two young hearts ୨୧ s.r. x writer!reader
🍒𐙚⋆ cherry masterlist ⋆𐙚🍒
summary: Spencer invites you to a dance with the team. You spend a delightful night full of revelations.
tags: professor reid!, professor! reader, writer! reader, post prison! reid, comfort, fluff, slow burn, coming of age, no use of y/n, not proofread
You couldn't stop thinking about that article, even though you'd objectively decided it wasn't any of your business. But arrested? In Mexico? That's a whole different story. Nothing about Spencer makes you think he could have been arrested. The night after you found out, you were tempted to open and read the article, but you didn't.
Speaking on the matter, something else you could not stop thinking about was the dance. You told yourself this was just a dance. It didn’t feel like it anymore. You couldn't stop thinking about it since Tuesday, when Spencer asked you.
You'd said yes without even thinking about it, oh but Spencer looked adorable trying to ask you out. Wait, this is not a date, it's just a way for knowing more research sources. More profilers. It was merely professional.
At seven o'clock on Saturday, a knock on your door. Standing in front of the mirror, you smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in your dress. Then you walk over to the door and peek through the peephole before opening it.
There he is, Spencer Reid standing in front of your door, rebel curls combed back, he’s wearing a gray frac that fits him very well. You open the door and smile at him, his eyes are fixed on your figure, draped in a flowing lilac dress that somehow matches his bow tie and socks; you almost laugh when you notice it, but you suppress the laughter behind a polite smile.
“How are you tonight?” He inquiries.
“I’m all good,” you answer. He waits patiently until you realize you’ve stood in front of the door without asking him to enter. “Please, come in,” you say as you let him pass to your apartment. “I just need to fix my hair real quick.”
He sits on the couch when you disappear through the hall toward your room. When you’re finally ready, Spencer extended his arm slightly, a quiet invitation rather than a gesture. After a brief hesitation, you placed your hand around his arm, trying to ignore how natural it felt.
Once you’re out of the building, you notice an old gray blue Volvo parked beside the sidewalk, outstanding among other newest cars.
No way that is his car. But it is.
You could tell when he opened the passenger door for you. Was this man perhaps taken from a historical romantic novel?
“What's the matter?” He asks when he notices you are still standing on the sidewalk. You blink and start walking towards the car. “It might be old but it works well,” he clarifies, defending his car. How adorable.
“It’s not that,” you say.
“I was a little surprised and not at all that this is your car,” you say, grinning.
“Is that a bad thing?” He frowns.
“Not at all,” you answer. He raises one eyebrow but says nothing else. He just closes the door and walks to the other side.
The place really does look like something out of a fairy tale. The chairs are decorated with branches and flowers, giving it a magical feel. There are some garlands and chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. It has a unique charm, blending the fantasy of a ball with the modernity of a contemporary bar. Someone at one of the tables waves at you. Spencer glances your way, and the two of you walk toward the place.
The men stand up as soon as you reach the table; Rossi is the first to approach you and greet you with a gentle kiss on the cheek—very Italian of him. Just then, a blonde woman, possibly Penelope Garcia, stands up, spreads her arms like a bird, and says:
“So you're the writer! So nice to finally meet you,” and everyone lets out a little laugh. You laugh nervously too—so Spencer has told them about you?
Spencer gets everyone’s attention to introduce you to each of them: Rossi’s fiancée, Kristal; Luke; Penelope; Tara; Emily Prentiss, the unit chief; and her boyfriend, Andrew; JJ and her husband, Will. You greet them all with a wave and receive smiles and “nice to meet you’s” in return.
You realize that the team is actually very fun; they quickly make you feel like part of the group, which puts you at ease. So you don't just spend your time talking specifically to Spencer, but also to Penelope, who has practically decided that you're already best friends forever.
“So you're writing a book?” Asks Tara.
“Yes, I'm in the process,” you answer, sipping on your mojito.
“That is not the only book she has written…” mentions Spencer. Your eyes wide. “I did my research,” he says, sipping on his peach soda.
You did not miss JJ's raised eyebrow, nor the amused glance she exchanged with Emily.
“For real? Tell us, what is that about?” Tara asks with curiosity in her voice.
So, the moment you fear has come. Talking about your first book was something that had inadvertently become a topic of debate and controversy.
“The name is… Look Who's Through the Window,” you answer.
“That sounds really interesting,” says Tara.
“It is,” mentions Spencer, implying he's read it. You felt something warm inside your chest. Not only it didn't become a moment, but now you know Spencer cared about your work.
As the night goes by, and after three mojitos, one martini, and one piña colada, you’re starting to really get into the swing of things. Suddenly, JJ says:
“So, Spencer, when are you going to ask your friend to dance?”
Spencer looks at her as if they don’t speak the same language.
“I… uh, I don’t dance,” he says simply.
You look at him with a raised eyebrow.
“What do you mean, you don’t? Come on!” you say, standing up and taking the last sip from your glass. “To the dance floor, Dr. Reid.”
Everyone laughs and cheers, rooting for you.
Spencer stares at you with an amused smile that makes him look even more attractive. You stagger slightly—and it’s not because of the drink—but you manage to steady yourself.
After that, you watch Penelope drag Luke along; JJ gets up with her husband, and even Emily joins in with Andrew. A salsa song starts playing, and you laugh when Spencer trips over his own feet.
“I don't know how to dance,” he says close to your ear so you can hear him over the music.
“Me neither,” you confess with a laugh. You guide him by the arm toward the emptiest spot on the dance floor so you don’t bump into anyone.
Your hands rest on his shoulders, and his hands don’t know where to go, so they rest gently, almost shyly, on your sides as you begin to move your legs to the beat of the music. He tries to follow you, and suddenly the two of you find a rhythm that, while not the best dance, at least has you both moving on the dance floor.
“Have you ever been dancing?” you ask, raising your voice so you can hear yourself over the music.
“No,” he says with an awkward smile. “You?”
You keep dancing for a while, then, suddenly, you're no longer dancing with Spencer, but with Penelope, while Tara pulls Spencer away from you to dance with him. After a while the team comes over to dance with you; the music is upbeat and modern. You laugh at Spencer's reactions as he listens to the music.
Later, when you get tired of dancing, the two of you leave the dance floor amid protests from the others. Spencer says that’s enough for now, and you apologize, saying you need a drink. You sit down at the table where Rossi and Krystal were sitting earlier. You turn your head curiously to look over and see them on the terrace; he’s holding her hand, and you look away, embarrassed.
Suddenly, someone stands next to you—it’s Spencer. He’s holding a drink, which looks like lemonade, and offers it to you with a smile.
“You said you needed a drink, but I think this will hydrate you better.”
You take the drink from his hands.
“Thank you,” you mumble. A little dazed by Spencer's kindness. Not that it surprises you at all.
“Are you having fun?” He asks as he sits next to you.
“Very,” you answer, sipping on the drink. It is sour yet a little salty and sweet. “What is this?”
“It's a home made oral rehydration solution,” he says with confidence. “I asked the bartender to prepare it for you.”
Oh god, why does he have to be so sweet?
You look at him through your lashes. He's so handsome. You've noticed before, of course. You're not blind. But right now, with his hair previously combed back, now free in messed curls, sitting so nonchalantly next to you, under the colourful lights of the place, he looked unreal.
“Have you had the opportunity to talk to any of the profilers here?” He asks you. Reminding you that this was the objective of this dance.
“Uh… not really,” you laugh.
“It's just that I'm happy,” the word happy sounds a little too long.
“You're drunk,” he says in that voice that makes it clear he’s joking. Little wrinkles form around his eyes when he smiles, and that makes him a thousand times more interesting. His smile dazzles you.
“I’m not drunk,” you reply with a half-pout.
Spencer laughs—a soft, slightly hoarse laugh. Oh my god.
Suddenly, there's a change of music, and all the team come back from the dance floor.
“The music turned so cheesy suddenly,” comments Tara. You laugh.
“Anyways, I'm gonna dance with my husband,” says JJ as she drags Will back to the dance floor. Penelope follows her, taking Luke with her. Then Emily and Andrew and even Rossi and Krystal, that came back and you didn't even notice it.
“You want to dance?” Spencer inquires sheepishly.
You look at him, all amused.
“Let's go,” you say before standing up, leaving your drink on the table.
The two of you head to the dance floor under the watchful gaze of Tara and the others who are already there. When you reach a spot away from the crowd, Spencer hesitantly places his hands on your waist, and you rest yours on his shoulders. He’s much taller than you—of course you’d noticed that before, but now, with his body so close to yours, it’s much more obvious.
The two of you begin to move gently to the rhythm of the slow song; suddenly you feel a little shy, you feel the gaze of his hazel eyes on your face, and you can feel the heat rising through your body. His smile makes your heart flutter. There, slowly swinging between Spencer's arms, feeling the smell of his perfume lingering around you, you realize that maybe you like him more than you want to admit.
