#cmbingo22

[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

#cmbingo2022 #cmbingo22 #cmbingo #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader

[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

#cmbingo22 #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

[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.

#criminal minds #fanfiction #cmbingo22 #tara lewis #jennifer jareau #jara #only one bed

[bacchicly]

The Party is Over

Pairing: Penelope Garcia x Luke Alvez

CM TROPE BINGO 2022 PROMPT: One Decision Changes Everything

Summary: Penelope is a hostess with the mostest.  So why doesn’t Luke stay at her steampunk themed get together?  Soft and fluffy happy hot sex.  Not linked to any other story I’ve written.

Content: Graphic descriptions of sex,first time together, safe sex, talk of consent, steampunk-esque costumes, brief mention of The Flight of the Conchords.  

Words: 4000ish

Penelope's apartment has that definite post-party look.  Empty glasses sit haphazardly around the kitchen, the sink is filled with platters and empty bowls, and Penelope is standing at the door - looking happy but exhausted still dolled up in her copper and teal lace corset and tiered skirt - saying goodbye to Savannah and Derek who are putting on coats and smiling and asking for the umpteenth time if they can help clean up more. 

"No!  Away with you both!  You have a perfectly good hotel room and a kid-free night that is a-wasting!  Now tho you two beautiful people!  How else am I going to get more God-Children!?!  Scoot!  And Derek you be careful taking off this fine woman's corset - or so help me!"

"Alright! Alright!  I promise you I will be gentle.  See you for lunch tomorrow, Baby Girl?"

"Yes!  A late lunch though!  Linner."

Savannah laughs and puts on her best impersonation of her husband:

"Oh Baby Girl!  And I was hoping for Lupper."

"Savanah!?  Why did you marry that lout when you could have married me!" Penelope presses a big kiss to Savannah's cheek as she swoops in for one last hug and then nicely shoos her friends out the door - closing it with a click.

Penelope takes a big breath and gives herself a moment to lean back against the closed door and take stock.

Tonight was a good night and most people at least tried to dress to theme - lots of gears and corsets and hats and part antique/part futuristic ray guns.

Spencer had carried around a false skull all night and kept pulling down his terrifying plague doctor mask and chasing the rest of them around the apartment.   

The punch had been a success and the couple of ice-breaker games she insisted on had been satisfyingly silly.  Tara and Emily in particular had howled with delight at the one where people were given two topics and then had to improvise a bizarre conspiracy theory connecting the two.  The looks on people's faces when they closed their arguments with the decreed serious expression and the phrase "Think About It."

Matt and Kirsty had tag-teamed for that one - wildly connecting cream of mushroom soup to the moon landing.

Yeah.  It had been a good night.  So, why did she feel so hollow now. 

He hadn't shown up.  That's why.

Ok.  So - technically - he did make an appearance...  He arrived while she was in the kitchen fixing drinks for Will and Rossi and Tara who were not "punch people".  When she came back out into the living room.... There. He. Was. 

He was talking to Tara - laughing as he reached up to stroke a purple feather on her fascinator probably in rebuttal to some "your mom" Tara had laid down. 

His smile had been gorgeous. 

Heart stoppingly so.

Penelope - determined not to pay any undo attention to her newest guest - waltzed through her guests - handing the beer to Will and the scotch to Rossi - she tried not to look..but her eyes kept flitting over to him.

If she hadn't have been bringing Tara her drink...she might have avoided him...at least until her head had stopped spinning - but needs must and she was a hostess with the mostess... So...

"Here you go m'lady. Hello Luke!  I'm so glad you could make it!  Can I get you some punch or a scotch like this wench is drinking?"

At the sound of her voice, Luke had spun around and...

Damn it.

She didn't know why - and she bet no one else saw it - but all laughter had fallen from his face - had clenched his jaw - looked furious...

Just for a split micro-second and then his stupid beautiful lips had curled into a smile and... and...

"No actually.  I know I just got here but I have to ahhh bounce.  I... It's Roxy... She's been cooped up all day - I came straight from work - and ahh I just got a text saying that her sitter got tied up at work... So she didn't get an evening walk... And...ah.. so sorry.. Thanks for the invite Garcia. I'll ahhh maybe see if I can swing back later."

And he - and his perfect blousy chest-bearing pirate shirt - and his soft tight brown breaches - and his tall leather boots - and his bowler with sea-green bullets in the band - had left. 

And never came back. 

It was worse than him not showing up at all.

🔸🔸🔸

Three loud knocks on the door behind her jolt Penelope out of her thoughts.

Assuming one of her guests had forgotten something - Penelope swings open the door without checking the peep-hole - then gapes...

Standing in her doorway - resplendent in his rakish costume - sea-green bullets and all - is Luke Alvez.  His expression stern.  His eyes blazing. 

Penelope's eyes can't help but skim his mostly bare chest - his hands hanging by his side's in fingerless gloves - the way his breeches hug his...

Penelope makes herself meet his eyes.  Forces a smile.

"The party is over - they all went home."

"Derek and Savannah were the last? Everyone's gone?"

"Everyone."

"Good."

And Luke takes a giant step into the room - brings one hand up to catch her cheek - caressing his hand back until it's tangled in her hair - fingers curled around the sweet curve of her skull.  He then leans in smelling of night and spice and Luke - bringing their lips ever so close... and when he speaks she can feel - taste his breath.

"I had to leave.  You.  That costume.  Penelope I... May I kiss you? Please?  Now?"

A million thoughts go through Penelope's brain.  She wants to kiss him.  Always wants to kiss him...but they work together... and... and he left her party...and... Oh fuck it. 

Penelope's lips form a single word "Yes." and then they are kissing.  It is not a deep kiss.  Nor a wild one.  Instead he is just brushing her lips lightly - feather soft with his.  Back and forth.  Brush.   Brush.  Brush.  Side to gentle side. 

Luke lifts his other hand - mirroring the grip of the other - holding her in place - not that she's going anywhere.  The moment is too sweet - too exquisite - too long dreamed of.  The shock of reality holds her in place more surely than his hands. 

Her hands have gathered fistfuls of skirt - the stiff shiny rough silk flirting with her finger tips - cozying her palms - grounding her - holding herself back and here.

Luke is the first to make a sound.  A mou that pings against her heated brain - and without thinking her lips part - and slowly ever so slowly - he slants his mouth so that first his lower lip and then his upper slips between hers - holding first her upper lips and then her lower in their own kiss - each one its own universe. Penelope now can't help it and her mouth reacts - greeting him - welcoming him - but their pace - their glacier intensity - is matched - perfectly matched even as this kiss - the kisses - deepen. 

Luke's hands slide down her neck - thumbs stroking gently - ever so gently - down her throat - over the edge of her velvet choker - playing for a moment with the charm - his open palms coming to rest on her bare shoulders - his hand so broad that his thumbs graze past her clavicle and rest on the swell of her breasts that have been pushed high and proud by her shimmery corset.

He moans now - and Penelope swallows the sound.  She lets go of her skirt now and places her palms high on his shirt-covered belly - then can't help but slide her hands up until her fingertips rest on bare skin. He is so warm.  So wonderfully stupidly warm.  Somewhere during the kiss his hat tumbles to the floor forgotten.

And now it is Penelope's turn to moan onto his mouth and his turn to swallow her sounds.

Curse words - the best ones - run triumphantly through their brains.  This kiss - while imagined often by each of them - is leaps and bounds more powerful, more moving, more sweet than either has ever dared to dream.

Finally one of those wholesome curses finds its way to Penelope's clever mouth and she pulls back - giving the word voice.

"Fuck Luke."

His brain wants him to say a cocky "Yes! Please!" but he stifles it.  Stays silent.  So Penelope - his sexy,.amazing, practically clairvoyant about everything except him - well until now - Penelope...completes the thought.

"I think your line is 'Yes Please'"

"Penelope..I..."

"Luke, no pressure, and you can of course say no - I know I can be a little intense... but if you wanted - consented... I would like very much to have sex with you right now.  Save the talking for later?  We've known each other long enough...well enough...I just.  I really want to have sex with you - but only if you..."

He kisses her fast and hard - the way he wanted to at the party - but wouldn’t couldn’t infront of everyone.

Her arms come around his neck.  His hands are somehow on her waist. The ridges of the corset remind him that he wants to look at her. That while she is always pure joy to behold - one of the sexiest and certainly the most effervescent woman he has ever met - tonight she is more than that...a pure wet dream come to life swathed in sumptuously moulded and draped deep copper and turquoise fabric  - looking like she'd be more at home on the wind swept deck of an armoured dirigible than in a downtown D.C. apartment.

So Luke pulls back - a few steps back even - and feasts with his eyes - noting all the subtle details of her costume... the lace trim - the ruched and layered skirt that is artfully looped up above one knee - a thigh garter peekabooing through the slit and the ruffles - the side buttoned heeled boots - the beading - the hairpiece that is shaped like a fan and which matches the hues of her corset.  He laughs to himself as he notices how he uses words like 'ruched' and 'hues' so easily in his thoughts around her.  She is words and light and sassy combinations and it makes him feel alive.

Penelope's voice is soft but confident, "You like what you see, Agent?"

"I don't think like is a big enough word."

She smiles so wide and ready.  She hopes-hopes he'll say yes.  That they are on the same page - but she also knows she doesn't want to rush him into anything.

"Me too."

And Penelope steps forward and this time she is the one who touches first - tip-toes up to press her mouth to his - licking his lower lip with a pink tongue - pulling him tight against her with handfuls of shirt.  Their mouths tangle.

Oh! He tastes the way a campfire burns - entrancing, comforting, yet slightly wild - sizzling and crackling across her tongue - something that climbs and shifts - inviting her to stay - to spill her secrets in the dark- to feel more and deeper.  She has wanted this but has been afraid.  She is falling - falling - falling - but somehow he is here...he is catching her. 

Too fast.  She knows she is too fast. Not for her.  No, she is who she is and if she could have her head...she would serge forward - brashly boldly taking and giving what she wants - has wanted - needed... dreamed of... but she knows she can be too fast... too pushy... too needy... too much...

Not. A. Damn. Lady.

Confidence.  Brassy.  Begging.

Too.  Fucking.  Much.

So, Penelope ends the kiss.  It hurts, but she steps back.  Panting. 

Fuck.

She can't help it. The pain of not kissing him is so potent that she closes her eyes.  Her hands are still clenching his shirt.. and her jaw clenches..and her muscles up and down her limbs clench. 

Holding herself back. 

He hasn't said 'Yes' yet... "A kiss is not a contract...but it's very nice...very very nice..."

Penelope hangs her head... lets out one helpless bark of rye laughter.

"Pen? What-"

"Do you know The Flight Of The Conchords?"

"What- uh.. yeah aren't they a joke band or something?  Australia? HBO?"

"New Zealand.  Novelty Band."

Luke is unsure now.  What has happened? They were... his whole body thrums at the thought of "what they were..."  But from the way she is fidgeting with his shirt front...not meeting his.eyes...this seems important to her so...in what somehow manages to be his softest nicest most patient voice...

"Penny?  What about them?"

"I know... I mean... I am... I am not like other women... I am... I.. am not good at the coyness or the games or the waiting... I kinda want what I want when I want it and enjoy it and... I know I am not supposed... I know I am..  I mean... I know.. Just because you are a man... and you came back...and..and kissed me... Doesn't mean... I mean...  I... I.. Look! I know A Kiss is not a Contract...but it's very nice..."

She's singing now.  The Flight of the Conchords song... He's never heard it before so he just goggles at her... as she pitches her voice low... her very best Jermaine... sings the verse to explain....

"..very very nice.  Just because we've been playing tonsil hockey...Doesn't mean I get to score the goal..that's in your jockeys."

He snorts.

Penelope meets his eyes and just as she feared - that serious almost angry look is back. 

"Penelope.  We don't have to do anything you don't want-"

"Luke! I am not worried about that.  Not with you! Luke!?! Argh!  Didn't you listen to the damn song?  It's YOU not ME I am worried about. You don't have to do anything.  You don't have to sleep with me just cus I am practically climbing out of my skin wanting you... Just cus you kiss like a dream. Just because you are a man and the common perception is that men always want to jump into bed at the drop of a hat.  You. Don't. Have. To. And even if you do say yes now... You. Can. Change. Your. Mind. Later.  ALL. WAYS."

She's poking him with her index finger - her gaze glued to a spot around where his heart… reinforcing her points with sharp jabs to his chest. 

"Ow.  Can I get a word or six in?" Luke gently but firmly folds his hand around hers - stopping the poking.  With his other hand he chucks her under the chin - tilting her head up so their eyes can meet.  He's struck, for the billionth time since meeting her, just how beautiful her eyes are behind her glasses.  He feels her nod more than sees it.  He almost closes the space between them with another kiss - but she gave him her words - words that moved him - made him feel surprisingly cared for.  He knows he has advantages of strength and training and some other things that go along with being a hale and hearty male - but she's not wrong that there is a flip side to that.  Expectations.  Not always feeling comfortable or ready but feeling pressure to go forth...man up...avoid having to explain that there was nothing wrong with the whoever he was with...just that it felt too casual...too soon...  Yes.  She gave him her words.  Her consideration.  Now he owed her...wanted to give her...his.

"Penelope. I understand.  And you don't know how much I appreciate you saying..." his lips quirk "singing what you just did.  Really.  And same goes for you.  Always.  But right now...I think we are both on the same page.  I think we have known each other a long time.  So...if we are two adults who both want...this...shall we go for it?"

"You're sure?" Penelope tries to duck her head - but he keeps his hand steady - creating just enough resistance that she changes directions and doesn't break eye contact.

"I am sure.  I have thought of this for years.  And more importantly...I have been thinking about it seriously - very seriously for weeks...since Lisa and I broke up... and more so since I left tonight.  All the time I sat in my car waiting for everyone to leave... Not trusting myself to come back before you were alone because you looked... so...fucking extra even more than you usually are gorgeous.  Penelope Grace Garcia - I am sure about what I want.  I want you.  Have since we first met and it has just grown bigger and bigger.   I want you - however - whatever - you are willing to share.  What do you want, Penelope?"

"Everything.  Right now.  Please?"

His lips are almost on hers. 

"Penelope. Tell me if you want me to stop or do something different."

She slides her hands over his shoulders. 

"You too."

"Deal."

And they close the space between them and neither can't help the flood of relief that surges through them as their lips meet, their tongues find each other, their bodies press so close - then closer still.  There is no more thought or worry, just the best damn kissing either has ever experienced. 

Thank Fuck and All That is Good.

Penelope's breasts ache and tingle and call out for freedom from the constraint of the corset.  There is something of a heavy triangle of want and need that has settled in her groin - pulsing its 'pleases' for more touch - more friction - more Luke.

Luke consciousness is split into a triptych of sorts - part honed in on the joining of their mouths - part tied to the sensations being harvested by his gloved palms and bare fingertips as he explores her hips, her back, her shoulders,. her bare arms - part pulled to how his cock is straining hard in his boxer briefs - swollen  - weeping pre-cum - seriously opinionated about what Luke should make happen next. 

Luke's brain throws some random messages at his cock to slow down - that they've waited this long - waiting a bit longer to make sure she feels good - to properly appreciate this first of what he sincerely hopes will be many times... his cock pretty much just blows a raspberry in reply but it also knows that Mr Brain does have some valid points...  waiting can make the end sweeter.... so it is worth trying to hold back .. but no promises...

Suddenly Penelope's hands are pulling his shirt up - untucking it from the band of his breaches - and then fall lower scrambling for the buttons on either side of what he recently learned was called 'the fall' of his pants.  Luke's whole self - all his attention is drawn - zeroed in on what her fingers are doing.  He wrenches his mouth off hers - his fingers digging hard into her sides as he pulls her roughly up against him - catching her hands between their bodies.

"Penelope.  Do you... Condoms?"

Penelope turns in his arms - catches up his hand - pulls him towards her bedroom.

"In here."

Her bedroom is like the rest of her apartment - purple walls - gold trim - twinkle lights - a big bed - her comforter a riot of reds and purples - iridescent in the magical glow - a pile of pillows.  Sergio jumps from the bed with a thump - leaving the room with a deliberate flick of his tail. 

Penelope hunkers down by one of the bedside tables - not letting go of his hand - pulling out an unopened box of condoms from the lower shelf and after ripping open the top of the box with her teeth - sets it on the table top. 

"I bought these in a fit of optimism a few days after you told us you'd broken up with Lisa.  It wasn't terribly caring or understanding of me.  I'm sorry."

Luke presses a kiss to her cheek - nibbles his way to her ear - and whispers "I'm not."

Penelope can't help then but turn her head and catch his lips again with hers.  Fuck.  How can he taste even better than he did a moment ago?

Her fingers fumble again with his buttons but Luke catches her hands - stills them.

"Not yet.  Your dress is going to take some doing to get off and-"

"Luke."  Her eyes are stars. "I want you now.  Right now.  Like this.  Unless-"

Fuck.

"Get on the bed, wench."

Fuck.  She wants him to fuck her - breasts blooming from her corset. Fuck her with her jewelry still on - the turquoise velvet choker  with the brass clockwork heart  - her clever fingers bedecked with rings - the earrings shaped delicate songbirds in gilded cages.  Fuck her with her ruched skirt up around her waist - her legs wrapped around him - the garter tight around her thigh. Fuck her with her high-heels and her hair half up.

Fuck.  Yes.

Luke's cock and brain cackle at his attempt at chivalry.  

Now it is Luke's fingers that scrabble on his buttons - pushing down his pants - his boxer briefs. Fast.  Now.

Penelope has followed his direction and has scrambled back - lying crossways on the bed - her high-heel shod feet planted on the comforter - her knees bent and spread wide - her skirt indeed pulled high.  

Fuck.

Luke can see her lace panties - lace and copper like her corset - darker patches where her pussy has soaked the fabric.  He lets himself half fall half kneel between her legs.  He hooks one finger around the crotch and pulls the fabric tight to one side - spreading her pussy lip open at the same time.  Her pussy is gorgeous - slick and pink - her clit proud and swollen.  With a moan he pushes his.face between her legs - pressing a wild open mouthed ranging kiss to her cunt.  Teasing her with his clever tongue - mouthing and lipping her wanting flesh -  swirling her into a frenzy with laps and licks.

Penelope is panting.  She arches up hard when he fucks her with his tongue.  In and out.  In and out. He uses his fingers too - her wetness marking his half gloves - their fabric adding spice and friction. His nose rubbing achingly against her clit.  He breathes in - fuck she smells good to him - like sex and citrus - spicy yet fresh.  Fuck. 

She cries out when he moves to suck her clit in earnest - little sucklings as he rides her thrusts and grinds - deep sucks when she bucks hard against him - his hand is holding her thigh tight - and she is building sweating climbing - and suddenly she is all that is tight and then it releases and she cries out and convulses hard and shivering - a new splash of juices hitting his chin.

He laves the slightly-less sensitive flesh surrounding her clit as she relaxes out of the orgasm.  

Now it is his chivalry that is smirking at his cock and brain.  And you thought I was dead? Both cock and brain ignore the exchange and instead scream for a condom.  Now! Luke reaches into the package and pulls one away from the others - he rips open the package - hands shaking - and then rolls it on.

Penelope is back in herself and tugs him up her body by his shirt.  He kisses her.  Holding himself up just enough.  Fuck she can taste herself on his tongue.

Her hand is on his cock - lining it up so he can push into her begging pussy.  He tries to go slowly - but ends up just bursting into her - ploughing tight - balls deep.  He tries to hold himself still then - but she clenches around him and he can't help but pistoning hard and fast and uncontrolled.  

And Penelope loves it.

"Luke!  Yes.  More. Now.  Now.  Now.  NOW!"

And so he lets go.  No thoughts.  No worries. Just slick tight fast thrusts.  

Heat.  Want.  Her.

He fucks her and she fucks him right back.  They are slick and reaching.  Taught and tight.  Racing - panting - writhing.  In rhythm.  A fierce new rhythm that is all their own.  And suddenly she is cumming again - convulsing hard and tight around - on - his cock.  His cock.  His cock. She clings to him and now he is cumming too.  Ropes of cum explode into the condom.  His body spasms in joy and desperation.  It is exquisite pain - biting pleasure.  His balls empty into her.  He chokes out her name. Pulls her even more tightly against him  She cries for him - sharp and high - his name shrill and perfect in her mouth.  And they press - cling - are together.  One.  Always.  Fuck.  

Oh fuck.  Oh fuck.  Oh fuck.  Oh. Fuck.

Ohhhhhhhh.  

Fuuuuuuuck.

Penelope and Luke collapse back onto the bed.  A satisfied, gloriously happy, panting, heaving mess.  A tangle of limbs and hearts. There are no words as they each come down - settling back to themselves - each aware that there has been a sweet shift made tonight in their lives.  Luke closes his eyes in exhausted bliss - only dimly aware when Penelope - Penny - his lover - starts playing her fingers distractly along his back - tracing seams and wrinkles… but he hears her words when she - after many uncounted minutes - speaks…

"Well, Newbie, and to think we aren't even naked yet."

This draws a chuckle deep from Luke's chest and he lifts himself up so he can peer down into her dear beautiful face.  His voice in answer is gravely and raw - intimate and low - amusement and hope saturating every word…

"So what you're saying, Penny, is that the best is yet to come?"

Fin.

………..

Maybe to be continued?  Depends I guess on my mercurial whims and if y'all enjoyed this or not… so let me know...

Oh and my asks are open for micro fiction or the Alaya Means Home series - if that appeals to you.

Oh and if you don't know it either... here's a link to the Flight of the Conchords' brilliant "A kiss is not a Contract".

Yours respectfully,

Bacchic

Master List | List of One Shots & Happy Versions  | Micro-Garvez

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[cmbingo]

2022 CM Trope Bingo Sign Ups

What: Criminal Minds Trope Bingo: A Prompt Game

We, your semi-hermit admins, are here to invite you to participate in a Fan Creation Event! This ongoing tradition hopes to continue inspiring fanworks for as long as there is interest in our ragtag bunch of profilers.

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Taking the prompts and then creating something (Visuals/ Fanfiction/ Videos/ Playlists) for the squares.

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[there-must-be-a-lock]

Fine Lines - Part 4/4

Part of Coffee & Psychopaths, my Criminal Minds/Supernatural crossover! 

Word Count: ~6630 this chapter

Warnings: Canon-atypical honest discussions of trauma and recovery. Touches on a lot of the same mental health issues as the first three parts; if you’ve made it this far, I doubt there’s anything here that will bother you too much. 

A/N: With huge thanks to @stunudo​​ @fangirlxwritesx67​​ and @percywinchester27​​, for looking this over and giving feedback way back when I was first starting to write it. The first chapter of this filled my “Season 8″ square for CM Bingo 2021; it has now been so long that this chapter fills my “Season 8″ square for @cmbingo​ 2022! Oops. Better late than never. 

Pulls directly from the events of SPN 7x17, The Born-Again Identity, and 8x9, Citizen Fang. And while the timeline is different because of the way I diverged from canon, part of this is directly inspired by the end of CM 8x13, Magnum Opus. 

Sam stands in front of the window. A shadow of a person looks back at him from the glass. When he lifts his hands, turns them one way and then the other, inspects them, the shadow does the same. 

His fingernails will start breaking. His hair will start falling out. The idea should bother him. 

It’s a funny thing, having a body. 

He doesn’t feel particularly connected to his body, or to that reflected image in the glass. The body is heavy, leaden, slowly failing on him. Sam, meanwhile, feels thin and worn, like a breeze could blow him right out of his body. Maybe that would be better. He wouldn’t mind that. 

He presses his thumb into his palm, and the throb of pain makes him feel, for just a moment, that he has some measure of control. Maybe he shouldn’t be hurting his body like this, but he doesn’t have the energy to care.

It’s just blood and skin, and it’s been used to do terrible things, both by Sam and by others: Meg, Lucifer… 

The last time this body was really his, and his alone, he was six months old. 

Sam thinks about giving up. He’s so goddamn tired. He’s tired of fighting monsters and he’s tired of fighting the evil thing in his head and he’s tired of fighting for control of his own body. 

It’s the thought of Dean that pulls him back. Dean wouldn’t forgive himself. Hell, Dean wouldn’t know what to do with himself. 

Dean wouldn’t accept it, more importantly. The only time Dean’s ever stopped fighting for him was when he was in the Cage, when heaven and hell hung in the balance. Even if he did find a way to end it, would Dean accept that choice? Or would Dean bring him back? 

They always come back to each other. 

Sam presses down on his palm, hearing Dean’s voice: believe in that. I am your flesh-and-blood brother, okay? 

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

It’s after 2am when Spencer gets home. Maeve likes to keep the bedroom door open, and she’s a light sleeper, so he closes the front door carefully before tiptoeing through the dark living room to the kitchen. He turns on the oven light and pours a glass of water and makes himself drink all of it, standing there at the counter, and then he washes his hands, scrubbing with scalding-hot water until his skin is pink. 

Spencer sits cross-legged at the table, but from there he can see his reflection in the window. He scowls at it and sits on the floor instead, with his back to the counter, and the linoleum is cool under him as he tries to breathe.

He curls up into a ball, hugging his knees to his chest, dropping his forehead, trying to let the tears out as quietly as possible. It almost hurts, holding back the deep wracking sobs, but he manages; there’s only the occasional gasping breath to give him away. 

He’s so fucking tired of dead bodies. 

It’s just like this, sometimes, after a bad case; his skin crawls and his bones ache like they’re tired of holding him together. It’ll pass. He knows how to take care of himself when he’s like this: time and space, darkness and quiet, solitude. Solitude and a soft blanket. 

It was never a problem when he lived alone. 

Maeve is always so happy to see him, so sweet, so affectionate. She hugs him, wraps her arms around him and buries her face in his chest, and she lets out a barely-there exhale when she does it, when she’s pressed as close as she can, like a sigh of relief that he’s really home. Even if it’s the middle of the night, she’ll reach out for him, still half-asleep, and snuggle close. 

Most of the time, it’s wonderful. Spencer’s not a fan of touch, but she’s an exception; he feels so lucky to be able to touch her. She’s gotten used to his quirks — she knows not to sneak up on him, not to touch from behind him, to give plenty of warning. She understands, to the extent that anyone can understand a thing without feeling it themselves. 

Tonight, though — and on other nights like it — the idea of another person’s body against his makes him feel sick and panicky, the sort of panicky that makes it difficult to breathe, let alone talk… or explain what’s wrong. 

It was a couple months ago that they first ran into this problem. Spencer recoiled from Maeve’s welcome-home hug, and she got this raw, wounded look in her eyes. When he tried to explain, the words came out all wrong. She stared at him like he was crazy, and for a moment Spencer wondered if she was right. 

They talked it out, and she asked if he would try to compromise, to meet her halfway. He said yes, but he’s still not sure what she wants from him. There is no halfway here. Either they’re touching, or they’re not. 

The thing is, she gets anxious when he’s away. That first hug is her way of reassuring herself that he’s really there, solid and warm and breathing in her arms. He can see the effect it has on her, when he asks for space; she’s jumpy and unsettled, like it was worse to see him and not be able to touch than to be separated in the first place. 

Last time, it made Spencer feel so guilty that he swallowed the discomfort and hugged her anyway. Then he had a full-blown panic attack, and she blamed herself, and everything was so much worse. 

Touch, for her, is like coming ashore, like the first step onto solid ground. For Spencer, it’s like saltwater in his lungs. He wishes he could change for her, but he can’t. He spent thirty years trying and failing; his mind and his body have been at war for most of his life. He lost this battle a long time ago. 

It’s easier this way, sitting on the kitchen floor and breathing through the shakes while she sleeps in the next room; it’s easier, but Spencer feels lonely, now, in a way he never did before she moved in. He was used to being alone, before she got here. Now he’s all too aware of the space between their bodies and what it means to each of them. 

Sometimes he wonders if things weren’t better when he could love her from a distance.

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

Spencer’s arrival startles Sam out of his listless daze. He’s on the phone when he comes in, making a vaguely irritated face, and he immediately holds the phone out to Sam. 

“It’s your brother,” he explains. 

Sam takes the phone and sits on the edge of the bed, vision swimming with the exertion of the movement. 

“Hey, Dean.”  

“I think I found something,” Dean says gruffly. “I think… I think I found somebody who can help.” 

“Yeah?” Sam’s too tired to feel anything at the pronouncement. 

“We’re on the way, we’re just — we’ll be there in a couple hours. You just need to hang on a little longer. Okay?”  

“Yeah, okay,” Sam says. 

“How’re you feeling?” Dean asks. 

“Fine,” Sam says, because that’s what they always say. “See you soon.” 

“Just… a little bit longer,” Dean repeats, and Sam closes the phone, handing it back to Spencer. His hands are shaking visibly. 

“How are you actually?” Spencer asks, and Sam almost manages to laugh. 

“Not great.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Will it do any good?” 

“It might,” Spencer says, and Sam raises a skeptical eyebrow. “No, really. Even if it’s uncomfortable… in theory, trauma therapy is like inoculation: flashbacks become much less severe if patients can find ways to acknowledge those memories without being overwhelmed by them. It’s a difficult balance, but it you let them in a bit at a time—”

“Too late for that,” Sam says abruptly. “Already let him in. That’s the whole problem, here, right? I said yes. I let him in.” 

Spencer gives him a sharp, searching look. “Doesn’t mean that you deserve this.” 

Sam’s exhale is shaky. 

“I know,” he lies. 

Spencer studies him, frowning, but doesn’t press the issue. 

“I brought a book,” he says, and pulls it out of his messenger bag. “Figured… might help to get out of your head a bit? Focus on someone else’s life.”

Sam almost manages a smile at that, but he can barely concentrate on Spencer, let alone words. 

“Not sure my eyes will focus long enough to read, honestly.”

“I can read out loud,” Spencer says. 

Something about that offer twists deep in Sam’s chest, and his vision goes misty for a moment. When was the last time someone read to him? 

It was years ago, and Sam remembers it all too well. He’d been sick and miserable. Dean had put on a brave face, but he couldn’t hide the way he kept looking out the window, wondering if their dad would come back. 

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

“Thank you again,” JJ says, hugging Spencer tight, and then she hugs Maeve too. “You guys are going to make amazing parents someday.” 

“My pleasure,” Maeve says. 

Spencer adds, “Any time.” 

He offers to drive, as they walk out, but Maeve brushes him off, just like she always does. She’s smiling, and there’s a sweet faraway look in her eyes, illuminated in gold from the streetlamp, as she pulls away from the curb. She’s so beautiful; it still takes him by surprise. 

“What do you want to do tomorrow?” he asks. 

“Not sure,” she says, and she sounds happy about it. “There’s that concert in the park in the evening, and the new exhibit at the science museum…” 

“I just —” he starts, and then swallows his irritation. “I’d like to make a plan. There are things I need to do tomorrow. I have a list.” 

“Let’s figure it out together tomorrow morning, okay? I have a list too, I just don’t want to make a plan until I see what the weather will be like.” 

Spencer resists the urge to pull out her smartphone and open the weather app for her. 

He knows he shouldn’t be so controlling. He’s trying, he’s been trying so hard to be better — to be more flexible — to let things go. 

Compromise. He needs to compromise. 

“First thing?” he asks. 

“First thing,” she promises. 

“Okay.” 

She turns on the radio — preset to NPR — and holds her hand out across the center console, palm up. Spencer laces their fingers together, squeezing gently and then letting go before he starts thinking about germs. 

“JJ’s right, you know,” she says softly, and gives him a quick smile. “You’re going to be such a great dad.” 

Spencer watches her for a moment, his chest tight, barely able to breathe for how much he loves her. 

“You think so?” 

“God, yes. I hope they get your bone structure,” Maeve comments. 

He’s never really thought about that, somehow, in all the time he’s spent daydreaming about fatherhood; he’s never tried to imagine what his kids might look like. 

Now he can’t stop thinking about it. 

The thought keeps him awake, later, even when Maeve is snoring next to him. Spencer tosses and turns for an hour before he finally slips out of bed, grabbing his phone, finding his robe in the dim glow of the nightlight and pulling it on over his pajamas before he tiptoes out carefully. 

He goes to the kitchen and puts the kettle on, looking resentfully at the box of Sleepytime tea, before texting Sam: Are you awake? 

He just needs to unwind for a couple hours. 

A few months ago, if he needed to think something through, Spencer would’ve made himself some coffee, put on a record, and played chess for the rest of the night. 

Spencer’s busy dumping sugar into his mug when Sam calls. He feels a little bit panicky, and he’s pretty sure no amount of chamomile is going to change that. 

“Hey, what’s up?” 

“Maeve wants kids,” Spencer blurts out. 

There’s a long pause. 

“Like… tomorrow?” 

“No! God, no.” Spencer takes a sip of tea and burns his tongue. 

“You want kids too. So… that’s good, right?” 

“I really, really do. But she’s the first person I’ve ever met who I can imagine wanting to procreate with. This is… it’s not theoretical any more,” Spencer says slowly, trying to find the right words. “She said she hopes they have my bone structure.” 

Sam laughs. “Fair enough. Shit, those would be some smart kids.”

“It made me think about genetics,” Spencer explains. “The issue is — what if — there are so many variables, and — there are so many things that could go wrong with physical genes alone. There are so many genetic diseases, I don’t know —” 

“Whoa, hey, breathe. Okay?”

“Flesh and blood is the least of it,” Spencer says. His throat is tight. “What if they get the other genes too? It’d be my fault, and there are things in my genes that — that I wouldn’t wish on anybody.”

Sam lets out a long exhale in a crackle of static. “There’s the good stuff, too.” 

“But it’s out of my control. And I’m not sure if that’s better or worse than — the rest of it. The stuff I can control. You know?” Spencer takes a sip of tea, realizes he’s left the bag in too long, and spits it right back out. “Because it’s one thing to roll the dice on genetics, but if I have a choice and I make the wrong choice… statistically, children of divorced parents —” 

“You’re not going to turn into your dad,” Sam says firmly.  

“It’s not that easy, though, is it? We say we want to break the cycle of what our parents did to us, but you only have so much control over your attachment patterns.” 

Sam hesitates. His voice sounds heavy when he says, “I know how you feel. I wish I could be more reassuring, but… I know how you feel.” 

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

Spencer goes to get lunch — or is it dinner? Time doesn’t have much meaning in the psych hospital; the dull yellow lights are always the same. 

When he comes back, the doctor is leaning over Sam, shining a light in his eyes, and Spencer feels cold all over, for a moment, before Sam stirs. 

“I can’t give you any more medication,” the doctor is saying grimly. “The potential for overdose is too great.”

Sam holds a hand up in front of his own face, looking at it dazedly. His fingernails are bloody. He doesn’t seem to notice Spencer.  

“We need to talk about surgical solutions,” the doctor says, and Spencer frowns. He knows he shouldn’t interrupt, but that’s wrong. Something is wrong here. 

Spencer cuts in: “There are no approved surgical methods to—” 

He doesn’t finish the sentence because he’s choking. There’s an oily dark smoke streaming into his open mouth, funneling down his throat, filling his lungs, thick and sulfur-scented. The doctor glances at him, and his eyes are pure black. 

Spencer can’t breathe. 

By the time he realizes what’s happening, it’s too late. There’s someone else in his body. 

It’s nightmarish, the sensation of being paralyzed while another consciousness controls his flesh and blood. All Spencer can do is watch, horrified, as his own hands strap Sam to a gurney and start to wheel him down the hall. 

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

Sam throws the ball — watches Riot run for it — over and over again. 

He wonders if he should just leave, give Amelia and Don a chance — would that be the right thing to do? Probably. They’re married, after all. 

He’s angry. It’s an uncomfortable sensation; it doesn’t sit right in his chest. 

He doesn’t want to leave. 

Jessica feels like a lifetime ago, like it was an entirely different person who fell in love with her, but Sam thinks about her all the time. She was his first real relationship, and she had to teach him, sometimes, how to be in a relationship. He worked so hard to unlearn the patterns he’d been raised with. 

When they fought, his first instinct was always to leave, and Jessica called him on it: “Why do you do that?” 

“I just need some time,” he said. “I just need to get away for a bit, so I’m not — I don’t want to be angry with you. I hate fighting with you.” 

“I still love you,” Jess said, rolling her eyes. “A fight isn’t the end of the world, Sam. It’s okay to be angry sometimes.”

It took Sam a few minutes to breathe through the panic, but Jess just waited patiently, holding his hand, reminding him that they were okay — that she still loved him — that she wasn’t going anywhere. 

Sam knew it went back to his family. Dean and John would dig in their heels when they were angry, get their hackles up and fight back twice as hard when they were backed into a corner — when they realized they were wrong. Fight or flight was a normal enough response. It’s just that Sam’s family fought harder than most. Get them to a certain point of anger, and it would only end one way; Dean always hit a wall or a pillow or a monster, but John wasn’t so careful.

Sam learned that lesson the hard way. He learned that the best way to de-escalate was to walk away before things really got bad. 

“You’re not your dad,” Jess told him gently. “You can do things differently. We’re gonna fight each other sometimes, but at the end of the day, we’ll fight just as hard to make this work. Together. Right?” 

Riot nudges his nose under Sam’s hand, and Sam scratches behind his ears before he throws the ball again. He’s sitting on the porch steps that he fixed himself; half of them were rotted through, when they moved in. 

The last time Sam stayed in one place for this long, he was with Jess. 

Maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised. Sam of all people should know that you can only run for so long before the past catches up with you. 

He doesn’t want to leave. He doesn’t want to walk out. That’s just another Winchester pattern; he can do things differently. 

This is worth fighting for. 

Amelia comes out and sits down next to him. She looks stunned, still. 

“Thought about what you're gonna say to him?” 

“I've thought about it and thought about it, and I still don't know.” 

Sam takes a deep breath. “Look, I'm sure you have a lot of people telling you what the right thing to do is here.” 

“Sam.” 

“He's your husband, Amelia,” he says helplessly. “But I don't... I don't want to do the right thing. I mean, this is the right thing, you and me. And maybe I'm going to hell for saying this, but I'm not ready to give this up.” 

“Neither am I.” Her face softens, and she slips her hand into his. “Would it bother you if I just took some time to clear my head?” 

“Oh.” Sam tries to breathe. “Um… of course. Uh, take whatever time you need. I can just — I can go, for a bit.”

“You don’t have to, maybe I can —” 

“No. No, it’s fine.” Sam forces a smile. “Might be good. I’ll hit the road, head out to DC. Give you a week or two. Okay?” 

“Thank you,” she says, and her eyes are sad, but she does look relieved. “Thanks. I think that’d be good.” 

Sam never unpacked his bag, from the trip back in January. It’s a little too easy to leave. 

The worst part is, he’s not surprised. The cycles of his life run the same way, over and over again, whether he likes it or not. The past will always catch up. Sam will always leave, or be left.  

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

Spencer can’t shake the lingering smell of sulfur. 

He goes to the bathroom and washes his hands, splashes water over his face… when he looks in the mirror, he half expects to see black eyes staring back. 

But it’s just him. He raises a hand, flexes the fingers, lifts his chin defiantly at his reflection. He’s in control of his muscles again, but it feels like his skin doesn’t fit quite right — as if the demon stretched it out of shape, like a sweater that’s been on a cheap wire hanger too long.

When he gets back, Dean and Castiel are still at Sam’s bedside. Dean looks furious. 

“What the hell do you mean you can't?” he snaps. 

“I mean there's nothing left to rebuild.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because it crumbled. The pieces got crushed to dust by whatever's happening inside his head right now.” 

“Are you really trying to just… magic this away?” Spencer asks incredulously. “That’s not how trauma works! You can’t just wall it up and pretend it doesn’t exist and then expect Sam to heal!” 

“Why not? It worked the first time! If he hadn’t started poking at it —” 

“So now it’s his fault?” Spencer exclaims. 

“No! No, that’s not what I meant, it’s just — I’m just trying to protect him!” 

“You can’t protect someone from the contents of their own head. Sam’s the only person who can choose what to do here.” 

“You got any better ideas, Doc? Cause believe me, I’m listening.” 

Spencer’s voice is cold and furious when he says, “I would’ve suggested listening to Sam, but it’s a little late for that.” 

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means that if your brother had been able to talk about what he experienced, maybe you could’ve avoided this in the first place!” 

“Bullshit. He was tortured, Spencer, talking about that doesn’t just make it disappear!” 

“Of course it doesn’t! Nothing can make that disappear. But that’s all you can do: you reach out, you connect, you talk, you process it… that’s how people heal: by learning how to let themselves be vulnerable. By rebuilding trust. Not by putting up more walls.” 

“Now who’s the one saying this is Sam’s fault?” Dean barks. “Are you sayin’ that he deserves this for not talking about his feelings?” 

“I’m saying maybe you need to think about why your brother doesn’t want to tell you things.” 

Dean recoils like Spencer hit him. Then he pulls on his mask again, composes his features, and takes a step forward, making himself physically intimidating, like he wants Spencer to be scared of him. 

“You’re out of line. You have no idea —” 

“Look, I may not know magic, but I know psychology. The fact is… if everyone had someone to talk to — if they weren’t so afraid to ask for help instead of isolating themselves — I’d probably be out of a job.” Spencer forces himself to meet Dean’s glare without flinching. “Everybody puts up walls. Everybody tries to keep people out, or… protect people from what they’re dealing with. Whatever the reason, people think it’s safer that way. But the only way you can really get through the lowest points is by letting other people share the weight of whatever you’re trying to carry.” 

Dean’s eyes are wide and startled and suddenly filled with tears, like that cut much deeper than Spencer intended it to. It’s hard to watch the way Dean looks down, turns away, shoulders heaving as he takes a deep breath. 

“Maybe there’s something I can do,” Cas says thoughtfully. Spencer and Dean both turn to him. “Maybe… I can share it.” 

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

Spencer arrives at Alex’s not long after Sam does. He gives Sam a genuine smile when he raises a hand in greeting, but it’s easy to see that he’s distracted; it’s like there’s a storm cloud over his head as he settles at the counter. 

Alex just made a fresh pot of coffee. She passes them both mugs and sits across from them before saying to Sam, “So? That must’ve been a helluva shock. How are you feeling?” 

Sam shrugs. He explained the basics of the situation to both of them on the phone, but he doesn’t really want to think about Amelia right now; the drive cleared his head, and there’s no point bringing all those anxieties back up. 

“Guess that’s up to her,” he says softly, and shakes his head like he can physically shake the worry off. “How about you?” he asks Spencer. “How’s Maeve?” 

Spencer gives him a weak impression of a smile, fidgeting with his coffee mug, turning it around in his hands. “She’s… good. Fine. She’s been at a conference, but she’ll be back tonight.”

Sam and Alex exchange a quick look. 

“Do you miss her?” Alex asks, and her voice is gentle but her eyes are sharp. 

“Not as much as I probably should,” Spencer says guiltily, and then he shakes his head and insists, “I love her, though. She’s the most incredible person I’ve ever met. Her mind is — she’s just — she’s brilliant. I feel like I could talk to her for the rest of my life and not get bored, but…” Spencer’s voice trails off. He shrugs, staring into his cup self-consciously.

“But?” Alex prompts. 

Spencer hesitates. “When she’s here — when we’re just going through our lives together — a lot of the time I wish I was alone.” 

“There’s a big difference between loving someone and being able to live with them,” Sam says wryly, thinking of Dean. 

Spencer sighs. “I thought it’d get easier. I thought… maybe it would just take practice. Maybe I could change. Maybe when we learned how to communicate — but it’s like… the better we know each other, the harder it gets to live with each other.”

“I know you know this, but relationships are hard,” Alex says gently. “But you’re fighting for it. That’s all you can do, really.” 

“How do I know when to stop fighting?” Spencer says, and the words burst out like he’s been holding onto them for a while. “Because I’m tired of it. I keep telling myself things will change, I’m trying to be optimistic, but at a certain point, optimism becomes delusion. What if fighting for the relationship means fighting against my own nature?” 

“What do you mean by that?” 

Spencer thinks about that for a moment. “I was doing some research, and I found a book—”

“Shocking,” Sam mutters, and Spencer cracks a smile. 

“Well, it helped. It was about ‘love languages,’ and hers is touch. And that’s — that’s not —” He shrugs helplessly, then glances from Sam to Alex, like he’s silently pleading for them to understand. “That’s her love language, and to me it’s like speaking a foreign language. But that’s a flawed analogy, because I could learn a foreign language. Sometimes the idea of touching someone is just… I can’t.” He seems panicky just thinking about it, rubbing his palms on his corduroys like he’s trying to wipe them clean. 

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Alex says firmly.  

“I know! I know that. I do. And it took me… years to learn that. It took me most of my life to learn how to be okay with myself.” Spencer takes a deep breath, shoving his hands through his hair, and the words start to come faster and faster. “There are parts of me that don’t fit, when she’s around; they don’t fit with what she wants, and I love her so much that I’ve started to hate those pieces of myself. And if I was fine to begin with… if I’m changing myself trying to fit her, is that self-improvement? Or self-mutilation?” 

His voice breaks, and Spencer pauses, taking a deep shuddery breath, steadying himself. 

Alex says, “If you don’t want to talk about it, Spencer—”

“No, it’s… it’s good, actually, it helps.” 

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

They try to make Sam stay twenty-four hours for observation, but he sneaks out after twelve solid hours of sleep and one last look at Cas, still catatonic, through the window. Sam doesn’t like leaving him there, but there’s no other option, so they get in the car and start driving. 

The rumble of the engine soothes him in a way that none of the psych meds ever did. Sam balls his jacket up against the window and settles in to get some more sleep. 

“Hey, before you knock out,” Dean says, and Sam can hear the hesitation in his voice, hear the rough, tight sound of the words, like Dean doesn’t actually want to be saying them. 

“Yeah?” 

“Doc said something —” Dean stops, glares at the rearview like it’s personally offended him, and clears his throat. “You know you can tell me anything, right?” 

Sam makes a dismissive sound. “Yeah, Dean. Sure.” 

“No, I’m — I mean it, Sammy. You were carryin’ around some shit that a goddamn angel couldn’t handle, and I didn’t even know until it was too late. But. There’s nothing you could say that would make me walk away from you. Okay?” 

Sam’s surprised by the way that twists in his chest like a knife. 

“Okay,” he says, trying to smile, but his voice sounds bitter anyway. 

“I know I don’t necessarily have a great track record with that,” Dean says. His mouth twitches down at the corners, and Sam realizes he’s close to tears. “I always come back, though. You’re my brother. I’m not giving up on you, not ever.” 

How many times have they made this promise to each other? How many times have they vowed to be more honest, to stop keeping secrets, to stick together and not let anything come between them? 

Nobody else could ever hurt him the way Dean has over the years, countless times: with fists and lies and disgusted glances; by walking and driving away; by slamming the door behind him; by leaving Sam over and over again. 

They fall into these patterns, and it’s not healthy. If it was anyone else, Sam would’ve given up a long time ago, but it’s Dean. He loves Dean more than breathing. 

I won’t leave.

Those are the words Sam’s always wanted to hear. He wants to believe it. He wants to believe they can be better.  

It shouldn’t be so difficult to live with someone he would die for.  

“Love you too, Dean,” he says quietly, and settles in to get some sleep. 

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

It doesn’t quite look right without her. There are reminders of her everywhere, now — memories she left in her wake. There’s the lamp they picked out together — empty spaces on the shelves — empty drawers in the dresser… Spencer sees her everywhere, even in her absence. 

She took her bookshelf — the one Spencer made space for in his apartment when she moved in. They put some of his books in a box in the closet, to make room, and added the extra shelf, and together they reorganized their combined collection until it all fit neatly in their shared space. 

He wasn’t home when she came with her parents to pack everything up. He came back from the trip to find Maeve’s bookshelf gone, and the books from it were stacked on the floor. There were empty spaces on the remaining  shelves, formerly tidy rows of books falling down, tilted to the side. 

Now Spencer has to rearrange everything; he has to put his life back the way it was. Nothing fits the way it used to. 

He hauls out the boxes of his books from the closet and starts to pull them out, but he has to reorganize everything, and he doesn’t know where to start. Then he sees the book she gave him, “The Narrative of John Smith,” inscribed with the quote in her handwriting, and it hurts to look at, but it hurts worse to imagine throwing it away. 

Spencer wraps his arms around the book, holding it close to his chest, and curls up on the couch. 

It was almost anticlimactic, in the end. Maeve looked resigned, but not surprised. 

“We did everything we could, right?” Spencer asked. “I tried. I tried so hard.” 

“Yeah, Spencer. We did everything we could,” Maeve echoed sadly. Then she kissed him on the cheek and walked out the door. 

This isn’t how a love story is supposed to end. 

He never expected a fairy tale or a simple “happily ever after.” He knew it would be work. But he always believed that if they fought for it, they’d win. 

They did everything right. Why wasn’t that enough? 

He’s settling in for a nice little depression nap when he hears the knock at the door, and he sighs. Getting up to answer the door sounds exhausting, and dealing with a sympathetic friend sounds even worse. 

“Spencer, I know you’re in there,” comes Sam’s voice. 

“I’m fine,” Spencer calls. 

For a moment, there’s silence, and then Spencer hears a quiet click and scrape, the door handle jiggling slightly. By the time he recognizes the sounds of a lock being picked, the door is swinging open. Spencer sits upright and glares over the top of the couch. 

“What the hell?” he says, and it sounds whiny even to his own ears. 

“It was either me with my lock picks or Derek with his boots,” Sam tells him.

Spencer scowls at him and flops back down, but Sam just comes around the couch and settles in an armchair, raising his eyebrows in a decidedly judgmental way. 

Spencer burrows deeper into the couch before mumbling, “I’m fine.” 

“Clearly.” He gestures vaguely at Spencer’s overall state of disaster. “Why are you cuddling a book?”

“It’s not just any book,” Spencer says morosely. “It’s the book she gave me when — when we were supposed to meet up for the first time, and she wrote a quote inside, and… what if that was it? I mean, there’s nobody else like her.”

“Just because there’s nobody else like her, doesn’t mean there’s nobody else out there for you,” Sam says quietly. “It’s not about finding the perfect person. Nobody’s perfect. It’s about… the way you fit together.” 

“I miss her,” Spencer confesses, and his voice breaks. “I know we didn’t fit, but I miss her anyway. Is that stupid?” 

“No,” Sam says, without hesitating. 

Spencer sits upright, with what feels like a massive effort. He pushes his hair out of his eyes and frowns down at the book, trying to find the right words. 

“I was so lonely,” he says softly. “I told you, the first time we met; it’s lonely being the smartest person in the room. It’s lonely feeling like you can’t share parts of yourself.” 

Sam gives him a sad little smile. “Yeah. I know what you mean.” 

“So when I found someone who was like me, I thought that was it. I thought I’d found somebody who would stay. I really believed she was my soul mate.” He shrugs helplessly. “Why couldn’t that be enough?” 

Sam frowns, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped between them. His eyes go distant and his forehead wrinkles, and finally he offers, “Because you’re more than a soul.” 

Spencer blinks at him a few times, surprised by that. 

“What do I do now?” he asks, throat scratchy. 

“You pick everything up and try again. You learn from it. What else can you do?” Sam shrugs. “But first things first. Let’s get you showered and caffeinated and we’ll go from there.” 

“That sounds exhausting,” Spencer mutters, and flops down dramatically again. 

Sam sighs. “Do I need to speak your language? Uh… love activates the ventral tegmental area of the brain and releases high levels of dopamine, and right now you’re experiencing physiological withdrawal the same way you would from an addiction. The best way to make yourself feel better is to engage in activities that will stimulate dopamine production. My brother would probably recommend beer and strippers, but — somehow I don’t think that’s what you need.” 

“That’s irritatingly logical,” Spencer grumbles.  

“You shower, I’ll make coffee. Deal?” 

“Deal.” 

Spencer puts the book down gently, gets to his feet, and shuffles toward the bathroom. His body feels too heavy. 

He starts the shower, waits for it to heat up, and undresses quickly. The scalding-hot jet of it feels good on the tight muscles of his shoulders. Spencer sighs, breathing in the steam, and starts to clean himself up. 

Life would be so much easier if he was only a soul. 

Spencer’s been living in this body for decades, now. He knows it; he knows that those are his scrawny arms under his palms, his skin under the lather of soap, his flesh and blood — this body is part of who he is, but he’s not sure he’ll ever feel fully connected to it, let alone love it.  

He gets out of the shower, towels off, and goes to brush his teeth. The mirror is fogged over; he wipes it with one hand and immediately wishes he hadn’t. Maybe it’d be easier to love himself if the face looking back at him in the mirror wasn’t quite so familiar. 

Spencer looks down at the porcelain as he finishes brushing his teeth. He goes into his room and searches in the dresser for clean clothes — he hates seeing the empty spaces there. 

When he goes to the kitchen, Sam is standing in the middle of the room, phone held to his ear, mouth slack with shock, face pale. 

“Uh-huh,” he says. He doesn’t seem to notice Spencer. “Yeah. I’ll be there soon.” 

He hangs up, staring numbly down at the phone in his hand. 

“Everything okay?” Spencer asks. 

“That was Dean.”  

Spencer blinks at him a few times. “Your brother?” 

“Yeah.” Sam’s smile is shaky. It stretches, cracks, goes crooked.  

“I thought —” 

“Apparently not,” Sam says, with a brittle, high-pitched laugh. “What am I — shit. I gotta go.”

“Just like that? What about Amelia?” Spencer asks quietly. “What about… everything?” 

“I don’t know. I guess… I’ll figure it out.” Sam digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, taking a deep breath. He looks unsteady on his feet as he moves toward the door, steps jerky and mechanical. “It’s Dean. We always come back to each other.” 

Part of Spencer wants to remind Sam of everything he’s built for himself, without Dean. Sam might not admit it, but Spencer knows how much it means to him, to have built a life for himself that doesn’t revolve around hunting — doesn’t revolve around his past, or anyone who might hold it against him. 

Part of Spencer wonders if it’s healthy, the way that Sam’s willing to drop everything, without question, and drive across the country to go back to a brother who’s left him behind so many times.  

But the truth is that all he feels, in this moment, is jealousy. He’s not sure what it’d be like, to love someone that much — to be willing to forgive them, just like that, over and over again. 

Sam gives him a quick, tight hug and says, “Thanks for everything.” 

“Of course.” Spencer lifts a hand in an awkward little wave. “See you soon.” 

“Yeah,” Sam says, and he sounds surprised to find the words coming out of his mouth: “I’ll be back.” 

Spencer’s surprised to find that he believes it. 

The door closes behind Sam with a sharp, abrupt sound. 

Spencer looks around at the mess again, and he feels very alone. He sits down next to a pile of books, so overwhelmed that it’s hard to breathe for a second. 

He pulls out his phone and dials, and when Derek picks up, he says, “I think I need some help.” 

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

There is only one serious question. And that is: Who knows how to make love stay?

-Tom Robbins

#cmbingo22 #criminal minds fic #supernatural #criminal minds #spencer reid #sam winchester #crossover #spn x cm #cm x spn

[pretty-boys-book-club]

Criminal Minds Bingo 2022 Masterlist

Posting here to announce that ya girl signed up for Criminal Minds Trope Bingo this year! Hopefully I get to complete the whole card before the year is over.

If you are also active in the fandom (gif-makers, video editors and fic writers are welcome!) and want to join in, you can find all the rules on this post by the official organizers @cmbingo.

I'll update this post as I complete the challenges!

- Cat

#housekeeping #cat talks #cmbingo22

[stunudo]

#cmbingo22 #stu's bingo card #cm fanfic #criminal minds #stu's masterlist

[dreatine]

Fic: Lucky Penny (Maxcer)

Title: Lucky Penny

Author: dreatine

Rating: G

Pairing: Maxcer

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Summary: Ever since meeting Max, Spencer has carried a special token that brings him luck.

Fulfills CMBingo22 Square: S15

Beta readers: Edgar and Sharon and they did the last Tara/Luke one

Word Count:750+ ( hand count)

**********

“Everybody get ready. We’ll be leaving in. 15.” Emily ordered, leaving the conference room.

They had just gotten the location of the Unsub from Garcia which was about ten minutes out.

As the team was finishing putting on their Kevlar vests, Spencer was digging around in his pockets. “Where is it?” He thought,a slight nervousness settling in.

Ever since his hospital stay, he’d been carrying around the penny that he’d entertained Max’s nephew with that eventually led him to his greatest love. After their first meeting, Max had given him the penny to carry for work which he did until that fateful day when he’d received his brain injury. He had forgotten to take the penny out from his pants when he changed into new clothes for the next day and was in such a rush that day, he forgot to put the penny in his new pants the day the explosion hit.

After he recovered, he realized that he didn’t have the penny with him that day and wondered if he had the penny, then maybe he wouldn’t have gotten hurt. Usually, he didn’t believe in superstition or magical realism or fate per say, but since meeting Max, he’d started to be a convert. Everything about Max defied rational explanations and he started to believe a higher power, purpose was the reason Max had come into his life after all the terrible things that happened to him or by him. He knew he didn’t deserve Max but was forever grateful that she was in his life.

He had told Max about this and she’d pointed out the date on the penny was her birth year,which made it more special. She’d taken to calling it his lucky penny and he never left home without it again.

Now, he couldn’t find it. And he was starting to get antsy.

Rummaging around in his shoulder bag, mumbling to himself, Spencer was anxious that Luke started to notice.

“ Hey, brother.” Luke whispered to Spencer. “What’s wrong?”

Spencer sighed. “This sounds weird but I’m looking for a penny that Max had given me. I carry it everyday for luck.” He answered sheepishly.

Luke smiled knowingly. “Why would you think it’s weird?” He reached under his shirt.”I wear this crystal for protection that Penelope gave me after our first date.”

“Really?” Spencer expressed surprise.

Luke nodded.” During our last date, I almost got nicked by a car in the parking lot and Penny said that I needed to be careful and then,I teased her about needing a lucky charm. So, she gave me this.” He held up the chain with the purple crystal in it for Spencer to see. “ Very common belief in Latino cultures of talismans.”

Spencer smiled tightly. “Luke,I need to find mine.”

“Where was the last place you had it?”

“I thought it was in my pants pockets but nothing.” He showed Luke his empty pockets.

“It’s probably not in your bag since you wanted it near you as possible.” Luke looked around and noticed Spencer’s jacket on the coat rack. “How about here?”

Spencer perked up immediately. “I didn’t look yet.” He rushed over to Luke who put his hand in the left pocket, felt nothing then went to the right one and felt metal. Grasping it with two fingers, he held it up. “ This it?”

He nodded enthusiastically, his eyes sparkling.” Yes,it is.” He plucked the coin out of Luke’s hand.”Thank you, Luke.” He kissed it and put it in his pocket quickly, causing Luke to smile brightly. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Spencer this happy.

“Anytime, brother.” He slapped Spencer on the back.

“Alvez, Reid, let’s go.” Tara said, poking her head into the conference room.

“Coming.” Spencer replied, leading Luke out the door, a spring in his step.

****

Later back at the hotel:

Spencer dropped onto the lumpy mattress, letting out a breath. Today was an adventure. First, solving the case, losing the Penny, finding the Penny again, then capturing the Unsub which wasn’t easy. He was partnered with Luke and both just about tan head first into a machete that the Unsub was wielding. Thanks to a tackle by Luke and a lucky shot to the arm by Spencer, which caused the Unsub to drop the machete, the killer was subdued.

There was only one person he wanted to talk to after his day. Picking up his phone, he dialed a familiar number.

“Hello?” A beautiful voice asked.

Grinning, Spencer replied. “ Max, it’s me.”

“Mr.Magic! How are you.” She asked.

“Better now that I’m talking to you.” Spencer said, loving her nickname for him.

“Flatterer.”

“Truth.” He answered back.

Max settled on her couch. “So, how was the case ?”

“Well…”Spencer started, leaning back against the headboard. He reached into his pocket, fingering the cool penny. “You’ll never believe what happened….”

*****

The End

#cmbingo22 #cmbingo2022 #cmbingo #spencer reid #maxcer #criminal minds #dreatine fics

[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

#cmbingo22 #cmbingo2022 #cmbingo #spencer reid #criminal minds

[dreatine]

Jet Pilot Playlist

Fulfills CMBingo22 Square: Jet Pilot

Summary:This playlist was inspired by @brywrites wonderful story, ‘Flight Risk’ which I used as inspiration in picking out these songs. It’s Spencer with the team Pilot.

#cmbingo22 #cmbingo2022 #cmbingo #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #Spotify

[dreatine]

Last Chances Playlist

Fulfills CMBingo22 Square: Last Chance

Story: After prison changes Spencer, the reader wonders if she should continue her relationship with him considering he keeps pushing her away. Spencer decides to show her what she means to him.

The non CM Photos courtesy of the old newsletter’Stella Spoils’. (Including previous playlist‘Jealousy’and ‘From A Distance’and ‘Childhood Friends’)

#cmbingo22 #cmbingo2022 #cmbingo #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #Spotify

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Criminal Minds Bingo 2022

x

Derek Morgan:

Poor Competition // team dinner

Jennifer Jareau:

There’s Beauty in Tragedy // crime scene

A Mother Always Knows // donut

Penelope Garcia:

Little Green Monster // ex’s

Spencer Reid:

He Makes It Worth It // both think dead

Spencer or Penelope? // love triangle

Don’t Pout // Free Space

Fighting For Your Life // abuse

Facade // s7

Four Senses // s4

Welcome to the Team // hurt/comfort

A Devil Behind The Mask // betrayal

Stuck Together // teammates

Life Changing // amnesia

You Already Said Yes // sharing clothes

A Trip To Remember: Part Two // secret dating

Corpse Bride // character death

Leap of Faith // costume party

#cmbingo22 #criminal minds bingo #spencer reid

[dreatine]

“You Outta Know”

Fulfills CMBingo22 Square: Reid/Cat Adams

A collage based on Cat Adams and Spencer Reid.

Synopsis: In Season 12, while in prison, Cat imagines that it’s Reid not Wilkins she’s with.

Rating: PG

“And every time I scratch my nails

Down someone else's back I hope you feel it”……..

@andiebeaword @fortheloveofwonderland

#cmbingo22 #cmbingo2022 #cmbingo #spencer reid #criminal minds #Reidams

[dreatine]

Business AU:

Summary: Elle Greenaway is the owner of a book conglomerate called ‘Borderlines.’’. She wants to expand her stores and sets her sights on Spencer Reid’s indie bookstore called, ‘Foundations’ because it’s in a prime area.

However, as she tries to win over Spencer, it’s him who wins her over and reminds her of the joy in the little things of life.

Fullfills CMBingo Square: Business AU

@illegalcerebral

“A room without books is like a body without a soul.” – Cicero.

#cmbingo2022 #cmbingo22 #cmbingo #reidaway #spencer reid #criminal minds

[dreatine]

From A Distance Playlist

Fulfills CMBingo2022 Square: Long Distance Correspondence

Story: Spencer always sends Max letters and especially postcards from the different cities that he has cases in. Max takes the postcards and puts them up on a special wall in her apartment.

#cmbingo22 #cmbingo2022 #cmbingo #maxcer #spencer reid #criminal minds #Spotify