#elle writing...

[asvtrials]

can you please write a smut story about Bjorn? I loved the one from your master list and your fluff ones were just incredible I really want to give you freedom for this story cause you’re writing style is addictive 🫀🫀 go nuts!!

Bjorn x fem!reader, minors dni!

summary: What started as an attempt to talk yourself out of the scavenging trip, turned into proving to Bjorn that you are not as proper as he thinks. warnings/tags: smut, shotgunning, smoking weed, riding, p in v, swearing, manipulative Bjorn if you squint your eyes, reader is kind of inexperienced, not proofreader, NOT that accurate to the alien timeline a/n: Thank you for the ask! I'm glad you like my writing! <333 w/c: 2.6k words English is not my first language. Sorry for any mistakes I make.

── ୨ৎ

Tyler's words swirled in your mind as you stared at the ceiling of your trailer. Sweat coated your forehead as the endless possibilities of what could go wrong invaded your thoughts the more you tried to relax and go to sleep. 

It hasn't been an hour since you returned from Tyler and Kay's trailer, and you haven't been able to relax.

 You were never the ‘easy-going’ type but to be fair, Tyler and Navarro's plan was beyond reckless and dangerous. It was impossible.

If anything goes wrong you could easily be stuck in Jackson's Star for the rest of your miserable life to mine coal for Weyland Yutani.

That thought really woke you up, any hit of drowsiness disappearing completely. You sat up, rubbing your face. You checked the clock, “1:08”.

It's not that late.

Tyler wouldn't mind, would he? You just needed to know some details, and maybe say you can't join them.

Yes, that's the right thing to do.

You stood up, throwing on the clothes you previously wore and grabbed your keys before stepping out of your trailer.

The walk wasn't far but you felt guilt the closer you got. You hoped he wouldn't be asleep when you gently knocked on the door.

Part of you hoped he wouldn't answer, maybe then you'd finally do something reckless for once. Before you could finish your thought the door swung up and instead of Tyler you saw-

“Bjorn…Hey.” You muttered as you looked at him.

He stared at you perplexed, cigarette hanging from his plush lips.

“Forgot somethin’?” He mumbled.

“Uh, no. I wanted to talk to Tyler, is he here?” You replied, stepping up the metal steps.

“Not here, sorry to disappoint.” He said but moved to the side to let you in. “Ya wanted him…why exactly?” He asked, his voice gruff and dripping with implication.

You weren't sure if you wanted to share your fears with Bjorn. The number of times that he had made fun of Rain and even you for being reluctant made you somewhat standoffish around him. His loud and hot-headed personality didn't particularly help his reliability.

“What about Kay?” You tried to change the subject.

“With Rain, probably.” He spoke, sitting back down on the couch and blowing off a drag from his mouth.

A string of coughs escaped you when you smelled the smoke, he chuckled lightly. You should've guessed he was smoking weed by the redness in his eyes and his rough voice.

“Right” You muttered awkwardly, trying to clear your scratchy throat. “Sorry.”

“Ya didn't say wha’ you wanted him fo’.” He spoke before you could reach for the door handle.

“Nothing serious, just wanted to ask some questions.” You answered vaguely.

“Mm” He hummed, staring at his blunt before taking a long drag “Sorry to cock-block ya” He chuckled and blowed out the smoke.

You furrowed your brows in confusion. “That's not what i-” you tried to defend.

“Relax. I just didn't think ya were like that, that's all.” He cut you off, finally taking his eyes away from his joint and focusing, as much as he could, on you.

His focus wasn't something you felt like you wanted, nor you ever get since you never spent any time alone with him. 

But having his eyes on you was surprisingly pleasant…

“I really just wanted to ask some questions.” You repeated, voice louder this time.

“Okay, bloody hell.” He swore under his breath.

You wanted to turn around and leave but his previous words still played in your mind “And what does “like that” mean?” You asked, accusation evident in your tone “What am I not like?” 

Bjorn sighed irritated. He groaned and some smoke escaped from his nose “Y’know, like a hooking up kinda chick.”

You could feel your anger babbling in your chest “You think I can't hook up with someone?” You retorted.

Bjorn’s glossy, reddened eyes seemed more focused as he slowly dragged them down your figure. “Nah, you can. I just don't think you do.” He murmured, a sly smile spreading across his face. 

The warmness that spread on your face made you feel almost as confused as his words. Especially since his words were true. You never did that sort of stuff. The idea of sleeping with someone you didn't know wasn't something you ever felt like doing.

But his words still pushed you to argue. “You think I'm some goody-two-shoes that has no life?” 

Bjorn didn't answer, just brought the blunt to his lips. He eyed you, shrugging mockingly..

You scoffed, muttering a small “whatever” but once again his words stopped you.

“Here.” 

When you turned you were met with Bjorn extending his hand to you, his blunt sitting lazily between his fingers.

You narrowed your eyes.

“Oh yeh, forgot ya didn’t smoke” He taunted and turned his face away.

“You’re such a fucking ass…” You muttered and walked to him. Before he could bring the cigarette to his lips you snatch it, bringing it to yours instead.

You wanted to believe it was because he was challenging you, underestimating you even but a small part of you knew that now that you got a taste of his attention, you wanted more—no, needed more.

You took a long, deep drag, keeping your eyes on Bjorn’s surprised ones. You kept your cool, the bitter taste invading your lungs but you kept your cough in. You broke when you saw Bjorn's mouth slowly twist into a smirk, a very approving one…

You coughed harder than before, the smoke coming out of your mouth wasn’t helping you at all. Bjorn cackled at your reaction and held your waist, prompting you to sit down.

“Jesus, Y/n” He laughed when your coughing fit came to an end. “I’m impressed.”

“Shut up.” You muttered but couldn’t stop the small smile that crept to your face.

Bjorn brought the cigarette to his lips, taking a slow puff, the same cigarette that sat between your lips moments ago.

You blushed.

The room fell silent but your thoughts about leaving the trailer were long gone. And not only because of the dizziness that slowly made its way to your sleepy mind.

You don't know if it's the substance that infested your mind but your eyes kept flickering back to Bjorn, or more accurately, his lips. 

Your tongue ran over your bottom lip as he opened his mouth and let the smoke escape his mouth.

You didn't miss the way your lips opened slightly to breathe in, letting the smoke explore your mouth. He didn't miss it either.

“Ya know…Ty won't be her’ for anotha hour or so…” He began, his eyes meeting your for a moment before letting them travel down your warm face, stopping at your lips. “If you wanna try doin’ otha things…i can help ya.”

You knew what he meant and for some reason you didn't back down. You didn't slap him and tell him that he's disgusting, neither did you sent him to hell and run off the trailer.

Instead you moved to him, your lips so close you could feel the smoke slowly moving past to your own lips.

You didn't wait for him to make a move. You closed the gap between you and pressed your lips against his without much thought.

Bjorn didn't take long to react, kissing back with the force that you lacked. Still, you tried to keep up with his hungry movements as his hands quickly wrapped around your waist.

You gasped in surprise when he bit your bottom lip. Bjorn didn't waste any time to push his tongue past your lips.

Your tongues and lips moved hungrily against each other. His eagerness made you wonder if he had noticed you before you realized.

You shivered when his hands slid under your shirt and gripped the delicate skin of your waist. 

“Bjorn—” You broke the kiss making the boy frown.

You didn't wanna stop but your mind was starting to race, your thoughts coming back, and the fear of regret settling in.

Quickly, you grabbed his hand, attempting to take another drag from the blunt but Bjorn seized his hand back. 

“Ah, ah, ah.” He stopped with a crooked smile. “It's clear you're shit at this.”  Rather, he wrapped his lips around the cigarette, breathing in deeply.

“Stop being an assh—” You began but he silenced you when he grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

His thumb brushed your bottom lip, encouraging you to open your mouth and you found yourself complying without a second thought.

With a gentle breath, he let the smoke travel to your mouth like a snake, choking you for a second but giving you enough courage to move closer once again, brushing your bottom lip against his before diving in for another ravenous kiss.

Bjorn's hand moves to your hair, wrapping his fist around it and pulling you even closer. You hummed your own hand reaching to cup his face.

The scene was messy and frantic. Lips moving like you were trying to devour each other, hands clawing on clothes and skin like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. Bjorn's groans of pleasure encouraged you to let your soft sounds slip past your bruised lips.

Bjorn was the first one to break apart, throwing his head against the couch. “Shit, Y/n” He chuckled lowly, hands lazily roaming your back. 

You didn't say anything, you were too busy staring at his swollen, spit-painted lips. 

He cleared his throat. “You wanna keep goin’ or you want another one” He mumbled, wiggling the blunt between his fingers.

“I don't need it anymore.” You replied and you could see his lips twitch upwards.

Without warning, he closed the gap between you once again, leaning against you while attacking your already bruised lips.

He attempted to lay you down on the couch but you stopped him by tugging at his hair.

He pulled away only to move down to your neck, chuckling between kisses “Wussed out already?”

“No.” You breathed out, pulling at his hair to make him look at you in the eyes. “Maybe I just like being on top.”

With lust-clouded eyes, he smirked. “You keep surprising me, doll.”  A small whine left his lips when you tugged at his hair harder.

You kept surprising yourself too. Bjorn didn't seem to be a careful or attentive lover. He seemed selfish and rough and although the thought made your chest rise and fall faster, you weren't sure if you wanted to leave the pace up to him. Especially with how heightened the unfamiliar drug had made your senses.

To be fair, he looked just as excited to have you on top of him.

He grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head, the split second your hands left him felt like pure misery for the both of you.

The drug really made you crazy, right?

Not wanting to let him have the upper hand, you took off his hoodie. Goosebumps covered both of your bodies but neither of you cared, grabbing and clawing at every piece of skin you could reach.

Normally, kissing as sloppily as you did now would leave you disgusted but all you wanted to do right now was consume him whole until you were spent and satisfied.

“Fuck…” he groaned and pulled at his belt, quickly undoing it.

You lifted your body a bit to let him push his pants down to his hips, taking his boxers too. His dick sprung up, settling against his stomach.

You eyed his member as he sloppily kissed your collarbone, but you were too focused on the fact that you haven't really been with many people, especially not people who were…as blessed.

“You gon’ stare for long? I don't mind but you promised me somethin’ else, doll.” He spoke against your neck. Despite his words, you could hear a small hint of pride underlining his tone.

“I didn't promise you anything.” You argued but stood up to remove your pants. You didn't even try to look sexy as you kicked your pants to the side. His hands gripped your thighs as you straddled his lap once again.

He fisted his cock and lined himself against your entrance impatiently. He threw his head back against the head of the couch, a loud moan left his lips at the feeling of his tip sliding oh so easily between your dripping folds,.

“Bjorn…” You mumbled and he looked up at you with a hum. Fuck, he already looked so fucked out… “Condom.”

He froze for a second, seemingly too out of it to comprehend your words at first. Quickly, he started to ruffle through his pockets hastily. 

“Shit.” He swore under his breath. He sighed when he found a forgotten condom in the back pocket of his jeans.

You chuckled at how eagerly he ripped the packaging and rolled the rubber down his length. He winced at the feeling but didn’t even flinch.

“Didn’t know you'd act like such a virgin” You teased breathlessly, your own panting making you unable to look as confident as you would've wished.

Bjorn didn't say anything. He grabbed your waist tightly, his short nails digging into your skin. You yelped but that pain was quickly replaced by the burning of your cunt being stretched as he slowly lowered you onto his dick.

You hissed and leaned closer, pressing his face against your neck, and Bjorn wrapped his arms around your waist tightly.

You moaned loudly against his ear. The feeling of being filled so deeply, so fully was addicting.

“Fuuuck” He groaned, pressing his lips on your skin seemingly unwittingly. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“It has been a while.” You chuckled, trying to get used to his size.

“Yeah. Bet you were waiting for the right one, huh?” He groaned, leaving open-mouthed kisses wherever he could find. 

“Fuck!” You moaned when he thrust into you.

He grabbed your hips, silently telling you to move. You complied, cycling your trembling hips on his cock. 

Bjorn dropped his joint from his hands ignoring how it fell to the ground in favor of grabbing your ass.

Tears collected on your lash line at the feeling of being this stretched. “Bjorn!” You moaned when he moved your hips faster.

“Wanted to do that for so long…” He groaned.

You squirmed and whined above him, not only by the speed at which he forced your hips to move but by his words as well.

“R-really?” You stuttered moving your head to pull at the hair on the back of his head.

“Fuckin’ hell. So fucking hot and you don't even know it” He whispered lowly “Wanted to fuck you the moment Rain brought you here.” 

You let out a moan that sounded more like a sob but that didn't stop Bjorn. He bounced you on his cock like his life depended on it.

He moved closer, seemingly wanting to kiss you but his own moans stopped him. You settled on sharing your choking breaths, wet lips brushing against each other the closer you got to the edge.

Your thighs trembled, attempting to tell him you're close but before you could even begin he quickly slid his hand on your clit, rubbing roughly.

“Go on, cum on my cock, darling.” He nearly growls.

“Please, Bjorn!” You cried his name over and over again until you came with a sob but he didn't stop. Even when you tried to push his thighs down, he kept thrusting deeper into you.

You cling to his shoulders as he came inside the condom with a strangled moan, grasping your ass tighter.

Good on you for trying to set the pace.

You weren't sure what to say but it turns out you didn't need to say anything. Bjorn's lips latched to yours once again, kissing you deeply.

This was definitely not the last time you decided to be adventurous.

[ghostbsuter]

Those were quite the news to hear.

To think that the Duo of Jon and Damian would grow into a Trio...

He wondered how the girl did it, Elle Nightingale, she must have fit right in.

To say Clark and Bruce weren't surprised would be a lie when those two boys brought in their new third companion and proceeded to roughhouse Robin-Superboy style with her.

And she seemed to retaliate just as hard.

Both fathers wondered if she was the child of a former colleague or another vigilante, that or she was a meta/alien.

So when they went to Central City to meet Elle's parent and let the kids have their fun— well.

They didn't expect a young adult– barely out of the teenage years— greeting them with a grin in a hoodie.

"Sup."

And down the rabbit hole they went.

—

Over the weeks of meet ups, Clark and Bruce have gathered around 4 different kind of responses to their questions of Elle's other parent/relationship with elle.

It went like this:

("Brother? Aww, you flatter me. I'm her dad, actually.")

("Hm? Elle's other parent? She doesn't have one.")

(A shrug. "I decided I wanted to have a kid. Elle is the result.")

("Plasmius has always been a moron. Elle! On his next weekend, rob him broke!" To which he got an enthusiastic nod from said girl.)

They've gathered;

1. Danny and Elle weren't meta-humans. Instead, at least, half something/alien.

2. Whoever Plasmius is, he was involved.

3. The boys know. Elle seemed to have shared some of her past with them, and they're holding onto the promise of safekeeping and secrecy.

[perfectfeelings]

I'm not afraid of my truth anymore, and I will not omit pieces of myself to make you more comfortable.

Alex Elle

[perfectquote]

I never expected her. Sometimes people sneak up on you and suddenly you don’t know you ever lived without them.

Elle Kennedy, The Deal

[angeliicheartt]

Can you do what the bnha boys would do if they were jealous?🤭 (text or headcanon, whatever works for you) (Shoto, Katsuki, Midoryia, and Shinso are my favs btw!) I love your writing idk why it’s just too good

ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜꜱ, ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜꜱ, ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜꜱ ʙᴏʏ!

includes: katsuki bakugo, shoto todoroki, izuku midoriya, and hitoshi shinso

fem!reader

a/n: headcanons & smau, first time writing izuku tell me how it is, send an ask if you want other characters 🤗

ᴋᴀᴛꜱᴜᴋɪ ʙᴀᴋᴜɢᴏ

⟁ probably the most jealous (maybe tied with shinso)

⟁ as we know, not above threatening (and more)

⟁ will likely be kind of grumpy till you get him alone and then he's a clingy bitch (with love)

ꜱʜᴏᴛᴏ ᴛᴏᴅᴏʀᴏᴋɪ

❆ won't say anything, but his hand's on your waist and if a look could kill, the guy talking to you would be dead.

❆ if the guy ain't stopping he will walk up with his "defying authority" tone and rip into him

❆ honestly very patient most of the time with the whole situation (he’s sassier in the smau)

ɪᴢᴜᴋᴜ ᴍɪᴅᴏʀɪʏᴀ

ϟ doesn’t really care about the guy talking to you, he trusts you completely, until he realizes you look uncomfortable

ϟ pulls up his hero pants and gets the guy away from you

ϟ sososo understanding

ʜɪᴛᴏꜱʜɪ ꜱʜɪɴꜱᴏ

〄 HIS HANDS ARE ALL OVERRR YOU

〄 very very threatening presence, guard dog asf

〄 prob the most intimidating

[asoftepiloguemylove]

"I BELIEVE THERE IS A GOD. BUT I'M NOT SURE HE STILL BELIEVES IN US." // MUSINGS ABOUT GOD

Vi Khi Nao Fish in Exile // pinterest // Ada Limón The Echo Sounder, from "Lucky Wreck" // Mitski Bug Like an Angel // Margaret Atwood Half Hanged Mary // Ethel Cain American Teenager // Supernatural (2005-2020) cr. Eric Kripke // Elle Emerson Regarding the Röttgen Pietà // Yves Olade Belovéd // Kim Addonizio Wild Nights from "Tell Me" // Jensen McRae Machines // Supernatural (2005-2020) cr. Eric Kripke // Anna Kamienska A Nest of Quiet: A Notebook (tr. Clare Cavanagh) // Tom Waits Day After Tomorrow // pinterest // Lauren Camp Upon Taking the Universe One Thing at a Time

[thebookquotes]

I've been hurt so bad and I still love so hard. I admire my heart for that.

Alexandra Elle, Words From A Wanderer

[lawboysammyy]

he’s a gentleman — clark kent x sensitive!reader

summary: clark comes home to find his pretty angel baking in the kitchen on valentine’s day

contains: soft and sweet boyfriend clark, suggestive towards the end

The smell of freshly baked cookies and the sound of a faith hill song invaded Clark's senses as he walked into the kitchen. He saw you standing at the counter wearing one of his flannels and a pair of pajama shorts, setting down a tray of what appeared to be chocolate chip cookies on the stove.  

“Hey, angel. What are you baking in here?” Clark's voice caused you to jump backwards into his strong chest as he walked up behind you.  

“Clark! You scared me. I though I've told you not to sneak up on me like that,” you smiled as you turned to face the tall brunette. He had kicked off his work boots by the door, leaving him clad in a dirty, white t-shirt and his typical blue jeans.  

God, how did he manage to make such a simple outfit look so good? 

“I'm sorry, angel. I didn't think you'd be up this early,” Clark replied earnestly. He was right, it was early for you. The clock on the oven read 8:24 and you usually didn’t wake up until well after 9 o'clock when you spent the night at the Kent house.  

You turned to face the counter again, cleaning up the slight mess of ingredients as Clark wrapped his arms around your waist, bending down to rest his chin on your shoulder. “To answer your question, I baked some cookies to thank Lana for letting me pick up some shifts at the Talon.” 

Clark smiled into your neck, inhaling the scent of yesterday’s perfume. “Well, that’s real sweet of you, honey. I'm sure she’ll appreciate it. I hope you weren’t planning on hanging out with Lana all day, though, because I've got somethin’ special planned for you for valentine’s day.”  

You tossed the rag you were using to clean onto the oven handle and turned to face Clark. “Oh yeah? Can I have a little insight into this plan, so I know what to wear? I got a new dress the other day and I wanna wear it out,” you told Clark. While this was partially true, you really just wanted to know what your boyfriend was planning because while he was good at keeping secrets from his peers, Clark just couldn’t help it when it came to keeping secrets from you.  

Clark let out a soft chuckle before answering your question. “i was thinking of going to a movie, then a nice dinner...maybe have a little fun after dinner.” You knew what he was hinting at in the last part of his plan. His parents were out of town for a wedding, leaving the house empty for you and Clark. “How does that sound, angel?” 

You hummed contently, standing on your tiptoes to press a soft kiss to the boy’s lips. “I think that sounds perfect, Clark. Thank you,” you complimented as you took Clark's hand in yours and began to lead him to the staircase. “But what if we had a little fun right now? We've got a couple hours to kill. I told Lana I'd stop by her place at around 10 to drop off a top I borrowed from her”  

Clark’s eyes practically lit up at your suggestion, and suddenly you were in his bedroom, pressed against the door. “That sounds like a great idea,” Clark replied in between kisses. 

[asvtrials]

A little sneak peak 😉

A little gift for my patient Geta girlies.

[snoopyhughes]

to be loved is to be known: Quinn hughes

hello and welcome to the first installment of my "to be loved is to be known" series! you can find all posts related to this series in the series tag! Quinn screams acts of service, domestic moments, quiet moments, really just the little things about love that make it so special, so I thought it would be perfect to start this off with Quinn. feedback is always lovely and if you would like to see me write one of these about someone else, feel free to send it in, although I can't guarantee I will write for them.

just about 1k words, no physical features mentioned of reader.

to be loved is to be known...

Quinn, who starts every morning with his routine that he created just for the two of you. He always rises before you, laying a soft kiss on your forehead and tucking the blankets up to your shoulders. He always leaves a sweatshirt on the chair in your bedroom for you to slip into, right next to your slippers, because he knows you want to be cozy when you first wake. He has a sixth sense for when you've woken up, and no matter when you descend down the stairs into the kitchen, Quinn has a cup of coffee, prepared exactly how you like it, seemingly made just moments ago. He will always prepare a small breakfast for you as well, because it is most important to Quinn that you get three meals a day. speaking of that...

to be loved is to be known...

Your health and safety is Quinn's number one priority. If you don't eat three meals a day, Quinn knows, it's like a sixth sense. He always tries to face time you during at least one meal a day so he can have the reassurance that you're well taken care of. If you have a tough day, just know to expect a DoorDash of your favorite restaurant at yours and Quinn's apartment when he's out of town.

And safety is just as important to Quinn. The sidewalk rule is more of a law to Quinn. His card is saved in your Uber account because you will not be walking anywhere on his watch. Quinn watches like a hawk whenever you two go out together. There's no such thing as jealousy because Quinn knows you're his forever, and he also trusts you more than anything. But he understands how special you are better than anyone. Any wandering eyes or hopeful suitors approaching you are quickly turned away when Quinn lays eyes on them.

Quinn's gruff exterior lets people know that he does not mess around when it comes to you. The team knows better than to ever try to poke fun or make any semblance of a joke about you, because he does not joke about the love of his life.

to be loved is to be known...

speaking of the Uber account... you would pay for nothing if Quinn had his way. Quinn is a caretaker, it is his natural state due to being the oldest. He knows how hard you work, he admires your dedication and your resilience almost more than anything about you. But he can't help it. Quinn loves you, truly so much. He would buy you the world if he could. It's not even about material things or buying out the store, he just wants you to feel loved, he thinks you should never want for anything. Want is one thing, but Quinn would just topple over if you ever struggled for money. Quinn knows why you work so hard, he thinks you are the best but he knows his salary isn't common in the real world. Quinn would actually combust if you ever struggled financially, especially on his watch. He's not naive to think that people don't struggle financially, but he never wants that for you, especially on his watch.

to be loved is to be known...

It's no secret that Quinn isn't a man of many words. He wishes that he could tell you how much he loves you, how much you mean to him, but he struggles to convey that verbally, hence, the acts of service. This is part of why Quinn tries to get you whatever you want. However, you've had a conversation that Quinn doesn't need to buy you anything, you know how much he loves you, you see it everyday in the little things.

to be loved is to be known...

Some of the little things include... post it notes around the house, telling you he loves you, that you're beautiful, how much he appreciates you, that you work so hard, he's proud of you, whatever he can think of, you name it.

Flowers, every Monday, no matter what. If he's home, he works with the local florist to create a custom bouquet for you each week, complete with the sweetest note you could ever think of, always wrapped in brown paper because you mentioned once that you liked the way they look. When he's away, you get a delivery to work at 11 am everyday, because don't think he also doesn't have a flower delivery service on speed dial.

Songs that make him think of you. He sends you songs frequently, usually just with the message of: this made me think of you. Sometimes, he will send you a lyric that made me think of you. When you met the captain of the Vancouver Canucks, you couldn't have imagined him sending you Noah Kahan lyrics that remind him of your beauty, your smile, your laugh, but Quinn really stumps you everyday.

Chores around the house are always done. Quinn is a busy guy, but he doesn't assume he's the only one who's busy. When you come home from a long day at work, you can often find Quinn folding laundry on the couch, the smell of cleaning products in the air, with dinner simmering on the stove. He knows well that a bad day can feel even worse when you come home to a dirty apartment, an uncooked meal, or heaps of dirty laundry. If he can do anything to make your life easier, he's doing it.

All in all... if acts of service is your love language, trust that Quinn is the one for you. Quinn lives to make your day easier, to make you feel loved through actions, not words. A man of few words, he would match rather show you how much he loves you by filling your gas tank, cleaning the sheets and making the bed, cleaning up your side of the vanity when he does his own, filling the pantry when he notices your favorites are low, anything he can do to make your life easier, to make you happy, is non-negotiable for Quinn.

[ghostbsuter]

"Elle—" Danny turns around, finally taking his eyes off of the paperwork he's been reading while they were floating through the castle.

Only that wasn't Ellie behind him.

Definitely a teenager, older than his sister, whistling while looking around.

"Who are you? Where is Ellie?"

Pausing as he noticed Danny's stare at him, Kon grins. "Superboy, Dani and are in the same Clone Club, she needed someone to cover for her."

"Ah."

"But damn she didn't tell me you were loaded."

[sincerelybubbles]

it's a date || spencer reid x reader

part 2

warnings: cannon-typical violence/mentions of murder and kidnapping, slow burn, fluff!, early seasons spencer, not proof read

word count: 6.1k

You sigh and crack your knuckles, staring down at the pot simmering on the stove. You know that the sauce would be okay if you left it for a few minutes, did something else, but you remain standing, uselessly stirring it every few seconds. Truthfully, you’re bored. Your mind shifts from cooking to work tomorrow, itching to pull out your documents and scan through them one more time. But you know you shouldn’t, advise about work-life balance tugging at your attention. 

You’re debating if you should pick up a book and try to read, something light to take your mind off of the day, when a knock sounds from the front door. Your dog, Penny, a lovely golden retriever you rescued a few years ago, lets out a weak woof before slowly standing and trotting to the door. She’s old, more grey than golden, but she never fails to answer the door with you. 

You turn the stove off and move the pot off of the burner, wiping your hands as you walk, when another knock echoes through the hallway. It’s sharp, official, loud. The sound fills you with anxiety. You stand on your toes to look out of the peephole.

“Hello?” You ask through the door, not recognizing the men standing outside and seeing no package in sight. 

“Hello, Jason Gideon, FBI, could we have a word?” The older man says, voice stern but not unkind. 

You open the door without unlatching the chain, peering out through the crack. “FBI?”

Jason Gideon, the one who spoke, pulls out his badge first. The lankier man next to him follows in suit. Your eyes linger on him for a second longer than the other agent, taking in his toussled brown hair. You scan the badges for a second before shutting the door to undo the chain. 

“Sorry, you can’t be too careful, you know?”

“Oh, we know that all too well,” Gideon says good-naturedly, “it’s good to be cautious.”

He asks your name, you give it, and nods sharply, looking to his partner. “Well, like I said, I’m Jason Gideon with the Behavioral Analysis Unit, FBI, and this is my partner Doctor Spencer Reid.”

“Well, come on in, Agent Gideon and Dr. Reid,” you say, waving them both in and shutting the door. 

“Just Gideon is fine.”

Dr. Reid sends you a tight lipped smile as he walks in, adjusting his shirt and otherwise avoiding your gaze. He seems nervous. 

“Would you two like something to drink while you tell me why you’re here? Coffee, tea, water?” You ask, twisting the dishcloth between your hands as you lead them inside.

“I wouldn’t say no to some coffee,” Gideon says. You nod and turn to Dr. Reid, who is staring at you with his mouth slightly agape. 

“Oh, yeah, coffee for me too, please.”

“Of course, have a seat,” you say, waving them to the small table in your kitchen and moving to prepare their drinks. Neither of them sit.

“How well do you know your neighbors?” Gideon asks as you start the coffee. 

You shrug. “As well as anyone does these days, I guess. I wave when I drive past them, smile when they’re out front at the same time. Why, has something happened? I saw the police cars earlier, on my way home from work, but I haven’t heard anything else.”

“Yes ma’am,” Dr. Reid says, even though he looks your age, maybe even a few years older. “Your neighbor across the street was murdered last night, Mrs. Furgison, and her eight-year-old son is missing. Did you hear anything?”

You fall still, facing away from the two officers. Numb, you shake your head, “No, I didn’t. I wasn’t home last night. I was watching my niece for my sister.” You turn around to face them, leaning back against the counter. “But there are cameras outside, I’m assuming that’s why you’re here?” “Yes,” Gideon confirms with a nod. “Would you be okay if we took a look at the last few weeks of footage if you have it?”

“You want to see if he’s been visiting before last night,” you mumble, nodding. “Yes, of course.”

“Do you work in law enforcement?” Dr. Reid asks, the question erupting from him like he couldn’t hold it back. “You’re shockingly calm and seem to know what we’re going to ask before we get to it.”

“Oh, yeah,” you chuckle, waving a hand in the air and turning to pull the pot of coffee out. “BAU, of course, you’d see right through me. I’m a victim liaison. I read through this process hundreds of times a week. Sugar?”

“No, thanks,” Gideon answers as Dr. Reid blurts out, “Yes, please.”

You set the mugs on the kitchen counter along with a container of sugar.

“Help yourself, I’ll grab my laptop to get those files for you.”

When you come back, laptop in tow, Gideon and Dr. Reid are having a hushed conversation, both holding their mugs of coffee. You round the corner slowly but loudly, aware that sometimes agents can be jumpy. Gideon smiles at you while Dr. Reid looks over sharply. 

It fits, given their ages and presumably how long each have been in the field. You try to send him a reassuring smile. He reciprocates but still looks obviously awkward, fixing his hair and taking a sip of coffee.

“Would you like me to put the files on a USB? Email them somewhere? Or just,” you motion with the computer, offering it over. 

“I can take it,” Dr. Reid offers, “send the files to Garcia.”

You let him, passing him the computer easily. With your job, the government is already elbows deep in that laptop, anyway; you have nothing to hide. 

You watch as Dr. Reid begins typing away on your computer, leaning over the table and resting his forearms on the edge. 

Both of the agents are dressed professionally: button-down shirts, slacks, dress shoes. Guns ready at the hip.

“You like to cook?” Gideon asks, nodding toward your forgotten pasta on the stove. 

“Yes and no,” you admit, chuckling and turning your attention to him. “It always tastes better than takeout but it’s hard to get the motivation. Are you hungry? Can I offer you anything else?”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary, but thank you.”

“Of course. I know how overworked you lot can be.” You cross your arms and lean back against your counter. “What about you? Do you cook?”

“Not as often as I should,” he admits, smiling sadly. “Victim liaison, you said?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You seem a little young.” “Could say the same about him.” You nod at Dr. Reid who doesn’t hear you, too focused on his work. “But I guess drive and pretty much no social life can get you anywhere,” you admit with a laugh. 

“Garcia should have the files in a minute,” Dr. Reid interrupts, looking up from your laptop.

“I’ll give her a call.”

He steps out with a nod to you, walking back into the front hallway of your small home and leaving you alone with the doctor. 

He opens his mouth to say something before his eyes focus over your shoulder and his attention is stolen. “Sorry,” he says, moving past you and into your living room, toward your bookshelf. “Is that a Russian copy of Crime and Punishment?” He asks, brushing his finger over the spine of the book. 

“Oh, yeah, it is.” You follow him, staring up at your own bookshelf like you’ve never seen it before. It’s crammed full of books. There are more filling your bedroom down the hall as well. “It’s a slow read, I have to use a lexicon a lot of the time, but I sort of like the work. Translating’s a hobby of mine, I guess. When I have time. Sorry, that might be weird.”

“No, it’s not weird at all! Not to me, at least. Are you using a Dictionary-based lexicon? Can I see it? I have one that I love. I haven’t read much Russian but I have one for Greek. They’re rarely used anymore, falling out of popularity with the creation of the internet where everything is readily available to just search up, but I find them fascinating and I’ve never seen one for Russian before.”

He talks enthusiastically with his hands. His eyes shine, the interest lighting up his face. You think, before you remember the reason why he’s there, that he’s actually quite handsome. You become slightly breathless at the realization. You don’t really notice people like this often. But, towering above you, buttoned shirt pushed up to show his forearms and a self-concious smile stretching across his face, you’re a little flustered.

You take a breath, remembering that your neighbor is dead and a little boy is missing, sending Dr. Reid a small smile and motioning behind you.

“It’s in my office if you want to go look at it. I prefer it to just typing out the stuff I don’t know — mostly because I don’t have a Russian keyboard — and it’s easier to learn when you have to research it.”

“I would actually love –”

“Reid,” Gideon interrupts, ending his call, “Garcia got the files, we have to go.”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

“Thank you so much for your help,” Gideon says, walking toward you and offering his hand. “And for the coffee. So sorry to have interrupted your cooking.”

“Anytime detective,” you say, shaking his hand and smiling up at him, “always happy to help. I can give you my card if you need anything else?”

“That would be great, thank you.”

You rush to your bag to pull out one of your cards and hand it to Gideon before turning to offer Dr. Reid your hand. 

“It was nice to meet you, too, Dr. Reid.”

He takes your hand firmly. “Spencer’s fine,” he says, stumbling over his words slightly but still smiling. “Thank you for your help.”

“Anytime,” you repeat, letting them out and returning to your sad pasta. 

Your mind wonders, not to the murder or kidnapping, but to Spencer Reid. Wide brown eyes, tousled hair pushed out of his face, a sweet smile. Smart, too. Way too smart. 

You’re not exactly experienced when it comes to dating, you hadn’t lied to Gideon when you said you don’t make time for a social life, dating included, but you do know that an interest in a too-smart profiler might spell bad news. 

Still, as you portion out your meal, you can’t help but think that you’re feeling awfully motivated to return to working on Crime and Punishment. You don’t lie to yourself about the origins of this sudden spark of motivation, but you do rationalize it. What’s the harm in a fleeting crush, then? Especially if it gives you the push to finally finish one of the many projects hanging on your ever-growing list?

You suppose you might see them arround the office if they’re working in this jurisdiction, but then he’ll be gone and it’ll fade away. In the meantime, you make yourself a plate of food and settle down in your living room with the book and lexicon.

||||

“Well, that certainly poses an interesting problem,” you hear Cheif Saunders say as you walk into the police department the next morning, arms full of files ready for sorting. 

You round the corner to escape this attention but aren’t fast enough and he calls you over by name. Cringing, you turn on your heel and are faced, once again, with Gideon and Spencer. With them are two more men and two girls, all intimidating and confident. 

All FBI, if you had to wager a bet. 

“Morning,” you say, nodding to Gideon and Spencer respectively. “Nice to see you two again.”

“You’ve met?” The tall man next to Gideon asks, pointing the question to Spencer. He grins, white teeth overtaking his dark, handsome face. He reaches his hand out to shake yours, “Morgan, nice to meet you.”

You introduce yourself, explain your position, and receive introductions from JJ, Elle, and Hotchner as well. 

“Where did you meet our friends?” Chief Saunders asks, folding his hands in front of him and setting an accusatory glare on you. “Still preening for a new job?”

“No sir,” you say, uncomfortable. The chief is often cold with you, refusing to acknowledge your knowledge or work. When he found that you were looking to transfer stations to the one a district over, he’d still thrown a fit, though. You guess he can’t ignore how well your numbers reflect on him as easily as he deflects your accomplishments to your face. 

“We stopped by to get access to her cameras, she lives across the street from the Furgison’s,” Gideon explains, watchful eyes glancing between you and the chief. 

“They proved to be surprisingly useful,” Spencer interrupts. “We now know the make, model, and color of the unsubs car as well as his general height. Garcia is still trying to make out plates, but we are able to confirm at least pieces of our profile with the information.”

“You live across the street?” The chief asks, still staring at you. You shift your weight, holding the files closer to your chest. 

“Yes, sir. In a duplex.”

“Then, fellas, I’ve found the solution to our problem. You’ll set up with our little liaison, then.”

“Sorry?” You ask, startled. 

“We have reason to believe that the unsub is returning to the crime scenes after the police have left the area and allowed the family to return. But, if we know our guy, and we think we do,” Elle says, begrudingly, “he’s smart. He’s going to notice if we’re camped out in a car. And, in a residential street, it’s much harder to hide in a building.”

“So, you’ll have the opportunity to make yourself useful,” Chief Saunders chuckles, laying a heavy hand on your shoulder and shaking you.

“Only if you’re comfortable,” Gideon adds, glancing at you with a patient expression. 

“Yes, it would be a complete invasion of your privacy, agents would be there twenty-four-seven monitoring. We would only stay in the front areas of the house, of course, but you needn’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. There are always other ways.” Agent Hotchner fixes you with a level look, voice sincere. 

“Oh, she’s comfortable, aren’t ya?” The chief says, shaking you again with a wide smile. 

“Yes, of course,” you say, nodding at the others. You mean it, you’ll do whatever you can to help out, you just wish you could’ve made the choice yourself.

“This way, you don’t have to worry about confidentiality, either. Little Miss has full access to ongoing investigations, she’ll be there for all of the briefings and such.”

You nod, discretely moving a step back so his hand falls from your shoulder. 

“Yes, I’m meant to be kept up to date with all ongoing, violent investigations where and if possible to act as a bridge between law enforcement and victims and families of victims. Especially those with children involved — I should have mentioned we would cross paths again last night, I just wasn’t thinking.”

“Yes, we’ve worked with our fair share of liaisons,” Gideon chuckles, looking over his shoulder at JJ who gives him a small smile. 

“Then it’s all set. You boys let me know when you have your profile ready.” Elle watches him walk off with a hard stare, obviously just as rubbed wrong by him as you are. 

“Lovely man, isn’t he?” You joke, trying to make the situation lighthearted. 

“We’ve interacted before. Our headquarters isn’t actually far from here, just a twenty-minute drive, we’re up in Quantico. He doesn’t get any better with time, though.” Agent Hotchner shakes his head, turning to grab a file off of the desk behind him. 

“Well, he always forgets to offer his office space to visitors so I usually keep mine available. It’s quieter and there’s a whiteboard, follow me.”

||||

Since you started renting the small duplex by yourself, you’ve never felt awkward in your own home. Now, though, you feel odd taking up your own space. 

The majority of the Quantico team is set up in your front room with laptops, cameras, and microphones. 

“We don’t know exactly how long he usually takes to come back to scenes, only that it typically happens within the week,” Elle explains to you apologetically. 

“No problem — comes with the job, no?” You say, smiling and trying to brush it off. Elle laughs gently, nose wrinkling as she shakes her head. 

“No, not really. I wouldn’t be thrilled if these boys set up shop in my house, you’re taking this with much more grace than I would.”

You shrug, crossing your arms and tilting your head from side to side. “I won’t act like it’s normal, it is pretty weird having you guys here, but if it helps you catch this guy, why would I say no? Better me than some random civilian.” You hesitate, scrunching up your nose, “Better now than waiting for him to kill someone else.”

“Much more compassionate than I am,” Elle jokes, shaking her head and walking away as Gideon calls her name. 

The main problem, you think, is that the duplex isn’t very big. The part of the team that’ll be staying with you — Spencer, Gideon, Elle, and Morgan — have all settled in. They won’t come and go, their car is firmly parked in your garage, and they’ll keep a low profile to prevent the unsub from noticing their presence. You’re meant to come and go as normal to keep suspicion low in case he’s cased the entire neighborhood. But, with only two bedrooms, a baths, and a small office, you’re feeling slightly cramped. Whenever you turn, you feel like you’re coming toe-to-toe with someone. It’s awkward, considering you’re very used to living alone. 

Still, you’re determined to be a good host, so you set to preparing lunch for everyone. They’d insisted that you didn’t need to, but you really don’t know what else to do. You’d been given the day to help them all settle in and provide assistance wherever possible, but there isn’t much to do other than wait. 

You’re pulling out the things for sandwiches when Spencer walks in. 

“Hey, do you have an extra ethernet cable? Garcia thinks that a direct line would be better,” he asks. 

“Maybe, you’re free to check in the office if you want. If you need, you can always pull the one from my desktop,” you say, shutting the fridge and trying to balance everything in your arms in one trip.

“What’re you doing?” Spencer asks, reaching forward to grab the ham and mayo from the top of your stack. 

“Making sandwiches!”

“You really don’t have to. We can have food ordered, it’s okay.”

“I wanna make myself useful, I feel weird just standing around watching you guys work,” you say, dumping the materials on the counter. “I hope you guys like ham or turkey, it’s all I have.”

“You are being useful, though. You’ve let us set up in your home, how much more useful can you be?”

“I could provide food as well,” you say, sending him a smile. “Ham or turkey?”

Spencer looks exasperated, setting the ham and mayo down and shaking his head. Nervously, he uses both of his hands to push his hair back. “Either. Either is fine, thank you.”

You start to prepare the sandwiches, Spencer watching and still looking like he wants to say something. 

“Hey, Reid, I found one, we’re all set,” Morgan says, rounding the corner and waving the white chord in the air. “Oh, what’re you making?” He asks, stepping closer and leaning over your shoulder. 

“Sandwiches. I was asking Spence if you guys like ham and turkey but he wasn’t being helpful.”

“Well, Spence can be like that,” Morgan says, throwing Spencer a smirk over his shoulder. “But we’d appreciate anything.” “I was trying to tell her,” Spencer interrupts, “that it’s entirely unnecessary for her to make us lunch. She’s already done enough for us letting us set up here. The effort is appreciated, of course, obviously, you just shouldn’t have to. Because we’re already intruding.” He trails off as Morgan sends him a look, raising his eyebrow. 

“Well, I, for one, appreciate the offer,” Morgan says, leaning on the counter and smiling down at you. You laugh at him. 

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it! I do,” he says, turning to you and holding one of his hands up in a placating way, “I just don’t think, it’s very kind of course, I just –”

You cut him off, taking pity, “He’s fucking with you. Relax.”

||||

“I just can’t believe that you’re actually processing any of what you’re reading at that speed!” You say, throwing your arms up. 

“I actually am. Speed reading, when done right, doesn’t take away from comprehension at all. Plus, with my eidetic memory, I can always think back and process later if I need to,” Spencer explains. 

“Fine, you’re understanding what you’re reading in a general sense, but where’s the enjoyment in it? How can you possibly understand all the intricacies of the writing, what the author is doing, and appreciate the characters and their growth if you don’t take your time with it?” “I tend to focus my reading moreso on informational writing, so that’s not often a problem. And when I do read something fictional or with more nuance, I’m never lacking in any way when it comes to my understanding of the content, even when speed reading.”

“So you’re not actually taking the time to have fun reading is what I’m hearing.”

“Reading is inherently fun when you’re learning something, though,” he says, lips quirked in a slight smirk and a line forming between his eyebrows as he looks down at you. The look is so disarming that you find yourself deflating a little. 

You’re in your living room, a few books scattered on the coffee table between you two, debating the merits of each one. 

“I dunno,” you say, argument leaving you as you become distracted. 

“Just say I’m right! You know I am,” Spencer says with a chuckle, shaking his head and leaning toward you slightly, hands spread. 

You thought he was cute when he was shy, bumbling in your house yesterday, but after a few hours to warm up to each other, you can’t deny you really like him. 

The only thing that completely blocks the disappointment that they’ll all soon be leaving is that their UnSub will be caught when they have to leave. Your community and neighborhood will be better off for it. 

“No, I still think you’re wrong. Sure, you understand what you’re reading but I just don’t buy that you could possibly enjoy it in the same way that I am!” You’re trying your damndest to regain your confidence, shaking your head side-to-side with a wide smile to erase the vision of his own smirk, his hands, his rolled up sleeves from your mind. “I mean, nothing beats curling up with a book and taking your time with it.” “Well,” Spencer interrupts, lifting a finger, “how can you say if you’ve never tried my way?”

“Speed reading? I’ve done it, actually.” You shrug at his hesitating look, suddenly feeling vulnerable under the weight of his eyes. 

“Really? What method? What was your fastest time? What —” Morgan cuts off his questioning by walking in and calling for him. 

“Gideon wants you to take a look at something.” “Ah. Breaks over.” Spencer stands from where he was sitting on your armchair, brushing his hands off on his pants. He points at you while he walks away, “We’re not finished, though!”

“Oh?” Morgan asks when he’s gone, raising his eyebrows at you. “Unfinished business?” You scoff, moving to pick up the books you pulled out to talk to Spencer about. 

You like Morgan. He’s an easy one to like and he feels like the bigger brother you don’t have with his easy smiles. The chaos in your house hasn’t been easy, you appreciate his consistent presence to lighten the atmosphere. 

You’ve actually come to like all of them. Elle with her stories, Gideon with his dry smiles, and Spencer. Really, you just like Spencer. You’re an adult, you’re not ashamed to admit it. Just, only to yourself, lest you mess something up and make him uncomfortable. 

“You know, I can’t really say I haven’t seen him this excited before because the kid gets excited about everything but,” Morgan shrugs, pushing himself off of the wall he’s been leaning on and coming to sit next to you, “you do seem to get along well.”

“Oh, yeah, Spencer’s nice,” you say, standing to put the books away. 

“Nice,” Morgan muses, leaning back on the couch and crossing his arms. 

“He is! You all are.” You laugh when Morgan raises his eyebrows again. “I’m being serious, I would kill to work on a team like yours. You all actually work together.”

“We have to.”

“It certainly works out better when you do.”

“Yeah, your boss is a real dick. He usually walk all over you like that?” You wrinkle your nose at him as you sit down, pulling your legs under you. “More or less I guess. My personal opinion is that he’d like more men on the team and … no women,” you joke, giving him a what can you do? look, smiling sadly. 

“And you tried to transfer?”

“Stop profiling me,” you say, eyes narrowing. Morgan smiles, all teeth.

“Not profiling, just remembering him saying something like that when we talked at the station.”

“Oh,” you say, slouching back. “That’s considerably less impressive.” “Ouch.”

“Yeah, yeah, I wound you. But I did look into transferring a while back. I’ve been trying to move up for a while and keep getting blocked. But, no surprise, I got blocked again.” You raise an imaginary glass, cheers-ing with the air, “Go government!”

“That’s fucked,” Morgan says, letting out a low whistle. “So you don’t want to stay a victims liasion?”

“No, I do. But it’s not my only job right now. It’s a little complicated, but our office is too small to have a head liaison. So I really just run around filling gaps wherever I can until I’m needed to do my actual job. I’d love to do just liaison work, I really like working with the public. Feels like I’m actually helping people, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” “Hey,” you say suddenly, not wanting to keep the mood somber (or ignore the FBI agent in your house with your silly woes while a murder investigation is underway), “you want some tea? Coffee?”

“Sure doll, I’ll take some coffee,” Morgan says, a confused smile taking over his face, “if you’re offering.”

||||

“It’s actually pretty interesting,” Spencer is saying, flipping through files and leaning over to show Elle something. 

“Oh, I bet. Nothing better than vicious murder,” you say, dry, rolling a pen between your fingers. 

“I mean the process behind deciphering their reasoning,” Spencer says, shrugging. 

“I just don’t know how you look past it to see anything other than the violence,” you say, shuddering. 

He and Elle have taken the night shift and are giving you a rundown on profiling. You’ve worked with profilers before, but they’re small-town cops, more interested in closing cases than being scientific, or, at times, even correct. 

“How do you look past a crying mother after her daughter has been murdered to get the information you need?” Elle asks. “I’ve worked with hundreds of victims, I think I’m pretty good at it, but your records show that you’re one of the best.”

You heat at the praise, shrugging your shoulders. “I wouldn’t say I look past them. I actually try to get into their shoes to figure out what I can say to get through to them.”

“Often the victims families know more than they think. Every bit of information they can give us or the police about the victim only lead us closer to the unsub. We often rely on your job to get important information out of victims and families that we wouldn’t otherwise have. It requires tact, empathy, and extreme emotional control,” Spencer explains, setting the file down and brushing his hair back. 

“Well, thank you?”

“I think he’s trying to say what we do is similar,” Elle explains, “it’s just the opposite side of it.”

“I’m still not following — but I’m definitely not built to be a profiler, that’s for sure.”

“But you could be. You profile in your own way. We look at the bad guys, the killing patterns, stuff like that,” Spencer leans forward, enthusiastic. “You just profile less intense people. Gather information from them, figure out what they need. Get in their shoes, to use your words. You use their actions, small phrases, and what you can gather from their homes to approach them the best way, no?”

“Looking at their clothes and body language and stuff, sure.”

“We do exactly that with crime scenes. Recognize patterns. Just like you can’t imagine seeing past the violence, some of us can’t imaigne having to see past the emotion of someone dealing with fresh loss.” Elle smiles. “You’d probably make a really good profiler. You’re just a better victims advocate.”

You consider that, weighing their words. “Sure, maybe,” you admit. “I still think it’s kinda like magic, though. Your knowledge, your intuition, your teamwork. It’s cool.”

“Thank you,” Elle says kindly. 

Spencer jumps back into his explanation of the types of murder-kidnappers, musing with Elle again about their profile. Their ability to constantly return to the same evidence over and over without any hesitation is still amazing to you. Despite what Elle said, you’re sure you’d get bored. 

You’re even more sure that it would stick to you in a way that working with the victims never did. You visit crime scenes, sure, but you never do everything in your power to commit every bit of them to memory. 

As they talk, you move toward the window and move the curtains over slightly. It’s the middle of the night, the second the team has spent in your home, and you’re curious how much longer this unsub will take to be caught. 

You’ve done your best to keep to your usual schedule and luckily it’s not unusual for you to be up late. The movement behind the curtains won’t be suspicious, so you stand and peek out curiously at the home across the street. 

Penny sighs from her bed in the living room, snoring softly. She’s taken a liking to your guests who are always willing to give her attention and scraps of food. 

The Furgison house bigger than yours, a family home with a large backyard. It’s a faded blue, lightened by the sun, with a white door. Theres a dim porch light that’s been left on, throwing yellow shaddows across the street. 

You swear you see a curtain move in the window and your entire body freezes, breath stolen from your lungs. 

“Hey guys?” You say, dead quiet, as you see the curtains flutter again. Small, nearly inperceptable movement. Greys and blacks angainst more greys and blacks. 

“Yeah?” Elle asks, still reading over the file with Spencer. 

“You’re sure that nobodys gone in tonight?”

“Certain,” Elle says, moving quickly to stand next to you. “Why?”

“Curtains moved,” you say, nodding toward the house. 

“Maybe the AC was left on?” Elle suggests and you shake your head. 

“No, we would’ve noticed it before now. They have no animals, the house should be empty.”

Your heart is racing as Spencer joins you at the window. 

“You sure you saw it move?” He asks, moving to stand behind you, just out of sight at the window, a hand pressed to your back. Gentle pressure, just his fingertips, that makes you siffen even more. He moves his hand, whispering an apology. 

You wish he hadn’t. 

Your mind spins, distracted for a moment, shaking your head again. 

“Yes, I’m certain.”

“Go get Morgan and Gideon,” Spencer tells you, sharing a look with Elle. 

||||

You follow the team out, despite their insistence that you don’t have to, holding your own handgun out and following the light Morgan casts. 

You live in a relatively sleepy neighborhood. Shared duplexes and little houses line the streets, most with little flowerbeds out front. The Furgison house is no exception: it’s a little blue house with rose bushes out front. It backs the small patch of wood that runs along the length of the highway. 

Heart racing and head light from adrenaline, you stay out front to watch for any movement inside while Morgan and Hotch creep around one side of the house, Spencer and Elle take the other side. 

“Back here,” you faintly hear Morgan say through your earpiece. “The cellar door is open. It was deadlocked last time.”

You sitffen, readjusting your grip on your gun. 

“Wasn’t it cleared, though, when we were here last?” Elle asks. 

“Yeah, but he could’ve snuck in through the woods — there’s no telling.”

“Didn’t we position police cars on the highway?” Elle again. You can imagine them all standing behind the house, guns drawn. It’s intersting to hear them communicate so efficiently, voices low. 

“We’ll worry about it later. Morgan, you take the lead, I’ll take the rear, Elle stay out here.”

For a long few seconds, you hear Morgan, Spencer, and Hotch begin to clear the basement, until you’re jolted out of the repetitive “clear!”s by Hotch yelling, “FBI, put your hands up!”

The next few minutes turn into a whirlwind as police cars arrive and Morgan drags the UnSub out of the house by his handcuffed arms. 

The Furgison boy comes out next, disheveled and passed to the paramedics in the back of an ambulance. Once you see Hotch, Spencer, and Elle are okay as well, you jump into action, going to sit with the boy and comfort him. Morgan is there, too, crouched down to talk to the kid. 

“You’re all good now,” he’s saying, reaching forward to ruffle his hair. “And my friend here is going to make sure that you see your dad as soon as possible.” Morgan gestures to you and you nod at the little boy. 

The sight of him makes your chest ache: he’s scrawny with wide brown eyes and a mop of curls on the top of his head. 

“Agent Morgan is right, your dad is going to meet us at the hospital.”

The boy doesn’t say anything, shaking under his emergency blanket. 

“I’ll ride with you in the ambulance, too, and that’ll be fun, right?” You ask, jumping up to sit next to him. Slowly and sluggish the boy rests his head on your shoulder, still shivering. You wrap an arm around him before mouthing ‘I’ve got him’ to Morgan. He gives you a small sile, waves at the boy, and goes to join his team. 

After being checked over again by the paramedics, the boy falls asleep quickly in the hospital, holding his dads hand. You’re leaving the room, shutting the door with a soft click, when you see Spencer sitting in the hallway. 

“How is he?” Spencer asks, standing up at the sight of you. 

“He’s okay, some minor bruises and scrapes, dehydrated but on an IV. They’re just happy to be back together.”

“That’s good,” Spencer says, falling quiet and looking away. 

“And, hey, you guys caught the bad guy — now you all get to go home!”

“Yeah,” Spencer says, turning to look at you again, chuckling slightly without any heart behind it. 

“Are you not excited?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. 

“It’s always nice coming back home after a trip, even one as close to home as this one is. But it’s a little bittersweet.”

“How so?”

You practically see Spencer gathering his courage, straightening his shoulders and sending you a small but genuine smile. 

“Well, we have some unfinished business, remember? And you never showed me your lexicon.”

“Well,” you say, smiling, “you’ll just have to keep in touch, then. Maybe we can get dinner?”

“Yeah. Yes, of course. Dinner.” Spencer is fully grinning now, eyes squinting with the force of it. You can’t help but mirror him, laughing a little. “Well, I do have a car to catch. I just wanted to check on him and say goodbye.”

“Well, goodbye for now Dr. Reid.”

“Goodbye,” he says, smiling at you for a second longer before turning to walk to the exit. He makes it to the doors before he hesitates, one hand on the handle. He stands there, still, for a moment before turning around and asking, “Dinner, like a date, right?”

Giddy, your smile only widens as you nod. “I would really like that, if you’re asking, yeah.”

“I’m asking.”

“Okay, then it’s a date.”

i wanted more to happen here but then i got this far and still had so much more i could write about these two aahhh

lmk if u want a pt 2 bc i kind of have ideas :) tysm for reading!!

[perfeqt]

I've been hurt so bad and I still love so hard. I admire my heart for that.

Alexandra Elle, Words From A Wanderer

[numbuh424]

killer within game workshop

[mintsturniolo]

sleepy cuddles (c.s)

bf!chris sturniolo x f!reader

a/n: i wrote this fic in my head while i was at work. chat i didn't know how to end this one ngl

summary: you wake up and find chris isn't in bed and find him in the dining room working on designs for fresh love

You were confused when you first woke up to find the bed empty. Letting out a sleepy groan, you reached blindly for your phone, wondering what time it was. You frowned seeing that it was two in the morning. Why hadn’t Chris come to bed like he’d promised? Slowly you eased yourself out of the bed, and made your way out of Chris’s room. When you rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, you saw that Chris hadn’t left his spot at the dining room table where you’d left him hours ago. He was leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes with one hand as the other hand clicked away on different tabs. “Chris,” you whispered, not wanting to wake Matt who was likely asleep in the next room.

When your boyfriend didn’t respond, you realized he probably had his headphones on you. You got closer and placed a hand on his shoulder causing him to jump slightly. A smile formed on Chris’s face when he realized it was you. “Hey ma. What are you doing awake?” he asked.

“I woke up and you weren’t there,” You replied, holding back a yawn.

Chris gently pulled you onto his lap and you rested your head on his shoulder. “M’sorry. I guess I really locked in tonight,” he replied, gently rubbing your back.

“New designs?” you asked, referring to what was on the screen.

Chris nodded and pointed at a purple hoodie. “We’re bringing this design back in different colors,” he told you.

Too tired to respond, your eyes lazily followed along as he showed you the new clothing items he was about to drop. Seeing you were about to fall asleep, Chris gave you a quick kiss before going back to what he was doing. “Just a few more minutes,” he said. “Then I’ll take you to bed.”

You absentmindedly scratched the back of Chris’s head, earning a content sigh as he worked. Your breathing slowed as you felt yourself drift off to sleep, still exhausted from the previous day’s events.

It didn’t take long for Chris to finish up the project he’d been working on. Closing his laptop, he glanced down at you, still sleeping in his arms. He didn’t want to wake you up. You were so peaceful, arms hung limply over his shoulders, and your breath on his neck. He traced circles on your back, causing you to stir. “A few more minutes,” you murmured, not lifting your head.

Chris let out a soft chuckle, as he kissed the top of your head. “I’m gonna take you to bed okay?” he said. “But you gotta stand up. I can’t carry you down the stairs.”

You let out a groan in protest as Chris helped you stand up. Chris led you down the stairs to his bedroom where you immediately curled up in the bed. After changing into a pair of sweats, Chris joined you, pulling you close to him. “I love you,” Chris whispered.

“Love you too,” you hummed, half asleep.

Chris couldn’t take his eyes off you as you dozed off. The way your lashes gently fluttered against your cheeks, and your content hums turned into soft snores as you fell into a deep sleep. Feeling his own eyes getting heavy, Chris kissed your cheek before dozing off himself.

Taglist

@dirtylittleheart333 @sturniolo04 @yourenogoodforme @flouvela @mattyblover07 @sturnioloveniamh @slutforsturniolos @ivysturnss @ksturnz @emely9274

[thoughtkick]

I never expected her. Sometimes people sneak up on you and suddenly you don’t know you ever lived without them.

Elle Kennedy, The Deal