summary: after each alcoholic shot, you go through drunk phases that the bau have documented, but out of all the times you all have gone out drinking, they never know what happens if you take a sixth shot.
word count: 2.3k
inspiration: that one scene in brooklyn 99 where the others try to see what happens to my queen amy santiago.
content warning: alcohol use. cringe. first time writing a spencer reid fic. maybe a part 2 because the ending has a lot of loose ends.
author's note: i just started watching criminal minds maybe last week. i just finished s1 and i have been nonstop writing fic ideas and this one stuck with me so enjoy my lovebugs. i steered off track as i wrote this so it's a bit of a mess but :3 also, throughout this entire fic, i think you'll be able to tell that i have never really gotten drunk in my life. only half a soju bottle and a bit of my dignity ꪆৎ (UPDATE LIKE MONTHS LATER. rewrite because i rewatched b99 and this oneshot is so yikes. like oml i wrote this terribly)
Working as an agent at the BAU means that the people you work with are the people you spend most of your life with. Solving cases and locking away criminals is what you bond over and this cones with being with each other through the highs and lows. These nights were one of the highs. After solving a long case, Rossi had made plans for everybody to head back to his place to celebrate over drinks.
You expected the night to be filled with fun and love, but this was the BAU, nothing could ever be great without an underlying evil that preyed on one's downfall. This underlying evil just so happened to be some of your closest friends and coworkers. Well, all of them. As you prepared and got ready for a night of what you think to be fun, you didn't expect people you considered family to be plotting against you.
"What do you guys think will happen?" Penelope asked her phone, an eager smile detected through her tone. She was currently on a five way call with Spencer, Morgan, JJ, and Emily.
"I think after her fifth shot, little miss princess will start doing backflips." Morgan put in his bet.
"I think it'll be too much for her and she'll throw up on Rossi's carpet." JJ guessed
"What are we even talking about?" Emily asked, confused as to what they were talking about and that's when she heard Penelope gasp.
"Right! Prentiss doesn't know about her drinking phases. Spencer, go explain it!" Penelope eagerly ordered.
"I-I don't know. This feels kind of wro-"
"Do it!" Penelope interrupted.
"Fine. When [Name] starts drinking, she has these phases after every shot. After her first shot, she can't seem to stop laughing and will simply laugh at anything around her for no apparent reason. On her second shot, she is wandering the place. She can't stay still. On her third shot, she's dancing-"
"We once found her dancing with this elderly woman who was busting it down on the dance floor." Morgan laughed. "She even pulled Spencer out on the dance floor when we went to the club."
Spencer blushed at the reminder before continuing, "On her fourth shot, she's crying. She gets really emotional and it doesn't seem like anybody can stop her from crying unless you give her another shot and by her fifth shot, she's back to dancing."
"Which leads us back to our hypothesis." JJ explained, "What happens to our dear little agent once she has her sixth shot."
"And this is the perfect time to test it out." Penelope explained.
The BAU house party at Rossi's was nice in your opinion. He made his delicious Italian dishes and brought out the alcohol. Morgan and Penelope were sweet enough to bring their own alcohol too and offered you a lot. If only you could've seen the evil smirks of those who handed you each shot.
Spencer watched from afar as you were being handed shots and happily accepting them. He planned on staying to the sides and watching over you, making sure you didn't get hurt, but that soon changed when Morgan offered him a shot in the shape or a chemical tube and he couldn't resist the creative packaging.
You were now on your third shot. Spencer knew this due to your little robot dance by the beat-box with JJ who matched your energy. It was a funny sight to see; however, that smile quickly dropped when you made eye contact with him and walked towards him with a mischievous smile. You stopped about two meters away from him and imitated the moves of a fisher casting his line. He rolled his eyes at your attempt to make him do the stupid dance move. The goofy smile on your face as you starting to roll the fishing line towards him, and your encouraging nod made it difficult to resist you.
He wanted to say he didn't succumb to your odd ways but he did as he jumped your way. Yes, he knows he looked stupid but all he could focus on was your proud smile as soon as he reached you.
He had wished that moment lasted a little longer but Morgan came around with another round of shots and happily gave it to you. Spencer said that he wasn't interested and tried to get you to do the same but you didn't, instead it backfired on him.
"Oooo, more for me then. Double!" You grabbed both shots.
"I don't think that's a good i-" You already downed them before Spencer could finish those words and you felt a bit dizzy from the disgusting taste it left in your mouth. This would technically be considered your fifth shot but you've never taken a double before and Spencer supposed it would have the same effect as if taken separately, but your reaction proved otherwise.
You should be back on the dancefloor once the alcohol set it, but Spencer brought you to on of Rossi's kitchen island stools to sit down. He spotted Derek, Penelope, JJ and Emily both staring at them with hawk eyes, knowing they are one shot away from finding out what happens on her sixth shot. Spencer shook his head at their antics and looked back at you to find... that you were nowhere to be seen.
There you stood with Rossi, trying to imitated a traditional dance he was teaching. Italian music played in the background as Rossi showed you how he dances. You were smiley and asked if you did it right and he nodded and encouraged the others to join. Oh wow, you were a stealthy little handful. Spencer sighed in relief as he saw you felt a little better.
Spencer Reid had many degrees and phds but none of them could really tell him the phenomenon behind your drunk phases. It worried him what would happen next. Sure your first five stages were nothing terrible, it was all in good fun except for your emotional crying stage. However, what if you have your sixth shot and it pushes you over the limit and you end up throwing up or passing out. He wasn't sure if he wanted to find out, especially since you never had any more shots after your fifth since you were so tired of dancing and talking that you declined any more.
All the other times you and him have gone out drinking, you normally ended up in a secluded area in the bar and drank some water or ordered some bar food and waited to sober up a little bit. Spencer never tried offering you another drink but Derek has and youd always decline. Sure, he too was curious, but if you had a reason to abstain then you had a reason and he didn't want to push it.
You had always known what would happen after your fifth shot. It was not cute. Well, to you it wasn't, but to the group of friends you hung out with as soon as you turned 21, it was. Drinking more than five shots was not in your best interest, especially being at a party with your colleagues and boss. It didn't matter how drunk they were, you didn't want to risk it because you knew how you'd get.
Despite being five shots in, you still had some sense of sobriety and knew how to decline drinks. But that double took its tow on you, and who could decline another shot being offered by the cute little Penelope. As you sat on the couch, exhausted from dancing with Rossi, you simply watched the moving pictures on the television with a slightly entertained smile. Hotch was on the singular person holding couch while you took the bigger one. He eyed you weirdly as you chuckled at the screen static.
That was when Penelope sat down with a shot glass you couldn't resist. She told you she bought edible glitter and ordered a special shot glass with a Persian cat printed on it. You gasped at the sight as Penelope gave you such a nice gift.
"You're a sweetheart Penelope. Thank you!" You genuinely said, warmed at her kindness. She told you it was no problem at all and told you she'll be over with Derek if she needed anything. You nodded and admired the pretty shot glass before taking it and setting it down with a content smile.
"Mission accomolished." Penelope smiled as she high-fived Derek and JJ while Emily stood beside them, watching. Spencer shook his head from beside Penelope.
"What's wrong pretty boy?" Morgan asked.
"I'm going to give her some water. She might throw up or something."
"Relax, she's only on her sixth shot. Alcohol posoining from vodka takes like what, 13-16." Morgan stated.
"That only applies to males over 160 pounds which she is neither. With her height and estimated weight, she's about two shots from trouble and we don't know how she'll react." Spencer stated and grabbed a closed water bottle before walking it over to you.
JJ leaned closer to the three, "Do you think Spencer can see how much he cares for her?"
"Pretty boy has had his eyes set on her since the moment she walked in." Morgan chuckled. "It's only about time."
Derek stared at Penelope who had an evil smirk.
"What's going on?" Emily asked, very confused. It seems like she missed something.
"You'll see." JJ smiled and gestured back over to the couch.
Penelope was like a bubble. She floated around person to person and everybody loved how innocent and non-deceiving she seemed, but she likes to have her fun too. People often confided in her and that's how she learns many of the agents' secret. Secrets they don't think is anything worthwhile, but to Penelope, she just hit the jackpot. You see, Penelope has always known what happens when you little miss princess drinks her sixth shot. She always has ever since she walked you home one day from a night of drinking and you confessed that you didn't want to drink anymore because of one thing...
You get embarrassingly clingy.
"Hey. I got you some water." Spencer sat down right beside you and opened the water bottle, handing it to you.
You took your eyes off the screen and melted into a smile as you saw him in arm's distance. "Doctor Spencer!" You opened your arms and gently wrapped them around his neck, lifting just slightly from the couch to match the height.
"W-What?" He stuttered as he made sure the water didn't spill on you. His arms were flared out, not wanting to touch you while you were in an intoxicated state. He could smell the perfume you sprayed on your hair and neck hours ago and the fragrant filled his brain. You pulled away with the same dopey smile and held eye contact with him.
Your body was fully turned towards him; your leg closest to him was bent and placed on the couch so you could fully face him. Your hand rested on his knee, "I feel like you've been gone forever."
You repositioned yourself and scooted closer to Spencer who was now stuck between you and the couch arm. He had already closed the water bottle at this point and dropped it on the carpeted floor. You ignored the small thud and wrapped your arms around his and rested your head on his arm. He felt you melt into his arm and simply relax in his presence.
He was frozen. He couldn't move. It was as if he stared into Medusa's eyes and became a stone statue. He couldn't even move his eyes to see the reactions of the ones that organized it.
"This feels nice." You dreamily sighed and Spencer could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. He kept his hands to his sides, avoiding touching you.
"I-I should go." He managed to utter out, but he couldnt escape your grip.
"Why? Do you hate me?" You asked, looking up at him with a small frown and furrowed eyebrows.
"N-No! Of course not." He eeped in a high pitch voice as he felt you intertwine your hand with his.
"Then don't go. Don't leave me." You smiled as you felt him settle back in his seat.
Spencer frantically looked at somebody for help but found everybody paying no attention and giving them their space. Hotch was on call with his wife and brushdd off his eyes that screamed S.O.S and those who set this up were innocently eating dessert in the kitchen. It didn't take a genius profiler to know that he, Spencer Reid, had been played. So Spencer accepted his fate.
It wasn't a bad fate to accept. He looked at the woman on his arm and felt himself sink into the cushions of the couch. This wasn't too bad. He looked down at you as soon as you looked up at him. You smiled and he reciprocated it.
"Hug me." You ordered. It was a soft order. A small command that barely escaped your lips. Who was he to deny a small action that would've made you smile even more.
He carefully moved his hand that you held onto and brought it around your shoulder. You wasted no time to connect your hands back together and mindlessly played with his fingers.
You weren't sure how you got back home. You were on your bed, still in the clothes you wore the night before but in a cardigan you remember all too well. As the memories of last night slowly re-entered your mind, you didn't what any normal person would've done and screamed in horror.
Penelope, who was sleeping on the other side of the bed, immediately shot up in fear. "What happened?!"
"My life is over." You cried out, dramatically falling into your pillow and hiding your face with your hands before you came to a realization. "You planned that didn't you? I should've known something was up when you decorated that last shot so beautifully that I had no choice but to drink it and reveal the most embarassing part of my drunk stage."
"I'm sorry honey but at least you were the little cutey you always are." Penelope said, thankful that you werent getting murdered and was just embarassed.
"What happened after that last shot?" You were scared to hear the answer and Penelope's answer reinforced that notion. With each action she listed, you felt yourself getting ready to jump out the window from the third story of your apartment building. "I can never face Spencer again. I need to change my identity and- and - and leave."
Apparently after your little stunt on the couch, you refused to let go of Spencer, even when it wss time to go. You only let go of him when you saw Penelope. You threw your arms around her and gave her a hug as well, then went down the line. Penelope got ready to walk you home since you planned in a sleepover afterwards, but apparently, you threw yourself back on Spencer when he tried leaving too soon. You don't even want to try and remember what happened after that.
A whole mess. A whole mess that you created with the terrible influence of Penelope and those she employed in her little act. A mess that you would need to face and deal with. Oh the stress.
You buried your head in your pillow and tried to forget reality. This was a nightmare.
a teasing conversation ensues when you boldly suggest becoming rossi’s fourth wife.
pairing: dave rossi x reader
warnings: fem!reader, flirty reader, flirty rossi, power dynamics perhaps? rossi thinking of moral complexities of a relationship etc etc, probably an age gap? it's not explicitly mentioned but home boy is old as dirt
prompt: here
wc: 0.6k
Rossi tries to focus on the article in front of him, but he can practically feel your eyes burning holes in his cheek. He almost snorts. You’re not even subtle about it. He wonders idly, if you’ve blinked yet.
“You know, if you stare any harder, you’re going to hurt yourself, bella. What exactly do you need from me?”
You tip your floppy head back slightly, resting your chin on your hand and giving him a blatantly flirtatious once-over. “Tell me honestly. Do I have what it takes to be Mrs. Rossi number four, or should I keep working on it?”
At this point, Rossi doesn’t even blink. You’ve made it somewhat of your personal mission to charm him into an early grave ever since day one at the BAU. Your methods are disarmingly cunning, subtle enough to pass unnoticed by less discerning observers, yet transparent to him in their seductive intent.
There was that memorably orchestrated coffee delivery, leaning forward with an excessive grace, making sure his peripheral vision had an unobstructed view down your blouse. Or the occasion you casually suggested a shared hotel room on a stakeout, ostensibly to save departmental funds.
Honestly, your relentless pursuit of his accelerated cardiovascular decline would almost be flattering, if it weren’t so damn effective.
Rossi gives you a slow, contemplative look, barely masking the amusement tugging at his lips. “Well, I have to warn you it’s a notoriously rigorous screening process. Think multiple rounds of very thorough interviews, background checks, and extensive compatibility testing. You might want to clear your schedule.”
Adjusting your position to sit up straighter, your arms press your chest together, the angle leaving little to his imagination. Rossi’s eyes are thankfully hidden, but he knows you know what he’s looking at.
“I’m fully committed, Rossi. Hit me with your best shot. I promise, I can handle it.”
Rossi snorts softly, folding his newspaper and setting it aside. The sports section can wait, something he rarely admits, but this is far more interesting.
He gives you his undivided attention, leaning back comfortably.
“Alright. First question. Exactly how many FBI dress-code violations do you intend to commit on a daily basis?”
“Well, how many does it take before you feel obligated to reprimand me personally? I’ll aim for one more than that.”
He exhales slowly. “Ambitious, aren’t we?”
“You have no idea. But feel free to find out.” Your grin widens as you trail a fingertip casually along the rim of your sunglasses. “I’m even more ambitious up close.”
He allows himself a momentary consideration of the tantalizing hypothetical you’ve so generously presented. He wonders how you’d truly respond if, just once, he abandoned his better judgment and actually called your bluff.
You’re lucky, really, that he’s a man who still maintains a stubborn adherence to decency. That years spent navigating the ethical complexities of this job have given him ample reason to value his own carefully upheld morals.
Without said deeply embedded moral compass, however, he’s rather certain neither one of you would emerge unscathed.
“As enticing as I find your enthusiasm, perhaps its best to keep your ambitions strictly theoretical. For now.”
Rossi barely has time to appreciate the fluid grace with which you rise from your lounge chair before you lean in close, eyes level with his own. His breath stills subtly as your lips touch his cheek.
“Every great idea begins as just a theory,” you say. “Remember that.”
He watches with reluctant open approval as you walk back toward the house. Settling back into his chair, Rossi resigns himself to the knowledge that his professional and personal resolve will continue to be rigorously tested.
Perhaps retirement would have been a safer choice. Still, he allows himself a moment of indulgent appreciation as you disappear inside. After all, even the strongest moral fortitude deserves a brief lapse into harmless admiration now and again.
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