Criminal Minds Trope Bingo

[cmbingo]

Are you guys going to hold another round sometimes?

I haven't considered it, honestly. If we do it probably won't be until next year, it was easier to keep deadlines with the calendar year and it would give people some hiatus inspo. Thanks for reaching out!

[cmbingo]

i absolutely would love another round. i love this blog and everything is stands for. no matter how many rounds you have, you'll always have me as a participant!

Thank you for the feedback! We are currently assessing the interest and deciding on how to or if to move forward.

[dreatine]

CMBingo 2022 Masterlist

Here is my complete masterlist for this year’s CMBingo. Thanks to @stunudo and the other moderators for this wonderful event.

@cmbingo

Collages:

Cat Adams/Reid Square: ‘You Outta Know”

Business AU Square : Bookstore Reidaway.

Playlists:

Jet Pilot Square: On Air

Opposites Attract Square: True Love

Childhood Friends Square: Vegas

Long Distance Correspondence Square: From a Distance

Jealousy Square: Jealousy

Unrequited Love Square: Unrequited Reidaway

Last Chance Square: Last Chances

Fanfic:

S15 Square: Lucky Penny (Maxcer)

Tara/Luke Square : I Know I Can Beat Al Bundy

[cmbingo]

This was such a cool bingo card to go through! Thank you for submitting it. You are the only participant to do so this round.

You earned 110 profile points!!!

[dreatine]

Childhood Friends Playlist

Story: Spencer and the Reader were childhood friends in Vegas. After his prison stint, Spencer goes back to reminisce and reconnect with his friend.

Fulfills CMBingo2022 Square: Childhood Friends

@cmbingo

[cmbingo]

Hi! will there be a 2023 round of CMbingo?

Honestly, I’m not sure. I was hoping with Evolution we’d see more excitement.

What do you guys think?

Still want to keep this thing going?

The blog hasn’t seen much in ways of turn ins/ tags lately.

[stunudo]

Looking for feedback if anyone has anything to say. <3

[cmbingo]

Hi! will there be a 2023 round of CMbingo?

Honestly, I’m not sure. I was hoping with Evolution we’d see more excitement.

What do you guys think?

Still want to keep this thing going?

The blog hasn’t seen much in ways of turn ins/ tags lately.

[gaelic-symphony]

Just One Night

Written for @cmbingo

Pairing: Jennifer Jareau/Tara Lewis

Summary: Tara and JJ find themselves trapped in a terrible fog, and the only hotel room available might just give them the push they need to stop dancing around each other.

Warnings: Implied sex

Word Count: 774

Bingo Square: Only one bed

Read on AO3 or below the cut

            “I can’t see anything in this fog,” Tara said, “How much farther until we get to Falmouth?”

            “Um, about 20 miles,” JJ said.

            “Yeah, we’re not making it there by tonight.”

            JJ sighed.  “Okay, I’ll see if Garcia can get us a place to stay for tonight.”

            Tara pulled over onto the shoulder of the road while JJ tried to get a cell signal to call Penelope.  Service was spotty, but she thought she heard Penelope say that the Best Western just off Route 132 a mile up the road would have rooms for them, and they could check in right away.  And Tara could brave the fog for another mile or so, if it meant having a bed to sleep in for the night.  They pulled up at the Best Western and unloaded their bags.

            “Hi, we’re checking in—Jennifer Jareau and Tara Lewis,” JJ said to the concierge.

            “Oh, yes, welcome, ladies,” The concierge said, “Your room is ready for you.”

            “Wait, room?” Tara said, “It was supposed to be two rooms.”

            “No, it’s just one room,” the concierge said, “It’s the only one we have available.”

            “Well, that’s okay, right, Tara?” JJ said, “I mean, we’ve had to double up before.”

            “Of course,” Tara nodded, “And it’s just one night.”

            It’s just one night.  That was what she kept reminding herself when the prospect of sharing a hotel room with JJ made her heart pound in her ears.  She could keep her cool for one night.  Hell, she’d been keeping her cool around the bullpen for months, pretending she didn’t get butterflies in her stomach every time JJ looked at her.  One night was nothing.

            Then JJ opened the hotel room door.

            “Oh,” she said, “It’s not just one room; it’s only one bed.”

            “You’re kidding me!” Tara groaned.

            “I guess this is what happens when you’re trying to find last-minute lodgings in the worst fog of the decade,” JJ sighed, “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

            Tara dropped her go bag down on the sole queen-sized bed.  “Better than camping out in the car at least.”

            “I can take the floor if—”

            “No, JJ, don’t be ridiculous,” Tara said, “There’s enough room for both of us, and besides, it’s just one night.”

            “Right, of course,” JJ nodded, “It’s just one night.”

            It’s just one night.  That was the only thing keeping JJ from totally losing it.  It was already after 9, which meant they’d be on the road in just 12 more hours, and JJ could withstand anything for 12 hours.  She’d withstood being tortured for more than 12 hours—not that spending time with Tara was torture.  Just the opposite, really.  But being so close to Tara and not being able to touch her, to kiss her, to learn every inch of her body?  Well, that did feel just a little bit like torture.

            “Do you have a preferred side?” Tara asked.

            “Oh, uh, left, I guess,” JJ replied, “I don’t know…Will always used to take the right.”

            They brushed their teeth and changed into their pajamas like it was no big deal, like every muscle in both of their bodies wasn’t pulsing with anticipation of something that absolutely could not happen, they both told themselves.  And when they pulled back the covers and got into bed, they both clung to their respective edges, avoiding the middle of the bed like it would kill them.

            Finally Tara couldn’t take it anymore, and she rolled over and shifted closer to the center of the bed, closer to JJ, who had frozen in place, afraid to even breathe.

            “JJ,” Tara whispered, “Why are we doing this?”

            JJ rolled over to face Tara.  “What choice do we have?” she asked sadly.

            “We could choose to stop ignoring it,” Tara said, “Even if it’s just for one night.”

            She reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind JJ’s ear, and when JJ didn’t flinch at the contact, she took it as an invitation to hook her finger under JJ’s chin and bring her closer, stopping with their lips just a hair’s breadth apart to whisper, “Do you want this?”

            “Kiss me, Tara,” JJ whispered back, and Tara did.

            As Tara’s hands roamed JJ’s body and JJ’s lips left a trail of kisses over Tara’s skin, they let go of all their inhibitions, all the FBI fraternization rules, all the reasons why they shouldn’t, why it was too complicated, why they were better off ignoring it.  The pull between them was just too strong to ignore, and, as they kept reminding themselves, it was just one night.

            But one night could still change everything.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Welcome to the Team

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.1k

Warnings: unnecessary drama angst, comfort at the end 

Request by anon: Spencer Reid x reader where  their enemies well it’s kind of one-sided reader is kind of shy and doesn’t hang out with the team much and for some reason rubs Spencer the wrong way so this can be like a one shot the reader is also like really nice and doesn’t say anything back to him and he’s like rude to her until the point where she like breaks down and he automatically regrets It it can have an angst or fluff ending it doesn’t matter!!!!!!!

Summary: You’re shy and quiet, and that rubs Spencer the wrong way. You try your hardest to be nice and make friends, but that’s not always the case with you.

Square Filled: hurt/comfort (2022) for @cmbingo​

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

Keep reading

[gaelic-symphony]

Rick and Ilsa

Written for @cmbingo

The end of Casablanca, but make it Jemily.

Pairing: Jemily

Warnings: Implied sex and cheating, I guess.

Bingo Square: Jemily

Word Count: 653

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

            JJ woke up in Emily’s bed to the morning sunlight streaming in through the window, hitting Emily’s dark hair at just the right angle and making it gleam magnificently.  It was supposed to be the last day of JJ’s TDY in Paris, getting Emily set up with a new identity to keep her safe from Ian Doyle until Interpol could catch him and put him away again.  She was supposed to be boarding a plane back to D.C. in a few hours, but there was no way she could possibly leave this—not after the night they’d had, the things they’d said, the way their bodies and souls just seemed to fit together…

            Emily began stirring.  She opened her eyes and smiled at JJ and kissed her softly and slowly.

            “Come on,” Emily said, sitting up with a soft groan, “We’ve got to get you packed and ready to go.”

            “What—why?” JJ protested.

            “Because you’re getting on that plane.”

            JJ sat up and blinked at Emily, trying to make sense of what she’d just heard.  Emily expected her to leave, to go back to D.C., to go on with her life like nothing had happened, like Emily had died on that table, like she wasn’t very much alive in Paris and in every one of JJ’s waking thoughts.

            “I don’t understand,” she said, “What about you?”

            “JJ, come on,” Emily said, “You know what about me.  You know I have to stay here in Paris until Doyle is caught.  You’re the one who told me that—”

            “No, Emily, no,” JJ shook her head, “What happened to you?  Last night…”

            “Last night, we said a lot of things,” Emily said, “You said I was gonna have to do the thinking for both of us.  Well, I’ve done a lot of it since then, and it all adds up to one thing: You’re getting on that plane and going back to Will, where you belong.”

            “But Emily, no, I—”

            “Now, you’ve got to listen to me.  Do you have any idea what you’d have to look forward to if you stayed here?  I’m dead, JJ; you’d be living with a ghost.  I’ve already had to cut all ties with my old life, and you’d have to do the same—and we have no idea how long I’m gonna be living like this.  I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to go back, and Doyle’s already escaped once, so as long as he’s alive, I’ll always be looking over my shoulder, and you will, too.  Do you really want to live like that?”

            “You’re only saying this to make me go.”

            “I’m saying it because it’s true,” Emily insisted, “Inside of us, we both know you belong with Will.  You love him.  You have a little boy with him.  Your life, your family—everything you’ve built for yourself, it’s all with him.  If you don’t go back to him—if that plane leaves the ground and you’re not on it, you’ll regret it.  Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and for the rest of your life.”

            “What about us?” JJ asked, her heart breaking a little more with each word.

            Emily stroked her cheek tenderly and smiled.  “We’ll always have Paris.  No matter what else happens with Doyle and Interpol and everything else, we’ll always have Paris, and we’ll always have last night.”

            “When I said I would never leave you…”

            “And you never will,” Emily said, “But as long as Doyle’s out there, I’ve got a job to do, too.  Where I’m going, you can’t follow.  What I’ve got to do, you can’t be any part of.  JJ, I’m no good at being noble, but it doesn’t take much to see that the problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world.  Someday you’ll understand that.  Now, now…Here’s looking at you, kid.”

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Facade

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~900

Warnings: minor angst, loss of a brother

Summary: You’re called into an interrogation room for the death of your brother’s girlfriend. Whatever you do, you can’t let them know the truth.

Square Filled: s7 (2022) for @cmbingo​

Author’s Note: feedback is important!

Keep reading

[gaelic-symphony]

Matchmaker

Written for @cmbingo

Pairing: Alex Blake/Tara Lewis

Summary: College baristas Penelope and Derek lend a helping hand to two pining professors.

Bingo Square: Coffeeshop AU

Warnings: None

Read on AO3 or below the cut

            The little bell jingled as the front door of the campus coffee shop swung open, and Penelope looked up from the milk frother she was cleaning and immediately nudged her friend Derek.

            “Look!” she said, “It’s Dr. Blake.  Which means Dr. Lewis can’t be far behind.”

            “What are you talking about?” Derek laughed.

            “You haven’t noticed?” Penelope said teasingly, “Come on, I thought you were studying to be some sort of criminal profiler or something.  You gotta start noticing this stuff, Derek!  Look: On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Dr. Blake and Dr. Lewis both teach classes that let out at 2:30, and they always come here after class for their midday caffeine boost.  Dr. Blake always gets a dirty chai latte and sits on that side of the café.”  She pointed in one direction.  “And Dr. Lewis always gets a double espresso with two pumps of hazelnut and sits on that side of the café.”  She pointed in the other direction.  “And they both come with laptops and books and papers like they’re gonna get all this work done here while they drink their coffee, but they just spend the whole time staring at each other longingly.  It’s so obvious they’re in love, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen them say two words to each other.”

            “Baby girl, I think you might be reading too much into it,” Derek said, “I mean, I know we like making up stories for our regular customers, but…Blake and Lewis?”

            “Just watch!” Penelope urged him.

            Sure enough, the door swung open again, and in walked Dr. Tara Lewis.  She joined the line behind Dr. Blake, and sure enough, they both ordered their usual drinks and sat on opposite sides of the café, just as Penelope had predicted.  Tara pulled out her laptop, and Alex pulled out a stack of midterm exams to grade, and they both pretended to focus on the work in front of them.  But Tara’s laptop screen went dark from inactivity as her eyes lingered on Alex.  And Alex took four minutes to grade three multiple choice questions because she kept glancing over at Tara.  And Penelope was grinning smugly at Derek the whole time.

            “Alright, I can see it,” Derek admitted, “There is definitely something going on between those two.”

            “And wouldn’t they be sooooooo cute together if they just, you know, talked to each other?” Penelope said, “They probably just need a little push in the right direction, you know?  Like if we gave them a reason to talk to each other—”

            “You want me to set up my forensic psychology professor with the head of the linguistics department?”

            “Yes!” Penelope cried, and then looked around nervously when she realized she’d gotten a little too loud and excited.  “I already have the perfect plan,” she said more quietly, “Just trust me.  Next Tuesday, we’re gonna make a love connection.”  She stuck out her pinky.  “Promise me.”

            Derek shook his head and linked his finger with Penelope’s.  “Whatever you say, baby girl.”

            The following Tuesday, the little bell jingled at 2:34 PM as Tara Lewis walked into the coffee shop, followed by Alex Blake just two minutes later.  They ordered their usual drinks, and Derek and Penelope started making them, just like they always did.

            But then, “Alex?” Derek called out, handing over Tara’s hazelnut double espresso.

            And, “Tara?” Penelope called out, handing over Alex’s dirty chai latte.

            Penelope and Derek both watched as Alex and Tara took what they thought were their drinks and retreated to their respective corners of the café.  They watched as both women took a sip of their drinks, grimaced at the realization that it wasn’t what they’d ordered, and walk back up to the counter.

            “Um, this-this isn’t right,” Alex said, “I ordered a dirty chai latte.”

            “Well, I seem to have a dirty chai latte,” Tara said behind her, “But I ordered a double espresso with hazelnut.”

            “Oh my goodness, I am so, so sorry!” Penelope said as she took back both drinks, “I have no idea how those orders got mixed up!  That’s totally our fault; I’ll remake those for you right away.  It’ll just be a couple minutes…”

            “It’s alright, Penelope, really.  Thank you,” Alex said.  Then realizing she had a couple minutes of waiting by the counter, she nervously turned to Tara.  “Um, you’re-you’re Dr. Lewis, right?  You, uh, you teach criminal psychology?”

            “I am, and I do,” Tara replied, “And of course, you’re Alex Blake, the head of the linguistics department.  I can’t tell you how much your book has helped me in my research; you’d be amazed at some of the things that serial killers will subconsciously reveal if you can just recognize their linguistic tells.”  She saw the look of surprise on Alex’s face and said, “I’m sorry, I should explain: My research—”

            “Oh, I’m familiar with it,” Alex interjected, “It’s fascinating.  I’m just surprised that my little book would play a role in such brilliant research.”

            Tara smiled shyly and looked down at the ground.  “Well, it’s-it’s a very good book…”

            “Thank you,” Alex said, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear, “You know, I, um…I’m putting together a panel on psycholinguistics for an upcoming symposium.  Is that-is that something that might interest you?”

            “Oh, are you kidding me?  Absolutely!” Tara blurted out excitedly.

            “There you go, ladies,” Penelope said, placing two remade drinks on the counter, “Again, I am so sorry for the mix-up!”  She bit her lip and smiled to herself at how well her plan was playing out, but Alex and Tara were to focused on each other to notice.  In fact, they barely even looked at Penelope as they murmured their thanks and reached over for their new drinks.

            “Should we, um…discuss this over coffee, maybe?” Tara asked, tilting her head coyly towards Alex.

            Alex smiled and nodded.  “I’d love that.”

[cmbingo]

on your pinned it says registration ends in march - does this mean i can no longer sign up for a card this year?

You are correct. We will open up in January if we do another round next year.

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Made it Through the Rain | S.R

Not my gif

Summary - meeting the parents is never easy, even less so when you’re the socially awkward Doctor Reid.

A/N - this is my entry for @cmbingo for the square Meet the Parents. This is an idea my other half came up with a while ago and has been begging me to write. Told out of sync, italics are flashbacks.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - fluff very unlike me I know

Content Warnings - drinking, swearing, mentions of sexual activity but nothing explicit, stern father, that’s about it!

Word Count - 3.2k

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So…what are your intentions with my daughter?”

The room suddenly flooded with a bright flash of lightning, casting your father briefly in an ominous glow.

Seconds later thunder clapped loudly outside the window, causing you to jolt a little in your chair, Spencer’s hand that was on your thigh under the table tightened.

Spencer glanced at you, eyes wide and you watched his Adam’s apple dip heavily as he swallowed. 

You placed your hand on top of his and tried to subconsciously communicate to him the need to breathe.

“He will ask you what your intentions with me are.” You picked at a rogue thread at the hem of your dress. 

“My i-intentions?” Spencer’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, turning his knuckles white. “We’ve only been dating for eight months.” 

“He’s protective.” You shrugged, drawing your lips together in a small pout. 

“We’ve only been dating for eight months.” He repeated as though somehow it would stop your father from asking the inevitable. 

You sighed, turning a little in your chair to face him. 

The rain had been coming down in sheets for four days without reprieve. The city was on flood watch and you’d both secretly hoped it would mean an excuse to get out of this dinner. 

“He just needs placating.” You reached across the centre console and placed your hand on his shoulder. 

You felt your boyfriend's whole body stiffen at your touch which was the opposite effect it usually had. 

“Placate him how exactly?” His jaw was set in a line, even in the darkness of the car you could tell he was grinding his teeth. 

“Tell him you love me, of course, that will help.” You poked his arm but once again he went rigid. “Be honest, to a degree. You say we’re happy and we’re in love but it’s still early days.” 

Spencer clenched the steering wheel harder, swerving out of the way of a huge puddle in the middle of road. 

“Yes. Yes ok, I can do that.” He nodded, trying to loosen himself up. 

“Did you hear me or do I need to repeat myself?” You father leant his elbows on the table, scrutinising Spencer under a heavy gaze. 

“I love her.” He blurted out, his fingernails digging into the skin of your thigh and you tried to not grimace at the pain. 

You hung your head, wanting the ground to cave in and swallow you whole.

You shot a look at your mother who was staying silent, looking down at her plate and shuffling food around with her fork. 

“We’ve only been dating a few months, dad.” You decided to speak up to try and save Spencer from embarrassment. “But we’re happy. And we love each other. We’re just taking it day by day.”

Your dad looked at you, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed. 

He sat back in his chair as he looked back at Spencer. 

“You love her?” He clarified. 

“Yes sir. Very m-much so.” His grip loosened a little on your leg. 

“Good. That’s good.” Your dad conceded as another clap of thunder echoed throughout the room. 

You picked up your wine glass and took a very large sip. 

Maybe this was a terrible idea. 

***

Your mother handed out drinks with her usual chirpy smile while you leant against the kitchen counter. 

The rain was hammering against the windows, shaking them in their frames. 

She handed you your wine glass before passing Spencer and your father a scotch. 

You gave him a sideways glance before looking at your father who, as expected, was staring right at Spencer. 

“He will comment on you drinking.”

“My drinking?” Spencer frowned, keeping his eyes trained on the road in front of him, at least what he could see of the road. 

“Yes. If you have a drink he will comment on it.” 

“So I won’t drink.” He shrugged, sitting further forward in his seat and squinting through the window. 

The windscreen wipers were having to work so violently that he swore they would snap off at any moment. His visibility was extremely low and was causing his stress levels to rise without the added strain of the impending dinner with your parents. 

“See he will comment on that too.” You shrugged. 

“What option does that leave me?” Spencer pulled off the accelerator a little, only partially wondering if you’d even make it there alive. 

“Just be prepared. He’ll comment on whatever you choose to drink. Your best bet is scotch, he’s a big scotch drinker. He’ll probably respect you more if he thinks you know about scotch.” You drummed your fingers on your thigh.

“I do know a lot about scotch.” He flicked the indicator, slowing down before turning the corner. “The export of scotch whiskey generates one hundred and twenty five pounds per second for the Scottish Government. Around thirty eight bottles are exported from Scotland every second. 

If laid end-to-end the ninety nine million cases that are exported every year would run the distance between Edinburgh and New York six times.” 

You stared at the side of his face. You usually loved Spencer’s info dumps but now was really not the time. 

“No, no, don't do that.” You shook your head. “He’ll think you’re a know-it-all.” 

“I’m not a know-it-all.” Spencer huffed. “But I am a genius with an eidetic memory.”

“Don’t say things like that. It won’t impress him the way it impresses me.” 

“Scotch man, huh?” Your dad brought his glass to his lips and swigged it but didn’t take his eyes off of Spencer. 

“Uh yeah.” Spencer nodded. 

The room fell back into silence and you knew how much your awkward boyfriend hated silences. 

You slipped your hand in his and squeezed it, trying to stop him from speaking again but it was too late. 

“Did you know the export of scotch whiskey generates one hundred and twenty five pounds per second for the Scottish Government. And around thirty eight bottles are exported from Scotland every second.” His lips were drawn into a tight smile as he looked between your parents. 

Your mom nodded at him, clearly trying to pretend to be interested but you knew she really wasn’t. 

Your dad had a heavy frown on his face as he set his glass down on the counter. 

“What are you, some kind of know-it-all?” 

It was rhetorical. You all knew it. All of you except Spencer. 

“No sir.” He shook his head. “I do have an IQ of one hundred and eighty seven, an eidetic memory and I can read twenty thousand words a minute.” Spencer informed him before the room fell into a tense palpable silence. 

Spencer sipped his drink whilst looking at you, begging you with his eyes to help him. 

You sighed and looked back at your dad. 

“Yeah, he’s a know-it-all, dad.” 

***

After dinner you settled into the den with more drinks, Spencer moving onto water in the hopes it would stop him saying anything else stupid. 

Sometimes it was hard to believe he was a genius. Social situations seemed to cause his brain to melt out of his ears. 

The rain continued to pound against the side of the house, accompanied occasionally by thunder and lightning. 

Your dad lounged back in his grand, burgundy leather armchair next to the fireplace while your mother perched on the arm. 

You and Spencer had the couch opposite and the way they looked at him made him feel like he was at a job interview. 

“Mom will ask how we met even though she already knows.” You wiggled your toes inside your heels, already aching the balls of your feet. 

“S-she knows?” Spencer shot you a glance out of the corner of his eye.

“Well obviously not the whole story.” You rolled your eyes. 

Your mom sipped her wine with a smile and when she pulled the glass away from her lips she smiled sweetly at the two of you. 

“Remind me how the two of you met. It seems to have slipped my mind.” 

You felt Spencer tense next to you, his back so rigid all of a sudden, like a metal rod had replaced his spine. 

“You were probably drinking, am I right Spencer?” Your dad offered him an unamused smile. 

“I-I…no?” Spencer pouted. 

“What did you tell her?” Spencer’s chest tightened which was the last thing he needed to focus on on top of the weather he was navigating the vehicle through. 

“That we met in a bar and exchanged numbers. Then you called and took me for dinner. It’s not a complete lie.” You watched the side of his face.

“I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t include the part about us having sex in the bathroom of the bar.” 

“No mother needs to know that. And a dad certainly doesn’t. Just be vague. We met in a bar and hit it off. You took me for dinner a few days later.” 

“Didn’t you meet in a bar?” Your mother mused out loud. 

“Yes.” Spencer nodded. 

“But you just said you weren’t drinking?” Your father countered. 

“I was not.” He swallowed, he was such a terrible liar. 

“We met in a bar. We hit it off instantly, right Spence?” You nudged his leg with your own. 

“Hmm mmm.” He replied with a sharp nod. 

If he said any more on the matter he may very well blurt out what the two of you spent the night doing in the restroom. 

You could sense this so you quickly downed your wine and pushed yourself up from the couch. 

“Who needs another drink? Spencer, help me with the drinks.” You tugged him to his feet and motioned for him to follow you to the kitchen. 

He scurried after you, like a small child following his mother. In the kitchen you turned to him with sympathetic eyes.

“This is a fucking disaster.” He spat, raking his fingers through his messy hair. 

“It’s…it could be going better, yes.” You agreed. 

You moved closer to him and placed your hands on his shoulders. 

“They hate me.” He whined.

“They do not.” You tried to insist. 

Your mom probably didn’t hate him but truthfully you could tell your father wasn’t his biggest fan. 

“I am not good with parents.” He grumbled, pouting his bottom lip. 

“Just be grateful he hasn’t given you the talk yet.” 

“What’s the talk?” Spencer’s foot almost slammed on the brake which would have inevitably caused the car to skid in this weather. 

Was it wrong that the idea of having a car accident was preferable to dinner with your parents? 

“Oh come on. You know, the talk?” You shrugged. 

“You are aware that just because you repeat it, it doesn’t mean it makes any more sense?” 

You huffed a breath out of your mouth and rolled your eyes. 

The wipers seemed to pick up speed, squelching as they tried to fend off the rain from Spencer’s limited field of vision. 

“If you ever hurt my daughter, blah, blah, blah.” You waved a flippant hand. 

“If I ever hurt his daughter what?” Spencer’s eyes widened and he was grinding his teeth so hard he swore they would wear away. 

“I don’t know.” You shrugged. “I’ve only ever heard it second hand. You’ve got an eidetic memory, you can tell me.”

“Doctor Reid?” Your father appeared in the kitchen doorway and you leapt back from Spencer so quickly you almost tumbled off your heels. 

“Uh yes?” Spencer's voice cracked like a teenager going through puberty. 

“Join me in the lounge.” Your dad motioned towards the door. 

Spencer glared at you, eyes almost bulging out of his head. 

“You’ll be fine.” You mouthed to him before Spencer followed your father, looking like a man being made to walk the plank. 

“What am I supposed to say to him? He’s essentially going to threaten me.” Spencer groaned, sitting even further forward in his seat and narrowing his eyes on the dark and rainy street. 

“You know, that you love me and you have no intentions of hurting me. Cheesy kind of stuff, I don’t know.” You smoothed down your dress, leaning back in the chair. 

It was almost frustrating how calm you were. Spencer was about ready to blow his brains out. 

“I’m not good with cheesy. I’m a man of science not emotions.” 

“I’m a man of science.” Spencer blurted out the second he was alone with your father. 

The older man raised a curious eyebrow at him. 

“Excuse me?” 

“I’m a man of science, not a man of emotions. I know you’re going to give me the talk. The one where you tell me not to hurt your daughter. And I want to stand here and tell you all the ways I love her and all the ways I won’t hurt her but…I’m a man of science.” He rambled a little, shifting his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. 

To Spencer’s surprise, your dad’s face broke out into a smile, one he hadn’t seen on the man all night. 

“Duly noted.” He chuckled lightly. “For what it’s worth I wasn’t going to give you the talk. I might give you a hard time but that’s because she’s my little girl. To be perfectly honest, I think you’re a remarkable man and I am very pleased you make my daughter so happy.” 

Spencer stared slack jawed at your father feeling his brain short circuit. 

Another loud clap of thunder made him jump and gasp slightly pathetically which made your dad laugh again. 

“Y-you…you like me?” Spencer frowned once the shock from the thunder wore off. 

“I do.” Your dad smiled again and he had very kind eyes when he smiled, much less terrifying than he had been all night. 

“Wow. Great. That’s great.” Spencer perked up, a smile tugging at his own lips. 

“But if you do ever hurt her…” 

“I won’t.” Spencer was quick to answer. 

“You and I won’t have an issue then.” The older man chuckled heartily and Spencer was able to relax for the first time this evening. 

“What uh…why did you want to see me in here if you didn’t want to give me the talk?” Spencer scratched the back of his head.

“You said you liked Conan Doyle? I have a first edition I wanted to show you.” You dad turned away from him and started towards the bookshelf while Spencer simply stared. 

“Oh! Talk to him about books, he loves books!” You clapped your hands together, starling Spencer. 

“He likes literature?” Spencer briefly glanced at you before turning his attention back to torrential rain. 

“He loves literature. That will be a sure fire way to get into his good graces.” 

Spencer nodded, slowing the car as they approached the house you had grown up in. 

He cautiously manoeuvred the vehicle onto the driveway and shut off the engine.

It wasn’t lost on you that his hands were shaking. 

“They’re going to love you.” You reached across the centre console and took hold of one of his hands. 

Your father and Spencer rejoined you and your mom in the den and Spencer was actually smiling, clutching an old book in his hand. 

“Uh…your dad let me borrow this.” He proffered the book towards you. “I’m just going to use the restroom.” 

He handed you the book and you watched him skulk off again, your heart bursting in your chest the way it always did when you looked at him. 

“Oh I just adore him, Y/N!” Your mother cooed as soon as Spencer had left the room. 

“He’s pretty great.” You smiled dreamily. “What do you think, dad?” 

Your dad seemed to contemplate this for a moment or two, a frown on his forehead before it quickly softened and he smiled at you. 

“I think you could do a lot worse.” 

“People don’t tend to love me when they first meet me. I grow on people. I’m not the kind of man people take an instant liking to.” He pulled a sour face. 

“I did.” You smiled at him and your eyes sparkled in that way that had made him fall in love with you. “Come on, let’s just get it over with.”

Spencer nodded, reaching into the backseat for the umbrella. 

He opened his door and was quick to open it, shielding himself from the heavy downpour as he ran to your side of the car and opened your door. 

He held out his free hand to help you up and ensured the umbrella stayed over you, keeping you dry and not caring much about himself.

You walked hand in hand up the front steps and his grip on you tightened as you reached to ring the doorbell. 

“It’s going to be ok, I promise.” You smiled at him in a way that made Spencer momentarily believe you. 

He had to trust that everything would be ok. Spencer needed your parents to like him for the sake of the future he planned with you. 

He took a deep breath and patted his pocket with his free hand. 

Everything had to be ok. 

“Sir, I need to ask you something.” Spencer cleared his throat, clutching the book under his arm. 

“Ok?” Your dad folded his arms, eyeing Spencer suspiciously. 

“I uh…well here’s the thing.” Spencer cleared his throat again. “I know Y/N and I haven’t been together all that long and I know when you asked me what my intentions were with her I didn’t give you a very clear answer. But that was because I didn’t want to give away the surprise.” 

The older man’s eyebrows furrowed and his arms fell back to his sides. 

“The surprise?” 

Spencer nodded, fishing in his pocket with his free hand and pulling out the red velvet ring box. 

“I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. And you might think it’s too soon and you might think I’m crazy but…I love your daughter. And with your permission, I would very much like to ask her to marry me.” Spencer’s voice pitched and cracked as he spoke, handing the ring box over to your dad.

He took it and flipped it open, looking down at the stunning vintage engagement ring Spencer had spent weeks picking out for you. 

It felt like hours of your dad scrutinising the ring and Spencer half expected him to kick him out on his ass. 

Eventually he tore his eyes away from the ring and looked back at Spencer, his expression unreadable. 

He took a few steps closer to Spencer and Spencer whimpered when your father clasped his hand heavily on his shoulder. 

And then, his face broke out into the largest smile Spencer had ever seen. 

“Welcome to the family, son.” 

The door opened and the light from the hall burst out onto the dark porch. Spencer felt all the air leave his lungs and his grip on your hand tightened even more so. 

“Come in, come in! The weather is frightful!” Your mother motioned the two of you inside quickly, taking the dripping umbrella from Spencer and leaning against the wall. 

Your mom and dad stood in the hallway, giving Spencer the once over and he felt his chest tightening. 

You squeezed his hand, beaming proudly at your parents. 

“Mom, dad, this is my boyfriend Spencer.” 

“Hello Mr and Mrs Y/L/N, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist

All ships & genres -

@muffin-cup @andiebeaword @measure-in-pain @takeyourleap-of-faith @sexy-dumpster-fire @thebloomingeagle @dirtytissuebox @smurphyse @ssa-uglywhore27

SR x reader -

@dreatine @adoringanakin @dr-spencerr-reidd @sleepretreat @spenxerslut @mcumorningstar @radtwinkie @drayshadow @rainsong01 @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @pastelbabygirl19 @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @people-whatabunchofbastards @justreadingficsdontmindme @dielgonacoffee @hotchandspencearedilfs @im-totally-not-dezi

[gaelic-symphony]

Private Tutor

Written for @cmbingo

Pairing: Platonic Elle Greenaway/Spencer Reid

Summary: After his “date” with JJ at the football game, Spencer realizes he might have a lot to learn about dating, and he asks Elle to help him out.  Oh yeah, and they’re both bisexual.

Bingo Square: Reidaway

Warnings: None

            It was quiet in the bullpen.  Hotch and Morgan had gone home for the evening, and Gideon was up in his office doing…Gideon things.  Elle was at her desk, slogging through her pile of paperwork.  She’d resigned herself to an evening of work, yet another boring night spent in the office instead of making the most of her life while she was young and energetic enough to live it to the fullest.  This job could really suck sometimes.

            Spencer was also at the office late, but he’d stopped working about half an hour ago.  Now he was lurking around, trying to work up the courage to approach a coworker he talked to every day.  He nervously sidled up to Elle’s desk and cleared his throat to get her attention.

            “Um, Elle?” he said.

            Elle looked up from her desk.  “What’s up, Reid?”

            “Do you…um—do you remember when you told me that the reason I couldn’t get a date was because I never asked anyone?”

            “Yeah, I remember,” Elle laughed.

            “Well, uh…” Spencer said nervously, “I’m not—I’m not so sure I know how.  I mean, Gideon gave me tickets to a football game, and I asked JJ if she wanted to go, and we had a good time, but…I don’t think JJ realized I was asking her out on a date.  I think…I’m pretty sure she just thought we were going as friends.”

            “Aw, Reid…”

            “It’s okay,” Spencer said, “I had a good time.  But I just…How do I make sure that the next person I ask out actually knows I’m asking them on a date?”

            “Well, you just…flirt with them, I guess,” Elle replied, “Let them know you’re interested in them romantically, and not just as a friend.”

            “Right, right,” Spencer nodded, “It’s just—I’m not entirely sure I know how to do that.”

            “You need me to teach you how to flirt?” Elle asked.

            “Could you?”

            Elle laughed.  “Of course, I’d be happy to, Spencer.  Guys or girls?”

            Spencer thought for a moment.  “Um…I guess…both?  Either?  I mean, it’s up to you.”

            “Girls it is, then,” Elle nodded.  She smirked knowingly.  “They’re way more fun, anyway.”  She closed the file in front of her and got up from her desk.

            “Are we—do you want to teach me now?” Spencer asked.

            “Beats an evening of paperwork,” Elle shrugged, “Get your coat.  You and I are going out tonight, and we’re not going home until you’ve got at least one girl’s phone number.”

            “We might be there a while then,” Spencer joked modestly.             “Don’t underestimate me,” Elle replied teasingly, “I’m an excellent teacher.  By the time I’m done with you, even Morgan will be jealous of your game.”

[gaelic-symphony]

Mothers and Daughters

Written for @cmbingo

When Ambassador Prentiss brings the team a kidnapping case, it causes Emily to reflect back on her tumultuous relationship with her mother.

Warnings: Canon violence/gore, Emily Prentiss’ mommy issues

Bingo Square: S2

            Elizabeth Prentiss is in the BAU bullpen.  Emily can’t believe her eyes.  Surely this is just a bad dream; any moment now, her teeth will start falling out, and she’ll have to take an exam she hasn’t studied for.  She blinks her eyes and shakes her head, hoping it will clear the image from her field of vision, but it doesn’t.  This is real.  Her mother is standing in her office, demanding to speak to “Agent Prentiss and one of her superiors.”  Emily ignores every word Gideon is saying as she stands up from the table and pokes her head out of the conference room.

            “Mother?” she says incredulously.  At the sound of her daughter’s voice, Elizabeth looks up at the catwalk.  Emily hasn’t seen her mother in months, despite being back in D.C. for good.  Now, her mother’s face is tilted upwards towards her, and she’s looking down at her from above, and it reminds Emily of the photograph that always sat in the exact same spot on Elizabeth’s desk, no matter how many times they moved from country to country.

            The picture was taken in August of 1971, when Emily was ten months old.  Her mother and father had taken her to a beach an hour outside of Athens for a family outing, and her father had snapped the photo of his two girls bathed in summer sunlight, Elizabeth holding Emily up in the air above her head and looking up at her.  Emily was a cute kid, with her rosy cheeks and her dimples, her soft, jet-black hair and big, expressive brown eyes.  Elizabeth was young and pretty and full of life, full of hopes and plans for her career and her family.  Emily and Elizabeth were both smiling brighter than the Mediterranean sun.  It’s one of the few times Elizabeth has ever looked truly happy to be spending time with Emily, and Emily was too young to even remember it.

            Elizabeth has brought the team a kidnapping case: The brother of one of her former colleagues, a Russian immigrant, had been abducted from outside his home in Baltimore, and his wife and daughter had received a ransom note demanding a wire transfer to a Moscow bank account—along with his severed ring finger.  Emily watches as her mother explains the situation to Hotch, and as Hotch explains that while he’d like to help, this isn’t really how the team does things.  There are proper channels that cases need to go through.  Elizabeth doesn’t take no for an answer.  She pushes Hotch to investigate, and he relents.  Elizabeth is very good at getting her way.

            Emily knows better than anyone just how hard it can be to stand up to her mother.  When she was six, Elizabeth signed her up for ballet class.  Emily hated it.  She was never particularly graceful.  The classes were boring, and the other little girls were mean.  But Elizabeth had done ballet as a child, and it was supposed to be a lovely thing that she could share with her daughter, and the look of judgment and disappointment on Elizabeth’s face whenever Emily expressed a desire to quit was enough to make her keep taking ballet classes for five more years.  When Emily was ten, Elizabeth told her she was old enough to pick out her own dress for the embassy Christmas party.  Her father took her shopping, and she came home with a bright floral dress with a flowy skirt that billowed when she twirled.  She was excited to show it to Elizabeth, and even more excited to wear it to the party, but the look of disdain on her mother’s face when she twirled around the living room in her new dress was enough that she didn’t protest when Elizabeth took her back to the store to exchange the dress for a plain pink one with a starched lace collar that made her neck itch.  As Emily got older, she got better at not letting her mother’s disapproval dictate her every choice, but Hotch hasn’t had 36 years of practice.  He gives in to Elizabeth and takes the case.

            While the rest of the team heads to Baltimore to investigate Mr. Chernus’ disappearance, Emily stays behind and works with her mother on getting information about the Moscow bank account through Elizabeth’s diplomatic contacts.  While they wait for a phone call from one of Elizabeth’s friends, Emily peruses her mother’s office.  It’s stately, but functional.  Everything in the office serves a purpose.  Everything in the office is strategically chosen to project the image of a diplomat.  The only personal touches are the photographs of Emily on Elizabeth’s desk—not of treasured memories from Emily’s childhood, but professional portraits Elizabeth paid for.  Elizabeth is seated at her desk, eyes glued to her computer screen.

            “How are you enjoying your assignment to the BAU?” she asks Emily.

            “Well, enjoying is an odd description,” Emily replies.

            “Is it?” Elizabeth asks almost absentmindedly, not looking up from her computer.

            “Well, we, um, deal with some pretty horrible things,” Emily says.

            “I thought that was where you wanted to be,” Elizabeth says, still focused on her computer screen.

            “It is, definitely,” Emily nods.

            “Then you do enjoy it.”

            “All I’m saying is ‘enjoy’ feels wrong,” Emily says.

            “Alright.  What would you call it?” Elizabeth asks.

            “Why do we have to end up in an interrogation?” Emily scoffs.  She knows her mother is just trying to be nice and make polite conversation and express an interest in her daughter’s life, but Emily still can’t help but feel like her every word and every action is being scrutinized and criticized, so she’s a little defensive.

            She feels like she’s eighteen again.  That’s how old she was when she finally worked up the courage to come out to her parents.  She’d known for a while, but didn’t want to tell them—especially her mother.  Because for all that teenage Emily joked that she was so used to being a disappointment to her parents that she just didn’t care about their opinions anymore, the truth was that it still crushed her every time her mother shut her down.  She was expecting a bad reaction, but Elizabeth was surprisingly calm and accepting.  She was hardly warm, but then Elizabeth was never particularly warm, and she did tell Emily that it was fine if she wanted to bring a female date to the next diplomatic function.  The whole interaction just left Emily feeling empty and confused.  She knew she should be happy—not everyone was so lucky to have a mother who immediately accepted her lesbian daughter—but where was this Elizabeth during Emily’s childhood?  After eighteen years of making Emily feel judged and scrutinized and rejected any time she deviated from expectations, why had her mother decided to suddenly be the supportive parent now?

            Elizabeth finally looks up at her daughter, exasperation written across her face as she takes off her reading glasses, but before she can respond, they’re interrupted by Elizabeth’s assistant informing them that Gregor Popovich is on the phone.  Elizabeth takes the call, and Emily stands behind her, listening eagerly.  Gregor only knows Emily as a lanky twelve-year-old, but Elizabeth brings her in on the conversation like they’re close friends.  Gregor only has bad news for them: The Russian government won’t allow the FBI access to Russian citizens’ bank account information, and they’re not moved by the urgency of the situation.  Elizabeth hangs up the phone.

            “I really thought he could do this,” she says.  She tries not to let any hint of emotion show on her face, but Emily can see that she’s devastated.  It’s in the way she clasps her hands and purses her lips, because that’s about the extent of how Elizabeth shows emotion.  Emily may be good at shoving her feelings down, but she learned from the best.  Emily feels like she should say something, but she doesn’t know what.  She wishes she could comfort her mother, but she has no idea how.  All the usual ways that people comfort other people just seem so foreign between the two of them.  It’s just not the way they do things.

            She hasn’t felt like this since she came home from college to find out her parents were getting divorced.  Emily had known for years about her father’s affairs; she knew this divorce was a long time coming.  Elizabeth was putting on a brave face, but Emily could see that it was killing her to act like everything was just fine.  Emily didn’t want to act like everything was just fine, either.  Her parents were splitting up.  Her life was changing.  If she and her mother had a warmer relationship with each other, they could have shared their hurt and anger and processed their feelings together.  Instead, they barely spoke.  Emily didn’t know what to say then any more than she knows what to say now.

            “Um, I should head back to the office and let them know,” she says.

            “Please tell Agent Hotchner I’m sorry,” Elizabeth says.

            Emily nods.  “Right.”

            It’s a short drive back to Quantico, and Hotch is waiting for her in his office when she gets in.

            “Anything?” he asks.

            “Her contacts fell through,” Emily sighs.

            “Really?”

            “Apparently she’s not infallible.”

            When Emily was little, she thought her mother never made mistakes, which just made her feel that much worse when her own mistakes were pointed out to her.  She was seven the first time she realized her mother actually made mistakes sometimes, too.  Elizabeth had forgotten to pick Emily up from Brownies, and Emily sat on the steps of her elementary school with her troop leader for almost two hours until her father came to get her.  Elizabeth apologized profusely and explained that she had been very busy with work, but the revelation that her mother wasn’t perfect meant more to Emily than any apology could.  She was thirteen the first time she dared to call her mother out on a mistake.  Elizabeth’s sapphire ring was missing, and she immediately accused Emily of taking it.  When Emily found the ring in the family car, she presented it to her mother and demanded an apology.  Because for all the power her mother seemed to hold, she was, ultimately, a person.  Sometimes she got things right, and sometimes she got them wrong.

            A new development in the case has the team on edge.  The kidnappers didn’t wait until the noon ransom deadline; they cut off Mr. Chernus’ ear and delivered it to his daughter at their home.  His daughter is also gone, taking matters into her own hands after this new development.  Mrs. Chernus is in the BAU conference room, wailing in the arms of the Russian translator as Hotch delivers the news.  Emily watches through the window from her desk in the bullpen.  It’s then that Elizabeth walks in.

            “Has something happened?” she asks.

            “Yes, the kidnappers didn’t wait until noon,” Emily replies, “They cut off Mr. Chernus’ ear and sent it to his daughter.”

            “Oh, god.  Is he—”

            “No, we don’t think so,” Emily says, “But they’ve given us a new deadline and increased the ransom demand.  You still think I enjoy all of this?”

            There’s a bite to that last sentence, and Emily immediately regrets it.  Not out of any concern for respect or her mother’s feelings, but because she doesn’t like being made to feel like a petulant teenager.  She’s 36 years old.  She’s a successful, accomplished woman.  She’s smart and charming and loyal and strong.  She knows all of this about herself, but the second she has to deal with her mother, she just feels small.  She feels inadequate.  She feels fifteen again.

            Elizabeth ignores her daughter’s snarkiness.  “Are they still instructed to wire the money to the same bank in Moscow?” she asks.

            “Yes, I think so,” Emily replies.

            “Something your computer expert said this morning,” Elizabeth says, “About if she understood how Russian banks hold their data, she could get information about the account holders.”

            “Right.”

            “After you left, I called Gregor back,” Elizabeth continues, “He made some calls, gave me this.  Said she would understand it.”  She hands Emily a folded piece of paper.

            Emily can’t make sense of it, but she brings it to Penelope, and she can.  Penelope clicks away at her keyboard, trying to explain what she’s doing in terms that Emily will understand, and knowing full well that Emily still doesn’t really get it, but that’s okay.  Not everyone can be a tech goddess.  She’s got the structure of the bank’s server downloaded, and it’s only a few more steps before she can access the account information.

            “Whoever gave these instructions is really good,” Penelope says.

            Emily’s used to hearing praise for her mother.  Growing up, it was inescapable.  The Prentiss name followed her wherever she went.  Everyone was always telling her what an impressive woman her mother was.  Everyone was always asking about her mother’s latest accomplishment.  It wasn’t that Emily necessarily minded hearing all the praise for her mother, but it would have been nice to grow up hearing a little more praise from her mother.

            Penelope traces the account to the son of a notorious Russian mobster who had been kidnapping men in the local community in order to extort money from the father who refused to acknowledge him—and had been working with Mr. Chernus’ daughter the whole time.  The BAU figures it out, but not before the Russian mob does, and they have their own way of dealing with things.  Mr. Chernus is returned to his wife, alive and safe, but missing a few body parts.  His daughter and the kidnappers are taken care of in a much more brutal fashion, their bodies stuffed into garbage bags and dumped in the Chesapeake Bay.  It’s not exactly a successful end to the case, but there is some good news, and Emily goes to her mother’s house to share it.

            “We got him,” she says, “Mr. Chernus is safe now.”

            “Oh, good!” Elizabeth says.

            “We couldn’t have done it without you,” Emily says.

            “Ah, well…I’m sure that isn’t true,” Elizabeth brushes her off modestly.

            “Agent Hotchner wanted me to say thank you for him,” Emily says.

            “Well, tell him I’m glad I could help,” Elizabeth replies.

            “Anyway, I thought you would want to know how it all came out.”  Emily turns to leave, but her mother’s voice stops her.

            “It was nice to feel needed again.”

            Emily turns to her mother with a puzzled look on her face.  “What-what did you say?”

            “Well, I don’t mean to be overly dramatic, but…I am an ambassador without an assignment.”

            “You’ve been without assignments before,” Emily says.

            “Yeah, but never for this long,” Elizabeth replies, “And one does begin to wonder…”

            Emily’s eyes widen, and her mouth drops open.  She’s speechless.  This is the most vulnerable Elizabeth has ever been with her.

            “What, did I say something wrong?” Elizabeth asks.

            “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you doubt yourself before,” Emily says.

            “Oh, I doubt myself all the time, Emily,” Elizabeth says, “It’s just…not showing it—that’s what being a diplomat’s all about.”

            Emily looks at her mother—really looks at her—and for the first time, she doesn’t see Elizabeth the ambassador or Elizabeth her mother.  She sees Elizabeth the person, with doubts and fears and insecurities just like her.  Flawed, frustrating, trying her best, and sometimes falling short.  For the first time, she feels like she and her mother are on equal footing.

            “Would you like to go to dinner?” Emily asks.

            Elizabeth looks up at her daughter and smiles. “My treat?”

            “Definitely.”

            “Yeah, yeah, I think I would.”

            As Emily follows her mother out of the office, she feels lighter.  She can’t change the past, and she can’t change her mother, but that’s okay.  It’s okay, because she can understand her mother, and that’s really what matters.  She’s her mother’s daughter, and at the age of 36, she’s finally learning to be okay with that.

[gaelic-symphony]

Post-Ghost

Written for @cmbingo

Tara, Matt, and Luke narrowly escape danger while on a case, which turns out to be the just the catalyst that Tara and Emily need.

Pairing: Tara Lewis/Emily Prentiss

Bingo Square: Season 15

Warnings: None

Keep reading

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Rose Tinted | S.R

My gif

Summary - inseparable as teenagers, you, Spencer and Ethan found that as time goes on, friendships inevitably drift apart. But your rose coloured glasses come off when Ethan’s sudden death forces you to re-examine your past and your feelings for the two men who once meant so much to you.

A/N - this is for my Love Triangle Square for @cmbingo

This idea came from 4.17 Demonology. There are some heavy implications of both reader and Spencer being involved romantically with Ethan but this does has a happy ending for Spencer and reader, it’s just a slow burn. For the sake of the story I made up Ethan’s last name, the actor who plays him has Italian heritage so I played into that.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader (some Spencer Reid / Ethan & Ethan / Fem! Reader

Category - angst with a happy ending, mentions of some NSFW topics (minors DNI)

Content Warnings - minor character death, mentions of drug use, suicide, bisexual Spencer supremacy, mentions of lose of virginity, making out, mentions of sexually activity between both reader and Ethan, Spencer and Ethan and Spencer and reader, mentions of handjobs and blowjobs, mentions of penetrative sex, mentions of pregnancy and terminations, alcohol consumption, swearing, funerals, angst with happy ending.

Word Count - 12.4K (she’s a wordy bitch)

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Come on you two slow pokes, keep up!” You giggled as you ran on ahead through the long grass. 

You heard the grass whipping around your two best friends as they hurried to keep up with you. 

“I didn’t realise it was a race.” One of them called with a hint of amusement in his voice. 

“How long have you known me, Marino? It’s always a race.” You laughed, forcing your legs to carry you faster. 

“You’re too competitive. Not everything needs to be a competition.” He countered, closing in on you. 

“You’ll never get into the FBI with that attitude!” You got cocky then. 

As you continued to push yourself forward, you spun around to face your friends. One foot crossed under the other and you tripped, falling flat on your back in the grass with a thud.

He didn’t have time to slow himself down and he came crashing down on top of you. 

“Oww.” You moaned, his full weight crushing you into the floor. “Jeez Marino.”

He didn’t move. He stayed on top of you, laughing heartily at the look on your face.

“You know your problem don’t you, Y/L/N?” 

“I have a whole ass man on top of me?” You grumbled. 

“No.” He chuckled. “You get too cocky. You need to rein yourself in or you’ll never be that big time profiler you’ve always dreamed of.” 

“Pffft.” You shoved his shoulder but he didn’t budge. “Whadda you know? You’ll probably fail out of the academy your first week.”

Keep reading