Douchebag Falls Short in This Case (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)
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Author Masterlist
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Part 1: If Anything I Find it Educative
Part 2: It Was Horrible Until It Wasn’t
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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.
Summary: Spencer and Reader can’t have their scheduled lunch, but they keep talking by phone and texts. After Spencer returns from a case, they can see each other again. If Spencer hadn’t been mesmerized with Reader, now he is, and maybe is more than that.
Word Count: 5.8k
Warnings: Some strong words. Description of Road Rage Disorder. Talking about bad experiences at high school (nothing explicit). Emily is the best older sister to Spencer.
A/N: The prospect of them having a date was too tempting not to do it. This one is part 3 of “If Anything I Find It Educative” (Part 2 of “It Was Horrible Until It Wasn’t”). Let me know your thoughts!!! I’m here to read you guys.
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Spencer's POV
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Me: Are you free on Saturday at midday? We could go to lunch. Let me know. Good night. S.R.
Heimlich Master: Yeah. Lunch sounds great. Let's talk about the details later. Good night :)
My face hurts from the big smile I sport right now. Smile that doesn't fade once I get to my apartment.
How did I manage to text her right away? I would never know, but I thank that moment of confidence.
Now I can't wait to see her again on Saturday.
---
I should have known making plans wouldn't work for me. It's Friday afternoon, and I'm on the jet about to take off for a case in Los Angeles.
There goes my lunch with (Y/N).
I grab my phone to type a text to let her know.
Between last night and today, we have been texting back and forth about what time on Saturday works for us and whether I had a place in mind. I did, but I told her it was a surprise.
Now I must cancel, and I can't stress enough my disappointment.
Me: Hey. I'm so sorry, but I'm leaving for a case in L.A. Can we reschedule our lunch? Please don't hate me.
Heimlich Master: Oh, it's okay. Don't worry; of course, we can reschedule.
Heimlich Master: Let me know when you come back. And don't be silly; I don't hate you.
Heimlich Master: Can I ask you for something, though?
Me: Sure. Anything.
Heimlich Master: Can you prevent Morgan from kick-down doors this time? The bureau budget would appreciate it.
I can't contain the snort that leaves my lips, gaining Emily's attention. Bad luck of mine; she is in a seat just in front of me.
Me: I'll do my best. Promise.
Heimlich Master: Thank you. Have a safe flight :)
Me: Thanks :)
Look at me! Even using emojis.
Penelope would be proud of me.
I set my phone on the table to exchange it for the book I chose for this flight. Emily's voice stops me before I can do that.
"So, are you going to tell me why you are so smiling?"
And here we go.
"Me?" I lift my eyes to Emily, who has a smirk on her face. I hate that she already knows what's happening, not even knowing what's happening.
"Sure, genius. I don't see anyone else here so amused and focused on his texts. Not to mention the grin that could illuminate the whole D.C."
"No, I'm not!" I defend—a poor attempt to keep the transparency of my face at bay. Emily scoffs, and that's all it takes to know she doesn't believe me.
"I understand you don't like to talk about your personal life. I get it. And I won't bug you as Morgan would, yet knowing it is related to your love life. But don't try to fool me. It's insulting," she says, the last part faking hurt. That makes me chuckle.
"That being said, I just want you to know I'm here if you need to talk. It's not always good to keep things to yourself."
Not waiting for my response, she picks up the folder with the current case details to read.
I have known Emily for a few years now, and even if we didn't start on the right foot - entirely my fault - she's proven very supportive. Gosh, once she endured a whole beating from an unsub only to keep me safe.
Beyond that, she knows how to talk to me without treating me like a kid. Sometimes, I can't say the same about the rest. Of course, I don't blame them; they've always seen me as the team's baby, but I appreciate Emily doesn't.
"That's the thing. This," I point my gaze where my phone is. "I don't know what it is," I sigh. Emily's eyes are back to me. She sees how confused I am.
"What do you think it is then?"
I don't want to betray (Y/N) 's trust by spilling details about her life, so the specifics of our talks are out of the table.
"I can't deny there is a connection between us. We only met twice—both by chance. But they led us to talk for hours. And I ask myself, am I reading this wrong, and she only sees me like a, I don't know, potential friend?"
"Why would she? She told you she was only looking for a friend?" Emily asks, her hands resting lightly over the folder on her lap.
"No, she didn't. It's a deduction of mine, though. I mean, she recently ended a relationship —a very serious one."
Just remembering the reason that led to that breakup makes me sick.
"Okay. That could be a thing, but not necessarily. Maybe things ended precisely because she wanted something different. That's not bad," Emily hypothesizes. I shake my head.
"I'm not so sure. Let's say she wouldn't have ended the relationship until something big happened. Big enough for her to realize the guy was a total -"I trail off. What would be the right word?
"A douchebag?" Emily offers.
"I think douchebag falls short in this case," I point out. Emily's eyes widen.
"That bad, uh?" I nod.
"She is vulnerable right now, and I don't want to take advantage of that. But at the same time, I want a chance with her. Am I a bad person?"
"What? No! Spencer, don't say that," Emily rushes to stop my spiral. "Far from that. You are considerate enough to see she's in a complicated situation. Most of the men don't even care about that. Cut her some slack, though. She is a grown-up woman, and if she wants to get to know you, why not let her? If she hasn't already, I bet she will see the great man you are. And not only as a friend."
My eyebrows furrow.
"Do you think so?"
"Sure. And for how you describe her, I don't think she is the type to play with people's feelings. Although, I strongly recommend being honest with her. That will prevent false expectations."
I take in Emily's words, and they make perfect sense.
"Thank you, Emily. I didn't think about it like that," I
muse. "Can you do me a favor, though?"
She nods, anticipating what I'm going to say.
"I know. Not a word to anyone. Got it," Emily confirms with a reassuring smile.
---
The heat in Los Angeles for the last three days has been overpowering. Just as catching this unsub has become extremely frustrating.
I'm in the meeting room they lent us to work in, reviewing the details of the case over and over again. The rest of the team is outside the precinct following our latest leads.
My head started to hurt, and I had to close my eyes for a moment.
As I focus on breathing, my phone pings. I open my eyes and see a text from (Y/N).
Heimlich Master: How are you? I read that L.A. has a heat wave; I hope it's not hitting you too hard.
I can't help the smile that pushes the corners of my lips upward.
Me: I'd like to say it's not affecting me, but I don't want to lie. I will survive, though. Please tell me how nice the weather is in D.C., and I'll aim to finish this case as soon as possible.
Heimlich Master: I thought our lunch was enough incentive for you to do that. Now I feel bad.
Oh, fuck. What did I do? Of course, it's an incentive for me. It is THE incentive, actually. I have been thinking about that since Friday when I came here. Now she's assuming I don't care.
How can you be such an idiot, Spencer?
I must fix this immediately, so I hit the call button—a confused (Y/N) answers on the other end.
"Spencer?"
"Hey. I - uh. I decided to call because I needed to explain myself. Please, don't feel bad. Of course, I want our lunch to happen. I wasn't saying it like if I don't. I mean, the heat is fucking insane here, but it's not-"
"Spencer, hey, don't-" she tries to make me stop. Still, I am so determined to say everything necessary to explain myself that I continue my rant.
"What I'm trying to say is-"
"Spencer, wait!" (Y/N)’s firmer voice halts me in my failed attempt at an apology. It's sufficient enough for me to shut up.
"Sorry. What were you about to say?"
"I'm sorry for stopping you, but it sounded like you would run out of air and pass out. Now I feel awful because the last thing I wrote was only to mess with you. I didn't want you to feel like I was accusing you of something, much less that you owed me an apology."
"Oh," I mumble, now making sense of the whole exchange. My cheeks heat up realizing I went from 0 to 100 in seconds. (Y/N)'s voice sounds anxious now.
"Please, forgive me if I worried you that way. That's why I hate texts; I can't control my teasing tone as I do when I talk to someone."
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. I don't want (Y/N) to think she did anything wrong, though.
"No, don't say that. I'm not good at - literally - reading social cues. I should have noticed. I just need some practice," I chuckle. I can hear a chuckle on the other end, too.
"Well, since we already cleared up our first miscommunication problem. How are you?"
That sentence shouldn't make my heart skip a beat, but it does.
Get your shit together, Spencer.
"With the heat and the lack of progress in the case, it is a bit frustrating. But we'll make it. How about you?"
"Good, actually. Not the load of paperwork I had last week, and my boss just asked me to prepare a lecture for the trainees in forensic accounting."
"Wow, that's amazing!" I chirp, excited.
"I'm a bit nervous, though. But I'll live," (Y/N) sighs.
"You'll do it great. I didn't know you were into teaching," I muse, remembering our prior conversations.
"I didn't, either. But I've had some previous experiences, and they have been okay. So, the case? That bad, uh?"
That brings me back to L.A. and the case. I was very comfy with my mind in (Y/N).
"He's taunting us. I mean, the police force. But we have a strong profile. One more piece, and we have him," I assure, trying to be convincing enough.
"You guys know what you're doing. You'll catch him, Spencer." (Y/N) sounds like she has no doubt. It fills my heart with warmth because although she doesn't have to put that amount of trust in me, she does it anyway.
"Reid?" I turn to see Morgan and J.J. walking into the room. She hears it, too.
"They need you. You have to return to work," (Y/N) concludes. I let out a sigh.
"Yeah. I have to go," I mumble apologeticly.
"Of course, you're working. It’s okay," she affirms with understanding.
"I'll let you know when I'm done here. Take care, okay?" I whisper into the receiver.
"I will. You too, be safe. Bye."
I can see Morgan's smirk and JJ’s curious look when I hang up.
I know they're dying to ask me questions, but now is not the time, and I don't want to either. So before any words come from their mouths, I hasten to speak.
"Did you find anything? I was examining what we have so far, and I think we are missing something. Look at this," I tell them, pointing to the scattered photos on the table. They look at each other and hesitate to interrupt me or play along. Thank goodness they opt for the latter.
---
Me: Did you know L.A. has an abandoned underground tunnel network? If they are put together, it will stretch out 17 kilometers. They exist due to the Prohibition. When alcohol was banned in L.A. in early 1920, 35,000 gallons of wine were poured into its sewers. But, far from eradicating booze, prohibition pushed its use underground, literally.
Heimlich Master: Wow. I didn't know that. But I'm afraid to ask why are you telling me this. Are you trapped in one of those tunnels, and this is a call for help? [see attached photo]
Me: Ha Ha Ha. Let's say I've been studying those tunnels all day. Good thing we have Morgan and Prentiss to do the dirty job, though.
It's my fifth night in Los Angeles, and I don't know whether to laugh or cry. The only things that have kept me at least in a decent mood are the texts and short calls I have shared with (Y/N). I've never been very fond of using technology, including my cell phone, but thanks to (Y/N), I haven't even questioned it.
We've been sharing fun facts and memes. If you had asked me a week ago what a meme was, I wouldn't have known what to answer. The word was familiar to me thanks to Garcia, who often mentions them, but now I can say that I know more about them than I would have expected to. (Y/N) is a regular, and I can understand more of her sense of humor because of that. She especially loves the ones with a philosopher dinosaur and those where a woman yells at a cat.
Heimlich Master: How is the case going?
I'm about to reply when hard knocks shake my hotel room door. I hear Morgan's voice on the other side. "Reid! There is a break in the case! Move your ass right now!" Before leaving the room, I texted (Y/N).
Me: Hoping to wrap it up tonight.
Two hours later, we have the unsub in custody, not before running into a frantic chase for L.A. streets. Now, completely wasted, we are packing our things to return home. Usually, when we wrap cases at this hour, we stay until the next morning and then take off. But everyone is so drained that Hotch called to the tarmac saying we’re flying back tonight.
Being already on the jet, I feel like writing to (Y/N), but it doesn't seem appropriate, considering it's 2 in the morning. I refrain and try to catch some sleep, knowing exactly what I want to do first when we touch down in Virginia.
---
It’s the first time I've put foot on the third floor of the Quantico Headquarters. It doesn’t look too different from the others I do know. A bunch of people walking in and out, agents perched at their desks, deep in folders or computers. Phones are ringing, and the sound of copy machines is unmistakable.
But none of that matters right now. I have a mission to accomplish.
After navigating between several desks, I find the one I’m looking for.
“Good morning, agent (Y/L/N).”
At the sound of my voice, (Y/N)’s head whips up.
“Hey! When did you come back?” she asks, seeming confused. The last time we spoke was last night before the unsub takedown, so for her, I still could be in LA.
I check my watch. “One hour and fifteen minutes ago.”
“I hope you slept on the jet.”
“I did. A bit.”
I won’t tell her how I barely closed my eyes, excited about returning to Virginia.
“So, to what do I owe the honor of having you here, Dr. Reid?”
“A crucial matter that can’t wait.”
“Is that so?”
“Uh-hu. I have an announcement and a question for you.”
“Oh yeah? Okay, shoot.”
“Morgan didn't kick down any doors during this case.”
(Y/N) snort a laugh. What a beautiful view it is to see her laugh.
“It's what I needed to start my day with the right foot.”
“You're welcome.”
“Okay, that was the announcement. And the question?”
“Yeah, about that. What do you say if we switch our failed lunch last Saturday for having dinner tonight?”
(Y/N)’s eyes widen in surprise.
“Tonight? Are you sure? You just came back.”
She’s inspecting my face, looking for certainty. I nod solemnly.
“Yeah, tonight. Unless you already have plans. If that’s the case, it’s okay. We can do something another day.”
After pondering my offer for a second, a smile creeps in (Y/N)’s face.
“You’re a lucky guy. Did you know that?”
Is it too much to say I’m feeling a lucky guy since I met her?
“I’m realizing now. Pick you up at seven, then. Is that okay?”
“Perfect. I’ll text you my full address.”
After saying our goodbyes, I take the elevator back to BAU. As the doors open at the sixth, I go face-to-face with Garcia.
“Oh, there you are! Everyone was looking for you to start the debriefing. Where were you anyways?” Penelope says, worried about my whereabouts.
Shit. I forgot Hotch wanted to do that quickly so we could finally get over this case.
“Uh. I had to use the bathroom.” I try to sound normal to avoid making a big deal.
“On another floor?” She asks, visibly confused.
Sometimes, my IQ gets lost in my odd way of doing synapses.
What the fuck I was thinking when I said that?
“Did you know the men’s bathroom paper toilet in the seventh is better quality than here?”
Oh, Spencer Reid, please stop.
“Really? I always knew they had more privileges than us. But the paper toilet? It’s infuriating,” Garcia huffs. And I know doing this is not very kind of me, but I promise to explain to her. Not now, though.
“Uh. I’m going to the conference room now. The others are waiting,” I announce, and Garcia nods, ushering me there.
“Yes. Go, go!”
Aside from the looks of 'Where the hell were you?' no one commented on me being late. Once we debrief, Hotch officially closes the case, instructing us to finish the paperwork and head home at lunchtime, which is perfect for my plans. It gives me enough time to prepare for dinner with (Y/N).
I know I look like a teenager, but I don't care.
Around three in the afternoon, I am already in my apartment and have made a restaurant reservation.
I decided to take a quick nap, although I didn't know how much sleep I would get given my nerves. It's not that being with (Y/N) makes me anxious per se; It's the anticipation of being with her.
Maybe I'm expecting too much from this date.
Shit. 'This date' Is this actually a date?
I feel like it is, but for (Y/N), will it be the same?
I invited her to dinner but never told her it was a date. Derek would tell me it is, but I don't want to assume.
Now is when Emily's words ring in my ears: 'Be honest with her to avoid false expectations.'
With her words in mind and the tiredness from the last days catching up with me, slumber finds me after a while.
---
It’s seven pm sharp, and I’m knocking on (Y/N)’s door. I can hear some rustling from inside before the doors open, revealing her frame greeting me with a smile.
“Hey! Just in time!”
“H- hi,” I say, almost breathless after taking in her appearance.
It's true that the first time I saw (Y/N), she was dressed to the nines. It's also true that when I saw her on the terrace that night, I couldn't help but think how beautiful and captivating she was.
The next time was at Quantico. She wore a classic and elegant office outfit, with black formal trousers, a white silk blouse, and a fitted maroon jacket. The image of all the confidence and resolve I bet she has at the job.
But now? My jaw shamelessly drops.
She's wearing a sleek, form-fitting black dress that accentuates her curves and black heels that elongate her legs. A beautiful cardigan wraps elegantly in her upper half. Her hair is styled in loose waves cascading over her shoulders, and she's accessorized with long silver earrings and the same necklace with the compass I saw on her the first time. She looks sophisticated, alluring, and just perfect.
“Let me get my purse, and we can go, okay?” (Y/N) says, jutting her thumb to the inside.
“Su- yeah, sure.”
Great. I’m a stuttering mess.
The drive to the restaurant is filled with light conversation. I talked about the last heatwave in Los Angeles, and she annoyed me by telling me about the rain in Virginia last week.
Now I ask (Y/N) if she has a car. It happens that she owns a car but doesn't like to drive.
“I just discovered years ago I don't like it. But I kept the car only for emergencies, which is stupid if I think of it,” she prefaces.
“Why?” I ask, stealing a glance at her.
“Because now all emergencies I can think of entail myself incapable of driving.”
Her laugh fills the car now, and I can’t help but join her.
“Okay, okay. But really, why you don’t like it?” I ask when our laughing fades. (Y/N) clears her throat.
“Uh - are you familiar with the term road rage?”
I nod, not peeling my gaze from the streets ahead.
“Yes, I do. Colloquially known as ‘angry driver disorder,’ it is aggressive or angry behavior exhibited by motorists. These behaviors include rude and verbal insults, yelling, physical threats, or dangerous driving methods targeted at other drivers, pedestrians, or cyclists to intimidate or release frustration.”
A sigh escapes (Y/N)’s lips. “Yeah. That.”
Using the chance a red light gives me, I look at her with an eyebrow furrowed.
“So, do you have RRD?”
She averts my gaze, focusing on the windshield instead.
“I thought I had it. At first, I didn’t give it any importance. I said it was just me trying to adjust to the jungle. Who hasn’t yelled as driving? But there were times when I freaked out of myself and feared doing something more than screeching or honking like crazy. So, I stopped driving for a while. I did my research and learned techniques to get it under control. But since then, I never enjoyed it again.”
A nervous giggle escapes from (Y/N)’s lips.
“Jesus, you are going to think I’m a society threat.”
I shake my head without a second thought.
“Of course, you are not. Furthermore, I find it admirable that you realized it was unhealthy and took action before living a worse experience.”
I see a blush creeping (Y/N)’s cheeks from the corner of my eye.
Not five minutes later, we are at the restaurant parking lot.
Descending from the vehicle, I hurry to (Y/N)’s door and open it for her. Once she is out of the car, I offer my arm so she can lace hers with it.
The hostess greets us at the entrance, and once he checks our reservation, he leads us to our table.
It's the first time I’m here. I chose it because Rossi once said it was perfect for a date.
Again. A date. Something I still don't know if apply here.
A waitress approaches us as soon as we sit, handing us two menus.
“Miss, sir. I’m Emma, and I’ll be at your service this evening. Can I offer something to drink?”
After Emma leaves us with our orders, (Y/N) turns to me.
“Spencer, this place is amazing.”
And she is right. The soft lighting from the small lamps creates a warm atmosphere. The decor includes cozy tables spaced apart for privacy, with comfortable seating and plush cushions. Soft and muted deep reds and browns fill the interior, with classy artwork on the walls. It's really nice.
But above all, the company makes it even better.
Our conversation flows as easily as in the car. It's so comfortable as we have known each other for a long time. And we just met less than two weeks ago.
“Okay, let me get this straight. So you are from Vegas and couldn't bear the L.A. heatwave?”
“I have lived in DC for almost eight years, so I adapted better to this climate.” I shrug and (Y/N) hums.
“You don't get to go there that much? I mean, do you have family there?”
“Just my mom. And no, I don’t see her very often,” I confess—a tint of guilt in my voice.
I see (Y/N)’s face, and I know she wants to ask, but she is respectful enough not to. Not everyone is.
“I’m an only child. And my dad left us when after my tenth birthday. With no siblings, it is only my mom and me. But even if I don't see her often, I write her letter daily.”
I look at her again, expecting the same face everyone gives me when I talk about my family, the one that screams pity. But no, if (Y/N)’s face screams anything, it’s understanding.
“Old school, uh? I’m sure your mom loves your letters,” she says, sipping her glass of wine. I nod,
telling (Y/N) more about my letters to my mom and how detailed she likes me to write them.
“And I think it helped us not to break the bond.” I shrug, taking a bit from the fork. “What about you? Did you say you are not from DC?”
“No. I’m not. I’m from Minneapolis. My parents settled there at a very young age. They were born in the South. I have two siblings: an older sister and a younger brother. My parents are still in Minneapolis, and my brother is, but he lives with his boyfriend now. My sister left for Chicago when she married her fiancee years ago.”
“Do you see them often?”
(Y/N) shakes her head.
“Not quite. Just in holidays or major events. But we call each other often. I always know what happens there, and they know what happens to me here.”
(Y/N) tells me she is not that close with her sister, though. Since she started dating his current husband, they distanced. And that only worsened when (Y/N) moved to DC.
“I’m sorry. That must have hurt.” I don’t know what having a sibling is, but I see in her eyes that she is not okay with how things turned between them.
“Yeah. But neither of us has done something about it. And here is where I need to clarify that stubbornness runs in my family,” she chuckles.
I pull a face, faking surprise. “Yeah, that’s so you can realize who you're dealing with,” she says, pointing her fork at me.
Our conversation bounces from topic to topic until we land on the school phase.
I tell her about what it's like to be a child prodigy in a public school in Las Vegas. The bad things and the not-so-bad ones, because believe it or not, I can see something positive from that time at this point in my life.
“Clearly, I didn't have it as difficult as you, but I am sure we all felt out of place at some point during that time,” she muses, cutting a piece of her dessert with the spoon.
“Did you?”
She lets out a chuckle. “Let's say I haven't been very ‘typical’ in my life, especially in high school. I mean, if following a stereotype was required, mine was quite different from the other girls my age.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “How is so?”
“Well, while my friends dreamed about having a Mr. Darcy-Elizabeth kind of love, I found Heathcliff and Kathy's relationship more appealing,” she stops from her explanation with a snort escaping her lips. “Ha! I should have known it would be a problem later.”
Why do I think other people would know what she is talking about while I don't?
Of course, she sees the confusion written all over my face.
“You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?” I pull a face, shaking my head.
“At risk of being disrespectful, uh, no. I don't.”
“Don’t worry. You don't have to, I guess. But if you read Wuthering Heights someday, you will know.”
I will—first thing in the morning.
“But the main idea is that I never expected life would be something close to a fairy tale, you know? I just didn't believe it, and my friends hated that of me.”
Jerks.
It's fair to say that we are so caught up in chatting that we don’t realize we are the only ones left in the restaurant. We do when Emma approaches to ask if we need anything.
After paying the check, we left the restaurant and headed to my car. The ride is mainly silent this time. I don’t want this night to end, and I think (Y/N) doesn't either because of how she bites her lower lip with her eyes trained on the road ahead.
We begin a light conversation for a few minutes after arriving at her building. With the car in parking, I reach her side of the vehicle to open the door for her. I offer her my hand, and she takes it, giving me a warm smile.
“I'll walk you to the door.” She nods softly, “Okay.”
The three floors to her apartment are pure agony in my head. I want to be honest with her, but I also don't want to scare her into thinking I'm a creep or whatever. If she notices my internal dilemma, she doesn't mention it. We reach her door, and (Y/N) takes her keys from her purse. I don't trust my hands and keep them in my pockets as she opens the door. She turns to face me now.
“Thank you, Spencer. I had a great time tonight.”
I see it in her eyes. She is genuine. And my heart skips a bit.
“Me too. Thanks for accepting my invitation.”
My hands feel clammy, so I take them out of my pocket and dry them discreetly on my clothes.
“Of course.”
We remain silent without taking our eyes off each other. Emily's words reverberate, and I know what I must do.
Okay. Here we go.
“Can I - can I ask you something?”
I wish I could speak without stumbling over my words.
“Sure.”
“Would you say that tonight, that is, our dinner - would you say it was a date? I mean, would you classify this as a date?”
(Y/N)’s eyes are trained on me as if trying to follow my train of thought.
“A date? Why wouldn’t I?”
She is still careful but curious about where I’m going with all of this.
“It's just that I never said it was a date when I talked about dinner.”
“So, you didn’t want it as a date?” (Y/N) asks for clarification, and I feel like the stupidest human being on earth.
“No! I did. I do. It's just - I thought you maybe thought of it like something different?”
She narrows her eyes at me. This is not working. I take a deep breath before starting over.
“The thing is, I don’t know if I’m reading this wrong. From the times we have seen each other and what we have talked about in these two weeks, I feel that there is something that feels so good between us, and I wonder if maybe you don't feel it or if you see it as something similar to a friendship. I know things in that part of your life have been messy lately, and I would understand if you wouldn't want anything to do with me, but I can't stop thinking-“
My rant is halted when I notice (Y/N)’s palm caressing my cheek. There is a glimmer in her eyes that makes my heart stop.
“Spencer. You are not reading this wrong. I feel the same way you described it as ‘right,’ even if I’m unsure what it is exactly.”
I let out a dramatic sigh I didn't know I was holding. That makes (Y/N) giggle. I join her with a chuckle myself.
As the giggle subsides, I hold her hand and place it over my chest near my heart. My other hand softly tilts her chin so I can look into her eyes.
“You are amazing; did you know that?” I whisper, and her breath hitched. I flick my gaze between her eyes and her lips. She does the same. And that's what I needed to get the courage and lean in. Slowly, the distance between us gets short, and I swear my heart is going to burst out of my chest. I can feel her breath fanning my face as her eyes flutter close.
And then, our lips met for the first time.
It's slow, and I can taste the sweetness of her lips.
I've never felt something like this kissing someone before, but now that I know what it's like, I never want to stop feeling it.
Her hands go up my shoulders, seeking a grip on the hair at the back of my neck. My hands fly to her hips to pull her closer to me as our kiss deepens. I sweep my tongue over her lower lip, and she parts them to grant me access. One of my hands leaves her hip to cup her face to get a better angle for continuing our kiss. Her arms tighten around my neck, pulling me impossibly closer.
I don’t want it to end, but the need for air is too much. After breaking the kiss, we are both panting with our faces flushed and lips swollen.
“Wow.”
“Jesus.”
We breathe out at the same time, followed by a fit of giggles.
Her laugh is definitely my new favorite sound on Earth.
I cup her cheeks and lean again to steal a quick kiss from her lips, and when I’m about to part again, she tightens her grip on my suit jacket lapels and brings me to her lips again.
After two or three more kisses, we lose the hold of our hands off each other, with a wide grin spread on our faces.
“I think we already give my neighbors enough of a show for tonight,” (Y/N) points out, biting her lower lip and peeking at both sides of the hall behind me.
“Yeah,” I mumble as I stroke her cheek, gaze focused on her eyes. “I should get going.” (Y/N) nods. “Text me when you are home?”
“I will.”
After another quick kiss, I muster the will to say goodbye. Wishing me goodnight, (Y/N) enters the apartment and closes the door. I linger there for a few seconds, excited like a child after the best day of his life.
I feel like it is.
Right now? I'm beyond grateful to Hotch for making me attend that stupid gala.
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Here is me requesting my birthday maxi smut honestly im thinking maxi threw some stuff together for a little surprise for her ! And ( he actually does give her a real gift) but the best part comes in the bedroom....
Pun not intended 🤣
I Got You Something
Maximus x Fem!Reader, word count: 1k
ay happy birthday!! i love maximus, he's just the softest, sweetest little lamb and the strangest little bug ever and i am obsessed with him and how he'd learn how to be a good boyfriend to someone ;-; 🧡
request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist
minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: fluff, lil bit of smut, oral sex mostly!!
"You're paying attention, right? Because I really can't see anything..."
"Yeah, yeah, I got you! Just a little... further...Oh, shit, watch that pile of... what is that?"
Your feet kicked something soft in front of you and you recoiled, caught in Maximus' arms.
"Max! Can you just uncover my eyes, please?"
"No, almost there. Just a little further..."
As sweet as the gesture was, you almost regretted telling Maximus that it was your birthday. He was so keen to impress, so determined to make sure you still retained a semblance of your old life, of some goodness. He wanted you to keep that optimism, the kind that made you excited for something like a birthday, something he'd never really been all that fussed by.
More importantly, he wanted to be a good boyfriend.
So he kept his front pressed to your back and guided you over the miscellaneous debris that he had neglected to clean out of the way when he found a safe enough space to set up for your surprise. And then, when you were past the door frame, he removed his hands from your eyes and practically squealed.
"... ok, tah-dah!"
When your vision returned, you found yourself in an empty room, the view from the window suggesting it was on the outskirts of the settlement you and Max had been staying in for the past couple of weeks. On the walls there were tiny triangles of stained fabric, tied together to form bunting. In the corner, a bed with the cleanest sheets you'd seen in months and a dresser with an assortment of your favourite snacks. And in the centre of the room, two dining chairs and a wobbling table, upon which there was a strange looking package.
"Max! This is..."
"It's not great, I know, but... Happy Birthday!"
You could tell that your silence was worrying him, so you choked out whatever words could come to you first.
"Maxi... this is amazing."
The effort he'd put into making the space look at least a little welcoming, and a tiny bit liveable, had rendered you almost entirely speechless, unable to express to him how much it really meant to you.
"You sure?"
"Of course! It's... I love it. It's amazing. Thank you."
Reaching up to him, you cupped his cheek as you pressed a kiss to the other, beaming a bright smile at him before you gestured to the package on the table.
"And this?"
"Oh, right! Your present."
"My present?"
Your eyes widened, excited at what you had suspected had been a gift.
"It's not really like... We don't- didn't... do birthdays in the Brotherhood. But I know it's a big deal for you so..."
He reached for the gift, pulling out a chair for you and placing the parcel in your lap once you were seated. As you looked closely at it, you could make out some of the design on the paper. Singed edges of old comic books, scraps from books, all held together with some strips of duct tape. It upset you to even unwrap it, as you thought about the effort he had gone to, so you tore the paper away gently, admiring your gift once you had revealed it.
"Oh, Maxi, this is so sweet."
You held an almost pristine souvenir mug with the Nuka-Cola logo on the front. There was no way of knowing how he'd managed to find it up here, or how much he might have had to spend to get it from a trader. It was perfect.
"It's not great... it's... I'm sorry, it's crap."
"It is not! I love it!"
"Wow, really? Because I had a back-up if you didn't-"
Your ears pricked up, eyes focusing on his sweet, flushed cheeks as your pupils dilated.
"A back-up? You mean there's another gift?"
Maximus stammered over his words, nervously scratching at the back of his neck, flustered by the intense focus you were now giving him.
"It's more of a... like a surprise."
"Well, show me!"
With a renewed excitement, Max took your hand and guided you from the table to the bed, slightly giddy in the way he practically skipped over to it.
"Ok, lie down."
You raised an eyebrow with an excited smile, but did as he asked, letting your body sink into the busted bedframe and watching as he sank to his knees at the bottom of the bed. His hands, shaking with nerves, skimmed up your thigh and grabbed your hips, pulling you down the mattress closer to him. You let out a squeal of shock, giggling as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your pants, pulling them down your legs and taking your underwear with them.
"Max!"
"What?"
You sat up on your elbows, looking down at him with a grin so wide it almost hurt your cheeks.
"Are you really doing this?"
"Yeah... I've been practising."
He raised his eyebrows, his lips forming a sweet, proud smile.
"Yep, I've been practising."
"I don't even want to ask how..."
"Then don't, just let me show you."
With your lower half completely exposed, your pants and underwear placed in a small heap next to where Maximus knelt, you felt your body warming with arousal, anticipation spreading through your veins as you felt him leaning in, his warm breath on your thighs, then against your cunt.
And then, his tongue, hot, wet, pressed flat against your lips, forcing the tip between then, spreading them apart as he dragged the muscle up and down over your entrance, teasing it as he reached the top. He had been practising, and he’d obviously learned a little bit about anatomy somehow.
“Max… Max, this is… it’s so good…”
He paused for a moment, smiling happily, a sense of pride in his work.
“It is… you taste good… better than anything I’ve eaten out here…”
You gripped at the sheets as he returned to your body, lips enclosing over your pussy as he sucked and lapped, moaning with satisfaction at how you tasted, how you felt against his face, thighs pressed against his cheeks. And with the innocent joy he always held for these intimate moments together, he wondered if you’d let him do this again for his birthday.
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