#Penelope has a come to Jesus moment with Sharp

[lfthinkerwrites]

Stalemate

Title: Downfall

Chapter Title: Stalemate

Fandom: Batman

Rating: M

Chapter summary:

After the events of the past two days, Bruce and Strange find themselves at a stalemate.

AO3 Link

preview

Hood nodded. "Good. That's good." He then placed his large hands on Ellen's shoulders. "Kiddo, we need to talk about your training."

"My training?" Ellen repeated. "What about it?"

"We need to get you into high gear," he said. He stared down at her through that red helmet. "Before we go any further Kiddo, you need to ask yourself just what you're willing to do to protect yourself."

[etherrealoblivion]

A Broken System

MASTERLIST

Summary: At her birthday celebration, Y/N is out on the town enjoying herself when she runs into a cute FBI agent who she’d love to take home and do terrible things to. Normally, someone meeting an FBI agent at a bar wouldn’t be that big of a deal. There’s just one, miniscule, microscopic, meager, problem... Y/N is only twenty.

tags: Large Age Difference, power imbalance, choking, Dom/sub, safe sex, vaginal penetration, dirty talk, cliffhanger.

A/N: this just made so much more sense in third person. i tried replacing it with second person, but trust me it did not work. hope you enjoy! gif by @toyboxboy​

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Words: 5,930

~

Spencer Reid never really thought he was attractive.

Probably had something to do with his perpetually messy hair, gangly stature, and his tendency to ramble on and on and on and. . .

Yeah. Like that.

Another factor definitely was the fact that he was in his 30’s and had never really had a stable relationship. Sure, he’d had relationships with a few women. Well, two women. The first being a girl he’d met in college with whom he had a brief fling. Spencer didn’t really count it as a stable relationship due to the fact they barely even kissed. And the other woman, the only woman he’d ever really loved, died tragically several years ago. 

Maeve.

Maeve was the real reason Spencer didn’t like going to bars with Morgan or being set up on dates by Penelope. She was the reason that Spencer wasn’t interested in anyone anymore. Who could possibly compare to Maeve?

Damn it. That was the other reason he wasn’t looking to date. He knew how the mind worked and there was no doubt that if any new person came into his life, she’d be unconsciously compared to Maeve. He couldn’t put anyone through that. 

So, Spencer Reid stayed single. Which, for him, was relatively easy. Whenever someone started to get a little too close with him, he’d blabber and spout facts until they ran off. Morgan would ask what happened and Reid would just put on a slight frown, mumbling how she had to go. 

The charade got more effortless the more they went out. Morgan, almost always going home on the arm of some woman and Spencer content to get a cab back to his own place, have a quick efficient orgasm, and fall asleep.

He had a system. And no one was going to break it.

~

Y/N hated the summertime. 

Well, she didn’t usually. Anywhere else on the planet it would be mildly enjoyable. The beach, ice cream, staying up all night. All that fun crap. In Washington D.C, however, summer was hell.

But! When one was accepted into Georgetown and their parents offered to pay FULL tuition plus housing, how can one say no?

Seriously, she wanted to know.

After two whole years in this armpit of a town, Y/N had finally gotten used to the sweltering heat that plagued the city during the summer. Whatever. She just stayed in the comfortable A.C. all day anyway.

But, the summer before her third year was almost over, and the only thing she could think about now was graduating with a major in Journalism. She didn’t really like most of the courses, but it’s what she needed to do to become a full-time editor.

Living in a rent-free apartment was heaven. No roommates meant no worrying about, well, anything. The only problem was, her parents could hold it over her head every time they called. Which is why she never answered their calls.

Today, however, answering was unavoidable.

Because not only was it the day before her first class, today was her twentieth birthday.

Y/N was in the middle of getting dressed to go out with her friends when her phone vibrated from the kitchen table.

“Hello?”

She tried so hard to suppress the cringe at her mom’s voice.

“Sweetie! How are you? Are you eating?”

“Yes, mom.”

Oh boy. Strong start, mom. 

“You look skinny in the pictures on Facebook!”

Yeah, she was definitely going to be late.

Surprisingly, it only took five minutes to push her mom off the phone, insisting that her friends were on their way and she had to keep getting ready. 

A sharp rap on the door saved her.

“Come on!! It’s almost ten!” Y/N’s friend, Mina, said, annoyed. “All the old people leave the bars at ten and if we don’t get there soon, the bouncers won’t let us in!”

Y/N didn’t really understand the logic there. Hot girls always got into bars. Especially late at night. How were there not more crimes committed in clubs? Maybe she’d find out in her first class tomorrow.

“Hey!” Mina snapped her out of it, “Come on! Let’s go.”

They arrived outside a dinky little club a few minutes later. It had taken Y/N a while to get accustomed to how close everything was together in this town. Before college, she had been a small-town girl. Promise ring and everything. That, uh. That didn’t last long.

Before they got in line, Mina took a long satin sash out of her purse and secured it across Y/N’s torso.

“What the hell’s this?”

The sash was white with large pink flowy letters that poignantly spelled out: Birthday Bitch.

“It’s a sash.”

Three of Mina’s friends strode up, quickly exchanging hugs and wishing Y/N a happy birthday.

“I see that it’s a sash, but why am I wearing it?”

Mina confidently strode up to the bouncer, Y/N at her side, fake ID at the ready. Technically, it was the right birthdate, the year was just a little off.

“Go through. Happy Birthday,” the guy said, barely sparing the ID a glance, more focused on the huge sash. It made sense. She didn’t look her age. No one would think she was only in college by taking a glance at her.

“Oh, thank you.”

“Look,” Mina pulled her aside just before they entered, “this makes every single guy in there want to buy you a drink. So, go enjoy a free Shirley Temple, on me.”

Y/N scoffed and entered the club, immediately overwhelmed by the booming of the music.

Jesus Christ. How did people not die from this? It felt like her heart was beating out of her chest.

Sure, she’d been in a bar before. But not a real, proper club. She was pretty sure she saw some people wearing neon. Oh my god, there was a DJ.

Suppressing a laugh, she headed to the bar. At least there was a bar. There were so many people gathered around though that she couldn’t get much access to the one bartender on staff.

Luckily, he spotted her sash that seemed to shine under the blacklights.

“Hey, make some room for the birthday girl!” 

And the crowd parted like the red sea, every man’s head turned towards her, and she cautiously approached the bartender who gave her a quick wink.

“Scotch. Neat.”

A dark man with a silver nose ring slid onto the stool next to her.

“It’s on me,” he addressed the bartender, staring at her the whole time. “So. Birthday girl. How old are you turning?”

She smiled softly. The sash was working great, but now she had to come up with a way to answer his question without explicitly lying. 

“Who wants to know?”

Maybe flirting would be distracting enough.

He smiled, glancing down for a moment, then holding out his hand. Ha. Men.

“I’m Jon.”

Ugh. She hated handshakes. But for this man, she might be able to make an exception.

“Y/N.”

Five minutes later, she wished with all her heart she could take the handshake back. Y/N should have known better than to talk to a guy at a club. They were all sleazebags. But! She did manage to get a couple of drinks out of it.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she said after his fifth time mentioning Outback Steakhouse.

But before she could leave the bar discreetly, a hand wrapped around her arm, yanking her back.

“Hey, what’s the matter? I thought we were talking?”

Y/N may have been a small-town girl, but that didn’t stop her from grabbing his shoulders and driving her knee up into his crotch, stomping off toward the exit.

Only when she got outside did she realize how fast her heart was beating. She leaned over, hands on her knees to catch her breath.

A soft hand on her shoulder made her snap around, grab the hand and twist it around the stranger’s back, shoving him up against the alley wall.

“I’m sorry!” the man squawked shrilly. “I’m sorry!” It wasn’t Jon.

“What were you doing?” she demanded, not releasing him yet.

“I saw you lean over. I just wanted to see if you were ok!”

She finally drank in the man’s appearance. He was wearing a soft purple sweater vest over a grey button-down, slacks, and worn black converse on his feet.

Confident that he wasn’t a threat, she released him and took a step back.

The man rubbed his elbow softly, glancing at her chest. Before she could tell him off for staring at her rack, he pointed to the sash.

“Is it your birthday?”

She looked down. Oh, he’d been looking at the sash of course. Then why did she feel … disappointed?

“Oh, yeah. Some guy bought me a drink and got a little, er, touchy.”

Suddenly, the man’s face went dark.

“Who is he? Where is he?”

He started to walk back into the club but she stopped him, reaching out and gently grabbing his arm.

“Hey! It’s fine. I kicked him in the crotch.”

The man’s eyes switched from anger to surprise in a flash. He flustered for a moment, before shoving his hands in his pockets and walking back into the alley.

Y/N now took a closer look at his face. He had deep, wise brown eyes, a small five-o-clock shadow gracing his jaw, and very full lips, the latter of which he was biting profusely. Aw. He was nervous. But why?

Maybe because he was in an alley with a random girl who had just been groped at a club and he didn’t know what to do.

She chuckled, attempting to diffuse the tension.

“Um. I didn’t get your name?”

He smiled brightly, thankful for the change in topic.

“Oh! Of course, sorry. I’m Spencer!”

And Y/N braced herself for the telltale outstretching of the hand.

But none came. He simply stood there, one hand in his pocket and the other waving at her, a dopey smile on his face.

Her face lit up. 

“You didn’t try to shake my hand,” she muttered, awed.

The man, Spencer, got an embarrassed look on his face, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry, I, uh. I’m a bit of a germaphobe. But, really, everyone should be! The amount of germs passed in a handshake is staggering. They really should be abolished altogether.”

“Right! People should just bow their heads or, or, wave!” she said excitedly, gesturing to his hand. “I mean a handshake is like a hug with a part of you that comes in contact with everything! Might as well go up to someone and start making out with them.”

As she spoke, his face lit up in wonder.

“Right? It’s crazy! But the thing is, some people actually do that! I was in that club for fifteen minutes and I swear I saw three couples leave together that definitely didn’t go in together.”

“I know!” she said, starting to pace in the cramped alley. “I mean, who goes home with someone that you just met! They could be a serial killer for all you know!”

She looked at Spencer and was delighted to see a joyful expression on his face. It suddenly occurred to her that she hadn’t introduced herself.

“I’m Y/N. Sorry for blabbering,” she waved, chuckling slightly.

Spencer smiled even wider.

“Don’t be sorry! Usually, I’m the one who has to apologize.”

“Apologize for what?”

“Blabbering,” he said sheepishly, hands back in his pockets. When he was talking, they had been moving about wildly. It was kind of endearing.

“I don’t know,” Y/N said, considering. “Blabbering is underrated. One could argue it’s the best way to learn useless information.”

“Well, I’d agree but no information is really useless.”

Y/N held up a finger.

“‘Information is useless if it is not applied to something important or if you will forget it before you have a chance to apply it.’”

Spencer’s mouth fell open.

“Timothy Harris?”

She nodded. “The 4-Hour Workweek. Outdated, but still applies.”

When she noticed his expression, it nearly knocked her breath away. He was looking at her like no one ever had before. Like he’d just realized the most important thing in the universe.

Before her cowardice could catch up, she took a step forward, closing the distance between them. His face went blank, shocked by the sudden approach. He nearly gasped when she spoke.

“It’s totally ridiculous to go home with someone you just met, right?”

Spencer’s eyes widened.

“Totally.”

“Why were you out tonight in the first place? You don’t exactly seem like the club-going type.”

He smiled softly.

“I, uh, just got a promotion last week. My friend Morgan wanted to take me out to celebrate. It was either this or karaoke.”

She chuckled softly, their faces so close he must have felt her breath.

“I don’t know, I’d have liked to see your rendition of Bad Romance. Has anyone ever told you you’ve got a whole Lady Gaga vibe?”

“You should see my Beyonce.” And he did a little mime of the Single Ladies dance, sending Y/N into a fit of giggles. Without thinking — probably due to the trace amounts of alcohol in her system, not enough to be drunk, but enough to be tipsy — she reached up her arms around his shoulders, clasping them together behind his neck like a teen slow-dancing at prom.

Spencer seemed startled by the sudden physical contact. He froze, hands unmoving at his sides.

Y/N pulled her arms back, stepping away from him, discouraged and embarrassed.

“Sorry,” she said, collecting herself and walking back towards the club door. “It was nice meeting you.”

“Wait!” he called before she could reenter the club. A tiny part of her let out a breath in relief. She turned around to see him with a hand outstretched toward her, frozen with the uncertainty of what to do next.

He recovered quickly, a blush visible on his cheeks in the lamplight of the alley.

“If you’re leaving, would you, um. Could I walk you home?”

She had no idea what possessed her in that moment but just as he spoke, she walked up to Spencer, threaded her fingers through his hair, and pulled him down into a passionate kiss.

To her surprise, he responded immediately, running his arms around her waist and pulling her flush against him, eagerly returning the kiss.

His lips were so warm. He tasted very faintly of alcohol and maybe a breath mint? Y/N let herself fall into the sensation.

Suddenly, her back was pressed up against the wall of the alley, Spencer’s hands lighting a trail of fire down her body. He hesitated, pulling back briefly to make sure she was ok.

A glint in her eye, she yanked him back down, tongues clashing together in a blaze of glory. He hiked her leg up around his hips, pressing them closer together. Y/N could feel the hardness in his pants pressing into her stomach, sending a wave of heat down to her core.

She pulled back. If they went any further, she didn’t know if she’d be able to leave the alley.

Y/N tried to hide the smile on her face but it was no use. She beamed at Spencer, linking her arm through his elbow.

“Lead the way. Wait, that doesn’t make sense, you’re taking me home. I’ll lead the way!”

And so they walked, arm in arm down the busy D.C. streets, silently enjoying each other’s company.

They arrived outside her apartment fifteen minutes later, Y/N clumsily unlocking the door, nervous from the thought of what was about to happen. They hadn’t explicitly said anything in particular. Was he going to come in? Would she invite him?

Spencer, it seemed, was also daunted, standing awkwardly on the threshold of her place, hands buried in his pockets.

An idea sprung into Y/N’s brain.

She approached him, wrapping her hands around his neck again only this time, his hands rested lightly on her waist.

“Still think going home with a stranger is a bad idea?”

Spencer chuckled softly, stroking the exposed skin of her waist from where her top had ridden up.

“I’m still debating it.”

“Oh?”

He slid his hand around the sash, fingers hovering above her chest.

“I never asked, how old did you turn?”

She smiled. For some reason, she felt she could trust this man. The worst that could happen was he calls the cops on her for having a fake ID. She could deal with that. Destroy the evidence, bat her eyes. Easy. Besides, he looked barely of age himself. She quickly wondered what he did for a living? He did say he got a promotion.

It would be easiest to just tell him the truth.

“I don’t know if I should tell you this…”

He chuckled lowly in her ear, moving his lips gently across her neck.

“I can handle it.”

She gasped at the sensation, legs clamping together.

“Officially, it’s my twenty-third. At least, that’s what it says on my ID. One of them.”

Spencer froze, waiting for her to go on.

Y/N quickly backtracked.

“It’s okay! I’m twenty! Not a minor, no worries.”

But Spencer pulled away, an extremely worried look on his face despite her assurance.

“What?” she asked.

“You’re underage.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Yeah? Come on, by one year. What, you never had a fake ID?”

“No!” he said shrilly, running a hand through his hair.

“Spencer, it’s ok! It’s not like I’m gonna get caught. I look much older and when are there cops at a place like that?”

He reached into his pocket and fished out a folded wallet. Snapping it open, Y/N’s jaw dropped at the FBI badge with his picture in the corner.

She floundered for a moment, unable to truly comprehend what was happening.

“You’re . . .”

“Yep,” he said shortly, pocketing the badge.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much my reaction too,” he said, sighing. “I should arrest you.”

Y/N took a step back, incredulous.

“Arrest me?”

“You have a fake ID. You’re clearly drunk.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms.

“Great idea, Spencer. Book me. Take me down to the FBI and tell them exactly what happened to lead to you finding out I’m only twenty. I’m sure they’ll need very specific details.”

A look of realization flitted across Spencer’s face and he buried his head in his hands, groaning.

“How old are you anyway?!” she demanded, upset at him for being upset.

“Thirty-four!” he shouted, throwing his arms up in the air.

Oh shit.

This was bad.

He was fourteen years older than her, in the FBI, and probably was seconds away from arresting her.

“There’s no way you’re thirty-four. I mean, look at you!”

He rolled his eyes, snorting, and beginning to pace the small hallway.

“This is exactly what I get. I meet a girl I really like for the first time in years and she’s decades younger than me. And a criminal!”

“Hey!” she said, shoving his shoulder. “Not decades. I’m not a criminal. And how the hell do you think I feel?  I’m out trying to have fun on my birthday, some guy gropes me leading me to run into the perfect man, take him back to my apartment thinking I’m gonna get lucky only to find out he’s a cop who’s gonna arrest me. Best birthday ever.”

Spencer eyed her carefully.

“Get lucky?”

Y/N’s eyes went wide. Shit. She hadn’t meant to reveal that part. Even though it was pretty obvious, something about it not being said added to the excitement.

“Did you really . . . I mean were you…. Um.” Spencer seemed to lose all authoritative tone suddenly, stammering nervously. It was such a 180, it shocked Y/N. 

“Was I going to let you fuck me?”

He cringed at the bluntness but nodded sheepishly.

“Yeah, Spencer. I was.” She scoffed. “Honestly, I still would. But I understand if I’m more than you can handle,” she said coyly, trying to keep a straight face. “Just please don’t arrest me, Sir.”

His expression darkened at her words. Something deep and lustful behind it. Feeling bold, she went with it.

“Or is it Agent?” she cocked her head, holding a finger to her lips in thought. “How do I address you properly, sir?”

A small groan left Spencer’s mouth and he stepped forward, brushing a hand over her hair.

“We shouldn’t do this, Y/N…”

Slowly, she backed up into her apartment, pulling him with her.

“We shouldn’t.” She gently led him to her bedroom, sitting down on the edge of the bed, him towering over her. “To be fair, you’re the one with handcuffs.”

He groaned again, wiping a hand down his face.

“This is a bad idea.”

But he crouched down in front of her, pressing his forehead to her exposed knee, breathing deeply.

“Spencer,” it was barely a whisper but he met her eyes instantly. She smiled gently, reaching out to him and coaxing him up from the floor so he was hovering above her, mouths inches apart. “Listen, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” she assured him. “But I want this.”

She leaned back, pulling him with her so he was lying atop her, an obvious bulge pressing against her through their clothing.

“I want this, Spencer.”

Y/N hoped that he knew he could leave if he wanted. She didn’t want to pressure him into anything. Despite the age difference, she seemed to be the one more in control.

Spencer lowered his head, sighing.

“Fuck,” he moaned, lightly thrusting against her, a moan escaping her mouth at the contact.

That seemed to be the last straw.

He sat up, ripping his sweater vest off along with his button-down, quickly moving back over her, lips latching to her neck and chest.

Oh thank god. She wasn’t sure if she’d have been able to stand it if he’d left. But from the way he was touching her, hands moving up and down her sides, gently pulling her skirt down, looking up at her every now and then to make sure it was alright, he wasn’t going anywhere.

She just spurred him on, stripping off her top and bra, now only wearing her panties.

Spencer groaned at the sight, a hand reaching up, hovering over her breast. She arched her back up into his hand, letting out a gasp as he started to fondle her. 

God, his hands were huge. And nimble. Oh, so nimble.

She reached for his belt, quickly unbuckling it and tossing it across the room, pushing his pants down faster than possible.

He groaned again, a magical sound, reaching a hand down to stroke her through her panties, coaxing a gasp from her beautiful lips.

In a flash, Spencer had pulled down her panties and buried his head between her legs.

Y/N gasped, hand flying to the back of his head, edging him on.

He slipped two fingers into her, his tongue flicking against her clit wildly, making her writhe and moan on the bed, gasping his name.

“Spencer, Spencer.” It took all the resolve she had to pull his head away from her. “I need you to fuck me.”

Spencer looked at her, trying to read her expression.

“Y/N . . . are you sure?”

Rather than answer, she yanked him up, crashing their mouths together, one hand quickly pushing down his boxers, his erection springing free.

Good god.

Wow.

How the hell was she supposed to fit that inside her?

She looked up at him, impressed, only to see a slight blush on his cheeks.

“Well,” she said, kicking off the panties pooled around her ankles, laid bare underneath the stranger on top of her. “This night gets better by the second.”

His size was a little daunting, but the thought of him slowly filling her up, probably not being able to fit all the way in, only added to her desire.

He dipped his head down, stealing a quick yet passionate kiss.

“Do you have . . ?”

“Yeah, in the drawer.”

He reached over, grabbed a condom, and rolled it on. It looked extremely tight on him. Y/N unconsciously licked her lips. Spencer chuckled.

“Maybe next time. I need to be inside you.”

And with that, he flung her legs around his hips, positioning his cock at her entrance, slowly running it up and down, moistening the condom with her juices.

God. The feeling of him being so close and yet so far was almost enough to push her over the edge right there. He had been a god with his tongue and she was desperate for more friction.

Reaching down, she lightly circled her clit, moaning at the instant pleasure.

Before she could enjoy it much, hands gripped her wrists, pinning them above her on the bed, Spencer staring at her with a dark look.

“If you wanna touch yourself, you have to ask permission. Understood?”

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

Words escaped her so she settled for a small nod.

“Use your words.”

His tone was so commanding the word left her mouth the moment he finished speaking.

“Yes.”

He lightly placed his hand around her neck, not applying any pressure, just hovering.

“Yes, what?”

Fuck. She wondered if it was possible to come just from being talked to.

“Yes, sir.”

And with that, he slid inside her, slowly filling her up with his length, moaning roughly at the sensation.

Y/N’s eyes snapped open, watching as Spencer’s face tightened, jawline even sharper, and a dark look in his eye. He carefully applied a bit more pressure to her throat, quickly releasing his hand afterward.

They were both still as she adjusted to the size of him inside her.

“Is this ok?” his voice sounded so different than it had a moment ago. He had shifted back to the geeky guy she’d met in the alley.

She nodded gently at him, running a hand over his cheek in a way that was surely far too personal for a one night stand. 

“My safeword is apple.”

He froze for a moment, shocked. Apparently she was kinkier than he’d expected. 

Tired of not being fucked by this man, she dug her heels into his back, directing him to move.

He did without hesitation, groaning at the sensation of slowly pulling out and thrusting back in. 

The feeling overwhelmed both of them, a litany of curses and moans falling from their mouths. Spencer’s hand moved back to her throat, squeezing much harder now that he knew what to listen for if she wanted to stop.

The sound of her moaning was enough to make him come right there and then. That, with the feeling of her around him and the fact that his hand was around her throat, totally in control.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.”

Oh my god, where was this coming from? Her nails scraped down his back, leaving a trail of marks.

“You like feeling me fuck you?” he wrapped a hand around her leg, pulling it higher to try to hit the magical spot inside of her. “You like when I wrap my hand around your pretty little neck? Showing you how in control I am of you.”

She nodded ecstatically, legs tightening around him. She was definitely close to coming.

“What were you thinking? Going to a bar when you’re underage. Then leading a stranger to your home, intending to let him fuck you silly. Finding out I’m ages older than you and still practically begging me to bend you over and pound you till you can’t see straight. Is the age difference what gets you off, Y/N?”

At the sound of her name, she let out a raucous moan, no doubt waking up the other tenants of the building.

Spencer smiled, drilling harder and tightening his grip on her throat.

“Oh, you like it when I say your name? You like when I shove my big cock in you and moan your name in your ear?”

She practically screamed as his hand started to circle her clit, the stimulation practically knocking the air out of her.

He was hitting her g-spot with every thrust, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. She was so close. She just needed….

“You gonna come for me, Y/N?” he punctuated it with a particularly hard thrust, feeling her begin to clench around him, orgasm washing over her.

Her walls tightening around his cock was enough to send him barreling over the edge, grunting as he thrust in her four more times before feeling his balls tighten up and spill his seed deep inside her.

“Fuck,” he grunted, using his forearms to stay above her, both of them completely out of breath.

Slowly, he pulled out with a sigh, discarding the condom in the trash by her bed.

Y/N was seeing stars. This man had just given her her first penetrative orgasm. And, possibly the best sex she’d ever had.

‘Fuck’, was right.

Spencer flopped down next to her, still naked, trying to catch his breath.

Y/N turned to him, placing a hand on his chest.

It was strange. Even though they’d just had some of the best sex Y/N had ever had, she didn’t even know this man. And yet, somehow, she felt like she did. Did that happen a lot once you had sex with someone?

Her eyes refocused from where they’d been staring off into space to see a concerned Spencer looking at her.

“What?” she asked.

He studied her for another moment before speaking.

“You were biting your lip.”

A blush crept up her cheek.

“Yeah sorry. Helps me think.”

He let out a sharp breath, a sort of soft laugh.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said as he retrieved his underwear, slipping them back on and starting to button up his shirt.

Oh. Was he going to leave? Of course he was! That’s all this was, anyway. A one night stand. You had sex. That was the point.

Then why did it feel like hell?

“You okay?”

Her thoughts had drifted into space again. Spencer had laid back down, now on his side facing her, holding her hand, looking at her intensely. His gaze was practically burning.

“Yeah.”

“I, uh, I don’t normally do . . . that.”

She chuckled. It was rather obvious he wasn’t the hookup type. Despite the dirty things that had come from his mouth.

“Me either.”

He softly stroked her cheek. 

“Are you going to stay?” she blurted.

His face fell.

“Oh, no I wasn’t going to impose if you-”

“NO! I mean,” she took a breath. “I want you to . . . I mean, if you want . . . I'd . . . I’d like you to stay. If you want?”

God. She sounded like a teenager asking their crush to prom. This was no stuttering sophomore she could kick in the crotch if he said no. He was a man. Although, he did tend to stutter. Maybe it wasn’t all that different.

He lit up, a wide smile brightening his features and he began to stroke her hand.

“I’d like that too.”

Wondering if it was possible for cheeks to sprain from smiling, she pulled up the covers, cuddling up against him, falling asleep almost immediately.

~

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Ugh. The stupid alarm. She had been right in the middle of a wonderful dream involving Spencer’s hands and her bruised throat.

What time was it anyway?

The red clock radio proudly displayed: 7:00.

Right, it was the first day of classes. Maybe she’d just ditch and stay in with Spencer. He had been so warm she was sure he had a sun where a heart should be. College didn’t matter anyway, right? Ugh.

A shiver ran through her. She reached out for Spencer, only to find the cold other half of the bed.

Sitting up in bed, she stared at the empty spot.

Had he really walked out on her in the middle of the night? No…. No? Fuck. How could she be so stupid. Of course he didn’t want to-

Oh, he’d left a note.

In a fast yet tidy scrawl, Spencer had left the following message on a little notecard.

Good morning! I am truly sorry to walk out like this, but I have a class at 7:30 and I have to stop by my place and get ready. I’ll be back at the bar tonight, 10:30. I’d love to see you there.

-Spencer. X

Her heart melted into an ocean at the sentiment behind each individual letter. The man she’d just had a dirty one night stand with wanted to see her again.

Wait, he’d said a class? He hadn’t told her he was a student! To be fair, neither had she. That’s another thing they had in common apparently. It made sense why he didn’t tell her. A lot of people were ashamed of going back to college later in life. She thought that was ridiculous. Good for him.

Maybe she could look him up in the student registry. Actually, he may not even go to Georgetown. There were plenty of colleges nearby. She couldn’t have looked him up anyway. She didn’t even know his last name.

It was probably a good thing he left, because she, too, had a class at 7:30.

It only took her twenty minutes to shower, get dressed, and walk the very short distance to campus.

She arrived in the lecture hall with exactly one minute to spare, finding a seat next to a brightly dressed redhead holding a fuzzy pen.

“Hi! I’m Allie.”

“Y/N,” she said, suppressing the cringe as Allie reached out to shake her hand.

“Nice to meet you! What’s your major?”

Oh god. The inevitable college question.

“Journalism. You?”

“English,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Super boring I know, but it lets me take fun classes like this one. Why are you taking this class?”

“Oh, um. It looked fun, I guess. My dad was a lawyer and he kind of piqued my interest in the criminal justice system.”

Allie sighed.

“Thank god. You know half the girls are here just because the Professor is a hottie,” she said with air quotes, rolling her eyes again.

“Really?” Y/N asked, glancing around at the seats noticing the vast majority of the population were women. “Wait, I thought Ms. Merklins was the teacher? Did something change?”

“You didn’t get the email? It just went out the other day, Ms. Merklins had to retire. Something about a club foot. Anyway, the new teacher is supposedly super overqualified. Plus, he’s cute.”

“Huh.”

“Yep. I talked to this one girl in the hall, she actually said she’d sleep with him! Can you imagine?”

Y/N laughed.

“Nooooo. I cannot and I don’t want to. I’m just here to learn, I promise.”

“Same here. Although, if I start getting C’s, all bets are off.”

Y/N laughed and politely chatted with Allie while they waited.

The Professor’s office door swung open and Y/N reached into her bag to get her laptop.

“Hello, class.”

“Hello,” the class echoed.

“Welcome to Criminology. I am Professor Reid and I-.”

Y/N looked up over her screen as he stopped talking, making sudden eye-contact with the Professor.

She froze in her seat, blood running cold.

No way. No fucking way.

Spencer?

~

TAGLIST

~

@whollytaciturn​ @101donuts​ @thegingerfairchild @safertokiss @happyiidiot @cielo1984 @thupidalethea @darkacademiacherry @matthewreid @aloha-ashley-taylor @justchiara-02 @spnobsessedmemes @sweet-darlin @matthewreid

[moon-light-jukebox]

“All you have to do is ask” Chapter 5 - [Reid x Reader]

previous chapter // series index // next chapter 

Summary: The team has a case that takes them to Illinois. Our favorite boy wonder gets jealous and challenges Reader. So, she decides to show him who is really in charge.

Pairing: Spencer Reid / (Female Reader)

Word Count: 5.7k for Chapter 5

Content Warning: Here we go. The team has a case, so talk about m*rder, the usual criminal minds stuff. Jealousy. BDSM. Femdom. Degradation. Slapping. Spitting. Face sitting. Face fucking. Vaginal fingering. And I think that’s it.

A/n: In celebration of my 1 week of writing again, and all the lovely support I’ve gotten, I’m giving you chapter 5 a day early. Chapter 6 is still scheduled for Saturday. (Mostly because I haven’t written it all yet.) Chapter 5 is my favorite so far. I hope you love it as much as I do...because things only escalate in chapter 6. 😇 Some names on my tag list still aren’t working. I’m sorry! 

y/n = your name. y/l/n = your last name. italicized text are Reader’s thoughts.

-- Chapter 5: “Are you jealous, Doctor?” –

I don’t resent my job, I repeated mentally for the thousandth time. I don’t resent my job. I am not upset. I am happy to be here to help people in need. I didn't even sound very convincing in my own mind. I had known it was too good to be true. I finally had Dr. Reid right where I wanted him…when both of our phones chimed with the same text message. "Avengers, ASSEMBLE.” But it’s fine that we’re sitting on the jet at 10 pm headed to the Midwest. Keep telling yourself that, y/n. Serial killers were such cock blocks.

The ding from the computer on the small table signaled Garcia's digital arrival. "Hello, my loves!" Her sunshine personality would not be dampened by our sleepy grumbles. Or sexually frustrated grumbles, in my case; and from the way Dr. Reid kept sneaking glances at me, I suspected his too.

“What do we know so far?” Hotch asked, cutting right to business. If he was tired, he certainly didn't show it. I'm still not even sure if he's human.  

“The Illinois state police say that our 5th victim is named Sarah Gossman. She was a 32-year-old middle school teacher. Reported missing by her husband, Ralph, two days ago. Locals didn’t realize she was connected to the other victims until her body was found 2 hours ago.”

Hotch nodded, scanning the open file in front of him. “How were they able to connect them, Penelope?” David Rossi, the grandfather of the BAU questioned.

Garcia cringed. “They found the same wound on her shoulder blade. A square of her skin was missing.”

“It’s an interesting signature,” Spencer interjected. “The edges look jagged. Almost like the blade was serrated.”

“That’s what the M.E.’s thought too.”

“Babygirl, do they know if it’s the same knife that was used in the other murders?”

For a moment all that was heard was the clicking of her keys. “That is the suspicion, my beautiful chocolate sculpture of perfection.” I snorted at that one; every once in a while, their flirting quips got me. “They need the knife to be sure.”

"Thanks, Garcia," Hotch said before ending the video call. “Alright, if this unsub holds to pattern, he is going to take his next victim before 10 am tomorrow morning.”

“We might not be able to stop it,” Prentiss said. “But we can get her back. He keeps them for at least 36 hours.”

Hotch nodded. “Get some sleep if you can; it’s gonna be a long night.”

--

I jumped when I felt a hand on my shoulder; my fear evaporating when I turned and saw it was just JJ. “Hey,” she said softly. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” I said with a yawn that I couldn’t muffle. “I just feel like I’m stuck in a swamp, you know?” She nodded. “How he’s choosing them will be how we find him. How we find her.”

True to pattern, the unsub took his next victim the following morning after the body of Sarah Gossman was found. Alicia Sheldon, 31, was reported missing by her mother just after 10 am this morning. We had no proof that she was with our unsub outside of the profile, but we all knew that the clock was ticking if we wanted to bring her home alive.  

JJ nodded, reading over my shoulder. “Narrowing down when can help too. Any luck?”

“Not really,” I sighed, closing my eyes. “I don’t think he does it at night, though. Garcia was able to see the activity for Alicia’s phone before she was taken. She replied to a text message at 4:45 am this morning.”

“Jesus Christ, that’s early.”

“What’s early?” Emily Prentiss asked as she walked into the conference room, Derek following after her.

“4:45 am is early,” I supplied. “Alicia replied to a text at that time.”

"Do we know if it was her?" That voice came from someone I hadn't laid eyes on yet. He must have followed Derek and Prentiss in. Dr. Reid was staring at me intently, his shirt wrinkled, glassed perched on the bridge of his nose. Even like this, he was so pretty it almost hurt to look at him. “Could the unsub have answered the text message to throw off suspicion?”

“I don’t think so, Doc.” I pointed at the evidence board where her most recent text messages and emails had been printed and tacked up. “Her text seemed personal. Not too much detail. It was sent to her best friend; unless the unsub was stalking her, there isn’t a way he would know that.”

Spencer nodded, walking around the table until he came to rest in front of the board. “Why would she be up so early…” His posture stiffened. What do you have, baby? What do you see? He turned and hit the phone that was in the center of the table.

“Speak and be heard.”

“Garcia, can we determine what time the last digital activity any of the women had was? We need to determine if they were all taken in the early morning hours.”

Morgan commented, “What are you thinking, Kid?”

Spencer didn’t answer, Garica spoke first. “Victim one and three are a no go; but victims 2 and 4 both had some digital dealings before 5 am the days they were reported missing, but they were all still at home according to the GPS on their phones.”

"Again, I say, Jesus, that's early."

I nodded at JJ. “Right. Who wakes up that early?”

“Someone with a strict routine,” Spencer said, his eyes never straying from the paper in front of him. “Garcia, did all of the victims have gym memberships?”

“Yeah, but to different gyms.”

Reid looked like he had just won the lottery. “What if all the women were on their way to the gym when he grabbed them? They all look athletic but have hectic schedules; it might be the only time they can fit it in. It’s still dark, but it’s technically morning. The women might feel safer. We didn't connect it right away because victims 2, 3, and 4 lived alone, no one knew their routines. He lies in wait and then grabs them, stuffing them into their own cars and driving off.” He was speaking rapidly at this point. “That could be why no one has found their cars yet. He has them.”

“Oh shit,” I muttered. “We need to see if the gyms have outside cameras.”

“Already on it, crimefighters.”

--

The unsub had left his car in parking lots adjacent to the gyms where the women were abducted for almost 2 days each time.

He thought he was smart; Spencer Reid was smarter.

“Hey,” a voice called from behind me. I turned to come face to face with a local deputy. He was a bit taller than me, stocky build, blonde hair that was cropped close to his scalp. “Good work out there today, Agent.”

“Thanks. You too, Deputy.” I turned, continuing to pack up my files. I was ready to go to the hotel and get some fucking sleep. Our jet was set to head out at 8 am the following morning. I’d gotten some sleep Saturday night; the team had gone back to the hotel in shifts while we continued searching for the unsub. But now it was Sunday afternoon and the exhaustion was starting to wear on me.

He cleared his throat, wanting my full attention again. “I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go for a drink?” Oh no.

I smiled at him, trying to be polite. “Oh, thanks for the offer but I’m really tired and we fly out early tomorrow.”

Deputy Douche didn’t like that one bit. He stepped forward, placing a hand on my upper arm. “Well, it doesn’t have to be a drink,” his smirk made my lips want to curl up in a snarl. “I can meet you back at your hotel and we can break in that bed together.”

Oh gross. I jerked my arm out of his grip. “No, thanks.” I turned my back to him.

He looked miffed but had the sense to not make a grab for me again. I felt his fingers brush over the end of my hair as he leaned in. “Let me know if you change your mind,” he whispered. He slid a piece of paper on the desk before he turned and finally left me alone.

Gross. I threw the paper in the trash.

My attention was so focused on finishing up so I could escape before Deputy Douche came back that I didn’t notice Spencer watching me from across the precinct with a deep frown on his pretty face.

--

I was unbuttoning my shirt when I heard a firm knock on my hotel room door. “Come the fuck on,” I whined. Leaving the two buttons undone I went to the door, expecting to see Hotch, given how sharp that knock was. It wasn’t Hotch. It was my boy looking angrier than I’d ever seen him.

He shoved through the doorway, making his way into my room. Luckily, we all had separate rooms this time. “Well, come on in,” I muttered before I shut the door.

Spencer was fuming. “What the fuck was that?”

I blinked. “What the fuck was what?”

His hands balled into fists at his side. “At the police station. With that Deputy.”

Maybe it was how tired I was, but none of this was clicking. “Deputy Douche? You saw that?”

“Yeah, I fucking saw that,” he scoffed. “I saw him touching you. Flirting with you.”

“Right.” Right?

Wrong, apparently, because that did nothing to dampen his anger. “Why did you let him touch you?”

It clicked then, right at that exact moment I saw what was beneath his anger.  “Spencer…are you jealous?" I knew it wasn't the best idea to laugh but I really couldn't help it. The idea was so ludicrous to me. Morgan didn't call Spencer 'Pretty Boy' for no reason. On top of being one of the most brilliant people in the world, he was also the most gorgeous person I had ever seen. His bone structure alone was enough to make most women do a double-take. The thought that I would choose to spend my evening with the Deputy…over Dr. Spencer Reid? Yeah, no.

His cheeks burned pink, but he held his ground. “You said we were monogamous.”

Oh, hold up. I barked out a laugh. “No,” I corrected. “I said we could talk about monogamy in our dynamic if you wanted to continue." I felt my anger rise so quickly. "You have a fucking eidetic memory, baby. You know what I said.” Plus, I can’t control who flirts with me, dickbag, I thought, choosing not to say it out loud.

His anger matched mine. “I thought it was understood!”

“Nothing is understood until we talk about it, Doc.”

“Don’t call me that, not right now.”

Bad move, baby. “Oh, so you think you give the orders, Doc?” I made sure to put a lot of emphasis on the last letter in an attempt to rile him up further.

It worked because no sooner had the words left my mouth than his body slammed into mine. His mouth sealed over my lips in an angry kiss, his tongue demanding entry to my mouth, his hands tangled in my hair, holding me to him.

I was so lost for a moment; I hadn’t felt this in so long. For years my relationships were in perfect control, nothing unexpected. Who knew Dr. Reid would be the one that broke that pattern?

I hope you’re ready for this. My right hand grabbed the hair at the back of his head, tugging hard. His mouth broke away from mine with a yelp, but my left hand came up to hold his face, forcing his lips to pucker. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He looked scared for just a moment. Come on, baby. You can do it. Enlightenment washed over his face as he whimpered out, “I’m sorry.”

I tugged his hair again, only this time he moaned softly at the sensation. “You’re sorry what?”

“I-I’m sorry, Miss.” He licked his lips, looking more unsure than scared now.

Despite how fast my heart was beating, and how blown his pupils were, I couldn’t move forward until he understood. Spencer needed to understand the rules of a situation to feel comfortable. “We don’t have to do this, baby,” my voice was a whisper; somehow my serious tone didn’t manage to break the tension that hung around us.

“I want to,” his voice was hushed, urgent. “I trust you, y/n. And I feel so…I don’t know what this feeling is.”

I rubbed my thumb over his cheek, brushing over his bottom lip. “I know, sweet boy. I’ve got you.” I pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Green, yellow, and red,” I said knowing he’d understand what I meant. “There’s no shame here, pretty boy. I will not be upset with you if you need to use a safe word. It doesn’t mean our relationship ends, just this scene.” He nodded quickly. “I need your words, baby.”

“Yes Miss,” his voice was breathy, but his eyes were steady.

I smirked at him. “Good boy.” My hand tightened in his hair. “You’ll be a good boy for me, won’t you Dr. Reid?”

“Y-yes Miss.” I had guessed that the honorific would be a turn on for him, and judging by the whimper that followed his words, it looks like I was right.

“Take your clothes off and lay down in the center of the bed,” I released him, backing away to put as much space between us as I could. “Wait for me. You’re not allowed to touch yourself.” Honey brown eyes met mine, he wasn’t confused anymore. All that I saw reflecting in those eyes was desire.

I walked around him, never turning to look at him, and I headed into the bathroom. I finished taking off my shirt. I ran a brush through my hair. I did any tiny little task I could think of; I wanted him to wait.

The thing about BDSM dynamics that most people don’t understand is that no relationship is the same. The punishments that made one submissive tremble wouldn’t be effective on another. Anticipation would make Spencer squirm; I was sure of it. I had given Dr. Reid a lot of thought since our first conversation. I needed to understand what desires drove him if I was going to be able to bring him to the heights I wanted to.

Looking in the mirror, I puffed out a big breath. Truth be told, part of me being in the bathroom was to build anticipation for Spencer…but, part of it was because I was afraid. Even before tonight I had decided that my nervous boy deserved more than I gave the average sub. I cared about all my submissives to a point but, Dr. Spencer Reid was different. Maybe it’s because he had already held my life in his hands for almost a year; that made it easier…hell, it made it possible to trust him with this.

Squaring my shoulders, I turned and walked out of the bathroom. The main room was lit only by a lamp on the bedside table, covering our little world in a soft glow. I stalked slowly towards the bed, my eyes dragging up, up, up, until I saw him. He had followed my directions; I realized this was the first time I had ever seen him completely naked. He was beautiful, so beautiful. He wasn’t as scrawny as he looked to be with his clothes on. His body was covered in lean, toned muscles. He had no hair on his chest, giving him a slightly delicate appearance in my eyes; I wanted to mark that chest with scratches from my nails and bruises from my mouth. His cock laid against his thigh, half hard already. Like the good boy, I knew him to be, his arms were at his side, hands balled into tight fists.

I reached for the button of my pants, undoing them slowly, my eyes never left Spencer’s. Once my pants were off, leaving me in just my bra and panties, I placed a knee on the bed. I was careful not to touch him while I crawled up the bed to kneel beside him. Spencer's eyes bounced all over my body, his hands clenched and relaxing. My boy didn’t know what was to come and waiting for it was agonizing.

I reached out my hand to him, allowing my fingers to barely brush his arm. I trailed them up then down again and again. “Tell me why you came here tonight,” his eyes searched my face, still looking so vulnerable. “Why did you come to my door, Spencer?”

He licked his lips. “I-I was mad.”

My touch became firmer, a sort of reward for his honesty. I let my fingers wander up to his collarbone, over his chest. "Why were you mad, Dr. Reid?"

The whimper that slipped from his lips when I called him Dr. Reid was music to my ears. His hips were shifting on the bed, he was fully hard now.

“Because he touched you.”

I moved to swing my leg over his body, straddling his abdomen, careful not to touch his cock, not yet. “And why were you mad that he touched me?” I whispered.

“He can’t touch you,” his voice was breathy but firm. “You’re mine.”

Slap.

He looked startled when my open palm connected with his cheek. It wasn’t as hard as I wanted; I was still unsure. “No, Dr. Reid. I’m not yours. You are mine.” I leaned over him, my arms going to either side of his head to cage him in. “Do you understand?”

In the way that Spencer knew everything, he knew what I was really asking. His voice was no more than a whisper. “Green.”

I offered him a small smile. Then I lifted my hand to grab on to his face again. “I asked you if you understand, Dr. Reid?”

Spencer nodded quickly. “Yes Miss, I understand.”

I released his face before moving off the bed again. “You’ve been a very naughty boy, Spencer.” I gave him a frown as my hands reached behind my back to undo my bra, letting it slide down my arms. Spencer licked his lips, his fists becoming tighter. “I’m very disappointed in you, baby.”

“I-I’m sorry, Miss.” His voice was dry as he stumbled over his words.

"Are you, Dr. Reid?" I asked as my thumbs hooked into the waistband of my panties. "Are you really sorry?" Wiggling them down my hips, I let them drop to the floor before I stepped out of them.

“Yes. Yes, Miss. I’m so sorry.”

I crawled onto the bed, sitting back with my legs underneath me, letting my hands run up and down the skin of my thigh. “They’re pretty words, Dr. Reid, but I don’t know if I believe you.” I tilted my head to the side, bringing both my hands to my stomach, inching them up to my breasts. I let out a moan when I finally reach my destination, massaging my breasts, twisting my nipples while Spencer watched. I heard him whimper, causing a smile to tug at my lips. You’re doing so well, baby. I raised my body up so I was on my knees; I spread my thighs slightly, letting one of my hands drop to the apex of my thighs. Spencer watched so closely I’m not sure he even blinked when I dipped one finger inside the place that ached for him. I moved my finger in and out, biting my lip while I watched him.

After a moment I removed my finger, surprising him by bringing it to his mouth. “Open.” He obeyed instantly, his cheeks hollowing out as he sucked on my finger. “I wonder what else I could make you suck on.” I withdrew my finger from his mouth, bringing it back to my pussy. “How are you going to prove that you’re sorry, Dr. Reid? What are you going to do for me?”

His voice was filled with longing and hunger. “Anything, miss, I’ll do anything.”

I smirked, moving closer to him. Bracing my hands on either side of his body, I swung my leg over his torso, keeping on my knees so I didn’t touch him. Not yet. “Anything, huh?” He nodded quickly; his eyes fixed on my pussy.

I moved one hand to the headboard, the other moved to touch those beautiful curls of his, pulling hard enough to get another moan from him. “If you really want to apologize, Dr. Reid, maybe you can put that pretty little mouth of yours to better use?” I applied a tiny bit of pressure to his head.

He looked confused for a second, his eyes were wide in surprise like he couldn't believe what I was asking him to do. He probably can’t, I thought.

“What’s the matter, baby?” I teased. “Do you not want me to put my pussy on your face? You don’t want me to fuck your tongue?”

“No, no!” He whispered hurriedly. “I want that more than anything Miss.”

“Good boy.” I think he felt the significance of this moment too. “I’ll forgive you if you can make me cum before I get bored of you," I smirked down at him. “What do you think about that Dr. Reid? Can you make me cum all over your pretty little face?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Open your mouth.” I leaned over, putting my mouth closer to his, making it clear what I was going to do before I spit into his mouth. “Swallow it.” He swallowed obediently without any hesitation. Noted.

“Okay, Dr. Reid. I’ll take that apology now.”

He moved so fast. His hands hooked on the backs of my thighs, pulling me up his body while also pushing himself down the bed. My pussy was hovering over his mouth, he licked his lips, his fingers flexing on my thighs. He looked so desperate for me…but still so unsure. “Go ahead, baby,” I whisper, pulling on his hair hard enough to make him whimper.

With that, he gripped my hips and pulled me to his mouth. I felt his tongue move through my folds, gathering the wetness that pooled there. He moaned so loudly, pulling my hips down further, bringing my pussy closer to his face.

It had been so long since I’d felt this. I hadn’t let anyone touch me like this in years; it was so much better than I remembered, but that may have just been because it was Spencer doing it.

“Ugh,” I moan, starting to rock my hips. “Fuck, baby.” I pulled his hair, tugging hard enough that I knew it hurt. “I’m already getting bored, Dr. Reid, and you just started. You can do better than that.”

I wasn’t ready, not even a bit, for his lips locking around my clit. He flicked it with his tongue, then circled it, trying to find the method that made me groan and grind my pussy down on his mouth.

“That’s more like it, Dr. Reid,” I said, earning another moan from him. “I knew there had to be a better use for this smart mouth." My hips started rocking faster, his fingers were digging into my flesh. "What would the team say if they knew about what a dirty boy you are, Dr. Reid?" His tongue sped up, causing me to shudder. I bit my lip so hard I felt real pain. I didn’t want him to hear me moan; he hadn’t earned it yet. “What would they say if they heard Dr. Reid beg me to fuck his face? You’re always such a good boy, baby. But you’re not the good boy they think you are. You’re my good boy.”

My hips were moving more rapidly; Spencer hadn’t slowed his pace at all, almost like he could feel how close I was. What I had planned would be hard for me…but I knew it would be torture for him. After a few moments, when I felt my pussy spasm with the telltale signs of my impending orgasm, I gripped his hands and pulled them from me while I lifted my hips.

His mouth was red, wet, and his lips were swollen. His face morphed from one of bliss to one of confusion. “Wha-“

I moved away from him. “That was really the best you could do, Dr. Reid?” He bit into his lip, he looked almost embarrassed as his eyes moving down to my pussy.

“Please, Miss,” he begged. “Please let me finish. You taste so good. You were so close, I felt it.”

I chuckled, “Oh you felt it, huh?” I reached between my thighs, gathering some of my wetness, then moved that same hand to grip Spencer’s cock. At that first touch he let out a strangled sound that was almost a scream; my poor boy is so sensitive. I gave him a few pumps before I removed my hand.

“Miss, please.”

“You didn’t make me cum, Dr. Reid,” I said sweetly. “What makes you think you’ve earned my touch?” I moved my fingers back to my clit, rubbing slow circles, still so, so close. “Touch yourself.” He obeyed immediately, his eyes never leaving my fingers that were swirling around the place his mouth had just been. “I want you to touch yourself like you do when you’re at home in bed, Dr. Reid. Back when you still felt so guilty, but you just couldn’t help it…because I know you thought about me when you touched yourself long before Nebraska.”

His eyes shot up to meet mine; it was hard to tell if his flushed face got a little pinker in the dim light of the room. “You don’t need to deny it, baby.” My fingers started working faster. “I know. I’ve always known. So, I want you to touch yourself like you did back then. You can do that for me, right baby?”

Hand moving faster and faster now, he gave me another beautiful whimper, “yes Miss.”

“Good boy,” my finger’s slowed. “I said you could touch yourself. I never said you could cum. Stop, Spencer.” I could tell from his breathing that he was so close to the edge. “I said stop.” I reached out to grip his arm tightly, digging my nails into his skin.

Once he had released his cock, I took in his appearance. His stomach muscles kept tensing, his cock was leaking precum steadily now, his dick was an angry red, his teeth were digging into his bottom lip, and I could see the tears of frustration swimming in his eyes.

“Aw, baby,” I cooed, leaning over to put my body above his again; I caressed his cheek softly. “What’s wrong?”

"I-I" the chatterbox that was Dr. Spencer Reid was finally speechless.

I lifted my hand off of his face only to bring it back down in a sharp slap. “I asked you a question, Dr. Reid.”

I saw the desperation in his eyes. I know baby, I know. We’re almost there.

“Please, miss,” his words were so quiet. “I can’t take this anymore. I’m sorry. I’m yours.”

He deserved the world. This wonderful man deserved the entire world. “I believe you, Dr. Reid.” I leaned over him then, sealing my lips over his, my tongue stroking into his mouth softly. I felt his hands rise up towards my body only to stop just before they made contact.

He made my heart swell. I pulled my mouth away, looking down at him with an emotion I didn’t want to name shining from my eyes. “You’ve been such a good boy, baby.” I pushed the damp curls off of his forehead. “Such a good boy. I think you deserve something special.” I rose up on my knees, straddling his body again, my hand moving down to my pussy to spread myself open for his eyes. “What would you like more? Do you want me to put my pussy on your pretty face again? I’ll let you cum while you make me cum. I know how badly you need to taste me, Dr. Reid.” I bit my lip at how quickly he nodded his head. “Or, I can let you fuck my mouth. Hold onto my hair and fuck your pretty cock down my throat. Then I’ll let you watch me cum after.” I left a kiss on the tip of his nose.

Dr. Spencer Reid usually made decisions quickly; his mind worked so much quicker than everyone else, but he was struggling here. His eyes met mine, he looked so desperate and lost in a sea of his own desire.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you, baby.” I moved down his body then, trailing kisses down his stomach. I gripped his cock hard in my hand, causing him to moan so loudly I’m sure someone in the neighboring rooms heard him. “Fuck my face, Dr. Reid. I want to watch you come undone.”

Needing no further encouragement, his hands tangled in my hair, tugging the strands so hard it made my eyes water. I opened my mouth over him; he lifted his hips going far deeper into my mouth than he would have done normally. I relaxed my jaw, swallowing around the head of his cock. My eyes were watering too much to watch him, but I heard him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, pulling my head down to meet his upward thrust. “You feel so fucking good, y/n. I’m gonna…” he let out a ragged breath. “I’m gonna cum.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than he came apart. His groan was from deep in his chest and it sounded like my name as he filled my mouth. He slowed his thrusts, but I continued sucking. I needed him to feel every ounce of this.

When his hands finally dropped from my head, I released him. I wiped my eyes and I took him in. He looked so overwhelmed, shattered, and beautiful. I moved up the bed, lying beside him and wrapping him in my arms. I peppered his shoulder with kisses. “You did so good, Spencer,” I praised. “So, so good. I’m so proud of you.”

Spencer turned, his hands cupping my jaw while he stared so deep in my eyes. What I saw swirling on the surface of those amber eyes made my heart stop.

“You didn’t cum.” His voice was scratchy.

“I know. It’s okay,” I reassured. “We can take a break. Or you can watch me cum now.” I kept stroking his hair, his body. “Whatever you want, Spencer.”

My core was still throbbing, the sight of his release only pulling me closer to the edge.

His lips lifted in a smirk. “Whatever I want?” he teased.

“Yes.”

He blinked once, then again. He didn’t know quite what to do with my confirmation; but I meant it, in this moment, I was willing to give Spencer Reid anything and everything.

“…Can I make you cum?” he searched my eyes for any sign of hesitation. “I…I want to finish. What I was doing earlier.”

My laugh bubbled out of me. “I just had your cock down my throat but now you can’t ask me if you can make me cum on your face?”

I was still laughing when he leaned forward to kiss me; both of his hand cupping my jaw. There was heat behind this kiss; it brought my simmering arousal back to a giant flame in my lower belly. Heat wasn’t all that was there though. I can’t think about that. I couldn’t dwell on what I felt, but I felt it with my entire soul.

Despite what we had just done, this felt different. The scene felt over, his powerful orgasm had shifted the mood in our little bubble. I wasn’t his Miss. He wasn’t my pretty, nervous boy. He was Spencer and I was y/n; and he wanted to make me feel good. He rose over me then, wasting no time on foreplay; he knew I didn’t need it.

He settled between my thighs, his hands wrapping around them, his fingers digging into my skin. With one final look at my face to make sure this was really okay, he put his mouth on me. My back arched and my mouth hung open in a silent scream. Spencer didn’t toy with me; he knew how close I was.

“Spencer, Spencer, fuck,” his eyes opened when my fingers tangled in his hair, my pussy grinding into his face. “I’m so close. Fuck.”

I was so lost I didn’t realize his hand had moved until I felt two fingers enter me, curling expertly. He pumped his fingers and wrapped his lips around my clit, sucking firmly. That was all it took for me to cum for him.

It all happened so quickly I didn’t have time to be scared. He was the first man to make me orgasm in longer than I wanted to admit. I knew the last time I let someone put their mouth on me. It had always felt like a deeply intimate act to me, I was always nervous to let anyone do it.

Spencer rose up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Why is that sexy?

He laid down beside me; I'm not sure who's arms wrapped around who first, but we were clinging to each other, both of us breathing hard.

“So,” I said, after clearing my throat. “What did you think?”

Spencer chuckled, the hot air of his breath puffing against my hair. “I liked it.”

“Yeah?” I pulled back to look at his eyes.

“Mhm," was his response as he leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on my lips before his mood shifted. "Y/n…I'm sorry I got so mad." He looked so embarrassed as he said it as if it wasn't the sweetest thing in the world that Spencer Reid would care about me like that. “I just…I saw him touching you and I just…” he dropped his gaze. “I know we didn’t talk about monogamy, but I thought- I was just so worrie-“

My finger pressed against his lips. “I don’t want to be with anyone else, Spencer.”

We fell asleep shortly after that. I couldn’t help but wonder if his thoughts felt anything like mine; the irony of it all was I was too afraid to ask.

Series tag list: @abschaffer2​ @liaabsurd​ @brokenanxiety​ @thisiscalmandits-dr​​ @less-intelligent-spencerreid​​ @reidsmyhusband-emilysmymistress @cielo1984​ @sarcasticsagittarius1998​ @101donuts​ @heyitssarahk @creepingfromthecorners​ @imjusthereformggcontent​ @fanfictionislifetho​  @annestine​

Taglist: @rachelxwayne​ @pinkdiamond1016​ @sickeninglyshoujo @justagirllookingforherplace​ @nanocoool​

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Happily Ever After

Dean x Cas

Word Count: ~1090

Warnings: Fluffy as heeeeeelll. 

A/N: This is part of the Rockstar AU, but the only piece of that that’s really relevant to this “plot” is A New Song. It’s straight up rom-com fluff y’all. Plus cameos from the BAU and Harry Styles. 

This scene was 100% @stunudo​‘s idea, I just typed it out real quick. @fookinghelljensensthighs​ is also partly to blame, as usual, because... idk, handcuffs and fruit. 

More fun shenanigans in this ‘verse coming soon! 

-

(New header in the works, don’t mind me.)

-

“I dunno, Sammy, I think this was a fuckin’ awful idea,” Dean mutters under his breath, barely audible under the cheers of the audience as they start chanting for an encore. “Jesus fuck, what if -” 

“Dean,” Sam says firmly. “We’ve gone over this a million times.” 

“What if they…” He gestures around at some of the members of Business As Usual, who have been watching the whole show from sidestage. 

“If Bobby trusts their manager, so do I. This way at least we know before we invite them on a real tour,” Sam points out.  

“Sammy, I don’t think I can do this.” Dean looks shaky and anxious, now, and his eyes keep darting over to where Cas is checking on the guitar he usually uses for their encore. Charlie is next to him, looking furtively back at Dean every few seconds.

“Bobby pulled every string he’s got to make this show happen on short notice. If you don’t follow through, he’s gonna be pissed.”

“Yeah, but -” 

“What did I say?” 

Dean takes a deep breath. “Cas is worth being brave for.” 

“Yes.” Sam gestures to Charlie, who starts to tug a confused Cas in their direction. “Go on. I gotta get Harry on Facetime.” 

“Right,” Dean says, with one last deep breath, and then he turns and marches back out onto the stage, alone. Sam pulls out his phone and FaceTimes Harry, who picks up right away, even though it’s some ungodly hour of the morning where he is. His hair is a wild snarl of bedhead and he’s trying to peel an orange while also holding his phone steady. 

“What is Dean doing?” Cas hisses, alarmed, and Charlie has to keep a tight grip on his arm to stop him from following Dean onto the stage. “I’m not ready, I need -” 

“Just listen,” Sam tells him. Cas looks dubious. 

He gives Harry a quick smile and then turns the camera around, pointing it so that he can see Dean, who has gotten himself set up with a stool and an acoustic. Sam keeps the phone close to his chest, making sure that nobody will catch a glimpse of Harry’s (regrettably recognizable) face. 

“So,” Dean says into the mic, and the crowd quiets. “Um… I’m doing something a little special tonight. I want to play you a new song I’ve been workin’ on.” He clears his throat anxiously. “It’s for someone… someone I’m crazy about. These are some things I should’ve said a long time ago, but I’m not great at talking about my feelings, so I wrote about ‘em instead. Here goes.” 

Dean sneaks a quick glance over to where Cas, Sam, and Charlie are watching from the side of the stage, and Sam can see him take another deep breath before he starts to play the soft, wistful melody. 

Cas’s profile is illuminated by the harsh blue stage lights, and Sam can see the moment it all clicks; Cas’s mouth drops open, and he sways slightly on the spot. As Dean starts to sing about waiting and missed opportunities, a smile spreads over Cas’s face, bright and dazed, until he’s completely lit up with it. He looks happier than Sam has ever seen him before. 

The crowd is so silent you could hear a pin drop. Everybody’s completely transfixed by Dean’s voice, his usual growl gone shaky and raw with emotion. 

Charlie moves in closer, wrapping an arm around Cas’s waist, so that she and Sam are flanking Cas: her on his left, Sam on the right. Sam drapes his free arm over Cas’s shoulders and squeezes him tight. 

He glances back to where Spencer, Penelope, and JJ are watching, a little bit behind him, and wonders how they’ll react. Penelope’s dabbing away tears and Spencer’s watching with rapt attention, but JJ is looking right back at him, or rather, at Cas… so one of them, at least, has already figured out who Dean is singing about. There’s this sharp, knowing expression on her face that makes Sam nervous, for a second, until she flashes him a warm smile and a discreet thumbs up. He feels a little bubble of relief swell and pop in his chest. 

He’s feeling a little misty-eyed, but he doesn’t want to let go of Cas to wipe his eyes; Cas doesn’t seem totally steady on his feet, and Sam thinks he might need the support. 

On stage, Dean is strumming the bridge, and just before he launches into the last verse his gaze darts back to Cas, taking in the way he’s beaming. Dean grins helplessly too, when he sees it, and the last of the anxious shake disappears from his voice as he belts out the final chorus. 

Sam’s so fucking proud of his brother it feels like his ribcage might burst. 

When Dean finishes, the applause is deafening. 

“Thanks,” he says gruffly, with a little wave, as he gets to his feet unsteadily. “We’ll see you again real soon.” He looks wide-eyed and scared as he starts to walk offstage, eyes locked with Cas’s the entire way. 

Sam takes a couple steps back, giving them space, and Charlie does the same, after checking to make sure that Cas is still well out of sight of the audience. 

Dean stops, face to face with Cas. They both look stunned. Dean’s hands twitch up like he wants to grab Cas’s, but he can’t quite make himself reach out, and for a moment neither of them move. Sam’s holding his breath. It feels like everybody backstage is holding their breath, even the near-strangers in B.A.U.; they’re all watching, hope and anticipation written all over their faces.  

“Please just kiss him already,” Penelope blurts out, and that finally breaks the spell. 

Dean doesn’t hesitate any more. He steps in, pulling Cas close, and smiles into the kiss with his hands fisted tight in the back of Cas’s t-shirt like he never wants to let go. 

“Fucking finally,” Sam says, exhaling, and Charlie’s practically bouncing next to him, letting out a little cheer. 

“It’s like a fucking rom-com. Who does that shit in real life?” Emily is saying, but she’s grinning. Everyone is. 

On Sam’s phone screen, Harry is drying his eyes with the edge of a massive white hotel comforter, and Sam misses him fiercely for a moment. He turns the camera back around to mouth a silent “talk tomorrow.” Harry says something that Sam can’t quite make out. 

“What?” Sam asks, and holds the phone close. 

Harry repeats, “And then they lived happily ever after.” 

.

.

.

[porkchop-ao3]

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 53)

Ball and Chain

Arthur and reader discuss their situation. Thank you guys for all the support on the last chapter after I expressed my worries about it, btw!!

Tagging @emily-strange ❤

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

-

During Arthur's brief return, we hadn't had time to discuss how things had gone with Penelope and Beau (despite his busted lip that I was quick to ask about), Arthur had left for Annesburg as soon as I told him what Micah said. But when he got back that night, he filled me in on the details of the day. I was shocked to hear that simply accompanying Penelope to the train station had turned into Arthur shooting Christ knows how many members of the Braithwaite family from a moving train, but in the end Penelope and Beau got their happy ending. He left them with the stagecoach driver, taking them away to their new life together with a bag-full of stolen jewellery. A piece of which Penelope had given to Arthur as thanks for all of the help, a beautiful stone encrusted bracelet, probably worth a hefty sum. Arthur told me he intended to sell it, keep the money just for us, not giving the camp a cut for once in his life. I could tell it took a lot for him to come to that decision.

And Cornwall was dead. He told me that after a long pause when we were both bedding down for the night. Part of me was surprised that he hadn't told me that as soon as he returned, but the way he said it told me that he hadn't exactly been prepared for it happening. He told me that Dutch had said they were paying a social call, confirming what Micah had said about trying to cut a deal to get him off our backs. But it had turned into a bloodbath, just as most jobs did these days, and Dutch had shot Cornwall, point-blank. They were swarmed with Pinkertons and they had to shoot their way out of Annesburg, barely escaping. 

"And Micah thinks there's a rat," he said after relaying the gory details. He huffed an incredulous laugh. 

"In the gang? He reckons one of us is squealing?" 

"Mmhm, thinks the Pinkertons have been showing up too fast for it to be a coincidence," he sighed. I blinked up at the top of the tent. I thought about all the gang members, picturing each person's face, unable to make any sort of guess as to whether Micah's claims could be true. I just didn't see any of them talking. "He says we should start cutting folk loose, go back to Blackwater and get the money stashed there, and get out of here."

"Who's he wanna cut loose, exactly?" I frowned.

"Well, he was speaking to Dutch at the time. I got the distinct impression that by 'we', he meant him and Dutch," he murmured monotonously and deeply. "Sod the rest of us."

"He's… he really kisses Dutch's ass, don't he? It's almost uncomfortable," I whispered. 

"Mm, seems everyone sees it but Dutch himself. Micah's a creep, through and through."

"I'm embarrassed I ever gave him a chance. At the start, when we worked together a few times, I kept thinking he had potential to be a decent feller," I mumbled, shaking my head.

"Don't be embarrassed. You hadn't seen the full spectrum of his charming personality just yet," he snorted. "I think we all wanted to give him a chance at the start. Thought he was just a bit of an odd feller, not very nice. But we never warmed to him, not with all his behaviour." 

"How can he come in and accuse someone else of being a rat? My understanding is he's one of the newest folks, apart from me or Sadie," I said then I frowned, swallowing. "Or Kieran."

Arthur read my mind. "Kieran ain't the rat. Least I don't think so."

"You know that's who Micah will pick on, though. He was with the O'Driscolls," I whispered, rolling over onto my side and peering over the edge of the bed to look at Arthur where he was lying on the floor.

"His name did come up," he sighed. "And would you believe it, Dutch was even thinking about John when we was in Guarma."

"John? He thought John was a rat?" I balked.

"Yeah, I know," he murmured monotonously, shaking his head. "But I don't believe it's either of them. I don't believe we've got a rat full stop. We've just been sloppy, we ain't exactly been subtle. 'Specially not by blowing a hole in Leviticus Cornwall's chest, when we're camping not five minutes away!" He shook his head irritably.

"Jesus," I hissed, screwing my face up.

"Dutch is losing it. Or he already has, completely. I don't know," he whispered sharply. 

"What's he supposing we do?"

"Wants to make a bunch of smoke, create a big enough distraction for us lot to piss off out of the state, maybe even the country, that's what he's supposin'," he told me, humour building in his throat. 

"Or do increasingly reckless bullshit until every one of us is lying in an unmarked grave and every Pinkerton on the case gets a medal," I proposed, and Arthur hummed his agreement. "Christ, Arthur, we can't do this. We can't go along with him. None of us, what if we start asking folk… seeing who'd be prepared to leave with us?" I suddenly asked, the words splurging from me without thought. His eyes widened a bit and he looked me in the eye in the dim light shining through the tent from the campfire. 

"You're really suggesting that we try and divide the gang, try and leave Dutch high and dry?" He sputtered. My heart thudded. Shit. I'd gone too far. 

"No. Never mind," I rolled back onto the bed, staring up above. 

"Wait, I ain't mad. Sorry, that came out different to how I meant," he shifted, sitting up and leaning his elbows on the bed. "I just– I couldn't. I ain't a leader, princess. I can't be what Dutch was to me."

"You wouldn't want to be what Dutch was to you," I replied instantly. His brow furrowed. "I don't doubt he was good to you over the years, provided you with a purpose and taught you all you needed to know to get by in this life. But that don't change the fact that lately all he's been doing is treating you like a grunt! You won't ever be like Dutch. And that's a good thing." 

Arthur was stunned by my words and I immediately began to feel anxious. I really was pushing my luck. If I wasn't careful I'd end up saying something that hurt him, and that's the last thing I wanted. I might've already done it. 

"I'm sorry. I'm just getting nervous. Hell, not even just getting there, I'm extremely nervous. I'm petrified that Dutch is gonna have one of his crazy moments again and you're gonna get hurt because of it, I'd never forgive him if something happened to you 'cause of his recklessness," I continued.

"I won't let that happen."

"I wish I could be reassured by that. But you ain't always in control of what happens, you can't say that."

Arthur sighed, looking down. 

"I… I know I ain't in control. I know I can't promise you anything. I'm just trying to– to spin too many plates at once but at this point I don't know how to stop. It ain't that easy," he whispered, and he sounded defeated. I instantly felt guilty. "I don't want to make excuses, and I don't wanna let you down."

"You've never let me down. Don't worry about that," I shook my head and sat up on my elbow, looking at him properly.

"My head's been all over the place. So much has– I still ain't wrapped my head 'round what's happened these past weeks, I can barely think straight half the time and I just can't figure out what to do," he sighed, dragging his hand over his face. My lips parted and I stared at him. "Guarma; that bank job, everything went so fast and I never had a chance to stop and think and now we've moved again, and Dutch is on about making noise and leaving the country, and I– I don't like any of this. I don't like what he's doing but I wrack my brains and I just can't think of a goddamn thing to say to him to make him see sense!"

"Arthur, I'm sorry, I keep putting pressure on you," I breathed, shaking my head.

Arthur gestured towards my leg. "And this is the second time you could've been killed just 'cause I can't be a damn man and do right by you. And– and I know this and yet I still can't–" he stopped, sitting back, resting his elbows on his knees and hanging his head. "This is the same shit Mary left me for."

"I ain't leaving you. I ain't Mary," I hissed. If I sounded angry, I didn't mean to. 

"I know you're not, princess, you ain't nothing like her. Nothing like her at all, I'm sorry, I just meant that it weren't good enough for her so why on earth should it be good enough for you?"

"Arthur, I don't know what you want me to say," I shook my head. "You're telling me that your hesitance to get out is gonna make me leave you or something, but then you say you can't get out. Every time we talk about this it goes nowhere, and we're just gonna keep going 'round and around in circles. I just want you to think about if it's what you actually want," I kept my voice as level as possible.

"Of course I want it," he told me, brows curving upwards. "Wouldn't be saying it if I didn't."

"I know you worry about the gang. But look at them, they're a whole group of adults, and they're all following Dutch. Nobody is expecting you to make sure they're all okay, that ain't your responsibility,” I told him, thinking about what Charles had said.

"I know," he said, his tone a bit sharp and irritated, not at me, but at the situation. Like he didn't want to admit that it was true.

"Does that bother you? That you ain't responsible?" I asked, my brows quirking in surprise. 

"No! You know why I can't leave, and I know you’re scared… But I am too. Truth be told I'm scared for if I stay and I'm scared for if I leave."

"If you leave?" I repeated, not exactly expecting that.

"Yes. What if I can't do it?" He hissed, and I could simply frown in response. "What if I end up messing up and going back to my old ways and letting you down? Hosea once left. He and Bessie, the woman he loved with all his heart, they went off on their own and he ended up coming back because he was too set in his ways."

"Really?" I asked, mouth agape. I must’ve looked so dumb.

”What if I'm like that? What if I can't give you everything you need?" He continued, moving closer to the bed and leaning close to me, taking one of my hands in both of his. "I want you. I want to go, I do. But in the back of my mind all I can think about is ruining both of our lives if I don't act right. I spent a lot of years being this way. What if I can't change? Mary wanted me to– I never could for her. What if I–"

I frowned in a different way at the mention of Mary again, a little annoyed. "I don't want you to change, like she did," I told him more sharply than necessary. I softened when he seemed to realise his error. "I ain't expecting you to all of a sudden go out and get yourself a fancy job somewhere, get us a big house with lots of neighbours and a dog and all this normal stuff. I don't want any of that. Well, I wouldn't mind having a dog…"

"You can have all the dogs you want," he breathed a laugh.

"Arthur, I'll be honest; if we have to… live in the grey areas of the law to get by, then, well, as long as we ain't doing nothing too big or loud, how's it different to the way I've always lived?" I admitted, shrugging softly. "You know I weren't always lawful when I was on my own. Don't change, Arthur. Just do what you have to do and always come home to me as the man I fell in love with."

"You mean that? You wouldn't be upset if I– if I can't settle into a normal life that easy?"

"Of course I wouldn't. Arthur, I'll probably struggle too. I don't mind waiting for it, neither. Just don't make me wait too long, till it can't happen no more," I whispered to him. "That's all I ask."

He pressed his forehead to my arm gently. “What worries me is you keep on reassuring me like this but nothing ever changes. I just can’t go yet, and I want you to really understand why so you won't start thinking I’m always putting you last and you ain’t important.”

"I'm trying to understand. Tell me what's going on in your head," I pleaded, stroking his hair. 

"I will try my best. My head ain't exactly easy to figure out right now. Usually when I'm with you I can forget most of the shit going on and I'm happy, and I can't wait to get out with you," he spoke slowly and monotonously, as if he really had to try to word it right. "But then I go out on a job and it brings me right back down to earth, I get pulled back in the other direction, reminded of how many years I sunk into this gang and I can't just leave, not without making things right. Or at least trying to. And I owe that to you, too," he lifted his head and met my eyes.

"To me? Why?" I frowned.

"I ain't done much good in my life. I don't like who I am, who I have been, how can I give you everything you deserve if I can't even redeem myself and do one good thing before this gang crumbles to dust?" His response caught me off guard. "I told you before I'm scared, and this is all part of that. If I can't show you that I can do right by these people I been loyal to for years, then what would my loyalty to you even mean? I'm scared that even if I say fuck it to everything and just run off with you, leaving all this behind, I ain't gonna be doing you a service. 'Cause all I'd be showing you is I ain't deserving of your trust."

And suddenly, despite the fact that I didn't want to accept it, I understood.

Arthur needed this, not just because he cared for these people, but because he had to see it through for himself. He had to prove to himself that he could deserve the out our relationship had given him. He did deserve it, of course he did, but nothing I could say would convince him until he'd proved it to himself. And that's what getting John and his family and the others out would do, prove to him that he was good. At least, good enough to deserve something better than the pain and struggle his life up until that point had given him. 

And if Arthur was important to me and I genuinely wanted him to be happy; I had to let him do it.

"Okay," I whispered. "I get it, I do."

"Yeah?" He breathed. "You ain't just saying that to be kind to me?"

"No, I understand. I'm scared, but I know that you need this. I ain't gonna be the one to hold you back," I told him, flipping my hand to interlace our fingers. 

"Angel, I don't want to let you down. You're my world, you know that, don't you? I gotta do this so I can be the best I can for you. I won't be able to do that if I live with regrets, about the things I failed to do," he said, kissing the back of my hand. 

"I trust you. I really do. If you gotta do this and you promise me you'll draw lines where you have to, and you ain't gonna let Dutch use you like your life don't even matter," I squeaked, shaking my head, "then I won't put no more pressure on you. I'll be patient."

"I'll look out for myself," he nodded, "I got more reason than I ever really have to keep myself safe."

That was a little painful to hear. I reached my free hand out to cup his cheek. "I love you," I told him.

"And I'm real lucky you do. I don't know of many women who'd put up with me being like this," he exhaled a sheepish laugh, shaking his head.

"I guess that's lucky for me," I smirked a little and he chuckled.

"I love you too, my darlin', don't forget that you're what's pushing me to be better."

"Just… let's not have this conversation again until it's the right time to go. It feels like we've had it a million times and it ain't ever ended in us packing our bags– well. It did once, but things were different then," I said, remembering when our plans felt solid, when the gang was going to flee and be safe and Arthur and I were going to leave together. Before the bank. Before Guarma. "What I'm saying is, I don't want to go around in circles again. Next time we talk about this, it's gonna end in us leaving, okay?"

"Alright, beautiful. I'll… I'll start working on Dutch. If somehow I can convince him to use all that money we been saving to clear off for good," he trailed off, shaking his head. "I don't know how long it'll take."

"It'll take as long as it takes," I shook my head and smiled at him, brushing my thumb across his cheek bone. Then I kissed him, holding him close and tender like the treasure he was. 

-

A man I hadn't seen before walked into camp, guided by Charles, as well as Karen and Javier who had both been on guard duty. His hair was long and though I didn't know for sure, I wondered if it was one of the people from the Wapiti reservation that Charles and Arthur had been helping. My guess was solidified when Arthur – who was speaking with Dutch at the time – appeared to know him, and introduced them. They all spoke for a while, and my position across the other side of the camp meant I didn't hear a word. I was surprised that he'd come to our camp, and I wondered what had happened to make him do so.

Eventually Dutch made the first step towards the horses, and the man immediately followed. Charles and Arthur seemed reluctant to follow too, but they did. I frowned and sat upright, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, very gingerly lowering them to the ground so I could watch as they all mounted up and rode away from camp. 

I glanced around, wondering if anyone around had heard what their conversation was all about, or what they were heading out to do. A sickly sense of anxiety settled like a boulder in my stomach once again and I began to panic that I could never, ever watch Arthur leave camp again without feeling complete dread. I'd come close to losing him too many times and now I'd been trained to expect the worst. 

With a groan I pushed myself to my feet, grabbing the cane that Arthur had fashioned out of a big stick he'd found so that I could start moving around. I could walk okay, I just had to move carefully as to not tug on the delicate, healing skin around my knee, the cane was there to keep my balance. I walked my way over to the stew pot, figuring that eating something might settle me a bit, I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast and even then I'd just had some biscuits.

I served myself up a bowl of stew and hobbled my way over to the campfire, sitting down on one of the storage crates and dropping my cane down on the ground beside me. I tucked into my food, relieved to have a warm meal to pull my focus to. I saw Mary-Beth getting herself some food too, and she started heading towards me, sitting down on a nearby log. 

"It's good to see you up and about," she commented. 

"Yeah, I couldn't stay flat on my back forever, my leg ain't really hurting no more. Miss Grimshaw said as long as I'm careful with it, it'll do me good to be more mobile," I replied, nodding before blowing on a steaming forkful of meat and vegetables and popping it into my mouth. 

"That's good, it can't be nice when you're always so eager to keep yourself busy," she laughed a little, and I met her eyes. 

"Thanks for the books, by the way. I finished the one with the field of lavender, the French woman," I murmured, looking towards the tent as if I could see the book and read the title from there.

"The Castle in the Field of Lavender," Mary-Beth nodded. "Complete nonsense, isn't it? But I love it nonetheless," she giggled. 

"I can certainly agree that it's nonsense," I chuckled, "but it provided a much needed distraction. I liked it," I grinned. 

"How're you feeling?" She asked.

"I'm– I'm okay. Yeah, been a tough time lately, ain't it? But I'm sure things will start looking up now we're in a new camp, we're all together," I said with a nod. 

"You think so?" She questioned, a frank look of doubt on her face. 

"You don't think so?" I countered.

"I don't really know what to think," she exclaimed, shaking her head regretfully.

"No, I guess I don't either," I sighed, stirring through my stew. 

"All I know is I hate it here, this place gives me the creeps," she made a show of shuddering, then took a bite of food, swallowing before continuing, "worse than the swamp."

"We're safe. All these people here, looking out for each other, it might be creepy here but nothing's gonna happen," I tried to reassure her, and she nodded. "Do you know what all that was about; with that feller who came to camp just now?"

"Karen said his name was Eagle Flies," she said, and I nodded in recognition, "something about some horses being stolen. I figured the boys went to help get them back."

"Stolen horses," I mused thoughtfully, "doesn't sound like something Dutch would be too concerned about with all that's going on," I pondered.

"Hmm, now you mention it," she nodded slowly, "well, I don't know. Maybe there's money to be made, I don't see why Dutch would risk everything if it weren't worth it. Not with the Pinkertons turning up all the time."

I was quiet for a moment, eating my food and considering my next words. When I settled on them, I glanced around before leaning forwards a bit. 

"Uh, Mary-Beth," I said under my breath, and she caught my tone and scooted closer to me, her eyes widening with a cute kind of intrigue at the secrecy. "Do you think that… that Dutch maybe ain't been using the best judgement as of late?"

"What d'you mean?" She asked, her eyes narrowed and her head shaking in confusion. 

"Well," I began, my tone light and careful, "he trusted Bronte with that trolley station tip, when that was a set up he killed him and then expected everything to be okay when he went and robbed the bank? I don't know, I thought he was meant to be real smart."

"Oh, I don't know what to say. I never really thought about it that way before," she sighed softly, frowning to herself. 

"You haven't? Perhaps it's just me being paranoid, then," I dismissed, lessening my conviction, trying to brush it off as a passing thought. I didn't want anything blown out of proportion. 

"No, I don't think so. Perhaps you're right. When you put it like that, it don't sound all that smart, why'd you think he'd take those risks without thinking of the consequences?" She questioned. 

"Well, that's it. I don't know. That's why I wanted to ask you, you've been here much longer, I just wondered if you'd noticed a change or if he's always been like this," I shrugged. 

"No, he hasn't. The gang has changed a lot in the last few months, doing things that we wouldn't ordinarily do. I put it down to heavier pressure from all of our enemies but sometimes I wonder if we're going too far, truth be told. As soon as Jack got dragged into our problems, I stopped feeling safe," she admitted to me, her voice tiny and barely audible. "But I never blamed anyone in particular for it, 'specially not Dutch."

I shook my head. "I ain't suggesting that you should. I'm just thinking out loud. I'm pretty scared."

"You're scared? Even with Arthur looking out for you?" Her brows raised softly and with concern.

"It's… it's Arthur I'm scared for. I'm a woman. I ain't really had to deal with the things he has in this gang, nobody's forcing me to go out and shoot Pinkertons and rob banks! I've only gotta worry about my safety when they find our camp. But he–" I stopped, shaking my head and sighing. "Every time he goes out since Guarma, I feel sick."

"Oh, I see…" she said solemnly, looking down. "And I guess you're worried, what with Dutch's recent ideas, that Arthur's gonna get hurt because of him."

"I am," I nodded. 

Mary-Beth pressed her lips together and tilted her head, considering her response carefully. "Dutch has always been something of a father to folks. Some more than others. But Arthur has been with him the longest, you know that. I don't think Dutch would let any harm come to him, not on purpose."

"Mm," I made a quiet sound, finishing off my food to avoid responding. I didn't believe her. Not that she was lying, she wouldn't be remiss for thinking that way. But ever since he was captured by the O'Driscolls, I really struggled to fall into such naive, blind trust of Dutch Van Der Linde. 

"Have you thought about leaving?" She asked, her tone high pitched and girlish and curious, like the question was more insignificant than it actually was. "Seriously, I mean. Not just a spur of the moment thing, like what Arthur was saying when your leg got burned," she clarified, and I was reminded of all the people who'd heard that conversation.

Even so, I struggled to form a response. 

"I have," I finally answered, emphasising the 'I' to avoid incriminating Arthur. I wanted only to speak for myself. 

"Between me and you… so have I," she replied, shocking me. I gazed at her with wide eyes as she stared into the fire. "When I found out Molly had gone, I started wondering if the gang would fall apart, then I panicked, thinking about what I'd do if it did. Sometimes I think I should jump ship before I go down with it," she revealed, and her words rang in my ears with such clarity I wanted to capture the moment and show it to Arthur, because it made such sense the way she said it. But I'd promised him I wouldn't put pressure on him to get out while he felt his work was not yet done. 

"I understand," I nodded. "And I wouldn't judge you if you did. Not even a little," I whispered.

"Really?" She met my eyes. 

"Same reason I didn't judge Molly. I think if someone knows they can find happiness elsewhere, they should seek it without judgement. Especially with how things are right now, we're all scared for our lives."

"I spoke to Kieran about it," she told me. "I don't know how he feels about it but I… I like him. A great deal. Sometimes I daydream about how life could be, and it makes me happier than I ever am when I'm living outside of my head, in the real world. Do you know what I mean?"

"More than I care to admit," I nodded. 

"Kieran and I have some… shared feelings, I s'pose you'd say. But we don't make a spectacle of it, we're very discreet," she said, and I smiled a little, seeing myself in her. She thought she was telling me something I didn't know, when everyone was aware at least on some level that something had blossomed between the two. Just like Arthur and me in the beginning. I didn't burst her bubble though.

"Are you, uh, officially involved? Like, say, me and Arthur?"

"Don't make me kiss and tell," she giggled, a grin spreading across her face. 

"So you've kissed him?" I grinned, teasing her. 

"I might have," she answered coquettishly, lifting a shoulder and peering over it at me.

"Considering the kind of novels you read and the way you spoke to me about Arthur, I would've thought you'd be more chatty about such a thing!"

"Well, it's different when it's yourself, ain't it?"

"Now you see why I was so embarrassed," I chuckled, shaking my head. "Don't worry, I'll have mercy on you."

"I appreciate it," she laughed, "anyway, I didn't bring him up to gush about it… I was just saying, if I had my way, if my dreams could come true, he and I would leave together, and we'd puzzle together as normal a life as we could," she sighed. 

"That's a sentiment I certainly share," I nodded. "Well, good luck to you, Mary-Beth."

"And to you," she returned, wearing a warm smile and rosy cheeks. "Let me take your bowl," she offered, getting up to wash her own. 

"Thank you," I said as I handed it over, and watched as she left. I glanced at the fire for a while, watching the glowing embers rising. It never had the same impact in the daylight as it did at night time, always felt different. 

I reached into the top of my shirt, retrieving the locket that hadn't left my neck since it was put there. I held it away as far as the chain would allow and popped it open, looking at the crudely cut out little photograph of Arthur, wondering what he was doing right that moment. I prayed the situation with the horses was a simple problem to resolve, and he would return to me so that I could see him sit down by this very fire with a warm bowl of stew, allowing himself the small luxuries that I was able to have. 

But I didn't see him for a while after he left. After getting back the horses for the Wapiti people, Dutch and Charles had returned without him after nightfall. I was told that he was camping out somewhere away from the main camp, he had to meet with Bill and Micah in the morning for another job and he had someone to see in Annesburg, but there were no more details than that. I was disappointed, of course. It wasn't out of the ordinary for Arthur to spend many nights away from camp, the only reason he spent most nights in camp now was because of me, he told me he preferred getting to bed down with me over being out in the middle of nowhere. But I had to remind myself that he had important things to do and he wouldn't stay away just for the sake of it, I needed to hush down my selfishness and allow him to do what he needed to do. It was a theme cropping up all too often, and I had to battle myself on it. I would not become his ball and chain. 

[spoookymuulders]

Just Like an Angel

read it on ao3 HERE full series HERE word count: 5,701 WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF DEATH AND GUNS (y’know general criminal minds unsub-y things) setlist: mad world, lovefool, creep

If music be the food of love, play on. - William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night

             August 9, 2010

             Spencer comes home late one night, surprised to find the light in the kitchen on - either Parker is awake or she forgot to turn the light off, but her voice floating towards him softly from the kitchen tells him that she’s up. He’s more surprised, though, to hear that Parker is singing. He hasn’t heard her sing since she came home, and he missed it. Apparently she didn’t hear him come in, because she pays him no mind when he leans against the kitchen doorway, watching her with a small, tender smile. 

             She’s perched cross-legged on the counter, wiggling her shoulders lightly as she sings softly and pokes at a bowl of cookie dough. He strains for a moment to hear what she’s singing, smiling to himself when he recognizes the tune as an old Beatles song. Shifting his weight, he winces just so when a floorboard creaks, and Parker whips around with a sharp inhale. 

             “Jesus, Spencer!” She gasps, putting her hand to her chest. She falls back to lay against the counter for a moment, willing her heartbeat to return to its normal pace, and Spencer smiles sheepishly as he pads into the kitchen. 

             “Sorry.” He says, wrinkling his nose. Parker huffs quietly and sits up again, turning so her legs are dangling off the side of the counter. Spencer’s hips bump against her knees lightly and she smiles just so, reaching out to fiddle with one of the buttons on his cardigan. She asks about work and he tells her, his fingers brushing against the outsides of her knees delicately as their soft voices fill the night.

             “Why didn’t you say anything when you came in?” She asks finally, wrinkling her nose at him. He chuckles softly and shrugs, reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear gently.

             “I didn’t think you’d be up.” He says honestly, his thumb brushing against the apple of her cheek softly. “And you were singing. I haven’t heard you sing since you’ve been home.” Parker is silent for a minute, turning her head to Spencer’s touch just so.

             “I miss singing.” She admits finally, her voice little more than a whisper. Spencer hums softly, stepping back as Parker slides off the counter and stifles a yawn behind her hand. Smiling gently, he drops a kiss to the crown of her head and brushes her back.

             “Let’s get you to bed.” He says softly, guiding her out of the kitchen. She shuffles along beside him, glancing up with a small smile. She crawls into bed and burrows down into her pillows. He settles the blanket over her, pausing when she catches his wrist.

             “Will you stay?”

             Without hesitation, he settles on the bed beside her, humming softly when she drapes the blanket over his thin frame. She tucks herself into his side, resting her cheek against his shoulder, and he falls asleep to the sound of her humming softly as her fingers brush along his side.

****

             December 1, 2010

             Spencer is guest-speaking at a lecture with Hotch today, and seriously considered not going when he asked Penelope if she would stay with Parker for the day and she declined with an I would, boy wonder, but my brother’s coming to town. I’m so sorry! He’d been about to jog up into Hotch’s office when Rossi had paused by his desk and offered to let Parker spend some time at his house, and Spencer had been so grateful he’d almost hugged Rossi.

             Which is how Parker finds herself standing in front of the bigass door of Rossi’s bigass mansion with Spencer at his side. 

             “When you said he was rich, I didn’t realize you meant like, rich-rich.” She breathes as Spencer rings the bell. He laughs softly, nodding once.

             “He’s a successful author, Sunshine. And he founded the BAU.” He tells her. She hums, fiddling with the hem of her (his) cardigan absently as Rossi swings the door open and greets them both with a warm smile. Parker offers a wave, glancing at Spencer and tipping her head just so when he leans down to kiss her cheek. “I’ll pick you up around seven.” 

             “Have fun.” She says, watching him go before turning to Rossi. He smiles again, and Parker is reminded again of her maternal grandfather. 

             “Are you hungry?” He asks suddenly, gesturing down the hall towards what Parker can only assume is the kitchen. “I’m making lasagna.” Parker nods, perking up a little, and when she asks shyly if she can help, Rossi smiles broadly and nods. They spend a few hours in the kitchen together, making and baking the lasagna as well as a few other dishes and desserts, and when Rossi finds out that Parker and her brothers are first-generation Americans from an Italian family, he looks like Christmas has come a month early.

             When Spencer returns (promptly at 7:15, thank you very much), Rossi answers the door with a glass of wine and a smile. He asks about the lecture and Spencer fills him in, grimacing when Rossi asks if he tried another one of his existential jokes. That’s all the answer Rossi needs.

             Parker is nowhere to be seen at first, and for a moment, Spencer panics. But then gentle piano music floats towards him, and he glances at Rossi with furrowed brows. Rossi jerks his head for Spencer to follow him, and they pause in the doorway to a sitting room. Parker is perched on a piano bench, plunking at keys slowly, playing a song Spencer almost recognizes.

             “She’s been in here for a couple hours.” Rossi tells him softly. Spencer watches Parker, his heart aching dully - it feels right to see her sitting at a piano. “Walked by and saw the thing. Asked if she could play it and I told her she could. Nobody’s ever played it before.”

             “She took lessons when she was a kid.” Spencer says softly. Rossi nods, humming. He squeezes Spencer’s shoulder lightly before slipping away, heading back towards the kitchen. Spencer is about to pad into the room when Parker starts singing softly, and for a moment he feels like he can’t breathe.

             She’s quiet at first, so quiet he thinks he’s imagining her voice over the piano notes. But when she gets to the chorus, her voice soft and scratchy as she sings Vienna waits for you, he knows he’s not. He stays where he is, watching as she progresses in the song, losing herself in the music more and more, and he’s reminded again of one of the countless reasons he fell so in love with her when they were children.

**** 

             February 3, 2011

             To say that Spencer is reluctant to let Parker help with this case is an understatement. It’s close to home, at least, so they don’t have to fly her out anywhere, and he can take her straight home afterwards, but that doesn’t exactly make it better. But she matches the unsub’s type almost perfectly and she’d volunteered, and though he’d argued it, Hotch had told him that this might be their best chance at catching their unsub. He’d also promised that the rest of the team would be posted around the bar and locals would be just outside, ready to catch the unsub should he try to escape.

             Still, as Spencer watches Parker disappear into the locker room with Emily and JJ, he can’t help but feel anxious and frustrated and terrified. 

             Parker, also anxious and terrified, finds that she’s a little excited, too. Excited to be doing something so out of her comfort zone, excited to be helping. Excited to possibly be saving lives? Definitely saving lives. 

             “So he’s been getting girls from that jazz club that Rossi goes to?” She asks, glancing over her shoulder as she shimmies out of her jeans. JJ nods, holding the dress out as Parker strips off her shirt as well. She takes the dress with a thank you and slides it on, brushing her hands down the front to smooth out any wrinkles. 

             Emily whistles as she turns around, and Parker strikes a pose, fluffing her hair lightly as she does so. Digging her makeup out of her bag, she perches on a bench and starts on her lipstick. 

             “We wanna make sure you catch his attention, so Rossi pulled some strings.” Emily says. Parker raises a brow at her in the mirror. “I hope you can sing, blondie, ‘cause you’re performing tonight.” Parker’s eyes widen and she turns around, staring at Emily, who grins at her. 

             She hasn’t sung in years. Granted, she sang at Rossi’s house the day Spencer had a lecture, and she’s been singing in the kitchen and the shower, but that doesn’t count. She doesn’t even know if she can sing anymore, really sing like she used to - there was a reason she was cast as Maria in The Sound of Music. But now, so many years later, with her vocal chords shot the way they are from so much time spent screaming, she’s not sure.

             JJ comes over and perches next to her, touching her arm gently. Parker turns to look at her, and she knows from the look on JJ’s face that she looks terrified.

             “You don’t have to do this, Parker.” JJ says gently. “If you’re not comfortable with it, we’ll figure something else out. We’ll catch this guy, no matter what.” Parker shakes her head quickly, exhaling.

             “No. No, I can do this. I can do this.” She says, and she’s not entirely sure if she’s reassuring herself or JJ and Emily more. As she follows the girls back out of the locker room, her hair tickles against her bare back and she shivers a little. The air in the office is absolutely freezing, and the thin straps and low back of this dress don’t help. As she slips back into the bullpen with the girls, she can feel eyes on her from the conference room and her cheeks flush a little. She follows JJ up the stairs and into the conference room, smoothing her skirt absently.

             Morgan wolf whistles playfully and she winks lightly, putting her hands on her hips. Hotch glances up as Garcia hurries over, sky-high platform heels in hand, but Parker’s eyes are searching for Spencer. She finds him sitting beside Hotch, eyes focused fiercely on the file in his hands, and she sighs quietly. Hotch goes over the plan again, and when everyone starts to file out, Parker hangs back to put her shoes on while Spencer packs his messenger bag. 

             “Spencer.” She says softly, watching him. She shifts her weight when he looks up, raising a brow at her. “Say something, please. You haven’t said a word to me since I said I’d help.”

             Spencer purses his lips, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

             “There’s nothing to say.” He says simply. “You’re helping. Great. Thanks.” He moves towards the door, sighing when Parker steps in front of him. He knows the look in her eyes - the look that says we’re not going anywhere until you talk to me. It’s the same look she’d worn the one and only time they’d gotten in a fight as kids, when she had turned up at his house an hour and a half later with two popsicles, determined to earn his forgiveness. “What, Parker?” 

             “Talk to me!” She demands, crossing her arms. Spencer sighs, moving back to the table and leaning against it, crossing his own arms.

             “We don’t have time for this.” He says shortly.

             “Make time.” She retorts, moving closer. “Your unsub’s not going anywhere except that bar looking for his next victim.”

             “And you’re willingly throwing yourself in there to be his next victim!” Spencer snaps, louder than he means to. He’s hyper aware of the rest of the team out in the bullpen, stealing glances back into the round table room, but he ignores them. “God, Parker - after everything you went through, this is the last thing I’d expect you to do-”

             “I’m trying to help!” She snaps back, cutting him off. “Spencer, after everything I went through, all I want to do is help. If I can help here, if I can help save lives and keep this guy from killing anyone else, why the hell shouldn’t I?” 

             “You’re not trained for any of this!” He tells her sharply. She scoffs and flops her hands.

             “I’m gonna be up on a stage singing, Spencer. It’s not like I’m gonna be shooting at the guy.” She says. “Look, I get it, okay? You’re pissed. Fine, be pissed. But don’t do it by ignoring me. Especially now.” 

             “Pissed?! I’m way beyond pissed, Parker, I’m fucking angry.” He says, his voice picking up pace rapidly. Parker startles a little - Spencer doesn’t swear often, and when he does, it means that whatever he’s feeling, he’s feeling it hard. “I’m angry and I’m scared and-” He snaps his mouth shut, pressing his lips together hard and looking away. Parker’s burning gaze softens and she steps forward, reaching for Spencer’s hand gently. He lets her wrap her little fingers around his, not looking at her and clenching his jaw.

             “Spencer.” She says softly, dipping her head to catch his eye. “Hey, look at me. C’mon.” His eyes dart over, meeting hers, but he doesn’t turn his head. Parker reaches up and touches her fingers to his jaw, turning him to her gently and brushing his cheek. 

             “I’m gonna be okay.” She promises quietly, stepping closer to him. Releasing his hand, she reaches up and cups both of his cheeks gently. “You’re gonna be there, and so is the rest of the team. I know you’re not gonna let anything happen to me.” Sighing quietly, Spencer feels himself deflate and he brings his hands up to rest on Parker’s waist gently. 

             “I can’t lose you, Parker.” He says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not again.” Parker shakes her head gently and presses into Spencer’s space, winding her arms around his neck gently. He wraps his own arms around her waist slowly, closing his eyes and pressing his face to her shoulder. Parker’s fingers running slowly through his hair are calming, and her nails scratching just so against his scalp send a shiver down his spine. 

             “You’re not gonna lose me.” She whispers in his ear. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” She pulls away and cups his cheeks again, pulling him back down to her level and pressing a kiss to the center of his forehead. When she leans back and brushes his cheeks again, she gives him a small smile. He tries to give one in return, but he knows he fails. “It’ll be okay.” She whispers.

             Sighing softly, he nods and closes his eyes for a moment. He opens them again when he feels Parker lean away and start to rub a tissue against his forehead. He raises a brow in question, his heart lifting just a little when she giggles softly.

             “I left a lipstick print.” She murmurs. He holds still while she wipes it off, squeezing her hips lightly when she steps back. 

             “You do look gorgeous.” He says softly, brushing a hand down her arm. He catches her hand in his and she squeezes his fingers tightly for a moment. Hotch calls for the two of them then, and Parker exhales softly and flashes Spencer a nervous smile before she slips out of the room and down the stairs.

             He watches her go before trailing after her, sighing softly. He hates this, but he knows she’s right. And with any luck, she’ll rediscover her love of being onstage - he’s seen the way she’s been eyeing the piano every time they’ve been to Rossi’s house.

 ****

              Parker’s never been on a stage like the one out front before. Sure, she’d sung at local coffee shops once or twice as a teenager, and she’d been in musicals in school, but she’d never sung in a club before - much less a jazz club of all places. She sits in the back, going over the sheet music carefully and humming to herself. She’s surprised to see that she’ll be singing songs she actually knows - Creep, Lovefool, even Don’t Stop Me Now, as well as a handful of others that she doesn’t know but seem easy enough. Someone’s taken them and turned them into jazz numbers, and she’s intrigued to say the least. 

             She hears her name called and shakes herself a little, smoothing her skirt and standing. She’d introduced herself to the band when she had arrived, the team not far behind but coming in separately, and they’d welcomed her with open arms and warm smiles. The band consists of a saxophone player (Johnny), a trumpet player and drummer (Eric), a bassist and cellist (Willy), and a pianist (Scott) and they were so kind Parker thought she could cry. When she slips onto the stage, the lights are dim and Eric is sitting behind the drum set. He winks at Parker and she smiles nervously, taking her spot beside the other singer for the night.

             He had introduced himself earlier this evening as Ronnie, and he’s tall and charming and funny, but there’s something about him that sets Parker on edge just a little. Parker smiles at him and he returns the smile easily, nodding at Scott. Parker takes a slow breath as Ronnie starts singing, the spotlight finding him easily. He makes it through the first verse, and when the chorus starts, Parker finds herself falling into the song like she’s been singing it her whole life. Ronnie takes a moment as the song finishes to introduce himself and Parker, grinning when she gives a little curtsy and wave. They go through a few songs like this before Ronnie slips off the stage to get himself a drink and tells Parker to break a leg.

             Suddenly terrified, Parker stands alone in front of the microphone now and clears her throat quietly. When she glances at Scott over her shoulder, he gives her an encouraging smile and nod, and she starts in on Creep. She loses herself in the music, much like she used to as a teenager, and the rest of the world seems to melt away. This isn’t the way she knows the song, but it feels so natural to be up on a stage singing anything at all - she missed this so much more than she realized. She knows her voice isn’t the same - her throat hurts as she hits the runs in the song, and she can hear the hoarseness coming through as she tries to belt a few of the notes, but she’s hitting them and she thinks she could cry. 

             At the bar, Morgan and Prentiss sit close together, both of their eyes widening as they watch Parker on the stage. 

             “Did you know she could sing like that?” Prentiss whispers, touching Morgan’s arm when Parker belts near the end of the song. Morgan shakes his head, staring at the little blonde in front of them.

             “I didn’t know she could sing at all.” He says honestly. It warms his heart to see Parker up there. She’s come so far in such a short amount of time - to see her blossom from the terrified girl he’d met in the hospital almost a year ago, to this gorgeous young woman in front of him, singing her heart out like she’s been doing it her whole life makes him proud.

             Spencer, sitting across the room at a booth with Rossi, thinks he could cry. He sits with his chin in his palm, watching Parker in the spotlight, his heart squeezing painfully in his chest. Though he’d argued ferociously about her participating in this, he’d be lying if he said she didn’t look right standing up on that stage. He claps with the rest of the captivated audience as the song finishes, and Parker throws a broad, warm smile around the room, her cheeks flushed bright pink as she steps off the stage.

             The band starts in on an instrumental for a while as Parker hurries to the bar and requests a glass of water. She downs half of it, thanking the bartender, and looks around the room, doing a mental count of the team; Morgan and Prentiss nearby at the bar, Hotch across the room with JJ, Spencer and Rossi on the other side of the room. She catches Spencer’s eye and smiles around her straw, her heart stuttering in her chest when he winks at her. She giggles quietly and exhales, shaking herself a little and moving to the door leading to the alleyway behind the bar. Spencer watches her go, on high alert for anyone following her.

             Parker slips out the door, making sure to prop it with the brick left beside it as a doorstop, and leans against the opposite wall, catching her breath. The cold evening air stings her skin and makes her feel a little clammy after the warmth and excitement of the bar, but it’s welcome. Closing her eyes, she breathes slowly for a few minutes, gasping when she opens them again to find Ronnie standing in front of her.

             “Jesus.” She breathes, putting a hand to her chest and laughing softly, “You scared me.” Ronnie smiles, shrugging.

             “Sorry.” He says, though he doesn’t sound apologetic at all. Parker waves a hand and Ronnie continues. “You were great in there.” She smiles and nods, willing her heart to return to its normal pace.

             “Thanks.” She says, shifting her weight absently. “I used to sing all the time, I did musicals in high school and stuff. I haven’t in a while, though - and I’ve never done anything like that, it was.. Amazing.”

             Ronnie nods slowly, watching her. Parker shifts under his gaze, clearing her throat and pushing away from the wall.

             “I should head back in.” She says, waving a hand. As she starts to move around him, he catches her wrist and stops her in her tracks. 

             “Y’know, we could have something special.” He says, turning Parker towards him. Her breath hitches and she tries to pull her wrist from his grasp, wincing a little when his grip tightens. “You and me. We could really go somewhere. Be something great.”

             “I’m uh - I’m good being something great right here in DC.” Parker says, still trying to pull her arm from Ronnie’s hand. “But thanks.” 

             The look in Ronnie’s eyes changes almost instantly - he goes from warm and flirty to dangerous and cold almost faster than Parker can blink, and her heart rate skyrockets, blood pumping loudly in her ears. 

             “You’re all the same, aren’t you?” He asks, his voice low. Parker swallows nervously, pushing at his hand around her wrist with her free one. 

             “Ronnie, let me go.” She says anxiously. 

             “You all think you’re too damn good for me, is that it?” Ronnie continues, stepping closer. Parker tries to step away, yelping quietly when he yanks her closer. “I thought you’d be different. Special. You got up there on stage with me, you sang with me. I thought we’d have something special, but you’re just like all the rest.”

             “You’re hurting me, let go-” Parker says again, pushing at Ronnie’s hand harder. “Ronnie, don’t-” He tugs her closer again, so she’s flush against his chest, and she wants to scream but her breath is stuck in her throat and she can’t make a sound. But she recognizes the look in his eyes, remembers the same look in Jacob Malloy’s eyes for so many years, and she makes the split second decision that although she’s terrified, she will not be a victim again.

             Glad that he’d left the door open still, Parker takes her opportunity when she hears a lull in the music from inside and screams. She screams as loud as she can, at the top of her lungs, glad that her singing this evening hasn’t rendered her totally hoarse.

             Inside, Spencer’s been watching the door intently since Parker slipped out, ready to go after her if she doesn’t come back in a moment. He’d watched Ronnie slip out as well, and he taps the table absently, humming to himself. There’s a lull in the music as the band rearranges, and in that moment, an ear-splitting scream sounds from the door to the alleyway. Spencer is out of his seat in a heartbeat, bolting straight for the door, his heart hammering dangerously. The rest of the team isn’t far behind him, all of them coming to a stumbling halt when they shove through the door and find Parker pressed against Ronnie’s chest, a gun to her temple.

             Spencer’s heart is pounding a hundred miles a minute, and he can barely hear anything over the blood rushing in his ears. Parker, to her credit, hardly looks scared. Her hands are curled around Ronnie’s arm wrapped around her shoulders tightly and she almost looks resigned. But Spencer knows her tells, and he can see her chin wobbling as she bites the inside of her bottom lip in an attempt to stop it. Her hands tremble against Ronnie’s thick arm, and her eyes search frantically until they land on Spencer. 

             “Ronnie, you don’t have to do this.” Morgan says coolly, taking half a step forward. Parker tenses just so when Ronnie presses the gun against her temple harder, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. Spencer is vaguely aware of what’s going on, only really half paying attention until Ronnie starts to move and a gunshot rings through the alley. Morgan’s gun is smoking as Ronnie collapses behind Parker, and Parker hasn’t moved.

             As the rest of the team starts to deal with Ronnie and the locals, Spencer hurries forward to Parker. Her breaths are coming in unsteady gasps as she stares straight ahead, and blood is spattered across her cheek and jaw. When Spencer reaches out to touch her arm gently, she jerks a little, her eyes focusing on him after a moment. 

             “Let’s go clean you up.” He says gently, brushing her hair back. She nods unsteadily, clinging to his hand as she follows him inside. He finds the bathroom and lets them in, helping Parker perch on the counter as he grabs a handful of paper towels and wets them in the sink. He cleans the blood from her cheek delicately, focusing intently as Parker tips her head, her eyes roaming over a poster of Etta James on the opposite wall. 

             “I wasn’t scared.” She says after a while. Spencer glances up at her as he dabs at her jaw, his brows furrowing. She’s quiet for a moment longer while he finishes cleaning her up, then her eyes settle on him again. “I was at first. When I first realized that it - that he was the one doing it. And then I started thinking about.. About Malloy, and the people he hurt, and about the girls that Ronnie hurt, and I knew that - that even if something happened to me, I could do something about him.”

             “Parker-” Spencer starts, but she continues, twisting a bit of her skirt absently.

             “But I knew nothing was gonna happen to me, ‘cause I knew you wouldn’t let anything happen to me.” She murmurs, watching him. Spencer shakes his head, brushing Parker’s wrist when her fingers settle against his cheek.

             “Never.” He whispers. Parker offers a small half-smile, but before Spencer can say or do anything else, someone knocks at the door.

             “Hey, kid!” Comes Morgan’s voice. Spencer clears his throat, stepping away from Parker and opening the door. Morgan quirks a brow at the rosy tint to Spencer’s cheeks, but says nothing about it. “Locals have to take Parker’s statement.” Spencer nods, glancing over his shoulder as Parker’s heels click against the floor lightly. She brushes his arm as she passes him, taking Morgan’s arm lightly when he offers it. As they walk away, Spencer can hear Morgan asking how she’s doing and Parker’s sweet voice returning that she’s okay.

             He hovers nearby as Parker gives her statement, first to the locals, then to Hotch. When they’re finally told they can leave, Morgan drives them home in one of the SUVs. Spencer hops out first, moving to open Parker’s door and hovering by the curb when she stops at the driver’s side door. She thanks Morgan before leaning forward to press a tiny kiss to his cheek, and he grins.

             “Any time, pretty girl.” He says, squeezing her shoulder lightly before looking over her head to meet Spencer’s eye. “Hotch said to take tomorrow off. You two relax, you hear me?” Spencer nods, offering Parker a hand as she steps up onto the curb. They wave as Morgan drives away before heading inside, Parker stopping just inside the lobby to yank her shoes off.

             “My feet are killing me.” She grumbles, rubbing one foot against her shin lightly as she hooks two fingers in the back of the shoes. “How does Penelope walk in these all day?” It’s a rhetorical question, Spencer knows, so he doesn’t answer, just lets Parker lead the way to the stairs as he watches her, his brain running faster and faster by the second.

             He needs to touch her. Needs to run his hands through her hair, hold her in the tightest embrace either of them can bear, just to reassure himself that she’s really still there. He follows her up the stairs quietly, watching the way the dim lights catch on the almost imperceptible sparkles of her shoes. At the door to the apartment, she pauses to take her key out of her tiny clutch. She sticks the key into the lock, but before she can turn it, Spencer reaches out and grabs Parker’s wrist, turning her towards him quickly.

             She looks up, blinking at him and furrowing her brows. Her eyes roam his face curiously, and before she can ask what the deal is, he backs her into the wall gently and leans down, taking her face between his hands and pressing a kiss to her mouth. There’s an echoing clatter as she drops her shoes to the hardwood floor of the hall and throws her arms around his neck. 

             He’d almost forgotten just how delicious it is to kiss her.

             He’s always compared her hair to honey, but she tastes like honey, too. Honey and green tea and the minty gum she’d been chewing earlier. He remembers their first kiss, soft and sweet and unsure. He’d panicked for a moment, thinking briefly that he’d ruined everything between them, but then she’d dragged him down to her level and kissed him again, and the world had felt right. She’d tasted like honey that night, too - honey and lavender tea and the cinnamon ice cream she’d had for dessert. 

             This kiss is different.

             Where their first kiss had been soft and tender, this kiss is hard, desperate, wanting. With Parker pressed between his body and the wall just outside the apartment, her hands tangling into his hair as his roam down her ribs to wrap securely around her waist, the world feels right again. When they break apart, both breathless and wide-eyed, Spencer lifts a hand to cup Parker’s cheek gently. She stares up at him, trying to catch her breath as he brushes a thumb over her lips lightly.

             It’s the way she whispers his name that makes him close his eyes again. She removes one hand from his hair gently and brushes her fingers against the back of his hand on her cheek, before curling them around his wrist lightly. 

             “I was so scared he was gonna take you from me.” He whispers. Parker’s eyes soften and she removes her other hand from Spencer’s hair, letting it slide to the side of his neck and brushing her thumb against his jaw gently. 

             “Nobody’s gonna take me from you.” She whispers back, pulling him closer and resting her forehead against his. “I promise.” Spencer swallows thickly, but before he can say anything else, Parker is pushing onto her toes and kissing him again. His heart thunders in his ribs and he wonders if she can hear it as well. He wraps his arms around her waist again and presses her flush against himself, his hands splaying open on her back. 

             She gropes behind herself for the doorknob, and as soon as the door is open they stumble into the apartment together. He kicks the door shut behind them and attaches his lips to Parker’s again. He’s barely aware that they’re still moving until he backs her into the couch and the sudden appearance of Newton’s First Law sends them tumbling over the furniture. A tiny shriek and a yelp leave both of them as Parker manages to fall onto the couch and Spencer onto the floor, and then the apartment is filled with silence.

             Until Parker lets out the tiniest giggle. She rolls over, poking her head over the side of the couch to find Spencer sprawled between it and the coffee table as he tries to catch his breath, and she giggles again as she takes in his rumpled appearance. The sound of her laughter makes a giggle erupt up from Spencer as well, and soon enough they’re both laughing louder and brighter and harder than either of them has in a long time. 

             Eventually, Parker reaches down and curls a hand in the front of Spencer’s shirt, dragging him up as he pushes himself off the floor. She hauls him onto the couch and kisses him again, the occasional giggles still bubbling from her lips making Spencer grin. 

**** 

             Later that night when they’re tangled together in bed, Spencer's breathing slow and even while Parker brushes her fingers along his collarbone absently, she presses a kiss to his shoulder. 

             “I love you.” She whispers. And when his arm tightens around her minutely, she remembers the evening in the hammock, and she knows he loves her too. 

 To love another person is to see the face of God. - Musician Herbert Kretzmer