Wild Nights, Wild Nights || Spencer Reid x Reader

5. Night Descending, Dumb and Dark

Just as you had cases that left you feeling like another piece of your soul had been chipped away, you also had cases that reminded you of why you worked this job in the first place. These were the cases where everything fell into place: where families were reunited, where killers were apprehended before too many people got hurt, where you all came back to Quantico a little less burdened than you left. And when these cases didn't take you far into the night, the team often went out to celebrate at a bar close to headquarters.

More often than not, you would opt to leave after a drink or two. But you had found yourself chasing that feeling of lightness in your chest more so than you had in the past. You wanted to feel unburdened, and like your new addiction to Dr. Spencer Reid, you found that spending time with your coworkers began to leave you with similar feelings.

Not that they hadn't in the past--you always enjoyed hanging out with them--but the thrill of yours and Spencer's dirty secret added a new level of entertainment to your group dynamic.

Like, now, he was feeling you up in the bar bathroom (despite his initial sputtering about how dirty public restrooms were) while the rest of the team sat twenty feet away digging into their second round of drinks.

You didn't think the night would end up like this. While you and Spencer had been relishing in each others' company regularly after starting your arrangement, you typically only used each other for release after particularly difficult cases or during times of emotional distress. God knows that the looming deadline over your head from the Director wasn't helping. You were distracted, and you could tell that the others noticed. They just knew you well enough to let it go.

It had started with glances across the table.

You had all settled into the table at the team's favorite local bar, O'Keefe's, with smiles on your faces. Once the first round of drinks had come to the table, you all raised your drinks to toast.

"And as we say in Italiano, beviamo alla nostra. Let's drink to us," Rossi said before you all clanked your glasses together.

Because the man himself had offered to buy (as he always did, much to your eternal delight), you and Garcia had ordered some ridiculously pink cocktail. It was some potion of frozen rosè, coconut rum, vodka, and club soda, with frozen strawberries sprinkled on top. You were surprised it was even available; it was wildly inappropriate for the time of year after all, with the nippy air of November beginning to saturate Virginia, but it came in a comically large frosted glass and had a tiny pink umbrella sticking out of the top. How could you resist?

Morgan scoffed at you and Garcia when he saw it. "That's the kind of drink teenagers get when they're using a fake ID for the first time," he laughed.

Garcia stuck her tongue out at him. "It's pink. It's boozy. And it has a tiny pink umbrella. It's the kind of drink for people with joy!" she cried in response before taking a hearty sip.

She was certainly correct about the first three things, particularly the second. You had barely had half of your drink before the edges of the world began to spin. Then, Garcia became correct about the final thing she'd listed. Even if "joy" wasn't in your vocabulary on a regular basis, the imitation bliss that accompanied social drinking seemed close enough.

You had noticed Spencer watching you closely from his seat, particularly the way your lips closed around the straw, how the top buttons of your shirt were open and accentuating your cleavage, how your eyes, while slightly unfocused, smiled along with the rest of your face. He found you mesmerizing. You knew it, too.

So you had stood and excused yourself to the restroom, tugging your pencil skirt down as you went.

Then you waited and counted down the minutes.