#emily's the first choice to go undercover but she got hurt on another case so instead she has to watch from the sidelines

[jareauwalker]

jemily miss congeniality au where jj has to go undercover at a beauty pageant, and emily is her workplace annoyance who’s also her handler for this case

see also: pageant coach aaron hotchner, lesbian miss new york elle greenaway, three time miss california tara lewis, woman in stem miss rhode island penelope garcia, pageant director erin strauss and her weird little assistant spencer

[thefandomlesbian]

We’re All Born Naked (The Rest Is Drag)

Summary: A series of crimes at a gay club leaves the BAU scrambling for a way to locate the unsub before they have another victim. After a surprising revelation about Spencer, he's assigned duty on stage--performing as a drag queen so he has the opportunity to spot the killer from above. While undercover with Hotch, feelings develop.

Read it here on AO3!

...

“We're all born naked, and anything anybody wears at any time is drag.” -Tede Matthews

…

The heady air of the club before it opened collected in thick clouds around the team. Hotch spoke with the owner a few yards away from the others. Spencer watched their conversation, unable to hear what they said, but understanding from the exchange of nods that they were making some kind of deal regarding the club and its patrons.

For the past three weeks, every Friday night, a man from this club had gone missing and turned up disemboweled two days later.

Tonight, they intended to catch him in the act.

Hotch left the owner and approached the rest of the team. Spencer fidgeted with the sleeves of his shirt. In a few minutes, the club would be opening, and he wanted to be far out of here before people began to arrive. It wasn’t a risk he wanted to take. JJ shot him a sideways glance. “You alright, Spence?” He nodded.

Hotch inclined his eyebrows as he stopped in front of them. “The owner has agreed to let us bug the place. Reid, you’re undercover with me.”

Spencer gulped. “Er—I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Hotch frowned. He kept fidgeting with his sleeves. “I’m… not sure that’s something I can do.” Defying a direct order? He never did that. Hotch had told him, not asked; refusing wasn’t an option.

Morgan pursed his lips. “C’mon, man, what gives? You fit the type. You’re gonna be a lot more helpful on the ground than the rest of us.”

“I know, I just—I have certain concerns that my ability to do this may, uh, may be compromised.”

Emily cocked her head. “Reid, are you… homophobic? ”

“No!” Spencer bristled. “No, I’m not homophobic, I just am worried about certain things—”

“What kind of things?”

Spencer opened his mouth to respond, but across the dance floor called a familiar voice, “Spencer!” that sent cold chills running down his spine. He closed his jaw with a quiet click and closed his eyes, willing the voice to go away, but it didn’t, and he could hear footsteps trotting up behind them. This kind of thing. Peter propped up an arm on Spencer’s shoulder. “Hey, buddy! I thought you said you had to work tonight! Listen, you are gonna be so excited— Damien B is back in town. Remember the last time he was here, I was too drunk to walk, so you went up to him and tucked that wad of cash into his G-string for me? Best night ever! Plus, the drag race is on. Are you gonna roll again? Runner up last time—you’ve got a real shot.” I wish I were the unsub’s last victim. Peter’s excitable grin did not fade as he looked up at the rest of the team. “And you got us some newcomers! C’mon.” He nudged Spencer pointedly. “Introduce me to your friends!”

Some part of Spencer prayed that if he willed it hard enough, the floor would open up and swallow him whole. He reluctantly opened his eyes, gauging the expressions on each of his teammates’ faces, ranging from shock and horror to Hotch’s completely impassive poker face (Spencer was quite grateful at least one of them had the grace to look like himself). He opened his mouth again, and again, Peter interrupted him. “Oh, who’s this tall drink of water?” He pushed into the circle of the BAU and brushed both of his hands down Hotch’s arms. Peter smirked and winked. “Who’s your daddy, big guy?”

Oh, please don’t hurt him, and please don’t hurt me. If he hadn’t been paralyzed to the spot, Spencer might’ve had the willpower to turn away and run, run out of the club, down the street, to the bus stop, and take the city bus all the way to Canada where he would change his name and never return. He cleared his throat. He could not move. That meant he had to speak. “Peter, these are… my… colleagues. We are working a case here.”

“Oh.” Peter blinked somewhat surprised. Then, he withdrew from Hotch. “Well, this one can arrest me any time. ” Spencer’s entire face and neck flushed maroon. “I’m Peter! Nice to meet you guys.”

Emily was the first to find her words. “So you two are…” She gestured between them with her index finger.

Peter’s eyes widened. “Us? Oh, no, ma’am. We’re just the twinks who have to try to find a ouija board to summon the top we both need. Right, Spencer? Up top!” Peter lifted up his hand. Spencer merely stared at his palm. “Oh, don’t leave me hanging!”

Hotch coughed, interrupting the shame circulating between all of them. “Thank you, Peter, but we really need to resume our investigation.”

“Oh, sure, sure. I’m gonna be hovering around the bar all night—and your drinks are on me.” Peter pointed at Hotch, and then he swung around and trotted back toward the bar.

Spencer released a long, pent-up sigh. “That. That’s my concern.”

Silence followed. Finally, JJ broke it. “You’re gay? ”

“Mhm.”

“Called it,” Rossi said, speaking for the first time in a few minutes. Spencer’s belly did a sick flip. “Morgan, you owe me.”

Emily tilted her head. “Were you ever going to tell us?”

“Honestly? No, I wasn’t.”

Morgan countered, “I don’t owe you anything. I called Emily, remember? We’re even now.”

JJ blinked incredulously. “You guys are taking bets on who’s not straight?”

“Yeah, princess, and my money says you and Emily bang it out before the end of the year,” Morgan countered. JJ’s cheeks flushed as red as Spencer’s.

Emily piped up, “So Rossi does owe you.” Morgan fist-pumped.

“Can we get back to work?” Hotch interrupted pointedly. Everyone fell silent and fell in line, looking back toward him. “Reid, you’re not on the floor anymore.”

Rossi snorted. “That’d be a bad idea. He might end up at the glory holes.”

Hotch shot Rossi a dark warning glance. Spencer flushed with warmth, but then Hotch continued, “I have a better idea.” His gaze swept the room, the flyers on the wall, taking heed of the layout, the speakers, the stage, the bar. “You’re on stage. You’ll have the best vantage point of the whole club from up there. You’ll see more than any of us can from the floor. Drag show starts at nine. Get dressed.”

I wish I were dead.  

…

In a skin-tight dress, five inch heels, and a poofy blonde wig, Spencer crossed his arms and stood beside the foot of the stage. The crowd had packed into the room. I deserve a raise for this. He looked up as Hotch parted the crowd, coming up to him. Hotch hadn’t changed, and frankly, he didn’t look like he belonged, with his suit and his tie and his too-nice shoes.

“I didn’t exactly ask if you were okay with this.”

Spencer shrugged. “Less okay things have happened. This is something I’ve done before.” He hadn’t expected his team to ever know about it, nor would he have wanted them to, but now that they did… well, at least he could catch a killer.

Hotch gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, so have I.” What? Spencer wanted to ask. How? Why? “You have a smudge in your lipstick. Hold still.” Hotch licked his thumb and wiped at it, framing Spencer's face between his two large hands, and Spencer's words died in his throat, unable to make a sound. The floodlights illuminated the room, casting Hotch's face in bright light and the rest of him in shadow, giving his hickory eyes an odd gleam, his brows drawn together as he worked at wiping away the smear of lipstick at the corner of Spencer's mouth.

When his hands pulled away, Spencer's belly flipped over. He somehow felt hot and cold at the same time. He parted his lips, wanting to ask something, wanting to say something, but he couldn't conceive of the correct words. “Um, thanks—” He tried to push the stammer out of his voice. He didn't think he succeeded.

The announcer called out, “Now introducing Miss Sparrow Wings!” and Hotch offered him a leg up, thrusting him onto the stage before he could ask another question.

Spencer’s heels clicked beneath him as he strolled down the runway. He had done this before, the costume makeup, the dress, the wig, everything—the performance and the anonymity that came with it was all part of the fun. But knowing that somewhere down there, Hotch watched him, gave him some strange and embarrassing thrill. The MC held out the microphone to him. I didn’t have time to prepare an act. The last time, he’d sung a song—badly, but still, it was better than it would’ve been if he had tried to do stand-up, which was his first choice when Peter talked him out of it.

Of course, he had public speaking skills. He could use them.

“Today, I’m going to talk to all of you about string theory.” The crowd cheered. Either they were too drunk to know what he had just said or they thought he was joking. “In summary, string theory is the framework in which the point-like particles of physics are replaced by one-dimensional objects known as strings. String theory describes how these strings propagate through space and interact with one another.” This time, they did not cheer. They mumbled in confusion. “On distance scales larger than the string scale, a string looks just like an ordinary particle, with its mass, charge, and other properties determined by the vibrational state of the string. In string theory, one of the many vibrational states of the string corresponds to the graviton, a quantum mechanical particle that carries gravitational force. Thus string theory is a theory of quantum gravity.”

He scanned the crowd, ignoring the ones sloshing beer at his feet. They had a profile to work with. The man they were looking for would hang back from the main crowd and charm the lone wolves he spotted, the ones whose friend groups had abandoned them, and eventually lead them away. He would not be among the men popping molly crowded around the front of the stage.

Hotch worked along the back walls, patrolling, failing to look inconspicuous. He chose a corner and hovered there with his arms crossed. A younger man approached him, grabbed him by the arm, and gestured in the direction of the glory holes. Spencer’s abdomen clenched with something—jealousy, perhaps?—at the sight, but he forced himself to tear his gaze away. He could not focus on Hotch right now. He was looking for a serial killer.

“Now, you may be asking yourself, how could something be one-dimensional? After all, everything we analyze in basic life is either three-dimensional—like me and you, like this feather boa—” Spencer took the feather boa off from around his neck and tossed it into the crowd. The guy who caught it stumbled and landed on his ass. “—and then there are things that are two dimensional, like the little heart patterns on my panties. You boys will see that if you’re lucky.” Like hell. It kept their attention, though, which was what he needed. “One dimensional objects exist in physics and mathematics. Like on a number line, every single spot on the number line can be indicated by a single digit.”

At the bar, he spotted Peter far below, chatting up the bartender. He sifted over the crowd with his eyes, eager to find anyone looking or acting suspicious. Anyone without friends, keeping to himself, watching the others too closely, approaching loners… There’s a handful of them down there. He spotted a tall man with dark hair clinging to the corner, sipping his own drink. This man wouldn’t be drinking. He wouldn’t compromise his own judgment. But there was every possibility he had a virgin drink to give the appearance of inebriation. It’s all part of the act. Spencer knew about the act.

“Now, the thing about these theoretical dimensions is that they’re difficult to conceive of without some kind of proof. Not easy to believe. But then again, tons of things are unbelievable…” Spencer flipped his wrists over and produced another feather boa, one that had been concealed under the jangly bands on his wrists. “If you believe in magic, the thing about theoretical physics is that everything is magical in its own right—because just like physics, magic always has a logical explanation.”

Spencer spilled a deck of cards over the floor from where he had hidden them. He watched the figure cross the floor to the bar, and he vanished into the crowd where Spencer could not spot him. Shoot. He couldn’t continue to track him like that. He checked the clock. Two more minutes. He could lecture about string theory for two more hours—but he preferred not to have to do it while he was working and appearing on stage in drag.

Running his mouth? That was his expertise.

When his time was over, he swung off the stage and headed toward the bar. Hotch intercepted him only a few steps through the crowd, pushing the surging men away from one another and away from Spencer. “What did you see?”

“Dark-haired white guy, wearing a blazer. He headed toward the bar and I lost him in the crowd.”

“He wouldn’t head into the crowd unless he’s chosen a victim.”

“Yeah, I know. Should we start canvassing?”

Hotch’s dark eyes darted around the room in the flashing lights. “No. If he spots us, he’ll startle and leave, and we’ll have lost our shot. We need to be discreet until we’re sure, and then get him away from this crowd. If we cause a panic, we’ll lose him.” Spencer’s eyes scanned Hotch’s face. “Let’s sit at the bar and wait for him.”

“Together?” Spencer questioned.

“You’re wearing six inch heels. You’re not exactly in position to give chase if we split up,” Hotch pointed out. Spencer mused on this, and then he nodded in agreement; he wouldn’t have very much luck making chase in these shoes, and he didn’t have a gun under this dress, or cuffs, either. Trying to apprehend a suspect in this getup would be ridiculous at best, downright dangerous at worst. He needed to stay with Hotch.

They sat side-by-side at the bar. Spencer reached up and disentangled the poofy, blonde, Dolly Parton-esque wig from his hair and let it fall to the counter with a dull thump. At the sight of it, Hotch gave a muted smile—or something Spencer could only describe as a smile. The disco lights reflected in his eyes, giving them a certain illustrious gleam which drew Spencer into their depths. “The wig suits you. You clean up well.” Clean up well? Spencer felt a lot of things right now, but clean wasn’t one of them. He sat in a seedy club with smoke clogging up the vents, too loud pop music, flashing lights that hurt his eyes, the stench of vomit and liquor and everything in between, and he wore an ill-fitting drag dress with six inch heels, gaudy costume makeup, and a heavy hot wig that someone else had certainly sweated in before him.

The whole thing struck Spencer as fairly bizarre—that Hotch offered him these compliments, the nature of them as a whole. Spencer wondered what, if anything, motivated him to speak in this way. If anything? Something had to be behind it. Hotch would never ordinarily speak to him this way. “Er, thanks,” Spencer said. “It gets really hot,” he admitted, “especially under the floodlights, and… well, this stuff isn’t mine, so I’m trying not to sweat in it.” He didn’t cart drag materials around to work with him in case he needed to go undercover; he’d borrowed everything from Peter, and lord knew who else Peter had loaned it out to over the years.

“I’m sure you wear it better than any of the other twinks that came before you.” Spencer’s face flushed at that. He fisted his hand in the wig on the table, trying to distract himself, and studied the men mulling behind them in the reflections of the glasses and the bottles as they passed by, trying to spot their subject. He went into the crowd around this area.

Every moment they sat here without seeing him was another moment of the possibility he had already chosen his victim, had already led him away, had already packed him up into his vehicle and driven him away to his final destination.

“See anything?” Spencer shook his head. Further down the bar, the distinct sound of Peter’s laughter crowed through the crowd, but Spencer couldn’t see him through the blur of people—nor did he particularly want to. Peter had already managed to humiliate him in front of Hotch once today (more than once, if he was being generous, since almost every word Peter had uttered had sunk Spencer to new depths of embarrassment), and Spencer didn’t care to repeat the event. “Tell me about your friend.”

Weird. Spencer knew they had to talk—they had to give the appearance that they were participating socially here. It wouldn’t look right if they sat here without speaking, and it could head someone off. “Peter? He’s… a lot.” Hotch could’ve asked him about anyone, and he asked him about Peter. Maybe… he’s interested in him? Spencer found that hard to believe, though; he found it difficult to think Hotch could ever be interested in someone like Peter. And besides, Peter had made it pretty clear that he was available for anything Hotch wanted. There was no need for Spencer to act as a liaison between the two of them. The mere thought made Spencer all hot and itchy and uncomfortable on the inside. “He’s not looking to settle down. He just wants to have as much fun as he can.” That was an accurate assessment of Peter.

“And you are? Looking to settle down.”

Spencer fidgeted with the jangly bracelets on his wrists. “Er… I don’t know. I don’t exactly have a settling down type of job, do I?” Hotch looked steadily back at him. This is a weird conversation. “I guess, if I found the right person… I just don’t see it happening, though.” What did Hotch have to gain from asking him these questions? They could’ve talked about anything and it would’ve kept up appearances. Even particle physics would’ve made Spencer more comfortable than he was right now, sharing intimate aspects of his personal life with Hotch at his request. I didn’t even want them to know I was gay.  

In a few short hours, he had gone from completely closeted to his entire team seeing him in drag from head to toe. He didn’t know how he felt about that yet. The ambivalence of the moment plagued him, the satisfaction from knowing he was doing something good to stop a killer, the shame… Oh, the shame. Logic told him he had nothing to be ashamed off, that being gay wasn’t a bad or embarrassing thing, that no one on the team would judge him, that their disparaging remarks were just jokes. But he didn’t want to face those disparaging marks anyway, no matter how teasing. And Morgan would undoubtedly dangle this over his head for the rest of his life, the moment when Sparrow Wings went on stage to spot a killer from above.

Hotch crossed his arms, resting his elbows on the counter in front of them. “You could’ve said something sooner,” he said.

“I know.” Spencer jangled his bracelets. “I didn’t want to.”

“Why not?”

He drummed his fingers on the counter and shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess… I guess JJ said it best, when she and Emily got together, that sometimes it’s easier not to have everyone up in their business. That we don’t really get to have secrets, so when there is something the rest of us don’t know about, it’s pretty sacred.” The rhythm of swinging the bands around his wrists grounded him in the moment. “And, I mean, Morgan is never going to let this go. He’s going to be making digs at me about this for the rest of our lives.”

Hotch inclined his eyebrows. “You’re right about that,” he confirmed grimly. “So you knew about JJ and Prentiss?”

Spencer nodded. “I was the only one who knew,” he said. “But… I didn’t know Rossi and Morgan were taking bets on, y’know, all of this.”

Hotch wore a somewhat grim look upon his face. “They still have one bet out on the rest of us.”

What? Spencer wanted to ask, and he jiggled his bracelets again, and finally, Hotch put his hand over Spencer’s wrist to still it and quiet the jingling. Spencer glanced down at where Hotch’s large hand covered his wrist. His stomach jumped and quivered at the sensation, the warmth of another skin pressing against his. The texture struck him, the roughness, the callouses on Hotch’s hands, the breadth of his grasp and his fingertips. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. He gulped, trying to remember how to breathe and how to speak, because suddenly both of those things seemed incredibly difficult. “Sorry—” His voice sounded strangled, and he wasn’t sure why he apologized—for making the noise that had irritated Hotch, for this weird reaction, for something else, and why was Hotch still touching him?

“Don’t apologize.” Spencer’s lighter eyes darted up to Hotch’s in the shadows of the club. His tongue flitted out across his lips, wetting them. What can I say? Words failed Spencer, and he could only think of something he wanted to do, something which Hotch would almost certainly reject—

There. In the reflection of the wine bottle to Hotch’s right, Spencer saw him. He spun on the barstool, and Hotch whirled around after him. Spencer didn’t point. The man walked right past them. His gaze flicked to Spencer, and he smiled and winked a coy thing, and then he continued through the crowd. “You think that’s our guy?” Spencer asked.

“Yes.” Hotch hopped up from the barstool. “Stay close to him. He’s still rounding the floor, so he hasn’t picked a target yet. We can’t take him until we have evidence of wrongdoing.”

Spencer nodded. The crowd made room for him to pass through; after all, he was five inches taller than normal and wearing a sequin-strewn dress which made it difficult for him to miss. He stuck the blonde wig back on his head so he didn’t have to drag it around in his hand, stuffing it over his hair. The unsub stalked up behind a handful of guys chatting at the bar. Spencer grabbed the empty table directly across from them so they could keep a close eye on him—they wouldn’t risk losing him among the ocean of people again. Spencer’s jaw shifted in discomfort. “If he sees me again, he’s going to know something’s up. I’m too recognizable like this. He’s going to realize we’re following him.”

“We have to risk it.”

From the distance, they could not hear the unsub’s words or see the men he approached, nothing more than their silhouettes, but within a few minutes, it became clear he had targeted one man. He eased this man away from the others, placing himself between him and the rest of the group, secluding him. He waved his hand to the bartender and placed an order, and then his arm reached around the man’s waist, trailing over the small of his back. The unsuspecting victim sidled up close beside the unsub. He turned his head into his embrace. The flashing strobe lights of the club illuminated the victim’s silhouette. Spencer’s eyes widened. The man tossed his head back and laughed a familiar, braying laugh. Spencer upstarted from his seat—

Hotch’s arm coiled around his waist and anchored him to the spot. “Don’t.”

“That’s Peter! ” Spencer’s heart clenched in his chest.

“He’s safe. We’re watching him. They won’t get out of our line of sight.” Spencer tried to wriggle out from under Hotch’s arm, which fit all too well around his waist, like something familiar, like something meant to be there, like hundreds of millions of years of evolution had transpired just to lead to this moment where Hotch’s arm was meant to fit around his middle and hold him there, almost pressing their bodies against one another. “If you go now, you’ll blow our cover, he’ll pick a different club, and we’ll have more victims before we have a chance to catch him again. Do you want that to happen?”

Reluctantly, Spencer settled down in his chair, his face and stomach both churning. Everything inside of him constricted like a snake, tense and hot. Hotch did not withdraw his arm. “We can’t let them get out of this building.”

“And we won’t.” Hotch was making a promise—Spencer understood that. He prayed it wasn’t a promise he was going to break. “Can I trust you not to fling yourself at them like Norman Bates wearing his mother’s clothes, or do I need to keep holding you in place?”

Spencer’s face flamed. He sucked his front teeth. “Maybe,” he said softly, “you can trust me…” Or maybe I like this, the way it is right now.  

“Maybe?” Hotch arched an eyebrow, daring Spencer to say something else.

Spencer held his gaze. He did not fold. Sparrow Wings, after all, did not fold. She was a powerful woman, and she wouldn’t buckle, no matter how Hotch stared at her, and she would have no problem telling him exactly what she wanted—but she also didn’t give a flying fuck if Spencer was still employed tomorrow, so Spencer had to make some executive decisions on how much he allowed her influence to take over right now. “Or maybe… I think this is good for our undercover act. Maybe I think we blend right in, like this.”

The scent of Hotch’s cologne wafted off of his body from the proximity between them. In spite of Spencer’s layers of clothes and the heavy makeup and that damn wig (he left it on now, in case he needed to make a run for it and didn’t want to leave it behind), he craved the warmth bleeding through Hotch’s suit, the heat metabolized by Hotch’s blood and tissues through every minute of every day. Spencer found it intoxicating.

He didn’t imbibe any longer, but if he wanted to get drunk on anything, he thought he would start with the scent of Hotch’s cologne.

“Is that so?” Hotch asked, and his words sounded almost like a dare. “This is good for being undercover?” Spencer nodded. “Is that all?”

Spencer opened his mouth to respond, but the unsub began to turn, as if to glance behind him, and Spencer didn’t have a moment to think; at the first glimpse of movement, Hotch grabbed him, spun him around with his back to the unsub, and dragged him into a bruising, open-mouthed kiss. Spencer blinked hard, once, twice, This is a dream, this whole thing has been a weird dream, I’m going to wake up now and it’s going to make so much sense— Hotch’s hands intertwined in his wig, obscuring as much as his body from view as possible, and Spencer watched in the reflection of the wine glasses on the table as the unsub surveyed the room behind him and did not take note of Spencer, in spite of his colorful garb.

After all, two guys shoving their tongues down each other’s throats were pretty inconspicuous in the middle of a gay club.

The rough stubble from Hotch’s face scratched into Spencer’s, chin to chin, cheek to cheek. The unsub had turned around, but Hotch didn’t stop, molding Spencer’s mouth to his own like a potter over a lump of clay. Their tongues twisted and danced to the beat of the flashing lights and dropping bass, until Hotch pulled away and Spencer gasped for breath. His head spun. His limbs felt heavy. His stomach felt light. His head felt like butterflies had tossed out every piece of information he had ever known and now battered their wings against the inside of his skull, seeking a way out.

Arm around Peter’s back, the unsub pulled back from the bar, and they walked away from the bar, all wound up in one another. Hotch jumped up, hand wrapped around the inside of Spencer’s elbow, and jogged after them. “Do you know where they’re going?”

Spencer shook the delirium from the forefront of his mind. “Exit A, it’s the easiest way out without being spotted—”

“You stay on them, I’ll go around back, and we should be able to trap him.”

Before Spencer could say another word, Hotch vanished from sight, and Spencer trotted after the unsub and Peter, keeping them in his sights. He folded himself back between a pillar and the wall when the unsub glanced behind them, and when they rounded the corner, Spencer caught up to them, watching as they approached the exit.

The red lights from the sign marking the outlet illuminated their faces. “Before we go,” purred the unsub, “I’ve got a surprise for you.” He held his hands behind his back. Spencer spotted the refraction of light off of the blade of the knife he concealed. “Are you ready?” Peter nodded. “Close your eyes…”

“FBI!” Spencer ducked out from his hiding place in the shadows. “Put your hands up! You’re under arrest!” Hotch is right outside, he’s waiting right outside this door—

“Spencer, what the hell? We were just about to—” The knife clattered to the floor, and the door swung open. The unsub sprinted through the door out into the darkness of the night.

Spencer chased after him. “Stay right here!” he called over his shoulder to Peter.

The unsub vaulted himself over the railing of the short staircase and landed clumsily on the asphalt. Spencer hit the railing. He couldn’t climb over it—if he landed wrong in these shoes, he’d snap an ankle. Hotch rounded the corner. Spencer tore the shoes off his feet. “Where’s he going?”

Holding the heels in his left hand, Spencer jumped over the railing. “Around the block—you go that way, there’s an old plywood fence, he’ll come over that and meet you, I’ll stay behind him—”

His bare feet slapped the stony surface of the asphalt, kicking up old loose pebbles, splinters, and shattered glass, as again he and Hotch separated. In hot pursuit of the unsub, Spencer did not let the pain in his feet distract him. The shadow of the unsub up ahead circled the block, headed toward the fence, where Spencer had known he would try to climb to escape.

He flung himself up over the fence. Spencer stood there, watching him. From the other side, Hotch called, “FBI! Put your hands up!”

The unsub teetered there on top of the fence for a moment. He looked down at Hotch, then back at Spencer… and he dropped back onto Spencer’s side of the fence. Hotch discharged his weapon, but he missed. The bullet glanced off of the side of the brick wall beside them and ricocheted. Oh, shit. The unsub barreled toward Spencer.

Spencer didn’t have a weapon. He didn’t have handcuffs, or a taser, or a baton. He had himself, his wig, his bare feet, and the stilettos in his left hand—in his hand as he held up his hands to brace himself for impact as the unsub jumped on top of him.

The man intended to knock Spencer down and keep going. Spencer grabbed onto him, hands fisting into his clothes, dragging him to the asphalt. Spencer’s dress tore where it caught under his feet. “Don’t go anywhere!” Spencer couldn’t overpower him, but he could stall him long enough for Hotch to get over the fence and help.

An elbow shoved across Spencer’s face. Pain shot through his nose. White light blinded him. He tasted blood. A hand clawed its way into his mouth. He snapped his teeth together. He tasted more blood. “Get off me, you stupid fairy!” The man thrashed. Spencer took his left hand, the one with the shoes, and smacked him in the face.

The resulting shriek of agony shook the alleyway. The brick walls trembled with the power of it. Spencer, blinking through the pain, landed on top of the unsub with both knees between his shoulder blades, hands pinning the man’s arms to the ground, but he didn’t try to fight anymore. Now, he only tried to curl up into a ball, hands reaching for his own face, where the heel of one of Spencer’s stilettos had penetrated his eye, the shoe still fixed there and dangling.

Hotch vaulted himself over the fence. “What the hell, Reid?” Spencer wiped a smear of blood away from his nose, sliding off of the unsub when Hotch took him and cuffed him. “What’s the matter with you?”

Spencer stiffened. “I don’t have a gun. I had to improvise.” I didn’t exactly intend to impale his eye with my high heel, but it stopped him.

“So you weaponized stilettos ?” Hotch repeated, aghast. “Why aren’t you concealed carrying?”

“Do you see anywhere for me to conceal a weapon in this outfit?”

Hotch scanned Spencer, his heavy costume makeup sweating off, his blonde wig all askew, his skintight dress torn, many of his jangly bracelets lost in the chase, his bare feet cut and bloodied from racing along the glass-littered pavement, blood trickling down his nose. His gaze lingered on Spencer in an almost affectionate way. “Not the kind of weapon we use.”

Spencer’s whole body flushed.

The unsub turned his head from where Hotch pressed his face into the concrete. “It hurts! ” he wailed desperately. “My eye! You ugly fag, my eye —”

Hotch pressed one broad hand to the column of his throat. “If you call him that again, I’ll finish the job with the other shoe.”

A tingle rushed through Spencer as the unsub squeaked and fell into silence.

…

At Quantico, Spencer looked at himself in the mirror of the men’s bathroom, his face still dirty and stained from wrestling the unsub on the ground. His feet had pressure wrappings around them where they fit in his shoes; the paramedics had painstakingly dug the glass out of the soles of his feet and then treated the wounds. With gauze stuffed up the bleeding nostril of his nose, he looked worse for wear, though he had returned to his preferred clothes—his pants, his sweater vest, his long-sleeved shirt.

He stared at his reflection, hair all dirty and messy, face beginning to break out from the low quality makeup. Huh, he thought as he looked at himself. The whole thing felt so surreal. Had Hotch really kissed him? Had Hotch really put an arm around his body to hold him in place? Had Hotch really planted the heel of his hand against a man’s throat and threatened to blind him if he said another word against Spencer?

Was Hotch really entering the bathroom right now, silently nearing him, reaching for the paper towels, wetting one with warm water, pressing it to Spencer’s face, wiping away the itchy makeup and the dirt?

“You alright?” Hotch’s voice breached the calm. He smoothed the paper towel down Spencer’s face, not enough to hurt him, but firmly enough to take away most of the heavy makeup and dirt. When he’d soiled one paper towel, he wetted another one.

In the mirror, as Hotch stripped the layers of grime from his face, the rash underneath became more apparent. “Yeah,” Spencer replied. “I’m fine.” He looked away from his reflection in the mirror and glimpsed at Hotch’s face, afraid to let his gaze linger for too long—afraid of what he would or wouldn’t see. “Can I ask you something?” Hotch gave a noncommittal hum of agreement. “Why are you still here? Everyone else went home.”

Hotch ceased his ministrations, having gotten the most grime off of Spencer’s face, and he returned his gaze, a surprisingly tender expression on his face. “You made a pretty big sacrifice to catch this guy, and I owe it to you to make sure you’re okay.” Spencer grunted in response. He wondered if Hotch had something else to say. “Have you talked to Peter?”

Oh. Right. Again, Hotch expressed interest in Peter, and again, Spencer wondered if he meant to suggest something else. “Yeah. Yeah, he’s—he’s shaken up, but he’ll be alright. I think he’s thinking about taking a break from the club, though.” Hotch opened a tube of cream—anti-itch cream, Spencer noted. He squirted a small amount onto his fingertips and applied it to the rash covering Spencer’s face. “How did you…”

“You always get sun poisoning when we’re in the field,” Hotch said. The intimacy of this moment took Spencer aback, his face in Hotch’s hands as Hotch massaged a soothing lotion into his skin. “I thought the cosmetics might irritate your skin.” Spencer didn’t know what to say in response. “When will I get the opportunity to see Sparrow Wings again?” he asked as he capped the tube of lotion, having rubbed the cream into Spencer’s skin completely, leaving no residue.

Spencer puffed a short breath from his nose. “I think Sparrow Wings is retired permanently.” He spun his watch around his wrist. It didn’t jangle annoyingly like the bracelets had. “Everybody’s going to know she’s an undercover cop now. Gay people don’t like it when cops invade their spaces. The last time it happened, there was this big riot. You may have heard about it.” He crossed his arms, guarding himself—from what, he wasn’t quite sure. Was Hotch just mocking him in some elaborate joke? Asking about his drag persona, asking about Peter, cleaning his face, applying the medicated lotion, was it all some farce?

Spencer didn’t think so, but he also knew better than to trust anyone’s intentions.

A small, easy smile spread across Hotch’s face. “Then maybe I could arrange a private show.”

Spencer studied Hotch’s face in the strange, fluorescent light of the bathroom, seeking any hint of deception upon him, but he found nothing—nothing but the same steady and forthright look in those hickory eyes. Spencer’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Are you…” He didn’t know how to finish the sentence, the question, any of it.

Yet, Hotch still understood. “I am.” Hotch kissed him again. Now, Spencer understood, too. Hotch severed the kiss. “If you are—”

“I am.”

Hotch breathed a short sigh of relief. “Rossi and Morgan break even again.”

Spencer paused. “What?”

“The last bet. Rossi’s money is on this.”

Spencer blinked in surprise. Then, he shrugged. “Guess it’s better if they don’t owe each other.” He followed Hotch out of the bathroom, feeling lighter than he had felt in years.

[psychadelickate]

Criminal Minds - Prentiss: Justification

Imagine: Justification Word Count: 1403 Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Emily x Reader Rating: Teen and up Gif: Not Mine Requested: Anonymous Prompt: Emily Prentiss x reader with the sentence “I don’t deserve to love you I've never written Prentiss before, so I'm not sure if I got it right, hope I did her character justice 

She finds you at the gym, long after most of the team has gone home. The case has been solved, the unsub caught and now you get to battle your own demons… Your fists hurt, your knuckles are torn and bleeding, but you need the pain to help you forget, help you deal… Sure, having bad days at work are part of the job, especially when you’re a behavioural analyst for the FBI, but some days are exponentially worse that others and some days you wish you didn’t make it…  When you wish the unsub would just end it all for you… “(Y/N),” you hear the sound of her voice behind you, though you don’t turn to face her. 

No, you square up, take in a deep breath and start with the punching bag for another round. In between punches, you roundhouse the sandbag but it doesn’t give you the satisfaction you crave. You go at it almost four minutes before Emily steps between your fists and the bag.  It only takes you a second to realise you’re not going to hit the bag, but you are going to hit her if you don’t drop your hand. You don’t have to think twice before your hands falls to your sides. “(Y/N),” she calls you again, but you can’t meet her gaze. A few minutes pass and you hear the sigh that escapes her.  When you still make no move to acknowledge her, she takes the initiative. She places a finger on your chin, lifting your face enough for you to meet her gaze.  Your eyes roam her face, taking everything in, as though it’s the last time you’re going to see her. When you meet her gaze, you know she knows. She’s aware of your decision to leave, everything.  “(Y/N),” she whispers your name this time and you can’t help the tears that roll down your cheeks.  Then she cups your left cheek and you savour the feel of her skin on yours… The next thing you’re aware of is her mouth pressed to yours, her one hand resting on your hip as the other curls around your neck, bringing you closer to her.   She’s kissing you, and with everything she asks of you, you cannot deny her this. You feel her tongue run across your lips and you open your mouth to allow her tongue entrance. You give her everything you have, not keeping an ounce back. You feel her pushing you gently, and you allow her to, until your back makes contact with the wall and her chest is pressed flush against yours. She kisses you long and deep and it rouses emotion you didn’t know you even possessed.  And then you feel her hand on your waist, travelling up the wall of your ribs, thumb grazing the underside of your breast… Your body has never felt this alive before. You move one hand to her waist and your other glides down her neck and instead meeting smooth skin, your hand meets sterile surgical adhesive, and the day’s events come back to you in glaring high definition scenes. 

The team had been profiling the unsub rapist, who had recently accelerated to killing his victims. Unfortunately for the team, Emily had fit his profile perfectly and despite your strong protests of her going in undercover to bait him, Hotch had unhappily allowed her to do it.  Well, in her defence, Morgan had promised he wouldn’t let anything happen to her and JJ would be there as well. You didn’t like it, didn’t agree with it but you were outnumbered and so she’d gone… It was twenty minutes later when Morgan realised, he’d lost sight of her in the crowded bar and her cardigan with the tracking device had been left on the barstool she’d been seated on.  “Motherfucker,” you’d shouted, to no one in particular, as you’d punched your fist into the desk.  “(Y/N), we’ll get her back,” Morgan tried so calm you, but it only enraged you further.  “Not losing her in the first place would’ve been ideal,” you’d shot back.  It was JJ who finally told you to take a walk to calm yourself down because if you didn’t, she would see to it, personally, that you were taken off the case.  You’d been walking down the street of the parking lot of the bar when you’d heard the scuffle. You were instantly alert, walking in the direction of the noise. You’d already taken your firearm out your holster and since you carried 1-up. You followed the pair into an abandoned building where you saw him force Emily onto the bed, hands tied behind her back and mouth duct-taped shut, knife pressed against her neck. You were going to kill this asshole. “Touch another hair on her head and I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger,” you said, startling him.  He pulled Emily up by the arm and blocked your shot by placing himself behind her, knife still pressed to her neck. She’s got a bruise on her cheek and her shirt is torn in some places, and you wonder just how far this dirtbag got with her. You’re almost certain she has pressure marks on her hips from this fucker and it you can’t keep control of your anger, no matter how hard you try.  According to the profile he was a psychopath who had no remorse for his actions. And you weren’t helping by threatening him. Though in your defence, he was trying to kill the woman you were in love with.  You were in love with Emily Prentiss. It was this emotion that prompted you into action.  “I’m not going to ask you again, let her go, or I blow your brain out,” you tell him, and he smiles at you, egging you on.  “If I die, so does your lady love,” he tells you as he presses the knife into her neck.  The trickle of blood you see pisses you off and you take aim.  Emily knows you won’t miss, but she speaks to you anyway.  “Killing him won’t let him suffer,” she tells you and while you hate that you can’t, you also agree with her. Instead, you shoot him in the knee, blowing out his knee-cap.  The knife falls from his hand, clattering to the floor, and you holster your weapon, running to Emily as quickly as you can. You take her into your arms and hug her as tight as you can, without hurting her. You don’t realise there are tears running down your cheeks until JJ pulls the two of you apart and hands you a tissue.  “You good?” she asks and both you and Emily nod your heads.  Hotch, Rossi and Reid remain silent. Morgan tries, but you don’t wait for him to say anything. You’re not ready to forgive him.  You tear apart mid-kiss and even though her mouth follows yours, you don’t let her kiss you again.  “I should go,” you tell her, though you make no move to remove your hands from her body.  “(Y/N),” she starts, but you don’t let her finish.  “Em, you’re the best person I’ve met in a long time. You’re kind and funny and gorgeous and kick-ass and I am so in-love with you it’s not even funny.” “But,” she says, “because there’s always a but.”  “But I don’t deserve to love you,” you tell her, and you see her confused expression.  “I don’t understand,” she says.  “I can’t protect you and I’m not good enough for you. If I was you wouldn’t have gotten injured today. It wasn’t as serious as I thought, but what if he was smart enough to move the knife an inch forward… we wouldn’t be having this conversation… We wouldn’t be having a conversation at all,” you continue.  “I don’t deserve to love you,” you whisper this time.   You kiss her one last time before untangling yourself from her and walking away.  “You’re not giving me a choice in this?” you hear her ask you.  You’re tempted to turn around and answer her, and the restraint it takes is monumental, but you keep walking, out of the gym, out of the FBI building, out of the BAU and out of one Emily Prentiss’ life. You’ve never hated any decision as much as you hate this one and you’ve never felt as much pain as you do today. 

If you'd like to be tagged, let me know mobile masterlist here

[baseballbitch116]

Bait

Pairing: Sonny Carisi x reader

Word Count: 2706

Warnings: Attempted assault, angst, may be triggering to some readers

Masterlist

Prompt List | Submit A Request

Your boyfriend being an SVU detective has not been easy on you. You love Dominick dearly, but his job is incredibly stressful on you just like it is on him. Being worried every time you get a call from him while he’s at work, waiting for the day you hear he’s been shot or killed or missing.

One day you came to the station to bring him food. He had told you about this case they’re working, a pattern rapist that has attacked nine different women in the last month. The department is up Liv’s ass and in turn stressing all of them out even more. He told you last night that they are trying to find someone his type to draw him out. He said that nobody has seen him until this last victim, and now they’ve finally got some sort of a lead.

You just got out of work, it was a short day for you, so you stopped at the market and got Dominick his favorite, knowing good and well that if you didn’t, he wouldn’t eat all day. The elevator dings as the doors open and you step out into the packed room, searching for his desk. He is not at it, so you place the bag down on it and lean over to write him a note.

Just as you are about to turn and leave, Fin spots and approaches you. “Y/N, right?” He asks, giving you his hand to shake. You nod as you shake his hand, smiling politely. “Nice to see you again. I assume you’re looking for Carisi?” He asks.

“Yeah, I was just bringing him some food, I know you guys have been stressed all week. Could you tell him I stopped by?” You request, and Fin nods.

“Y/N?” You hear his distinctive deep Italian voice and turn to see him, a smile growing on your face as soon as you spot him.

“Hey babe, I was just dropping you off some food.” You tell him, pointing to the bag on his desk. He gives you a quick kiss on your cheek and runs his hand down your arm, smiling back at you.

“How’d I get so lucky?” He asks, looking at Fin, who chuckles.

“Got a sister?” He asks you jokingly and you laugh.

“Carisi. This must be the girl you’re always talking about?” You see a woman approaching you guys and reach out your hand, realizing this must be his sargent.

“Y/N, nice to meet you.” You introduce yourself, smiling politely at his boss. She smiles back, giving you a firm handshake. Beside her is a man you do not recognize, and you decide that you should probably start heading out now, so you don’t get him in trouble. “I should let you guys get back to work.” You start, but the man holds up his hand.

“She looks a lot like Emily.” The man says, and suddenly all of them are looking at you. “She’s exactly his type.” The man continues, and you furrow your brows, exchanging a confused look with your boyfriend.

“How would you like to help out the police, miss?” The man asks, and your eyes widen. He wants you to pose as bait?

“Hold up a second. She’s not a cop, she has no experience in that sort of situation. No way.” Carisi argues, standing in front of you protectively. Fin exchanges a look with you and you internally feel sick.

“Yeah, shouldn’t we just get a Y/H/C UC?” Olivia says to the man, who puts his hand up again.

“And risk the lawyers fighting a police undercover if he does go for it? Better to be a civilian.” The man says. It makes sense to you, and you are willing, so long as the place you are at is totally swarmed with cops.

“No way! There’s a million other girls, not her.” Dominick continues to fight, but you can tell he could end up getting in trouble with whoever this man is. You place your hand on his bicep and step to his side.

“What would I have to do?”

Once it was arranged, the entire strip club was covered in undercover cops. Dominick was heavily against this, but he didn’t have much of a choice. They dressed you up in a tight black dress that was much too short in the front and the back. You look sexy, but you feel exposed. When Dom saw you step out of the cab that Fin was posing as a driver, he had a million different emotions. He thinks you look amazing, however he also hates how exposed you are, and that he can’t be beside you. He is terrified for your safety. The team has a description of the man, but it isn’t enough to recognize the man. The plan is for him to attempt to lure you out and to threaten you so that they can arrest him for attempted rape.

Dominick fought the man who’s name you learned is Chief Dodds, and he fought Liv, he fought everyone. He even yelled at you when you agreed, and swore up and down that he wasn’t going to let this happen, it still did.

In your earpiece, you hear Liv telling you to remain calm and act like you are trying to find someone to have a one-night stand with. You had taken a good look at the vague sketch, getting a decent idea of the man that you are trying to lure. He has dark, short brown hair, he’s about Dom’s height, a white male in his late-thirties/early forties.

Liv told you to act like you are a little drunk, but not to have more than one drink, and don’t let it out of your sight.

You take a deep breath, straighten out your dress, and start to head inside of the club. Shortly behind you, Carisi and Rollins follow. Amaro is already inside, Fin is patrolling outside with Liv. The music is blaring, hurting your head as soon as you walk in. You get your stamp and through the bouncer, men already staring at you as you walk by. You keep your eye out for the man, but the place is fairly crowded. Most of his attacks were within a timely a matter, and tonight he should be on the prowl. All of his victims were taken from this street and this club, so it seems to be a good set up.

In your earpiece, you hear Nick ask if you are okay. You nod your head, smiling flirtatiously at a man that you vaguely believe could be the man. He stops in his tracks, turning to face you and smirking.

“Damn, you got a nice little body.” Is the very first thing that he says to you, and you do everything in your power to keep from rolling your eyes at him.

“Thanks baby, wanna buy me a drink?” You ask, stepping a little closer to him, looking up at him through your mascara patted eyelashes. His smirk grows and he nods, leading you over to the bar.

Sonny saw and heard the entire thing, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his fists, trying to tolerate this. Amanda places a hand over his, trying to relax him, but it’s no use. He hates seeing you flirt with another man. He hates seeing another man with you. He hates that this could be the rapist and you are in danger. He hates every little aspect of this entire situation.

The man orders you a bloody mary and leans on the bar, facing you. You do your best to seem interested and easy prey, but the man makes you very uncomfortable. After what must have been less than five minutes of the man asking you stupid questions and flirting with you, you heard in your earpiece that this man isn’t the right one. Amanda informed you that there is a suspicious man matching the description staring at you from down the bar, and you casually look over the current man’s shoulder for the man, spotting him. She also said to look out for a tattoo on his forearm, that his latest victim just recalled seeing something on his right bicep.

You excuse yourself from this man, saying that you need to use the bathroom. Looking over to your right, you see Nick sitting in a chair, looking up at you over his phone, and on your right, Sonny and Amanda sat together, pretending to be a couple. It makes you jealous to see Amanda holding onto your boyfriend’s arm, but you know he isn’t voluntarily doing any of this. He exchanges a look at you and sits up straighter when you make eye contact, as if he’s ready to run over to you, and you look away. You walk straight over to the man staring at you, smirking at him as you sway your hips. “See something you like?” You ask, leaning onto the table he sits at, giving him a good view of your cleavage. He looks up at you, licking his lips and leaning back, crossing his arms.

“Ballsy girl, aren’t you?” He responds, a small smirk forming on his thin lips. You sit down beside him and smile, leaning your head in your hand, elbow resting on the table.

“I can be whatever you want me to be.” You suggest, raising your eyebrows at him. He scoots closer to you, placing an arm over your shoulder, messing with the strap of your dress. The reports said that he likes girls that put up a fight, so you decide to be risky and tease him. “Although, you gotta take me on a date before I’ll do anything.” You say, placing a hand on his chest, looking up at him. He grabs his coat with his free hand and nudges you to get up.

“Let’s go then.” He says. You stand up and begin walking out of the club, jumping when you feel a hard smack on your ass.

When the suspect slaps your ass, Sonny jumps out of his seat, ready to charge the guy, but Amanda is quick to get in his way and grab his arm, warning him not to blow your cover. You avoid looking where you know they are, in order to not tip the guy off, and allow him to lead you out of the club.

Shortly after you exit, Nick is following, trying to trail behind so that he is not suspicious. Liv and Fin confirm that they have eyes on you, and tell Carisi to stay inside so that he does not see what might happen and blow cover. You follow the man down the street, his hand on your lower back, and in the corner of your eye you spot an alley coming up on your right. You can feel in your gut that this is the guy, and are not surprised when he suddenly puts a hand over your mouth and drags you into the alley. He slams you up against the wall and removes his hand, replacing it with his lips as he pins both of your arms over your head and begins trying to pull up your dress. You whip your head away from him, gagging on the taste of cigarettes, and holler at him.

“Stop! I don’t want this!” You exclaim, scratching his face hard to try to get some DNA. He yelps when you scratch him, punching you in the gut, letting you slide down onto the ground. You hold your stomach as the guy begins unbuckling his belt, tears falling as you pray for Carisi to come get you.

“Freeze!” You hear, and look up to see an upside down Fin aiming his gun at the perp, caught in the act. He begins to run, Fin Amanda and Nick chasing after him, and your boyfriend and Liv running up to you. You are coughing and attempting to catch your breath, your vision blurry from the tears you couldn’t help. He punched you hard.

“I knew this would happen! I told you this was a horrible idea! Look at her!” He almost screams at Liv, helping you into a sitting position and pulling your dress back down to cover your bottom. “Doll I’m so sorry, this is all my fault.” He cries, rubbing your arms and looking you over for any injuries.

“Carisi, we got him. He’s done, she did good.” Liv tries to reassure, but he only puts up his hand, not hearing any of what she has to say. He punched you, he tried to rape you.

“We’re taking you to the hospital. C’mere.” He says, lifting you up into his arms bridal style and carrying you over to Liv’s unmarked police car, giving her one last look before rushing you to the hospital to get checked on.

You told the doctors to check under your nails for DNA, and you were released almost immediately. You told your boyfriend you didn’t need to get looked at, he only punched you, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

The ride home is silent, and you can visibly see him grasping the steering wheel so hard his hands are turning white. He is driving a little fast, clearly furious, and has to slam on the breaks due to not paying attention, his right arm shooting out in front of you as a natural instinct. “Sorry,” He mutters, his hand dropping to your knee and caressing it, a sigh escaping his lips.

“Babe, it isn’t your fault. He didn’t even do anything, those girls can’t say the same. I agreed to help, and now you guys caught him. Stop beating yourself up.” You say, placing your hand over his that was on your knee. “It’s not like I’ve never been punched or kissed against my will before.” You mutter, rubbing your thumb over his hand.

“I am supposed to protect you.” He says, his voice hard and stern.

“You did. And every other girl he could have gone after. Just stop.” You tell him, and he doesn’t respond, but keeps his hand on your knee until you arrive home.

He walks around to the passenger side before you can open your own door and offers you his hand, which you take. He closes the door behind you and opens the front door for you as well, being more of a gentleman than usual. You only give him a look, but say nothing. You are walking barefoot, having discarded the uncomfortable heels long ago, and head straight to your shared room to change out of this ridiculous dress.

Sonny leans against the door, watching you pull the dress over your head, and you toss it to him playfully. He smiles only a little, gone as fast as it was there, and places it on top of the hamper. You walk over to his dresser, removing your bra, tossing that at the hamper, and pull out one of his shirts, that falls to your mid-thigh. You stand in front of your body mirror as you brush your hair, and Dominick comes up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist, pressing his body against you and kissing the top of your head.

“I love you so much.” He mutters, staring at you in the mirror. You turn around and wrap your arms around his torso, leaning up to look at him. He places a small kiss on your lips, before reconnecting them in a longer, more passionate one, holding you right against his chest, his hands protectively holding your body in his arms.

“I love you more.” You whisper when you pull apart, causing another smile from him, this one lasting. You take his hand and pull him over to the bed, sitting down and beginning to unbutton his blue/grey polo shirt. He lets it slip off his shoulders and you work on unbuckling his belt, and he steps out of his dress pants. You turn off the lamp and he climbs into bed with you, spooning you immediately, his arms never leaving your body all night long.

—

If you would like to be added to my tag list, let me know :)

@dreila03​ @tchallasokoye​ @gryffindorshadowhunter​ @katpatrova17​ @xtaylorlynn @thelonelyfangirl​ @glimmerglittergirl​ @thebeckyjolene​ @fromfoolishpeopletodeadpeople​

[milquetoast-on-acid]

Bad Blood, A Reactionary Post

What this episode was about: Nothing and no one can dictate who is a part of your family The sacrifices that we make for (those that we love) and (those that don't deserve our love). The family-ship was strong with this one

Provenza dropping the ball I'm wondering if this thread of Provenza's not remembering Mary (as unforgettable as she was). And missing out on clues that Buzz picked up about the murder is what starts Provenza thinking about retirement. As soon as Provenza remembers who Mary is and says that there's someone who know her much better than I did I know exactly who he was talking about. 

Wes and his case of the PTSD’s I really like this subtle storyline of Wes' and how he's dealing with being in an organized police unit again. Nolan was undercover for 5 years immersed in the criminal underworld and it's going to effect him in some way and it's really nice to see that we are seeing some of that subtly develop through 5b. 

It was his first instinct to shoot the suspect. And when your in an environment that advocates violence as the first solution it's not something that's going to be shaken right away. So I really love that it was Mike that took charge of the situation and told his ass to stand down and not to shoot unless he's got a weapon. Also Mike knows what it's like to kill a suspect and he knows it's not something that anyone wants to go through.

"No one ever thinks about the murder's family" I thought that was an interesting line. Because they tend to get lost in the shuffle. They also have an emotional fallout they have to deal with when it comes to their family member becoming a murderer. I fell like it also relates a lot to Sharon and her family life. For so long everyone sees Sharon as this evil woman because of the job she had to do as IA. That no one ever really saw the sacrifices that she had to make in her personal life and in her professional life.

Make Way for Ducklings I really love how the show has had this wonderful thread linking Julio's adoption story with that book. We get another really great heartfelt moment between Julio and Mark. This time Julio explaining to Mark that (while he's starting the processes of adoption) he isn't officially his kid. Poor Mark just doesn't understand is like why can't he call Julio, dad. While we know that the two of them think of themselves as father and son. Julio just doesn't want to jump the gun and risk Mark being taken away from him just yet. So I really loved Julio solution in the end of Pato (duck) and Patito(little duck)!

Buzz and his Bike Is there a reason why Buzz insists on bringing his Bike all the way up to MC with him everyday? There is a garage where people keep their cars and I'm sure a place to lock your bike up so no one will steal it. Dude, paranoid much?

#The Future Mrs Flynn One of the things that I loved about this episode was flipping a very traditional trope on its head. When the squad finds out about Sharon and Andy's engagement it's Mike, Julio and Ricky that ask and comment about the ring. Also it's Ricky and Mike that seem to be the cheer leaders over the engagement. It's a very nice and deliberate choice for MC to make because normally we'd see the women (Amy and Andrea) giggly about the wedding. It's a nice and refreshing thing to see. 

It reminds me of that scene in "Down the Drain" when it's Andy and Provenza who try to out dad each other with the baby. While both Sharon and Amy are featured in the scene and don't have much interaction with the baby. 

Lets talk about Mike and his enthusiasm for this wedding. Like we could never have seen Mike be so excited about Sharon and Andy of all people getting married back during The Closer days. But then I don't think that any of them could back in those days. Anyway I just love how happy he is about it.

The Ring Since there was such a big reveal regarding the ring. I think that it's only fair to actually talk about the ring. 

"I can't afford a ring as beautiful as she deserves." Let's start with this. If Andy Flynn could he would by Sharon Raydor the freaking moon and use it as her engagement ring. I think he's selling himself short here because I thought the ring was really beautiful and so does everyone else including Sharon. It's really nice to see that the show really keeps stuff like this in mind, such as a cops salary. Another thing that I want to comment on regarding this line is that I think there is a part of Andy that feels that he doesn't deserve Sharon. I think a part of him will always feel that way because of the mistakes that he made in his past. 

"Oooh Emerald cut. Nice." Mike's comment about the ring really got me going. Not to mention both Sharon and Andy's responses to it. When ever Sharon is overwhelmed by something she can't form words. So I love how she just glows with happiness and looks to Andy. 

I really love the ring because I think that it's very much Sharon. It's beautiful and understated, classic yet the unusual band makes it truly unique. Which to mean just screams Sharon Raydor's own personality. I love that he didn't get a traditional gold band because when have we ever seen her wear gold? Not any time that I can ever thing of. She's really a silver person as far as her jewelry tastes tend to lean.

Sacrifices

Those that don't deserve our love Mary This woman is so aweful so why is it that everyone seems to be giving her a break from her terrible behavior? She blarently steals, posions dogs and mooches off of her family. The police officers that catch her stealing felt that she would have been more of a nusance to book her than to just let her go. Provenza can't remember her and when he does remember who she is. He can't remember why he had liked her. Mary's niece takes care of her by paying for an apartment for her when she loses her pention. So why? The answer really comes back to her having been a cop. The job is respected so she gets away with so much stuff that she wouldn't have normally been able to get away with. Another (bigger) reason is Mary's niece. To her she's a nusence but to her she's family and a cop.

Jack There is so many parallells between Mary/Jack and the stuff that both Mary's niece/ Sharon went through with of them. Both Mary and Jack are assholes who use people and think that they are entitled to exactly what they want and they could care less about how much it hurts other people. I thought it was so interesting regarding Mary's niece conversation with her son. It was a really nice callback to Sharon reaming Ricky out over his treatment of Rusty. Both women had to make sacficies because no matter how terrible human beings Jack and Mary were they were family to them. Mary was a cop and her niece. Jack was Sharon's husband and father to her children.

Those that we love Sharon and Andy

Sharon's Annulment I've read a few reviews and peoples opinions on this episode and what Ricky did in particular. I do agree that it wasn't appropriate and it wasn't his business but it's not something that I'm upset with him over. For several reasons, it really shows how much they (him and Emily) love their mom and want to see her happy. They can all really see the difference in how Jack treated Sharon verses how Andy treats Sharon. And just how much Andy makes her happy. As much as it should have been Sharon going to Jack telling him about the engagement and asking about the annulment. I can't help but feel happy that it wasn't. We all know that Jack would have been difficult about it (and he was according to their conversation) and that conversation would have been emotionally trying for her. Jack would never have willingly signed the annulment papers. He'd be bitter and vindictive about it. Holding it over her head that she wouldn't have been able to get married in a church. 

And of course this is Sharon and she would have been able to handle it but it's really nice that she didn't have to. I get from her emotions at the beginning of the conversation that she felt that a church wedding would have been next to impossible. 

This whole gesture goes back to how much Sharon had to sacrifice for her family. Her whole entire career for instance as Sharon originally wanted to be a lawyer. She only became a cop first to take care of their family while Jack went to law school first. And by the time he was established as a lawyer enough for her to quit as a cop and go to law school he up and left. 

She eventually found happiness in her career as a cop and even realized that she liked that side of the law better. And then later again when she became a cop in IA. She wanted to be a detective but the hours were better for kids, the pay was better because it was a faster climb up the rank ladder and it was a safer job as a single parent because she would be in the line of fire. 

Andy's Annulment Honestly I had no idea what Rusty was up too. But it makes perfect sense that he would get Nicole in on it. Even though Rusty found a different way to get Andy's annulment (other than straight out telling him to get one), it didn't come from Andy in the way that Sharon wanted. Andy seems shocked by it. And then there’s the question well why didn't Andy ask Sandra for an annulment if it meant so much to Sharon? I think from Andy's comments in his conversation earlier with the boys - that he probably felt he didn't have the right to ask her for something like that. 

It was pretty funny seeing Rusty fen ignorance like oh do you get calls from your ex-wife often? And seeing both of them trying not to laugh at Andy's shock. I also wonder a bit why Andy didn't put it together. Sharon though saw right through both of her boys. 

I kind of feel like to the three of them - Sharon and Andy have been dating forever. And that their parents needed a push to get the ball rolling. Like the fact that they were dating and didn't even realize it. And that they didn't interfere with their dating life (and see how long it took them to get to actual dating) they don't want them taking forever to get married.

Ricky inadvertently spilling the beans I don't think that I can get enough of that scene. I really love how Ricky is 1000% enthusiastic about this wedding. Its been made very clear that Ricky really has always liked Andy so it really warms my heart in seeing him be so happy about the marriage. I also really love how Ricky goes to hug Andy first. I swear Ricky and Andy are two peas in one fucking pod and I want Ricky to come back for more Rusty/Ricky skeaming. It seems every time we see Ricky he's involved in some sort of secret plan. It really makes me wonder how much trouble he got into as a kid. 

I know that someone in one of their reviews mentioned how much Ricky is like Sharon. But I think that he's very much like Andy. Which to me explains why they get along so well. He's so enthusiastic and pushes full steam a head just like Andy.

Sandra and Andrew I'm so happy that we got insight into Andy's first marriage and a name for Andy's ex. Other than the bits that we've been able to piece together. At first I really didn't care for the name that they picked for her but now that I think about it. It's such a deliberate choice to use the name Sandra. Which is such a similar name to Sharon that it really highlights how similar Andy's previous marriage was to Sharon's. 

The conversation that Rusty and Ricky have with Andy was so very wonderful. It starts out with them trying to hint to him to get an annulment and ends up being a much needed conversation. I am so glad that they had that segway into Andy talking about what went wrong and why. 

I really loved it because Andy thinks that the boys need reassurances when it comes to who he is as a person now verses who he was back then. I also love how Andy explains the marriage to them. And that it really very clearly shows that Andy has grown miles from who he was in the past, by putting the blame of the marriage on his own shoulders. 

I really feel like because of therapy and him getting involved with Sharon (and her letting him in on her perspective on her own marriage) really helped him see his own marriage through Sandra's eyes. What she went through, how hard she worked and how badly he failed. He’s really got so much respect for Sandra, that he didn’t once have. I really love it. I think it’s beautiful. 

I am also glad to see that while the boys tell Andy that he wasn't ready for marriage and that was an excuse for his bad behavior. Andy is like no - your giving me too much credit for that. That even though we were too young for marriage, I was at fault and I have worked my way to fixing my relationships with my kids and my ex-wife. 

And that smile when Andy tells the boys that he's emotionally ready for Sharon. If that smile doesn't convince anyone than nothing will.

Nothing and no one can dictate who is a part of your family

Mary and her Niece

Mary’s niece (I don’t recall if they ever gave her a name) fights so hard for Mary because she’s a part of her family. No matter how damned difficult she made life for everyone. She was still family to her niece. 

Duck and Little Duck

Even though Julio isn’t legally Mark’s dad. That’s not going to stop Mark or Julio from them thinking that or believing it in their hearts. There isn’t a piece of paper that will tell them otherwise. Hopefully soon it will be official and both of them can sigh with relief. And then Julio won’t have to worry about Mark calling him dad.

The Ex-Husband and the Future Husband

I really loved that Ricky was like please stop letting others tell you who your family is. One one hand, Sharon’s religion is so important to her. On the other hand it’s part of the reason why she took so long to divorce Jack. It’s not the only reason but it’s part of the reason. And then Ricky saw it as something that would be an obstacle to her getting the happiness that she so deserved. 

In the end if it was impossible to have a church wedding. I have no doubt that Sharon would have married him without it. But it is nice that she doesn’t have to marry him without it because it’s so much a part of who she is. 

What I didn't like: The fake out with the engagement.  They did the same thing for Shandy dating but honestly I really think that it was executed here much better. This is a slight nit pick but I wish we would have gotten more of Provenza's reaction. And I think that we didn't was because that he knew about the proposal and it was obvious that he knew about the engagement. We haven't gotten much Flynn/Provenza lately but I do hear some stuff is coming up for the two of them. 

What I did like: I loved this episode. We learned new stuff about Sharon and Andy. Ricky is in a damn it! I have missed him so much and can he come back more often? Sharon and Andy are officially engaged!!!! We saw the ring!!! Mike being so happy about the Raydor/Flynn marriage.