his toes.” You tease and grip his shoulders a little tighter, deciding to be ballsy. “And I - I have always wanted you to touch me.” 

He chuckles, sliding his hands a little lower, “I am touching you.” 

You shake your head and chuckle, “no. No. I want you to touch me.”

Javi’s nostrils flare, picking up on your meaning. “You’ve wanted me?” He asks, thrilled when you nod, his hands tightening on your ass. Blowing out a harsh breath, he looks around for the nearest exit. He knows that he would fuck you right now, his cock is already half hard. “Why don’t we get out of here?” 

You whimper at the way he grabs you, unable to believe he wants you like that. Well, he doesn’t want you. He wants this mysterious woman. For a moment, you panic because you know if you go back to his place, he will want your mask to come off and then he would turn back on fucking you. “Follow me.” You order, grabbing his hand to guide him through the crowd until you are on the balcony that overlooks the Mall. No one is out here, it’s slightly chilly and dimly lit, almost dark.

“Here?” Javi smirks as he looks around, noticing that it deserted beyond the two of you. 

“Here.” You sound almost breathless. He reaches for the bottom of his mask, ready to pull it up and kiss you. “Keep your mask on.” You demand suddenly, making him frown but he doesn’t pull it up. 

“You want to keep the mystery, chica?” He coos, enjoying the playfulness of the situation. It’s been a long time since he has been carefree. This might be exactly what he needs,

“Come here, baby.” You order, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him close and you tilt your head just so you can press your lips to his. It’s thrilling, knowing he wants you. Well, this version of you. He doesn’t want his mousy assistant. You sigh into the kiss when he responds, grabbing your ass again.

Javi presses you up against the stonewall of the building, his tongue sliding into your mouth with a groan. Grinding against you and pressing his hard cock against your hip. “Fuck.” He pants into your mouth after he pulls back slightly.

You cling to him, sliding your hands along his jacket until you can get beneath it, desperate to untuck his shirt so you can touch his skin. His lips are kissing down your neck and you are lost in the sensation of his mustache tickling you. “Oh God, Javi.” You whimper, sliding your hand lower to squeeze his cock, gasping at how big he is.

He groans, wishing he knew your name so he could give you that same feeling, the way he shivered when you moan his name as he pulls your dress up. “Gonna fuck you right here.” He promises, forgetting everything but the way that you are letting him touch you however he wants.

When his fingers slide under your panties, you bite your lip to conceal your moan but he tuts, reaching up with his free hand to release your lip with his thumb. “I want to hear you. No one else can hear you but me.” He assures you and you moan when his fingers slide through your soaked folds until he is rubbing your clit. Your hands shake as you work on unbuckling his belt, anxious to touch him, feel him in any way you can.

Javi bites his lip, loving how wet your cunt is and he can’t wait to slide inside you. It’s been a long time since he had been this eager. Keeping his thumb pressed against your clit while two fingers slide deep inside after circling your entrance to gather up your wetness. “Fuck, you’re tight.” He hisses, pumping his finger into you to stretch you out as he kisses along your neck.

“Oh shit.” You moan at how thick his fingers feel inside of you. It’s incredible and you buck down onto his hand. “I- oh God. It’s been a while.” You admit, having spent far too much time lusting after your boss. You manage to pull his zipper down, reaching in to squeeze his cock. “God you’re big.” You hiss when he curls his fingers just right.

He grunts, not unhappy that you think that he’s impressive. He’s just never really worried about that, but he twitches in your hand. “It’s okay.” He promises. “You’ll cum on my fingers before I fuck you.”

You struggle to pump him with the way his fingers are curling deep inside of you, and you hiss in response, unable to believe how good it feels. “Yes. God, gonna make me cum.” You whine, worked up from the fact that your boss is fingering you.

“Good.” He groans, kissing your pulse before he scrapes his teeth over it. His fingers continue to pump into you frantically, wanting to make you cum. “Want to feel how tight you get.”

You squeeze his cock before your grip slackens as you cum, clamping down on his fingers. “Oh fuck. Jav- oh.” You gasp into his chest as you lean forward to smother your moan. He works you through it until your legs are shaking and he pushes you further into the wall to keep you upright. “Please fuck me.” You plead breathlessly, wanting him inside of you. “I’m on birth control and I’m clean.”

It’s music to his ears, pulling his fingers out of you and wrapping them around his cock. Using your juices to slick himself up and shuffles closer to you. His other hand cups your chin and he makes your eyes meet his. “I want to look in your eyes when I slide inside you.” He tells you as he lines himself up and starts to push inside you.

You lift your leg to hitch it on his hip to allow him more access to your pussy as he pushes into you. It takes your breath away and you are speechless as he stretches you out. Your eyes are on his brown - nearly black - ones and you can’t look away as he groans softly. “Javi.” You moan, eyelashes fluttering with the effort to keep your eyes open.

He knows that voice. He’s heard it, but right now all he can focus on is the way that your cunt grips him. Your whimper when he is firmly buried inside you is beautiful and he pauses for just a second, enjoying the way you flutter around him before he starts to move. Hard, deep thrusts, designed to get both of you off before anyone comes outside.

You pant as he starts to move, biting your lip to stop yourself from crying out too loudly, and you cling to him, arms wrapped around his neck as he moves his hip. “Oh God. It’s so good.” You whine, already close because of the way he’s grinding deep.

He groans, loving how vocal you are being. The solid slap of his hips muffled by the rucked up material of your dress and his suit pants. “Tight.” He hisses, turning his head and kissing along your jaw before he bites down on it gently. “So fucking tight.”

The way he bites your jaw and the unhinged sound of his growl has you cumming. Clamping down on his cock as you surge forward to bury your face in his neck, muffling the cry of his name as you soak his cock, your leg shaking as you try to remain standing.

Eyes closing, Javi pushes his hips harder, sloppily chasing his own end while you cling to him. It’s wet and tight, making him grit his teeth while he pushes into you despite the tight grip of your walls around him. “Fuck.” He hisses quietly, feeling his own body start to cum. He pushes deep, grinding up into you as he remembers that you said you are on birth control. Gasping in your ear while his cock twitches, sending ropes of his hot seed deep into your womb.

You sigh in bliss when his cum paints your walls, loving the grunts and groans that escape him. You’ve always wondered how he sounds when he cums. “So good.” You coo, rubbing his shoulders as he stills inside of you, riding his high.

Javi loves kissing when he cums, loves having his lips on his partner in some way. Moving from your ear along your jaw, he kisses his way to your lips and gives you a surprisingly tender kiss for someone who just fucked a stranger against the wall of the building during a work party. “I’ll never look at Cinderella the same way.” He teases, his cock starting to soften inside you before he gives you one last kiss and starts to slowly pull out of you.

You chuckle, lost in the aftermath of your orgasm until you realize what you’ve just done. You just had sex with your boss at a party. “Oh shit.” You close your eyes and he lowers your leg, adjusting your panties to keep his cum inside of you. “I, uh, I have to go.” You rush out, pushing on his chest to get away from the wall, and you manage to get under his arm as he steps back. “I had such a good time but I’ve got to go, Javi.” You tell him, not looking back as you enter the ballroom, pushing through the crowd to get away from your boss. He can’t find out who you are now, it’s impossible. He would never want the mousy version of you, he has never shown interest. You got one night with him and that will have to suffice.

****

Javi groans in relief as he hears his secretary arrive outside the door to his office where her desk is located. It’s been a long night. After being left by the mystery woman at the party, he hadn’t been able to go home. Instead he had gone to his office, a spare suit hanging in the closet for later, although he’s still wearing the dress shirt and pants from the suit he wore to the masquerade party. The shirt sleeves rolled up and another fucking cigarette between his lips as he tries to search the computer records for every woman who is assigned to the DEA here. He wants to find her again, to ask her why she fled and it’s eating at him.

You are nervous when you enter Javier’s office, then shocked when you see him still wearing the clothes from last night. He never went home. You frown and step closer to his desk. “Good - good morning sir. Would you like a coffee?” You ask. He nods, not even looking up from the screen of his computer. You exit the office without a word so you can get his coffee, coming back to softly set it down on his desk.

Coffee is a godsend. He can’t figure out how to use that new fucking machine in the break room. Too many knobs and buttons. When had coffee machines become so fucking difficult? You put coffee grounds in a filter and add water to a pot, turn it on. So right now, the hot, steaming cup of joe is a lifesaver. He moans happily after the first tentative sip, the scalding liquid providing an instant jolt of alertness. Setting it back down, he calls your name to summon you back into his office. Barely looking up when he sees the flash of movement where you come into the doorway. “I need the files on all the women in this building.” He tells you. “The computer doesn’t provide a picture.”

Your eyes widen slightly at his order, grateful he doesn’t see your reaction. “All - all the women? Why?” You ask, knowing the answer but you want to hear it. You can’t believe he doesn’t feel any recognition towards you but you suppose that justifies your reason for running out. 

“I need to find someone.” He tells you, still not looking up. 

“Yes sir. I’ll work on that now.” You say and walk out of his office, turning to look at him as he scrolls. You sigh, knowing he’d never want that woman if he knew she was you.

Javi sighs, leaning back and reaching up to toss off the drugstore reading glasses you had left on his desk one day. He uses them, even though he hates admitting it. He rubs his eyes, wondering why he is going through this, the woman ran away from him. Maybe it was the fact that she had left, that he had been the one to be left looking at where someone had been. Or maybe it was how unburdened he had felt in those minutes he was buried inside her. He just knows he wants to talk to her again.

You return a while later with his lunch and the files. Javi has the same thing for lunch every day: a couple of cigarettes and a cup of coffee. Sometimes he will stretch to a candy bar from the machine if he’s feeling particularly frustrated. Today is one of those days. You set the files down - conveniently missing yours - along with his lunch and you wonder why he’s trying so hard to find the woman - find you.

“Thanks.” Javi barely looks up, but he flashes you a grateful smile. “I’ll let you know if I need anything else, but you can knock off early.” He has no need for you to hang around when he’s planning on going through these files. Slight waste of government resources but he doesn’t care right now.

You frown slightly, unsure of if you feel relieved or peeved that he is completely dismissing you. Deciding to wallow at home, you accept his dismissal and quickly grab your things, leaving with a soft 'goodbye' to your boss. Once you're home, you sit and stare at the dress, hanging up on the back of your bedroom door and you are reluctant to put it away for surely then you know that last night was a dream, something that will never happen again.

She’s not there. Javi tosses the last file on the desk and huffs in anger. He’s gone through every single one of them, never finding the woman that he had met at the party. Unless she lied about working for the DEA, she wasn’t there. Standing up, he groans as joints pop, twisting his back and groaning in relief when it pops and there is some relief. He’s getting too fucking old for sitting all day. 

Walking out of his office to find the security badge of his secretary sitting on the desk, left behind by accident when you had left for the day. He picks it up, meaning to take it to your house since you will have a hell of a time getting in the building tomorrow without it. Looking down, his eyes narrow. “Son of a bitch.”

****

You are startled by the banging on your front door, grabbing your bat from under your bed, you slowly approach the door, looking through the peephole. When you see it's Javi, you lower the bat and place it in the hall, but you can't deny that you are terrified about why he's here. He knows, he has to know. You clear your throat, gathering your strength as you open the door to your boss. "Javi." You say politely as you keep your hand on the door frame.

His jaw is clenched, brows knitted together and he is pissed that you are greeting him so casually. The badge, the clear picture of you displayed on the front - without the glasses or the timid look on your face - is thrusted towards you. “You forgot this.” He spits it, wondering if you are going to tell the truth or keep playing him for a fucking fool.

“Oh. Th- thank you.” You take it, confused about why he’s so furious. He hasn’t said anything yet and you wonder why he’s so mad. Perhaps he’s disappointed that it’s you. 

“Can I come in?” He asks, jaw clenched and you nod, stepping aside to let him into your home.

Striding in, Javi looks around the small apartment, taking it in, and is surprised that it’s not as mousy as the facade you put on at work. It confuses him, how you seem so timid and unassuming while you have worked for him, only to trick him into fucking you against a wall at work. It was you, it had to be and he was furious that he had broken the one rule he had promised himself he wouldn’t. “Nice place.” He tells you shortly, turning around and looking at you after you close the door behind him.

You sigh, coming to the conclusion that he knows. "What gave it away?" You ask softly, leaning against your front door for support as you feel his dark eyes burn into you. "I figured - I thought it would take you longer to go through those reports and I - my file wasn't in there." You confess, crossing your arms.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” He hisses, stepping closer with his fists clenched, angry that you’ve put him in this position. “You tricked me.” He knows that it’s technically not true, you didn’t lie to him, but he wouldn’t have touched you if he had known it was you. He has too much respect for you, not wanting to get tangled up in the mess of an office affair. Or damage your reputation. 

Your mouth opens and closes, tears stinging in your eyes at how furious he is. You wonder if he’d be so mad if he found out it was Karen from HR that he always eyes up. “I- I didn’t - I never - it wasn’t supposed to go that far. I just wanted a night out to be someone - to feel like someone different.” You admit, choking a little over your eyes as you see how clenched his jaw is.

“But it did go that far.” Javi reminds you before looking around your apartment again. “So who is the real you?” He demands. “The woman who lives with bold colors and flare and tricks her boss into fucking her? Or the mousy woman who brings my coffee?” He’s not being fair, he was a very willing participant in what happened, but he ignores that right now. 

You wince at his harsh words. “I- I guess - I guess I am both. To be the woman I was last night…I want that kind of confidence and the mask allowed me to be whoever I wanted to be. I just - I am not beautiful enough to get away with that much confidence in reality. You - men - want some sexy assistant to fetch their coffee and I didn’t want to be that cliché. I wanted to become a field agent but they didn’t think I had it in me so I ended up as a secretary. I have been overlooked my entire life and I wanted one night to be the woman that was wanted, instead of being overlooked because I’m not good enough, not beautiful enough.” You finish breathlessly.

Javi’s frown deepens, shaking his head at the bullshit that just came out of your mouth. “Why me?” He asks. “Or would anyone have worked?”

You shake your head, pushing off of the door to walk towards him. “No. No. I- God. No. That’s not - it has always been you. I’ve always wanted you since I started working for you.” You admit, flustered and wanting him to know you didn’t just want sex. “I didn’t go there to see you. I mean, I hoped you’d talk to me but I- I just wanted to have a good time and dance and - oh God. This is such a mess.” You shake your head.

He knows he’s going to regret it, he always does when he thinks with his cock but it doesn’t stop him from reaching for you. Dragging you towards him and covering your mouth with his own in a bruising, yet passionate kiss. He can’t deny that he wants you, especially since you are the woman who had captivated him after last night and he hasn’t stopped thinking about how it felt to be inside you. 

You are shocked for a moment, his mouth pressed against yours but you soon react, moving your lips with his and moaning into his mouth. Your hands tangle in his hair like you’ve always wanted to do and you press yourself against him, letting yourself enjoy this last moment before he likely pushes you away and fires you.

He hasn’t showered, shouldn’t be touching you, but he can’t help himself. His hands grabbing your ass and hauling you closer and sliding up under your shirt to caress your back. You aren’t wearing a bra, the larger sweaters and drab office dresses exchanged for a t-shirt and shorts that expose so much of your skin. His teeth bite down on your lower lip before his tongue slides into your mouth possessively. 

You groan when his tongue touches yours, your entire body feels like it’s on fire and you cling to him, letting him touch you however he wants. You know you should push him away, make him explain, but your need for him is far too great. This is the last time he will touch you like this, certain to end things after. You manage to untuck his shirt, sliding your hands under it to caress his back while his tongue tangles with yours.

Javi groans into your mouth, shuffling you back towards the couch that he had seen. He doesn’t know if can wait to get you back to your bedroom. Desperate to touch you again and see if your cunt was as tight as it had seemed last night. He kisses down your neck and grabs the hem of your shirt, pulling away to pull it up over your head and expose your breasts to the cool air of your apartment. 

“Oh God.” You gasp when his hands grab your tits after he tosses your shirt on the floor. You feel drunk on lust, unable to believe how good everything feels when he pinches your nipple. You scramble to unbutton his dress shirt, needing it off of him while he walks you back towards the sofa, his hands massaging your tits.

Your moans are driving him crazy, tits hot under his palms and he ducks his head down and takes one into his mouth. He shouldn’t be doing this, but the way your cry fills his ears is almost addictive. Biting down on the sensitive tip and sucking on it to soothe after your fingers tangle into his hair again, abandoning touching his chest after you strip his shirt off. 

“Fuck baby.” You whimper when he switches to the other breast. You stumble back and he follows you as you fall back onto your sectional, his body covering yours, and you feel how hard he is when his groin presses against your thigh. You move your leg, loving the groan he pushes into your flesh and you need more. “Javi. Baby. I- I need to see you.” You beg, wanting to see all of him.

Javi rears back, ripping at his belt just like he had last night. Kicking off his dress shoes and standing up so he can push off the pants, along with the underwear he had been wearing. You are laying on the couch, watching with hungry eyes that makes his hard cock twitch. “Fuck.” He hisses, “take off your shorts.” He orders you, unable to do two things at once.

You scramble to take off your shorts, pushing them down along with your panties. Last night, you’d both been fully dressed but now you can see every inch of each other. He’s gorgeous, muscular, and strong but with a small tummy that makes him even sexier, his eyes nearly black as they trail along your figure once you’ve tossed your shorts on the floor.

“Beautiful.” He promises, swallowing when you spread your legs and he can see the puffy lips of your cunt. “You claim you’re not beautiful, but I see a woman who hides it.” He slides his hands along your thighs as he kneels down on the sofa again, desperate to sink into you again, his lips starting at your breasts and kissing up as he moves into position. 

You scoff, “you say that as you’re about to fu- oh fuck.” Your retort dies on your lips as he pushes inside of you, his lips pressed against your jaw as he sinks deeper into your cunt and you hitch your thigh onto his hip, allowing him to sink even deeper.

He chuckles, enjoying the way that you cut yourself off to moan. His arms hold himself up over you but he ducks down and kisses your lips and then along your jaw. “When do I ever lie?” He asks you, to remind you of how blunt he can be with his other liaisons on what he is looking for. His hips push deeper and he grinds into you before he pulls out of you to push back inside with another groan, delighted to find you are as tight as he thought you were last night. 

You caress his back as he rocks into you, your heart thumping at his words and you force yourself to not read too much into it. “God, you feel so good baby.” You whimper, closing your eyes and tilting your head back to allow him more access to your neck.

He grunts, agreeing with you. You feel like a glove around him, making his eyes close every time you flutter those tight little walls around him. “Fuck.” He breathes against your skin. “Thought about this all night. How good you felt.” He confesses, nipping at your skin again. 

“That- that's why you wanted to find me? Because I’m tight?” You tease breathlessly, stomach clenched from how he’s hitting every spot inside of you with ease. “And you - you wanted to fuck me again.”

“Of course I wanted to fuck you again.” He huffs, lowering himself down to an elbow and presses himself closer. “And you are tight, but I wanted to talk to the sassy woman who captured my attention.” He admits, not sure of what he wanted to do when he found that woman, but wanting to see her again beyond fucking. 

“I’m not- I’m not always that woman.” You confess, looking into those dark eyes as he rocks into you, a moan escaping your lips when he hits something deep that makes your pussy soak him with another wave of arousal. “Because - oh God - because I’m not confident enough.”

“Shit.” He hisses, gritting his teeth at how wet you get. Making him rock into you just a bit harder. “You should be.” He pants out, biting your chin. “It’s sexy.” He has no problem with sassy women, enjoys them over someone who would just roll over for him. A strong woman is one to be admired. 

His words embolden you, making you smile, and you reach down to squeeze his ass, pushing him as he thrusts back into you. “Then I want you to make me cum.” You demand, needing it more than you need air.

Javi groans, reaching down for one of your thighs to press it back, folding it towards your body as he starts to fuck into you harder. Deep, measured thrusts so that he can bottom out inside of you with the loud slap of his hips against yours fill your living room and make your sofa squeak. 

“Oh fuck. Oh my fucking God.” You cry out when he gets a spot you’ve never even felt before. “Javi. Oh God. I’m gonna - I’m gonna -” A strangled cry escapes your lips as you cum, squirting onto his lower stomach and dripping down onto your - thankfully leather - sofa.

“Jesus - fuck.” Javi moans, panting out your name as his thrusts become frantic, unmeasured. Enjoying the way that your cunt sounds as he pushes into it. “Fuck baby.” He moans as he ruts into you once, twice more before he buries himself deep and cums. Grunting as he fills you again like he did last night.

You gasp at the way he cums inside of you again, your nails digging into his back until you smooth your palms over the skin to caress it. Your chest heaving from the pleasure that is now fading and your eyes are still closed as he stills above you. “Fuck that was - wow.” You breathe out, unable to believe how good you feel.

His forehead drops down to press against yours, panting quietly. “Fuck.” He breathes out, body relaxing at the extreme pleasure before he kisses your lips once more. After that, he starts to shift back, pulling out of you and rocking back to sit on the end of the sofa.

You can’t move, body warm and relaxed as you watch him kneel on the sofa. His cum is dripping out of you but you don’t care, too obsessed with the way he looks now that he’s glistening with sweat and his hair is all messy.

Javi leans back, wishing he had a cigarette. He could definitely use one after that. “Fuck.” He sighs, looking up at the ceiling and giving a small chuckle. He had been furious and now…he doesn’t know what he is except tired. He hasn’t slept in the past two days. His hand is on your knee, stroking it idly while he closes his eyes for just a second.

You watch him, wishing you could stay in this moment forever but eventually, you know you need to talk at some point. Talk and not yell. “You want a smoke?” You ask, remembering your stash in your kitchen for when you’re particularly stressed. You have never been an avid smoker but sometimes the occasion calls for it. He nods and you shift, legs shaking as you stand up, “I’ll go get them. They’re in my kitchen.”

Javi shifts, reaching for his pants and sliding back into them. Looking around again and wondering where to go from here. You are still his secretary and he doesn’t know what you want.

You come back a few moments later with the cigarettes and the lighter, searching for your glasses as you watch him light a smoke. “You want one?” He asks and you shake your head, pulling on your oversized t-shirt and panties. 

“I, uh, I know you don’t want to get involved so we can - we can forget this ever happened…if you want.” You fidget, watching him blow out the puff of smoke.

“It’s too late for that.” Javi tells you bluntly. “I’m still your boss and I know how it feels to have my cock inside you.” He sighs, blowing out another breath of the cigarette smoke. “It’s something I’m going to be hard pressed to forget.”

You swallow, part of you thrilled he won’t be able to forget, the other part terrified that he hates the very idea. You bite your lip, knowing you could never have him the way you want him but you could have a part of him. Anything is better than nothing when you’ve been wanting him for so long. You walk over to stand in front of him, the smoke from his cigarette curling up into the air. 

“Or we could continue doing it…having sex. No one has to know except us. I’ll be professional at work, business as usual, and after…you could come over here and fuck me however I want.” You could’ve said “how you want” to sweeten the deal but honestly, you’re sick of denying yourself to please others, it’s time you pleased yourself.

Javi lifts his brow, shocked you had proposed something like that. He had taken you for a relationship or just type of girl. “We could do that.” He tells you, nodding slightly. “I- if people find out about us, they will judge you.” He sighs. “I don’t want that for you.”

You shake your head, stepping closer to run your fingers through his hair. “No one will know. I can keep it a secret. I don’t - I don’t want to stop doing this.” You admit, “and I can make sure we aren’t caught. This remains between us.”

He looks over at you again. “Are you sure you want that?” He asks softly, knowing that most women wouldn’t be happy for that kind of arrangement. “I don’t want you to be unhappy with it, or me.” He flashes you a grin. “You might poison my coffee at the office.”

You chuckle, “no. I wouldn’t do that. I’m a big girl, I know what I’m getting into. I’m not - I’m not dating and I don’t care about chocolates and flowers and dates. I just want you in my bed.” You are truthful to some extent, knowing that this could hurt you but it’s worth the risk, he’s worth the risk.

“Okay.” Javi nods, watching you carefully to make sure you just aren’t saying that. When he’s satisfied, a yawn interrupts what he was about to say, suddenly ready to drop off to sleep now that his search was at an end. “I should go home.” He tells you reluctantly.

“Oh yeah. You must be tired. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you at work tomorrow.” You step away from him and walk towards your front door. You’re not expecting a goodnight kiss, but when he just walks out of your house after picking up his things and grunts out, “see you tomorrow,” you can’t help but sigh. Shutting the door, you walk back into your place and wonder if you’ve done the right thing. Can you keep your heart intact? After washing off, you get into bed and decide that you can stop yourself from getting hurt by remembering who he is…the infamous Javier Peña.

****

Javi leans back in his chair. He’s early, just like he has always been. You aren’t in yet, your desk chair empty and he wonders how you will act when you get there. Last night he had slept the best he had in months, thinking of you when he had closed his eyes.

You carry Javier’s coffee in one hand, the files he wants in the other and your purse slung over your shoulder as you rush down the hall. You’re running late since your alarm decided to reset itself overnight. You exhale shakily as you enter his office, wondering if he will be full of regret now but he offers you a stiff smile as you set his coffee and files down. “Sorry. My alarm didn’t go off.” You reveal, adjusting your purse now that your hands are empty.

His eyes run over your form, knowing how that body looks under the loose dress you are wearing. His cock twitches and he knows that you are so much more than you show everyone else. “It’s fine.” He tells you, nodding. “Go settle in and I’ll call you if I need you.” He tells you as he opens one of the files and picks up the glasses to slip on the end of his nose.

You nod, nearly tripping as you walk out of his office. Cursing yourself for thinking how handsome he is wearing those glasses instead of focusing on walking. You roll your eyes at yourself and sit down, manning the phone and typing those reports he’d given you yesterday. When the intercom buzzes a couple of hours later, you stand up and brush your dress down as you make your way into his office. “Yes sir?” You ask. “Can you get me those files on Santiago?” He asks and you nod, turning around to get them after you say “yes sir.”

It’s been hours since he’s seen you and you’re already a problem. The second you showed up in his doorway his cock started to harden. He had known this was going to happen, that he was going to want you right here. The idea of taking you on his desk was vastly appealing, letting you sit outside his office with his cum dripping out if you. Ten minutes later, you come back with the file and he stands up. “Close the door.”

You shiver at the command in his voice, obediently shutting the door behind you, and you make your way over to his desk. He doesn’t waste a moment, grabbing your waist to pull you close until his lips crash against yours, desperation and need apparent in his touch. You moan softly into the kiss, grabbing onto his dress shirt, pulling him impossibly closer.

He’s not thinking about anything but bending you over his desk. “Turn around.” He pulls away and turns you himself, not giving you a chance to do so. “Driving me crazy in this fucking thing.” He huffs, kissing along your neck. “Want to see what you’re wearing underneath it.”

You gasp when he pulls your dress up to expose the lace panties. You need to do laundry and these are among your last pairs - the sexier kind you haven’t worn for a while because they aren’t comfortable. His groan of appreciation is worth it though and you wet the lace immediately, unable to believe he’s doing this but fuck you love it.

“Fuck, I knew it.” He groans again against your neck, hooking his fingers under your panties and pulling them down to your knees. “You’re dirty under that nice, mousy little facade.” He growls in your ear, kicking your legs apart and reaching for his belt buckle. “Fucking love that I get to know that. Gonna fuck your pussy full of my cum and you’re gonna sit it in while you answer the phone.”

You swear you nearly cum from just his words. A whine escaping your lips as his belt buckle clinks and you wiggle your ass. "Please. God, please. I need you to fuck me." You plead and gasp when he smacks your ass. "Yes. Javi. Please." You whine and hiss in relief when his cock slides between your ass cheeks.

“Fuck, you’re so eager.” He would chuckle, but he’s too busy biting back a groan as he feels how wet you are. Apparently you get turned on really easily or he affects you like this. “Be a good girl and take it.” He grunts as he pushes inside you.

You fall forward, his files beneath you as you take his cock like he orders. It's intoxicating, feeling his length fill you up in a way you've never felt before. It takes your breath away. Sex has never been this good. "Javi." You moan, fluttering your walls around his cock to get him to move.

“Shit.” He hisses, immediately rocking back to slam his hips forward and filling you again. “God, you feel good.” You bite your lip to keep from moaning and he appreciates that. “Gonna have to be quick.” He pants, reaching around you and starting to rub your clit frantically as he rocks into you.

"Oh fuck." You hiss, grinding back against him and when he hits just right after five or so thrusts, in combination with his fingers rubbing your clit, you climax. Gripping the edge of his desk and biting your lip hard to smother your squeal, you clamp down on his cock and shake as you cum.

It’s quick and dirty. He doesn’t have enough time for it to be anything else. Groaning when he feels you come apart around him. “Fuck yes.” He hisses quietly, grinding into you harder. “Gonna cum.”

"Cum for me." You plead quietly, loving the way his hips slam against your ass until he finds his own high, his hot cum painting your walls while he softly groans your name. You slump against his desk, reveling in the sensations surging through your body, and you close your eyes for a moment. "So good." You whisper, loving how intense the sex is.

Javi sighs and leans down to kiss the back of your neck before he pulls out of you. Slapping your ass before he tucks himself away and pulls your panties up while his cum is dripping out of you. “It was good.” He comments as he pulls your dress down over your ass. “Now you get to feel me for the rest of the day.”

You giggle, loving how cheeky he can be and you gather the strength to stand up straight. “I’ll get you your coffee with your cum sticking to my thighs.” You quip as you stand up, quickly pecking his lips. “I’ll head back to my desk, sir.” You offer him a soft smile then walk towards the door. 

He calls your name and you turn to look back at him. “Call me Javi, not sir when we - you know.” He rubs the back of his neck. 

“Yes si- Javi.” You correct yourself and slip out of his office, taking a seat to continue typing.

****

It continues on. Quickies over his desk, dragging you back to his house on occasions, but most often, he’s at your apartment after work. Fucking you in every conceivable position and on every surface. Even staying the night once on a Friday when he was too tired to drive home after spending hours between your thighs. Everything is going great, he’s even gotten comments on how he’s not as much of an asshole as before. The arrangement he has with you is perfect.

The arrangement Javi has with you is a nightmare. Every single time the man is between your thighs, all you want to do is tell him you're in love with him. Between quickies, he brings you coffee instead of you getting it for him. He buys you lunch and one time he even brought in a pair of his aviators because you told him you wouldn't mind a pair so he gave you a pair of his. 

He professes to be an uncaring asshole but you see a different side to him. Tonight, you decide you're going to end it. He doesn't love you and you know you're just gonna break your own heart eventually so you decide to end it. When the doorbell rings, you swallow nervously and open the door. Frowning when you see how distraught he looks. "Javi? What's wrong?" You ask.

Javi sighs in relief, even though he knew you would be home. Walking in with the weight of the world on his shoulders when you move back to let him in. “The mission that I authorized went south.” He tells you, his voice rough with emotion. “Two agents are dead and the other is in surgery - and it’s not good.” He closes his eyes and feels useless. He’s half a world away and he can’t do a goddamn thing, but he is responsible.

You respond immediately, surging forward to wrap your arms around him. "I'm so sorry baby. Come on, you need to relax. I have whiskey and I'll run you a bath." You pull back to cup his cheeks, "this wasn't your fault. Shit - it is dangerous and the agents know that. You knew that. It's a risk, every mission is a risk, and you did what you thought was best. Now, sit down, lemme get you that drink and you can relax in the tub."

It’s stupid but he doesn’t want to be alone. He had thought about not even coming over, knowing he would be shit company but he needed you. He tells himself that it’s so he can fuck you and forget about his problems, but right now he’s not even thinking about that. A bath sounds amazing. He snags your arm as you turn to get him a drink, stopping you. “Will you- will you get in the bath with me?” He asks, wondering why he’s so shy about asking for you to take a bath with him when he knows your body like the back of his hand.

You nod, knowing it's best to not say a word as you reach out to caress his cheek, a move you wouldn't normally dare to do but it seemed right. He releases you and you quickly set about running the bath, putting plenty of bubble bath in it, before you work on getting his whiskey. "Here you go." You hand him the drink, “take a few minutes to relax then come meet me in the bathroom.” You want to light some candles, really create a relaxing atmosphere.

Javi feels better just being here, watching you as you rush around to help him. He leans back and takes a sip of the whiskey, closing his eyes as he replays the audio feed from the mission and his stomach drops again. He shouldn’t have let them go tonight. It takes a few minutes, but he gets up, groaning as he gets to his feet. The idea of getting drunk in the bath with you holds enormous appeal, and he shuffles towards the bathroom.

You test the water, making sure it's not too hot, and you turn to look at him as he enters your bathroom. "I bought this house because of the tub." You tell him, unsure of why you've told him that but the look in his eyes is haunted and makes you want to comfort him. You reach out to begin unbuttoning his shirt, working fast to strip him off. "Come on, get in." You order, taking the glass from his hand to hold it while he gets in the water.

He obeys your order without thought, getting into the tub with a groan of appreciation at the hot water. Cupping his cock and balls to protect them from the heat until he gets underwater and then he takes the glass from you. “Get in with me.” He nearly begs it, wanting you here with him, the physicality of touch is what he craves, even if he’s not even hard right now.

The look in his eyes has you immediately stripping off, patting his back to push him forward so you can get in behind him. He shifts and you sigh as you step in, settling behind him. You reach for him, pulling him back into your chest, your hands immediately running through his hair. "Relax." You order, loving the way his muscles stop tensing as he relaxes against you.

Leaning back against your shoulder, Javi sighs and closes his eyes. “I- I know it’s stupid.” He murmurs softly. “But I had hoped the guilt would go away, being out of the field.” He tries to focus on your touch, the way your fingers feel on his skin and in his hair. The soft press of your breasts against his back. “I just feel guilty for not being there. For leaving them alone to die without trying to save them.”

"I understand. Well, I haven't been in that environment so I don't understand, but I recognize how you are feeling. Javi, the job you did, the job they did...it's dangerous. You know that when you take up your post and it - the mission you authorized...it looked right on paper. You weren't there. There was nothing you could do. Nothing you could've done. I know you and you will beat yourself up but it wasn't your fault. Those agents knew the risk and you know how desperate you can get to get the bad guys." You caress his chest, cupping the water in your hands to wash his chest, feeling his heart thump beneath your touch.

He sighs, knowing what you are saying is true and he feels emotional about the fact that you are trying to comfort him. It’s been a long time since he’s opened up to someone but you know what he does. You see everything that crosses his desk and you are a damn smart woman. Should have been an agent yourself. “Very desperate.” He acknowledges that as the fact that it is.

"You need to relax. Get your mind off of things you cannot control." You murmur, kissing his neck as your nails scrape his nipples. The little sigh he releases makes you hum in approval and you slide your hand lower until you are wrapping your fingers around his cock - half hard - but you grip him and kiss along his neck.

He whispers your name, body reacting to your touch like you’ve learned he likes. He’s probably in over his head but he slides his hand down to cover yours. “You don’t- I didn’t-” He doesn’t know why he came here, but for the first time, it hadn’t been to fuck you. He just needed you and it scares him. “You don’t have to.” He murmurs weakly when you squeeze him.

"I want to. You need to relax. Stress isn't good for you." You don't move, allowing him to remove your hand if he wants but when he doesn't, you begin to pump him. His body practically melts into yours as you lazily pump his cock, wanting him to feel good after such a bad day. "You're so good, Javi. You think you're a bad man but you're not. You care so much about people and it shows every single day. You're good. You're funny, sarcastic but funny. You are furiously loyal and constantly smell like Marlboros and whiskey but it suits you. You are a good man and you can't keep beating yourself up for something that was out of your control. Relax baby. Let me take care of you." You know your words are way beyond those of fuck buddies but you mean every one. Your feelings that you thought could be contained are breaking free and that terrifies you.

It’s the first time he’s let you take control. Yes, he gave you pleasure, reminding himself that it was because you allowed him to touch you. He stayed in charge, breaking you down and making you cry out while he also chased his own release and burst of endorphins. This is the first time he’s given himself to you and it’s shockingly easy. His head rolls to the side and his lips graze your jaw as your hand slides up and down his cock, the water sloshing against the side of the tub and the precum spurting into the hot, fragrant water while all he can think about is how good you feel. “Fuck.” He groans. “So good to me.”

“That’s it baby.” You coo, kissing him softly on the cheek as he completely slumps against you. Groans escaping his lips and you hum in delight that he is finally relaxing. “Gonna make you feel good.” You promise, twisting your wrist just how he likes. You know his body as well as your own by now, swiping your thumb over the head when the foreskin is pushed down.

“Shit.” He hisses, bucking his hips up slightly to chase the feeling. Groaning when your hold on his chest tightens. “Don’t move, baby.” You whisper in his ear. “Let me take care of you.” His eyes close again and he throbs in your hand, never hearing those words in a way that felt anything more than sexual but it sounds like you want to care for him. Something he desperately needs right now.

You work his cock, caressing his chest and kissing along his neck as you listen to his breathy moans. His eyes close as he lets you work him closer to an orgasm. The hot water sloshes onto the floor but you don't care, wanting to make him feel good.

You don’t say another word, focusing on making him cum. You nibble on his ear, groaning at the way he moans your name. You twist your wrist just right and the whimper he lets out tells you he’s close. He grunts, hips bucking as he cums, cock twitching in your hand as you kiss along his neck, loving the way his chest heaves as he lets go of his demons for a moment.

It’s probably the hardest he’s cum in God only knows how long. His mind was completely blank except for the pleasure roaring through his veins, ears filled with white noise and shuddering through the aftershocks. He practically whimpers your name as he slumps back down against you again. “Holy shit.” He pants quietly, your hand stilling and the silence deafening except for his labored breaths.

You love how he melts against you again. You caress his chest, letting go of his softening cock to wash his chest. You kiss him over and over on the neck and jaw until you allow yourself to relax too. “You want me to-?” He rasps and you shake your head. 

“No. This wasn’t about me. It was about you.”

Javi bites his lip, unable to believe that you don’t want anything in return. Swallowing down the sudden emotions, he sighs and reaches up to cover your hand with his and squeeze it in thanks. “Thank you.”

You kiss his cheek and cup his jaw to turn your head so you can kiss his lips. He groans into the kiss, sliding his tongue into your mouth and you're unhurried, lazily kissing him as you let him just enjoy being relaxed.

The two of you kiss until the water starts to cool, he feels the way that his toes are starting to prune up and he sighs. Pulling away, he nudges his nose against yours. “Can I stay tonight?” He asks, not wanting to go home to his empty place and keep himself company.

You’re surprised but you don’t let it show on your face as you look at him. “Are you - yes. You can stay.” You amend your response, not wanting to freak him out by overthinking it. You are soon out of the bath and dry, offering him a pair of sweatpants that you kept from your ex. “Sorry. This is all I have.” You fluster. “You want some water?” You ask, suddenly exhausted and ready for bed.

“No.” He shakes his head, ready to crash with the emotional upheaval of the day and actually feeling like he will be able to sleep. “I’ll just wear my underwear.” He tells you, not wanting to wear another man’s clothes. He reaches out and touches your arm. “Thank you.” He offers. “For everything.”

You nod, offering him a small smile before you head to the kitchen to get a water bottle for you both. Returning back to your bedroom, it is bizarre how comfortable he looks in your bedroom. Like he is always meant to be here. You push that thought aside and hand him the water then get into your bed. “Night Javi.” You say as you get under the covers after turning off the light. 

He pulls you back into his arms, curling around you. “Night hermosa.” He murmurs, kissing your shoulder and you close your eyes, reminding yourself that he doesn’t feel the same way.

Crawling out of your bed at five in the morning was probably the hardest thing he’s done in a long time. He was careful to ease out of the bed, not wanting to disturb you so you could sleep until your alarm went off. He had slept like a baby, and felt refreshed despite what happened the day before. Closing the door to your house softly and smirking to himself as he makes his way to his car. He will have to make it up to you today, spread you out on his desk and have you for lunch.

When your alarm goes off, you expect to see Javi still asleep beside you but when you don’t, you know you will never truly have him. Not like you want. You’ve tried to convince yourself that sex is enough for you but you love him. You’re in love with him, every stupid detail like the annoying way he chomps on his food to the way he holds his cigarette. It’s impossible not to fall in love even more and you know that it will be your downfall. 

He doesn’t love you, doesn’t want you for more than sex, and you knew this going into the arrangement. It’s not his fault nor are you blaming him for how you feel. You can, however, handle it by deciding to take some time. You decide to hold back the tears and get the yellow pages to call the directory. You know who will help you out for a couple of weeks while you get your head together.

Javi frowns, the door to his office open as he waits to see you come rushing up. More than likely apologizing for being late although he never cares about that. The disposable cup of coffee he had picked up on his way into the office sits on your desk, waiting for you. His own already drunk and tossed into the wastebasket while he crushes out the second cigarette of the morning. After showering and changing, he had come straight to the office, starting the endless reports he needed to fill out about the botched arrest. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late Mr. Peña. I didn’t get the call until this morning.” The young man stumbles into his office. Javi narrows his eyes at the man, immediately demanding to know where you are. “She called out sick. I- I’m here for the rest of the week. I’m an intern down in the basement working with HR so it will be fun to have some experience with the higher ups. My name is Jason. I can get you a coffee. She said that you take it black.” He rambles and spins on his heel, leaving before Javi can say anything.

Sitting with his mouth open in shock, he slumps back in his chair. You hadn’t been sick when he left. Why did you call out? He snatches up the phone, punching in the numbers for your house and presses the receiver up to his ear and listens to the ringing on the other end. “Pick up, pick up!” He hisses angrily. 

Your phone rings and you know it’s him but you can’t answer. You need to detox yourself from Javier Peña. That night of the fundraiser was your chance to cleanse yourself of your feelings but he charmed you even more and got you into this mess. You need space and you need time to figure out your heart, to break it and mend it before you go back to work and end things for good.

By lunchtime, Javi is furious. He called you every half hour and you haven’t picked up. He doesn’t believe that you are sick, but he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on. Pushing back angrily from his chair, he snatches up his coat and storms out of his office. “Go home.” He barks at Jason, making the man jump as he makes his way to the elevator, determined to go see if you will answer your door. 

You are sitting on your sofa, glass of wine in your hand, as you try to ignore the way your heart aches. Your phone hasn’t stopped ringing and he left several messages telling you to phone him. You ignore them all, trying to figure out what you’re gonna do next.

Sitting in front of your house, he doesn’t get out and immediately storms up to your door to beat on it. He knows you will just ignore it, like you have been ignoring your phone. He has to be calm, to try to understand why you had called out. Gripping the steering wheel, he looks over at the bags he had stopped and picked up, the soup and medicine a handy excuse for why he would be knocking on your door, given you had said you were sick. Although you both know you aren’t sick. Sighing, he reaches for the bags, and pushes the driver’s side door open to make his way to your door. 

When your doorbell rings, you freeze. Wondering who it could be - surely it’s not Javi, he would still be at work - you think it’s the mailman and make your way to your door. Eyes sore from crying your heart out, you don’t care as you open the door. “Javi?” You choke, clapping eyes on the very man you’ve been trying to get away from, to try and forget.

You look sick. Sick with heartache or worry. Your eyes, your beautiful eyes, are swollen with tears still left un-shed and red rimmed from the ones you had spilt. Worrying has him stepping closer, brow furrowed and he’s reaching out for you. “What’s wrong?” He asks, cupping your cheek. “What happened?” 

You pull yourself away from his grip, knowing you’ll give in if you let him touch you. “You - you need to go, Javi.” You plead and he shakes his head, stepping closer to you again. 

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.” He insists and you choke on a sob. 

“Please. I’m trying- I’m trying to stop - we can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep sleeping with you.”

His hand falls back down to his side, eyes widening in shock and he’s stunned for a moment. The happiness and security that he had felt right here last night is gone, ripped away. He wants to ask why, what changed in the hours that he had left your bed and now. Swallowing, he drops the bag's hands from the take out bag he had brought you on the door knob of your front door. “Feel better.” He manages, turning on his heel and hurrying away from your door.

You are so frustrated, the emotions bubbling up inside of you and you can’t hold it back anymore. You can’t stop yourself as you scream at him while he makes his way to his truck. “I’m fucking in love with you!” You shout, eyes widening after a moment when you realize what you just screamed, covering your mouth.

He is two steps from his truck when he hears your screamed confession. Freezing and turning back to see you covering your mouth, wide eyed in horror. Gripping his keys tight enough that he swears he might cut himself. Breaking out into a run, headed straight for you as fast as he can. “What did you say?” He demands, reaching you and pushing you back into your house and against the wall, holding you by your arm. “What did you just say?” 

Your mouth opens and closes, unsure of what to say, shocked from your own confession and you’re certain that he hates you now. You swallow harshly and he squeezes your arm. “What did you fucking say?” He demands again and you close your eyes, unable to look at him and see any anger because you’ve broken the rules. 

“I’m in love with you.” You whisper, terrified of the imminent rejection.

“Fuck.” Javi lunges forward, kissing you with a kind of frantic desperation that shakes him to his core. Knowing that everything that he has been feeling and trying to ignore was exactly what you had just said. He’s in love with you too. Letting go of your arms and wrapping them around your back, crushing you against him while his tongue slides into your mouth. 

You are shocked by his reaction, certain that he was going to reject you, laugh in your face, and never speak to you again. The way his tongue caresses yours has you melting into him again. Your hands tangle in his hair to pull him even closer, your chest pressing into his.

Javi groans and he presses closer to you, breaking away from your mouth to start kissing along your jaw up to your ear. “Idiot.” He huffs, unable to believe that you would think that he doesn’t care about you. “I love you.” He murmurs. “Baby, I’ve been in love with you.” He confesses, finally able to see it for the truth that it is. He’s been in love with you.

You inhale sharply, unable to believe he wants you like that, that he loves you. “I- God. I was scared you’d hate me for loving you. I know - I know you don’t like entanglements and - oh God - baby, I love you. I - I need you.” You plead, wanting to feel him and you slide your hands under his shirt after tugging it out of his pants.

He smirks against your skin, sucking and nipping it with his teeth before he pulls back. “Yeah? Been ignoring me all day and now you need me?” He huffs, letting you continue to undress him. “Ruined my plans for today,” he grumbles. “Was gonna spread you out on my desk and have you for lunch.”

You giggle, almost high from him saying he loves you. You work on his belt next after he reluctantly lets you go so you can shove his button down off. “You can still do that. It’s lunch time.” You glance over at the clock on the wall, a grin that you can’t seem to wipe off of your face makes him wink at you and he grabs the back of your thighs, making you squeal.

Javi grunts, picking you up to carry you the few steps to your sofa and drops you down on it. “Take your fucking shorts off.” He growls, shoving down his pants and kicking them off.

You move fast, kicking your shorts and panties off, tossing them across the room and you have no idea how you don’t get used to seeing his body, his cock. He’s so beautiful and he takes your breath away every time. You inhale sharply and watch him, a smile on your lips after you quickly remove your shirt.

You look incredible, spread out. Javi takes a moment to just look at you, eyes softening from his normal dark gaze. Kneeling down and running his hands up your thighs. “I love you.” He murmurs, pressing his lips to your knee and shuffling closer.

You gasp when he kisses along your thigh. “I love you too.” You whimper, reaching down to run your fingers through his hair. You can’t believe how lucky you are to have him, this beautiful man loves you. When his breath hits your hot core, you fidget and he swings his arm over your stomach to keep you still.

It’s not that he’s never eaten pussy before, but he’s not gone down on you. Most of your encounters were just straight sex, he never even asked for a blow job. The hand job you gave him yesterday was the first time he hadn’t finished inside you. But right now he wants to do this. He looks up at you, dark eyes boring into yours as he flattens his tongue against your clit.

“Oh God.” You gasp, your entire body lighting up from his touch. “Javi.” You keep your eyes on his, feeling like you are the only woman in the world with the way he’s flicking his tongue over your clit. “It’s - wow. It’s so good.” You pant softly.

His hands push your thighs apart, eager to get more access to your cunt. Wanting to hear you and make you feel like he had last night. His nose presses against your clit while his tongue curls up inside you, keeping his pace light because he’s in no hurry to make you cum.

You moan his name, bucking your hips up into his mouth to grind on his tongue but he won’t let you move too much. His nose pressed against your clit has you gasping for breath as he expertly works your cunt. The way his hands are caressing you combined with his eyes has your heart thumping. There is no doubt about how he feels about you.

He can’t believe that this is how far this has come. The woman who had captured his attention was his assistant, his assistant who he loves. Javi groans into you, squeezing your hips and focusing on the way your eyes flutter with every flick of his tongue inside you.

He’s slow, working you up with laps of his tongue and rubs of his nose. No frantic fucking, this is romantic and takes your breath away. It’s not long before he sends you over the edge, clamping down on his tongue with a moan of his name.

Grinning into your cunt, he works you through it until you are trembling and gasping his name, hand pushing at his head. Kissing along your inner thigh and up over your mound, he rests his chin on your pubic bone and sends you a lazy smile. “That’s what I wanted to do at the office today.” He murmurs, squeezing your hip again.

You smile, reaching down to run your fingers through his hair. “Would’ve been sexier on your desk.” You tease, watching him as he shifts to kneel between your legs and you drag him down on top of you, pressing your lips to his and uncaring of tasting yourself on his tongue. “Make love to me baby. I want you inside of me.”

“Make love to you.” Javi likes the way that it sounds. Curling an arm around your back to hold you close while he uses his hand to guide himself to your core. “I like that.” He presses his lips to yours and starts to push inside you. “I love you.”

“I love you.” You gasp when he pushes inside of you, making you cling to him, wrapping your arms and legs around him. You kiss along his neck, sighing his name as he starts to slowly move inside of you. “I’m so sorry for all of this mess.” You murmur, making him pull back to look at you.

“What do you mean?” He frowns, stopping his movements. 

“The fundraiser, pretending to be okay with just sex. I’ve made such a mess of everything.”

Closing his eyes, he leans forward and kisses your forehead and presses his win against yours. “It’s okay.” He promises you. “Things happened how they needed to. We don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

You smile, grateful he’s not mad at you, and you kiss his lips when he begins to move inside of you again. You roll your hips to meet him, slow and not in a rush. So unlike the other times you’ve been together. “It’s always so good.” You sigh, closing your eyes and enjoying the feel of him above you. The weight of the moment rests on you both but it’s not suffocating.

Grabbing your hand, he laces his fingers with yours and holds your hand while he slowly rocks into you. His lips press to yours again and again, keeping it light and not deepening it but the emotions are there. “So good baby.” He promises. “From the first time. Knew it from the first time I felt you around me.”

“As me, or as the woman at the fundraiser?” You tease, caressing his back with your free hand and you squeeze his other hand.

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head at you. “Aren’t they the same?” He asks, grinding his hips a little deeper. “The mousy assistant is the act. The wild, wonton woman at the party is the real you. The one that only I get to see.”

You grin, realizing he truly knows you. “Yes. Only you get to see me. The real me. God, you bring the best out in me. I’m so - so wanton around you.” You hiss when his cock hits deep. “Fuck. Love you and love this cock. Makes me feel - feel so good.”

Javi chuckles and makes sure his next thrust is nice and deep, loving the way you clench around him. “Always want you to feel good. Love the way you feel when you cum, love you.” He picks up the pace. “Want you to cum now.”

The way he grinds into you, his pubic hair rubbing your clit and his cock pressing deep, it doesn’t take much to get you to cum. With a gasp, you clamp down on his length, soaking him with a soft cry of his name. The orgasm is slow, overtaking your entire body until you feel boneless beneath him.

“Yesss.” He hisses, loving the way that you shatter under him and he keeps grinding into you, chasing his own release. “Good girl, God you get so wet for me.” He’s suddenly stiffening, moaning your name as he fills you up.

You sigh in bliss at the way he fills you up, making your back arch beneath him and you kiss his jaw as he pants, relaxing above you. “Love you Javi.”

“I love you.” He pulls out of you gently and moves to the side, curling around you. Reaching up, he cups your cheek and kisses you again. “Janice in HR is going to be pissed.” He chuckles and kisses your nose. “Told her I wouldn’t fall in love with my assistant and I lied.”

You giggle, shifting to curl into him, caressing his neck and running your fingers through his hair. “She had a feeling it would happen? Or is your reputation that bad?” You joke, making him snort. 

“Probably both.” He retorts.

You sigh in contentment before you kiss his jaw. “We will figure it out. If I have to switch to another department or - or if I have to quit, we will figure it out. I don’t want your job to be in jeopardy.”

“It won’t be.” Javi promises, closing his eyes and sighing softly as he leans back. “I’ll make sure of it and I don’t want you to stop being my assistant. You- you’ve changed my life in so many small ways, I didn’t realize how much until you didn’t show up today. I hate Jason, by the way.”

You roll your eyes playfully at that, “he’s sweet. Just - he gets flustered. I’ll call him and tell him he can go back to the basement.” Javier chuckles at that. “As for you, I’m glad you finally started wearing those glasses. Your squinting was ridiculous.” You joke and it’s his turn to roll his eyes. “Maybe that’s why you didn’t recognize me that night.” 

He shakes his head, “no. I just - I should’ve opened my eyes and seen you, my beautiful assistant.” He admits and you smile, kissing his cheek. 

“Well, I’m here now baby. Your mystery woman unveiled.” You tease and he caresses your side. 

“My very own Cinderella.” He grins, knowing that the night you walked into that fundraiser changed everything.

[qveerthe0ry]

The D-Files

Summary: Something weird happens when Dieter tries to post his X-Files fanfiction Word Count: 14,941 Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Fox Mulder x Dana Scully Rating: 18+ mdni Warnings: threesome, oral (m & f receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected PIV, rimming, d/s undertones, poor explanation of time travel and quantum physics, it's a little cracky tbh Beta: the one and only @for-a-longlongtime obviously A/N: listen. I have ten episodes left of the whole series so if something is totally off and not accurate to x files canon just ignore me :) Also I'm absolutely aware of how completely ridiculous this fic is but I heard the voice of Dieter Bravo speak to me and could not ignore it Ao3 link

Curled up under at least three blankets, in just his underwear, stoned out of his mind (just weed— he’s California sober now) Dieter watches Mulder and Scully shake hands for the first time. 

The first time for them. 

He’s had to have seen this episode at least a thousand times by now. 

He’s in one of those funks again. His therapist calls it a depressive episode, but that’s so dramatic. He’s just a little bit down in the dumps thinking about how worthless he is and how no one’s ever really loved him before, not even his own parents, and how he hates himself so much he’s not sure if he would ever get rid of the guilt of letting someone else love him because he knows he’d just be a waste of their time.

It’s no big deal. Nothing an X-Files rewatch, weed, and a footlong Subway sandwich can’t fix.

Except this time, the way Scully and Mulder instantly mesh so well kind of makes him feel like he smoked too much pot. His stomach’s a little queasy as he watches him give her his undivided attention, and fuck, maybe this is a job above these FBI agents’ pay grade. 

He eyes that stupid notebook on his nightstand, still wrapped in plastic from the Amazon order. 

His therapist told him to start writing his thoughts down in a journal. He doesn’t like writing. It’s not what he does. He can’t stand those actors who think just because they’ve starred in a few movies means they should start writing them, or scrawling down some convoluted, conceited novel. Just fucking act, y’know? 

But as Scully throws herself into Mulder’s arms after knowing him for only a few days, and they both look so comfortable, Dieter rips open the packaging and swallows down the bile threatening his esophagus.

—

I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be doing here. What should I even write down in this thing? How lonely I am? Get in line, right? I’m not the only one. Even though sometimes it feels like I am.

Maybe it feels so bad because I know I did this to myself. Everyone always told me I’d always be a piece of shit. Even when I was young. And I just let their narrative take over and now here I am. The biggest piece of shit. 

It’s like Mulder. Everyone always called him Spooky and said he was too ‘out there’ and he ended up in the basement chasing Bigfoot. 

Except I don’t have a hot redhead in my life to balance me out or slowly fall in love with me.

And I’m not a tall, boyishly handsome, charming FBI agent. 

I’m just a washed-up actor, and a slob, and a drug addict. That’s probably why.

Golly gee, doc, this sure made me feel better.

—

He writes in his journal a bit here and there. He also slowly rots away in his bed, takes far too little showers and far too many THC gummies. He talks to his therapist two weeks later and tells her he’s been writing down his thoughts and her impressed hum and “That’s very good, Dieter” has him riding a high the rest of the afternoon. 

So he keeps it up. 

He doesn’t leave the house much, and when he does, he just wants to get back into his permanently affixed blanket fort to watch more X-Files and get high. 

He writes a little about his day, about what he’s mulling over in his mind. But as he reaches the end of season two, he’s out of his funk enough to start feeling horny again. 

Who wouldn’t, watching the world’s hottest FBI agents on a near constant loop?

So who can blame him when his journal thoughts get a little spicy?

—

God, Mulder’s such an idiot sometimes. So is Scully. They waste so much time getting on each others’ nerves. This entire show is just years-long foreplay. I swear they get off on irritating each other.

I irritate so many people, why aren’t any of them ever turned on about it? 

They should have just let them kiss in the first season. There could have been so much sex. All the motel rooms these two wasted! On the government’s dime, too! 

Rental car sex, alleyway sex, OFFICE sex. The Sex Files. That’s what this show should have been. 

I wonder if Mulder’s better at eating ass or pussy. I just know he’s freaky with all the porn and phone sex hotlines. And the auto erotic asphyxiation thing, can’t forget about that. I’d choke the shit out of him if he wanted that. With my hand or my cock, his choice. 

I wonder if Scully is freaky, too? I think she’d deny it, but it wouldn’t surprise me if she was filthy kinky. She always has to be in control. I wonder if she’d be like that in bed, too? I wonder if she’d get off on torturing me and making me beg. Or maybe she’s always so in control that she wants to relinquish all of it when she’s in bed.

—

Dieter remembers that fanfiction exists shortly after that. 

His dick is raw and he hasn’t even made it through half of the explicit entries on archive of our own. But everything’s so… Vanilla. 

Don’t get him wrong, he’s a total sucker for tender, missionary love-making. But where’s the experimentation? Where’s the creativity? And why the hell does everyone think Fox Mulder is such a dom?

Just look at him.

He’s pathetic. Scully could have him begging on his knees with nothing but the snap of her finger and one of her sexy, stern glances. Maybe he’s projecting a little bit, but not much.

He gripes to his therapist about this while he avoids the topic of his greatest fear being dying without ever having a meaningful relationship in his whole life.

“Have you ever thought about writing your own fanfiction?”

And no, he truly never has. It seems like something so far away from appropriate given his profession. But then again, when has he ever been totally professional?

So he starts writing. At first he finds himself falling into the popular tropes— love confessions and sweet, romantic first times. Just little blurbs in his journal he ends up scrawling out with his pen. There’s enough of that already. He needs to explore the fun stuff with these two.

One night/early morning, he finally grabs his laptop from his rarely-used office. He snuggles up under all the blankets he can find, turns on The X-Files, and gets down to business. 

—

“I’m sorry Scully—”

“Don’t.”

Her icy blue stare pins Mulder in place. His pouty lips close and his sharp jaw clenches as he looks down at his feet.

“You almost got us killed!”

“I wouldn’t have let you get hurt, you know that.”

Scully doesn’t know what comes over her, but she crosses what little distance is between them to grab the back of Mulder’s hair and tug.

His jaw drops and as hard as he tries, he can’t stifle the whimper that slips from his lip. 

“You were reckless with your own life. You can’t— Do you know what I would do if anything ever happened to you?”

Scully’s sharp gaze softens. Tears prickle at Mulder’s eyes, partly from Scully’s death grip and partly because of the way her voice wavers. 

“Scully—”

“Get on your knees.”

——

Dieter fights the heavy, sharp arousal in his gut as he writes Mulder on his knees for Scully. He just knows he’d eat pussy like a champ, what with those sunflower seeds he’s always got between those pillowy lips. He’d be great at sucking cock, too. Dieter thinks they would look so fucking pretty around his own dick.

Or Scully’s strap. 

Perfect.

He stays awake for way too long, writing about Scully trapping Mulder between her thighs for hours, and then making him choke or her strap, and then making him beg and whimper and cry for it as she teases his prostate with her fingers. 

Scully’s so dainty, but the idea of her fucking into her big, tall partner with fury has Dieter leaking into his boxers as he types away. It takes all of Dieter’s willpower to write the sweet aftercare scene. Scully gently cleans up his cum and sweat and tears, telling him what a good boy he was as she pets his hair and kisses his face. 

As soon as Dieter writes the last words, he’s fumbling for his lube and dildo in the bedside drawer. He’s too worked up to prepare properly, and it burns, and he hears Scully’s disappointed tuts in his head as he fucks himself into a mess. 

He whines her name, and Mulder’s name, as filthy images of the two fill his head. 

He comes without even touching his dick. He makes an absolute mess of his sheets and just grinds into the puddle beneath him as he fucks himself through the aftershocks. 

And if he cries a little bit at the thought of two beautiful FBI agents telling him how good he was as they stroke his sweaty skin, that’s between him and his open laptop. 

—

“Do you think I should post my fanfiction?”

His therapist’s perfectly shaped eyebrows perk up. 

“Do you think you should post it?”

“I dunno. Probably not.”

“Why not?”

“Wouldn’t it be a little weird? An actor writing fanfiction about characters his peers portrayed?”

His therapist hums. He knows that’s his cue to keep talking, but they just sit in silence for a bit. 

“Do you want to post it?” She asks. 

He huffs. 

“I don’t know. What if everyone hates it?”

She shrugs and nods at him to continue.

“I’m afraid no one’s gonna read it. Or if they do, they’ll hate it. And leave mean comments.”

“Would that bother you?”

“Well yeah, duh.”

She hums again. Dieter rolls his eyes, half at her but half at himself. 

“I know, I know,” he sighs, “I’m a walking contradiction. I crave praise but I’m too afraid to put myself out there to receive any.”

“That’s not necessarily true. You’re an actor. It’s your job to put yourself out there and be consumed and reviewed.”

“Yeah but that’s not me, it’s just the guy they tell me to play.”

His therapist smiles. 

Shit. 

“I think you know what you need to do, Dieter.”

He does leave that therapy session crying, thirty minutes later. If he had a tail, it would be between his legs. 

It takes him six days to work up enough courage to even make an account. And then another two days to pour over every single word he wrote, change it, change it back, wash rinse and repeat. 

When he finally works up the nerve to post it, his laptop dies just as he’s about to press the publish button. 

You gotta be kidding me, he thinks, maybe this is a sign.

But then he thinks about what his therapist would say, that things that are worth it rarely come easy, and that he should probably stop assuming everything is a sign, and so he plugs his laptop in and waits for it to charge enough to come back to life. 

It’s the longest four minutes of his life. 

He stares at the black screen in silence. He blinks at his reflection as he listens to the storm brewing outside his window, only flinching slightly as lightning illuminates his dark room. 

His heart leaps up into his throat when the screen lights up again. Everything’s right where he left it. All he has to do is press that little button. 

He takes one, two, three deep breaths with his finger on the trigger and then—

CRACK

—

Everything hurts. Like, bad.

Dieter groans and tries to blink his eyes open. It’s bright. He’s no stranger to waking up in an unfamiliar place with a terrible headache and no recollection of how or why he’s there. However, he hasn’t touched a party drug in a year and a half, and hasn’t even been to a party for even longer than that. 

He finally blinks away the sleep in his eyes. He’s on the cold ground. The grass is plush and dewy under him. When he sits up, the world spins around him for a few moments and he just barely keeps his stomach from emptying. 

He checks his pockets. At least he has his phone on him. No wallet, though. And he’s in his pajamas, which is fine, not unusual attire for most of his outings. 

He goes to unlock his phone but of course it’s dead. 

Shit. 

He looks around a bit more and all this scenery does not look like Los Angeles. There are hills in the distance that are much more rolling than the jagged peaks in California. The smell of campfire fills the air and it’s humid, he realizes. Stiflingly so. 

He stands up. His joints ache even more than they usually do, stiff and popping. When he runs his hand through his hair he’s got wicked bed head. 

At least he can make out a dirt path amongst the grass and trees around him. He follows it for a while, and just as he thinks he might be wandering to his own death out in the boonies he sees a little shack in the clearing just by what seems to be a lake. 

It looks… Strangely familiar, despite the fact that he’s certain he’s never been here before. There’s a sign that reads “Bait & Tackle” that’s seen better days and a big giant inflatable… something tied down to the roof. 

He scratches his head as he stares. He has the feeling of something being on the tip of his tongue, but it’s on the tip of his brain instead. 

As he approaches, a high-pitched growl startles him out of his daze. His eyes frantically search for the source, and as he walks closer he spots it.

A tiny little yappy Pomeranian, tan and fluffy. 

It hits him all at once. 

He gasps and moves toward the fiesty little thing as his heart pounds. There’s no way…

It snarls and yaps at him as he crouches down to greet it— him. 

Once he starts giving the dog butt pats and head scratches, it warms up to him pretty quickly. He searches for the dog tag hiding under all that fur and gasps as he reads it.

QUEEQUEG

“Oh my god, Queequeg, I thought I’d never see you again, buddy.”

The pup wags his tail at the sound of his name and Dieter goes down on his knees to accept him into his lap. 

“How are you real? What’s happening?”

Tears well at Dieter’s eyes as he holds this fictional dog in his arms, who’s been dead since season 3. Sue him, he’s very confused and vulnerable and it was the most devastating death of the series by far.

As he pets the derpy little thing, he tries to wrap his head around everything that’s going on. Last he remembers, he was holding his breath and clicking the mouse pad and now he’s here, in the middle of nowhere Georgia if he remembers his X-Files trivia correctly. 

Which means this sweet little pup is going to die in this… episode? And if he’s in the episode, that means—

“Hey! What are you doing? That’s my dog!”

Dieter’s heart pounds, heavy and fast, like he’s done way too much coke. He looks up with wide eyes and it’s unmistakable, her bright red hair and sexy scowl and the lanky handsome man attached to her hip. 

“Scully?”

Dieter watches her face twist up in confusion, and watches Mulder’s eyebrows raise with a smirk on his face as he looks between him and his partner. 

“You know this guy, Scully?”

She squints at Dieter as they walk closer. He feels very warm under her gaze. He pets Queequeg’s head for comfort.

“No, I don’t. What’s your name?”

Dieter clears his throat. 

“You don’t recognize me?”

Mulder presses his lips together, trying to hide his amused smile as he nudges Scully’s side. 

“Should I?”

“Wait… what year is it?”

Scully’s face turns from annoyed to concerned. She kneels down in front of Dieter and looks into his eyes, and her gaze is too heavy, it spears right through him. 

“It’s 1995. Are you concussed?”

“No, I don’t think so. I mean— Maybe. Probably, to be honest. It’s 1995?”

“Has been for five months, now,” Mulder supplies. 

Dieter nods. 

“Do you know where you are?”

“I think so… listen. You guys aren’t gonna believe this— well, Mulder might believe it— But I’m from the future.”

Scully’s concerned gaze turns right back to annoyed very quickly, and she stands back up to cross her arms. 

Mulder just chuckles. 

“How do you know our names?” He asks.

Dieter feels a little weird on the ground while they’re staring down at him, in a horny way, so he gently places Queequeg back on the gravel to stand up himself.

“Would you believe it if I said I’m from an alternate reality where you guys are the main characters in a cult classic sci-fi television series?”

Mulder blinks at him. Dieter shrugs with a sheepish grin.

“Honestly? That’s more believable than the time travel.”

Dieter smirks. 

“That’s such a Scully thing to say.”

“That is such a Scully thing to say,” Mulder agrees. 

“Oh my god.”

“I can prove it! I swear. C’mon, let’s get this little guy safe and sound in your cabin and I’ll prove everything.”

Mulder shrugs, and gives Scully one of his looks, the c’mon, let’s see where this goes look that Dieter’s so used to seeing. 

She just scoffs.

“Mulder, we don’t have time for this. People are dying left and right, you’re on a wild sea-monster chase, and half the town is—”

“Wait, Scully, look at this guy. He’s going to tell you another body’s been found in the lake. Well— half of a body.”

They all turn to the man running up from the docks, and sure enough, it plays out almost exactly how Dieter remembers from the episode. Scully’s very focused on the legs floating in the lake, but Mulder keeps eyeing him in a way that makes him wish he was wearing something more than just flimsy pajama pants. 

“Scully…” Mulder mumbles as they walk back toward their car, “I think we should hear him out.”

“Hear him out!? We should be shoving him in handcuffs, he’s the only suspect we have that isn’t mythical.”

“I’d be into that, actually,” Dieter says, holding his hands out toward them, wrists pressed together. 

Scully grimaces and Mulder smirks but he drapes an arm around her shoulder in a way that seems suspiciously protective. 

“There’s not enough evidence to cuff him, but we can at least keep him close and see what else we can get out of him.” 

“Mulder—”

“If anything, he can just dogsit for us.”

The way they’re talking about him like he’s not even there makes the tips of his ears burn.

“I’d love to dogsit! I miss Queequeg.”

“What do you mean you miss him? He’s right here.”

Dieter winces. 

“Actually that’s a big plot point in this episode,” Dieter whispers.

They stop at the car and Scully glares at him, and Mulder looks a little bit like he’s just brought a stray dog home without her permission. Dieter kinda likes it.

“You never told us your name,” Scully grills.

“Dieter. Dieter Bravo.”

Mulder huffs. 

“What kind of name is Dieter Bravo? Do you do adult films?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Fox?”

The way the giggle bubbles up out of Scully’s chest makes him preen. 

“Alright. Where do you live, Dieter?”

He winces and scratches the back of his neck.

“Los Angeles.”

“Oh brother,” Scully grumbles. 

“How did you get here then?”

“Y’know, it’s the weirdest thing. I was writing a fanfiction about the two of you and when I went to post it, I think lightning struck my house and sent me here.”

The two agents stare at him in silence for so long that Dieter has the time to question every single moment that has led up to this. He determines that this is all his therapist’s fault when Mulder finally clears his throat. 

“You can bunk with me until we get everything sorted out, alright?”

Dieter straightens up and salutes him.

“Yes, sir, Agent Mulder.”

Scully rolls her eyes and turns to open the car door for him, but Mulder smirks.

“I think I kinda like this guy, Scully.”

——

Mulder’s nice enough to let him shower and lend him spare clothes that aren’t caked in mud and grass stains, once they’re back at the cabin. He cleans up in silence trying to wrap his head around this entire pickle he’s in, and how to go about making them believe him.

He’s got his work cut out with Scully, he knows this. But he works over every bit of information he can remember from each season, each episode, to remember something that couldn’t be denied. 

They’re doing their Scully and Mulder thing when he comes out with damp hair and Mulder’s clothes on. (He definitely had to will away a half-chub at the thought of being wrapped in his things.) 

They sit around the small living room with photos and paperwork all sprawled out and Dieter feels like geeking out a little bit. This is like the world’s greatest and most interactive X-Files museum. 

“Okay. I’m going to try to do this in the best way I know how. Just— Bear with me.”

They sit back in their seats, and Dieter lifts Queequeg onto his lap to take his place on the couch. He waits for them to give him a go-ahead, but neither of them are responsive. He tries not to feel so aroused by their focused gazes. Maybe he should have jerked off in the shower, as a precaution.

“Okay then… let’s see… this is Season 3, Episode… 22? So. You guys just went through the whole Skinner thing, right? With his— his bad dreams lady killing that prostitute?”

“How do you know Skinner?”

“I told you, it’s a TV show. Skinner’s always busting your balls. Big tough assistant director business. He’s actually just a softy though, I think.”

Scully looks disinterested and a little annoyed, but Mulder’s starting to shift forward in his seat.

“What’s the show called?”

“The X-Files.”

Scully snorts. 

“How creative.”

“Okay, okay, I know. It sounds whacky. But I’ve seen the show a billion times over, I’ve been unknowingly preparing for this moment since the pilot aired.”

He takes a moment to determine what to say and how to word it before he continues.

“Okay… Well… Your first case together was that weird kid in Oregon that kept helping aliens abduct his classmates. Scully conveniently missed the UFO though. Ever the skeptic. Then… let’s see… Deep Throat turns up in the next episode. Scully, he ended up dying in your arms and his last words were trust no one.”

“Mulder, we’ve been bugged for 90 percent of the time we’ve known each other, this doesn’t mean anything.”

Dieter huffs and Mulder shrugs. 

“Keep going. Give us a deep cut, man. You gotta try harder than that.”

“When did you become the skeptic, Mulder?” 

The agent shrugs and raises his eyebrows to urge him to continue. 

“Okay… Scully, when you were at your god son’s birthday party, you told your friend that Mulder is a jerk.”

“Hey, what the hell, Scully?”

“No, I said he was just—”

“Obsessed with his work, yeah. After you called him a jerk though.”

Dieter hates to see the way Mulder’s eyebrows draw up in the middle. It’s kind of funny to see Scully so embarrassed, though. He figures he’ll keep what else she said to himself, about him being cute, because it looks like she’s praying that he doesn’t blab about it.

“You wound me, Scully.”

“Oh, yeah, and there’s the time you shot Mulder in the shoulder.”

“You’re kind of a bully, y’know?”

Scully shoves at his shoulder to prove their point, and Mulder just laughs and leans into it. 

“Do you want to know what happens in the future? Wait, if I affect the future will the show be different? I dunno how I feel about that… new X-Files episodes in 2024 would be incredible. But what if the new episodes suck, though?”

“2024? That’s what year you’re going with?” 

Dieter nods. 

“It kinda sucks. We have smartphones and streaming services and stuff but also, you wouldn’t believe who the last president was if I told you. Also there was a global pandemic. Still kinda is one, but everyone’s just ignoring it. Actually, come to think of it, you guys would thrive in 2024.”

“Do we die before then?”

“Oh, no, no, the show just finished. And then came back and then— it’s a whole thing. But neither of you die.”

“Hmm.”

Mulder hums, and Dieter knows exactly what he’s thinking. Scully too, by the faraway look on her face. Total idiots. Why couldn’t he have landed at least after the first kiss. Or even the almost-kiss?

“Well, I’m tired, and this case isn’t going to solve itself. And Queequeg needs to go potty, so, I think we’re done here.”

Dieter’s whole body feels hot, like the time he was stabbed in the chest with that epi-pen. He shoots up off the couch so fast that Queequeg yelps and hops down to cower behind Scully’s ankles.

“Wait! It’s an alligator. Literally. It’s just an ordinary alligator killing these people. And if you let Queequeg walk into the woods he’s going to get eaten and if there’s one single thing you believe me about it has to be this, okay? For Queequeg’s sake.”

Dieter’s got his hands clasped in front of him, pleading. Scully looks startled and Mulder looks awed, but he’s desperate to drive this point home. 

“…Okay. I’ll keep him close. Thank you.”

They think he’s crazy. Scully does, at least. Mulder’s just quiet, uncharacteristically so. 

“Thank you.”

“Alright,” she sighs, grabbing Queequeg’s leash and hooking him up, “goodnight guys.”

“Goodnight Scully.”

Dieter sighs and sits back down. 

“She thinks I’m insane, doesn’t she?” 

“Welcome to the club.”

Dieter chuckles and looks to Mulder. He’s still got that pensive look on his face. It suits him, all brooding with that fucking jawline and those plush lips and sad eyes. He wants to kiss him so bad. He almost says it out loud, so used to his horny musings while watching this guy on TV that his filter is a little out of whack. 

Dieter doesn’t even realize he’s staring until Mulder tilts his head at him, confused. He opens his mouth and takes a breath but the door ripping open cuts him off. 

“Mulder, there’s something in the woods; Dieter was right. I think we should check it out.”

Mulder jumps up at her beck and call and seeing it in person is even more overwhelming, how he follows her without question and trusts her, so eagerly. 

“Queequeg?”

“He’s here, can you watch him?”

Dieter nods.

“Me? Yeah, yes ma’am, Agent Scully.”

He doesn’t miss the amused look on her face just before the door slams shut behind them. 

He lies on the couch with Queequeg on his chest, enjoying the silence after the… everythingness of his day. He really wishes he could smoke some pot, but even if he could get his hands on some, he’s sure it would be weak as hell. And there’s the FBI agent thing. 

Dieter’s not sure how long he’s been staring at nothing and snuggling Queequeg when the cabin door finally opens again. 

“Did you catch the alligator?”

The eerie silence he’s met with makes him whip his head around. Scully and Mulder are staring at him. He’s pretty sure 80 percent of his X-Files fantasies have started exactly like this. 

“… We did. We caught it just in time to save Ted Bertram.”

“That’s the guy with the lake monster feet, right?”

They both nod slowly. 

Queequeg hops down from his perch on Dieter’s chest, so he sits up. 

“I told you. You guys believe me now?”

He watches as Mulder nods his head yes and Scully shakes her head no. All he can do is shrug and start wondering what’s next for him, in the year of 1995.

“Hey, do you guys need an assistant? I could tell you how to solve the next case! I think it’s the one with the mind control cable. Mulder, are you really red-green color blind? I think that was a major plot hole. How do you tell the difference between human blood and alien blood if one is red and one is green, then?”

“Mulder’s not colorblind,” Scully says. 

“Uhh… Actually, yeah. I am.”

“What? How did you pass the color vision test?”

“I’m colorblind, not an idiot. I can still tell them apart, they just look different to me than they would to you.”

“I— I can’t believe you’ve been colorblind this entire time.” 

Mulder shrugs. Then his brow quirks up.

“Why does that matter?”

“I’m not sure I should tell you. It might mess with the space-time continuum and— quantum physics, you know?”

Scully’s clearly had enough. She sighs and finally kicks off her shoes. 

“I’m grabbing a shower and clearing my head,” she says, “don’t— don’t let him out of your sight for now, Mulder.”

Mulder nods and half smiles at her. They both look pretty tired. He wants to remind them that he’s the one who traveled 29 years into the past today, but it seems like a pretty sore subject. 

They stand still and silent in the living room until Scully closes her bedroom door behind her, Queequeg in tow.

“You heard the woman. There’s a TV in my room.”

Mulder nods toward the other bedroom door and Dieter follows dutifully.

“Does it get the good channels?”

He hears Mulder chuckle and watches from behind as he sheds his jacket. He admires all those lean muscles in his back, now that he’s not wearing one of those god awful baggy suits. Maybe he should suggest a tailor, he thinks, and wonders if the later seasons would be filled with more eye candy if he did. 

“You know about that?”

“All the video tapes that aren’t yours? And the hotline lady that leaves messages on your answering machine? Yeah. You wouldn’t believe what porn is like in thirty years. You’re gonna love it.”

Dieter’s torn between looking away and staring shamelessly while Mulder unbuttons his fly. He settles for nonchalant, hoping his eyes don’t pop out of their sockets like a cartoon character when he notices the outline of Little Mulder. This is even better than the gray sweatpants in the Humbug episode. 

“I was hoping to kick the habit in thirty years’ time, actually.”

Dieter shrugs and his staring contest with Mulder’s crotch ends abruptly as he slides into a pair of pajama pants. Which is weird, because usually Mulder sleeps in his underwear. Must be the fact that he’s sharing a cabin with Scully.

Mulder throws Dieter the remote and settles onto the bed. There’s no couch in here, not even a cuck chair, so Dieter settles next to him. His whole body burns. God, if 20-year-old Dieter could see himself now, he’d ruin the pants he was wearing. 

The silence feels a little awkward, so he turns the TV on. Nineties TV is so simple. It’s easy to settle on a channel playing Invasion of the Body Snatchers and sink into the mattress under him. 

It only takes a few moments before he realizes Mulder’s staring holes into the side of his face. 

“What’s up?” Dieter asks. 

There’s so little room between them it’s making Dieter’s entire body throb along with his pulse. 

“You’re telling the truth.”

Dieter nods and tries to give him a reassuring smile. Mulder sighs and throws his head back onto the pillow. His eyes close and his brows furrow and his jaw does that sexy clenching thing again. It’s all Dieter can do to not bite at it and soothe the sting with his tongue. 

“What happens to us?”

Dieter clears his throat.

“I mean— I know, you shouldn’t affect the future, yadda yadda. I just…”

Fuck it, Dieter thinks, if I’ve already solved the case way before the episode is supposed to end, I’ve thrown everything off anyway.

“You end up together.”

Mulder lets out a big, long breath. His face instantly relaxes. His hands flex by his sides and Dieter goes out on a big giant limb and grabs one of them.

Mulder starts at the touch, but lets it happen. 

“When?”

“Way later than you should have shacked up, in my opinion.”

He grumbles. 

“My opinion, too.”

“You should make a move, then. I’m pretty sure at this point she’s only waiting for you to make a move.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Oh, it’s a whole thing involving a shapeshifting guy with a tail. Trust me. She’s got it just as bad.”

They’re still holding hands. Mulder hasn’t moved a muscle. An idea so bright pops into Dieter’s head that he’s certain there’s a lightbulb floating above him. 

“You know when you met Bambi on that cockroach case?”

Mulder nods. 

“She was so jealous. Didn’t you pick up on that?”

“I— I thought so. But I also thought she was just annoyed with me, y’know, how she usually is.”

Dieter squeezes his hand. 

“She was annoyed because she’s into you, dude. It was envy. Very, very clearly.”

He hums. 

“So? What now? Do I apologize for something that happened months ago? You apparently know Scully as well as I do, how do you think that’ll blow over? ‘Hey, sorry I made you jealous because you have a big fat crush on me.’ She’d deck me.”

Dieter shakes his head. 

“No, man. You need to make her jealous. So jealous she can’t deny why she’s upset with you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, and I mean, why not just start right now, y’know? Get a head start on the whole thing. I mean, you’re here, I’m here, there’s only one bed…”

“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were coming onto me.”

“I would love to come on you, actually.”

Mulder laughs, and Dieter deflates a little at the sound. But when he goes to pull his hand away, Mulder cinches it in his own. 

“Dieter…”

“Mulder.”

“We’re doing this, then?”

Dieter nods like an overexcited puppy wagging its tail. Oh my god. Oh my god. Fox Mulder in his prime, how fucking lucky can one guy be?

Mulder glances at the door to make sure it’s open. The faint sound of running water can be heard from Scully’s room, and he thinks he smells her shampoo wafting out with the steam. 

Like two nervous teenagers, they shift to face one another. Dieter brings their joined hands together on his own hip. Mulder’s palm is warm on his skin where his shirt rides high, and it makes Dieter’s breath hitch. 

Slowly, Dieter urges him to keep his hand still with a squeeze before mirroring Mulder’s, creeping his hand under his shirt and feeling his solid, trim waist.

Mulder hums into his touch and Dieter realizes this man is possibly just as touch-starved as he is. He starts swirling circles into his skin with his thumb and inches forward, but those beautiful hazel eyes hold apprehension in their timid gaze.

“What if this blows up in my face?” Mulder whispers.

“It won’t. I guarantee it. I’ll make sure of it. Trust me?”

A soft grin tugs at Mulder’s lips and he nods, and it’s all the permission Dieter needs.

Christ, his lips are soft. Soft and plush and exactly how Dieter imagined only a million times better. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this good, not on any drug, and they’re just kissing. 

It’s chaste until he feels Mulder’s tongue prod at the seam of his lips and then it’s filthy. As soon as Dieter opens his mouth to him, Mulder takes it with a grunt. His blunt nails dig into the soft flesh at Dieter’s hip as he traces the arch of his bottom teeth. Dieter tries to keep up, but his brain constantly shorts out at the thought of who’s tongue is poking and prodding around in his mouth. 

He’s a great fucking kisser. His tongue tickles the roof of Dieter’s mouth and it makes him shiver, makes his cock swell against his borrowed sweatpants, against Mulder. 

He doesn’t seem deterred. Quite the opposite actually. He tugs Dieter by the hip and presses his own solid prick right up against Dieter’s, and they both groan into the sloppy kiss. 

“It’s been quite a while,” Mulder says. 

Dieter can’t tell if the huffed little laugh is directed toward the eager way he chases Mulder’s lips, or toward himself for being out of practice. He likes the thought of either. 

“For me, too,” Dieter mumbles. 

Mulder hums and rolls his hips. As their dicks press together and twitch, Dieter decides they are not naked enough by any means. 

He presses his hand up, up, bringing Mulder’s shirt with it and grabbing a handful of his sturdy pec, admiring how stiff it feels under his palm when his lungs inflate. He gets with the program, and Dieter pulls his own shirt over his head, then promptly salivates over all the lean muscles and wiry hair and pale skin in front of him. 

“Fuck,” he breathes.

It’s not until Mulder’s breath hitches does he realize he might actually be into this, not just their plan, but being here in bed with Dieter. His pretty hazel eyes are dark now, pupils blown out, and his chest is heaving, and the tent in his pajama pants is far too enticing to resist. 

Dieter reaches down to cup him through the flannel material and Mulder gasps and falls flat onto his back. His eyes close and his jaw hangs open like an invitation. Dieter wiggles and shifts to press up against the length of his side and to finally press his face into the crook of his neck. 

The hint of aftershave that’s been teasing him all day is now overwhelming his senses, sharp and spicy. Dieter is delighted to know that his skin tastes just as delicious as it smells, salty and heady under his tongue. Mulder’s prick throbs in his grasp and Dieter’s torn between wanting to tease him over his pants and feel the hot skin of his cock in his palm. 

“Feels good,” Mulder whispers. 

“Yeah?”

“Mmm.”

Dieter nips at his racing pulse first, then down to his jaw and the impressive five o’clock shadow he’s always been jealous and in awe of. The prickly hairs there tickle his tongue and lips, and he grinds into the outside of Mulder’s thigh for a bit of relief. 

“You think about Scully doing this?” 

The way Mulder’s dick jolts in his grasp is answer enough, but he speaks up anyway. 

“Yes.”

The admission is so hot it makes Dieter’s brain spin. He himself has thought of it many times before, Scully torturing him with teasing touches, her little sharp canines digging into his flesh, but the thought of Mulder thinking of it too… 

All those heated glances Dieter’s mulled over, he wonders how many of those were fueled by Mulder’s dirty thoughts about her. Wonders how many times he’s seen a flash of something in Mulder’s gaze and it’s been him fantasizing about getting Scully in bed. 

Dieter huffs against the heated skin of Mulder’s neck before he pulls back. His head his thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, and he’s fucking gorgeous. He lightens his touch, teases the underside of his cock with one fingertip, and delights in the pleasure scrawled across Mulder’s face. 

“How often?”

Mulder’s gravelly chuckle is cut off by a low groan when Dieter presses against his sac over his pajamas. 

“All the time,” he confesses, “every time.”

“In the office?”

Mulder whimpers and nods his head. 

“On the job, in the field?”

“God yes.”

Dieter hums, squeezes his balls to goad him into continuing.

“When she— when she’s so serious, it’s hot. She’s so smart, it turns me on.”

Dieter smirks. He completely sympathizes.

“You like it when she debunks you?”

Mulder whines and nods his head again. Dieter tries his hardest not to react to the sound of the water shutting off across the cabin, or Scully’s door creaking open. Instead, he shoves his hand down Mulder’s pants and hopes to god he keeps his eyes closed, hopes Scully’s ever present need to call out his name is tampered down when she inevitably hears him talking. 

Mulder gasps and raises his hips into the circle of Dieter’s hand, and his brows furrow as he shuts his eyes even tighter.

“Why?”

Mulder moans. 

“Because she— she balances me out. Makes me feel even. Whole.”

Dieter chuckles. 

“Aww, does she complete you, Foxy?” 

He scoffs but bites his lip when Dieter thumbs at his head and spreads his slick, sticky pre-cum all around. 

“Tell me what you think about, Mulder.”

His breathing is so ragged that Dieter thinks he should maybe be concerned. But he can tell things are about to come to a head, can hear Scully’s little footsteps inching closer to their room, pointedly quiet. 

“Her, I think about her body against mine. And touching her.”

As if on cue, fiery red hair peeks through the door frame. Dieter’s got his free hand up and a finger at his lips before Scully’s face can even twist up in concern and shock. He gives her a pleading look as she stands stock-still and wide-eyed. 

“Where would you touch Scully, if she was here?”

“Everywhere. Anywhere she wants me to. I just wanna make her feel good.”

Dieter turns his head back to Mulder to confirm that his eyes are still closed. They are, positively scrunched shut as sweat threatens to penetrate his brows and slip into his eyes.

“Do you wanna taste her?” 

Mulder’s breath hitches and his cock pulses and dribbles more against Dieter’s hand. 

“Yes, yes, so bad. I think about it every time I— every time I touch myself.”

Dieter turns back to Scully. Her hair is damp and her silky pajama top is unbuttoned more than it was just a moment ago. It just barely hides her heaving chest and he has a hard time not giving her away when he realizes his plan is working. Her lips are parted and wet, like she’s licked them, and god he really fucking hopes they don’t kick him out once this all comes to a head. 

“You do?” 

“Mm-hmm,” Mulder nods, “I could spend the rest of my life down there and die happy.”

Dieter chuckles then, and Mulder does too, but he opens his eyes. It takes him just a second to blink and adjust but, ever the vigilant one, his eyes jolt toward the now closed bedroom door and Scully standing in front of it. His body goes stiff and still, aside from his prick, which twitches wildly in Dieter’s grasp. 

Mulder’s voice cracks amusingly around Scully’s name. She crosses her arms and lifts one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows as she shuffles to the foot of the bed. 

“Boys.”

Dieter smiles sheepishly at her. Mulder’s staring and gaping like a fish out of water, all tense now, one elbow on the bed so he can prop himself up. Dieter doesn’t miss the way Scully’s eyes trace over his naked torso or the activity going on at the front of Mulder’s pajamas. 

“Is it true, Mulder?”

He’s nodding his head before she can even finish the question. 

“Yeah, Scully. I—” 

He cuts himself off when Dieter squeezes and strokes him, and Scully’s gaze is locked on the movement.

“It certainly feels like the truth,” Dieter supplies. 

Mulder whimpers under him and Dieter swears he sees Scully’s ears perk up at the sound, like some kind of predator. 

“Mulder, c’mere.”

God, the way he follows so readily, like he always does, it warms Dieter’s heart just as much as it makes his dick throb. He kneels on the edge of the bed right in front of her. His cock is protruding obscenely out in front of him, but Scully doesn’t seem to care about that. 

No, she’s focused on his face instead where it’s settled gently between her dainty hands. God, the way they look at each other is so fucking intoxicating. Dieter’s bound by it, physically stuck on the mattress as he watches. 

Her brows furrow slightly as she looks at him, but Mulder’s face is slack, almost dazed as he meets her eyes. 

“What did he tell you, Mulder?” 

Mulder shifts awkwardly from knee to knee. His mouth opens and closes a few times, and she giggles under her breath. 

“You’re not in trouble.”

Dieter laughs, and god, it’s so fucking weird. It’s like he’s watching a director’s cut. 

Mulder sighs, though. 

“We end up together, Scully. You and me. And I— I believe it. I believed it long before this guy showed up, and it… Out of everything I believe, everything I’ve been working toward… it might be the only belief I have that keeps me going.”

Scully’s gaze grows soft as his confession, and Dieter refrains from squealing in delight at how sweet Mulder sounds and how Mulder it all is.

“Why now, then?”

Mulder huffs and tries to turn away, but she keeps his face tight in her grasp. His cheeks are so pink. 

“Just worked up the guts, I guess.”

Dieter doesn’t miss the quick flicker of Scully’s eyes down to his lips. His fingers twitch with the urge to smash their faces together. 

She sighs and brushes some errant strands of hair from Mulder’s forehead. 

“Well,” she says, and her voice wavers with a heavy breath, “I’m glad one of us did.”

Mulder visibly melts. His shoulders slump and he leans forward into her touch. His face loses all of that tension from earlier, and his lips look loose when Scully’s own finally brushes against them. 

He’s so gentle with her, in a way he definitely wasn’t with Dieter. His hands are nearly hovering over her with how lightly he places them on her waist. His lips stay slack and still as he lets her control the kiss. The only thing giving him away is the comical bobbing of his prick disrupting the front of his pajamas, and there’s no way Dieter can blame him for that. 

One of Scully’s hands tangles in Mulder’s hair and produces a beautiful, high pitched sound that Dieter and Scully both react to. 

She pulls away. Mulder chases her lips, but her grip on his hair tightens. He curses under his breath with a face more flushed than Dieter’s ever seen on him.

Her eyes flicker over to Dieter and he feels like a deer in headlights. Why is he still here? Is this weird, is he being a creep for staying? 

“C’mere,” she mumbles, tipping her head to urge him to kneel right beside Mulder on the bed. 

He does, of course he does. He wants to be good for her, for them.

He kneels, shoulder to shoulder with the man panting beside him. He grasps his hands behind his back and waits patiently as she looks the both of them over. 

“What did I walk in on, Dieter?”

The way his name sounds coming from her low, rasping voice makes his spine tingle. 

“It was my idea, Agent Scully. I was trying to make you jealous. I’m sorry.”

She clicks her tongue and the noise makes his cock throb. 

“And you went along with this plan?”

She looks back to Mulder and Dieter shivers. He instantly misses the warmth of her gaze. 

“I— yeah. I did... It worked, didn’t it?”

Scully’s eyes narrow, and Dieter can’t tell if Mulder’s an idiot or a genius for riling her up. He should have known Fox Mulder would be a brat. He thinks if he plays his cards right, maybe Scully will forget the whole plot and he can be her good boy while Mulder gets punished for his smart mouth. 

A whimper falling from Mulder’s parted lips knocks him out of his daze and he notices Scully’s grip all tight in his floppy hair. 

Fuck, he wishes that were him. Maybe he should mouth off too, maybe then he’ll get the attention that he craves. 

“Get on your knees, Mulder.”

“I am on my knees.”

Dieter gasps as Scully tugs on his hair and leaves him no choice but to scramble off of the edge of the bed, lest she rip all that perfectly coiffed hair out of his head. His shoulders rise and fall with baited breath when he’s finally sunken his knees on the gaudy rug on the hardwood floors. Dieter whimpers and no one’s even touching him. 

“You too, time bandit.”

Dieter gets whiplash with how quickly he gets on his knees for her. He breathes out a labored ‘yes ma’am’ and Mulder throws him a look of disbelief. He shrugs, what can I say?

They’re both rock hard for her, on the floor, staring up at her. She looks like an angel, or the devil, or maybe like God herself. Her breathing is suspiciously calm compared to their own, even though her nipples create tantalizing nubs at the front of her silk pajamas. 

“Keep your eyes forward, both of you.”

Dieter nods at her commanding voice. He wants to look to Mulder for— direction? Comfort? Some kind of trauma bonding? But he doesn’t. He wants to be good. 

He hears Scully behind them, bed creaking under her weight, sheets ruffling underneath her. There’s a pregnant pause where all of their heavy breathing can be heard and the anticipation is so much Dieter might explode on the spot. 

“Strip.”

Twin breaths release from both Dieter and Mulder and he swears he hears her giggle behind them. He’s quick to comply, tugging at the drawstring of Mulder’s sweats he’s borrowed and awkwardly shuffling them off while he tries to stay kneeling. 

He notices Mulder still motionless beside him. 

“Scully…”

Idiot, Dieter thinks. 

“Good boy, Dieter, doing exactly what I say.”

He can’t help the satisfied smirk that twists his lips up, or the way the back of his neck burns at the praise. In his peripheral, Mulder hastily shucks his pajama pants. 

He has a pretty cock. Dieter knew he would. Everything else about him is pretty. It’s long and lean, just like he is, and the upward curve of it makes him jealous. It’s going to feel so good for Scully, if she lets him fuck her. 

There’s more shuffling behind them, and he flinches when a pair of satin pajama pants land on the floor in front of both of them. He has to dig his nails into his thighs to resist the urge to turn around. Something nudges his arm. He doesn’t dare move his head, but from the corner of his eye he sees a pale, smooth leg and his breath catches in his chest. 

He hears Mulder curse under his breath and can nearly feel the tension in him vibrating out energy into this rickety old cabin. Dieter feels a gentle hand in the short curls at the back of his neck just a moment later, her nails scraping his scalp just right, and his leg may just start shaking like a dog’s.

“You want to taste me, Mulder?”

“Fuck yes, Scully, please.”

She hums. Her hand in Dieter’s hair stills. 

“Go on, then.”

A lightning flash of movement stirs beside him, but Dieter keeps dutifully still. He’s twitching in anticipation but he doesn’t dare turn to look. 

Scully sighs, all breathy and high-pitched, and Dieter’s never heard a more beautiful sound. Then Mulder whimpers, and it’s muffled by Scully’s thighs, and there’s a wet smacking noise and Dieter thinks this obscene music could be a platinum album. 

Scully gasps, and Mulder groans, and Dieter aches. He can smell her, a sharp and tangy scent of arousal underneath the flowery soap and shampoo. Her hand is still in his hair and it hasn’t moved since Mulder got down to business and he feels forgotten about but in the best way.

“Dieter, honey, you can watch.”

He breathes out with relief and shifts to get a good look of the action. She’s perfect, gorgeous, breathtaking. Her silky pajama top hangs open on her pointy shoulders and her perky breasts rise and fall with her breathing. Her nipples are a brownish pink that stand erect in a way that makes his mouth water like a leaky faucet.

Her toned, porcelain legs spread wide enough to accommodate Mulder’s shoulders. The man is greedy, and Dieter can’t see a thing aside from the triangle of copper curls on her mound. He wants to nuzzle them so bad, he wants to feel them tickle his nose, smell the arousal that catches there. 

“You taste so good.”

Mulder’s words are squished against her center. Dieter whimpers at the thought of her flavor. Her hand soothes through his hair. He wants to touch his cock so badly, but Scully hasn’t told him that he’s allowed. Instead, he balls his hands into fists and bites his lip. 

Scully moans, and Dieter watches her face fall slack with pleasure. 

“Feels good, just like that.”

Dieter can’t help the sounds that eke out of him, desperate and a little pained. He’s so hard that he’s lightheaded, but Scully’s firm grip on his hair grounds him just enough. 

“Don’t be selfish, Mulder.”

He makes a questioning noise between her legs. He looks up at her with wide eyes, mouth open, tongue out and flat against her slit. 

“Give him a taste.”

“Oh fuck, please.”

Dieter can see the reluctance in Mulder’s motions, like he’s struggling to break free from her orbit. He looks so fucking hot, absolutely wrecked. His plush lips are red and shiny and his chin is dripping and his pupils completely usurp his irises. Drunk, drugged off of Scully.

He leans away from Dieter to make room between her legs but she tugs his hair. Then she tugs Dieter’s hair, and their noses are bumping together before either man can put two and two together. 

He can smell her on his breath. It’s so intoxicating that he loses any crumb of decorum he may have had left. He licks a broad swipe from Mulder’s chin to his Cupid’s bow and groans at all the slick he’s able to lap up. 

Mulder’s mouth opens up to him, and he chases the taste of her off of his tongue, his teeth, his gums, anywhere. They’re both panting into each other's mouths, exchanging breath. Dieter feels a big, strong hand on his jaw and neck, and the contrast to Scully’s smaller, gentler touch has him leaking all over the rug underneath him. He feels like he’s drowning, and he just wants to go even deeper, like even death won’t be enough. 

He waits for Scully to say anything about Mulder touching him. When she doesn’t, he takes it as permission to reach up and find purchase in his hair. His fingers tingle when they find Scully’s still there, and his whole body shudders and twitches when she links her fingers with his. 

“You want more?” 

It’s depraved, the way they both pull away from the kiss so fast. Dieter’s nodding and looking toward her, her glistening cunt, her smooth skin and her mischievous gaze. 

“Please, Scully,” Mulder mumbles. 

His head lolls back against Scully’s thigh so he can look up at her. He looks like he’s just run a marathon, the way sweat is beading at his forehead and his chest is heaving. 

“Yes, please, Agent Scully.”

She chuckles. The sound is torture and it’s bliss. She ruffles Dieter’s hair and he hums and leans into it. Mulder whimpers at the lack of attention, so she ruffles his too. 

And then she spreads her thighs even wider, like, gymnast levels of flexibility, and both of their eyes are drawn to the way her lips spread open in invitation, puffy red, her clit all swollen while she drips onto the old comforter under her.

“Think you can share?”

Dieter curses. Mulder whimpers against her thigh.

“Play nice, boys.”

Mulder looks at him with a heated gaze that makes him a little bit scared but really really horny.

“Yes ma’am,” Dieter says, but he’s staring at Mulder. 

Be good, he’s trying to tell him through telepathy, we’ll get rewarded if you’re just good.

Mulder glances up at her, bats his pretty little eyes, and licks his slick lips. 

“Yes ma’am.”

It sounds more teasing than anything, but Dieter doesn’t miss the way she squirms when Mulder says it. He just has that effect, doesn’t he? Such a charming little shit. 

He and Dieter look at each other, assessing, when Mulder finally goes low. It’s a little bit awkward, at first. Dieter’s jaw prods at Mulder’s sharp cheekbone as they find a good position. 

He traces around her clit with a pointed tongue, delicately, so eager to work her up. He can hear Mulder’s tongue fucking in and out of her, a wet cacophony of sounds that make his ears ring. So much so that he nearly doesn’t catch the sounds of Scully’s breath hitching, her soft little mewls as her hips cant up into their faces. 

He’s hyper focused on her pleasure, so lost in it that he doesn’t even recognize how turned on he is until a heavy, warm hand wraps around his cock and he nearly blows his load. His tongue presses broadly against Scully’s clit when he groans. She curses and her hand tightens in his hair and it’s so much. 

He reaches out for anything, really, but Mulder’s cock is there, hard and proud and twitching when he wraps his hand around him. He finds solace in the fact that he’s leaking just as much as Dieter is, sticky and slick all the way down the underside of his shaft. His noises get breathier, and his tongue seeks higher ground just as Dieter’s travels lower. They lap at her folds together, briefly, trapping them between their tongues, trading their tastes as she whines above them. Dieter doesn’t even realize his free hand has grasped Scully’s slender hip until she squirms against it. 

All of a sudden, Dieter feels her go stiff under his grasp. Her hand tightens in his hair just shy of enough to make him lose it. She lets out stuttered little sounds and Mulder hums below him. 

“You like that, Scully?”

“Oh my god, Mulder.”

He groans and shifts and she begs and Dieter’s aroused haze clears enough to make him realize that he’s eating her ass. 

He makes a pained sound himself and sucks Scully’s throbbing clit into his mouth. She shakes, and her stiff body loosens just enough for her to roll her hips into them. 

“Don’t— don’t stop, I’m so close. I’m gonna come.”

Neither of them would dream of stopping, not for anything. Dieter works his tongue in pulses against her clit as he suckles, and he feels Mulder slip a finger in between them just as she cries out, loud, and falls apart against their tongues. 

Dieter drinks up the way her clit jerks and pulses between his lips. He drinks up her gasps and breathy noises. He drinks up the way Mulder’s cock mirrors his own, twitching with pure arousal at the way she’s coming just for them.

They’re both humming satisfied sounds as they work her through it. Their hands on each other’s cocks have stilled completely, just a loose grasp as they coax every last bit of pleasure out of her until she’s lax and shying away from them. 

Dieter pulls away first. He watches with a sticky feeling in his chest at the way Mulder kisses her holes gently, and the skin around them, nuzzling between her thighs so tenderly. Both his hands free, now, Mulder soothes them up the outside of her thighs as they tremble in her aftershocks. 

Mulder’s babbling, Dieter realizes, once the ringing in his ears finally subsides. Just under his breath, a chant, over and over.

“So perfect, Scully, thank you, thank you, Jesus Christ, Scully…”

Dieter settles back on his heels to keep gazing at them. Scully’s hands both pet through his hair as he leaves wet kisses that make her pale thighs glisten in the dim cabin lighting. He’s panting harder than she is, and his prick dribbles and twitches, and he looks up at her through misty eyes. 

“Oh, Mulder,” she sighs.

She bends down at the same time he arches up and their lips meet in a kiss so blindingly passionate that Dieter debates whether or not he should look away. Only for a split second though. Because Scully moans into his mouth and licks herself out of it and Dieter grabs his throbbing dick at the base to chill himself out. 

Mulder’s fingers run through her damp hair so gently, but his jaw works and his mouth takes from her in stark contrast. They look so goddamn good together, it’s insane. He’s torn between holding off to see how this plays out, or coming all over himself in three strokes or less as he watches them together. 

“Come up here, Mulder.”

Her voice is intoxicating, it sounds so fucked out and blissful. She shuffles up the bed some and Mulder chases her, always touching at some point, until she’s lying back and he’s covering her body with his own. 

He dwarfs her. It’s cute, in the show, the way she’s always looking up at him with a craned neck. Now, it’s just filthy, how Mulder’s cock looks so fucking huge lying hard against her small frame. The way he has to scrunch himself up to kiss her so his prick doesn’t go anywhere it’s not supposed to, yet. The way her tiny feet rub up and down Mulder’s calves, only half their size. 

The way his hand eclipses her face when he cradles it and pulls away. How his thumb sweeps so easily from her lips to her cheekbone as he sighs. 

“Scully…”

She hums and closes her eyes and smiles, a sated and relieved grin that makes her look so serenely beautiful. 

“I know, Mulder,” she sighs, “me too.”

Dieter huffs. Chris Carter himself couldn’t have created a more Mulder and Scully-esque love confession. It’s precious. He might cry. 

Unfortunately, the sound makes them both look over. Scully’s all relaxed but Mulder’s hackles are all raised, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Dieter slowly moves his hand away from his leaking cock and feels himself blush from his face down to his nipples. 

He’s caught in their crosshairs, stuck, eerily still and silent. Should he offer to leave? He really doesn’t want to leave. Maybe he can just peek through the keyhole of the door and leave them to it. 

“You too, Dieter,” Scully says, “get up here.”

Relief floods through him and makes his limbs all tingly. He’s nervous as he stands, gently making his way to the side of the bed and settling one knee on, then the other. Mulder shifts to the opposite side of Scully, their legs still tangled, as he watches Dieter with emotion he can’t quite put a name to. 

Dieter practically purrs when he slides right into their space. His cock drags a sticky design onto Scully’s smooth thigh and he apologizes, but she just chuckles and gently scratches her nails along his scalp. 

“Are you both going to be good for me?”

The tone of her voice makes them both shiver. Mulder huffs out a laugh but Dieter gasps as she tugs a little at his messy, sweaty curls. 

“Yes ma’am, Agent Scully.”

Dieter’s voice completely betrays him. He’s so turned on. There’s so much blood pumping to his cock that there’s a real and serious threat of him passing out. He hides his face in her shoulder and tries to even out his breathing and not hump her leg like an unruly dog. 

“I’ll be good for you, Scully.”

Mulder sounds a lot more in control. His deep, syrupy voice is just shy of even, only cracking on the second syllable of her name. Dieter feels the way she starts giggling before he hears it, her shoulders jostling with it. 

“You’re going to play by the rules, Mulder?”

He chuckles and it sounds dark, and Dieter opens his eyes to watch him smirk that irresistible smirk. 

“Hell, Scully, I’d write the rules over and over on the chalkboard to keep this going.”

She rolls her eyes at him, but she’s still grinning. His eyes flicker to her lips and there’s no hesitation this time when they kiss again. It’s tame and loose, until Scully wraps her dainty hand around his cock and he groans. Dieter matches his sound, and he just can’t help it, he rolls his hips into Scully’s thigh as he watches Mulder melt into a puddle against her. She bites at his plush bottom lip before she pulls back. 

“Fuck me, then.”

“Jesus,” they both say in unison. 

Scully bites her lip to keep in her giggles and it’s cute and debauched and insane. She’s insane. She’s going to kill them both, and Dieter’s going to return to his reality with 8 less seasons of The X-Files, and a season finale where Scully gets locked up for double homicide.

Mulder shuffles to straddle her. Dieter watches his heavy eyelids flutter and his jaw hang open and knows he likely looks the same. His cock twitches heavily where it hangs below him, and Scully teases the underside of it with her fingertips. He shivers, and so does Dieter, where he rocks his hips gently into Scully’s smooth skin. 

“You’re sure, Scully?” 

Dieter turns away and hides his heated face in the duvet. It’s too tender and raw and he doesn’t deserve to watch them love each other like this. 

“Positive, Mulder.”

He hears them kissing, wet, smacking sounds that give Dieter goosebumps. And then a whimper, a huff, muffled into Scully’s mouth and he drags his face away from its hiding spot. 

Mulder’s inching inside of her slowly, so slowly, with patience Dieter couldn’t even dream of. He cranes his neck to watch her take him, inch by inch. She looks so tight, and he bets she is, if the way Mulder’s eyes are squeezed shut is any indication.

Scully’s head tips back and breaks their kiss. Her eyes roll into the back of her head before she closes them. Her chest is heaving now with shallow breaths, her nipples taut and inviting.

“Oh my god,” she whispers. 

Mulder’s hips stay flush once he’s all the way in and he pants too. It looks like it takes all the strength he has to just flutter his eyes open and look down at her. His brows furrow and he licks his lips and gasps. 

“Scully,” he whines. 

She smirks, and christ, Dieter knows she’s clenching around him like a menace. Poor Mulder. He’s got the restraint of a god, he thinks, Dieter wouldn’t have made it even halfway inside of her. 

She soothes him by brushing the hair from his forehead, all damp with sweat. She does the same to Dieter and he hums as her fingertips massage his scalp. 

Mulder pulls out just as slowly as he entered her. She‘s soaked. He can hear it so well in the stilted silence of the room. When he pushes back in, she sighs and tightens her fist in Dieter’s hair and he needs something. He rocks against her again, and again, and the steady friction makes him gasp. 

Her hand slides down to the back of his neck and guides him to her breast. His cock throbs, deliciously trapped between his stomach and her silky skin. His tongue tests the waters, swirling around the pronounced peak of her nipple. When she sighs and arches into it, he takes it into his mouth and sucks. 

The noises she’s making are perfect. High pitched, breathy, needy. She’s letting herself go to Dieter and Mulder and it’s gorgeous. He presses his cock against her even harder and closes his eyes and whines around the bud in his mouth. 

Mulder’s starting to pick up the pace. Dieter can tell by the way her breast is jiggling just slightly under his mouth. And the sounds, god, the filthy slick sounds coming from her cunt. He’s leaking all over her just thinking about what it must feel like, how snugly Mulder must fit inside of her, how warm it is. 

As if Mulder could read his mind, he gasps out and his hips stutter against her. 

“It’s so good, Scully.”

Scully arches her back to grind down onto him and moans his name and tells him she needs more and Dieter bites down on her tender skin. 

She jolts and tugs his hair and curses and he looks up at her as he soothes it with his tongue. 

She’s the poster girl of pleasure. Her face is twisted with it, every beautiful feature dripping with tension. The length of her neck is so apparent with her head thrown back, and her skin is pink and looks hot to the touch. She begins to bounce when Mulder fucks her faster and harder. Dieter wants to do something, anything to make her feel good. 

He replaces his mouth with his hand, squeezing her flesh and teasing her nipple with his fingertips. He trails kisses up her chest, little love bites and suction until he reaches just below her ear. Her pulse is fluttering rapidly under his tongue, and she keens just as she turns her head and presses their lips together. 

They’re kissing. He’s kissing Scully. Oh god, her lips are so fucking soft against his. Her tongue ripples in his mouth and it tastes so good, minty with a hint of her arousal straight from Mulder’s lips. He whines and rolls his hips against her like he’s in heat, and he’s so close, and he wonders if she’d be mad if he came all over her warm, smooth, freshly showered skin. 

She jolts against him, against them, and bites down on Dieter’s lip with an almost pained noise. She turns away from Dieter and they both look to Mulder, who’s circling her puffy clit with his thumb as he fucks her. 

He’s looking to her for direction with a glazed expression. He looks like he’s hanging by a thread. 

“Here,” she whispers, and takes two of her fingers into her own mouth. 

Christ. The way her lips look wrapped around her two digits is sinful and debauched. Mulder must think the same, because he grabs her wrist and makes her stop. 

Dieter holds his breath as he waits for his next move. Is he going to pin her arms to the bed? Is he going to stretch them over her head and make her squirm on his cock, make her beg? 

It’s sweeter than that. Of course it is, with these two. Mulder brings her hand to his lips and kisses her palm, and then her knuckles. She sighs his name, and watches Mulder smile.

That soft, dopey smile gets an edge to it. 

“Let me, please,” he whispers. 

Dieter only gets the chance to be confused for half a second when he slips those two fingers into his own mouth. 

Scully gasps and moans and wiggles against him. Fuck, it’s beautiful. Mulder’s full lips take her all the way to the last knuckle and he hollows his cheeks as he sucks them. Scully’s hips squirm and rock and the way she moves against him is a sight. Mulder groans when Scully begins to thrust her fingers in and out, just a little, not enough to choke him but enough to make him close his eyes and sigh and start slowly fucking her again. 

They leave his mouth all wet and shiny. Mulder’s tongue tries to follow them and it makes Scully huff out a weak laugh. 

“You’re too good at that, Mulder.”

He hums, tries to hide his sheepish smile by ducking his head. But Scully grips his chin with her wet fingers to prevent it. His eyes struggle to focus on her, Dieter notices. He can’t blame him, it’s like staring into the sun. 

“Why don’t you show off to your little time traveler, huh?”

He opens his mouth, but no words come out. His eyes dart nervously from Scully to Dieter. 

“I— what?”

“Don’t be dense. Make him come. Make me come. You can multitask, can’t you?”

Dieter lies as still as the dead, afraid that if he moves maybe Mulder will snap out of this horny daze and tell him to get lost. He wouldn’t blame him one bit, either, but god he really wants to see this man’s lips wrapped around his cock. 

Scully chuckles at Mulder’s frozen stature. Or maybe she’s chuckling at the way Dieter’s heartbeat is pulsing through his dick against her thigh, dribbling all over it. 

“I bet you’re so good at it,” she continues to tease him, “with these pretty lips?” 

Mulder huffs and squirms when she rubs the pads of her wet fingers against his mouth. His tongue peeks out to taste them, coax them back inside him, but she doesn’t let him. 

“For me, Mulder?”

And Dieter can’t help but grin, because he’s never seen such a visceral loss of resolve so clearly before. Mulder closes his eyes and whines and nods his head. 

Scully makes a satisfied little noise, and her free hand sneaks down to squeeze Dieter’s slick cock, and he has to bite his own lip really hard to keep from losing it before the fun even begins. 

Then there’s some awkward repositioning and shuffling, mostly on his end. He kneels just above Scully’s head, and when he looks down she’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat from under his cock. He has to reach down to collect some of the pre-cum oozing out of him to keep it from dripping onto her gorgeous face, but she grabs his wrist and licks it from his fingers anyway. 

And then there’s Mulder, who’s slowly thrusting in and out of his partner like it’s second-nature, like auto-pilot, as he surveys the scene in front of him. 

“Mulder,” Scully mumbles. 

The deep, breathy, commanding tone of her voice makes Dieter shiver. 

“Yeah, Scully?”

“Make us come. Then you can.”

He groans, and his hips stutter then slam into her. Dieter’s torn between looking at the blissed-out look on Mulder’s face or the mischievous look in Scully’s eyes. 

“Are you— are you sure?” Dieter asks. 

Like an idiot, looking a gift horse in the mouth. But how can he not? They’re so perfect, so made for each other, and he’s just some weird fucking guy. 

But then Mulder’s expression turns into something darker, determined, and he nods with glassy eyes. 

“C’mon, McFly.”

And that’s all the encouragement Dieter needs, really. He widens his knees to line his cock up with those shiny, plush lips. Mulder gives Scully one last glance before he’s craning his neck forward and closing his eyes. 

Scully and Dieter gasp at precisely the same time, just as Mulder’s tongue swipes at his frenulum. Dieter’s eyes lose focus as he watches Mulder open his mouth wider, then looks past to see Scully’s icy blue gaze fixated on everything going on above her. It’s like an erotic kaleidoscope, the way they’re all blending together in pleasure. 

He suckles on Dieter’s head, a little too hard, but he thinks it might be on purpose. He hisses and grabs Mulder’s hair in one clammy, shaking hand. His tongue works the underside of his cock as he fits more into his mouth, and Scully was right, he is way too good at this. 

Scully curses under them, and only then does Dieter notice she’s touching herself as Mulder keeps pumping into her with a shaky, stilted rhythm. 

“So good, Mulder.”

His responding moan turns into a whimper as Dieter’s prick slides across the back of his tongue and hits his throat. 

“Fuck, yeah, so good,” Dieter agrees. 

It’s more than good. It’s incredible, unbelievable. He watches Mulder’s shiny, puffy lips wrapped around him, so in awe of how gorgeous he is. His pretty eyes are closed, half concentration and half bliss as he slides in and out of Scully’s dripping cunt. 

It takes him a while to find a rhythm that works, but when he finds his groove he fucking finds it. Of course he’d be good at this, too. He fucks in and out of Scully once, twice, and then sinks his mouth down as far as he can on Dieter’s cock (all the fucking way— Jesus christ) and holds there while he pumps in and out of her some more. 

And Dieter’s so, so torn. He wants to be good for Scully, wants to challenge Mulder for her and keep up the show. He wants to hang on so she can crumble as she watches her partner taking and receiving so perfectly at the same time.

But he wants to be good for Mulder too. He wants to come in his mouth and give him the satisfaction of satisfying. He wants to let Mulder prove to Scully how good he is, let him make them both come and writhe under his skill and rapt attention. 

And it’s like Scully can sense it. With her free hand, she reaches up and cups his balls. It makes his fucking toes curl, makes him cry out her name and slam his eyes shut to stave it off. He’s being tagged teamed by the objects of some of his earliest sexual fantasies and it takes him biting his lip so hard he draws blood to keep it together. 

He realizes the noises he’s making are borderline embarrassing. He’s mewling and gasping and whimpering as she squeezes and strokes, as her fingers meet Mulder’s lips every time he takes him deep. He’s shaking with the effort it takes to not fuck Mulder’s mouth. And he’s sweating, and he hopes to god it doesn’t start to trickle down and land on Scully’s blissed-out face.

And then it doesn’t much matter, because those dainty fingers and well-kept nails travel back, across his taint, and press. 

“I can’t— I can’t, oh my god.”

Mulder hums around his cock in an echo of the noise Scully makes under him. He’s teetering on the edge, tensed up, out of his mind as Scully massages that spot and Mulder swirls his tongue around the head of his cock. 

And in sync, like they always are, in a way that takes him completely off guard but should be absolutely predictable, they unravel him. 

Mulder takes him down his throat and swallows, and the pad of one of Scully’s fingers taps his entrance, and he’s done. 

He might scream, if he’s being honest. There was never any hope for a warning, the way they ganged up to play him like a fucking fiddle. Mulder groans as the first explosive spurt of Dieter’s cum shoots down his throat. He pulls back as Dieter continues to spill with each spasm of his muscles, as he tries but fails to suck Scully’s finger up inside him. He writhes and curses and clenches Mulder’s hair a little too tight as he works through his orgasm. 

Mulder dutifully collects every last drop, extremely intent on keeping it from spilling down across Scully’s face. He is such a good boy for her. Mulder whimpers when she tells him so in her breathy, sexy way she does. His hips stutter inside of her just as Dieter slips from his swollen lips. 

He doesn’t get reprieve yet, though. Mulder’s long, lean body arches up, and his arm reaches to grab a fist full of Dieter’s hair and tug and oh, god, he might just come again.

Their lips crash together, and before Dieter can think of how metallic the taste is, Mulder’s pushing his own load into his mouth forcefully. Dieter takes it all, sucks it down and swallows as he pants against Mulder’s mouth. 

Then he thanks him, and he thanks Scully, over and over with baited breath until he collapses to the side of them, completely spent and overstimulated. 

“You did so good,” he hears Scully say. 

Only she’s not talking to him. 

She’s got both her hands on Mulder’s face. Her lips just brushing against his own as she whispers. He watches her hike her legs up to wrap around Mulder’s waist, watches Mulder sag into her so he’s plastered against her front. 

“Scully,” Mulder whines. 

“Harder, Mulder. Make me come.”

He kisses her one last time before he buries his face in her neck and obeys, pulling nearly all the way out of her before driving back in. She’s really vocal now, now that she has Mulder’s undivided attention, now that he can focus on fucking her steadily and deep and fast.

Her head is thrown back and she looks so fucking beautiful. Mulder should be looking at her, shouldn’t miss a moment of the way she looks as he’s making her fall apart. But Dieter can’t blame him, or the concentrated, almost pained look he has on his face that’s just peeking out under her chin. 

It’s crazy how she seems to be fucking him from under all his weight, but she’s doing exactly that. Her toned legs pull him into her, her hips arching to meet his, so frantic and hot. One of her hands is leaving red marks down his back and the other one is petting through his hair, scraping his scalp and pulling so many gorgeous noises from him. 

Dieter couldn’t look away if he tried. His spent cock is twitching, trying it’s damndest to steal what little blood is left in his brain. He wants to help them along, maybe take Scully’s nipple into his mouth, but they’re both crushed under Mulder’s body in a way Dieter’s extremely jealous of. He could touch Mulder, could grab his pert little asscheek and squeeze. But he resigns to the sidelines instead, lets them share this intimate moment with only the intrusion of his eyes and heavy breathing. 

It’s over pretty quickly, anyway. Mulder starts babbling again, a great fucking look on him, there where he’s hidden in the pale crook of her neck. 

“Please, Scully. Come for me— I wanna make you come. I wanna be good, let me make you feel good.”

And she’s grinding her hips up as her back arches off the bed, no doubt catching her swollen clit on that enticing patch of wiry curls above his prick. She’s panting and gasping and then she’s shouting.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, Mulder, oh my god! So good, good boy— I’m gonna come—”

And she does. Beautifully. She tenses up and then she shakes, convulsing under him, around him. She moans and mumbles through it, with her eyes shut tight and her cute little nose all scrunched and her mouth hanging open. 

It’s so beautiful that she outshines Mulder. Dieter barely even catches his groans, the curses under his breath as his hips stutter and grind into her. They both ride it out for a while, it’s like it’s never going to end. They writhe against each other and Mulder’s panting into her mouth as she tries her best to kiss his open lips. Their rhythm takes forever to slow, and even longer to come to a stop. 

It’s better than anything Dieter ever could have imagined. He’s already half hard again, just watching them be together, and that fact only makes him want to leave, disappear, let them play this out without some stranger in their bed. 

But christ he wants to stay and watch just as bad. 

Their eyes flutter open at the same time, and the smiles on their faces are as nauseating as they are precious. Scully looks like the cat that got the cream, and Mulder has the audacity to look sheepish. 

“I uh—” Mulder’s voice cracks, and he clears his throat, “I didn’t pull out.”

Scully giggles. 

“I noticed.”

He huffs, and she smooths his sweaty hair from his forehead.

“I’m on the pill.”

Mulder sighs. 

“That’s— that’s good.”

Idiots, Dieter thinks. The situational irony is off the charts. His huff alerts them both, snaps them out of their little bubble to look over at him. 

He opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes to mind. Scully gives him an amused little smirk and reaches over to pet his hair. 

“You were so good,” she muses. 

He shivers at her words and her fucked-out gaze. 

Mulder shifts on top of her, and they both gasp a little noise when he slips out of her, but they’re both focused on him. 

Mulder looks him up and down and for a moment he isn’t sure if he’s about to kick him out of bed or kiss him within an inch of his life. 

He does neither, it turns out. Instead he holds the side of Dieter’s face in his big, sweaty palm and it’s so soothing that he closes his eyes and leans into it. His thumb strokes Dieter’s cheek while Scully plays with his hair and he could die happy here. 

“Yeah man, thank you. That was good— you were good.”

Dieter’s eyes open wide at that. They’re both looking at him with fondness— appreciation. His chest swells with a heavy feeling just as his eyes begin to sting. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. 

He just barely catches the confused looks on their faces before he hides his own, rolling over into his stomach to let his pitiful tears fall into the blanket below him. Scully ruffles his hair with a sympathetic coo and Mulder pats him on the back of his heated neck before he hears rustling and feels the bed shift. 

“Oh my god.”

Scully’s voice sounds horrified. For a quick moment, his tiny little pea brain thinks of Queequeg— is he alright, did he get out while they were occupied?

“What the hell?”

Mulder’s voice sounds much more amused. 

Confused, Dieter wipes his wet eyes in what he hopes is an inconspicuous move before he looks over his shoulder at them.

Scully and Mulder are both standing at the foot of the bed, looking equal parts mortified and puzzled. And they’re staring at Dieter’s bare ass. 

His bare ass that he now remembers is tattooed. Tattooed with Mulder and Scully’s face on each cheek, respectively. 

“Oh, ha— yeah. Maybe that could have proved it faster?”

His face feels hot. He’s had these asscheek tattoos for so long he sometimes forgets about them. He was young and drunk and high when he got them, but they still hold up. Full color portraits of his favorite FBI agents. 

“What do the words say?” Scully asks. 

Mulder takes one for the team and leans in closer to Dieter’s ass, and he wonders if his blush goes all the way to his buttcheeks. 

“Mine says the truth is out there, and yours says I want to believe.”

Dieter lets out a nervous chuckle and shifts, a little scrutinized, a little embarrassed, a little bit turned on at the way Mulder’s gaze settles over his body.

“When did you get these?”

“1998, right after the movie came out.”

“There’s a movie?”

“Two, actually.”

Scully shakes her head and looks from Mulder to Dieter’s butt, back and forth a few times. 

“I’ll give you this one, Mulder. Only because there’s no lake monster for you to boast about.”

Mulder preens, a satisfied smirk settling on his handsome face. 

“Finally,” he and Dieter say at the exact same time. 

She rolls her eyes. 

“Brag about it in the morning. I’m tired— and my bed’s clean,” she throws her voice over her shoulder as she leaves the room. 

Dieter stays put. His ankles roll around in an attempt to hide his hesitation. He stares at the empty doorway and avoids Mulder’s lanky form. 

“You coming, Doc Brown?”

He’d be stupid not to follow like an eager pup. 

They all nestle into Scully’s bed. She’s in the middle, wrapped up in blankets, and the guys take either side of her. Dieter rests his head on her naked breast as she kisses Mulder goodnight, as Mulder’s fingers intertwine with his own over her smooth stomach. Their pillow talk lulls him to sleep and he goes to bed happy for the first time in years.

He wakes up alone, on his couch, in his own clothes, with his face smashed against his open laptop. 

A dream. It must have all been a crazy, weed and hormone induced dream. Best dream he’s ever had. He sighs, scratches his head and takes in his surroundings. 

Everything’s normal, exactly how he left it. Except, when he moves to his bedroom to mourn the loss of the day he never had, he sees a red and white trucker’s hat on his nightstand. 

Show us your bobbers

[bensonsbobblehead]

Outcry — Spencer Reid X Reid!reader

Pairings; Spencer Reid X daughter!reader

Content warnings: heavy heavy talks of rape/sexual assault, sadness, panic attacks, boys being boys

summary: Spencer’s daughter is sexually assaulted while at school and tries to hide it from him.

a/n; trying to just upload when I can! Hopefully more tmr! Also sorry if the layout is funky I’m uploading from my phone =}

wc; 1.8k

[ masterlist ]

This is what being a woman was, at least now it was. Seeing the world for the real evil it was. Your dad was your protector, so he always managed to keep you safe. No matter what he’d never be able to keep you from them. Men, boys, people with dicks, all of them.

The worse part of it all was having to deal with it alone. Your dad was a FBI agent, your best friend is the unit chiefs son, you knew they would kill whoever hurt you.

Hiding it from everyone you knew was going to catch up to you sooner as in today. It was a normal morning, you forced yourself to exist for half the day.

Already prepared for a nap before you fully wake up. As you get up your dad opens the door catching you off guard. It scared the shit out of you.

Jumping as he opened the door Spencer took notice fast. He knew something was up, of course he knew.

He noticed how jumpy you were particularly around boys, not even wanting to spend time with Jack anymore. Spencer also noticed how quiet you were now.

Always being the loudest and silliest in the room to almost nothing, it concerned him a lot.

“Goodmoring love, I made your lunch and packed up your bag from last night, also you can come right to the office after school.” Spencer smiled as you listened quietly,

“Ok thanks dad.” You said as you got up walking past him to the bathroom. It wasn’t always like this, you weren’t always like this but this is what happens when you’re raped during during cheer practice.

You felt it was no point in saying anything, considering the fact they are both the most known and a very well liked boys at school, it’s no point.

It hurt you alot having to see then in the halls, you started taking the longer way to class because of it.

Justin was a piece of shit but he was on the football and baseball team so that meant he could do no wrong. Dyllan his little puppet was also a piece of shit because he did everything Justin told him. You quickly got ready for school and headed out to start the rest of your day.

For Spencer he was just worried about you. Your shyness, quietness, and jumpiness wasn’t putting his mind at ease. Just like you he swallowed it down and headed to the office.

The case was as bad and it was local. Boys from schools around the area have been being murdered for what the team thought was for being weak.

The unsub was killing the boys because he didn’t think they were strong enough. They started with interviews at local schools and moved out more. They had a few to interview at your school.

The focus was the baseball team because most of the boys murdered were all on different baseball teams.

Justin Brown, Caleb Washington, and Dyllan Smith were all taking to the station for questions. First was Caleb he didn’t do it but they later discovered the boys were being told to show they aren’t weak or die. Caleb had to beat his younger brother in order to live.

The case honestly killed Spencer and anyone else with kids. Knowing how evil the ones around you are no matter the age. Next was Dyllan, which was interesting because he’s Justin best friend.

Dyllan got in interrogation and cracked completely. Telling Spencer and Morgan that it was Justin’s idea to do it and he didn’t mind helping him. First Dyllan had to pass Justin test to make sure he wasn’t going to switch on him.

“So, if you’re here what did Justin make you do?” Derek asked the boy,

“He told me I had to take a virginity from any girl at school.”

“So, he dared you to get a girlfriend?” Morgan asked sarcastically

“No he knew I wouldn’t be able to do that so he picked a girl from our schools cheer team and made me do it to her in the locker room. I could tell she was a virgin so I knew he wouldn’t think I was weak.” Dyllan said as if he did a good job for raping a girl.

Morgan and Reid freezing completely, Dyllan not even knowing he confessed to rape.

“Do you know the girls name?” Spencer spoke up knowing you and your best friends are on that team.

“He said it was Y…. y/n! Her name was y/n! He held her down while I had sex and he said I would be the strongest of them all” He said confessing more and more.

Dyllan really had no one but Justin all he wanted was his approval no matter what it was. Justin obviously knew this and just took advantage of him. You still wanted to kill them both for what they did to you.

Before he could continue Spencer sped across the table chocking Dyllan against the wall.

“I am going to kill you with my bare hands.” He said as he grabbed him by his neck. Morgan moving fast but not as fast. Everyone was angry at what was just said. The team was your aunts and uncles so they didn’t see anything wrong with Spencer reaction. After a few moments Derek pulled Spencer off and they both exited the room.

“Where’s Justin, I need to see him.” Spencer said frantically to Hotch.

“Spencer you know I can’t let you do that.” Hotch said firmly while trying to ccalm Spencer down.

“Aaron, he .. raped my daughter. My little girl, she’s been so closed off and quiet, he did that to her! I need to see him!” Spencer yelled at Aaron surprising everyone.

“Spence, maybe you should try to calm down for when Y/N get here.” JJ said looking at the time knowing you and jack always came here after school. It was only about 30 minutes before you’d be coming to the bullpen.

Taking JJ advice he removed himself from the situation and sat at his desk waiting for you. Staring at the picture of you and him with ice cream all over your mouths making silly faces.

It was from your 13th birthday party at Dave’s house when he brought an ice cream maker. It was the best day of your life thanks to your dad. His heart was aching at the pain you must have been in. Spencer dealt with some of his worse moments alone he never wanted the same for his child.

It was only 30 seconds until you’d be coming up on the elevator. The entire team finishing the paper work from the case as you walked into the bullpen. All heads snapped toward you with sympathetic faces.

“Hi everybody” you said quietly giving a short smile to everyone you seen.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” JJ asked as she approached which wasn’t off, you always talked to your Aunt JJ.

“I’m fine Aunt JJ” you smiled keeping you short and sweet as walked pass to go see your dad.

“Hey dad” sitting down in the chair next to him. As he replied and smiled at you. Everyone is being so weird.

“Why is everyone being so sad towards me?” You asked curiously, but before your dad could answer Justin and Dyllan were being taking out in handcuffs.

Your body was moving before your brain could, you were there again, in the locker room.

“Heeeeyyyyyy y/n” Justin taunted you as he walked passed you got up quickly and moved backwards away in a frantic matter almost knocking over the things on the desk behind you.

Your breathing was heavy and it felt as if you’d been punched in the stomach.

“No, No, please stop, I don’t want to I don’t want to.” You said as you curled into yourself on the floor in the corner. You wanted to just go home and lay in the bed for the rest of your life. Why did this happen to you?

You had noticed everyone watching you lose it but you didn’t care.

Your dad walked over to you and went to put a hand on your shoulder. Grabbing his hand quickly before he could touch you.

“Don’t touch me! Get off of me now!” You punched, screamed, and kicked just wanting the feeling of Dyllan and Justin off of you.

You were strong but Spencer didn’t mind getting punched in the face by you. Of course he knew the ins and out of trauma and ptsd. Not just his extensive knowledge but his own past.

“Y/n it’s me. Your dad I promise I won’t hurt. You’re at the BAu and you’re safe sweetie, your dads here.” He said softly being you back to reality. That’s when you broke In his arms.

It’s only been a few weeks since you were assaulted and you had been by yourself the entire time. Emily, JJ, and Morgan were all surrounding you hearts also broken.

“He raped me daddy” you cried into his shoulder

“Him and Justin raped me at the end of practice, I’m so sorry for not telling you.” you broke even more you needed your dad you would just never admit it.

“Don’t be sorry, you didn’t have to tell me if you couldn’t.” He said squeezing his daughter tighter. After that you both got up and headed home.

You quickly went to go shower the day off as your dad prepared your favorite dinner.

Spencer was nothing but heartbroken, he hated that this happened to you. Worse of all he couldn’t take away your pain. After your shower you quickly got dressed and headed to the kitchen.

You came out in a hoodie and sweats as you seen your dad pulling the pizza out the oven.

“Oh hey, I made your favorite.” He said turning to you with a smile. You not responding back, now that he knew you felt icky. Grabbing plates and drinks he brought it over to the counter and you both started to eat. The room was almost silent.

“Don’t look at me any differently please” you finally spit it out. You didn’t want to be looked at as a victim or someone you needed to wear kid gloves with.

“You are y/n and you always have been. You’re my daughter and I will never ever see you any differently.” He looked up from his plate with quickness reassuring her.

“Can I hug you?” He asked, you quickly got up and embraced your dad,

“I’ve got you always bug.” Hugging you even tighter, it finally felt like you could get through this.

[corrodedcoffins-blog]

The Follow Up

main masterlist

spencer reid x famous!reader Universe

word count: 1k

“I should call him, right?” It had been 4 weeks since Y/N had met Spencer, and when he left New York, he said he would call. Yet here Y/N is pacing around her California home with a glass of wine at 1 pm, ranting to her friends, 4 weeks later, with no call from Spencer. 

“Why not call him, Y/N?” Selena, one of Y/N’s best friends says, she has always kinda been the voice of reason in their little group. “Yeah, definitely call him, maybe he’s nervous, from the way you describe it seems likely.” Gigi says while staring into her wine glass, that she’s stirring. 

“Yeah, no yeah you’re right. I’ll call him.” Y/N says walking over to her phone on the couch, picking it up and sitting in its place. She sits there and stares at her phone until Gigi speaks up again. “Okay… So call?..” “I can’t” 

“Yes, you can Y/N, be confident!” Selena says, trying to hype up her friend to talk to the guy she likes. “No, I can’t, I don’t have his number..” “Well, shit.” Gigi mumbles before taking a sip of her wine. 

“What about Tree? Would she have his number?” Tree is Y/N’s publicists and though she wouldn’t have Spencer’s number, she would have Penelope Garcia’s number. Without a word Y/N calls Tree. Y/N waits anxiously for Tree to pick up, she taps her fingers on the outside of her thigh while waiting. 

“Hello?”

“Tree! Okay I need the number of the FBI agents from a month ago.”

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“No- no nothing bad… Just I want the number of one of the agents, so can you get me in contact with one of them?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll text you Penelope Garcia’s number, she their tech-”

“Yeah, yeah, just text it. Thanks Tree!” Y/N hangs up more anxious than before. 

Tree sends her the number and she immediately dials.

“It’s ringing,” She tells Selena and Gigi, them both on the edge of their seats to listen.

“Hello, this is the most gorgeous technical analyst in the FBI, what can I do for you?”

“Um… This is Penelope Garcia, right?”

“Uh- yes, and you are not one of my coworkers..? Who are you?”

“I’m Y/N L/N-”

“Oh My God!” Y/N could hear what sounded like a mug falling and breaking on the floor. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes! Yes. Everything Is okay. Can I ask how you got this number and what you are calling for?”

“Right, sorry- a month ago your team was on my stalker-killer case and at the time they gave my team your number- as an in case.”

“Yes, now may I ask why you're calling now?”

“Of course- I was um- I was wondering if you could give me the number of one of your agents?”

“Is there a problem?”

“No, no problem I just want to get in contact with Dr. Spencer Reid.” Y/N looks over at her friend Gigi clearing mouthing ‘doctor’ to Selena, Y/N supposes she forgot to mention that.

“Ah- right. Yes I can get you boy wonder’s number, I’ll get you his personal number, I’ll send it your way.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course, bye now.”

“Bye.” When Y/N hangs up she instantly is barrelled with questions from her friends

“He’s a doctor?”

“Yeah, I forgot that?” The girls laugh, but then get interrupted, Y/N getting a text from an unknown number, that reads, 

‘Hey, this is Penelope, here’s boy genius’ number ### ### ####’

“Call it!” Selena and Gigi say at the same time, this truly felt like they were 13 year old girls, calling their crush just to hang up when he says ‘hello’. 

“Okay! I’m calling” Y/N dials the number Penny sent her, it rings. She worries maybe he was out on a case or if it was a paperwork day he wouldn’t bring his personal phone.

“Just when she’s gonna lie and say it went to voicemail, he picks up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Spence”

“Y/N? How did- why are you calling?” Spencer skips out on asking how she got his number, knowing this had Penelope written all over it.

“Because you never did.”

“I’m sorry- I just.. I assumed you didn’t want me to call.”

“Of course I wanted you to call, why would I not want you to call?”

“Because, you’re beautiful, talented, and kind, and I thought.. I don't, I just can’t imagine someone like you with someone like me.”

“Spence… I’ve been hoping, and waiting for you to call these past few weeks that my friends finally made me get up and call you myself.”

“You were?”

“God, yeah. It’s embarrassing actually.. Are you on a case?”

“No- we’re on a break, we legally have to every few months, so we aren’t overworked”

“Perfect! Would you want to go out then?” Y/N bites her lips anxious to hear what Spencer says to that.

“I would love to.” Y/N’s checks break out into a huge smile. “But” and that ruins it. “We’re on opposite sides of the country.” Thank goodness it was that easy to fix.

“That's fine! I’ll fly out, and I could stay with you?”

“Y-yeah, you can stay here.” Yes Spencer has never let a woman he was interested in stay at his place, but he honestly has been thinking about Y/N non-stop since they left New York. And the thought of not spending every second he can with her, feels like a waste.

“Okay. I’ll fly out tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow night.” Spencer hangs up, standing in the break room, staring at his phone, smiling. “Ehmm” Spencer turns on his heels at the sound of Penny ‘clearing’ her throat. “Sooo, how did it go? Are you seeing her?” Penelope asks, sounding and looking more excited than Spencer, but from the way Spencer was feeling you wouldn’t think it was humanly possible to be more excited than him.

“Yeah, she’s flying in tomorrow.” “Oh My God!” “But please don’t tell the rest of the team, this is just starting and I don’t want to answer their questions, and listen to their teasing.”

“Of course, my boy wonder, these lips are sealed”

[aswefindourwayback]

I love you, I’m sorry

Authors note: this is my most vulnerable piece of writing that I’ve ever shared since it’s taken inspiration from some terrible moments in my life. So it’s not my best piece of writing. Feedback is always appreciated.

Word count: 2071

Content warning: mentions of poor mental health, angst

you’ve never been able to keep people in your life, no matter how hard you tried. you would always change parts of you to fit other people’s wants and needs but it was still never enough. it got so bad that you were having thoughts about ending it all, thinking it’d be easier for everyone around you. they wouldn’t have to deal with your bullshit anymore and they could finally breathe again. but you instead threw yourself into your work.

you were already good at your job, but you quickly became the best. your work became your life. you stopped seeing and talking to your friends because you got so caught up in your work.

after years of working your ass off, you found yourself as a profiler for the FBI. you were now a member of the BAU. it took some getting used to and learning how to socialize but you got the hang of it. you guys were cracking case after case. you got along with all your coworkers and you guys often had fun together. you really loved all the laughs and good times you had with them, even outside of office hours. like that one time Emily, jj, and Penelope invited you out to go shopping and get dinner. it was something you were terrified of doing, getting closer to people and getting out amid socializing again, but you did it and found that it wasn’t as bad as you’d made it out to be in your head.

but there was one who you really got along with. spence. when you guys first met, you were both a bit shy and timid. but with time, you two grew incredibly close, always going to each other for anything and everything. and over time you fell for him, without meaning to. you knew it would complicate not only work but your friendship with him. your friendship with him means the world to him and you don’t know what you’d do if you lost him, so you kept your feelings to yourself. until one day, you didn’t.

it had been a normal day when rossi had called you into his office to talk about some case details. after going over the details and correcting him a few times, he asked you something:

“so, when are you gonna tell him?”

“what? tell who what?” you asked, completely lost in the conversation.

“reid. when are you gonna tell him how you feel?”

“spencer? what do i feel for him?” you said trying to play stupid. but it was rossi, he could see straight through you.

“Dont play dumb, kid.”

You slouched your shoulders in defeat, “no, i’m not gonna tell him.”

“Why not?”

“there’s a millions reasons to stay quiet”

“but there’s a million reasons to tell him too. don’t be afraid y/n.”

“easy for you to say. you’re not the one confessing your feelings”

“but i’ve done it a million times, kid. trust me. what if something good comes from this?”

“what if i ruin the one good thing in my life?”

“you won’t”

“how do you know that?”

“i just do.”

“what if it’s not the right time? like we’ve got that new case coming up and spence has been through some awful shit recently.”

“there’s never a “right time”. you just gotta do it.”

“i never intended to fall for him.”

“feelings are something we can’t control.”

“fuck. i’m gonna do it.” you say walking out of rossi’s office. the last thing you hear is rossi calling out to you “good luck, kid! not that you need the luck.”

-=+=-

you waited until the work day was over cause you didn’t want to make it very awkward in case you were rejected, which would very likely happen according to your calculations (you tend to distort your brain and imagine that the worst will happen for any situation). the odds of you being rejected were quite high so, you were just taking safety precautions. and if he still ended up rejecting you, you had it all planned. you would transfer to another branch. it’s not the best plan but you never claimed to be the brightest.

most of the team had already left for the day, so it was just you and spence standing waiting for the elevator, just talking about the paperwork you guys had worked on today. the elevator dinged, indicating it had arrived and the doors opened.

as you two stepped in, you took in a deep breathe and faced spencer.

“hey” you’d said.

“hey” he said, smiling shyly.

“so i’m gonna tell you something and i need you to let me finish before you say anything.”

“alright, i’m listening.”

“spence, i really like you, i mean really like you, so go ahead and reject me. i'm a big girl, i can take it. also you don’t have to say anything now.” you said at lightning speed, squeezing your eyes shut, afraid to look at him.

“y/n?” he asked as you felt his finger lightly lift your chin up.

“open your eyes, y/n”

you did as he said.

“i have something to tell you too.” he admitted, dropping his hand from your chin and shoving them into his pockets. your eyebrows were scrunched up a bit, hopeful of what his response would be, “i’ve never felt a connection with anyone before like this. I know that’s not surprising considering my awkwardness around people and my need to always correct people when they’re wrong and the fact that I shove myself into my job so much but i’ve dreamt of kissing you and feeling like i was on cloud 9. i started to notice when morgan kept calling me out for always watching you. and then i kept having dreams about you. not like any weird or sexual dreams or anything. just dreams where we hung out. just being near you. but i definitely want to see how this goes.”

“oh thank fuck” you said letting out an exasperated breathe.

that had made you both laugh. you felt like so much weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

“so” spence has started, exaggerating the length of the word.

“so”

“do you wanna like, hang out now? we could go get a drink or something. or if you want to wait and stuff then we can do that.” he’d said, almost stumbling over his words.

“id love to get a drink, spence.” you smiled at him.

and he smiled back.

at the bar, you two mostly forgot about your drinks and basket of fries as you were so caught up in each others company. you spent the night talking and laughing. you laugh so much, you were sure you were going to have abs in the morning. you’d never felt so happy. he made you forget about all your worries. he was unbelievably amazing that it was hard for you to believe that he existed and that he liked you back.

you two stayed until the bar almost closed for the night. he walked you home and you two kept talking on the walk. once you two had reached your door, you stood in front of him, not wanting the night to end.

“thanks for the drinks. i had a great time.” you said to him

“thanks for joining me. i had a great time too. um, do you think we could keep this on the down low for now? i don’t want everyone breathing down our necks at work and stuff. and i just wanna enjoy us for a bit.”

“yeah, of course. i’ll see you at work tomorrow. goodnight, spence.” you said as you walked up to him and kissed him on the cheek, making both your cheeks turn bright red.

“goodnight, y/n”

-=+=-

the past few months have been amazing. you and spence have been doing amazing as a team, not just at work. so many nights were spent together, either in complete silence or going on stupid late night adventures aka going down to the gas station across the street from your apartment to get snacks. you were so grateful for him and you were head over heels for him. you never thought you could feel this way for someone. you guys had of course had some ups and downs, mostly due to you and your mental health but you always got through it together, and for that you were forever grateful. he was different to anyone you’d ever met. he actually wanted to learn about the things you struggle with and wanted to learn what were ways he could help you. and after a really bad episode, you helped you breathe and told you he’d stay with you no matter what battles you two would have to face, cause he knew in the end, you two would end up the winners. it was insane to think someone so amazing would be able to love the mess you are, but he somehow does.

until he started to distance himself. it started after a specific incident when you had said something that came off wrong when he’d already had a bad day. after that, you could see it in the way he would interact with you. his speech and body language had changed towards you. his messages became a lot drier, even if you were verbally talking, he’d seem so disinterested, it was disheartening. you wanted to fix things but you didn’t know how. so you decided to arrange a nice little date night for the both of you, so you could show him how much you loved him and to talk things out. you even wrote down a little letter to tell him how grateful you are for him.

when you entered the office to tell him about the plan, he was on the phone so you waited behind him, waiting for the call to end. you didn’t mean to but you eavesdropped a bit, he seemed like his old happy self when he was on the phone, and you overheard a name, “maeve”.

you decided to walk away cause the call seemed to be taking a while. you walked towards morgan’s desk, where he was sitting and talking to pen.

“hey, what’s going on with you?” morgan had asked as soon as you walked up.

“nothing much, just waiting for spence to finish his call so i can talk to him about something.”

“oh yeah, he’s been on his phone a lot lately.” morgan had said.

“really? do you know why?”

“there’s this girl named maeve that he’s been talking about nonstop. he seems really infatuated with her, it’s nice to see him this way.” pen had said.

it was at that moment that all those bad feelings came back. your heart felt as if it was being grabbed out of your chest, just to be bitten into and shredded to pieces.

“i gotta go.” was all you said before you walked away from morgan’s desk.

you walked over to your desk and grabbed your stuff before walking to rossi’s office door and telling him you were leaving early.

“you alright, kid?”

“yeah, i just forgot something.” you said as you spread the fakest smile on your face.

you walked out the office and looked back at spence, hoping he’d walk after you to check on you. but he was so caught up in his phone call that he didn’t notice you leave.

you walked out to your car trying to keep the tears at bay. you ripped up the letter you’d written for him.

was it all a lie?

did he really mean those things he said to you?

was he playing you the whole time?

or did he just change his mind?

you messed up again.

you made mistake after mistake and he finally got tired of you.

he was the best but you were the worst.

you’re wrong again, about being lovable, cause you’re not.

it’s the way life goes.

it’ll never end.

you felt like pink cherry blossom petals that were left on the ground. loved and cherished when in the trees, awed at when falling, then left discarded and forgotten on the ground once you were no longer attached to the thing that gave you life. always being stomped over and discarded. never to be seen or loved again. the way it’s always been and the way it’ll always be.

[the-hopeless-haze]

Glorious Happenings of Happenstance

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: mild smut

Summary: You get Aaron to accompany you to a wedding. It's the only night you have together, so you might as well make the most of it. Right? (as requested by Aaron deficiency anon)

-------

You hate your brother.

You don’t, really, you just dislike him right now, dragging your whole family to Boston for a wedding a week before you were supposed to be starting your new job. It was always like that with you two, push and pull, a constant game of tug and war of who was going to outdo the other one. You got the prestigious job but he was getting married. Young - like all the army rats. Dumb. Stupid. It wouldn’t last. But whatever. The hotel is nice, and you managed to escape your future sister-in-law’s bachelorette plans to get a drink at the bar by yourself. Never mind the fact she couldn’t legally drink and neither could your brother. Stupid. Very stupid.

But your parents made it known your input was unwanted and uncalled for so you kept your mouth shut. Maybe you could just be inebriated this whole weekend. God forbid someone tries to talk him out of one of the worst mistakes of his life.

You order a mojito because you’ve been sweltering in the humidity of the Boston summer, but then… you think maybe you won’t need to be drunk on liquor as you see a tall man with jet-black hair sit down on your right, leaving a few empty seats between the two of you. He looks authoritative; like people listen when he speaks; like he could command a room without so much as whispering. He’s too old for you, but fuck it, if your parents had nothing to say about your brother getting married the second he turned eighteen, they can’t say shit about who you end up with.

But still. You’re not staying in Massachusetts, and from the looks of him, you doubt he is either. He must be here on business, still dressed in black dress slacks and a suit jacket in the heat, never mind that it’s almost 10 pm. Although, who knows? Lots of suit types around, although not necessarily in hotel bars.

He orders something strong on the rocks, sipping slowly at the amber liquid. You eye his hand on the glass... and god. It dwarfs it, making it look tiny wrapped in his long fingers.

You bite your lip and turn away, sipping cautiously at your own drink. You weren’t thinking about meeting anyone here, anyway. You sweat off most of your makeup this morning driving to the hotel and your hair was a frizzy mess, soaking up all the moisture from the air it could get. You needed a shower. You just wanted a few drinks alone before turning in for the night. Right?

You’d never had a one-night stand yourself. You didn’t know how those worked, and you thought emotional entanglements before starting as an FBI agent, however brief they were… wouldn’t exactly be a good start to your career. You didn’t want to be missing him, waiting for calls that never came.

Jesus. You need to get a grip. You haven’t said a word to this man. You don’t even know his name.

Scanning him over again, you drink in his dark hair and eyes, thick eyebrows, sharp jawline, and broad shoulders. You’re not being exactly subtle in checking him out as you start to feel the effects of the alcohol loosening you up a little.

So you shouldn’t be as surprised as you are that he catches you.

Aaron noticed you when he walked into the bar, but he deduced that you were tired and wanted to be left alone. A woman alone in a hotel bar that clearly wasn’t here on work, clad in a sundress… you were here to deal with something. Fight with a lover, family member, or friend - someone you were on vacation with. You didn’t want company. And neither did he, really. But now that your eyes met, he feels like you look so familiar, and yet he can’t quite figure out why. You give a small, shy smile and you slide down the few bar stools and tell him your name.

“I’m Aaron,” he responds, using his first instead of his last name to introduce himself. A rarity. You’ve got to be twenty years his junior. Nothing can come of this, he tells himself, trying to ignore the thin strap of your dress that was falling off your shoulder.

“You here for the wedding?” you ask, hopeful that maybe he was some long-distance relative of your brother’s fiancée, that you would somehow be able to run into him again. Celebrate the inevitable divorce.

“Wedding? No,” he answers, eyebrows raising a little in surprise.

Damn it. Couldn’t be so lucky.

“Who’s getting married?” he asks.

“My brother,” you answer.

“Shouldn’t you know who’s in the wedding party, then?” he asks, giving you a small smile, just wide enough to see the hints of dimples on his cheeks.

God. You were half in love with him already.

“I don’t know her side,” you answer, smiling back.

“They haven’t been together long?”

“Nope. Guess.”

“How long? I don’t know. Six months.”

“You think that’s short? Try four,” you say. “He’s going into the army. Straight out of high school. And no, she’s not pregnant.”

“You don’t sound like you approve,” he observes.

“Would you?”

“I don’t know. Stranger things have worked out.”

“I’ve never seen high school sweethearts stay together. And if they do… they’re usually not happy.”

“You’re barely out of high school yourself.”

“I’m 25!”

“Proving my point,” he says, smiling again. “I married my high school sweetheart.”

“I don’t see a wedding ring on your finger,” you point out.

“No. You don’t,” he sighs, taking a swig of his whiskey.

“I’m sorry,” you immediately apologize, hating yourself for your lack of filter. “I shouldn’t have—“

“It’s okay,” he cuts off your apology. “I invited the observation. We… we wanted different things.”

“Isn’t that the way shit always ends?”

Aaron nods, swallowing down the rest of his drink. “What about you? Are you against all marriages or just the shotgun ones?”

“Mostly just those, but I don’t know. I really don’t see the benefit at all,” you shrug.

“Right. So jaded in your old age,” he quips.

You giggle, shaking your head. “I’ll buy the next round?” you offer tentatively.

“I believe it’s the other way around,” he says, flagging down the bartender before you could and adding your next drink to his tab.

You try and fail to ignore the butterflies in the pit of your stomach. “There’s always tax breaks.”

“What?” you ask, caught off guard by his out-of-context statement.

“Filing as married. Tax breaks,” Aaron clarifies.

“Yeah. Health insurance, too. Or, you know, not having to live in the barracks.”

“The joys of marriage.”

You roll your eyes. “How romantic. Spare me. Please.”

“No one’s tying you down, hmm?”

“No,” you say, but you give him a lilting smile, one you hope dares him to try.

“Fair enough.”

“What brings you out here, then, if it’s not to be my plus one to this sham of a wedding?”

“Work,” he replies. “Giving a conference at a college nearby.”

“You don’t have time to come in between?”

You don’t know why you’re inviting him. You don’t want him to meet your family, not like this, anyway. You don’t want to lead him on. It’s the alcohol, maybe, loosening your lips.

“I think your parents would kill me,” Aaron says firmly.

“Right. If they don’t care what my brother does, they shouldn’t care what I do. Bringing you to the wedding would be marginally less stupid than actually getting married.”

He sighs your name, shaking his head. “I can’t in good conscience agree to that.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll never see you again after this.”

“So?” you shrug.

“I don’t intend on starting something I can’t finish,” he says lowly, and you wonder… is that flirting? Is that what he’s doing?

“Fair enough,” you concede. “A little bit too much pressure for something that’s destined to go nowhere.”

“You’re not from here, either?”

“I’m moving for my job,” you tell him.

“Which is?”

You laugh and shake your head. “If I told you I’d have to kill you.”

“Naturally,” he says, smiling against the glass as he lifts it to his mouth. “CIA?”

“You’re serious,” you say, incredulous. “You actually believe I’m joining the CIA?”

“You’ve got a talent for holding a conversation without saying anything,” he points out.

“Takes one to know one,” you shoot back, realizing all you really learned about him was his first name and that he was married and now divorced.

He shrugs. “Good quality to have if for whatever reason you need to go undercover. Also, good quality to have when you’re in possession of vital, secret information. Something to think about.”

“You want to refer me?”

“Smooth,” he grins. “Nice deflection.”

“I’m most certainly not joining the CIA, Aaron, but if that’s what you’d like to follow you around in your fantasies of me, be my guest,” you smile back.

“Fantasies?”

“Since nothing can come of this. All we’re left with, right?”

“It’s a conversation in a bar. Those end two ways. Three, actually.”

“Which are?”

“The people involved in the conversation get a room. Or they leave and never speak again. Or… provided one is a CIA agent and on a covert operation, she may in fact kill the man involved.”

Rolling your eyes, you can’t help but laugh anyway. Maybe it’s the alcohol loosening him up a bit, you don’t know, but you get the feeling he’s not often like this.

“I’m beginning to think you’re paranoid, now. What do they want you for?”

“Some light treason, probably,” he snarks.

You’re not drunk enough that the beginning of his earlier remark escapes you, though. “I take it a room isn’t in the cards for us?”

Looking at you apologetically, he whispers your name before shaking his head. “It’s not fair to either of us. Some people can live their lives like that… but I can’t. If that’s what you’re looking for, I’m sorry. I’m not the man you need tonight.”

Oh, but he is.

You hang your head, blushing. “I’m not… I don’t usually do this, either. I just figured…”

“It’s not because I don’t find you attractive,” he reassures you. “I just…can’t lead you on when I know it can’t last.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” you say, nodding. “There is a fourth way this can end, though.”

“Yeah? I’m all ears.”

“I see you tomorrow,” you grin, downing the rest of your drink. “You’ll still be around.”

And with that, you stand up, kiss his cheek, and you walk out of that bar. And you don’t look back to see his reaction no matter how much you want to.

You know he’s bad news. You know he won’t show up. You know he’s absolutely right, and an attractive man like that must have been through a series of one-night stands after his wife left or he left her and realized they just left him hollow. Didn’t fill the void she left.

He didn’t want you to add to that chapter in his life. And you can’t blame him. You’d be a toxic end to that book if there ever was one.

————-

So when you see Aaron through the windows, who lost the suit jacket, finally, hanging outside of the wedding reception, you think you’re going insane. Hallucinating. Having an out-of-body experience or something.

He was too old to be playing games. Why was he here, hanging on the outskirts like this? It’s not like he was trying to get your attention. You were having a conversation with your cousin who was praying she caught the bouquet, and when you eyed him, you told her that you need some air.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” you say, stepping out of the stuffy reception hall into the cooler night air. “Or out. Not enough balls to actually crash it?”

“I… well. I suppose I’ve been caught,” he says sheepishly, and if the lighting out here wasn’t so bad you’d swear you saw him blushing. “You look beautiful.”

Maybe you do look good, or at least better than the bar last night. You settled on a maroon one-shouldered dress that clung to your curves, paired it with black-heeled sandals and you managed to get your hands on waterproof mascara and eyeliner to beat the humidity.

“Why are you here?”

“It was the fourth option.”

“We’ve reached an impasse, though.”

“We’re down to three options, again,” Aaron nods. “I realized it was prolonging the inevitable.”

“It’s two, Aaron. Room or no room,” you say, a little tense. “There’s no inevitable. There’s just now. You showed up. You showed up now.”

He scoffs, stepping a little closer to you. “You don’t even believe that. All you think about is the future. You think your brother and his wife are destined to divorce so they shouldn’t get married. Why should we start something when we know it’s going to end? That’s what this whole week was predicated on for you. Inevitability. And trying to avoid it and get others to avoid it as well. It’s your whole anti-marriage stance. Why should anyone start what they can’t finish? Right? Why bother with any of it? Why come on to me at all? One day someone is going to leave, by choice or by circumstance.”

“You showed up,” you say again. “Don’t psychoanalyze me, Aaron. You don’t know shit about me. You said so yourself last night.”

“No. I don’t know your last name or your favorite color or what your major in college was. But I know that you’re afraid.”

“Everyone’s afraid,” you shoot back. “You showed up. Why?”

“I… I wanted to see you again. It’s different now. It’s not a conversation in a bar anymore. It’s two people outside of a wedding.”

“Why see me again? Wasn’t the point of not starting to avoid hurting? Isn’t that what we’re all afraid of? Pain? We spend our whole lives trying to outrun it. You don’t like one night stands because they hurt. Because they leave you empty. Because they make you wonder and worry about the what-ifs and the consequences.”

Aaron shakes his head. “It’s not just about that. I thought about this. About us. If we only have the night… I want to do it right. I want to spend it with you.”

“Not in me?” you quip, smirking.

He says your name in a warning tone. “Don’t.”

“Fine,” you laugh. “I take it you’ll actually crash now?”

“Yes,” he nods, looking at you intensely. “I hope you can dance.”

“Dancing’s a dangerous game,” you tease. “Could quickly lead to other things.”

“Not in a room full of your family.”

“You’re a little tapped, huh?” you ask, grinning.

“Tapped?”

“Fucked in the head.”

He shrugs. “We have one night. I want it. Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it, Aaron,” you say, and lead him back through the glass doors of the hall. “You’ll quickly find I’m just as fucked.”

“I think I already knew that,” he chuckles lowly, taking your hand in his.

What kind of man agrees to this? You’ve had boyfriends you’ve had to fight with to meet your family in the first place, and here’s this man, all set to attend a full-blown wedding with your entire extended family. Maybe you didn’t care if it was long-distance at the end of tonight. He seems like a keeper.

Your brother eyes you from where he stands at the altar. You smile and shake your head, ushering Aaron into the back row with you. You didn’t exactly feel like you needed front-row seats for this.

His future wife, Crystal, she’s pretty, with olive skin, kind brown eyes, and curly black hair, but you’re still just taken aback by how young they are, how your brother will be selling his body and soul for the military in weeks and she’s coming along for the ride. Young love. You remember your first, the neighbor next door, a little older than you. Like everyone with their first love, you swore you’d marry him one day.

But you didn’t.

And you were better off.

Vows spoken. Rings traded. You almost tear up a little, given your recent fight with your mother about this, her saying she was glad at least one of her kids was getting married, that maybe she did have the hope of grandchildren someday. And it’s not fair, not really, to put that kind of pressure on you. You were career-oriented. You were never going to be the kind of woman who easily submit, who did what a man said, who took his last name and gave up the one you used for decades. You were never going to be a woman like Crystal, even when you were younger, and would do just about anything for male validation. Something in your brain was wired to be contradictory when someone tried to box you in.

How can you speak meaningful vows with someone you barely knew? You hear your brother spout something about love and eternal happiness, in sickness and in health, and it’s so easy to promise that when all you’ve seen is their good days.

You don’t have a traumatic background. You just know people leave. And you have always tried to never let yourself be in a vulnerable position. Even here, Aaron is the one who’s got less of a leg to stand on. Sure, his being here was going to lead to some awkward conversations with your relatives, but they were your relatives. He was the one out of place.

Your aunt turns around after the ceremony ends to say something to you, but she stops short upon catching Aaron’s eyes. So it begins.

“Who’s this?” she asks.

“My hooker for the night,” you tell her, deadpan, staring at your nails like you’re uninterested, and it’s so hard not to break out into a smile when you see Aaron blushing in your peripheral, sputtering and trying to come up with an excuse as to why he is sitting next to you other than being a sex worker.

You take it he’s never been with a woman like you before.

And at first, you disliked the odds stacked against you, but now you’re realizing how much fun you can have with this. There’s no need to hide your true colors because you’re both leaving at the end of the night anyway. You can be as unhinged as you want. No reason to play it up, make it out like you’re someone you’re not just so he might ask you out again… because this is it. Lowkey. No pressure.

“Don’t worry, honey, she’s always been like that,” your aunt reassures him, patting his shoulder gently. “Although if you really are a hooker, I’ll take your business card. You’re good-looking and you’ll be a plus one? A dream.”

“I assure you, I’m not a hooker, ma’am,” Aaron denies quickly, stoically.

“That’s what they all say,” you quip back. “Remember how much I’m paying you.”

If looks could kill, you’d be bleeding from a thousand stab wounds right now. But you were having fun, more fun than you’d had with a man in a long time.

“You’re not cute,” he whispers in your ear when your aunt turns back around.

“You wouldn’t be sitting here right now if you thought that,” you retort, starting to feel a little hot under your dress at his lips so close to your skin. “Besides, you should be gloating right now. You’re so attractive that my aunt thinks women would pay you to have sex with them.”

“Right. I’m sorry. I should be jumping for joy at that,” he says sarcastically.

“Exactly,” you nod, smirking at him, taking his snark seriously. “Relax. One night, right? Even if you make a complete ass out of yourself, this is it.”

“Yeah.”

“When’s the last time you had a good time, Aaron?” you ask suddenly. “No strings attached, good time? Because fine. I don’t know your last name or your major in college or your favorite color either. But if I’m afraid, you’re miserable. You need to let loose. You came here for a reason. I can at least give you that.”

“I just don’t want—“

“Them to think you’re a hooker? Please. First of all, I’m the most frugal bitch alive. They know I didn’t actually pay you to be here or to dick me down later. No one will believe that. And again, Aaron, what the fuck do you care what they believe? They’re never going to see you again. And we’re at a sham of a wedding to top it all off. So… live a little. Have a good time. Tell me some stupid jokes. Dance with me. Have a couple of drinks. And let it go. Whatever baggage you have does not exist in this room if whatever fears I have aren’t supposed to either.”

“You make a good case,” he mutters.

“I know I do,” you grin, pressing your lips to kiss right behind the ear you were whispering in, marveling at how quickly his skin flushes red at your touch.

Both of you stop talking for a moment as the first dance starts, and the couples slowly start to head to the dance floor. “Lover” by Taylor Swift, Crystal’s choice, you guess; and you can’t help but think it’s a funny one. A love song, sure, but almost a cop-out of marriage if there ever was one. “I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover”… but not my husband. Backing away from the thought of forever commitment. I want all your summers but not your last name or your ring on my finger. Nothing to symbolize it, tie me to it.

“Can I have this dance?” Aaron asks you, and you wonder if he’s secretly a masochist. Maybe he likes to be teased and kept on edge.

You nod, though, and let him lead you out into the dance floor to join the other couples.

“Keeping enough room for Jesus?” you tease, looking down at the space between your bodies.

Scoffing, he pulls you closer by the waist, so there are millimeters of space between your bodies now, and you feel your face heat up as his hands stay on the small of your back. “Happy?”

“Happier,” you concede. “How do you know how to dance?”

“I was married before,” he reminds you. “It doesn’t seem like you know how, though.”

“Hmm?” you question, glaring at him.

“Your hands go on my shoulders. Or around my neck.”

“I knew that,” you mutter, placing your hands on his shoulders tentatively, catching his dark brown eyes with yours, shuddering at the intensity he was looking at you with. Taylor Swift continues to croon her undying love and you stare at this man, at this moment in your lifetime, fading away as you’re holding him close, swaying slowly to the music.

Love at first sight doesn’t exist. You rationalized that all away ages ago. Lust, sure. Lust is common, ordinary, every day.

But you know what lust looks like. It’s predatory looks from men across a dusky bar room or it’s wide-eyes, pupils-dilated, unbridled passion, kiss-bruised lips. But you weren’t getting any of that from the way he was looking at you.

And you know you’re going to see those eyes in your dreams, eyes you can glean pain from, eyes trying to reach the depths of your soul to see where you buried your hurt to rest too. Understand you, not the things you tell people when you make small talk like your college major or your favorite color but the things you tell people when they want to get to know you like your stance on God or presidential candidates or… marriage.

You don’t know where the hesitancy came from, all of a sudden, but it’s the intensity of his eyes and the heat radiating from his body and the lights are lower and the song is ending and you’re inching your face toward his and you’re not sure who touched their lips to whose first but his mouth is on yours now, and his eyes finally close. You watch them flutter close, long eyelashes brushing against yours as he lets himself envelop you without a word. You’ve never been kissed like this, so feather-light and without a hint of urgency, like he’s taking his time, like he’ll take the entire wedding reception to explore every square centimeter of your mouth with his own. Being you, though, you don’t have the patience for that, and you bring your hands from his shoulders to clasp around the back of his neck and you get the intensity you crave, parting his lips with your tongue, closing your eyes too, feeling his soft black hair brushing against the sides of your wrists and your bodies are pressed so close and you could get lost here, couldn’t you? - but then you feel someone tap your shoulder, and you break away from him with a squeal.

“Who is this that you’re sucking face with? I’ve never seen him before,” your mother says as you turn around.

“Ask Aunt Linda,” you laugh, trying to regain your composure. “I was enjoying myself.”

“Clearly,” she says, giving you a tight-lipped smile. “Is this some kind of protest?”

“No, his name is Aaron. Aaron, this is my mother,” you say.

“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” he says, reaching out his hand for her to shake, smiling with his dimples in a way you’re sure made his ex-in-laws fall in love with him.

She reciprocates, but she shakes her head at the same time. “I’d prefer to have met you before you were wearing my daughter’s lipstick.”

“We can’t always get what we want,” you grin at your mother. “I think it suits him, anyway.”

“Of course you do,” she says. “Why didn’t you mention you were bringing a date?”

You shrug. “Just kind of happened. Like. You know. The wedding.”

“Oh. So this is a protest. I apologize, Aaron, for you being a part of her juvenile scheme.”

“It’s really not a bother. She’s a pleasure to be around,” he grins.

Your mother laughs. “You two really did just meet, huh? You have no idea.”

“Not very nice, Mom. Don’t scare him away. Maybe I can make this a joint wedding.”

“Hell would freeze over before you get married, darling,” she says, squeezing your shoulder. “Well. Have a good time. But please keep your hands off each other. We’ve got both sets of your grandparents here and we don’t need to be sending anyone into cardiac arrest.”

“Right, Mom,” you say, rolling your eyes as she walks away.

“I see where you get all of it from,” Aaron chuckles softly.

“I see you’re a major kiss-ass even if you’re never going to see my mom again,” you retort, stepping closer to him again.

“No harm in being polite.”

“That wasn’t just polite. That was being a kiss-ass. And you still have lipstick all over your mouth.”

Then you feel his mouth on you again, soft, thorough, warm. “Did I get it?” he asks, still smiling at you.

“You’re ridiculous,” you giggle, then use the advantage you have to hold his face there and pepper kisses across his face, leaving red marks in the shape of you across his skin before he catches your bottom lip between his teeth, kissing your mouth again, letting you take the lead again, squeezing his eyes shut and gripping onto your shoulders like your sand slipping through his fingers.

Because you are.

“I’m going to need to clean this off before I have to meet your father,” Aaron says, laughing. “I’ll be right back.”

Aaron doesn’t exactly know what he’s doing, and he feels like he can’t recognize the man looking at him in the mirror, red lipstick smeared across his face, a seemingly permanent blush on his cheeks blending in with it. The cold water helps cool him down some, but then he thinks about you again, all smirks and quick remarks and the way you read him like a book… and he’s on fire again.

There’s no point in asking you where you’re moving. Even if it’s somewhere feasible to travel, his life and work schedule isn’t something he’d want to burden another woman with.

One night. No expectations except for a good time. That he could do, even if it was for a borderline child wedding not unlike the one he had over a decade ago.

Walking back out he sees you, eyes intense and smile lines formed at their corners as you talked to your brother, glass of champagne in your hand. “Oh, this is Aaron,” you tell him, your hand on Aaron’s back as he reaches you.

“Congratulations,” Aaron says, nodding at him.

“Thanks, man. Where the hell did you come from, though?”

“That’s my secret,” you say, grinning. “You don’t get to know.”

“Is this one going to last?”

“Doubt it,” you shrug. “Is yours?”

“Stop it,” he says, glaring at you. “I know you think I’m making a mistake. It’s already done. I don’t want to hear it anymore, okay?”

“Okay,” you say.

“At least I can keep a relationship longer than four months.”

“It hasn’t really been that much longer,” you counter.

“Well, I proposed instead of ending it.”

“Okay,” you sigh, leaning in for a side hug. “I don’t want to argue either. Go be with Crystal.”

Your brother nods, taking the hint the conversation was over, and Aaron takes the opportunity to sit down with you at one of the tables. “Is this common for you?”

“What? Taking men I don’t know to weddings? Far as I know you’re only one lucky enough,” you say tersely.

“I meant… relationships.”

“Yeah. Maybe. I try men on like I try on clothes. I’m a slut. Is that what you’re trying to get at?”

“No, not at all.”

You shake your head, sipping at the champagne and making a face at it, laughing at the acrid taste and handing it to him. “You can have that.”

“I’m sorry if I offended you,” Aaron says calmly, taking the glass from you, and drinking from it slowly. “There’s nothing wrong with this. It’s good champagne.”

“It tastes like ass,” you laugh, then frown. “You didn’t offend me. Yeah. I’ve had issues with relationships. No secret there. A normal, sane girl wouldn’t have asked you to come here, no offense.”

“A normal, sane man wouldn’t have said yes,” he replies, smiling, squeezing your hand that rested on the table. “Relationship issues are normal. No one in this room or in this city or on this planet has it figured out.”

“Did anyone try to stop you from getting married?” you ask him.

“Her mother wasn’t happy,” he recalls. “My parents figured I would figure it out. We were together through most of high school.”

“But you don’t know at that age.”

“No,” he agrees. “You don’t. Either they’ll be lucky and grow together or they’ll be unlucky and grow apart. But you don’t know unless you try.”

“The odds are—"

“They know that. I knew that. I still wanted to try anyway.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Sometimes,” Aaron admits. “Sometimes I do. I gave her a lot of years, and some of them weren’t good. A lot of them weren’t good, actually, a lot of strain and arguing and worrying about who she was seeing while I was away. But… I don’t know. You live and you learn.”

“Sometimes you do know,” you say sadly.

“Sometimes you try anyway,” he responds, bringing your hand to his lips.

You blink back tears and nod. One night. You can cry later.

Thankfully, the song changes to Cotton Eyed Joe; something ridiculous and impossible to stay down in the dumps for. Aaron glares at you but concedes when you give him a pleading look and you’re able to get him out on the floor to teach him this dance. He looks insane, what you can only imagine as a normally uptight, repressed man learning choreography from you for a novelty song.

Breathless and laughing he kisses you. Again. Again. Again. You don’t care about your mother’s warning and you’re glad he doesn’t either. You get the feeling he’s not one to embrace PDA like this either, but it’s one night for his mouth to be on yours, and the impression he leaves on your parents isn’t going to matter in a couple of hours anyway.

You think you’ll get whiplash from this setlist, the way it switches from upbeat to hopelessly sentimental, but Aaron rolls with the switches, pulling you back to him, swaying you gently to ‘Fade into You’. Resting your head on his shoulder and wrapping your arms around him, you breathe him in. The woodsy scent of his cologne. The slight musk of his sweat. You feel his mouth press a long kiss against the top of your head.

And that’s how it ends, bringing you into a long hug at the trunk of your car the next morning, everything you own behind you. Both of you leaving this city. Heading home. You don’t talk about it. You don’t mention to him that you’d like to see him again. You don’t say anything.

“I’m sorry it had to end this way,” he says quietly, looking up at the sky, the clouds moving quickly overhead, threatening rain.

“Aaron, don’t,” you mutter. “We knew.”

“I know.”

Who do you get mad at for this? When it’s no one’s fault? God? Fate? The universe?

——------

Who do you thank for this? God? Fate? The Universe?

You walk into your new workplace, the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, Gideon, who you interviewed with last week leads you through the building, giving you your badge, gun, and security clearance. It must be counterfeit. No one is this lucky.

Aaron realized why you looked so familiar the second your name was mentioned. He’d seen your file, read it through thoroughly, and noticed your photograph paper-clipped to it, but he was on a plane for a case and then just as quickly he was on a plane to Boston for the conference. Gideon was the only one present for the interview. Gideon was the one to hire you. Gideon was the one to walk you through the building to his desk to introduce himself to you.

You don’t even blink. “Guess it’s a good thing you were polite to my mother, sir,” you say, holding out your hand for him to shake.

Never mind the fact he already kissed you and the entire length of his body was pressed against yours.

“You two know each other?” Gideon asks, looking between the two of you.

“You could say that,” Aaron answers, but he’s only looking at you. There must be a glitch. Maybe Boston was a dream. No. You remember it, too.

“Not the CIA. Close enough, I suppose,” you grin.

“Sure,” he says softly... because he doesn’t know what to say. When he pulled your resume and your background check again he knew to expect you to walk through these doors at 9 am. A couple of hours still wasn’t enough time to prepare. You… were blindsided though.

“What aren’t you telling me, Hotch?” Gideon asks. “Is this going to be a problem?”

“No, not at all,” he says, but he’s still only looking at you. “Can I talk with you? In my office?”

You nod, following him, closing the door behind you, and leaning against it. “Don’t you think you should introduce me to the rest of the team?”

“Why didn’t you mention this?” he asks, standing in front of his desk.

“Why didn’t you? You had a million times to mention you worked for the FBI.”

“When I said CIA…”

“I thought you were being funny. I thought you were a traveling lecturer for like, science or something. I don’t know. The FBI, Aaron?”

“I could say the same for you. Jesus,” he whispers, stepping a little closer to you.

“It’s kind of funny we were out a whole night and it never came up,” you say, grinning.

“Jesus,” he mutters again, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“So what happens now?”

“I don’t know. We work, like adults, and we move on.”

“I don’t know, Aaron. I think someone doesn’t want us to move on,” you shrug. “I can’t sit in here all day. You have to introduce me to the rest of the team before they think I am fucking you.”

He glares at you. “These comments won’t be permitted with the rest of the team present.”

“Jesus. I know when to shut my mouth, Aaron. In private, they’re permissible though, right?”

“I truly don’t know how I’m going to work with you,” he says, trying not to laugh.

“Guess you must be glad you didn’t fuck me before,” you say. “Would’ve been really awkward.”

“Agent… drop it. I do have to introduce you to them. Let’s go.”

But your back is pressed against the door and you know it’s a risk to tease your fucking boss on your first day, but you can’t help yourself because he’s not just your boss, he’s Aaron. The man who held your heels and walked you back to your hotel room, who kissed you outside the door but wouldn’t let you take him inside with you, even though you felt how much he wanted you, too.

You don’t move.

“I need you to move from the door, Agent.”

“I’m ‘Agent’ now? How clinical. We’re still in private, Aaron.”

“If this is how you’re going to play it, I will have you fired.”

“Right,” you say. “Don’t think so.”

“Try me.”

“Is that a threat, Aaron?”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he mutters. But he’s only looking at your mouth.

“Just kiss me,” you say. “I know you want to. Probably been thinking about it all morning since you realized—"

You’re cut off by his mouth against yours. “Are you wearing lipstick?” he asks against your lips.

“No,” you answer, pulling him closer, tongue against tongue, hips against hips.

“That’s all you’re getting, Agent,” he says. “I expect you to be nothing but professional. That means no teasing, no mention of Boston, no mention that we know each other even if they ask. Noncommittal answers only.”

“Aaron, 'noncommittal' is my middle name,” you grin. “It’s you I’m more worried about. I seem especially talented at weakening that seemingly strong resolve.”

“It’s Hotch in front of the team. Go,” he nods at the door.

——————

“You did a good job with her,” Aaron says to you on the plane. “Liz. The victim.”

You smile, thanking him. “Used to work in a children’s psych hospital when I was doing my undergrad. Lots of child trauma there. Learned how to get to the root of their stories.”

“You’ll be a good addition.”

“You didn’t think so before?”

“I thought you were going to make me lose my mind,” he admits, looking around to make sure no one else was listening. Thankfully, it was an overnight flight. Everyone was asleep, save you two.

“I still might.”

Aaron nods, grinning, dimples on full display. “That you may.”

“What’s going to happen between us?”

“Nothing should.”

“I didn’t ask you what should. I asked you what is.”

“What do you want?”

You laugh. “I mean, Aaron, I’m the last girl to believe in fate, but that was a pretty big coincidence to ignore. And you keep kissing me whenever we’re alone.”

“You keep getting me alone,” he mutters, taking your hand and threading your fingers through his.

“Yeah, it’s my fault you can’t keep your hands or your mouth off me.”

“Shh,” he scolds.

“It’s true,” you say. “Anyway. You know what I want. I want you.”

“I want you, too,” he admits. “But this is a precarious situation and I’m not risking my career just for sex.”

“Aaron. We aren’t going to get any bigger signs from the universe that we need to try this. I’m open to it. We can try this. For real.”

“You believe that? It was fate?”

You laugh. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. Crazy coincidence, if nothing else.”

Aaron looks around suspiciously, kissing your mouth gently when he confirms no one is watching.

Which is nothing how he kisses you later in your new apartment, searing hot against your skin as his fingers circle your clit softly, leaving you to whimper against his mouth. You’re jet-lagged and overly full from breakfast when you landed but you’re wide awake and needy when it comes to him now.

“Aaron,” you whine. “Need you. Now.”

“You have me, honey,” he teases, leaning forward to lay you down on the bed, using the angle to fuck his fingers into you relentlessly. “Better?”

“Fuck,” you say, nodding.

“So wet for me, honey,” he coos at you. “Such a good girl.”

You know you’re embarrassingly close from his ministrations with his hands, so quick to get there from being so worked up since Boston, having to go a whole week hiding this secret, sneaking off into side rooms just to press his mouth and body against yours.

You still don’t expect it to rip through you like that until you’re left shaking and moaning his name. You don’t expect his cock to fill you even better, up to the hilt. You don’t expect him to flip you over so you’re on top, able to watch him blush and whimper from your teasing, telling him he’s fucking up into you so good.

You definitely don’t expect him to suggest round two and go down on you.

Then again. You didn’t expect the man you took to your brother‘s wedding on happenstance to be your fucking boss. That you’re fucking now. Apparently.

“How long do you think we can hide this from a room full of profilers, Aaron?”

“Shut up,” he says, laughing, kissing you, hair all mussed up, making him look deliciously freshly fucked. “You’re good at holding on and holding out.”

“You’re not.”

“Only when it comes to you, honey,” he says, pulling you into him.

“They’ll figure it out because of something you did,” you wager.

“I shouldn’t take that bet,” he says. “But I will.”

And sure enough. When you nearly got shot, and of course Aaron ran to your side, checking you for wounds, kissing the top of your head when he realized you were safe and okay…

Morgan was watching. And it spread through the team like wildfire. Naturally.

“How long?”

“Since Boston,” you answer.

“Wait…” Gideon chimes in.

“Don’t think about it too hard,” Aaron says.

------

taglist: @mrs-ssa-hotch​

[waywardxwords]

Chapter 6 - Demons, Spirits and Angels, Oh My! (Taking Chances)

Summary: After a random encounter introduces you to Dean Winchester, you can't shake the magnetic pull you feel towards him. For years, you've felt like everything in your life is under control--a promising career, financial stability and no real responsibilities. Dean's a hunter; it's his life and job. But somehow when you meet, your worlds are flipped upside down and you have to decide if it's a chance worth taking.

Chapter Warnings: Some angst, language,

Pairing: Dean Winchester x female!reader

Word Count: ~3.1k

[1][2][3][4][5]

Whiplash. It was the only way you knew how to describe going from having (what you would describe) as the best night of your life, to spiraling down to the worst feeling you had ever felt. 

Jen was the only person you knew to call—she knew you and knew how boring your life was (and how long it had been since you had even looked at a man, let alone slept with one). 

“This feels really, really dangerous,” you could tell by her tone that she really didn’t know what to say. 

“No shit, Sherlock,” you wanted to cry but you couldn’t even get tears to fall. You had never been in shock before, but you assumed it might feel something like this. “What do I do? Call one of those police departments? The FBI? …Homeland Security?” The thoughts were racing. 

“Take a breath,” you heard her take one at the same time, and you followed suit. “He didn’t hurt you, right? Force you to sleep with him?” 

“God, no,” you plopped down on the uncomfortable mattress and rubbed your temple. “I practically threw myself at him. It was…” your mouth couldn’t say what you felt. It had been amazing, ‘best night of your life’ material. But you couldn’t say that now. Not after what you had read. 

“Maybe the articles are wrong? Maybe there’s more to it than what you’re reading. Oh! Maybe he’s in the witness protection program?” She tried to rationalize. But you had already done that before you called her. 

“He wouldn’t have used his old name, Jen,” your words were so soft, you weren’t sure if she heard them. 

“Shit, you’re right,” she took a sip of her coffee. “Listen. Just go to the airport, block his number and fly home. We will work through this together. Don’t call anyone yet. This sounds like something you don’t want to get mixed up in, babe.” 

You nodded at her words and felt the first wrench of emotion in the back of your throat. “I’m worried I already have.” 

Three days had passed since you flew home from Kansas. You had blocked Dean’s number, but you had gotten calls from other numbers you hadn’t recognized with all different area codes. You didn’t answer. It was then that you remembered Dean’s voicemail when you had called previously: “This is Dean’s other, other cell…”. Your stomach dropped when you connected the dots. 

The next step you took was removing yourself from the project that took you to Kansas. Your boss had warned you that you were making a terrible mistake, and you probably were (from a career standpoint, anyway). But it didn’t matter. You never wanted to step foot anywhere near Kansas again. 

Even knowing what you knew from the articles (which you had barely read; Jen did most of the reading and kept you informed on a need-to-know basis. Which was basically Jen just saying: “You’re gonna have to forget this one, friend.”)—your heart hurt. You felt immense pain being away from Dean, and trying to shove the memories from that night out. You Googled how to disassociate, or how to build walls around memories. But so far, nothing had worked. 

Jen encouraged you to do the most normal thing you could on a Friday night—have a dinner and movie night with her. So now, you stood in your kitchen over a pot of spaghetti watching the water boil. Normal, boring life. 

You couldn’t help yourself, though. On your kitchen island, your laptop sat opened up to one of the Google searches. Your excuse was that you wanted to run through it all with Jen when she arrived, but in actuality, you were hoping there would be something to prove all of this was a lie, and maybe you (and the police, and the detectives and the FBI) had gotten it all wrong.

As you watched the water bubble in hopes of creating some kind of distraction, there was a loud knock at your front door. Jen wasn’t supposed to be there for another twenty minutes or so, but she also knew you were having a hard time with all of this. As you made your way to the front door, you assumed she wanted to come over and take your mind off of the man you were trying desperately to forget. 

A quick swipe of your hands on your dish rag, you pulled the front door wide open in one swoop. 

“You’re…early,” your voice trailed off and you thought your eyes might roll out of your head with how wide they were. It wasn’t Jen. It was Dean. 

Your brain told you to slam the door and call 911. But Dean was quicker than that. He walked in through the open door in one stride, his brows knitted together as his green eyes searched you. You tried to figure out what he was looking for. 

“Are you alright?” His eyes moved as his hands gripped just above your elbows. You completely froze. 

“Dean, what are you…how did you find me?” A million questions ran through you as you tried to process. And determine what your next step would be. Could you defend yourself against him? Would you even try? 

As much as you knew, seeing him again flooded you with every ounce of feeling you felt while you were with him in Kansas. The smell of his cologne made you shiver.

“I couldn’t get ahold of you,” he removed his hands from you and began to walk around. He was searching your home—window sills, primarily. But what was he looking for? He ran his finger along them and checked. Dust? Something else? He couldn’t be crazy…right? Your internal dialogue mixed with this man you thought you knew even just after a few nights pacing in front of you made your head spin. 

From your kitchen island, he turned back towards you. His movements had slowed now and you placed his expression as one of being confused. 

“You’re…fine?” He asked slowly. 

You tried not to look at the island where your laptop sat opened to images of Dean’s (multiple) mug shots and news articles. You decided to try to reason with him. 

“Dean, if you’re worried I’m going to call the police or the FBI, I’m not,” you moved slowly from your spot in the doorway but made a mental note to leave the door open. It was your only immediate escape. You also noted how strange it was that Dean let you leave the door open. Wouldn’t some psycho murderer cover all of his bases? Nothing made sense, and you felt frustrated tears sting in your eyes. 

“The what?” He looked completely perplexed now. “I think I missed a chapter here, sweetheart.” His eyes stayed on you until your gaze moved to the island. Shit. His eyes followed and his face fell. “Oh.” ‘Oh’? That’s it? At that moment, you felt like the articles were true. “Listen, I can explain…”

“There’s nothing to explain, Dean!” You said a little too excitedly. “No harm, no foul, right?” You tried to force a chuckle as you slowly side-stepped to keep distance between you. 

Even though you thought you knew better, you swore you saw a wave of hurt pass over his face. 

“You haven’t committed any crimes here, Dean,” you said slowly. “You can just go and no one needs to know you were here.” You were almost to your kitchen island by now, and your goal was to put it between you and Dean. In your gut, you still found it impossible to believe Dean would lay a hand on you (well, in a negative way). But your head reminded you of the articles. 

“Sweetheart, I promise you,” he emphasized as he put his hands up in front of him in a way of showing he meant you no harm. “None of this is what it looks like. And I realize people who commit crimes say that every day…” he trailed off as he tried to get the words out that would show you. “My brother and I, our job is a little bit different.”

Against your better judgment, you continued the conversation with him. “You said you were exterminators…” your words fell off as you processed. “Oh, God. Do you mean exterminating people?!” You hadn’t meant to squeal but you couldn’t help the inflection in your voice. “Are you like Dexter?!” Your eyes widened at the thought. 

“What? No! We don’t kill people,” Dean was exasperated as he tried to explain all of this to you. “Dammit, this is not how I wanted to tell you this.” Those words were almost muttered under his breath as he ran the palm of his hand over his mouth. “Listen to me, I know this is going to sound crazy…” literally everything you’ve learned in the last three days has sounded crazy, you thought. You nodded him on to continue, again against any judgment you had. “Just give me a few minutes to explain. We kill monsters.”

Come again? You didn’t have the courage to ask. But Dean just stared at you, waiting for some kind of reaction. 

“Monsters? What does that even mean?” You folded your arms across your chest protectively. 

“Like spirits and demons. That,” he pointed to the screen of your laptop. “Isn’t me.” There was a CCTV still shot of Dean with a gun aimed at people in a bank robbery turned hostage situation turned murder. Jen hadn’t given you the details on that one; you had to find it for yourself. “That’s a shapeshifter.” 

Your mouth ran dry. You couldn’t even swallow if you wanted to. “Jesus, you actually believe that’s real,” you muttered as you ran your fingers through your hair. You realized at that point you were shaking. You focused on just trying to breathe. 

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and his eyes squeezed shut for a moment before he spoke again. “I swear to you, I know it sounds crazy, but it’s the truth.” 

“Dean, if you truly mean me no harm, please leave,” you had never felt so conflicted before in your lifetime. The frustrated tears were back. You had truly thought Dean was different—amazing, even. But now you were second-guessing everything, your judgment included. 

It looked like Dean wanted to say something, but he stopped himself with a single nod. He put his head down and stared at the tile below his feet for a moment before he looked up again. “I’m really, truly, sorry,” he said, and it felt like he meant it. “I respect that. I’ll leave you alone.”

After one more glance at you, he moved to where the front door was still ajar and walked through, closing it behind him. 

Your eyes stayed glued on the door for a few moments in bewilderment. He had left easier than you thought he would. But your brain reminded you to move after a few seconds. You hurried to the door and bolted it, and locked the door knob. Your fingers still trembled as you touched the metal. 

About ten minutes later, Jen arrived. The knock at the door made your heart stumble a bit. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat. This time, you checked the peephole on your door before opening it. 

“Jen,” you sighed in relief when you pulled the door open. “God, am I glad to see you.” You had gone back and forth on whether or not to tell Jen that Dean had come to see you. He had left without incident, and you really didn’t understand how you were feeling at that moment. You knew he was crazy; demons? Spirits? And what the hell was a shapeshifter? But at the same time, he didn’t try to hurt you. And it seemed as though he wouldn’t even think of hurting you. 

“Have you heard from Dean lately?” Jen’s question hung in the air as you poured each of you a glass of wine. Something about her seemed a little off tonight, but it had been a long week and you hadn’t really gotten the chance to connect with her as often lately. 

“Nope,” you popped the sound of the ‘p’ as you slid her glass over to her and ignored her gaze. You could feel her staring as you turned so she was at your back and you scooped pasta onto a plate. “I mean, I’ve gotten some random numbers again, but that’s about it.” 

As you scooped, you heard Jen ‘tsk, tsk, tsk’. “I didn’t think you were a liar. Especially to the person you call your best friend.”

It seemed a little bit odd, so you turned to face her with your eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you being a liar,” her words nipped as her eyes bore into yours. And then, they flashed black—complete, solid black. Your eyes widened and you backed up so you were pressed up against the oven. 

“What the hell?” Your gaze moved back and forth between her eyes as you tried to figure out what was happening. 

“We aren’t there yet, hun,” her eyes returned to normal and a twisted smirk pulled up a corner of her lips. She took slow steps as she moved towards the end of the island. For every step she took, you took one as well. You still weren’t sure what was happening, but as it was with Dean, you wanted to keep this island between you. “I’m gonna need you to call your friend Dean and ask him to come back, sound good?” 

“Jen, what are you talking about?” At this point, your brain was swimming. 

“Jen’s not here right now, but you can leave a message if you’d like,” her eyes flashed black again and the palm of her hand outstretched to you. Suddenly, you were moving backwards rapidly. Your toes barely scraped the ground and as hard as you tried to push back against whatever force was moving you, you couldn’t. 

“The name’s Meg, nice to meet ya,” Jen/Meg pushed herself up onto the island so her feet dangled as she continued to just smirk at you. Your back was pressed against the wall of your kitchen, you couldn’t even lift your head if you tried. You were about a foot off of the ground and it felt difficult to breathe. “Your friend Dean and I, we go way back. But lately, he hasn’t wanted to talk to me on my terms. He can be a real pain in the ass, can’t he?” 

The force that held you to the wall had constricted your throat. It took everything in you to mutter, “Dean’s not my friend.”

“Does he know that?” she laughed as she hopped down off of the island and sauntered over to where your cell phone was placed on the counter top. While her back was to you, you tried to push against the invisible weight that held you. Still nothing. Your mind tried to think of every rational explanation, but there were none. “Something tells me if you give him a call and tell him I’ve stopped by, he may change his tune on having a little chat."

Suddenly, the hold she had over you was gone and you clambered to the floor. You weren’t expecting it, so you landed on your hands and knees, knowing well that it was going to leave a bruise. As you stood back up and rubbed your palms, you eyed the block of steak knives on the counter top. She followed your gaze. 

“Now, now,” she hummed. “I know you’re new to this whole demon thing, so I’ll throw you a bone. Anything you do to this body,” she waved her hands around Jen’s body. “Can and will hurt your bff, got it?”

You nodded once and reached out to take your cell phone from her. Your fingers were trembling again. You tried to brush it off as you hurriedly clicked through to unblock Dean’s number. Once it was unblocked, you pressed his name and hit ‘Call’.

After just two rings, you heard his voice say your name. Even after everything you had learned of Dean Winchester after the last few days, there was a flutter of relief in the pit of your stomach when you heard his voice. 

“Dean, there’s someone here who wants to talk to you,” you wished your voice sounded stronger, but it didn’t. Your hands shook as you handed the phone over to the woman (thing? Demon?) who looked like your friend. 

She took the phone with an accomplished smile that made you taste bile. All you could think about was what you had gotten yourself into. 

“Hi-ya, Dean-o, it’s Meg,” she continued to grin into the phone. Her eyes found yours as she sucked on her teeth. “Up for a chat?”

Dean hadn’t gone far after he left your house, unbeknownst to you. There was a feeling in the pit of his stomach he couldn’t shake and he just felt like he shouldn't leave. But also, he couldn’t. He had thought things with you could be so different. 

“We should go, Dean,” Sam had said once you had welcomed your friend in and closed the door. Dean couldn’t shake the feeling of seeing your face contort when you saw him. You were afraid of him. 

“I can’t,” Dean muttered as his eyes stayed fixated on the front of your home. 

Sam didn’t say anything in response to that. Dean was just thankful his brother was there. When he couldn’t reach you from his phone over the last few days, his heart sank. And then when he realized his number had been blocked, he was confused. But now it all made sense.

“I should’ve just told her,” he cursed under his breath, his knuckles whitened as they tightened against the steering wheel of his rental car. “I shouldn’t have let it go this far without telling her.”

“Dean, she would’ve reacted the exact same way,” Sam tried to reassure him. “It’s why we’ve never been able to have a relationship with someone who isn’t a hunter or who hasn’t seen this stuff for themselves.”

He wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t make Dean feel any better. 

But then his phone started to vibrate, and it was you. He hit the button to answer and pulled it to his ear, relieved that maybe you had changed your mind. 

But you hadn’t, and you were in trouble. “Goddammit, Meg.” He practically growled into the receiver of the phone as he shoved open the driver’s side door. Sam followed suit, and Dean filled him in as they jogged the few yards to your home. 

A/N - Do you hate me yet? (Please don't hate me lol). So many of you asked for me to fix it after the last chapter. While we aren't quite there yet, we're getting there!! So sorry for another cliffhanger-ish (BUT I feel like it's not as bad as the last chapter's cliffhanger? lol).

Thank you for reading, liking, reblogging, or commenting (or all of the above!). I appreciate you all and hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Chapter 7 may be posted early, but no promises! If not, it'll post on Thursday, 4/11!

Chapter 7 Preview:

Moments after Meg hung up the phone, your front door swung open. He looks pissed, and a little bit concerned, as his eyes move over you. 

“You alright?” He asks gruffly as his eyes do a sweep down your body, subsequently looking for any injuries. You nod, unable to speak out loud from the confusion and terror coursing through you. His eyes return to yours with a look that reads as sympathetic, like he’s sorry. 

Before he can move again, Meg returns her hold on you with a nod of her head. Your feet leave the ground once more, and you can’t stop the scream that comes up from your belly as you’re pressed against the wall once more. 

“Dammit, Meg!” Dean cursed. He took a step towards you and Meg stopped him in his tracks. 

“Uh, uh, uh,” she wagged her finger. “Not another step, Dean.”

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stars

one

yn is a very private person. has been since the start of her career. it’s not that she doesn’t appreciate the love and her fans, she truly does! she wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for them, for that she’s grateful to have them in her life.

she just likes to keep the good, the bad, and the ugly to herself. yn airs out her dirty laundry in her music. letting the world know the love and heartbreak she’s been through in her past and in her present. sharing her art through her music is such an amazing honor!

yn has been through so much. she’s still recovering from all the heartbreak she’s experienced throughout her lifetime. as for today, in this very moment, she’s been loved unconditionally by the most amazing man in the world!

it had been three years of being so in love with aaron hotchner, it feels like it was just yesterday she asked him and his boy to move in with her! it’s been the most amazing time of her life. yn was ready to shout to the rooftops about her love for her boyfriend and the little boy that now calls him mamma!

yn is cuddled up to aaron in bed. he’s propped up, one arm around her, the other holding one of rossi’s books. he had his reading glasses on—which he looked amazing wearing!—heavily invested in the book.

“aaron?”

“hmm?”

yn looks up at her boyfriend. “i think im ready to tell my fans about us. bout you and jack.”

aaron sets his book down. yn sits up as aaron turns and smiles. “if that’s what you want, darling.”

“yeah, but what do you want?”

aaron grabs her hands and caresses them before bringing them up to his lips. “baby, it’s your life, your fans. whatever you wanna do, im with.”

yn sighs. “but it’s your job and your son, aaron. what you want matters too. your life won’t be the same once people know. neither will jack’s.”

“our son, lovely! and if my beautiful, amazing, smart, talented girl wants to tell her fans about our family, who am i to say no? our lives changed the moment you and i started dating. i knew the risk and what i was getting jack and i into. if i didn’t think about it, i wouldn’t have pursued you.”

yn heart beats fast. she couldn’t believe how lucky she is to have this man in her life. it’s one of the many reasons she’s ready to share with the world. all the love songs she’s written about him, the smiles she’s had when being photographed by paparazzi, the text she hid from prying eyes during events, all of that was gonna be released to the world. she couldn’t wait!

aaron kisses her passionately. yn climbs on his lap and begins to straddle his waist. aaron smirks during their make out session.

“don’t you think you’ve had enough, lovely?” he whispers as he kisses right beneath her ear.

yn shakes her head. “could never have enough of you.”

riri

Liked by derekmorgan and 10,645,000 others

riri lover took this ❤️

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riri

Liked by ririangels and 13,000,000 others

riri gonna see babe ;)

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ririaesthetic wait, he’s an fbi agent?!?!

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riri 😌

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riri and is 💁🏽‍♀️

[chronically-ghosted]

sam and diane, eat your heart out

rating: 18+

pairing: marcus pike x f!reader

word count: 3374

summary: after spending six months with FBI Agent Marcus Pike on a case almost-kissing, almost-flirting - almost - almost - almost - you decide to do something about that Unresolved Sexual Tension.

tags/warnings: thigh riding, marcus being a menace during a makeout session, marcus being a good agent first and an idiot second, i love marcus pike with my whole being (not a warning, just thought you should know), light cursing, reader is a journalist but no y/n or physical descriptions

a/n:  from @trulybetty 's request from my 100 followers celebration: "Going with psychography and this is hard… Let's see, I pick prompt no. 9 and Pedro boy of choice is Marcus Pike as he's one you don't have your master list yet! → “i’m so sick of this ‘will we, won’t we’ shit."I'll leave it to dealers' choice for smut vs. no smut on how it takes you!"

🤍Masterlist

“So, this is it? This proves the buyer knowingly purchased the artifacts illegally from the Belgian government.” 

His mouth twitches. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t know any court of law that wouldn’t uphold this as evidence.” 

“And then used the money to bankroll the opposite party? These tapes, Marcus – I don’t know how you got them, but –,”

“Wouldn’t have gotten them without those bank statements,” he smiles at you, fingers pressing down those specific documents on his desk. “I don’t even wanna know how you got into that personal server, but –,”

“I’ll keep my secrets if you’re going to keep yours.” 

“Fair enough,” he chuckles and the sound sends a cascade of warmth down the back of your neck. You turn your head away to hide your cheeks like some schoolgirl with a crush. Well, about half of that is right. A crush on the FBI agent you’ve been working with on the side to not only bring an end to one man’s hunt for cultural artifacts that do not belong to him – how stupid could you be? This is not the way to getting your first Pulitzer!

Besides, this is only going to end badly – for you. Because whether or not you were convinced that Agent Marcus Pike may in fact be interested in you, depended on the day, the weather, and if you were susceptible to crying and eating chocolate bar by bar. Your combined case against this wanna-be museum pilferer was more airtight than your little book of tells: “Marcus noticed my perfume today”, “Marcus didn’t mention my haircut” , “Marcus complimented my outfit today.” You plucked off hopes and disappointments like petals from the most pathetic daisy and when you found yourself staring at an empty stalk, you were no closer to finding an answer you were happy with. 

Because for every reason, every indication, every hint that no, Marcus annoyingly respected you only for your brains and journalistic integrity . . . he’d look at you like he’s looking at you right now and every semblance of dignity would go flying out the window faster than you can say defenestration. 

Marcus drops your eyes, mouth parted as if surprised by his blatant staring, and he brushes the lynch pin to your case with his fingers.

“This is, um, this is really good work. Your editors are gonna love it.”

You lean your hip against the edge of his desk, crossing your arms, elbowing your way back into his attention. Your thigh teases the space between his. His head down, you watch his tongue wet his bottom lip the longer he stares at your hip. 

“They’d love it more if the agent in charge went on record about the whole thing.” 

Like you burned him, he retreats, stepping back towards the corkboard that’s been hanging in his office for six months. He tugs at his tie and clears his throat.

“Mhmm, yeah, maybe for a follow-up piece.” Swallowing, he pulls at the knot of his tie, and slips it over his head once the hole is big enough, quickly stuffing it in his pocket. He looks at the board like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. 

You can’t stop the irate scoff. The hurt, the embarrassment, it burns you. It’s such a stupid crush and he’s making you look like an idiot for it, desperate for scraps when you deserved a whole fucking meal. Your self-confidence had been hard won, built up under years of duress and shame, and a need for a change in your life. If you aren’t happy with something, fix it, your father used to say. So you did and you weren’t about to let Marcus goddamn Pike make you feel small again.

“You know what, fuck this.” In two strides, you move away from his desk and snatch up your shoulder bag. You know you’re making a scene, your cheeks warm, nose flared, and this isn’t the best way to end the last six months, or even continue a potentially invaluable insider source that could benefit your career for years to come. But you can’t help it. You hate how Marcus makes you feel. “I’m such a fucking idiot for thinking you’d have the balls to reciprocate so, you know what, that one’s on me. Keep the tapes, Marcus, I have copies. I’m going home.”

He frantically sputters out your name as he intercepts you between the door to his office. All the blinds are shut, this case of the highest confidentiality, and at least there’s the small miracle that his coworkers can’t see you act like a jilted fourteen year old. Your hand squeezes the strap around your shoulder when Marcus reaches for you. 

“I’m sorry, but what are you talking about?”  

You grind your teeth together, your heart pounding in your chest. “I’m talking about us, Marcus. This thing between us that’s been going on for months. The thing that you refuse to acknowledge. I’m so sick of this ‘will-they-won’t-they’ shit. I’m a grown woman, Marcus, and if you’re not interested then just come out and say it. Just stop . . . messing with me.”

The hand outstretched to you curls in, fingers, fist, retreating. His mouth twitches again, his eyes fundamentally unreadable. He glances over your shoulder at the board, and then when he looks back, his gaze is . . . different. Like he swapped his usual soft, friendly brown eyes with a pretense that carries a little more heat to it. The spilling of too black powder in a dangerous, unstable place, where careless matches are liable to fly. 

Marcus shifts his weight, crosses his arms with the full strength of his back yanking on his blazer, and bites just below his lip on his left side, somehow making that bowed mouth even more pouty. 

“No, I mean . . . why did you think I’d never act on it?” 

Now it’s your turn to take a small step back, even though the low pitch to his voice is exactly what you’ve been all but begging for. The sound of it twists your insides, tugging arousal low in your belly. You swallow, suddenly blinding padding around for that righteous anger. 

“It’s been six months, Marcus. Three since you almost kissed me during the stakeout. Two since I saw you staring at my bra after the rainstorm. A-and last month . . . last month, when you invited me over for dinner, I thought . . . I-I thought . . .”

You thought dinner was going to end in something sweeter than chocolate pie for dessert, when a woman called him, furious that he hadn’t been answering his calls. Her screaming was audible and the sheer look of panic on his face was enough to confirm every terrible thing you thought you were so terribly correct about. 

“I told you about my ex-wife when we first met. I wasn’t hiding her. You weren’t the other woman.” 

“Yeah, but people usually go their separate ways after a so-called nasty divorce.” 

His eyebrow jumps at the unmasked condescension in your voice. You hold the strap across your chest like a lifeline. 

Marcus’s eyes stray to the corkboard again as he works his jaw, split between being rather irritated and . . . something else. 

That something else slams full force into your chest when he meets your gaze: heartbreak.

“Did you ever consider I tried to stop anything before it started, because I didn't want some asshole defense attorney to have any reason to blow holes in our case?” He shakes his head, this time overwhelming you entirely as he oversteps at least three professional boundaries by herding you back against a filing cabinet with just the sway of his body. The metal clangs as you crash against it, shoulders around your ears. “A reason like if the lead investigator and his CI were fucking?”

The messenger bag around your hips is the only thing keeping him from pressing up on you entirely. You are intimately aware of that when he tilts his head at you, eyes mournful and explorative as they draw a path over your cheeks, your nose, your eyebrows. Down the curve of your jaw and your neck. 

You do the only thing you can think of and laugh at him: “A CI? Please, I think I was a little more integral than that.” 

Marcus hums as he gently brushes the arch of your cheek with the pad of his finger. 

“All the more reason to keep everything squeaky clean.” 

You finally understand why he’s been looking at the board over and over, as if it’s going to suddenly catch flames. You suppose it's only fair that he’s worried – does a blasphemer not worry about his own state of grace on holy ground? 

He’s knee-bucklingly close when you work up enough courage to look him in the eye and say what’s been looping around your mind like an unhitched railway car.

“But you said it yourself, the case is over, right?” There’s a corner of your mind that is keening with embarrassment at how breathless you sound, so you throw a shoe at her and drop your eyes to Marcus’s increasingly close lips. They’re wet when he runs his tongue over them. 

“Yes, I did say that.” Fireworks explode in your brain when he tucks his middle finger under the strap of your messenger bag up by your collarbone, and then proceeds to slide his hand down the strap, knuckles very intentionally rubbing between the valley of your breasts. You wish you had worn a push-up bra or nothing at all. His hand shakes as it stops just above your belly button. 

On a slow inhale, his palm changes directions, turning over to your stomach, heat blooming from where he touches you over your skin, to slide with a solid grip on your hip. A weight. The shifting of the scales. 

“Marcus–,” it sounds like begging and he’s hardly even touched you so you have to follow it up with something. You drop your head back against the metal, trying to even your breathing. “Marcus, w-we got the evidence. The case is closed, we d-don’t work together any more. We - we can–,”

“I want to,” he murmurs and you swear the heat from his breath across your collarbone tightens your nipples in your shirt. “God, I fucking want to. But this case can’t be jeopardized. The bureau has been after this guy for years and if we fuck it up on a technicality –,” 

“We don’t have to tell anyone,” you blurt out. The back of your head pinned to the metal locker behind you, you stare him down from the end of your nose, breathing hard and heavy. You squeeze your eyes shut before opening them to his gun-powder gaze. “We don’t even have to do this more than once, but . . . fuck, I’ve gotta get you out of my system, Marcus. I can’t think straight around you anymore.” 

Making a noise like someone popped him across the chest with their elbow, he shuffles closer, the bag between you digging painfully into your lower stomach. Both hands find their way to your hips. He squeezes you through your jeans, your panties a truly forgone mess at this point. You had men tease you before about how wet you got, like it was something shameful or embarrassing – giving so much of yourself away so quickly – but nearly pinned beneath him, you are quite sure Marcus would never have that inclination. Your own hands have latched onto his shoulders of their own accord. 

“We don’t have to tell,” you hiccup when his thumb barely brushes the bottom of your bra. “I won’t tell, Marcus.” He tilts his head, the rough hairs of his beard brushing against your temple and you shudder, so eager to be touched by him on your skin and not through your clothes. “Please. Please.” 

He groans again, eyes fluttering, head shaking. “Fuck, baby, don’t beg me like that–,”

His body presses you flat against the locker when he eagerly collides his mouth with yours. His broad hands cup your cheeks, holding you exactly where he wants you, your fingers digging around his wrists to confirm to him there’s literally nowhere else you’d rather be. 

Marcus Pike executed everything in his life with dogged determinism. From catching criminals, to shining his shoes, Marcus was meticulous and detail-oriented. It made him a great agent – and one hell of a kisser. 

His tongue rides along the bottom of your lip, then the top, not seeking entrance, but cataloging if the places on your mouth taste differently. He nips your plush lip and finds the sound you make is not exactly how he wants it. So he licks your mouth open, as forcefully as he politely shows a warrant before kicking open a suspect’s door. He finds that you like it when he’s a bit rough with his tongue, biting more at your upper lip to make you keen at that frequency he’s been craving. He does it again and you moan louder, fingers tightening around the curls at the back of his neck. He’s not satisfied with that sound alone, so he pushes even closer to you, seeking your heat with his thigh as if he could feel you pulse for him with just his mouth on you. 

But this goddamn bag –

“Get this–,” he scrambles over your hands as you both incorrectly fight with the strap and the weight of the bag, “what is even in this?”

You chuckle as he manages to yank it over your head without pulling out your hair. “My little pheromones to drive hot FBI agents berserk. Why? Is it working?” 

His moan is set between his teeth, sucking on both his own desperation and frustration at your teasing. Barrier gone, he shoves his knee between your thighs and slides it until it nestles against your crotch. It pushes the seam of your jeans against your clit and you rip your mouth away from his, gasping at the overly hot pleasure that roars up your middle. 

“Fuck, Marcus,” you keen and his mouth splits open, eyelids heavy, as he watches you writhe on this thigh. 

“You’re so warm, but are you wet? I can’t feel you.” His nose and mouth tucking into your neck, his wide palms tug and push your hips in a steady rhythm that has you fisting his jacket. “Couldn’t have worn a skirt?” 

“I didn’-t know – you’d want to – do this,” you breathe through this rapidly swelling pleasure, your clit throbbing. He presses up with his thigh just barely and you moan like a fucking pornstar, his cock rock solid and hot against your hip. 

“Can-can you do this?” He asks breathlessly, his own hips rolling in time with yours. “Can you come just on my thigh?” 

You bite your lip and nod, eyes shut and head back against the metal. “Y-yeah, I think I’m – God, yes, I am – I am so close.” 

“What do you need – to get you there?” He dips his head back to that spot on your neck that made your skin break out in goosebumps and he nips at your pulse point before soothing it with his tongue. You jerk at the sensation, your own pleasure ratcheting up to a soaring new height, the damp stripe of your panties almost soothing to your aching clit. You’re so sticky everywhere. You gasp, your hands curling into his shirt, shoulder digging into his jaw, neck arched to the side, as if your body is concerned how hard this orgasm is going to hit when he sucks a distinctive bruise into the hollow of your throat.

“Oh, God, Marcus –,” 

“Tell me, what do you need?” he slurs in your ear. 

You feel so empty, so wet and hollow, you want him to strip your pants down now and fill you as fast as you can. But you tremble on the razors edge – his cock anywhere near you is going to ruin you for the rest of the night – you just need to break through this one and then you’ll –

“Your fingers, Mar-cus, just put – them –,”

He huffs, grunting as he understands, and one of the steadying hands on your hips lurches to the front of your jeans. His knuckles dig into the skin of your stomach as he flicks open the button of your jeans, a low-heavy-drag whine as he finally feels the heat of your pussy, ready to suck him up inside you. He yanks down the zipper, cups you and that’s almost enough. It’s nearly enough and you gasp, your core fluttering, nails tearing into his shirt. 

“Yeah, you need more?” Marcus hums, his teeth scraping your jaw as he pins you to the wall with his full body weight. “Can’t let anything be easy, can you?”

All sense and shame dragged out of you with every swipe of your clit against his thigh, you shake your head and let out a loud whimper. 

He grunts something low and fast, heated and possessive, his hand shifting, knuckle peeling back your sticky underwear, fingers rubbing up against your puffy lips, and finally –

You toss your head back, a hot freeze locking your body up from your toes to your forehead, when he slides two fingers right up your cunt and curls them forward. A second later, heat crackles from your cunt up to your chest and you inhale, stars in your eyes and toes barely scraping the ground. 

As you sink back down into your own body, your brain plugging back in, you realize he’s whispering to you, muttering, his lips moving fast over your skin as he gently brushes your cheek with his own. 

“So good, baby, everything I thought you were going to be, you let me touch you, you make such pretty sounds, so good,” 

The high continues to drag you back down, down until you’re shaking in his arms, a lethargic weight pulling you into his chest. He cups your head into the curve of his neck, his own heart pounding into the vein of his neck. 

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re messing with me anymore,” you chuckle into his skin and you feel him smile above you. “Okay, a little messing. A messing when asked.” 

“Good. I like messing when asked.” He kisses your cheek, lips lingering as he breathes out his nose. “But, uh, I know you said you weren’t going to tell anyone, but you weren’t exactly quiet about it.” 

You warm again, but this time with a bashful grin. 

“Yeah, sorry. I guess there are advantages to being a workaholic and staying in the office until ten at night.” 

He shakes his head, gently easing his knee from between your legs, careful to hold you until you are steady on your own feet. 

“Don’t need to apologize for that, pretty girl. In fact,” he picks up your infamous shoulder bag and loops it over his neck. The strap catches the fluff of his hair and it stands straight up. You didn’t think you had the energy, but your heart goes wild at the sight. “In fact, when I take you home, I’d like you to be even louder.”

Apparently you had a lot more stamina than you thought because your toes curl and you can practically hear your pussy throb. Your eyes flicker to his crotch.

“You don’t want . . . here?”

He pulls you into his arms, and kisses your forehead. “I do. I want very much. But the first time I’m inside you with anything but my fingers, it’s not going to be in my office. Won’t be able to concentrate.” He takes a look around what had been the epicenter of your investigation for months. “Actually, I might have to repaper the whole thing now.” 

You chuckle, leaning up under his arm where he’s damp and warm. “I think that might tip off someone to our little technicality.” 

He matches your smirk with an eyebrow raise. “Fair. Guess it’ll just have to linger here.”

You kiss his throat as he leads you out of the abandoned building, arm tight around you. Where he does take you home, where he does come inside you with something other than his fingers, and where you scream his name . . . yes, even louder. 

[honeypiehotchner]

Devil's Backbone (Unsub!Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part six

Just a reminder that Hotch does Very Bad things in this fic! He is not the good guy! This is going to be angst-filled and painful! There's no other way to describe it, so brace yourselves now

Warnings: suicide mention, but not explicit; the violence/gore in this one is explicit/typical of the show

Don't forget to follow @honeypiehotchnerlibrary and turn on post notifications to be notified when a new part goes up!

Six: What a wicked thing to do -- "Wicked Game" by Ursine Vulpine, Annaca

At first, Hotch thought the unsub was dead already.

He didn’t leave his house. Ever. Sure, there was a snowstorm, but this is Washington. Weren’t they used to this weather? It wasn’t even as bad as they said it would be. It was tame compared to what they usually got.

Still, it took the unsub four days to even walk out to his trashcan at the end of his driveway. Hotch thought he was hallucinating when he saw the guy. 

The unsub didn’t even glance in Hotch’s direction. Clearly oblivious to the fact that Hotch was watching, had been watching for four days. Moron.

Hotch’s phone rang, scaring the absolute shit out of him. It wasn’t his other phone, the number everyone had. That was back at his apartment, safely on the kitchen counter. For all anyone knew, he was in Virginia. 

No one had this number. Who could have this number? He thought he made sure no one would know it.

He picked up the call, a disgusted, “What?” leaving his lips.

The line crackled. An automated voice answered. “Hello! You’ve won--” He hung up and tossed the phone into the seat. Spam.

He laughed, frustrated with himself for his paranoia. What did it matter? He was doing the right thing. He knew that. He didn’t care if anyone had a problem with it.

+++

You stared at your phone as it lay on the coffee table next to your opened bottle of wine. You thought Hotch would have called by now.

It was a foolish hope, really. He said nothing about keeping in touch, yet you hoped he would change his mind. You thought he’d change his mind.

You thought about being the first to cave, the first to dial, but you refused. You couldn’t do that to yourself.

But you desperately wanted to know if he was okay. That was all. Just if he was okay.

You took a drink straight from the bottle. You knew you’d drink most if not all of it, why bother with a glass?

No one had heard from Hotch since he left, not even Dave, though you didn’t know if Dave would say if he had. If Hotch told him to keep it quiet, he would. 

As you left Arkansas, you wanted to tell him the case went well. You wanted to share the joy with him of bringing the girls home to their families. He always celebrated the wins, said he had to or else he’d go insane. He had to do something.

You had to do something, so you were drinking. Everyone was too exhausted to go out, and you were too, but sleep was not an option. Not when you kept dreaming about him.

They were all the same, with some variations. Hotch leaving. You unable to stop it. Repeat.

You kicked back on your couch, sinking into the pillows, bottle of wine in one hand. If you had enough of it, and if you thought hard enough, you would probably be able to feel him still. It wasn’t that long ago, the last time he was between your legs. 

Maybe you’d have a sex dream for a change. That would be nice. You snorted, taking another long sip of the wine, then another. It tasted like shit. You should’ve bought a different bottle.

+++

The next day, Hotch changed into a button down with his jeans. He did his hair, clipped the badge to his front pocket, his gun to his waist.

Strauss had him leave his FBI issued weapon with her, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have others at home. She probably knew that, but protocol was protocol, especially in front of the director.

It was better this way, regardless. Now the bullets wouldn’t be traced so easily back to his government weapon.

Hotch left his car and walked across the road, right up to the unsub’s front door. It was mid-morning, and a weekday. No one was around to see or hear. Hotch made sure of it.

After a few moments, the unsub finally answered the door. 

“Can I help you?” he asked, his lip upturned in a snarl. He looked disgusting. Greasy. Like he hadn’t seen daylight in fifty years, and he was only thirty-two. 

“Yes, actually,” Hotch replied. “I need your help.”

The unsub was suspicious. “Who are you?” 

“Jason Gideon,” Hotch said, painting on a dumb smile. “Retired from the FBI. I’m working on a book. Can I come in?”

“Sure,” the unsub rolled his eyes, opening the door wider. He clearly didn’t believe Hotch, but that didn’t matter. He would be dead soon. “Whatever. What kind of book?”

Hotch stepped inside and shut the door behind him, flicking the deadbolt. The unsub’s eyes widened.

“Hey, mister, this is my house--”

The unsub didn’t have time to finish his sentence before Hotch hooked him in the jaw.

Surprisingly, it didn’t knock him out. He groaned and cussed, leaning over and holding his palm to his jawline. “Fuck! What the hell, man--”

Hotch swung again, this time right under the unsub’s chin, knocking his head back with such force that Hotch heard a crack.

Dazed, the unsub stumbled backward, nearly losing his footing if it weren’t for a large recliner to his left. He grasped onto it for stability, still mumbling incoherently to Hotch. Something about I don’t know what’s wrong with you and I didn’t do anything.

“Do you remember the family you murdered?” Hotch spat, approaching the unsub and grabbing him by the neck. “The little girl you shot in the head?”

The unsub coughed from Hotch’s grip, then grinned. “Which one?”

Anger surging, Hotch lifted the unsub by his neck and threw him to the ground, the unsub’s shoulder knocking on the corner of the coffee table. 

“Piece of shit,” Hotch muttered, kicking the unsub between the legs. “You made her watch as you murdered her parents.”

“Oh,” the unsub chuckled wetly, clutching his crotch. “You mean Madison. Such a pretty young thing. You know, I think she would’ve made a good--”

Hotch stood over the unsub, ready to just shoot him in the head, but instead, he stepped on his throat, cutting off his disgusting words. “Don’t say another word.”

The unsub spluttered, stomach lurching from the sudden weight on his windpipe. His legs flailed. Hotch pressed down harder, waiting for his windpipe to break in half.

“This is what I should’ve done years ago,” Hotch whispered, staring down his nose at the unsub as he began to lose consciousness. But Hotch wanted him awake, so he pulled some of the weight back, allowing air to surge into the unsub’s lungs. “They wanted me in court. I should’ve killed you before it even got that far.”

Hotch watched as the unsub seemed to recognize him. In his fogged, oxygen deprived state, the unsub’s lips began to form his name. 

Too bad Hotch shot him in the mouth before he could speak. 

Hotch dropped his gun, placing it back in his holster. It was quieter than he expected, but he doubted anyone would call the police. If they did, Hotch would be gone by the time they arrived.

There was a time when Hotch stared down the barrel of his gun. He told himself he wouldn’t do it. He had Jack to think of, Haley too, if she’d have him. When they died, he stared down the barrel more often than he didn’t.

Using it this way now, to take care of unsubs, felt better, felt right. This was what he was meant for.

He paused to look around the pig sty of a home he stood in. He scoffed. Disgusting.

He left the home, making sure the doorknob locked behind him. He took one look out onto the road, relieved to see it empty. This street seemed void of life.

Back across the road in his car, he buckled and sped away, feeling hungry.

[mrs-prentiss]

Mellies Scandal

Summary : We all know and love Fitz and Olivia’s affair and quarrel. However most of us wanted some sort of justice for Mellie, and one person in particular had every idea to give Mellie just that.

•••••••••••••••••

‼️Warning : Cursing - Light Violence ‼️

Authors Note : I know we all hate when people put their Ocs in a tag for “X reader” but since there is no “Mellie x Reader” fics I am going to put this there to help boost it and find people. If it goes well I will make “x Reader” for Mellie Grant! Until then enjoy! It’s short for now the next ones will be longer

————————

• Nicknames •

Eleanor Prentiss ( Nellie or El sometimes Flo)

Melody Grant ( Mellie or Mells)

Olivia Pope (Liv)

Fitzgerald Grant (Fitz or Fizzy)

••••••••

We all know FitzGerald Grant and we all know the lovely Olivia pope. Who doesn’t love this pairing? Mellie of course and the infamous little sister of Fitz, Eleanor Florence Prentiss. Eleanor is the younger sister to Fitz, she’s the Chief of the FBI office in Washington. She’s married and sort of separated from her lovely wife…sort of ex wife Emily Prentiss who is also working in the Washington office with her.

Eleanor was notorious for flirting with Mellie, who wouldn’t? She was completely and utterly infatuated with the woman and she couldn’t keep her eyes off of her. Something about Mellie just sparked and lit fire works inside of Eleanor. She was always in Mellies corner, despite being the Presidents sister she was a Mellie supporter til the day she died. So upon hearing about her brother affair she was one of the first people inside of the Oval office after getting several calls for her to come there “Melody sweetheart you look beautiful as always. Fitzgerald you look like a fool and so does your common whore here” she said loudly as she walked into the office kicking the door shut behind her.

She stood beside Mellie who sat on the couch and arched an eyebrow at the mistresses in front of her “Is there a reason i’m here? I’m a busy woman I don’t have time to come gossip about your recent screw up” there it was that agitating voice she hated the sound of her voice. She knew Of Olivia Pope they’d cross paths plenty of time and every time Olivia got in her way she had blackmail and the government knees deep on her side “I called you here. We need your help and you weren’t answering his calls”

Eleanor turned to the right slightly and smiled with a low chuckle following past it “You don’t not beckon me anywhere. You don’t ask for my help, as far as i’m concerned nothing at all is stopping me from kicking your ass Olivia. You tell your team to stop ringing my lines i’m busy i don’t have the time to play phone tag” she placed a hand on Mellies shoulder gently squeezing it and giving her a give glance with an apologetic smile and soft eyes. She sympathized and she wanted nothing more then to give Mellie everything she wanted, but it wasn’t an easy task.

Mellie would be lying if she told herself the way Eleanor looked at her and touched her simply didn’t just send a tense feeling down to her core. She picked the wrong Grant that was for sure and she didn’t know what to do from now “I told you it was a bad idea Fitz. Eleanor is working and she hated this as much as I do. You should know that.” Mellie tried to reason with her husband on her sister in laws behalf. He wasn’t listening though and neither was Olivia they’d both decided for Mellie that they would all convince Eleanor.

“Mellie we need her to help us. She has resources and connections we don’t. We all agreed to this” Olivia expressed in a broad tone. Eleanor for one didn’t agree with her brother running for president she hated the idea but she was also a good sister who would support what he wanted even if she didn’t like it “Hey Olivia? Shut the fuck up and let her speak. God do you deal with this every day Melody? This is ridiculous. If i’m helping any of you this piggy backing to defend each other shit is stopping now.” Eleanor snapped at both Fitz and Olivia pointing at the with the hand she took off Mellies shoulder.

Fitz took a sharp breath and groaned loudly “SERIOUSLY NELLIE! You can’t behave for five minutes and play nice! Olivia hasn’t done anything and you’re already insulting her. We need your help! I need your help, my presidency depends on it” he exhausted said in a sharp tone to his sister. Fitz and Eleanor don’t yell at each other and they don’t fight, so the room was so quiet at the moment you could hear a pin drop. Eleanor smirked slightly and set her bag and keys down beside Mellie sending her a wink before she moved past the couch.

A loud slap echoed through the Oval office and left Fitz with his head snapped sideways and Eleanor shaking her hand off as she lowered it “Do not ever raise your voice at me again. You two have done everything wrong, you have ruined her life. Just so you know Fizzy i’m not here for you, i’m here for Mellie. You want my help you find a way to speak to me because next time i’ll make sure you hit the floor and you know I will” as her brother mumbled an apology to his sister rubbing his cheek as he lifted his head to look at her she started speaking again “I’ll talk to Emily. I’ll see what we can do okay? Until then you two don’t go making this harder for me to clean up”

“Wait; you’re still with her? You told me you two got divorce Eleanor. Are you guys still married?” Mellies confusion and jealous was obvious to Eleanor just by the look in her eyes which made her shift in her spot as the first lady stood up with her eyes challenging Eleanor. Eleanor fumbled over her words for a second before she scrunched her nose as she spoke and relaxed it “No…yes? I don’t know we’re— It’s complicated. It doesn’t matter. What matters is i’m fixing this mess and i’ll be here tomorrow and the rest of the week to help” she grabbed her bag and keys from the couch, mouthing an i’m sorry to Mellie before she made her way to the door “and..when i come back Olivia you better be here and on a short leash i know how you get when you get power hungry” she pointedly spoke. She waved goodbye to the secretary and made her way through the white house halls calling Emily to figure out how the hell she’d clean this up.

[louisisalarrie]

You’re back!! 💚💙

While the boys are off doing their thing, my dash is full of RBB and SBB- and I’m reading through the posts again. Man, what I wouldn’t give to have lived through that in real time. It’s absolutely wild all laid out in one place. Going through it must have been a surreal experience!

This isn’t really a louisisalarrie chats moment but I’ve missed you all, so, welcome to the show! 💙💚

Holy shit it was wild. Like… the suspense of waiting if each show would have them, decoding the bears, “love larry”, looking at reflections in sunglasses, mapping out locations like when I tell you it was giving FBI, it was.

It was just also so exciting! The chaos on here, all the Larries working together, all the anons in our inboxes, the antis trying to fight us but they really couldn’t because ??? How do you dispute all the evidence that rbb and sbb brought? The blue and green sticker smiley/sad faces, there was a horse at one point, my god it was wild. It was just so fun decoding it all and working together as such a big community and tumblr was thriving!!!

It also brought one of my fave ever moments, in which they were asked about the bears in an interview, and niall almost broke his neck looking indisputably straight at louis

Also, a note on the above… if you truly believe that crew are fucking around with a couple of stuffed animals, I can’t even begin to tell you how wrong you are.

I’ve worked in this industry for years, and if you think the crew are doing this with how busy they are when constructing stages and rigging the floating equipment and the lights and fucking EVERYTHING (crew do so much shoutout to them) than you are sorely mistaken. They couldn’t give two fucks about a couple of bears.

Like ???????? Nope. They are not doing that on their own accord for fun. What would that even achieve for them? Plus, not all their crew were touring crew. There was a lot of local crew on the ground too who like… would be asking why the fuck they’re doing that and would roll their eyes wasting that time when they all just wanna have a break. Their touring crew would’ve been directly told to do it by Paul and it was just innocent enough, with a lazily alibi, that hl could do it without getting in trouble. Plus all the other proof it was them and the messages but yeah, it is one of the biggest pieces of evidence we’ve ever had. But antis don’t question it because everything is suuuuuper transparent in the industry!!!!! There’s never any lies!!!! No closeting!!!! We know everything about them!!!!!

God, anyway, thanks for the memories anon!

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Suspicions

Pairing: Jennifer Jareau x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: angst, stalking, kidnapping

Summary: JJ offered her house to you since you're too scared to live back at home. When you think you're finally in the clear, your stalker comes back but this time, he takes something far more valuable to you than some shit in your house.

There's Beauty in Tragedy Masterlist

Square Filled: kidnapping for @anyfandomgoesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Ever since he broke into Y/N’s house and she got away, he’s been watching her and waiting for the right time to strike. It’s not an easy task since someone from the FBI decided to take her in. Why? What did she do to deserve the sympathy from the FBI? The police usually don’t take in victims of crimes and invite them into their homes. He’s been parked outside the house Y/N entered last night, waiting for her to come out. Eventually, she does and she’s with the same FBI agent who took her in. They embrace and Miss FBI Agent pulls her in for a kiss.

“Mmm, interesting,” he smirks and leans back in his seat.

She got herself a new girlfriend. If he’s going to get at you, he’s going to have to go after her instead. He starts his car and leaves the area, already thinking of ways to do that.

After a few day’s rest, you’re ready to go on with your life. No news has come up on who broke into your house or who might have attacked you, and JJ has been so good to you letting you stay at her house. It’s been nice living with her even if it’s only temporary. She’s getting ready for the day while you lay in bed, not wanting to leave it just yet. She comes out in a towel and your mouth waters at the sight of her.

“Is there any way I can convince you to stay in bed with me?”

“I have to go to work. I took off a week with you. It’s time to face reality again.”

“We can face it in a few hours,” you grin.

“You’re insatiable,” she chuckles and drops the towel to get dressed.

“Can you blame me? I’m dating the most beautiful woman in the world.”

JJ finishes getting dressed and walks over to the bed where she sits on the edge of it. She tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. Any news?”

“We managed to get a hold of your ex, Joanna. She agreed to come down for questioning.”

“Can I be there?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” JJ sighs.

“I know Joanna, JJ. I don’t want to talk to her. I just want to hear what she has to say. Please? I’ll know if she did this or not.”

“Well, you can’t do anything in bed. Get dressed. I’ll get coffee going.”

As soon as you two are ready, she drives you to the BAU where the rest of her team are. Emily is the first one to see you and she pulls you into a friendly hug.

“I’m so glad you’re alright,” she smiles.

“Thank you.”

“Hey. It’s good to see you,” Derek smiles, hugging you next.

“Thank you for everything you did for me. I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s kind of what we do,” Emily jokes.

“Come on, Joanna’s this way.”

JJ escorts you to where the interrogation rooms are, and you see Joanna inside with Rossi. She still looks as beautiful as the day you met her. Ginger hair and green eyes. She might be beautiful but she has major trust issues. She became a headache you couldn’t deal with anymore, and she broke up with you before you could do it to her. She went through your phone and saw something she perceived as you cheating on her. You’d never do that to anyone but she wouldn’t hear you out. Seeing her again after all these years brings up unpleasant memories you’d rather forget.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t have to be here.”

“I’m okay,” you nod and cross your arms.

“Can you start by telling me where you were for the past week?”

“In Milan. I have business over there.”

“What do you do?”

“Fashion designer. I’ve been working with some clients. I had just gotten home last night. You’re more than welcome to call them to confirm my alibi.”

“We will. Does this look familiar?”

Rossi slides a plastic evidence bag containing the card that was attached to the flowers. Joanna looks at it briefly and shakes her head.

“Should I?”

“This note along with a bouquet of flowers was turned up at Luxurious Diamonds for your ex-girlfriend, Y/N. This note implies that someone was watching her the night before.”

“You think it’s me?”

“The note does say she was wearing a T-shirt you gifted her. Something about the country fair?”

“Yeah, I know the shirt. I bought it for her when we went on our second date. I don’t recognize that note. I never sent anything like that to her. I haven’t spoken to her since we broke up.”

“When was that?”

“College graduation.”

“Why did you break up?”

“Why is that relevant here?” Rossi goes to answer and Joanna sighs. “Look, I heard what happened to her. It’s all over the news. It’s terrible but I had nothing to do with it. Someone knew about our relationship and decided to make it look like it was me who sent it.”

“She’s not lying,” you sigh. “She scrunches her nose when she lies, and she hasn’t done that once. It wasn’t her. She’s right about one thing. Whoever wrote that note knew about our relationship. They knew about the shirt she gave me. It has to be someone from my college class. We weren't together after that.”

“We’ll look into it,” JJ says.

“Can we go? I don’t want to be here anymore.”

JJ takes you outside the building so you can get some fresh air. You still feel eyes on you like someone is watching you. You look around but there is no one out of place. Everyone who is around is either going about their lives or people driving by on the road.

“We’re going to catch this guy.”

“I know,” I nod.

“Look, your house has been cleared for a few days now. I didn’t want to say anything becasue I like having you at my house. I’d love it if you continued to stay at my house.”

“I’d love that, too, but I have to go home. I have commissions there that I need to finish. I have meetings with clients for them.”

“Bring them to my house.”

You pull her into you by her hips and kiss her slowly.

“JJ, I love how protective you are but I’ll be okay. Maybe I’ll get a dog,” you joke.

“I’m being serious. Maybe I should move in with you.”

“Baby,” you smile, “I’d love nothing more than that but I want you to do that not because you fear for my safety but because you want to without any stipulations behind it.”

“Yeah, I know,” she grumbles cutely.

“Look, I’m going home, getting the commissions, and going straight to my office to finish them there. Deal?”

“Deal. I’ll call you if anything new pops up.”

“I know you will,” you grin.

You two part with a loving kiss and she watches you walk off with a sigh. The entire drive home, you felt like someone was watching you. Even on the drive to your office once you got your commissions, eyes were always on you. You walk through the front doors with your briefcase in hand, determined to put this out of your mind. You have a meeting with Kim Kardashian in two hours for a piece she requested you make. You have to get this done.

“Hey, Y/N, I heard what happened. Are you okay?” your assistant says when she sees you.

“I’m okay. I just want to get past it.”

“Someone left some flowers for you. I put them on your desk.”

JJ sent you flowers? How sweet. You walk into your office and see the beautiful bouquet sitting on your desk. Your favorite flowers. She really knows how to get you blushing. You set your briefcase on the glass table and approach the flowers with a smile on your face. You pick up the card, open it, and your smile drops.

You hurt my feelings last time you threw these away. You look so pretty when you sleep.

These are not from JJ.

“Who brought these here?” you ask your assistant.

“A man. I didn’t recognize him. He just left.”

You immediately rush down the hallway to get to the elevator. If he just left then he might still be here. You get down to the lobby but there isn’t anyone here that you don’t recognize. Security is chatting with each other by the front desk, and you approach them with a worried look on your face.

“Please call me if anyone comes in looking for me or is here to bring something to me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” one of them nods.

You take out your phone and immediately call JJ.

“Missed me already?” she answers with a chuckle.

“I got another note and flowers.”

“I’ll be right there. Don’t throw anything out, not even the flowers. They might have DNA on them.”

“Okay.”

You go back up to your office and distract yourself with your work. Kim is looking for a beautiful diamond necklace to wear to a party and she is going to wear her hair up, exposing her neck. When she arrived for the meeting, she absolutely fell in love with the design you made and paid a lot of money to have the only one in existence. That’s the beauty in your designs. They are all one-of-a-kind. No one else is going to have the same piece.

Two hours later, there is no sign of JJ. The BAU isn’t far from your office so it shouldn’t take long to get here. Maybe she got caught up in work and you’re just being paranoid. Yeah, you’re just paranoid. She’s okay. You’ll see her later.

He waits outside Y/N’s office knowing JJ is going to come here. As soon as he dropped off the flowers, he knew it was only a matter of time before he saw JJ. He is leaning against the building with a cigarette in his mouth, smoking to pass the time. He’s not a big smoker, only got into the habit a few years ago.

He looks at the people passing by and sees JJ’s blonde hair across the street. Showtime. He drops his cigarette onto the ground and steps on it to make sure the flame is gone. Once she crosses the street, he jogs up to her side.

“Are you JJ?”

“Who are you?” she asks suspiciously.

“Y/N is my sister. She called me about the flowers and cards right after she got off the phone with you. I convinced her to stay with me for the time being until this maniac is caught. I worry about her, you know?”

“She never told me she had a brother,” JJ frowns.

“We’re not really on speaking terms but I knew I had to get back into her life. She’s my sister. I don’t want to see her hurt, you know?”

“Right.”

“Anyway, I have the flowers with the card with me. If you’d just follow me, I can hand them over to you.” JJ foolishly follows him to the alleyway next to Y/N’s office building where his car is parked. “They’re in the back.”

When she opens the back door of the van, he grabs her from behind and sticks a needle into her neck. She starts to fight him off but whatever is inside works quickly. She becomes limp in his arms and he shoves her into the back of his van. He ties her up and places duct tape over her mouth just in case she wakes up earlier than planned.

He closes the door and looks around to make sure he’s still in the dark. Everyone passes by without so much as a glance. They’re too stuck in their own lives to notice anything going on around them. He hops into the front seat with a smirk. Everything is going according to plan.

x

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