#and to a degree the BAU did that but in this fic he isn't WITH the BAU

[reiderwriter]

♡ Girls Just Wanna Have Fun ♡

Week 5 of my Playlist Series ♡

Summary: Spencer isn't used to clubs, but when duty calls, he's made to feel a little bit more welcome by a girl who seems to know him better than a stranger should.

Warnings: Smut 18+ Minors DNI!! Hotchner!Reader (Reader is Hotch's sister), semi-public sex (x2 oops), oral sex (m receiving), fingering, dry humping, hand job, cum play, dirty talk, degradation and name calling (slut only), use of daddy/sir even though this is like solidly season 1 Spencer lmao, corruption kink, loss of virginity (surprisingly the readers)

A/N: Every single intrusive thought I've ever had about s1 Reid tied up in a nice little bow masquerading as a song fic. It is finished, and now I feel flushed. Please expect only fluff from me until my next intrusive thought (maybe half an hour, probably no longer).

Masterlist || Spotify Playlist

Flashing lights and the scent of dried up alcohol stains weren't usually signs of Spencer Reid's presence. He'd managed to get through college - two degrees and three PhDs - without stepping foot into a nightclub. But now that he'd joined the BAU, it seemed to be an unavoidable occurrence. 

“The unsub hunts at this nightclub, I get that, I do. But why am I the one going in? He's targeting women,” he panicked as his older team member helped adjust his clothes to conceal the weapon he carried. 

“Because, pretty boy, it's student night, and you're the only one here who can pass for a 21 year old. I guess late puberty has some benefits.” Derek smacked his arm playfully, leaving the younger man wincing slightly. 

“But I'm not a woman.” 

“Yes, but you'll be able to walk around and note any suspicious behaviour, and then we can tail suspects you flag,” Hotch explained to him again. 

“Just act natural, kid, it's not like it's your first time in a club.” 

“It is.” His warnings fell on deaf ears though, as they pushed him out of the van and into the crowd of students queueing to enter. 

It didn't take you long to notice him after you arrived at the club.

The sweater vest was enough to make him stand apart slightly, as much as he was trying his best to blend in. A slight tingle of familiarity raced up your spine as his eyes awkwardly met yours, his scan of the room stopping short as he flushed and turned his eyes down. 

Pushing slightly to the crowd, you leaned over the counter next to him and tried to get the bartenders attention. It was loud and busy, but catching attention and keeping it was a skill you'd mastered early, a skill that you were thankful for as you realised the man's eyes were guiltily flicking between your ass and the crowd once again. 

“Are you going to stare, or are you going to introduce yourself,” you giggled, sliding closer to his perch at the bar, as he panicked, standing straighter. 

“I wasn't, um… your dress, there's a rip at the edge of your skirt, I was trying to figure out if it was part of the design because I know some clothes these days have damage built into the design, or if it was in need of some emergency… sewing.” His hands gesticulating awkwardly throughout his explanation, as if anxious to show you the jumble in his brain was entirely pure and innocent, even as the flush on his face said otherwise. 

“And your name is?” 

“I-.... Spencer. My name is Spencer.” 

You stood a little straighter hearing the name, that familiarity warming you more. Spencer. Spencer. Spencer. You turned the name over in your head but took another step closer as the crowd shifted in a wave, feeling the heat coming off his body. 

“Well, Spencer,” your tongue made the decision to act for your brain, the words coming out before you could stop them. “What conclusion did you draw? Do you think the rip was intentional or not?” 

Gently, you grabbed his hand and led it to the fabric. The skirt wasn't scandalously short, but short enough to suit the dark heated atmosphere of the club at least, but as his fingers grazed the back of your thighs, still hesitant in his actions, you found yourself wishing it were just that bit higher, so his hands would have to reach further up. 

With a gaze over your shoulder at the crowd, Spencer found himself at an impass. He'd already noted a few people of interest, loiterers, men getting a bit rough and aggressive in the club, people on the outskirts (like him, he supposed) that could possibly be their unsub. 

He'd been given the all clear to disengage and leave the club as effortlessly as he could  bit something in your initial gaze had pinned him to place at the bar, and refused still to let him see reason. 

“I think it's a design feature. To draw attention to…” he swallowed hard, but you weren't sure if he was just being delicate about his words or if he was reacting to the hand that was now on him, dragging nails up from his abdomen to his chest. 

“Good observation, Spencer.” 

“Your name. You didn't tell me what your name was.” He said, grabbing your hand to stop its progress and breathing deeply as if to clear his head. 

“Y/N. We should dance.” Without giving him time to react, you abandoned your drink on the counter and pulled his arm around your waist, dragging him out to the crush of people in the middle of the dance floor. 

His protests were lost in the pulse of the music, as you kept your back to him and began grinding and swaying against him. His hands tightened on your hips as he gently started moving with you, and you threw your head back to catch his eye again. 

Spencer didn't know what he'd gotten himself into. He knew that very little actually dancing actually went on at a club, that this was just a more polite socially acceptable form of foreplay, but he didn't know that it would have such an effect on him. 

A mess of sweaty, intoxicated people spilling drinks and other fluids, and he thought he'd stay there forever if it kept your hips torturing his cock like that. 

When you glanced up at him, he was a man lost to his senses, lust clouding his eyes, mouth slightly open in a pant, you reached up to his neck and pulled his lips down to meet yours. 

You were surprised when it was his to guess to reach out first, his hand that trailed under your shirt without tours guiding it. You'd picked up a fairly innocent man at the bar and turned him into a pervert in the space of one dance. It felt like the club was watching you, how his hands grazed the skin under your breasts and caused the shiver up your spine, how your back arched to press deeper against his election. 

You may have tempted him into taking this risk, but he was the one gleefully nosediving into his fall from grace. 

“Spencer,” you whispered as he came up for air, lips resting at your ear. “I think we should get some fresh air.” 

Something in that seemed logical. It was colder outside. Maybe it would cool off whatever had lit him up like a pyre on the dance floor. Maybe the fresh air would clear his head. Or maybe just the open space would help him detangle his hands from you, would lead his thoughts away from burying himself deep in you. 

He would gladly take you outside, bid you farewell, and return to his job and his life. It was a solid exit for his first cover - who was going to question the young lovers leaving together. 

You had a feeling that the idea of outside would have Spencer pulling away from you, but you hadn't had your fill of fun just yet. 

So just as you led him onto the dancefloor, you kept a hand over his, around your waist, and you guided him out of the club, down the street a few paces, and into a darkened alleyway. 

“Y/N, we shouldn't be-” he tried to stutter out as you pulled him in for another kiss. His brain was trying to protest, but his hands were already back on your ass, pulling you up and closer to him. 

“What was that?” You said between kisses, his mouth launching an assault against each inch of your skin. 

He gasped for breath and pulled back, realising that he'd lifted and pinned you to the cold brick wall of the alley in his haste to feel you pressed against him. 

“Y/N… I don't want to take advantage of you, I'm not-” 

“I'm taking advantage of you, Spencer,” you said, nipping at his neck slowly raking your hands into his shoulders. “Am I allowed to do that? Can I take all of you, Spencer?” 

His eyes rolled back in his head as he let put a groan of pleasure, your lips sucking at the tender flesh of his nape. 

“I-I'm not a student, and-” 

“I know, but you are such a pretty boy that I decided I wanted to have some fun with you.” 

His resolve broke in half as you uttered your compliments, and his lips met yours in a moan as his hands pushed your skirt up around your waist. 

His finger trailed between your hips and his, using the wall to balance you as he pushed aside your panties and began slowly stroking your sex. 

Your hips pitched forward to press more of his slender fingers against you,  desperate to feel him stretch your cunt open first with one, then two, then however many he decided was good enough for you. 

Leaving one hand on his shoulder, you let one trail down his pants, stepping one foot down to allow you access to his zipper. 

He pauses Again for a second as you manage to get his pants open, your hand pulling his cock free from the constraint of his clothing. Spitting on your hand, you wrap around it firmly and slowly pump up and down, looking him directly in the eye as you watch the pleasure pour over him. 

His forehead rests against yours as he melts into your touch, so desperate, needing to cum so badly that he's willing to let it happen in this dark dirty alley. 

“Spencer, I want to have a lot of fun with you. Will you let me?” 

“Yes, fuck Y/N.” He nods, his hips rocking into your hand with each slow stroke you give him. 

“Spencer,” you say, rocking your hips forward and pushing your panties further to the side once again. “Spencer, please fuck me. Take my virginity, Spencer, please.” 

His mind whirled at the sentence, the pleas dropping from your lips. Virginity. You were a virgin. 

You'd had him cock stiff after three minutes of conversation  had pulled him into an alleyway and lost him in a fog of pleasure, and you were still innocent. Untouched. 

You wanted to have your fun with him. You'd chosen him. 

He couldn't articulate the lust that coated his tongue, so he simply pushed it into your mouth  grabbed his cock from your hands, lined himself up with your drippy cunt and pushed in with a single thrust. 

You gasped and let out a moan, not quite fully pleasurable. Your hands again found his shouldend, his back, but your nails were sharper this time, digging in further, almost piercing skin. 

“Fuck, Spencer, yes,” you said, breathing shakily as you slowly started moving around his cock. 

“Did it hurt?” 

“It doesn't hurt anymore. Now, please Spencer, fuck me and don't hold back. It's more fun that way.” 

He pulled your hips closer, moaning as you tightened around him. Pressing one hand against the wall and keeping another hand gripped so hard around your hip you knew it'd bruise, he began moving. 

He began slow, trying not to lose himself in the feel of your unused, tight hole. But with each small moan, each scratch against his back, he lost a little bit more of that control he was begging for. 

With his hands engaged, his brows furrowed I'm frustration that he couldn't stroke your bundle of nerves, he couldn't force you to cum on his cock as quickly as he wanted to. 

“Y/N, look at me.” You opened your eyes at the words, unaware that they'd closed tight as you emptied all other senses to just feel him. 

“Touch yourself. Right there, that's it,” he watched your fingers rub delicately against your skin, spoke little words of encouragement, and told you to increase your speed and pleasure. 

“That's it. That's it, now it's time for you to cum, Y/N. Cum on my cock, rub your little clit for me and cum around my big cock, Y/N.” 

“Shit… shit, shit, shit, Spencer, oh my god.” Your hands shook, and your hips twitched, and with a cry, you reached that high you'd been craving since you met his eyes earlier. 

He pulled out of you, slowly pulling you off the wall, as he held you up, letting your legs regain their strength. His cock was still hard, still coated in your arousal as he took care of you. 

You caught your breath fast, regained tour strength quicker as you noticed he didn't plan on getting himself off anymore. He let you have your fun with him and was happy to end it all there. 

You weren't. 

“Spencer,” you sang again, wrapping a hand once again around his erection as he tried to straighten out your now slightly more ripped skirt. “Spencer, it's more fun of we both cum. I want you to make a mess of my hand, can you do that for me?” 

You stroked his cock with a firmer grip than before, your arousal lubricating each stroke, his pre-cum mingling with it to aid you further. You suddenly wondered what he would taste like, but knew your legs would be too weak to do everything your heart desired today. 

There was always tomorrow. 

He leaned his weight back on the wall behind you, forcing you back as well as you pumped him quickly so desperate to hear him moan your name as he spilt his seed. 

“Y/N,” he moaned, and you were triumphant. His hips jerked once, then twice, then a third time, and he stilled, heaving breaths as he buried his head in your shoulder. 

He swallowed and regained his breath, and as he pulled away, you pulled your fingers to your lips and lapped up the final drops of cum that he left there. 

Most of it had his the wall, dripped to the floor, but you enjoyed these few drops and smiled brightly at him, pulling a handkerchief that you knew would be in his pocket out and cleaning the two of you up. 

He flushed again as he came back to his senses, especially as you attempted to put his clothed to rights, stepping back to replace his softening cock in his pants.

“Well,” you said after setting yourself to rights, “Thank you for the fun night, Spencer. See you tomorrow.” 

You skipped off quickly before he had a second to even process your words. 

The next day at the local precinct was a blur for Spencer as he tried to drag himself from the drug induced haze of meeting you. He'd stroked himself to completion two more times in bed after he returned to his motel room, reliving the sound of you begging him to take you, the words ‘pretty boy’ on your lips as you spread your legs. 

It'd taken his entire brain, or what was left of it, to not jump out of his skin every time Morgan had teased him with the words that morning.

“Now how did you like your first club experience, pretty boy? Did any college cuties throw themselves at you?” 

He spat up his coffee, choosing that moment to choke, and begging god for this to just be the end of Spencer Reid entirely. 

Because there was no way Morgan would actually believe that that was exactly what had happened. 

“Morgan, Gideon wants you in the interrogation room, and- wow, Spencer, you should change your shirt. What are you, 5? You can't drink coffee properly?” Elle said, chuckling slightly.

“I choked,” he frowned, but it fell on deaf ears as his teammates walked away quickly to get back to their jobs. 

He wished he could recover so quickly, even now the image of you having your fun with him the night before playing like a movie in his head. 

Looking down, he realised Elle was right, and he really did need to change his shirt. Hotch always had a few spare on hand, even for cases out of the office. He grabbed some tissues, dabbing against the mess of coffee on his shirt, suddenly thankful for lukewarm police precinct coffee, and started making his way towards Hotch. 

“Hey, Hotch-” he made it three steps before your voice cried out. 

“Ronnie!!” You shouted, throwing your hands around your elder brother as he caught you in a hug. 

“Y/N, we're at a police station. If you're going to come see me, you have to at least call me Aaron.” 

“And not take the chance to embarrass you in front of your peers and coworkers? Not a chance, Ronnie. Not a chance.” He chuckled fondly, brushing away his complaints quickly as he turned to introduce you to JJ first, then Elle and then the frozen statue that had replaced Spencer. 

“And, Y/N, this is Dr. Spencer Reid. Spencer, this is my sister, Y/N. She's a student at the university.” 

You held out your hand with a triumphant grin as Spencer stared in wide-eyed horror at the apparition in front of him. 

“Hello, Spencer. It's very nice to finally meet you. My brother has told me a lot about you, and I'm very excited to pick your brains.” 

The air seemed to explode around Spencer as each breath became deliriously hot, filling his lungs with fire. It was moments before he realised that he wasn't actually breathing at all, and the air was actually quite normal. 

Your hand remained out, ready to greet him, and to the surprise of his coworkers, he took it in his for a short shake. 

“Y/N. Hotch's sister, Y/N. Nice to meet you, Y/N Hotchner, Hotch's sister.” 

He could practically hear the audible sound of Elle and JJ smacking a hand against their faces in horror at his stupidly obvious reaction to the woman in front of him. If he wasn't careful, he'd be spouting confessions of desire soon, and knowing that Aaron Hotchner carried two guns on his person even now did nothing to calm his thoughts. 

“Okay, well, Y/N, I'm busy with some interrogations now, but I can drive you back to your apartment in half an hour if you're okay to wait with JJ?” 

“Are you busy, Spencer?” You asked instead, keeping her eyes locked on the man who still weakly shook her hand, unaware of when the right time to stop would be. 

“I was serious when I said I wanted to pick your brain, my brother said you had a PhD in Engineering and I'm struggling through a class right now that I need some guidance in if you can spare five minutes?” 

Spencer stared between Hotch and you, looking for the right answer to please present itself before he imploded right there. 

“Yes. PhD, I have a PhD. Three actually, but whose counting? Me. I just counted them. One of them is in mathematics, actually, so I guess I'm always counting.” He finally dropped your hand, and you gave him a wider smile that dropped his heart to his stomach. “I am free, unless you needed me for something else, Hotch?” 

His gaze was pleading, though he wasn't sure if he was begging for his life, five more minutes alone with you or the power to extricate himself from this situation entirely, but Hotch nodded his acceptance quickly and let you lead Spencer off to the small, empty visitors room at the opposite side of the precinct. 

You shut the door behind you when you walked in, leaning over to close the blinds as well before you turned back to Spencer. 

“Your shirt is wet. You should probably take it off,” you giggled as you trailed a hand up his arm once again. 

His hand grabbed yours before you could do any more damage to his tender nerves than you'd already managed that morning. 

“You knew the entire time? Who I was?” 

“I walked over because you seemed familiar, but I only figured it out when you said your name. My brother does talk about you a lot.”

“Hotch is going to kill me,” he said, slumping down into the chair behind him. “Y/N, your brother was outside the club. He could've seen us leave.” 

You climbed into his lap, and his eyes finally met yours again, his tongue stopping its hopeless tirade as you relaxed into his chest. 

“I have two older brothers, Spencer. Do you know how often they've been able to tell me what to do?” Your hands started down his shirt, making quick work of the buttons as he stared up, enthralled. 

“Not once have they been able to stop me from doing something I wanted.” 

He scoffed quickly, unable to help himself. Your hands gripped either side of his face and lifted his head to meet your gaze again. 

“And right now, Spencer, I really want you.” A roll of your hips was enough to have him hissing and grabbing your hips. You started steadily rocking into him, eyes still locked with his. 

“Y/N, please let's be sensible.” 

“I don't want to be sensible, I want to have fun. I want to suck your dick right here, and let you cum in my mouth. I want to scream your name and let everyone know who is giving me pleasure. Can't I do that, Spencer?” 

“No,” he groaned, his eyes screwed shut as you dry humped him, trying to get yourself off on his lap, his.cock rising with each of your quiet moans. 

“Spencer, please. I want your big, hard cock back inside me. Please, please, please. I'll be a good girl, I promise.” 

His eyes shot open in incredulity as he watched you use his body as you saw fit. 

“Good girls don't lose their virginities in alleyways, Y/N. Good girls don't throw themselves at their brothers' coworkers. Good girls listen when they're told no, and don't try to suck cock in public, like little sluts.” He spat each word at you, bit you enjoyed each insult he hurled your way, enjoyed the way his body recoiled as he finally called you a slut. 

He seemed slightly shocked by his anger himself, but you didn't seem to care. It took you only seconds after to push your lips against his again and have your hands on his cock once again, pulling him out of his pants as his hands explored you just as eagerly. 

“Yeah, Spencer, your little slut. I'm such a little slut for you, please fuck me.” 

He buried a hand in your hair, tipping your head back so his tongue could probe deeper, his other hand already under your shirt and teasing one nipple. You lifted your hips and sunk down onto his cock, neither of you stopping to think again about your actions as you began to rode him. 

“30 minutes, Y/N, by now we have 24 minutes and 17 seconds. Can you manage that, Y/N?” 

“Yes, sir.” You said, feeling his dick twitch as you rode him. “Oh did you like that? You liked me calling you, sir?” His hips pressed up again, his body answering more honestly than his tongue. 

“What else can I call you? Spencer… sir….daddy?” 

He broke away from his place buried in your neck to push the two of you down to the floor, the new angle had you gasping as a hand covered your mouth stifling any screams you could make before you made them. 

“Be quiet and cum on my cock, Y/N,” he whispered and picked up his pace, one hand gagging you while the other pulled painfully at your nipple, pinching it between two hands and using it to lift your entire chest so your body was arched toward him, letting him go deeper. 

“Yes, Daddy,” you whispered again, against his fingers, tempted to wrap your lips around one and suck it into your mouth. 

“Fuck, just call me Spencer, Y/N.” 

But you couldn't respond, suddenly overcome with the numbness of you orgasm washing over you as you bit back a choked cry. 

“That's it, good job, Y/N. You listen so well, good job.” He rubbed soothing circles into your chest as his hips slowed, working you through your orgasm as he withdrew once again. 

This time though, he didn't try to pull away and leave himself hard, but sat himself up, and lifted you once again too, putting slight pressure at the back of your head until you were on your knees and letting your head fall down, down, down as your lips wrapped around his wet cock. 

You took him in your mouth, and tasted the bitter, salty flavor of your illicit activities, lapping every last bit of your joint pleasure up as he pushed your hair up and down his cock. 

It didn't take long for his hips to press up into your mouth slightly harder than before, his hands holding you steady as he came down your throat. He held your head there for a minute two, as you tried your best to breathe and stay there, taking as much of his cum down your throat as you could. He pulled your head off him and you swallowed the rest, smiling brightly at him as you did so. 

“Thank you for the fun, Spencer,” You said again, grabbing your phone and checking the time. 

Standing up, you pulled your clothes back in place, pulling your skirt down and your panties up, smoothing out the tangles in your hair. 

“Let me go get you that spare shirt, Doctor Reid,” you said, opening the door. “I'm very grateful for your help with my class load, sir.” 

His head fell back into his hands as you closed the door, leaving him to wonder just what the hell he'd got himself in for. 

[mrs-weasley-reid]

HUNDRED TWO POINT THREE

Aaron Hotchner x bau!reader

Synopsis: as they say, in sickness and in health, but Aaron Hotchner seems to take sickness too seriously. WARNING: a whole lot of nada (i hope). all fluff. overprotective!aaron (duh). not proofread !!!! Word Count: 912 A/N: THIS IS A REPOST of a req from my sweet, sweet lumi @egdropsoop when i was sick. i had to mourn accidentally deleting the original post. it felt so heart-wrenching. and i couldn't find the draft in my docs for almost a week, so it was another type of panic and heartbreak. this writer is such a dummy sometimes, but i hope rereading the fic in case it pops in your feed isn't so bad

 This week’s case, by far, has been the most difficult you have yet to experience. 

 Besides the buzzing summer heat of Los Angeles and the loud commotion in each corner of the local precinct, not only did you have to bring back sticky sweat and ringing ears, but you also brought back a mind-numbing body temperature of 102.3 degrees.

 With Emily’s driving and Spencer’s constant rambling, by the time you guys arrive at the airport, your body is creaking with chills and joint pain. 

 “Hey, hey, what’s going on?”

 You feel Hotch’s hands lay atop yours, prompting your brows to clash and your head to turn to your side where he towered over you. “What? I’m trying to make tea.” You say disorientedly, breathing quite ragged.

 It’s his turn to knit his brows. “Sounds reasonable, but don’t you think your cup has enough hot water?” You follow where he’s looking at your blushing red hand, steaming with heat. “You’re going to burn your hand at that rate.” He adds, lifting his gaze back at you. 

 He reads you for a moment. Your pinkish cheeks, heavy breathing, and disoriented state told him enough to make a deduction. They tell tales that are similar to those of a small Jack Hotchner after a venture in the rain or dry sweat over a fun visit to the park. 

 “You have a fever,” He informs you sternly.

 “No, I don’t.” Your nose crinkles, shaking his hands off yours and straightening up. The simple movement alone brings your head to spin, pushing you against the counter. You close your eyes, “M’kay, maybe I do.”

 Everything seems fuzzy, but you feel Hotch’s gentle hand over the small of your back, and you’re suddenly being led to one of the two couches in the jet, momentarily seeing a pouting Spencer Reid, woken up from his slumber as he mumbles to another seat.

 Hotch wraps his jacket around yours, squatting in front of you. "Honey, why don't you lay down? Get some shuteye." His voice is gentle in your ears. He squeezes your hand in his while the other brushes away loose strands off your burning face.

 “You okay, mama?” Derek turns from his seat, “Want some cocktail with that fun swirly straw you and Penelope love?” He jokes lightly in hopes that humor will lessen the throbbing in your head.

 “It’s not the time for jokes, Morgan. If you’d like to help, maybe stay quiet in your seat.”

 The entire jet shuts up.

 Emily and JJ’s low whispers halt as they shift their gaze from where Hotch blocks Derek’s view. Spencer tries his best to stifle his laugh, but Rossi only shakes his head.

 “She has a fever, Aaron. Not cancer. Let the lady sleep in peace.” Rossi interjects in defense of the team’s eye candy.

 Hotch ignores him, rolling his eyes. He maneuvers back to the kitchenette in search of some cloth and a bucket to fill with tepid water. 

 Derek settles back in his seat with a look of disbelief, “I thought I was dead for a second.” He mutters under his breath. “He’s gone full papa bear mode on her.”

 They watch as Hotch pulls heaven and hell in your favor. He makes tea. Even finds a can of soup from somewhere in the cabinets, wondering why none of them has ever seen that before. He goes back and forth, placing a cloth over your forehead.

 His goal is to get you out of feverish delirium by the time the jet lands back in Quantico. And Hotch is quite the mission-oriented guy.

 "Aaron..." You mumble almost unheard if only everyone isn't eavesdropping.

 "You need something, hon?" He gently blots the cloth over your face. His sleeves are rolled past his elbows, and a rivulet of sweat is over his temple from all the movement he's made in the past ten minutes.

 "Stop fussing and let me sleep, hmm? Go drink some scotch with Dave or something." You shoo him with one hand and steal the cloth from him with the other.

 Hotch shakes his head as if your eyes haven't been shut tight for a while now, prying the cloth off your hand. "Come on, now, sweetheart. I can't just leave you alone." He coos, successfully repossessing the damp fabric.

 It takes a toll on your body when you sit up, yanking the small towel a second time from his grasp, more aggressive this time.

 "Hey, be careful—"

 You raise a hand to shut him up, "Aaron Hotchner. Take a break, or I swear you won't have a bed to sleep in when we get home." You huff, willing your facial muscles to look as intimidating as you possibly can at your state. "And Jack will not side on you. We both know I'm his favorite. So get." You point at Rossi's direction.

 He sighs in defeat, leaving a kiss on the crown of your head. "Fine. But tell me when you need something—"

 "Start walking, Aaron," You shake your head, giving him a stern look.

 The unit chief trudges to the seat next to Rossi, where the older agents offer a glass. Before Hotch can even decline, you voice rings in the jet.

 "You better take that glass."

 He rolls his eyes, but does as you say.

 Everyone fights their will not to burst into laughter, or they just might get pushed off the jet.

hotch masterlist | masterlist

[alovesongtheywrote]

Maeve, from the afterlife: it's ok buddy, i might be dead, we'll still get you laid

Nightmare Academia P.16 | Spencer Reid x Reader

♥ Summary: In this chapter of Nightmare Academia, a ghost encourages promiscuity. [Prof!Spencer Reid x GN-Prof!Reader]

♥ Warnings: ghosts again. also, maeve again.

♥ A/N: ghost subplot my beloved

♥ Word Count: 2252

Series Masterlist

♥♥♥

The following night, you and Reid were sitting on the floor of your office.  The book lay between you, open to the handwritten quote.  Your desk was covered with lit candles.  Reid had protested the idea of open flame, but you insisted on it- for the “ambiance.”

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Spencer asked, glaring at you as you fiddled with a little device, “This feels like pseudoscience.”

“You feel like pseudoscience.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know.  Shut up, I’m fiddling.”

Reid shut his mouth, nodding at you, and watching as you switched the spirit box on.  Immediately, a loud blast of radio static filled the room.  You and Spencer both short back from your positions, exclaiming in surprise and mild agony.

“Jesus, shit!” You yelled, frantically turning the volume down until you couldn’t hear anything.

“I’ll take this as a sign that you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Fuck off, Reid.  I know how this works- the box flips through radio stations at a pace too rapid for humans to interfere with.”

“But ghosts can.  Oooo, spooky.”

“And here I thought you’d be a skeptic, Doctor Reid.”

“I am a man of science… I’ve also seen some strange things.”

“Oh yeah?”

He nodded at you, keeping his eyes on the open book.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.  Apparently you’ve died before, so…”

He nodded again, “Are we doing this, or?”

You brought a finger to the volume switch, but before you turned it up, you paused.  You looked back up at Reid.  He wouldn’t meet your eye.

“You… You can’t keep dropping these things on me.  You investigated a case involving rabies.  You’ve been shot three times, once in the neck.  You’ve died before-”

“Is that not… typical conversation?”

A smile crossed your face as he finally looked at you, “Not that I’m aware of.”

“Ah.  My mistake.” 

“Okay, but seriously, Reid.  You can’t keep dropping these bombs on me- I know you said MIT grads have a history of going nuclear, but oh my god.”

He laughed a little, “So what is it that you want?”

“I want you to elaborate!  It’s getting ridiculous.  I know how to piss you off, and I know your favourite colour is purple, but I don’t know much else about you.”

He paused, “How did you figure out my favourite colour?”

You shrugged, leaning towards him and wrapping your fingers around his purple tie.  You gently pulled him to you, but he fell as if you’d yanked him forward.

“You didn’t make it hard to figure out, Reid.”

He shrugged, sitting up from his odd position on the floor, “Then maybe you can figure out everything else.”

“Okay,” you released his tie, “You don’t want to tell me.  Maybe I’ll just ask the ghosts.”

As you turned the volume up, Spencer’s smile faded.  You cleared your throat.

“Hey there demons, it’s me, ya boi.”

There was no response.  Spencer gave you a look, raising an eyebrow skeptically.  You shook your head at him, waving a hand at him to make him stay quiet.

“Hello?” you started again, “Ghosts?  Ghouls?  Inhabitants of Reid’s book?”

Again, there was no response.

Reid sat up, getting onto his knees and leaning towards the spirit box, “Hello?”

As the word fell from his lips, the box let out a wretched high-pitched screech.  Spencer fell backwards, and you nearly threw the box out the door and into the hallway.  

“Jesus- I can’t tell if the ghosts like you, or if they want you dead more than I do.”

“Or maybe your box is just broken.”

“No, that’s impossible, it can’t be that,” you lied, knowing full well that you purchased your spirit box second-hand on eBay, “The ghosts just hate you, Reid.”

“Wrong.”

A woman’s voice cut through the static, sounding crystal clear and slightly sarcastic.  You looked down at the box, eyes wide with shock and amazement.  Reid also looked at the box, eyes wide with shock and horror.

“Okay then,” you said, smiling as you, too, got to your knees, “I guess the ghosts love you.”

“Better.”

“That confirms it!  The ghosts love you,” you passed him the spirit box, “Here, you do the talking.”

Spencer took it tentatively, “Hi?  Uh, to whatever spirit is haunting my book, could you please… not do that?”

“Mmm… nope.”

“Oh shit,” you giggled, “Sassy ghost.”

“Oh, okay,” Spencer’s fingers tapped against the box, “So… a-about the afterlife, is it- are you okay?”

“Fine… You… Aren’t.”

“Oh shit!  Sassy ghost!” you leaned forward, “Stop bullying him, ghost!  That’s my job!”

“It is.”

“Oh!” You pulled yourself closer to Reid and the book, “She knows me!  Hey, ghost?  Can I ask you a question?”

The ghost didn’t answer.  You took that as a yes.

“Why The Narrative of John Smith?  I mean, it’s an alright book!  A perfectly fine choice!  But was it like, a choice?  Or was it-”

“Choice.  He… Knows.”

You looked up, raising an eyebrow, “Oh?  Does he now?”

Spencer looked at you with wide eyes, holding his hands up in surrender, “I don’t- at least, I don’t think I do.”

“Oh, you don’t think you do.  Well, that makes me sure you know it.”

“How?”

“Spencer, is there anything you don’t know?”

“Your favourite colour.”

You scoffed, opening your mouth to answer him when the spirit box cut you off.

“Green.”

Reid looked at you for confirmation.  You just shrugged.

“Okay ghost,” you reached over, taking the box from Reid.  Your fingers brushed against his.  His skin was cold against yours.  As your hands touched, the box beeped- almost as if the ghost was happy, “Why are you haunting this book?”

“Spencer.”

“Oh,” the colour drained from your cheeks, “Oh, shit.”

Spencer went quiet.  You reached out, placing a hand on his arm.  He jumped a little, but placed one of his hands over yours.

“Are you okay?” you asked, whispering as if that would keep the ghost from hearing you.

“I’m fine.  It’s just- it’s nothing.”

“I wouldn’t call it nothing.  She said your name, that’s freaky.”

“Was it not freaky before?”

“Before I could chalk this up to random coincidence- it would be a stretch, but I could do it.  Now I know she knows your name.”

“It could still be a coincidence.”

You narrowed your eyes at Spencer, tilting your head to the side, “Yeah.  Sure, Spencer.  The ghost has just coincidentally answered all our questions and said your name.  Normal shit.  Average Wednesday!”

“(Y/N)... don’t tell me you’re scared,” he asked with a smirk on his face.

“Spencer,” you growled, “Don’t bully me about this.  And don’t act like you’re not scared.”

“Are you profiling me?” he asked, still smirking.

“Maybe,” you placed the box on the floor beside the book.  Then you turned to face Spencer.  You rolled up his sleeve with your free hand and ran a finger across the veins in his arm.  You tried not to enjoy the act too much.

“Look at all these goosebumps,” you continued, “And you’re paler than any ghost I’ve ever seen.”

“Y’know, I’ve heard that one before, that might just be how I look.”

“Maybe so, but you’re really pale now.  Almost like you’re scared.”

“I promise you, I’m not scared.”

“Are you sure?  You look scared, pretty boy.”

“I- Is this helping you feel better, or something?”

“... Yes.”

Spencer paused for a second.  He removed his arm from your grasp and took one of your hands into one of his own.

“Keep doing it, then.”

Before you could even begin to form a response, the spirit box beeped again.

“Yes!”

You laughed, pulling away from Reid slightly, but leaving your hand in his, “She’s excited.”

“Why-?” Spencer whispered.

“I don’t know, but I’ll take it.  Hey, ghost,” you asked, “If you won’t stop haunting the book, is there anything we can do to… I don’t know, make haunting comfortable for you?  Make you… less likely to throw things at us?”

There was a pause, a few moments of static and then: “Fuck!”

You and Spencer let each other go.  You both got to your knees, hovering over the spirit box with concern- humans man, they’ll pack bond with anything.

“Ghost!  Are you okay!?” You asked, genuinely concerned about the ghost’s wellbeing.

“No!”

“What’s wrong?  Maeve?  Maeve?”

You paused, drawing back and looking at Spencer, “Maeve?”

“No!” The spirit box yelled again- but the ghost didn’t sound too upset.  Honestly, she sounded more stressed than anything else.

“What can we do, ghost?” You asked, “What can we do to help?”

“You… can…” The candles flickered violently before going out in a puff of smoke, “Fuck!”

“What- what’s wrong?” Spencer asked, his voice growing more desperate.  As he reached out for the spirit box, a loud creak rang out from one of the walls.  Your eyes widened as you noticed- one of your bookshelves was leaning away from the wall.

“Reid, look out!” you snatched the book in one hand and tackled Reid with literally every other part of your body.  The two of you rolled out of the way just as the bookshelf collapsed, shattering the spirit box beneath it.

When the dust settled, you were on top of Spencer.

You didn’t even have it in you to be embarrassed about straddling his lap- at least, not at first.  No, your initial concern was his stab wound.  You shifted slightly, drawing a shaky gasp from the man beneath you.  You didn’t even notice.  You had a mission.

Your hands shifted to the edge of his sweater, pushing it up slightly to find the wound beneath.  It took you a second (the man wears a lot of layers) but you were quickly met with the sight of a pristine white bandage surrounded by slightly irritated skin.

Once you were sure Spencer wasn’t going to bleed to death, you let yourself collapse forward on his chest, letting out a sound of pure relief as you did.

“(Y/N)- “

“Are you okay?  I-it didn’t look like you tore your stitches, but if something’s wrong, I can drive you to the hospital-”

“Hey, I’m fine-” he said, cautiously wrapping his arms around your back, “I promise, I’m fine.”

“You swear you’re okay?” you asked, propping yourself up with one arm so you could see his face, “You’re not just saying it to get me to calm down?”

“I swear.  I’m fine.  Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m just fucking terrified right now.  Is the book okay?  I’m scared to look.”

“The- the book?” Spencer sat up with you, looking at The Narrative of John Smith, still clutched in your shaking hand, “You saved the book?”

“Well, yeah.  I mean, I’m not a profiler, but I know that it means something to you,” you placed your free hand on his chest, keeping yourself steady as you held up the book, “I wasn’t gonna risk hurting it.”

“I- You-”

“What?” you tilted your head and put the book down safely, “I might be a bitch, but I’m not evil.”

You let your spare hand drift to the book’s cover.  Your fingers ran the title.  You were so focused on your little task that you didn’t see Spencer looking at you as if you’d hung the moon and stars in the sky.  

He opened his mouth to say something, to thank you, or confess his undying love, or whatever, but you cut him off.

“I’m not stupid, either.  You worked for the FBI.  You know how to hide a body.  And they’d never suspect you- not only are you a genius, you’re former FBI.  You have friends, they’d cover for you, so if I ever piss you off too much-”

You didn’t get another word out.  Spencer pulled you close to him and wrapped his arms around you.  You hesitated for a split second before you embraced him back.  You buried your face in his chest, wrapping yourself around him as tightly as you dared to.  You could feel his heart racing in his chest.  The sound was a comfort to you.  

Spencer was okay, uncrushed, and not bleeding.  He hadn’t died in your office.  He was alive, and in your arms, and you were both safe.

After a minute, you pulled apart, finally moving to stand.  You turned, slightly, taking in the damage to your office.

“Honestly?  It’s not too bad.  I didn’t have any glass on that shelf.  Just books.  It’ll be a bitch to clean up, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mhmm.  It’ll be fi-”

Before you could finish, the lights in your office began to flicker.  Violently.  You stepped back towards Spencer just as he reached out and pulled you towards him.  The two of you stood in the middle of the room, arms wrapped around each other, watching the lights turn on and off.

“So.  I think my office is haunted.”

“Do you want to work out of mine?”

“Sorry?”

“While you deal with the ghost problem-” Spencer pulled you out of the way as a book flew off the shelf towards you.  The momentum spun you around, making you face him, “Do you want to work out of my office?”

The lights turned off for a final time.  Your hands stretched into the dark, stopping when they found Reid’s shoulders.  You held on for dear life, waiting for your eyes to adjust. 

“Even if I didn’t want to, I think the ghost just said ‘Yes.’”

♥ Tags: @icarusignite, @usuallyunlikelyfox, @maraudersforlife2005, @fictionalcomforts, @morgthemagpie, @iiheartbowie, @digitalhearts, @corpsebridenightamare, @ghostatrixx, @reiding-writing, @mywellspringoflife, @80katie, @ms-ks-world, if you asked to be tagged and i forgot, pls let me know!! if you would like to be tagged and aren't, also let me know :D