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summary: always one for excitement, you could never pass up the opportunity to party when a case takes the team to vegas. spencer could do without the excitement. but then again, he couldn’t do without you. and that’s how he found himself following you into a noisy, flashing, bustling club in his home city. shenanigans ensue.
tags and warnings: pure fluffy nonsense, socialbutterfly!reader, alcohol consumption, reader drinks and gets drunk!, spencer has a crush on u, extroverted reader (will not be a relatable reader to u all i’m sure), reader wears heels and a clubbing dress described as being revealing, read if u like soft and patient spencer awkwardly out of his comfort zone
a/n: too many words of absolutely zero smut. sorry folks, we can’t be horny all the time. also this one kinda got away from me. inspired by this post i made. hardly proofread
“This place is even crazier than I imagined!” You proclaim giddily, leaning on the grand windowsill of the towering Vegas hotel room, the view showcasing perfectly the wide expanse of the bustling city.
Now that your brain was no longer occupied by the horrors of your last murder case, it seems you could finally take in exactly what you were surrounded by. Flashing neon lights and promises of fun that just beckoned you. While the team waited for the next plane to take them back to Quantico, You saw it as a little team vacation trip in Sin City, the adult’s playground. Having never been, you felt like a kid in a candy store. Or, more accurately, like an adult in the middle of Las Vegas.
Spencer sits perched on a chair in your hotel room, fully immersed in his book. He flips a page in minute intervals, finger trailing down the words as he reads at his absurd speed. Your excitement doesn’t seem to disturb his focus at all. “Never been to Vegas before?” He asks without looking up.
“Never!” You continue to gawk up on your tip-toes. “I can’t believe you grew up here! Is it really always like this? All lit up like it’s Christmas?”
Spencer flips another page. “The Strip? Yeah, but as far as the rest of Vegas, you’d be surprised to know it’s actually fairly average. Suburbs, traffic, schools… with the odd casino or strip club.”
You sigh dreamily. “I bet the clubs are to die for.”
Spencer grimaces, finally looking up from his book. “Yeah, if you enjoy sensory overstimulation and pathogen infested crowds.”
“Pathogen infested crowds are what I live for, Spencer,” you tease.
Spencer makes a gagging noise. You laugh.
You were a social butterfly. A lover of excitement, of dancing, of daring social life. You thrived in crowds, in concerts, in night life. Spencer thrived in… none of those things. Nor was he a lover of any of the above. At worst an outright hater. It was almost statistically improbable your level of friendship.
It was almost statistically improbable his level of love for you.
“Bacteria, alcohol residue on surfaces, poor ventilation leading to airborne pathogens, cough droplets, respiratory viruses—” He ticks them off on his fingers, “then there’s noise levels far exceeding safe decibels, not to mention drug use and alcohol poisoning risks.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s so. But Spencer, dancing…” you swoon, “music… Vegas… you don’t see the romance of it all?”
“Romance? I see a high probability of contracting strep throat,” he says flatly.
You laugh, even though he wasn’t being funny.
“I-I’m serious!” Spencer insists. “How could anyone possibly find joy in that environment?”
“We all need a little relief from life,” you push away from the windowsill, stepping over to your suitcase. “Some people find it in books, or… movies,” after plunging your hands in heaps of clothes and toiletries and case notes, you pull out a pair of fine heels. “Some people find it in flashing, crowded, sweaty clubs.”
He considers your words thoughtfully. “But you… find relief in all of those things.”
“I can do it all, Spence,” you send a wink his way.
Spencer stares. “You’re… a lot more fun than me,” he admits softly.
“Hey, now, you’re a fun guy! Everybody’s got a different definition of the word. But I cannot wait to get my hands on The Strip.” You drop the shoes to your feet, sliding one on after the other.
Spencer clears his throat. “Or! …You could stay in,” he offers, trying to sound casual. “We could… read together? I-I have another book, if you want. Or you could borrow mine!” It was a weak attempt, but he had to try. “It’s The Selfish Gene by Richard Dawkins. It explains how evolution works through gene-centrism. How natural selection favors genes that promote their own survival rather than the organism as a whole. I can explain some of the more complicated parts, if need be!”
You hum, “Sounds enticing. Maybe pop a pin in that for tomorrow. I’ll want something quiet when I’m hung over.”
Swing and a miss. “…Right. Tomorrow.” He taps his knees, thinking, then he suddenly straightens in his chair. “But before you go! Did you… uh… wanna go to dinner first? Before the clubs? You’ll likely be expending a lot of energy.”
You give a soft ooo! as you consider it, and Spencer almost thinks he’s got you. Then you shake your head, “Ah, nah, I’ll end up barfing when I’m drunk!”
“That’s… probably true,” he admits.
You walk to the other side of the room in search of your purse. Spencer scrambles up from his chair.
“Y/N, wait, what about that new poker lounge? The one with the high ceilings and less crowding?” he offers quickly. “You could still be social, but… less compact!”
Your hands still. You turn your head over your shoulder to blink at him. “…Are you encouraging me to go gamble?”
“…No,” he backpedals immediately. “That’s… actually terrible advice,” he mutters to himself, rethinking his tactic.
You look at him a little oddly. Then you walk back over to your suitcase, fumbling through your clothes for an outfit to wear. Spencer’s still on your heels.
“Did you know that Vegas clubs have the highest rate of reported sexual assaults in Nevada?” You cross the room to the bathroom, and Spencer mindlessly follows. “And alcohol poisoning incidents are three times more common—”
“Don’t peek! I’m changing!”
Spencer whirls around so fast he nearly trips over the hotel room rug. “Right! Sorry!” He turns his back to the door, fixing his gaze to a painting on the wall of a desert landscape. His ears burn.
He keeps talking, loud enough for you to hear him beyond the door, “And—and Vegas clubs even hold significant rates of noise-induced hearing damage compared to other cities due to the music constantly being at maximum decibel levels!” He’s still trying to convince you, but simultaneously he’s just trying to fill the air so he can’t focus on the sound of rustling clothes just a few feet away.
You don’t respond. He frowns. “Y/N?” He calls over his shoulder.
“Yeah?” You answer casually.
Spencer hesitates. “…Are you still going?” he asks, his voice smaller now.
With a creak, the door clicks open. Spencer turns around to find you in a club dress that doesn’t leave much to the imagination. His eyes dart low once, twice, before gluing themselves to your frowning face.
“If you’re feeling like such a worry-wart, you could just come with me.”
“Me…? G-go to the club?”
“Yeah. You, my right-hand Vegas expert. I dunno. I’ve never been here before. Maybe you ‘oughta watch my back.”
Spencer pictures it. Sweaty, loud, germ-infested. He swallows hard. “I… I could… try.”
You give him a few more seconds to think it over. “…Or I could ask Derek.”
“…I’ll go,” Spencer blurts, nodding with assurance.
You laugh softly, smiling at him in a way that makes his heart squeeze. Enough to remind himself that he placed you far higher in his mind than germs and noise and alcohol. Knowing you were safe meant more to him than whatever disease he told himself he would contract, he remembered that now.
“Sweet!” You say brightly. “I’ll get my purse! Ah, I can’t wait!”
Spencer watches you cross the room, buzzing with excitement.
He grabs his cardigan from the chair, slipping it on like armor. His hands fidget at his sides as he waits for you by the door, nerves alight.
On the way to the dreaded club, you find the illuminated streets of Vegas are even more enticing on ground level. The towering buildings of lights and sounds all seemed to scream to come their way. Passing by were families, drunken couples, tourists with ridiculously large drinks in hand. All of it a sight where a well-placed scoff wasn’t unfair, but you gawked at it all with a face like a child’s on Christmas morning.
“My gosh, look at that one!” You gasp, tugging on Spencer's sleeve, “is that all a Casino?”
Spencer follows your finger. The building was massive. A glittering, neon monstrosity with slot machines lining the open entrance and a fountain shooting water in rhythmic patterns.
“Yeah,” he says. “That’s one of the bigger ones. Included with a hotel and restaurant.”
“Wow. So you can eat, sleep, and keep gambling, huh?”
Spencer nods. “Some casinos have full hospitality suites. Hotels, restaurants, nightclubs… Some even have spas and bowling alleys. It’s all designed to keep people inside as long as possible,” he adds.
“This place is bananas,” you conclude.
Spencer chuckles softly at your enthusiasm. It was… nice seeing Vegas through your eyes. He’d never thought of it as “bananas” before, but you made everything look exciting.
The club entrance loomed ahead, bass thumping even from the street.
“Think you’re a smidge overdressed for the club, Spence,” you try to say lightly.
Spencer looks down at himself, at his button-up, khaki pants, and cardigan. He shrugs. “No, actually, I think I’m dressed perfectly reasonable,” he says firmly. “If anything, the average club-goer is underdressed. Exposed skin everywhere…”
At that, you tilt your head down to the short club dress pulled tight around your body. Then back up at Spencer. He coughs, awkwardly turning his head.
The club doors were in sight. You bite your cheek in excitement. But Spencer suddenly plants his feet and turns to face you, expression serious.
“Okay, if we’re going in there, I’d like to establish a few ground rules, if you’d please,” he starts.
You shuffle backwards a few steps, pretending to stand at attention.
“No excessive alcohol consumption, we’ll break in 30 minute intervals for hydration. And absolutely no accepting drinks from strangers, under any circumstances! You’ll stay where I can see you at all times. Please don’t stray from my line of sight, it’s most definitely going to be dimly lit in there.”
“Got it. Totally understandable. I’m all ready, chief.”
“And!” Spencer holds a finger in the air, and you freeze mid motion. He hesitates before he makes his selfish request. “…You’re not dancing with strangers.”
“Whaaat? Boooo.”
“No, it’s not ‘boo’! They could be… potentially dangerous! Or high on substances, or have bad intentions!”
“Not even one stranger?”
“No! Not even one.”
You hold up two fingers, like pinching something imaginary, and speak in a shrunken voice, “Not even one itty-bitty-widdle-tiny stranger?”
Spencer gives you a look. “Y/N, I’m serious!”
You pout. “Spencer, you’re ruining my chances of making friends.”
“Your chances of getting roofied are statistically higher,” he counters flatly.
“Yeah, but that’s what you’re here for! Remember?” You nudge his arm. He stares down at where you touched him. “How ‘bout we compromise? You reserve the right to drag my silly self away from any sketchy person I am otherwise too inebriated to register. Capisce?”
He exhales. “Fine,” he concedes, though reluctantly. “But the second something seems off, it’s getting shut down, I assure you.”
“Cap-osh.”
“That’s… not a word?”
“Let’s get in there already, worry-wart!” You start to hustle toward the door, digging through your purse for your ID.
Spencer jogs to catch up, scanning the line and bouncers. “Y/N! Y/N, I-I can hold your bag!”
10:38 PM
The club is just as crowded and chaotic as he knew it would be. The second you both step inside, Spencer’s ears ring from the deafening bass. Bodies pressed close, flashing lights everywhere. The air is thick with sweat, body heat, alcohol— he wrinkles his nose. He shrinks on himself, weaving through crowds that you effortlessly traverse through. He gets a few stares thrown his way as the guy in the office attire wriggling and shifting through the crowd like a ventriloquist doll. He awkwardly avoids any eye contact.
Spencer tries to keep a hand on your shoulder or the fabric of your dress pinched in his fingers, something to anchor him to you, but it’s almost impossible to keep up with the spring in your step.
His whole body is rigid as he grips your purse protectively, tense in this unfamiliar environment. Just how did you manage this? What kind of mind did you have to have in order to enjoy this? Certainly not his.
You eventually spin around to face him, noticing his clear discomfort. You lean in close to yell over the music: “Doing okay?!”
He shouts back: “No! No, not really!”
He sees the sympathy in your eyes, and backpedals.
“But, uh… I think I’m adjusting!” He nods, giving you a strained, tight-lipped smile.
You're still frowning. “If you need to step out…” Your voice sounds like you’re underwater beneath all the noise.
Spencer takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. No way he was bailing on you now. “I’m fine! I-I promise!” he insists. He clutches your purse protectively. “Besides, this is just, uh… a new, unexplored environment for me to conquer!” The smile of reassurance he gives you is downright dorky.
You seem to relax at that. “That’s the spirit, Spence!” You give his hand a quick squeeze before twirling back into the crowd, dancing with effortless rhythm.
Spencer watches you go, both awed and terrified. You were so happy here. Meanwhile, he felt like an alien who’d crash-landed in a human party.
Throughout the party, Spencer follows you like a shadow, observing the club with a tense expression. Scanning, like he’s profiling. As the bass vibrates in his bones, he notes the groups of people. Some friendly clusters chatting, others grinding on each other with drunken abandon. A guy tries to hand you a drink, and Spencer is relieved when you refuse with a shake of your head, pushing the rim of the glass away from you.
As he watches you, Spencer thinks you’ve never looked more at home. You naturally sway to the rhythm of the thumping bass like second nature, eyes shut in peace, and the sight of it softens the edges in Spencer but briefly. He hadn’t realized just how much joy, how much relief you actually got out of this. How you really came alive. Well, on some level, of course he knew. He knew who you were. You’d always been a fluttering social butterfly. But he’d never been there to see it, and even feel it vicariously.
And despite the noise, the people pressing into him, Spencer briefly feels… peaceful just observing you.
The crowd shifts, and for a moment, a cluster of people separate you two like a living wall, obscuring his view of you. He turns his head this way and that.
He attempts to squeeze through, slightly disoriented, muttering apologies under his breath that definitely went unheard under the music. He calls your name over the noise. Then a hand catches around his, tugging him firmly to make him slice through the wall of people, and he’s suddenly face to face with you again. His tenacity evaporates.
You give his hand a comforting squeeze before releasing him. “Thought I’d lost you there!”
He looks a little starstruck as he stares back at your glowing face. “Yeah,” he admits with a small laugh, “The crowd in here is… dense!”
“Still doing okay?”
Spencer nods, exhaling. “Yeah,” he says. It’s more sincere than last time. “I’m… actually okay now.”
Being near you made the chaos feel a little less overwhelming. You were his anchor in this sea of noise and movement.
He can hear your voice better when you're standing so close. “Awesome. You’re already getting the hang of it. Soon enough you’ll be a big ol’ partying man,” you joke.
Spencer’s eyebrows shoot up. “…I-I don’t think that’ll ever happen,” he admits with a sheepish smile.
You laugh sweetly. “Did you wanna dance?”
His face goes pale. “Oh! No, no, I—I don’t dance.”
“Well, you could start!”
Spencer shakes his head rapidly. “No, no, I physically can’t,” he insists, slightly panicked. “I’m not exactly… coordinated enough, y’know? Doesn’t really come natural to me.”
“You don’t have to have a routine or something, silly. You just gotta get some movement going. It’s good for ya.”
Easy for you to say. Every movement of yours seemed to come completely natural.
Spencer looks at you, moving effortlessly to the beat again, and then down at himself.
“…Can I just… stand here?” he asks pathetically.
You chuckle, endeared. “You can do whatever you want, Spence.”
Spencer stays rooted to the spot, as you keep dancing. It’s fine. He doesn’t mind just watching you have your fun.
Well, he believes that, until the moment you’re not dancing on your own.
It’s not long before you’ve found a partner. He’s not sure who approached who, but one thing was quickly becoming apparent: if Spencer wasn’t going to dance with you, somebody else would be more than willing.
He watches the two of you move in tandem from afar, fidgeting with the strap of your bag.
11:06 PM
You’re still sipping your drink when Spencer guides you to the edge of the party as a part of your agreed upon rule to keep hydrated.
Spencer digs through your purse, pulling out a plastic water bottle. “Alcoholic beverages draw water from your body’s tissues. Studies show even mild intoxication can reduce hydration levels by 30-40%. Therefore even if you’re drinking something, so long as it’s alcoholic, it’s actually increasing dehydration.”
You choose that moment to throw back the last drops of your drink. Lowering the glass, you blink at him a little blearily, in that blissful stage somewhere between sober and nearing drunk where life was beautiful and everything was a little funny.
“‘Kay, trade ya,” you hand him your empty glass and take the water bottle, struggling for a moment with the cap. You snort at yourself.
He reaches out to help. “You— you need me to get it?”
“I got it, I got it!” You insist, cheekily jutting a finger his way and narrowing your eyes. He holds his hands up in surrender, watching you wrestle with the top again. “Oh, my god, I can’t get it,” you wheeze.
Without hesitation, he gently takes the bottle from your hands and twists it open for you. “Here.”
“Thank you…” you sing, then take a big gulp from the bottle, a bit of water dribbling down your cheek.
Spencer puts his hands in his pockets. “You feeling okay?” He asks over the music. “Not too warm? No lightheadedness?”
You hand the bottle back with a gasp, “Fit as a fiddle!” You grin.
He scans your face. Your pupils weren’t dilated, your skin wasn’t clammy. You seemed fine. Good.
“Okay,” he nods, “What, uh… time were you thinking of heading back?”
“Heading back? We just got here! M’not even drunk yet!
“Oh.” He checks his watch. “How… long do you usually stay at these things?”
You shrug. “‘Till they kick everybody out, I guess.”
Spencer’s eyes widen slightly. He winces. “That’s… a while.”
“Unless… you wanna leave earlier?”
Spencer quickly shakes his head. “No! No, no, totally fine.” He shifts, his feet already hurting from standing in one place. “Fine with me. You… stay as long as you would normally! Just pretend I’m not here.”
“Well, m’not gonna do that. You are here. You’re my buddy,” you say, frowning.
He smiles at that, soft and genuine. “…Thanks,” he murmurs.
You grins wide and loose. A little too bright for the moment, but the alcohol in your system has left you unabashedly expressive.
You linger there in the corner a while longer. Spencer fidgets with the bottle cap, spinning it absently between his fingers.
“You don’t suppose they have a recycling bin lying around somewhere, right?”
“Right,” you say sadly.
Spencer sighs, nodding.
You pat his arm, giving him one last smile before you move to rejoin the crowd. “We can find one on our way out.”
12:49 AM
“Spence! Can y’hold my drink? I gotta pee!”
It was later in the night now, and you were significantly more drunk.
He furrows his brows at the new brightly colored drink you were thrusting toward him. Confused, because he currently had one hand clamped around the drink you asked him to hold all of two minutes ago.
Spencer takes it into his other hand anyway. “What? I was already holding your drink! Why did you get another?"
You blink at his hands, swaying unsteadily. “Oh, I thought that was your drink.”
The two of you stand in bewildered silence, both for separate reasons. Then in the blink of an eye, you take one of the cups and throw the rest of the liquid to the back of your throat and swallow. “Now you have one!” You beam with drunken pride.
Spencer watches you with a frown. “Y/N, I really think you should slow down.”
“Hmm… why?” You stumble around him, heading toward the bathroom.
“Because,” he follows after you, stepping carefully through the crowd, “alcohol is metabolized at a rate of about one standard drink per hour. Drinking faster than that means your liver physically cannot keep up!”
“Oh, that’s cool…!” You slur.
“What? No, that’s not—” Spencer watches helplessly as you disappear into the bathroom line.
He sighs, shifting from foot to foot. He felt significantly more awkward now. Focusing on you all night had been a shield. Now he had no once to focus on but himself and how he looked as the stiff guy in the club wearing the cardigan, holding a drink and standing by the ladies’ bathroom of all places.
Somebody stands to his left. He dares to make eye contact and realizes he’s standing in their path. He mutters a flustered apology, scrambling to get out of the way.
He finds the wall, leaning his back to it with pursed lips, not lifting his gaze higher than enough to glance at the shoulders of any passerby. The wall feels cool against his back, it’s refreshing. Just barely.
People stream past him, laughing and dancing. A few glance at him with mild amusement, probably wondering why this lanky guy was sulking by the bathroom. Spencer keeps staring at the floor tiles like they’re fascinating.
The line went slow, but an alarming amount of minutes fly by with no sign of you. He watches each person that exists, none of their shadowy forms resembling you. He checks his watch. This seemed… excessive, even for a crowded club bathroom.
He shifts uneasily, debating what to do. After a moment of psyching himself up, he awkwardly catches a woman walking out, mouth moving like a motor as he asked after you, running through your description.
“Oh, yeah, she was in there!” Slurs the drunken woman before stumbling away. Spencer’s words catch on his tongue, he shrinks back down slightly. Hardly helpful.
He leans back against the wall again, trying to be patient as he taps his fingers on the cup, but he wonders after you. Were you puking? Did you pass out?
He hears laughter echoing from the woman’s bathroom, louder than the music. Spencer perks up. A gaggle of women squeeze through the bathroom door, much to the relief of the people waiting in line. You’re among them. Spencer exhales.
You were chatting animatedly with multiple of them. Laughing and smiling and holding each other like long-time friends. Did you know them?
Spencer quickly squeezes through the crowd, holding your drink up high to avoid collision.
When he calls your name, you practically bounce up. “Spencer!” You squeal, overjoyed at the sight of him.
You rush into his arms. Spencer catches you in the crook of his elbow before you could stumble.
You smell like perfume and alcohol, and you’re warmer than an oven.
His face softens at your enthusiasm, unable to fight the smile. “Hey,” he says gently.
When you untangle your arms from his neck is when he realizes with a double take you somehow held a half-drank glass of more alcohol, the liquid sloshing dangerously with your movements.
He furrows his brows, but can’t get a word in before you take his hand and drag him closer to the group of equally drunken women.
“Oh, my gosh, okay, okay, so! These’re my new friends! You have to say hi,” you speak animatedly, grinning with a wild, unfiltered smile. You point to the women one by one. “Okay, tha’s um… that’s Mikayla! And tha’s Tiffany, hiii. And that’s… what’d you say your name was, sweetie? Oh, my goodness, are you still crying?!”
You unhook yourself from Spencer's side, swaying over to the woman with black mascara running down her face. You coo something like Nooo, no tears… as you swipe the girl’s cheeks with your thumbs.
Spencer stands frozen, a little lost on what to do here exactly. With you distracted, the rest of the girls set their sights on him. He gives a tight, uncomfortable smile, throwing his hand up once in an awkward wave.
One of them leans toward him. “My god, you’re so cute,” she slurs.
“Stoppp, that’s her boyfriend,” says her friend.
“Ohh, my bad…”
Spencer is alarmed by this. He stammers, “N-no, I— we’re not— that’s not—”
But before he can correct them properly, you spin back around with somehow the once crying girl now giggling and cheesing.
You grins at Spencer, oblivious to the misunderstanding, and throw an arm back around his shoulders. You announce: “Okay, guys, this’s Spencer! He’s my best fri’nd!”
The girls coo. Spencer smiles awkwardly again.
“He’s like super smart. Oh, my gosh, he’s so smart. Tell them, tell them!”
Spencer lips part. “Uh… I have a… few PhDs,” he offers with a cough, voice small.
The girls gasp theatrically.
Mikayla claps her hands. “Oh, wow! I don’t even have one!”
Tiffany leans in, squinting at him. “Wha’s your, um…” she tries to snap a few times, each time her fingers slipping, “IQ! Yeah, wha’s your IQ?”
Spencer hesitates. He never liked bragging about numbers, but you were beaming at him expectantly.
“Uh… 187,” he says casually.
The girls lose their minds, squealing, grabbing each other’s arms like this was the coolest thing ever.
You nod enthusiastically. “Uh-huh! Yeah! And— and! He’s a super awesome FBI agent! Jus’ like me! Yeah, f’r real! I wasn’t joking!”
Spencer smiles, bashful. He looks down at his shoes, shy from the attention.
The girls start rapid-fire questions, “Do you solve crimes?” “Can you tell me what I’m thinking right now?”
Spencer answers politely, his mouth moving fast, explaining forensic profiling and how eidetic memory works, impressively at ease now that the conversation had shifted to his expertise.
Meanwhile, you watch him from his shoulder like he hung the moon.
The girls hang on his every word, but he trails off when you catch his eye. Only a few inches from his nose, he smiles down at you bashfully, warmth spreading through his chest.
Then suddenly, like you'd just remembered. “Oh! Can you, um…” you pat his chest, “c’you hold my drink? I forgot—” you wheeze at yourself, “I forgot to go pee.”
Spencer takes the drink before you even finish speaking. “Where did you even get this? You were in the bathroom!”
“One of the girls gave it to me!” You shout over your shoulder.
His eyes widen. “Y/N, I specifically instructed you not to accept drinks from strangers!” He calls back, but you disappeared behind the bathroom door.
1:55 AM
“Y/N, h-how am I supposed to know why you’re crying if I can’t understand you?”
Spencer had taken his eyes off you for all but 5 minutes and you came back to him a blubbering mess of tears.
You clutch his cardigan draped over your shoulders, shifting closer to him on the bar stool. You've been trying and failing to explain to him exactly why you were sobbing ridiculously for a while now, each time your words getting lost in a drunken slur or a hiccup.
“Shh, shh,” He pats your back stiffly like you're a spooked animal. “It’s okay! Just… just… breathe?”
“Noooo!” You wail. “I can’t say it ‘cause it’s— it’s too embarrassing!”
He leans down slightly, trying to make eye contact. Your face is a mess of tears and mascara. “Whatever it is, you can tell me,” he says gently, “I-I won’t tell anyone, I assure you.”
You look at him with a pitiful expression, eyes a little glazed. Your voice shrinks, “Okay, you promise? You hafta’ like… like really promise.”
Spencer nods, making a zipping motion over his lips and throwing away the imaginary key. “I really promise.”
You stare into his eyes for a moment, and for that second, Spencer was almost convinced you were about to slide into his arms and pass out.
“Okay, so,” you sniffle, “I saw this— this really hot guy dancing. And, um, I— so I wanted to say hi. And I went over and said ‘hi’… and— and,” you babble, just barely coherent, “he just didn’t say anything back, he just looked at me and walked away! And it’s like… it’s like I just wanted to say ‘hi’ and he,” you sniffle, another cry bubbling up your throat, “he just ignored me, Spencer!”
Spencer’s not sure what face he’s supposed to be making. He just stares owlishly, a little bewildered. “…Oh.” He says softly, because he doesn't know what else to say. But you're still staring at him with those wet eyes and a wobbling lip. “…Yeah, that- that guy sounds like a jerk.”
“Total jerk!”
“Yeah, total jerk,” Spencer nods solemnly. “Y’know, maybe he just… couldn’t hear you over the music.”
A logical explanation. But a logical explanation is not what your fuzzy brain wanted. “Noooo… that’s…” You sputter for the word, “wrong.”
Spencer frowns. “Okay… well, maybe he was just… shy?” He offers. “Y’know, lots of guys are prone to, uh… clamming up, shall we say? A-around girls. Women, that is! Such as yourself.”
You blink your big watery eyes at him slow like a cat. He’s not entirely sure you registered any of his awkward stumbling, and maybe that was for the best.
You sniffle. Then your lower lip wobbles again. “Shy guys… are so cute…”
Oh. Spencer registers your words with a strange shock. He suddenly feels… very shy.
Slowly, you start to weep again, your voice beginning to crescendo into a sob, and Spencer scrambles with an idea.
“W-w-wa—wait—wait! Wait! Hey! Don’t cry!” He quickly digs into his pocket and pulls out his trusty quarter. Your curiosity overrides your sadness, and you pause.
“Uh… look!” He says, waving it in front of your face. “I can make this disappear.” He does the classic sleight-of-hand trick, hiding it between his fingers before revealing both palms empty.
You gasp, tears halting mid-stream. “Oh, my gosh, wh… what just happened?” You stare at his empty hands in disbelief. You grab his palm, gaping, strangely rubbing his fingers like the coin was hidden under his skin. “Where did it go? What?” You giggle. “That was crazy.”
Spencer grins. “Magic,” he says proudly, wiggling his fingers for effect.
Then, with another flick of his wrist, the quarter reappears between two fingers, right in front of your face.
Your jaw drops open dramatically. You stare up at him with your bleary eyes positively sparkling. “That is just— so cool!”
Spencer feels his chest swell. Encouraged, he makes the quarter vanish into thin air… only to reappear tucked behind your ear.
He gently taps the coin against your earlobe with a tiny smile.
You smile the widest he thinks he’s ever seen your mouth go. Squeezing your shoulders up your ears, an unadulterated laugh of pure amazement bubbles up from inside you.
Finding your unfiltered joy contagious, Spencer can’t help but beam back, his heart fluttering, pleased that he had unburdened you.
Well, unburdened for all of that brief moment perhaps.
You slowly lean into his side, your laughter sliding back into yet another ugly sob. Spencer arms fly up to stiffly catch you as you land face down in his shoulder.
“I’m having so much fun with youuuu…” you weep into his shirt.
He carefully wraps his arms around you, holding you. “Th— that’s good,” he murmurs, resisting the urge to lean into you. “I’m glad.”
“…I think I drooled on you,” you whisper apologetically.
“Okay, that’s…” he winces slightly, eyes squeezing shut momentarily. He rubs your back in gentle circles. “That’s okay! Don’t even worry about it.”
2:46 AM
“Hey…” You pout, stumbling in the crowd. “You pulled me away from… my friend.”
Ground rule number four: Spencer reserved the right to yank you away from any sketchy individual you were otherwise too inebriated to recognize. You’d agreed upon it.
“Yeah,” he says as he guides you away with a hand on your shoulder, “That guy was not a friend.”
“Yeah, he was!” Your eyes are only half open. “Aw, man… Now who’m I s’posed to dance with, smartie-pants?”
Spencer hesitates. He runs the data. You’re far past levels of intoxication where you probably wouldn’t remember this point of the night. The alternative was you finding a partner in the crowd while at a complete loss of your senses. So, he awkwardly grabs your hand.
“…Me?”
You gasp, your eyes snapping open. “Really?!”
Spencer nods, his face burning. “Yeah,” he says, a little strained. “Just… uh… let’s do it slowly? Preferably the farthest away from people we can get?”
“Let’s daaaance! C’moooon!” You grip Spencer’s hand in yours and forcibly drag him back into the mass of people.
Spencer feels like a deer in headlights when you reach the crowd again. People are everywhere, and the music is so loud it rattles his teeth. He’s stiff as a board, hands hovering awkwardly in clenched fists, no idea what to do.
You start jumping, inadvertently tugging him along with you by your joined hands.
You're remarkably on-beat for how drunk and uncoordinated you were. Spencer knew this sort of thing was just in your blood, and this proved it.
His expression was tight. He awkwardly steps side to side to the beat, at most just keeping a bend in his knees.
Meanwhile, with your fingers still intertwined, you’re jumping, swaying, swinging. Your hair is flying, your smile is blinding, you’re lazily mouthing the words to the song that Spencer couldn’t even make out over the noise. The flashing lights of the club illuminate you from different angles, in different colors. He can’t help but feel a smile tug at his lips from watching you.
Every movement of yours pulls his arms again while you’re joined. Noticing his stiffness, you take advantage of this, squeezing his hands and throwing your arms in the air to make him do the same.
His laughter is quiet, breathy chuckles escaping him. He feels a little ridiculous. A lot ridiculous, with you moving his gangly limbs like a marionette, but the kind of ridiculous where he can’t help but laugh rather than feel humiliated. He tightens his grip on your hands, watching you with hearts in his eyes.
You spin under his arm like a ballroom move. He helps you, pulling you along.
When you inevitably stumble, you collide into his chest, and Spencer instinctively catches you, arms closing around your waist to keep you both upright.
For a second, you’re chest-to-chest. You blink up at him, giggling. Your pupils are dilated. You're a little sweaty, and he can feel it when you bump noses with him. He smiles despite it all, finding your joy contagious.
Your lips are right there. The music is pounding, but for a moment, everything feels strangely silent. The flashing lights paint you both, but barely illuminating enough to see each other’s faces, just inches from your noses. The people around you jump and jostle wildly. He holds you tighter.
“I like LA,” You laugh, breathless.
The words are nonsense. You’re in Vegas, you were too drunk to remember. But he doesn’t correct you. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you nod once like your head was too heavy. “I like you,” you mumble through a smile, then limply drop your head straight into his shoulder.
Spencer swallows. You didn’t mean it. You couldn’t have meant it— not like that. But… god, he wishes you did.
4:00 AM
“Aw, nah, man, that’s fucked up.”
Spencer wouldn’t have turned his head around to the voice if it wasn’t so close. He glances once over his arm, then fully looks back when he realizes the body of the club-goer shrouded in shadow was facing him specifically.
Your half-limp body was glued to his side, your arm thrown over his shoulder and your head hanging limp. You slip down every handful of seconds, making Spencer squeeze you even closer around the middle. His free hand holds your long abandoned pair of heels. (He hadn’t wanted you to take them off, for fear of the grime and loose objects on the ground, but somehow he ended up taking them off for you like you were Cinderella.) You both had only just made it to the exit doors of the club before the voice stopped Spencer in his tracks.
He stares at the mysterious guy with his mouth clamped shut, brows pinched in confusion.
“Nah, look at her, she fucked up off her head, man, that’s not cool.”
It takes Spencer a few seconds to process what the guy was implying, realizing how he must look, dragging a barely conscious woman home.
“Helloooooo…” sings you to the man, hanging on Spencer’s arm.
Spencer brows fly up. “Oh, no! No, no, no, that’s— that’s not—”
“C’mon, man, that’s fucked up.”
“No! I— see, I’m actually her friend— co-worker!” Spencer flounders. “I-I was merely trying to—”
“Co-worker? Naaahh…”
You, still blissfully unaware of the tension, reach up and pat Spencer’s cheek with a grin. “M’friend,” you mumble proudly.
“L-listen, I gotta…” Spencer awkwardly gestures to the door, swallowing, “Um… yeah.” And he hastily shuffles you both away.
The moment you two get out, the cool, refreshing night air is maybe the biggest relief Spencer’s ever experienced. For the first time in several hours, he breathes air that wasn’t packed with the smell of smoke and people and god knows what else. Vegas is still bustling, especially at night, but in comparison to the stuffy club, it’s entirely preferable.
The sidewalk is quiet, at the very least. Your heels dangle from where they’re hooked on his fingers. He watches the ground for any sharp rocks or cigarette butts to assault your bare feet. The neon lights of casinos and street signs flicker in the distance. There’s the muted noise of another nightclub down the road.
He adjusts you against his side as you sway dangerously, quietly giggling to yourself.
Spencer had tried to keep you watered, but you’d been dancing and draining cocktails all night. Now you could barely walk straight. The fresh air was helping a little, it seemed, your nonsensical babbling slowing as the air hit your skin.
“Did you have fun?” He asks, scanning the road for a cab.
“Sooo much,” you mumble.
“Yeah? You feeling… relieved?”
You just giggle again, leaning your full weight against him now. He stumbles slightly under your deadweight, but steadies himself.
“I didn’t pee myself…” You snort.
“No, I didn’t—” Spencer sputters, “Not- not that kind of relieved. L-like you’d mentioned. Back at the hotel?”
“Ohhh,” you blink. “Yes,” you nod once. “Hey, wha’ ‘bout you, huh? You clubbed!”
Spencer chuckles softly. “I clubbed,” he nods. “Definitely a feat, isn’t it? Guess I can… scratch that off the list. Not that it was ever on a list. But,” he inhales deeply, “not an overwhelming preponderance of evidence that I didn’t have fun.”
“Okay, scale of 1 ‘ta 10, how much fun?”
Spencer thinks. He hated the noise. The smoke made his eyes water. People bumped into him constantly. He was definitely about to go back to the hotel room and shower thoroughly. But he got to see the side of you he’d until now only heard about the morning after.
“…A six,” he says finally.
“Heyyy! That’s pretty good for you!”
“Yeah. I survived,” he smiles, a little proud of himself, adjusting you again as you nearly trip over a crack in the sidewalk.
“Okay, ask— ask me if I had fun.”
Spencer tilts his head. He’d already asked that question, but it didn’t matter. “Did you have fun?” he asks, voice soft and patient.
“Yes!” You say enthusiastically. “Because! Because. You!” You try to tap him on the nose, but the pad of your finger lands slightly above his lip. He gently pushes it away. “You came. To a party. And that’s nuts. That’s— that’s a whole thing right there. And it’s also like… My best friend is partying with me. How rad is that?” You laugh, marveling at him. “I got to party. With Spencer Reid. It’s like… wow! We’re at a club, okay? In Vegas! And the coolest part was,” you poke his chest, “you, sir.”
His chest feels warm, weirdly proud. “…Thanks,” he mumbles, ducking his head bashfully.
“Nonono, ‘kay? I’m serious! You were really cool in there!”
Spencer’s cheeks heat up. He laughs awkwardly. “I mean, I just… stood there for the majority of the night. I’m not entirely sure that crosses the threshold of ‘cool.’”
“You looked out for me the whole night.”
Spencer nods. “Yeah, well… someone had to.”
You hum, leaning your chin on his shoulder, your eyelids drooping. “Thank you, Spencer.”
His arm tightens protectively around your middle. “…Anytime,” he whispers.
He admires the glittering lights above them, the neon reflections dancing on the pavement. The city always so full of life, in endless motion, no matter the hour. He didn’t really see the appeal of it until this night. He turns his head toward the skyline, counting the stars.
Your expression is peaceful when you ask, “Tell me something smart, smart guy.”
Spencer smiles faintly. “Did you know… a UC Davis psychology expert conducted a series of experiments on romantic partners, and found that through connecting couples to monitors measuring their heartbeat and respiration, even when just sitting quietly across from each other, their heart rates would begin to synchronize, and they’d slowly start breathing in and out at the same intervals.”
He’s not oblivious to the way your hand seems to subconsciously unfurl from his shirt and slide down to his chest, Your palm flattening over his ribcage, listening.
“I like that one.”
He doesn’t move. The touch is… nice. Really nice. “Yeah?” he whispers, voice quiet.
“Mm-hmm.”
The city hums around you, distant traffic, music from at least two places, but it all fades into background noise.
His fingers twitch against your waist. He looks back down to you. Your cheek is squished up against his shoulder, Your eyes long fluttered shut. You’re falling asleep. Right here. Standing up. Spencer realizes this when your breathing evens out, deep and peaceful. And without realizing it, the rise and fall of his chest moves in tandem.
A cab pulls up to the curb. The driver glances at them through the window. Spencer nods to them.
He takes all of two steps before you suddenly throw your head back, gasping awake. Spencer jumps, alarmed.
“Your cardigan!” You shriek, “Ohmigosh, I forgot your cardigan!”
Spencer grasps your shoulders with wide eyes. “I-it’s in the bag! It’s in the bag!” He says quickly.
“Ohhhh,” You exhale dramatically in relief, dropping your forehead back into his shoulder, “Oh, thank god. Goodness gracious.”
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Your fic "My Girlfriend's a Bitch" reminded me of Cherry Lips (Go Baby Go) by Garbage because of the lyrics in verse 2:
"With your cherry lips [...] In your hot pants and high heels /They could not believe that such a body was for real [...] Because you looked just like a girl".
It's a trans anthem, but I'm ignoring that and telling myself it's girly Reid propaganda xx
fic link
and he is so girl boy!!!! boy why r u so girl!!!!! if not girl, why girl shaped!!!!
spencer absolutely learned something about himself that day. maybe you’ll even catch some of your prettier skirts going missing from your closet…,..
it’s so special to me that so much of fan culture is textual analysis for the love of the game. like thank god there are people in my phone who are also thinking about this thing i love so much that they are writing transformative fiction as character studies and setting clips of the show to music with theme-relevant lyrics and writing long text posts analyzing every line of dialogue like!! yay!!!
Sometimes the best fic you’ve ever written isn’t on ao3. It’s in 50 frenetic discord messages sent over a fifteen minute span where you and your friend yes and each other into a perfect story that will never actually be written.
