I know you mainly want Spencer x reader, but would it be okay if one requested Rossi x reader? I have an idea for (and a slight crush on) him, but I could totally come up with something for Spence if you prefer.
been wanting to write some more x-reader fics, or honestly just anything, so feel free to send me ideas or requests. though i can't promise i'll write it, so i do apologize if i don't.
mainly looking for spencer x reader, but would be down for anything criminal minds tbh. anything, anyone. potentially open to ships too.
never written smut before, but im not opposed to trying.
idk, im new to writing fics, and just tryna experiment and have some fun. so feel free to send them in my asks or messages!
summary: when an unsub is killing teenage couples, you and spencer have to go undercover to lure him out.
warnings: mentions of murder and violence, typical criminal minds case, kissing, allusions to a praise kink? (nothing freaky nasty tho), mentions of bugs and eating bugs (sorry.)
wc: 2k
a/n: criticism appreciated since im new to writing (esp x reader fics) pls be nice tho. hope you enjoy!
Spencer wasn't even sure how he got here. He tried to place it, recalling every interaction he's had with you since you joined the BAU, but he still wasn't sure when his crush had started to form.
Crush. He hated that. He hated calling it that because it made him feel like a child, but that's what it was, wasn't it? He was smitten for you.
Maybe, it wasn't one particular moment in which a switch flipped in his brain, and he decided to start imagining how his daily routine would change to include you. Maybe, when he first met you, you planted a tiny seed of curiosity in his heart that slowly grew to consume him.
He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of your voice, "Hey, Doc, I gotta question for you."
His lips twitched into a smile, he loved that you appreciated his endless knowledge. You didn't brush him off like most people did. You listened to his rambles, you enjoyed his fun facts, you asked for more.
"Hm, what's up?" He hummed, stirring another spill of sugar into his coffee to distract himself from your eyes.
"I saw a video the other day of a girl talking about how there's cockroaches in our ground coffee... is that true?" You asked, tilting your head, your eyes locked onto his cup.
"Yes." He answered, bringing his cup to his lips and taking a sip, causing your nose to scrunch in disgust. He let out a chuckle at your cute expression. "It's not just cockroaches either, it's mostly beetles and weevils."
Your jaw fell slack, "You know this and you drink it?"
His lips pressed into a thin line as he suppressed his amused smile, "It's not uncommon for bug particles to get into most of the food we consume, but they're ultimately undetectable and unharmful. In fact, it's an added source of fiber. In some countries such as Japan, China, Indonesia, Mexico, and more, bugs are commonly enjoyed as a delicacy and appreciated for their nutritious benefits."
You nodded slowly in response to the influx of information. Your eyes locked onto the coffee pot, internally grappling with the prospect of bugs being in the next cup of coffee that you were most definitely still going to drink.
Spencer bit back an amused smile as he watched you struggle, his gaze lingered for a moment too long, before he decided he should probably find his desk again. He settled into his chair and glanced up from his report, watching as you tentatively sipped your freshly made cup of coffee.
Naturally, Derek caught Spencer staring, and couldn't resist the urge to tease, “What's going on between the two of you, lover boy?”
Spencer felt the heat creep up his neck, his shoulder's tensing, “What? Nothing.” He cringed, knowing he was quick to answer.
Derek chuckled, “Oh, really?” He challenged, “How'd you even know who I was talking about then?”
“Ooh,” Emily leaned against Spencer's desk, “Are we talking about Spencer's crush?”
If Spencer's face wasn't red before, it definitely was now. “It's not a crush.” He said adamantly.
“Denial.” Emily hummed, earning a chuckle from Derek. She continued to tease, “You know, JJ and I have a bet going on about this, you wanna get in on that?”
“Can everybody meet in the briefing room? We got a case.”
Spencer's shoulder slumped with relief as JJ rushed past them. It's weird to be relieved by a new case, but the teasing would come to halt, and he could focus on something other than the way your nose scrunched as you drank your coffee.
Everyone gathered around the round table, trading theories and observations as JJ presented the case.
“Unlike the previous murders, Benjamin and Gina both had ligature marks on their wrists, their bodies were also deeper in the desert than our first couple.” JJ zoomed in on the bruised wrists of the corpses displayed across the TV.
“He's escalating,” Derek stated simply.
You nodded in agreement, “Controlling two people at once isn't easy, even with the threat of a weapon. He’s applying what he learned from the first murders.”
“Perfecting his craft.” Rossi hummed, the disgust evident in his voice.
“One thing is for certain,” Hotch started, standing from his seat, “His time between kills is getting shorter, which means he's probably looking for another couple now. Wheels up in 20.”
–
Even as the team ate dinner, it was shitty fast food in the police station and your noses were buried in files. Spencer still stood, staring intently at the map pinned to the board in front of him, his brows knitted tightly together.
“Staring at the board isn't going to make the answer any clearer,” you said, familiar with his expression that crossed his face, “what are you thinking?”
“Tommy and Jane both lived in the south side of town, not far from the dumpsite, but Benjamin lived in the Northside, and Gina lived in the Northeast. Garcia couldn't find any connection between the two couples– different schools, different jobs, different friend groups. So… why these couples? Where is he finding his victims?”
You stopped in your tracks, recalling an earlier interview with the parents. His question struck a realization in you. “If you're 18 with super religious parents, where are you going to makeout with your boyfriend?”
“A makeout spot,” Derek interjected.
Spencer turned to face the team with a quizzical expression, “A makeout spot?”
“Yeah, yeah,” You answered, “Sometimes teenagers find secluded spots where they'll go to makeout or whatever. Then, they tell their friends, who tell their friends, so on and so forth.”
You turned to Hotch with a sense of urgency, “Is JJ still with Gina's friends?”
“I'm calling her now.” Hotch said, already holding the phone to his ear.
Derek’s eyes flickered between you and Spencer, his brow raised, “You realize what this means, right?”
“What?” Spencer asked.
Everyone's attention was on the two of you, you sighed, “It means you and I are going to have to go undercover as a couple.”
Spencer’s eyes widened, and he frantically shook his head, “What? Why- Why us? Why can't you two do it?” He gestured between Derek and Emily.
Emily deadpanned, though a smirk tugged at her lips.
“Come on, you really think Emily and I can pass as teenagers?” Derek asked, before adding, “I mean, I probably could, but Emily definitely can't.”
“Wha- Hey!” Emily slapped his shoulder lightly.
A stern look from Hotch caused four of you to quiet down. He hung up the phone and glanced between you and Spencer, “JJ just sent me the location. Are the two of you up for this?”
“Yes.” You answered quickly, your heart thumping with anticipation. This guy had killed four teenagers, you didn't even have to consider it.
Spencer swallowed, his eyes flickering over each member of the team, all focused on him. He wanted to kiss you, be close to you, but this isn't how he wanted it to go. “Yes,” he sighed.
–
Spencer sat stiffly in the backseat of the beat down car. His ears were tinted pink, and he couldn't even blame it on the wind drifting through the cracked windows–damn, Arizona, and their warm weather.
“Should we um, should we lay down?” He asked, fidgeting with his hands.
“No,” you answered, “we don't want him to find us in any more of a compromising position than we'll already be in.”
Spencer swallowed, and nodded. “So, um…”
“Spencer, relax.” You coaxed, but he couldn't. He was supposed to kiss you, and touch you, and the whole team was listening, and you guys were about to get attacked by a serial killer. Ironically, that last one was the least nerve-wracking.
“Just don't think.” You guided his hands to your waist, “I will do all the kissing and touching, and I'll stay on high-alert. Just… try to relax, and… make sounds.” Even your cheeks grew warm at your last words.
He was about to ask what you meant by make sounds, but he was caught off by your lips pressing against his–well, sort of. You kept your thumb hidden between your mouths, so your lips never completely touched. Spencer was grateful for that, it made the scene feel less intimate.
The two of you stayed like that for a while, Hotch occasionally giving you updates through your ear piece.“We have eyes on someone, but we can't move in until we're sure it's the unsub.”
You sighed, knowing the unsub wouldn't approach until he was sure the two of you were too caught up in each other to notice him.
You moved your head next to Spencer's ear, and his breath hitched at the sensation of your warm breath on his neck.
“This okay?” you asked in a hushed tone.
“Mhm,” He hummed, forcing his shoulders to relax, and willing his head to fall to the side. He understood what you meant by ‘make sounds’ now, because the moment your lips met his neck with wet kisses, a gasp escaped his lips.
“That's good, keep doing that.” you hummed against his neck, his grip on your waist tightened as his mind started to blur. He knew you meant the noise was good because it would convince the unsub, but the praise still caused an embarrassing amount of heat to pool in his stomach.
“Suspect is approaching.” If Aaron's voice through the earpiece wasn't enough to pull him out of the haze, the car door opening, followed by a rush of footsteps definitely was.
Emily's voice rang out, “FBI, you are under arrest for the murder of Thomas Buros, Jane Martin, Gina Amato, and Benjamin Cohen.”
You could still hear Emily reciting the Miranda rights as she pulled the unsub away from the car. Hotch poked his head in, “Are you guys okay?”
“Fine,” Spencer mumbled, his heart still racing from the array of events that unfolded.
You nodded, “Yeah, we're good.”
“We're taking him back to the station. We're not anticipating for him to request a lawyer, so Rossi's going to lead the interrogation. You two are good to head to the hotel for the rest of the night.”
–
Hotch was right, he never requested a lawyer, and it didn't take long for Rossi to get him to confess. The next morning, the team was on a flight back to D.C.
Things had been awkward between you and Spencer. Well, Spencer had been awkward, and the teasing from the team was relentless.
So, you waited. You let him sit as far as possible from you on the jet and you waited until everyone had drifted off into sleep, before finding a spot next to Spencer.
You gently nudged him out of his sleep. He inhaled deeply, and rubbed his eyes as he came to, and his cheeks flushed instantly upon seeing you. He swallowed as he sat up, his pulse began to race, anticipating the conversation he was sure you were going to insist on having.
Instead, you held out a square lollipop, with a scorpion encased in the center of the transparent, red candy.
His brows furrowed, “What? What is that?”
“It's candy,” You smiled, “they had them at the corner store near the hotel, so I got it for you.”
His lips curled into a curious smile as he accepted the candy, and began inspecting it.
“Bugs are commonly enjoyed as delicacies and appreciated for their nutritional benefits.” You echoed back to him a part of your earlier conversation, and he let out a chuckle. Now it made sense.
“Well, I think the uh, candy casing might be a little counterproductive.” He commented, his lips pursing as he suppressed his amused smile, “You didn't get one for yourself?”
“Oh, no. I will have to pass on the uh, scorpion. I prefer my bugs to be undetectable.” You said quickly, earning a laugh from Spencer. His anxiety over the impending conversation seemed to dissipate.
He unwrapped the candy and stuck it in his mouth, causing your nose to wrinkle. Suddenly, he felt like he was right back where he started–his stomach fluttering as you looked at him with an amused gleam in your eye, and his heart swelling as you referenced your earlier conversation. You listened, you remembered, and you thought of him enough to buy him this piece of candy (in his favorite flavor too.)
Yes, he was definitely smitten, but then again, maybe you were too.
i think i need a fic about making out w spencer reid, he's kissing your neck and explaining why it feels so good. his words come out soft and breathy as he explains erogenous zones and the distribution of nerve endings in the body. you're basically a whimpering mess beneath him because even if it isn't the sexiest dirty talk, it turns you on and you've been making out for hours and he hasn't bothered to start taking your clothes off. the teasing isn't intentional, his just enjoying the moment, he just likes kissing you, but you definitely feel teased.
idk just some food for thought. if y'all know any fics like this PLEASE send. if not, i might write it, but i've never written smut before lol
Spencer Reid x Winchester! Reader Part Three- (Part One) (Part Two)
Summary: A Criminal Minds x Supernatural crossover in which Spencer gets a drunk call from the reader in the middle of the night, and becomes concerned.
Warnings: Mentions of alcoholism, depictions of heavy drinking, poor mental health, depression, guilt, mentions of violence probably? allusions to Spencer's addiction, i think that's everything?
WC: 2.5k (proud of this one)
a/n: i tried really hard to handle alcohol subject well, it's never my intentions to romanticize or glorify addiction, i just think this is accurate behavior for a winchester. anywayyy love y'all, hope you enjoy!
You stared at your phone buzzing on the wooden desk of your motel room, lit up with Kevin’s name. You had accumulated a handful of missed calls from him this past week, but they were becoming more frequent. You sighed deeply as the irritating sound of the buzz finally ceased, and you opened another beer.
The rim of the bottle had barely touched your lips when the buzzing began again. You groaned, flopping into the dusty cushioned chair, and finally answered it.
“Are you gonna do this every time we come up empty?” Kevin’s sharp voice rang in your ear, before you even had the chance to get out a ‘hello.’
Your head fell back against the chair in exasperation, “I just spent two weeks wandering the wilderness of Maine for nothing, I think I deserve a break.”
Kevin scoffed in response, “You haven’t even left Maine yet, have you?”
“It’s fine,” You grumbled, pinching the bridge of your nose, “I can handle myself.”
“Not if you’re drunk, you can’t.” Kevin retorted, “If Crowley finds you-”
You hung up before he could finish, unwilling to listen to his same, overworked rant again. If Crowley found you, you’d kill him or he’d kill you, either way you weren’t worried about it.
You brought your beer to your lips again, and let the cold liquid wash down your throat, but it wasn’t quite as satisfying anymore. The liquor bottles on your bedside table caught your eye, tempting you. And you knew you shouldn’t. In the long run it didn’t help, it didn’t take the pain away, it only made you forget for a moment. But even that was too tantalizing to pass up.
Looking for Dean was beginning to feel like a hopeless pursuit, one you would never allow yourself to give up. It would become a vicious cycle you were sure you’d endure for the rest of your life- searching, failing, exhausting yourself. If you couldn't save him, the least you could do was dedicate the rest of your life to trying.
You were resigned to bearing that burden alone. Kevin helped, but it didn’t weigh on him like it did you, and you knew he wouldn’t stick around forever. And Sam… Sam somehow found peace, a better life away from the chaos. You should be happy for him, but it caused a resentment deep inside your chest to bubble into your throat, and that made you feel guilty.
The guilt was the worst part. You held so much of it, it felt like a bottomless pit in your stomach and it was nauseating. Guilt for not being able to forgive Sam, guilt for not being able to save Dean, guilt for not being able to protect Kevin. It was well-deserved, wasn’t it? If you couldn’t do those things, you deserved for it to weigh on you, so much so that it made you physically sick.
You were spiraling, again, and you concluded that you were not drunk enough.
—
You were ripped from your sleep by an array of things; your phone buzzing incessantly beside your ear, the pounding on your door that caused the throbbing in your head to worsen, and worst of all, your mouth was painfully dry.
You were still bleary-eyed as you declined the call. Your mind raced as you tried to discern who could be banging on your door. You knew you had the room for another night, so it wasn’t the motel manager. Did Kevin seriously fucking drive here all the way from Michigain? You carefully made your way to the door, instinctively blocking the bright light from your eyes as you opened it, another sharp pain shooting through your head.
Your name fell from his lips like a soft sigh of relief, and you were more confused than ever. It wasn’t Kevin, it was Spencer.
“What the hell?” You rasped out, “Are you stalking me?”
His eyes widened, and he stumbled backwards, “Am I- What? No!” He pushed past you into the messy, run-down motel room, you could tell he was on edge from the way he paced.
“Sure, come right in.” You mumbled under your breath. He ignored it.
“You called me, remember?”
Your brows knitted together as your eyes flickered back and forth. “No, I don’t,” You admitted, cringing at the prospect of you drunkenly confiding in Spencer about your feelings. “Must’ve been good, if you drove 11 hours to get here.”
“11 hours, and 22 minutes.” He corrected sharply, his eyes piercing into yours.
You rolled your eyes, and picked up a half-drank bottle of water from the floor to soothe your dry mouth. “I’m sorry, 11 hours and 22 minutes.”
The plastic bottle crinkled as you chugged its contents before tossing it haphazardly, consequently drawing Spencer’s attention to the state of your room. It was a mess of dirty clothes, crumpled food wrappers, and empty bottles from both alcohol and water. It had been a rough week, so what?
His eyes scanned the room before landing on you. He exhaled softly, “How often have you been drinking?” His gaze wasn’t scrutinizing, or judgemental, it was curious- concerned. You hated that.
You huffed, and flopped back onto your bed, leaving his question unanswered.
He continued, picking up a crumpled wrapper off the floor, “When was the last time you ate a real meal? Or… showered?” He asked, his nose wrinkling.
“It’s been awhile, so what?” You shrugged. Taking care of yourself had seemed like an impossible task recently, but you’d get to it eventually.
Your eyes followed him as he curiously wandered your room until he found your duffle bag of clothes half shoved underneath the dresser- you couldn’t exactly remember how it had gotten there. He pulled your clothes out and held them up to his nose.
Your brow shot up, “What are you doing?”
“I’m checking if they’re clean,” He folded the chosen articles of clothing neatly and set them beside you on the bed. “You need to shower.” He said firmly, though not unkindly. His gaze was unwavering as he stared at your deadpan expression.
“Fine,” You relented after a moment.
You grabbed the clothes and made your way into the bathroom. When you first climbed into the shower, the warm water cascaded down your sore body and reminded you of just how tired you were. You soaked up the relaxing sensation for a long moment, before lazily scrubbing your skin with the hotel soap. Your mind fixed on Spencer, on the phone call you couldn’t remember. What did you say that concerned him so badly he drove 11 hours and 22 minutes just to see you?
The much needed shower was nice- relieving, but it left you more tired than you were before. The bathroom door creaked as you opened it. The room was clean. Well, cleaner than it was before. Your dirty clothes had been piled in one corner of the room, the bedsheets had been straightened, and Spencer walked around collecting all the trash in a small clear bag.
Your brows furrowed as you took in the sight, “...You cleaned my room?”
“Uh.. yeah.. I hope you don’t mind, I just thought- um, well, studies- studies have linked clutter with high cortisol levels. Living in an unclean environment can negatively affect your mood, mental health, and your productivity. I… thought it might help make you feel better.” He explained, keeping his gaze on the ground.
You nodded slowly, unable to find the words. Spencer was good to you in ways you couldn’t understand, a simple gesture such as gathering empty beer bottles had you choking down a lump in your throat.
“I-I’m sorry,” He murmured, shaking his head, “I shouldn’t have, I didn’t mean to um, overstep-”
“No,” You cut him off in a soft, reassuring tone that you didn’t know you were capable of, “I- you- you didn’t have to do that. Thank you.” You said quickly, unable to meet his eyes.
An awkward tension settled between the two of you. Spencer noted the way you struggled to express even the smallest amount of vulnerability, it caused a tightness in his chest and made him wonder where and why you learned that defense mechanism.
You sat near the head of the bed, and inhaled deeply, “What happened last night? I mean what did we talk about on the phone? …I don’t remember any of it.”
He hummed in response, and his eyes fixed on an unidentifiable stain on the carpet, “”Hello?’ ‘Hey,’ ‘Hey, are you okay?’ ‘I’m sorry I left you at the hospital.’ ‘What?’ ‘I didn’t say goodbye-’”
You cut him off once you realized he was reciting the conversation from memory, “I just… need the general gist.” You laughed slightly, you don’t know why you were surprised he was capable of that, his mind seemed to catch you off guard all the time. “You can recite our entire conversation?”
“I have an eidetic memory- It’s more effective when reading, but I can also remember things I hear, and conversations fairly well.” He explained.
You nodded, it made sense. Of course he, of all people, has an eidetic memory, as if he wasn’t smart enough already. “Cool.”
His brows furrowed, that wasn’t the response he usually got. He was more accustomed to the weirded out glances people shot him. He wanted to ask you about it, about why you found it cool, but he didn’t want to get off-track. “The general gist?”
You nodded in confirmation, mentally preparing yourself for the impending embarrassment.
“You apologized for leaving the hospital without saying goodbye, you… talked about your brothers… you apologized a lot, for a lot of different things.” His voice grew quieter with every word. He saw your wince at his words, and neglected recounting your rambles about how you weren’t good enough. He figured he’d save you the embarrassment he knew you’d feel upon hearing it.
You let out a quiet groan, your cheeks grew warm. “I’m sorry you had to listen to all that, and that you… felt like you had to drive all the way here to check on me.” You shouldn’t have called him, you should’ve been able to take care of yourself.
“No, I- I wanted to.” Hesitantly, he sat at the foot of the bed and faced you. He sighed and swallowed, “I know that you’re… struggling, and I know that because a few years ago, I was struggling too. And I just… want to help you, the way I wished someone would’ve helped me.”
You inhaled deeply and looked away from him, unsure of how to respond to that confession. Instinctively, you wanted to push him away, to tell him you didn’t need help, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do that. “I don’t know how to…” You trailed off with a shrug.
“That’s okay,” He reached out, and cradled your hands in his, you tensed at the unexpected contact, then let yourself relax.
“We can figure it out. Next time you want to drink, call me instead.” He offered gently.
You pinched the bridge of your nose with a groan. The alcohol wasn’t the problem, it was everything else, it was all of the thoughts in your head that you couldn’t get to be quiet. “I’m not an alcoholic, I don’t need a sponsor.”
He exhaled sharply, and gestured to the trash bag filled with empty alcohol bottles, “The amount of alcohol you have been drinking is unhealthy.” He said matter-of-factly.
“Spencer, I’m tired.” You sighed, before he had the chance to tell you about the 12 steps of sobriety or the effects alcohol had on your brain and liver. You weren’t ready for this conversation, and you didn’t have the energy for it right now. “I just want to go to sleep, okay?”
He stared at you, jaw clenched, before reluctantly nodding, “Okay, I’ll um, I’ll let you sleep.”
“You’re not gonna stay with me?” The words slipped from your lips, and they seemed to surprise him as much as they surprised you. You didn’t regret it though, because you did want him to stay, there was something innately comforting about him, and you needed that comfort.
He stood from the bed, fiddling with his hands as he always seemed to do, “Um, I don’t know that that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
He looked up at you, which was a mistake, because the moment he saw your tired eyes pleading for him to stay, he couldn’t say no.
“Okay” He agreed softly, making his way to the other side of the bed. He laid beside you on the bed, and you followed suit. Despite the respectable distance between the two of you, his body was rigid, careful not to move a single hair out of place and cross the imaginary line dividing the bed.
The room was silent, aside from the quiet sounds of breathing. Your eyes were growing heavier as you reflected on the past week, your phone call with Kevin, your conversation with Spencer. Maybe, they were right, maybe you did need to get it together, get back on the road, find something to hunt. What good was rotting in a nasty hotel room going to do you?
Spencer was thinking too, wondering about you. Why do you act the way you do? Why are you so closed off? The silence didn’t bother you, but it was deafening to him. All of these questions raced through his head, but he could bring himself to ask them.
Finally, he swallowed, “You… think that my eidetic memory is cool?”
You furrowed your brows, his question pulling you from your thoughts, “Yeah, I do. Why?”
“Most people don’t, they usually think it’s weird. They think I’m… weird.”
Your head lolled to the side to face him as you spoke, “No, you're cool. Don’t let that go to your head, though.” You teased softly, your tiredness seeping into your voice.
His head lolled to the side too, and your face was close. Too close for his personal preference, but he didn’t move. “You think I’m cool?” He asked skeptically.
Spencer wasn’t cool in the traditional sense, he didn’t wear a leather jacket or ride a motorcycle or do anything else that the main character of a shitty romance might do. No, he was cool in other ways. His intelligence was the first thing that stood out, then his genuine kindness, and he worked for the goddamn FBI.
“Yeah, I think you’re cool.”
His lips curled into a bashful smile, “Well, if it’s any consolation… I think you’re cool too.”
“Really?” You asked, raising your eyebrow. You were the opposite of cool, you were a mess.
“Yeah, you totally got that edgy-loner thing going on.” He said, his lips pursing as he suppressed a teasing smile.
You scoffed, you didn’t expect him to make a joke- to tease you. Though, you couldn’t stop the amused smile from tugging at your mouth either. “Okay, I’m done with you.” You shook your head, letting out a soft laugh.
Spencer chuckled too, feeling pride swell in his chest. He liked hearing you laugh, especially because he suspected that you didn’t do it often. He relaxed into the bed, the conversation successfully settling his nerves.
A silence settled over the two of you once again, this time, both of you were comfortable. Your eyelids were threatening to fall closed as sleep enticed you, and you finally gave in.
hope you guys don't mind me tagging you again lol, i rlly appreciate ur support! if y'all do lose interest just lmk and i wont tag u in the next part, no hurt feelings <3
Spencer Reid x Winchester! Reader- Part Two (Part One)
Summary: A Criminal Minds x Supernatural crossover in which the reader finds themselves in the hospital, and Spencer comes to visit.
Warnings: Typical mentions of violence, spoilers for s7/s8 of supernatural, depictions of self-hate and guilt. gn! reader, no use of y/n.
WC: 1.6k
a/n: Thank you so much to those who read pt1! Sorry these are so short, but I have plans to put out more parts. I'm thinking the series will be 4 or 5 parts once I'm finished. I hope you enjoy!
When you woke up, you were immediately aware of the restricting sensation around your torso, and your eyes snapped open. The quiet, rhythmical beeping and the sight of the plain, white walls jogged your memories. Your shoulders relaxed as you recalled the fight with the demon, dragging yourself to the hospital, and passing out in the lobby.
Thankfully, you killed the demon before he could go running back to Crowley with a report. Unfortunately, you didn’t kill him before he beat the shit out of you.
Your brows furrowed as your eyes landed on the man sitting beside your hospital bed. He looked familiar, but you didn’t recognize him until he spoke. It wasn’t his voice that made you realize who he was, but the quiet and hesitant way that he talked, like he was afraid he’d scare you off. “How are you feeling?”
Your head fell back onto your pillow with a groan, “How’d you find me?”
“Um… I didn’t find you, the hospital called me. You… still had my card on you.” He explained, sitting up in his chair. His mind raced with all of the questions he had for you, unsure of which one to ask first. “What happened to you?”
“Some guy couldn’t take no for an answer.” The lie rolled off of your tongue so easily he didn’t even question it.
“Are you okay?” He asked, his voice filled with concern. Of course, you were covered in bruises with a broken arm and gash in your side, but he wanted to know the impact it had on your mental state.
“Yeah, I’m fine. You should see the other guy.” You remarked, your lips curling into a small, amused smile. Spencer managed a weak laugh.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“You said to call you if I needed anything, and I didn’t.” You answered simply. “Why’d you even come? Isn’t D.C like a 5 and a half hour drive?” You couldn’t understand why he cared so much when he barely even knew you.
“Actually, the drive from D.C.to New Haven averages around 5 hours and 8 minutes, but I took the train so it was 5 hours and 42 minutes.” He quickly corrected, “And I think being attacked is considered ‘needing something.’”
“Sorry,” You mumbled, though you were clearly unapologetic. He let out a bitter huff at your response.
He watched in silence as you pulled the thin, blue comforter closer to you in an attempt to get warmer. He knew he should probably let you rest, but his mind was still racing with questions. He at least had to ask the one question that was nagging at him the most, despite however superficial he thought it may be.
“Why did you… keep my card? I expected you to… throw it away the first chance you got.”
You swallowed, because you didn’t really know why you decided to keep it. Maybe it was his nervous demeanor that you found endearing, or his genuine concern for you despite being complete strangers, or maybe you just liked having a direct line to the FBI- yeah, let’s go with that.
“Maybe, I just like the idea of having an FBI Agent in my back pocket.” You finally answered, shrugging as much as your broken arm would allow you to.
Spencer hummed in response, though your answer did little to satisfy him. Mostly because he suspected that it wasn’t true, but he didn’t push. He hesitated before he spoke again, “Would it… be alright if I… visited you while you’re in the hospital?”
You wanted to tell him yes, but you knew it wasn’t a good idea to get attached, and you weren’t sure how long you were going to be here anyway. You were planning on getting out as soon as you could, regardless of whatever your doctor said. You inhaled deeply, opening your eyes once again as you asked, “Why do you care?”
“I don’t know. I just do,” He admitted quietly, his eyes meeting yours. “Is that a bad thing?”
You didn’t answer, because you didn’t want to tell him that it was a bad thing. People who cared about you -people you cared about- got hurt. A trail of bodies, loved ones, followed you wherever you went. Keeping that list short was the best way to keep other people safe. To keep yourself safe.
You raised your eyebrow, “You’re gonna stay in New Haven just for little ol’ me?”
“I just want to make sure you’re okay.” He confessed softly, keeping his eyes trained on his hands. You tried to ignore the way your chest tightened at his words.
“You don’t… have any family, do you?” He asked, but it was more of an observation and less of a question.
“I do.” You corrected him, in an almost defensive manner.
He shook his head, an expression of confusion crossing his face. “Then, why haven’t you called them?”
“We’re not exactly on speaking terms.” You replied in a sharp tone.
He recognized the warning in your voice, and realized his questions were getting too personal. “Oh,” He breathed out, his lips tugging into a sympathetic pout.
His questions were annoying, but you knew they came from a place of care and concern. A place deep inside his chest that was far more gentle and kind than you could ever be.
He rode a train for 5 hours and 42 minutes just to ask if you were okay. He sat beside you, waiting in an uncomfortable hospital chair while you slept and you couldn’t figure out why. It nagged at the back of your mind like an itch you couldn’t scratch. What about you was so worth caring about?
An awkward silence settled over the two of you as both of you had questions on your mind that neither of you were willing to ask. You were the first to break it, “Think they got anything good on here?” You asked, picking up the remote to the small TV mounted on the wall across from you.
He let out a quiet breath of relief, and turned his attention to the TV, watching as you flipped through the few channels. “Hmm, they have Animal Planet, we could watch that.” He suggested with a hum.
“Alright, I’m the one with the broken arm, here. I get to pick.” You clicked on the Animal Planet channel. An amused smile graced his features, and a similar one threatened to tug at your own lips.
Hours passed by without you even realizing. You each had your eyes locked onto the TV, making quiet, non-personal conversation about what you watched. You made dumb comments that you had to clarify were jokes, and Spencer would elaborate on some of the facts mentioned by the narrator.
It was nice- relaxing, sitting here and watching TV with him. It felt almost unnatural. You ignored the way your gut twisted as if you were doing something wrong for enjoying yourself, even if it was only for a few hours.
Spencer glanced out the small window of your hotel room, the sun was setting and it was growing late. He took a deep breath and stood from his chair, “I should… probably go. It’s getting late.”
You nodded in agreement, and cursed yourself internally for your reluctance to do so. “Yeah, probably a good idea.”
“Can I… visit you again tomorrow?” He asked, nervously rocking back and forth on his feet.
Your mouth twitched into a small smile and you nodded tentatively, “Yeah, you can.”
When he left the room, the guilt settled on your chest. You should be thinking about finding Dean, or protecting Kevin, or looking for your next case. Instead, you were indulging in this- this… whatever it was that Spencer did to you.
You shifted uncomfortably in the springy bed. The TV still played quietly in the background as you let your eyes close, and attempted to clear your mind enough to fall asleep.
—
Your phone buzzing on the overbed table is what pulled you out of your sleep. Being woken up made you wonder if God hated you. You could almost never afford more than four hours of sleep, and when those rare opportunities to sleep-in presented themselves, you still didn’t get to enjoy them.
“Hey,” You mumbled, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.
“Hey,” It was Kevin. It was always Kevin, he was the only person you really talked to anymore.
“Don’t tell me you got me another case already?” You huffed, though you would’ve jumped at the chance. Cases were constant, these past few months you had buried yourself in them, they made for a good distraction.
“No, but I got more on Maine.”
You sat up quickly, your heart thumping loudly in your ears. It doesn’t matter how many dead-end leads the two of you had discovered, every time something new came along, you couldn’t help but be hopeful. Though, for once, this lead seemed substantial- worth investigating. So much so, it made your heart race and your breath shorten when you thought about it.
You changed out of the paper gown while Kevin told you about the possible portal to Purgatory located somewhere in Maine. Racing to get dressed with your arm in a sling wasn’t the easiest task, but you managed. Could this really be it? Could you really be this close to finding Dean?
You faltered before you grabbed the handle to the door, glancing over to the empty chair where Spencer sat earlier. It sucked that he’d come back tomorrow and you wouldn’t be here. You almost felt bad for leaving without a goodbye, but this was more important. You pushed the guilt down and slipped down the quiet corridors of the hospital, focusing all your energy on Dean. This had to be it, right? You were actually gonna save him… right?
Tags: @psychicbouquetblaze-stuff @digitallangell @mythness
A special thank you to you guys, it made me so happy to see people enjoying my work.
Spencer Reid x Winchester! Reader
Summary: A Criminal Minds x Supernatural crossover in which Spencer finds the Reader drowning their sorrows at the bar. (Potentially the first part of a series.)
Warnings: Drinking, typical mentions of violence, spoilers for s7/s8 of supernatural, gn! reader, no use of y/n, reader doesn't like whiskey? idk i've never done this before
WC: 1.4k
a/n: I'm gonna be so honest, I actually don't know what this is. This is my first time actually posting a fic, I'm trying my best, so please judge lightly. If your interested in reading more, I may be interested in writing more.
don't quote me on any facts btw, i stole them almost verbatim from wikipedia.
You swirled your drink around in your glass. You had been sipping on it slowly, because it was hard to force the bitter taste down. You never liked whiskey, you weren't sure why you ordered it, except you were, because it was Dean's favorite drink.
Chasing a lead that led you to another dead end is what brought you to this annoyingly loud, and overly warm bar. Missing him, and replaying those last few memories over and over again in your mind is what led you here. One moment he was there, jamming the stake into Dick Roman's heart, one moment you guys were successful, and the strenuous fight against the leviathans was finally over. The next moment? Dean was gone.
Your phone buzzed in your back pocket, it was Kevin, again. You let out a soft sigh as you declined it, again. You felt a little guilty, but you did not have the energy to talk to him. Or the heart to tell him that the lead he was so proud of digging up led to nothing.
You were tired. For the past six months you had been telling yourself that he was alive. He had to be. There was no body, and if there was no body then he was not dead. He was Dean, you're invincible older brother who loved you so dearly and of course he wasn't dead.
But you were starting to doubt yourself. Even if he was alive, crawling around Purgatory somewhere, how would you get to him? How could you save him like he had saved you so many times before?
You were pulled out of your spiraling thoughts by the soft spoken, almost meek words of the man standing next to you, waiting on his drink.
"You... alright?"
Slowly, you turned your head, and you met his gaze. His hazel eyes held a soft expression, filled with concern for you- someone he had never even met before. He nervously tucked a lock of his messy brown curls behind his ear before continuing, "you... seem a little down."
Your expression softened ever-so-slightly at his gentle demeanor. Still, you weren't exactly in the mood for therapy with a stranger. Besides, it wasn't like you could actually confide in anyone about your troubles, not without them deeming you as crazy and locking you up in the psych ward.
You nodded slowly in response, bringing your drinks to your lips once again- you tried not to grimace at the taste. "Fine," you said shortly, unable to muster up the energy it took to pretend to be okay.
"Do you... want to talk about it?" He asked as he hesitantly stepped closer, though he was still careful to ensure that the two of you didn't touch.
"Not particularly," You hummed in response, and you internally cursed the tears that began to prick your eyes. It was a sure sign that the thoughts inside your head were desperate to come out, but if you were good at anything, it was suppressing your emotions. Even when it felt like you were drowning in them.
The man lingered beside you, like he didn’t want to leave you alone, but he also wasn’t sure of what to say, "Did you know that alcoholism, while typically attributed to environmental factors, can also be equally attributed to genetic factors? Someone with a parent or sibling that abuses alcohol is 3 to 4 times more likely to abuse it as well, and it almost always begins by using alcohol to self-medicate."
At first, you were caught off guard by him suddenly sounding like a wikipedia article, but then his insinuation hit you and you were mildly offended.
"You just met me three minutes ago, and now you're calling me an alcoholic?" You asked with a raised eyebrow.
His eyes widened and he vehemently shook his head in response, "No, no, I'm merely suggesting that you..." He trailed off, biting down on his bottom lip as he realized he would only dig himself a deeper hole. He swallowed and attempted a different approach, "I just think that if you're... struggling... you should talk to someone."
You inhaled deeply at his words, and pinched the bridge of your nose. You didn't want to be rude, because he seemed genuinely concerned, but this conversation was grating. “Yeah, well, sorry, but I’m not really in the mood to play therapist tonight.”
“Actually, I’m a doctor, not a therapist.” He quickly corrected, which only added to your annoyance. Then, the scraping of the chair next to you filled your ears, as he pulled it out from beneath the bar top and sat down. Great.
“Then, why are you trying to get me to talk about my feelings?” You huffed, meeting his eyes once again.
His lips formed a sympathetic pout, “Because you look like you need it.” He said gently, eliciting another sigh from you.
You looked up at the ceiling of the bar, as you debated internally. Maybe you did want to talk about it, to get it off your chest, but it wasn’t like you could divulge everything, and even if you could, you doubted some random guy would be able to say anything comforting.
“My brother’s gone.” The words came out weakly, before you could even process what you had said.
“Gone?” He asked, his quiet tone barely audible over the music and chatter in the bar.
You kept your eyes trained on the last sip of whiskey in your glass as you gave a slight nod, “Yeah… everyone- everyone thinks he’s dead, but… there was no body.” Now that you had started talking about it, the words just kept spilling out, “But I know he’s still out there, I- I know it. I just… I don’t know how to- I don’t know if I can find him.”
A moment of silence passed between the two of you, and you looked up from your glass in anticipation. Deep-down, you hoped he would somehow come up with the perfect thing to say. Something that would suddenly cause the wild storm of thoughts swirling around in your brain to clear, or lift the heavy weight of the guilt that settled in your chest. But he didn’t. The disappointment you felt started to sink in as he stared at you with pity in his eyes.
“How long has he been missing?”
“Six months.”
His brows furrowed instantly at your answer, and his stare hardened as if he was deep in thought, “That’s… an awfully short amount of time for someone who’s missing to be determined dead.”
Your lips parted with a sigh at his words. Well, that therapy session was short-lived. You did not feel like carefully choosing words, or coming up with elaborate lies to fill the holes in your story just so you could bare your soul to a stranger.
“...It’s complicated.” You admitted, forcing the last sip of whiskey down your throat. When you got up from your seat, he quickly followed suit.
“Wait, um, are you… going to be okay to get home?” He asked, swaying awkwardly.
You nodded, “Yeah, I’m not driving.” Even if you were, you had only had one drink and you nursed it.
“Okay, I just um-” He swallowed nervously and dug out a card from his pocket and offered it to you, “If you… ever need anything, just um, give me a call.”
Doctor Spencer Reid
The United States Federal Bureau of Investigation
Washington, DC (702) 555-0103
You looked between him and the card he had just handed you, and you were almost impressed by the fact that he worked for the FBI, but you were mostly confused by why he chose to give you his card.
“Does every FBI agent just hand out their card whenever they hear a sob story?”
“Well, no, I just um- I just thought that, you know.. Maybe- maybe, if something about your brother came up or- or if you needed something I could just um, I dunno, offer some extra assistance.” His eyes finally landed on you as he finished his sentence, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
The corner of your mouth tugged into a subtle smile at his awkward demeanor. He was sweet, but you knew he couldn’t help you. Still, you gestured to the card in your hand, “Thanks, maybe I will.”
You weren’t sure why, but you gave him your name before you left the bar, and you weren’t sure why, but instead of throwing his business card away, you slipped it into your jacket pocket for safe keeping.
(Part Two)
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