#fanfiction glass

[thehordereigns-blog]

"Game start- Won’t you do the same for us?"

Casey x The Horde (Dennis, Patricia, Hedwig)- Alternative scene of Glass

(since I saw Glass again, I want to honor the very moving duo, the very beautiful dynamic between Casey and the Horde in the film. I am sorry for my English, which is still academic but poorly developed.)

The scene takes place during the events of Glass, in a completely parallel reality here, since we will say that Casey lives alone, in a small apartment that her guardians (now adoptive) have rented to her during her studies, close to their home. She receives an unexpected visit.

Casey is working on the table in her tiny living room, sunny with bay windows. She is concentrated, headset on her ears, her hair caressing her face (beautiful, normal it's Anya Taylor-Joy :) ). Suddenly the doorbell rang. Casey almost jumps, thinks she hears someone. A loud, precise knock on the door. She takes off her headset and walks slowly towards the door, and slows down when she hears a couple of little knocks, as if made jokingly by a child. She hears a chuckle, then an adult reprimand. She looks in the Judas, it's him . It's the Horde whispering low. In her startle, her heartbeat quickened: a thousand questions crossed her mind. She opened the door slowly, revealing Dennis' tight face, eager to greet her first.

-Dennis?

-It takes a long time to explain...

-Are you alone?

-Yeah, if I may say so.

She looks on both sides of the landing, afraid that someone will hear the whispers of the man so sought to put him back in jail again and now forever. She approached him and gestured for him to come inside; he entered abruptly and closed the door.

-Damn Dennis...

She hugged him with a distance, afraid of being separated, but in a kind of deep friendship in their mutual suffering and wounds. Dennis held her in his arms and looked away.

-Me too Casey, enough. Yeah.

He sighed. "It's very clean in here." She looks him in the eye, his beautiful blue eyes puffy with anxiety.

-you haven't changed you know.

He smiles. He plays the game.

-Someone else wants to say hello, you know.

Casey's face remains stunned seeing Kevin's face light up. She understood from the frantic movements of his arms that she was seeing an old friend, an old playmate.

-Casey!! My girl !! Ya home sooo cool , you're an adult now!! you see, we wear the same color like real lovers! Pointing out her pink sweater that matched his sweater. Do you have your own room ?? Is the TV yours??

He was running towards the sofa, lifting all the cushions, like a small tornado. He disturbs all the classes placed, and notices the headset and grabs it.

- Wow class!! What were you listening to?? Nicki?? If you're on her side, we can't be together, but I accept it..

She smiled as she tried to approach him.

  -Hedwig, I need to talk to...

- Did you cook? It smells so good! In the hospital it was old porridge, yucky..worse than the time Jade tried to make meat, it was horrible..it looked like jam.

She picked up the headset, her lessons, and the sofa cushions. She heard a silence and turned around.

-Like I was telling you, Casey, there's been a problem at the hospital. Mr Glass got us out, and reading the reports, gave us the address where we could found you without any trouble. He was not mistaken.

-It’s completely insane!! But you ran away?? But what's your problem, you all want to be killed?

-you don’t unders-

- WHAT THE FU-

- Gently girl!

Her air of a schoolteacher, clapping the students fingers, she recognizes the priestess.

-Be polite, you knew where you were going from the start after visiting us. Staple couldn't believe it, you have to see the face of this ill-fated little bitch.

- Patricia, you let Kevin out of the hospital, it’s completely unconscious.. think of Kevin!

- We have the situation under control, my dear.

- Oh you do ?

For the love of Kevin, she was ready to defy the world if necessary.

- For now, we'll have to hide, my dear, because we're on the run. We'll find a solution by then, and the Beast will thank you.

- I don't need to be thanked! You are all going to be killed with your nonsense!

Patricia, as usual, looked determined by whatever the Beast dictated to her. She knew how to lead and wanted to remain master of everything and of herself. As a priestess, she must not show a sign of weakness, nor a wavering of her faith. Hedwig, he, as a player, laughed at this completely crazy situation.

- Eh LOL !! Before it was us who hide you and now won’t you do the same for us? How dare you, you’re so mean ha ha ha !!

She smiled and giggled at this incredible situation. Anyway, her life and Kevin’s life were tied forever together now. What was she going to do? Leave Kevin to all those who lost him by wanting to protect him, brood him? Leave the child, leave the Horde, let the Beast lead to the inevitable fall of the group? “Fuck, shit…” whispered Casey. (Patricia creaked inside) She sighed, looked behind her, took a deep breath. 

Dennis and Casey looked at each other. Dennis, who crossed his arms, hoped in her eyes. He had become tender and sincere on several occasions. He had already shown his respect for this girl, this very special girl..

Both were surprised by the ringing of the pasta timer. She dodged Dennis who stood at the kitchen door. She dripped the pasta, with her empty gaze, lost in reflexions. Dennis was desperate for an answer in her panicked air. Until she grabbed two plates, and exclaimed:

- how many plates do I serve you? One or twenty-three ?

And in Kevin’s smile, she saw that of Patricia, that of Dennis, that of Hedwig and all those who approved of the joke.

TO BE CONTINUED :)

--------

for those who held on and read to the end, thank you very, very much. I really really appreciate talking about these two, without explicitly talking about Love, but a bond of deep respect and mutual recognition bonding them. Let me know your opinion on this hehe 😃

[turtletoria]

i wanted to try drawing older Mabel and Dipper !

[sugudolle]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ 18+ CONTENT ⊹ jason todd x fem!reader. reader wears glasses. jason is a big tease. condescension. dry humping. making out on his bike. calling you princess + pretty girl

jason letting out a big yawn as he finally makes it back to the parking lot under your cozy, warm shared apartment, the sky already dark above him—his energy suddenly returning in full as you pounce on his broad back while he’s putting his kick stand down, hanging off your big strong boyfriend’s frame as his eyes darken under his mask, still in his red hood gear.

jason tilting his head and lowly going ‘yeah?’ as he leans against his bike, the feeling of his gloved hands holding you in his lap by your hips being your breaking point after a whole day of going jasonless—no kisses, no playing with his pretty hair or grabbing him by his cheeks every 2 seconds to place an adoring smooch on his lips, you need him now—it hasn’t even been five minutes since he came back from his night patrol and a string of saliva is already connecting the two of your lips as you’re leaning in to kiss him again while straddling his lap, sitting on those firm, well toned thighs of his.

jason playfully stealing and wearing your glasses as he grabs you by the hips and presses you down on him to grind harder on his dick, making you feel how hard you made him—soft little pants falling from your pretty, swollen lips in a post makeout daze while he chuckles adoringly at your cute, now squinty in confusion, face.

“awww can’t see? look at you chasing my lips,” he teases, “greedy baby.” jason strokes his hands up and down your sides and you pout, making grabby hands at him in desperate attempts to drag him closer by the chest of his compression shirt.

“pfft ya missed.” his deep chuckle reverberates through you as you grumble, still squinting, when your lips clumsily land on his cheek and he brings you in for a sloppy, open mouthed kiss.

“think that’s what you meant to do, yeah pretty girl?”

jason gently putting your glasses back on your face, he wants you to get a good view of what he’s doing to you after all, but not without a mocking whisper of “my poor baby. i’m so mean aren’t i?” and you whine in agreement, lightly bopping his firm chest. “haha sorry sorry. you get wet so fast it’s cute. been so needy for me all day, huh? just want me to hurry up and fuck you already?”

“yeah, you like the sound of that?” he squeezes your hips with a laugh as you moan softly and enthusiastically rub yourself faster against his big bulge through the rough fabric of his cargos, his breath hitching and grazing your neck, pressing soft kisses on it here and there while his hard, thick cock rubs against your soaked panties.

“don’t worry princess, i’ll take good care of you tonight.”

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 Theoretically Yours.

Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

Summary: After a series of murders at your university, the FBI has decided to give you a bodyguard. The problem is that he is extremely cute and can hardly protect himself, especially from you and your charms.

Words: 1,9k.

TW: mentions of murder, crime, blood and also a plot twist???. spicy insinuations. spencer from the first seasons. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: I'm really excited about this, I love Spencer Reid in all seasons, but in the early ones he had something different that drove me crazy. Also, this is the first time I write here and I'm nervous.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

It was supposed to be a normal day, but agents showed up at your door to stop you from going to class and left you under the watchful eye of the youngest of them, Dr. Spencer Reid. It was a precaution to protect you from the killer who has been stalking the campus, killing girls with similar profiles to yours.

You weren't afraid and insisted that it wasn't necessary until you saw him. The mere thought of spending time alone with the man made you more excited than you would have liked. He was very tall, skinny and could barely look you in the eye for more than five seconds without looking away absolutely blushing.

You had decided not to talk to him or act suspicious, but for some reason you liked the idea of him helping you with your biology homework. You were studying pre-med at the behest of your parents and were having trouble understanding some of the material. Spencer saved your life when he offered to help you and told you about his multiple doctorates.

“You are amazing, like a genius.” You said in surprise when he read the big book you had on the table in just five minutes and left a bunch of notes in it.

He blushed again, trying to adjust his glasses to hide it so it wouldn't show. Reid was doing his best to be professional and not let his guard down, he had to be vigilant in case you were in danger.

“It's nothing. I hope it helps you.” He said, giving you a little smile.

You nod and look at the television behind him. They were airing a new report on the latest murders, showing photos of the victims and interviews with family members. Everyone cried and repeated how unfair it was to lose their prodigy daughters to a madman. You thought about how they made such a simple TV show about spilled blood without thinking about it, just trying to paint the girls who had tormented you for several years as white doves.

“Don't worry, you're safe here. I can promise that.” Spencer spoke as he followed your gaze. He was trying to comfort you and take away any fear with his presence.

“I know.” You smile at him with innocence. You were more than capable of protecting yourself and you knew it.

There was an awkward moment of silence, so you offered him coffee to break it. You went to the kitchen and poured two cups, watching from afar as he talked on the phone in the meantime. You couldn't help but notice the nervousness in his voice as he repeated to his colleagues that all was well with you.

“She's pretty, isn't she?” Penelope's voice rang through the phone in Reid's ear and sent shivers down his spine. “I saw some pictures in internet.”

“I...maybe...yes.” He mumbled, trying not to let you hear him. "How does that matter or help the case?"

As you used the coffeepot, Spencer looked you over from head to toe. He couldn't deny how attractive you were and how much his heart raced when you were around. His extreme lack of flirting skills and his clear differences with you saved him from the temptation you were.

“Just have fun, lover boy. You need it.” The woman smiled proudly and hung up the call before he could answer.

The two poured cups were already on the table, you sat down on the sofa by the window to start reading the notes he had left in your medical book. His impeccable handwriting made you shudder, it was unbelievable that someone with so much knowledge would waste time trying to take care of you from yourself and not even realize it.

“You're okay?” He asked with a soft voice, sitting in front of you.

“Yes, just reading your notes.”

“Sorry, I put too many. But I can mark the important ones for you.” He gently took the book from your hands and began to place himself between the paragraphs with one of his fingers.

Your eyes fell on his hands, the way he moved them over the pages of the book bringing inappropriate thoughts to your mind. You hadn't noticed before how perfect every part of him seemed, especially now that he was spouting complex biological terms without even flinching. You were aware of your own intelligence and proud of it, but you would have liked to be like him...or at least have him around.

“Is something wrong?” He asked confused as he noticed how you had been watching him.

“Sorry. I was thinking of biology...nothing better to look at to understand the theory.” You said to justify your indiscretion.

“Oh sure, it helps. According to several studies, the human being has three main systems for perceiving information: visual, auditory and kinesthetic.” He began to explain quickly. “This theory was put forward in 1988.”

“Maybe that can help me.” You suggested, trying to look away from him.

He nods and start to talking again.

“You were watching, that was visual. And you heard me talking before, that was auditory.”

“And what is kinesthetic?” You asked, even though you knew what the answer was.

Spencer swallowed before speaking, trying to hide his nervousness at the sudden change in tone of the conversation. He was glad to know that he had been able to turn the situation around and put the recent crimes out of his mind, he had been worried that they would affect you.

“Is what is learned through sensation and movement.” He finally said with his voice trembling slightly.

“Can I...?” You try to ask, but he nods before you can finish the sentence.

You stop looking into his eyes and take his hand, put it on your legs and start tracing lines with your finger over his scarred veins. You could feel him shudder every time you touched him, and his mutterings about the technical names of each became inaudible.

“This is the radial artery, provides oxygenated blood to the hands and fingers.” You start to talking, looking him to the eyes again and letting your hand enjoy the softness of his.

“Yes...yeah, it is.” His voice came out as a whisper, as if he was losing control of the situation. No one had ever touched him in such a way before.

The smell of coffee mixed with his cologne is almost addictive and begins to drive you crazy. Just touching his hands was not enough, something inside you wanted more and the ideas running through your head began to torment you. You knew it wasn't right and that your own sanity was in jeopardy, he was one of the good guys and you not so much. It just wasn't right for you to mix, let alone under the current circumstances.

“I should check the perimeter.” Spencer rose from his seat and slowly moved his hand away from yours. He need to go away before something incorrect happened.

All the words were caught in your throat at that moment. You didn't want him to walk away yet.

“It's not necessary.” You got up after him, preventing him from walking to the door and being able to leave. “Everyone is in their classes now, the residence is empty and your coffee is going to get cold.”

Spencer knew you were right. He couldn't go against logic, so he sat back down on one of the couches and took a sip of the coffee you had poured for him. He did his best to avoid your gaze, but it was impossible when you were looking out the window and absentmindedly sipping your coffee.

“Do you think they'll find the killer?” You asked, trying to make conversation after watching through the glass as police cruisers drove around campus.

“Of course, no one else will have to get hurt and everything will be back to normal for you.” He replied without taking his eyes off you.

“I don't think you get to decide that.” You blurt out without thinking.

The phrase and your tone were enough to make him stand up and walk towards you. He put a hand on your shoulder out of inertia, to give you support and reassure you a little.

“You don't need to be afraid.” He gave you a small reassuring smile and you felt the warmth of his touch.

You took a tentative step toward him, shortening the distance between your bodies. You raised your gaze to meet his, feeling at his mercy because of the difference in height. You weren't thinking too hard and didn't hesitate to put your hand on his cheek, caressing it.

“What are you doing?” He asked, trying not to get carried away by your touch.

“To thank you for being here and helping me.” You had a burst of courage and stood on tiptoe to give him a resounding kiss on the cheek.

Then you moved your face far enough away to look at him and see his blush. He looked so affected by a simple kiss on the cheek that you couldn't help but move closer again, this time with his fingers on your chin.

“You can't. We can't.” He stopped the approach just a couple of inches from their lips colliding.

“Why? Because I'm part of your job?” You questioned in frustration, unable to tear your eyes away from his mouth.

“I'm here to keep you safe.” He tried to sound calm and professional, though his voice trembled.

“I'm very safe now.” You assured him, grabbing his arms and wrapping them around your waist. “No one can hurt me here.”

Without Spencer being able to notice, a small moan escaped him at your action.

“There's a killer on the loose.” He insisted, trying to be the voice of reason even though he couldn't look away from your lips.

“Trust me, a kiss won't bring him here. I'm sure of it.” You replied as you noticed him slowly pulling away from you.

A curse tried to come out of your mouth at the rejection and lack of his touch at your waist, but before you could finish it, his lips were on yours and his hands were pressing you against him.

His lips were as soft as his hands, but the way they moved over yours was not soft at all. At first, even his tongue seemed to ask your permission to continue. It took several seconds of clear acceptance before the uncertainty of his kiss disappeared and was replaced by need.

You took advantage of the fact that you were in front of the big couch to push him off and you both fell on top of him, having only a few seconds to catch your breath before continuing. He gave you a quick, tender kiss before pulling his hands away from your back to remove his glasses, which were already fogged up and out of place. But your hand stopped him just before he could put them down on the table.

“Do not take off your glasses. I really like them.” You whispered still over his mouth.

“As you wish.” He said before kissing you again and letting himself enjoy himself under you, without thinking about anything else.

At that moment you knew that maybe committing a few more murders to keep him around wasn't such a bad idea.

[thesassypadawan]

Addicted (Stephen x FemReader)

Summary: You love your sweet baby boy, but you know how much of a pretty little liar he can be. Especially when it comes to something he wants.

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there sooo much of the smut. Mission, refusal to pull out, slight mommy kink, and… Stephen’s cute, big dick.

Notes: I would love to hear what all you, lovelies, think! If you would like to see more of Stephen! If so...I already have another idea in mind! ❤️

- It’s in the way he exhales; breathy, laced with the sweetest whimper. Just barely audible over the lovely, lewd sounds of Stephen’s clumsy thrusts.

- You can practically feel his impatience. See the look of dizzy, drunk pleasure on his angelic face. Clearly on the verge of his orgasm with the way his compact muscles tense…how his neck strains deliciously. “Good…feel so good…”

- Sweat gleams on his skin in the faint light. As well as the angry, red scratches you left on his biceps…chest. “Sucking me back in…clenching around me…”

- The scent of sex lays heavy in the air when he begins to twitch. His calloused hands grip your hips harder. Pace picks up, drives grow more erratic. While he sputters out… “S-shit. You’re g-going to make me…make m-me…”

- “P-pull out, baby,” you pant softly. Writhing beneath him, head tilted slightly to the side. Showing off all the adorable marks he left behind. “You need to p-pull out.”

- Strokes become uneven, sloppy. He shakes his head and something wild, defiant flashes in those blue eyes. “N-no. Please, m-mommy. I want to m-make a mess of this p-pretty pussy…”

- Instinctively you try to push him off, but his hold tightens. Pinning you to the bed, pressing you into it with his weight. “Coat these t-thighs; cover those s-swollen folds…”

- You know you shouldn’t. That you should be more forceful; attempt to fight back, put him in his place. Demand he releases on your stomach, like always. But he looks so sweet, so desperate…you can’t deny him.

- Legs wind, lock securely. Hands cling to his shoulders, pulling him close. Walls flutter while your lips ghost over the shell of his ear. “All right…just this one time though…”

- “T-thank you…thank y-you… I p-promise… Only…only…” Movements falter, stutter. Long fingers digging in, bruising you. As he buries his face into the side of your neck, hot breath and soft curls tickling your skin.

- “O-one…onnnce…” Slamming awkwardly, brutally. Strangled moan flies from his mouth and he cutely cums. His warm seed pumping you all full, making you…

- Wail out at the sudden load. Coil in your stomach finally snapping, sending you crashing over the edge. Crying out; gushing all over his cock, milking him for every drop. Head reeling in the best way possible, barely able to think…because it’s just too good. Not that you'll admit it.

- He babbles, whimpers. Tongue lapping, teeth nibbling gently. Continuing to pound and fuck you through his high. “Warm…s-so warm…” Until the last spurt paints your walls and he stills.

- Propping himself, he hovers above you. Chest heaving, face all flushed and splotchy. Glasses crooked and completely fogged up. “That…that was a-amazing.”

- Try as you might, you can't help but giggle at his adorably, pathetic state. Cupping his pink cheek, tapping it gently. “Glad you enjoyed yourself, but don't get used to it though. One time only…got it?”

- “Y-Yeah…” He mumbles, reluctantly pulling out. Gaze locked on, entranced from the way that creamy whiteness seeps from your core. “O-only once…”

- That something wild, defiant flashes in those blue eyes once more and you know… That by the end of the night you’ll have lost count of how many times he’s cummed inside you… That it’s too late to stop Stephen now… Now that he’s addicted…

- Oh, well… Maybe you'll get a cute baby or two out of this, out of your pretty little liar…

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @wifeofasith, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen, @adorbzliz, @sythethecarrot, @divineani, @decaffeinatedunicorn, @fuckmyskywalker

[throneofsmut]

KINKTOBER 2024 MASTERLIST

These will ALL be reader fics. One will be posted everyday of october.

Day One: Breeding with Azriel and Eris Vanserra

Day Two: Stalker / Somnophilia with Azriel

Day Three: Pegging with Cassian

Day Four: Spanking with Eris Vanserra

Day Five: Eating Out with Feyre Archeron

Day Six: Temperature Play with Aelin and Rowan

Day Seven: Losing Virginty with Lucien Vanserra

Day Eight: Against A Wall with Nesta Archeron

Day Nine: Tit Worship / Tit Fucking with Rhysand

Day Ten: Toys with Bryce Quinlan

Day Eleven: Rough / Squirting with Cassian and Nesta

Day Twelve: Fingering / Hate Fuck with Hunt Athalar

Day Thirteen: In Public with Ruhn Danaan

Day Fourteen: Praise with Liam Mairi

Day Fifteen: Deep Throating with Xaden Riorson

Day Sixteen: Edging with Dorian and Manon

Day Seventeen: Thigh Riding with Aelin Galathynius

Day Eighteen: Pregnant Sex with Dorian Havilliard

Day Nineteen: Period Sex with Fenrys Moonbeam

Day Twenty: Size Difference with Lorcan Salvaterre

Day Twenty-One: Daddy / Mommy with Rhys and Feyre

Day Twenty-Two: Orgasm Denial with Manon Blackbeak

Day Twenty-Three: Face Sitting with Rowan Whitethorn

Day Twenty-Four: Corruption with Azriel

Day Twenty-Five: Knife Play with Cassian

Day Twenty-Six: Strip Tease with Hunt and Bryce

Day Twenty-Seven: Wax Play with Eris Vanserra

Day Twenty-Eight: Handjob with Lucien Vanserra

Day Twenty-Nine: Anal Sex with Rhysand

Day Thirty: Cockworship with Dorian Havilliard

Day Thirty-One: Hunter / Prey with Azriel, Cassian, Rhys

****

COMMENT IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST

****

Masterlist

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

(My main masterlist is pinned on my account and THIS masterlist is on it!!)

[cowboy1ikereid]

season 2 spencer reid

you will always be famous

[xhunnybeeex]

kinktober post 1

Make Me God

TW// : NSFW content, religious themes, female anatomy, piv, oral (reader receiving), virgin reader, slight corruption kink, Priest! Anakin, pantie stealing, 

Anakin is sitting in his usual spot in the pews as you go to look for him. He holds his new vestments in his hands, gazing at them attentively. 

“They fit okay, Father?” you ask, sitting next to your friend. 

Anakin hesitates before answering, him becoming a priest slipping his mind. It was only a couple days since the young man had become a head figure at your guy’s church. Anakin had met you when you were young, 10 and 14. The both of you never went to the same school, for he was older and went to a private catholic school while you attended public classes. That never stopped the two of you from seeing each other at youth groups, church, and going out. Your parents liked the faithful, obedient man he has become as the two of you fell into your 20s. 

He blinks out of his trance and looks over to you. “Oh hey, sorry, this is all just so new still. It feels like a dream.” he chuckles, laying the folded cloth in his lap. 

“Its all official now!” you smile, excited for him. Your faith was everything to you, and he was wired the same way. Every action, every word, every thought, all to serve your savior. 

“It feels so different,” he admits. “ but in a way it’s like nothing has changed.” he plays with the cross on his neck, fiddling with the metal over his chest between his fingers. 

“What do you mean?” you ask. “Everyone sees me the same, nothing has changed in my reputation. But the power I have here, I think God can feel it." His voice is thick, his tone almost eerie. you nod delicately.  “I dont think it’s a bad thing people see you the same. They’ve always had high respect for you.” 

He pauses, his brows furrowed and his breathing slowed. “Do you?” he questions. Your palms begin to sweat and you begin to feel squirmy. “What? Of course I do, we all-” you ramble but he hushes you. “I didn't ask about everyone, I asked if you did.” he says sternly. He stands from his seat and towers in front of you as your back presses against the pews. “Anakin, i, of  course I do.” You mumble. He looks down at you and runs his knuckles down your cheekbone. 

“Of course you do, you would never disobey your father, your god.” His voice is silk. Your breathing halts and your legs cross. Your face turns away from his gaze and he can feel your body become warm. 

“You Are devoted to your god, aren’t to.” his hand holds your face up to look at his and his thumb presses under your jawline. “Yes father.” you mumble. His eyes move to your lips and he slowly moves his fingers to trace the pink skin. His fingers begin to force their way into your mouth. You don’t even think about moving, telling him to stop. This was your priest, you wouldn’t disobey. “Suck.” he mutters. You obey, sucking gently and swirling your tongue around his flesh. Your eyes are interlocked with his. His face is cold as his jawline is tightly clenched. 

He pulls his fingers out and moves down onto his knees, his face eye level with your stomach. He rolls your flowy sunday dress up your thighs and his jaw falls slack as he looks up and down your lace panties. “Your dripping, god made you so beautiful.” he kisses up your thigh as he slides the lace down your legs and stuffs them in his pocket, having no intentions to give them back to you. He licks a long stripe down your folds and your hands go to grip his shoulders when your body starts to shudder under him. His still wet fingers make their way into you and your nails dig into his shoulders through his button up. His lips wrap around your clit and his fingers curl inside of you. You bite your lip to muffle the sounds threatening to escape your lips. “Don't be quiet, let god hear how  good you feel.” 

He continues to tease you with the tip of his tongue.  your lips part  and your head falls back against the wooden pews. “You taste like heaven” he murmurs, almost too quietly for you to catch.

 He removes his fingers, leaving you to whine due to the empty feeling hes given you. He leaves kisses up your clothed stomach and makes his way up your jaw as he starts to stand and undo his belt. His pants and boxers fall to his ankles and he pulls your hips up to meet his. He lines your folds up with him before pushing himself into you. Your back arches and you cry out from the intense burn from your stretching pussy. 

“You're a virgin aren't you.” anakin asks, gripping your hips tightly as he gives you a moment to adjust. You nod frantically and he chuckles. “God would be proud of you.” He kisses your temple and begins to move his hips. The burn slowly turns into an intense feeling of pure pleasure. Low moans escape you and the priest's lips as he thrusts hard and slow into you. 

Sweat beads drip down his forehead and darken his blonde curls. His lips move to yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth. “Can you feel god through me?” he  grunts. “Yes, father.” you squeal. But with the way you are whining and clenching around him, he's convinced you are god, and this is heaven. 

His thrusting becomes quick and sloppy, your whining sounds like Hymns in his ear. He feels you clench around him and he holds onto your hips tighter, leaving dark bruises into your skin. “Let go, finish around your priest.” he commands, and you’ll always do what the father asks of you. 

You mind is fuzzy as he fucks you into oblivion. You feel the knot in your stomach unravel as anakin holds your body close to his chest, coating your walls with his orgasm. He pulls out, continuing to hold you close to him. He gently sets you on the pews. He takes your panties out of his pocket and wipes the slick around your folds to clean you up. He pulls his pants up and He slips them back into his pocket . He kisses your forehead and picks up his vestments and rubs your cheek with his thumb. “Will I be seeing you next Sunday, my dear?” Anakin asks. You nod and give him a small smile. “Yes father.” he smiles approvingly and walks to his office in the now empty church.  

AN//: OMGGG im so sorry this is late. This is my first one shot on tumblr and the first post for kinktober! Please like if you enjoyed and let me know if you would like to be tagged in the next post or to be removed from the current tag list. Love all. - beee! 

Tag list : @thesassypadawan @kirbie44danielle  @niconico33333777  @heelvr78 @goldie-00 @anakinstwinklebunny @enchant5d @bxbyysstuff @quandoquires @starwalkertales @rxaddix2 @necromancerrrs @s1aywalker @stephennglass @s1ck-skv1l @jyinnc @pxscalsofia

[spencers-gun]

no one understands glasses reid like i do i need that man in ways that are so disrespectful to feminism. id do things to that man no one could believe ,i wanna see them glasses fogged up

[anakinstwinklebunny]

baby daddy stephen glass headcannons PLEASEE 💔💔

DAD!STEPHEN GLASS HEADCANONS

Author's note: not me actually writing for the first time Stephen glass headcanons..love you ariiiiii, hope you like it ;)

TW: at some point it contains sexual content, so if you're sensitive to that or don't feel comfortable with it, please do not read it for your own safety and comfort.

Stephen Glass who becomes hyper-attentive during your pregnancy. He checks in every few minutes—literally—asking, "Are you okay? Do you need anything?" Whether it’s grabbing your favorite snack, fluffing your pillows, or reminding you to rest, he’s all in. It’s both adorable and just a bit exhausting, but you know it’s coming from a place of love and nervous excitement.

Stephen Glass who loves cuddling up to your belly. Any chance he gets, he’s there—head resting softly against your bump, talking to the baby like they’re already having full conversations. So whenever you’re watching TV or lying down, Stephen’s favorite spot is curled up beside you with his head resting lightly on your belly, one arm draped protectively over you. You’ll laugh and remind him again, “The baby’s not going anywhere, Stephen,” and he’ll just smile, “I know… but it’s nice being close.” but he’ll stay there, nuzzling your belly with a goofy, contented smile because there's something so precious and peaceful in finding the comfort he's searching for in your growing body

Stephen Glass who's Favorite Thing are baby kicks - The first time he feels the baby kick, he freaks out—in the best way possible. His eyes go wide, and he stares at you like it’s the most magical thing he’s ever experienced. After that, every time the baby moves, he’s right there, placing his hand on your belly, waiting for the next kick with a childlike sense of wonder.

Stephen Glass who doesn’t mind getting up in the middle of the night if you’re feeling uncomfortable or craving something strange. He’s the type to stumble into the kitchen at 2 AM to find pickles or ice cream, coming back with snacks and extra blankets to make sure you’re cozy. But would immediately fall back asleep after giving it to you, snuggled to the pillow or just having an arm over his face

Stephen Glass who, yes, is a whimpering mess sometimes but he can be a hell of a dom;

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head dropping to her shoulder as he fought to hold back his orgasm. “You’re so tight… God, I can’t get enough of you..”

You whimpered at the fullness, he was everything a girl could want. Thick. Long. Your hands gripped his shoulders, digging your freshly made nails to his skin.

Stephen knew you sometimes liked having sex that was nothing but slow and sweet, but since you got pregnant and your hormones were all over the place, he loved delivering to you the rough, fast treatment, treating you like a little needy thing - because in reality, that's what you were at the moment. Nothing but a needy little thing, all his to destroy

he started to move, slow and deep at first, each thrust pushing you further into the mattress "Look at you,” he murmured, his voice thick with everything that built inside of him “Taking me so well even though you carry my child..You were made for this. Made for me.”

His words sent a wave of heat through you, your body responding to every command he made, every thrust driving you closer and closer to the edge. You could barely think, could barely breathe, your mind clouded with the overwhelming sensation of him inside you, stretching you so deliciously

“You want it harder, don’t you?” he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

Dearest heavens above..

He didn’t wait for an answer, his hands sliding down to grip your plush ass, lifting your hips to meet his so effortlessly to thrust into you with a new, almost brutal pace.

A strangled moan escaped your lips “Stephen—” you could barely get his name out before he slammed into you again "S'too much..too big--"

With a sly smirk over his breathless face, he groaned “Now, you didn't complain when my cock made you pregnant love"

Stephen Glass who reads everything about pregnancy. Articles, books, forums—he’s obsessed with knowing what’s happening each week. "Did you know the baby’s the size of a grapefruit now?" He’ll randomly blurt out facts, some useful, some just… oddly specific. But it’s sweet how invested he is.

Stephen Glass who has so many ideas for baby names, some of them way too out there, some of them surprisingly thoughtful. He’ll throw out suggestions at random, trying to gauge your reaction, but he’s open to your ideas too—he wants it to be a decision you make together.

Stephen Glass who, whenever you mention even the slightest discomfort, is there with soothing back rubs or foot massages. He’s gotten surprisingly good at it, always watching your face to make sure he’s doing it right, wanting nothing but make you as comfortable as possible.

Stephen Glass who, when you’re sitting or lying down, is all about sneaking gentle kisses to your belly. He’ll whisper things like, “I can’t wait to meet you, little one,” or "youre so big already, hm? Just growing before my eyes.." and stuff like that - his voice soft and full of love. He swears the baby can hear him (because apparently that's what he read in article), which just melts your heart every time.

Stephen Glass who takes charge when it comes to prepping the nursery, researching the safest cribs, softest blankets, and which baby monitors have the best reviews. He wants everything to be perfect for when the baby arrives, though he’ll always ask your opinion to make sure it feels right for both of you.

Stephen Glass who definitely has lactation kink;

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he groaned, his mouth latched to your nipple with an almost feral hunger. He sucked harder, his hands gripping your hips tightly to have some kind of power over you, to let his desire ran through him.

He moaned against your skin, moving to your other breast, his tongue flicking over your nipple before latching on, sucking harder as if he hadn't have any food for weeks.

“I’m not stopping until I drink every.fucking.drop,” he rasped between breaths, his voice raw and full of need. “can't believe I haven't done that earlier..lost so much of this deliciousness”

You cried out, your body shuddering as your hands tightened around his curls. Stephen didn’t slow down, sucking until the last drops of milk spilled into his mouth, and even then, he wasn’t satisfied. He licked you clean, his tongue gentle but insistent, leaving your skin wet and sensitive in his wake.

“You taste like heaven,” he said, finally lifting his head to look at you, his lips glistening with your milk. His eyes were dark, filled with a hunger that wasn’t quite sated. “When they're gonna be full again?"

Stephen Glass who's hyper-aware of his mistakes and is terrified of repeating them, so he’s always double-checking everything. Is the baby eating enough? Are they getting enough sleep? He reads every baby book and parenting blog, and calls the pediatrician way too often.

Stephen Glass who loves showing off his little one. He’ll carry them around in a baby carrier on his chest, posting slightly blurred but adorable photos of their tiny socks or chubby hands to you (so you're literally being spammed) or his family members. It’s obvious he’s totally smitten.

Stephen Glass who's obviously all about imaginative play. He’ll create elaborate, pretend scenarios—pirates, astronauts, or detectives—and get fully invested in the story, making his kid giggle endlessly

Stephen Glass who'd charm other parents at school events or playgrounds, trying to fit into the whole 'dad role', but privately, he’ll be texting you, asking for reassurance about whether he’s doing okay. His confidence in parenting grows over time, but he never fully loses that nervous edge.

Stephen Glass who's determined to rewrite his life with his child. With them, he’s honest, patient, and loving. Every step of parenthood becomes a way for him to heal and grow, creating a future he didn’t think he could have—a future where he’s enough.

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @mistress-amidala @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @jyinnc

(if you want to be removed or added then don't be shy and let me know 💋)

[jediavengers]

𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐲 ⋆ ˚｡⋆

warnings: 18+, smut, mild dumbification, degradation, slapping, forced orgasm, power dynamics, sub!anakin, dom!reader, crying, mentions of alcohol

pairing: sub!bratty!anakin x reader

“5 times. 5 times today you’ve pressed your luck, and i’m done with it.” You slam the door behind you as you storm in your apartment behind Anakin.

“You’re being dramatic, I didn’t even-“

You quickly turned on your heel. A harsh slap across his face to shut him up.

“Dramatic? Do you remember what happened the last time you spoke to me like that?” You snap, your words cold and quiet.

All day Anakin had been a little brat. He’d made several remarks that were unnecessarily rude, slapped your ass multiple times in public settings and tried using the force to touch you.

He was downright careless, doing these things where anyone could see. And you were done with his bullshit.

“Bedroom. Now.”

Anakin’s eyes widened, realizing you weren’t messing around. No, you were mad.

He quickly listened, nearly running to your bedroom.

“Better be stripped and on the bed by the time I get back there.” You shout down the hallway, then you turn to the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of wine. Maker knows you needed it.

After you quickly downed the glass, you stormed back to your shared bedroom. There he was, in all his naked glory, laying on his back with a worried look on his pretty face.

His painfully hard cock gave him away.

“Been acting up all day just because you’re fucking horny,” Your words were venomous and came out angrily as you leaned against the door frame. “You really thought I was going to give you what you want? After the way you acted today? Could’ve gotten us in big trouble if anyone saw.”

You took a few steps closer to the bed, causing him to squirm. His cock was painfully hard. The tip was a bright rosy pink, pre-cum leaking out of it and pooling at the base of his dick.

Anakin’s eyes were glossy and his lips were swollen from him biting them so hard. “I-I’m sorry- you’ve just been s-so preoccupied and I-“

“If you want my attention, you ask,” You spit, shaking your head and grabbing a vibrator out of your bedside table. “You don’t act like a little bitch in front of a bunch of people.”

Anakin’s eyes widen and he stutters. “I’m sorry! I p-promise I won’t do it again-“

“Isn’t that what you said last time? And last time I let you off the hook. You need a good reminder of why you are supposed to listen to what I tell you.”

You quickly climb onto the bed, your expression seething. Turning on the vibrator, you immediately put it on the highest setting. Then you harshly grab his dick, wrapping your hand tightly around his shaft.

Anakin lets out a yelp that’s a mixture of pleasure and pain.

“Shut up.” You seethe, gripping his cock harder. A few tears roll down his face and you briefly feel bad. But after feeling his cock twitch in your hands, your sympathy flutters away, knowing he was enjoying your anger.

You begin to quickly pump his cock and place the vibrator on his tip, giving him no foreplay or buildup.

Anakin lets out a cry of pain and he arches his back, pre-cum leaking out of his tip and soaking the vibrator.

“Please- no!” He cries out, causing you to smirk. He may act like he wasn’t enjoying it, but the little bitch was. He knew his safe word, and he wasn’t using it.

“No? No what? No, don’t stop?” You began pumping his cock faster, wet sounds bouncing off the walls as you squeezed him tightly.

“Gonna-“ Anakin whined.

“No. Don��t you dare fucking cum.”

You took the vibrator and your hand away, causing him to gasp and let out a cry. His cheeks were soaked with tears and bright red. His pretty curls clung to his sweaty forehead. “Please- please.. i’m so s-sorry.. i’ll do better. I’m your good boy, remember? You- you know i’m your good boy!”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “You want to be a good boy? Fucking act like one.”

You began to aggressively pump his dick again and placed the vibrator at his ballsack. Anakin threw his head back and began to squirm, crying out. “Please!” He sobbed.

“Please? You’re so pathetic. Fine, cum.” You chided, stroking him quickly. You felt his cock twitch in your hands and you squeezed right below his tip, pumping him shallowly to make him cum.

God, he was pathetic.

He let out the most pornographic sounds as he came, spurts upon spurts of his seed squirting onto his stomach, your hands and some on the bed.

You didn’t stop there. Your stroking got quicker and more aggressive. “Give me another one, Ani. Come on.”

Anakin tried to squirm away, but you angrily squeezed his cock, causing him to yelp. “No-please! Stop!”

“Shut the hell up.” You demand, continuing to stroke him at an animalistic pace.

Anakin let out a loud moan, his cock twitching in your hands and spurting more of his seed out onto his stomach.

You egged him through his second orgasm and pulled away, shaking your head. “Next time you act like a little child, you remember this. Cause I’m not finished with you.”

[offthethirlwall]

me practicing for hayden christensen

[utterlyotterlyx]

A Ballad of Storm and Shadow

Azriel x F!Reader

Part One

Summary - Rhys had been content in taking the darkest secret of his family to the grave, but when the threat of Hybern increases, he has no choice but to send a message to another world and pray to the Mother that his call is answered.

Warnings - angst, mentions of war, tension, fluff, touch of sadness and longing

This is a crossover series, some aspects will differ from that in the books. Physical attributes are described in this fic, it is essential to the storyline of the character

Rain spattered against the ledge, the open window allowing the tears of the sky to coat the black glossed paint with their sadness. Azriel watched them inquisitively, noting how each droplet fell further into the room than the last, his shadows pecked along the ground to dry the dampened spots and it was a welcome distraction from the conversation encircling the room.

The storm raged on overhead, cracks of lightening slicing across the sky every few moments, the clouds rumbling their anger throughout the city. A harmony to the idea of war.

There was no avoiding it. The war, that is. It had consumed Azriel's every thought as he played out every possible scenario in his mind, ones where they all made it out alive, and the ones where they all perished alongside Prythian. It was those visions that kept him up at night, flashes of Cassian's bloodied face lifeless against the earth, wings torn and soul withered, were enough to make him desperate enough to the point that he'd give anything to avoid it.

Azriel ran his marred hands over the curve of his leathers, soothing down each muscle and drifting over every glowering siphon attached to his body, doing his best to pull himself from the images that plagued his waking moments and sleepless nights.

If Rhys were speaking then Azriel would have been listening, but, surprisingly, he wasn't. Rhys stared dead ahead, nails digging into his nails beds and jaw clenching along with the reeling thoughts plaguing his own mind, staring right ahead at the corner of the table placed in the centre of the seating area at the River House. Azriel wasn't the only one who noticed, Amren had halted her words to slice through his train his thought, "Are you going to say anything?"

Rhys' gaze pulled from its formerly trained spot at the table edge toward his second in command, and it was clear that there was something he wasn't sharing with his family. His eyes drifted about the room, landing on each one of them in turn before they landed on Feyre and wavered slightly. Azriel couldn't blame his brother for his fear, he had finally gotten everything he had ever wanted after all the horrors he had endured, and now that picture perfect life was being threatened.

But something still wasn't right. Rhys was too consumed in his mind to pay any real attention to what Amren was saying, what plans were being spoken of, and that wasn't like Rhys. It wasn't like Rhys at all to blatantly ignore words spoken that could aid them in their collective efforts against Hybern. Azriel couldn't exactly be too picky about it though, considering he too was ignoring the firedrake fumbling plans into fruition, also too consumed by his own demons.

"The High Lords will be convening in three days time," his words were tense, his eyes burning, "Give me one night to think. We can start on this tomorrow," Rhys ran his hand over his face and leaned back in his chair, inhaling deeply and pinching the bridge of his now.

"The future of this continent, your home, is threatened, and you wish to speak of this tomorrow?" Amren scoffed, her silver eyes dancing under the faelight in warning.

Rhys rose from his seat, having had enough of the incessant drawls of war and death and offered Feyre his hand, a hand that she took willingly and stood at his side, fingers wrapped around his forearm and body drifting beside him, "Yes, I do. I cannot think when this is all you're speaking of, Amren. I am High Lord, and I need to think about how to spare my family and my people from this."

Instead of retorting in a way only she could, Amren contained her fury and buried it deep within her core, "Fine." Amren almost spat at his feet, but he paid no mind to it, he didn’t have the energy to go head-to-head with Amren that night, not when there was a much more pressing matter to attend to.

So, Rhys took Feyre to bed, and made sure that she was sound asleep before removing himself from her embrace. He threw an onyx silken shirt over his body but didn’t bother strewing up any of the buttons, content in allowing the night air to glide across his skin, he wasn’t sure how long he was going to able to appreciate its touch.

The High Lord of Night paced through the River House swiftly, not wanting to disturb any member of his family or alert them to his movements, and as soon as he stood on an ornately stunning balcony, the same he had stood on with Feyre that night on Starfall, did he unfurl his glorious wings and take to the skies, determined to reach the place that he hadn’t visited in over 200 years. A pool of starlight lay within a small valley within the mountains, not too far from the cabin but recluse enough for no one to be able to find it unless they knew that it lay there.

It had been too long since he had been there, but the all too familiar aura curled around him like a lost hound and pulled him down to it. The pool twinkled in greeting, reflecting the endless wonder of the sky above, and Rhys then remembered just how small it was, and just how long it had been since he peered into it or drifted his fingers along its rippling surface.

None other than he knew of what it truly was - not even his mate- it was a thin veil between worlds, a veil he used to send messages through often in hope that they’d find the one intended for, and he would wait for hours at a time for a whisper of a response. One time he had waited an entire day, desperate to hear her voice on the wind, hauntingly mesmerising like a siren to a sea captain, replying to his message with her usual level of warmth and understanding.

Then one day he just stopped visiting the place, the weight of her void had become too much to bear, too much that he had made the selfish decision to try and move on, to live his life in anyway that he could. Part of Rhys thought that she would have commended him for it, that she would have understood and that she was somewhere and knew of his strength, pain, and success of finding his mate.

But it had been so long. Rhys wasn’t sure if the pool was being monitored from her end, and he was terrified that his plea would fall upon deaf ears. But she was the only one who could help them, the only one powerful enough to give them any real chance of surviving. That power was the reason she had been sent away in the first place.

Rhys fell to his knees at the bank of the water, the contact of his markings without their twin flames in the snow causing the pool to ripple and hum with eons old yearning, and the stars within it began to glow, eager and ready to pull his words from his lips and sail them through the veil. He lowered himself to the surface, his face reflecting in the water showing him just how exhausted he had appeared, and the pool knew it, it knew of his desperation and rippled in a way that Rhys was sure it would split open at any given moment.

But, the water settled and shuddered, the gate between him and the one he thought of often still firmly in place.

"I'm sorry that it's been so long," he began, not knowing what to say to soften the blow but wanting to believe that she wasn't angry at him for it, and hoping that she too was thriving wherever her feet carried her. "If it means anything, I have missed you, and not a day has passed where I haven't thought of you," he fiddled with his fingers, his breath sending gentle wisps of steam rising into the air, "I found my mate. You'd like her, I think. She's my High Lady now, things have certainly changed."

"We are going to war. The Cauldron is in the grasp of our enemy and it threatens to devour the continent as we know it, and I fear that none of us with survive the destruction. I suppose I just wanted to speak to you, to say that I'm sorry I haven't visited in so long, and to let you know that I love you despite our distance. I may not survive what's to come, but I just wanted you to know that, and if there's any way you could come and save my ass then that would be greatly appreciated," he spoke the last words with a soft chuckle.

Rhys often thought of what she looked like, she had been only a girl when she was sent away, thrust through a portal with no way of knowing how to get back if she wished it. The day he heard her whisper through the pool had been the best day of his life, and on some level, he knew it still was in a sense. In those days, Rhys knew that she was alive, she may have been struggling but at least her heart was still beating and soul was raining havoc.

He wasn't sure of what he was expecting, he knew the chances of a reply were slim to nothing, but his heart still sank when the pool rippled with intoxicating silence.

Rhys waited another hour at least, but when the stars within the pool began to dim, he knew that it was time to leave. He rose to his feet, his soul solemn and heavy, and he couldn't bring himself to glance backward at the water as he ascended to the skies.

It was a pity really, for if he had turned around for but a moment, he would have seen the pool sparkle to life.

Azriel was curious.

It wasn't often that he found Rhys to be hiding something from him, or any of them for that matter. It was the beauty of their shared family, they knew all of the worst things about one another, from actions to thoughts, and nothing was counted as being too ferocious to accept.

But Azriel knew that Rhys was hiding something, his High Lord had been on edge from the moment he had returned to the River House after sneaking out that night, under the impression that no one had known of his time away. But Azriel knew everything, every single move was accounted for thanks to his shadows and his own keen hearing.

The Shadowsinger had merely thought that Rhys needed a moment to himself to think, but as the time stretched on, it seemed that Rhys was on a mission of sorts, and Azriel's suspicions became clear when he saw his brother the next morning, hair askew and eyes occasionally flickering through the window to a certain spot against the mountain face.

Rhys had worn the same expression for three days, not even Feyre could get him to talk to her about what it was that had him so concerned. But Azriel couldn't miss the longing in his eyes each time he passed by the window, like he was expecting someone to float up to the glass pane and solve all of their problems.

The day had come to meet with the High Lords, and the location had been set at the Dawn Court Palace, Thesan had always been the perfect mediator, besides, Cassian had been banned from Summer which automatically ruled that location from the list.

To Azriel's understanding, Rhys hadn't uttered a single word to anyone all morning, not even a single scold toward Cassian and Mor for their incessant bickering. It was worrying Feyre, Azriel noticed, he saw the emotion sketched into her furrowed brow each time she would try and speak to her mate to only be ignored. It seemed as though only Azriel and Feyre, and perhaps Amren, had noticed it.

The silence continued all the way to the Dawn Court, and Rhys' brooding only lightened when Helion appeared after his lacklustre greeting to Kallias and Viviane, spurring Rhys to remember the reason why they were there, what they had to do in order to give Prythian a fighting chance against Hybern and the Cauldron.

Helion jerked his chin toward Feyre, asking, "Does Tamlin know what she is?"

Rhys, his sadness wavering for a moment as they stood before the doors to the meeting chamber, spoke, "If you mean beautiful and clever, then yes - I think he does."

Azriel watched Helion closely, taking a tentative step toward his High Lord and Lady as the High Lord of Day sent Rhys a unimpressed flat glare, "Does he know that she is your mate, and High Lady?"

Ignoring Viviane's squeal, Rhys answered, picking a loose thread from his jacket and allowing it to float to the ground, "If he arrives then I suppose we will find out."

"I always liked you, Rhysand," Helion said after a lethally dark chuckle, knowing just how powerful he was in comparison to Rhys' brothers; he rolled his shoulders and glanced to Nesta, his gaze lingering whilst he enquired of who she was.

"She is my sister," Azriel didn't miss the muffled flinch that sliced across Rhys' face, "She will tell her story when the others are here."

Skittering steps against the pale golden stone pulled the attention of the Inner Circle toward Thesan who was surrounded by his highly alert Peregryns, beings who seemed a little too on edge.

"I hate to interrupt," Thesan drawled with wary eyes before they landed on Rhys, "But there is a woman I have never seen before in the meeting chamber, she says that you sent for her."

No one could miss how Rhys' entire body language changed from lax to urgent, his posture straightening and eyes boring into the doors of the chamber as though he could see through them; his breathing quickened, and it became apparent that whoever the woman was had been the cause of his ire for the last three days.

Begrudgingly, Rhys followed Thesan's order to wait for the others, Tarquin seemed less than pleased to be stood before Rhys, and it wasn't long until Beron and Eris rounded the corner of the corridor, sneering and spitting their horrid words, sending warning glares to Cassian and Azriel in particular for the scuffle between the two courts over the now High Lady of the Night Court and Lucien Vanserra.

Opening the doors, the woman lounging in the chair facing their entrance was not the person Rhys had been longing to see, Azriel deduced that much from the instant droop of his shoulders before he fully even saw her face. She sat in one of the deep rooted chairs, legs strewn over the arm and a dagger pricking into each one of her fingers, not hard enough to break the skin.

She was glad in a green dress that extenuated her long legs and her utterly wild scent had enveloped the room, a scent of lemon verbena and crackling embers, her blonde hair was well tamed and pinned backward in a loose yet luxurious ensemble, and power poured off of her in searing waves.

"And who exactly are you?"

A grin formed on her lips at the defensive question directed her way by Helion, and she rolled her eyes incredulously in response, sliding her legs from the arm and propping her elbows upon them, "Is that any way to greet a guest?" The tip of her dagger scratched into the wood of her seat, a curved and lethal weapon not of Prythian, "They really don't have any manners," she spoke loudly, directing the comment elsewhere.

Large hands clasped around the back of her seat and a flash of white hair reflected against the dying sunlight, "She did tell us that they were going to be apprehensive of us, Fireheart." The woman hummed, seemingly unphased by who she was trapped in a room with, anyone else would have been quaking in their boots at the knowledge of it.

"I didn't think she was being serious-"

"You haven't answered the question. Tell us who you are and why you're here, or-"

"Or what?" The woman's gold ringed eyes glistened, hungry and bristling with a flame Rhys, nor any of them, had ever witnessed. She rose from the seat, "You'll hurt us? I'd like to see you try."

Azriel stuck to Feyre and Rhys, sizing up the male with the tattoos in an ancient language littered down the side of his face, and that only seemed to make the male smirk, "Don't think about it. You wouldn't last a minute."

Tension simmered in the chamber, the High Lords of Prythian bar one faced the two strangers who looked much like them but were different in every single way imaginable.

Only when a click of heels entered the room followed by an exasperated sigh, did the two strangers grin, their offensive stance dissipating before Rhys' very eyes as they turned to make room for another.

"You'll come to rather enjoy Aelin's wit," a voice as mesmerising as the crashing summer waves called into the simmering silence, a voice so perfect that it had Rhys almost whimpering in disbelief as he took a step forward. Another woman appeared adorning a playful smirk, "And the vein in Rowan's forehead."

Azriel studied her, even his shadows couldn't stop themselves from peeking over his shoulders at the sound of her melodic voice, one so calming that it had them dancing toward it. She was by far one of the most incredible creatures Azriel had ever seen, dressed in an impeccable midnight blue gown that exposed her taut legs, allowing Azriel to see the two markings delicately placed below her knees, the twins to Rhys' own. Her hair was as dark as the night and swaying with each step, eyes as violet as the summer horizon that were lovingly teasing her companions, and she moved with a grace Azriel had never encountered in all of his years. A crown composed of onyx stone flowers and jewels curled around her head and glittered in the slowly decaying light, it was delicate and rested just over her ears, keeping her skin free from the imprint of it.

But it wasn't the crown nor the dress that had really stolen Azriel's eye, no, it was the pristine pair of feathered wings that were tucked neatly behind her back, not wings of an Illyrian, but wings of some form of angel Azriel presumed. They resembled the night sky, black and speckled with silver, and the longer Azriel focused on them, the more he struggled to believe that they weren't enriched feathers of pure starlight.

Rhys loosened a breath of disbelief, and his bottom lip quaked softly as he took her in, eyes trailing up her form and resting on her face, not believing who was stood before him but thanking the Mother all the same, "You came."

With her dress swaying in the breeze infiltrating the room from the open arches of the chamber, she faced Rhys and smiled sadly, taking a moment to drink him in just as he had with her before she answered, "You called."

"I didn't think you heard me," he took another step toward the curve of the pool, slowly but surely closing the gap between them, "You've grown."

"I've always heard you," their features were so strikingly similar, and Azriel was grasping onto any memory or mention of the female before his eyes, "And, if I hadn't have grown in over 500 years I'd be quite concerned."

Rhys laughed, throwing his head back and lips stretching into a smile of pure bliss, he didn't stop his steps this time, no, he allowed his feet to carry him all the way to her and bundled her up in his embrace, inhaling the scent of her deeply into his lungs "Hello sister."

Sister.

The two strangers, Aelin and Rowan, took a step back, serene smiles on their faces as they watched, seemingly understanding what it meant for the Rhys and the female, "Hello you," she replied, wrapping her arms around him and holding him tightly, "Someone mentioned that you have a mate now?"

Rhys pulled backward and sent her a look of wonderment, "I do. Feyre, darling? Would you?" He extended an arm out to her and Feyre wasted no time in joining him, "This is y/n. My sister."

"Well, half-sister, but we don't take notice of the specifics," she grinned at Rhys and softly nudged him, "It's an honour to meet you, Feyre Cursebreaker."

"How do you-"

She waved her hand dismissively, "I know many things."

"It's true, it's extremely annoying," Aelin spoke flatly nestled under Rowan's arm, the fire in her eyes softening.

Glancing about, Azriel became completely aware of just how much the beauty of y/n had captured the attention of all within the room, from the hue of her skin to the glossy black of her hair, from the curve of her jaw to the strikingly vibrant eyes that had stolen Azriel's breath from the moment the light had hit them.

She was undeniably Rhys' sister, but Azriel was sure that Rhys had only ever had one, and she died years ago.

"I'm sorry, but how?" Cassian couldn't help but ask, drawing the attention of everyone to him, he glanced to Azriel who shrugged, confirming that he knew nothing of the female before their very eyes.

Y/N smiled softly, her eyes dimming slightly and promised, "My," she looked to Rhys for a moment, "Our story-" her gaze returned to Cassian, but not before gently floating over Azriel and widening slightly, "-is one for a different day. Prythian is in danger and you need help, I'm here to provide it."

"What about us?"

"One more word Aelin and I'll send you back home, I'm sure Aedion would love to take your place."

Aelin gasped, "You don't mean that."

"Try me. See where you land this time round."

Aelin grimaced, recounting the time y/n had shoved her through one of her fancy test portals to only land in the foulest smelling swamp she had ever experienced. She kept her lips sealed and moved to the seat where she had been sat minutes before with a forced smile, prompting the rest of the occupants of the chamber to do the same.

The Shadowsinger moved with the rest of the Inner Circle, finding his place beside his High Lord and Lady, which was just a stones throw away from y/n, and he found himself completely lost in the scent of a brewing storm, his shadows unwinding from his body as it flooded his lungs and fighting through invisible storm clouds in order to brush against her for even a moment, to taste her skin and shudder at the power laced within it.

Crossing her leg over the other, Azriel watched y/n recline into the comfort of the seat, doing his best to not make his awe so obvious whilst she took a moment to gaze upon every person in the room, her eye lingering on a certain Autumn heir with a level of intrigue before she spoke with a feline grin, "So, you're all on the verge of death. Tell me more."

Author's Note

Trying a different writing style with this one - let me know what you think x

[trashcanflagic]

DC x DP prompt

How was Danny supposed to know he shouldn’t be flying around in the void of space while listening to music on his headphones. Wasn’t like he was expecting anything to be there. Unfortunately there was something there. Now he just needs to explain himself to the Justice League as to why he crashed into their window.

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 The Three-Month Rule.

Spencer Reid x BAU!reader

Summary: The first time you decide to skip the celebration and go to bed early, and the first time Spencer decides to drink and open his heart to you after knowing you're leaving for three months.

Words: 5,5k (very long).

TW: fem!reader. spencer from the first seasons with glasses meow (my fav)+also he is a little drunk and lovesick puppy. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: These two are probably one of my favorites, this felt so warm to write and before you ask, yep, I've been thinking about a part two (maybe even more, who knows).

♡ Enjoy! ♡

I. Moonlight ⏾

The night after closing a case with a positive outcome often involved celebratory drinks and lengthy discussions about everyday topics. For you and your colleagues, it was a rare opportunity for relaxation. It was a way to temporarily distance yourselves from the challenging situations you had encountered. A great way to relieve stress.

Typically, you would choose to remain in the chair situated in the center of the bar and sip your drink at a leisurely pace, allowing it to last all night as you chatted and shared lighthearted banter about various topics, though you would never discuss work. You were always smiling, as if nothing unfortunate had ever happened. And you always looked beautiful, so distant and impossible to catch.

Spencer always looked at you, biting his tongue to keep from sputtering out all the words that struggled to come out every time his eyes fell on yours. He didn't even take a sip of the drinks that were offered to him. As a rule, he didn't drink alcohol at all, and he liked it even less when he knew it could affect how he saw you. So clearly. So real. As if you were the most amazing work of art he'd ever seen, even if he wasn't very familiar with art.

Tonight, sadly, everything was different.

He had not been able to indulge in that particular pleasure of admiring you because you had chosen to return to your room rather than stay with the rest of the team at the hotel bar. It was a lie to say that it had not caught his attention. You had always stayed, even for a glass of water. But now you were...away from everyone. And then he was too.

The time passed rather quickly after he had a couple of sips of different fruity cocktails, which he didn't think would have any effect. Spencer was very mistaken. He found himself walking to the elevator before he had a chance to think things through. It didn't take him long to reach your hotel room. His footsteps were soft but urgent enough to go to the outside of the door. He just wanted to see you, needed to see you, and was already anxious about the reason why he wasn't allowed to do it now.

His knuckles knocked softly on your door with a certain caution, as quietly as possible, but just loud enough for you to hear, as he did his best to keep everyone else from hearing it as well. His hair was slightly disheveled, his glasses were out of place, and the top buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, revealing a glimpse of his collarbones underneath.

“It's me. Reid.” He spoke just loud enough to be heard through the door, his voice slightly raspy but still as soft as ever. “Can I talk to you?”

The sound of his call echoed too loudly inside the empty hotel room. Everything in the place was silent, still, with no lights or air conditioning. The room was almost dark, except for the streaks of city lights filtering through the curtains that ran over the large windows. You had been lying quietly and staring at the ceiling for no more than a minute and thirty seconds, your eyes blank and fixed on the ceiling after waking up so suddenly.

You gradually rose to a seated position and proceeded to the door. Without hesitation, you opened it to find his eyes filled with concern.

“Is everything okay? Are you okay?” Your voice was a little hoarse, and your eyes were still adjusting to the bright light in the hallway.

“I'm fine,” he replied, barely looking at your appearance. Your hair was a mess, and you looked sleepy. He hadn't realized how late it was. “Oh, sorry, did I wake you?”

Yes, of course. It was two o'clock in the morning.

You couldn’t hide the frown of confusion. It was late—far too late for a casual check-in—and yet here he was, standing before you with an air of unease that was so unlike him. “Don’t worry. What’s up?” You asked, leaning against the doorframe, trying to mask your concern.

Thousands of ideas crossed your mind at that moment. Maybe there was a new case, some new clue that would have reopened the four-day investigation that had just ended a few hours ago, or who knows what. The job was as unpredictable as your coworkers.

“I…” Reid’s words faltered before he even began, as if his thoughts were racing far ahead of him. His eyes flitted between you and the hallway, but he couldn’t seem to find the courage to make sense of his feelings, let alone speak them aloud. The alcohol was doing little to help his clarity of thought. It had been a few small sips; he had convinced himself, but now it was doing its work on his resolve. He was here. And he couldn’t walk away. “I was just…that.”

That's when you noticed something: he seemed a little off-balance, with a subtle flush on his cheeks and a lingering smell of alcohol. “Are you under the influence of alcohol, Dr. Reid?”

Oh. Oh. Oh.

If he was surprised to see you so sleepy, he got even more surprised by that question and by how close you've gotten to him. His eyes slightly widened at the close proximity between you both, his mouth slightly agape, and his brain almost completely frozen for a moment, before he shook his head quickly as an attempt to pull himself together. He cleared his throat before speaking, his words stumbling and incoherent.

“What? No, no, I’m not drunk.” He stammered, shaking his head as though trying to convince himself. “I just took a sip.”

Just a sip, two or three, after mentally rereading that ridiculous article about love he had read in one of the magazines in the lobby. The one that made him think about you and how you made him feel, the same one that revolutionized his emotions and his rational part to the point that he drank out of the wrong glass all night long.

“I see.”

Your gaze seemed to linger on his disheveled hair, unbuttoned shirt, mismatched glasses, and the subtle hint of color in his cheeks. You arched an eyebrow in response and took a small step forward to examine his face more closely. This was a version of him you were not entirely familiar with because Spencer Reid wasn’t a drinker.

“You seem a little nervous and flushed. Are you sure you're not drunk?” You asked with concern, noticing his demeanor.

Reid had to suppress a shiver when you moved even closer, nearly reducing his entire nervous system to a puddle of goo. He was incredibly aware of your proximity, like his brain had suddenly become hyperfocused on your existence and every move you made.

“Ah…y-yes, I'm s-sure I’m not-” He stuttered the words, feeling like a complete mess of nerves.

Something feels wrong…different.

You stepped forward, your eyes narrowing in on him, still uncertain but unwilling to leave him in such an odd state. “You’re sweating,” you observed quietly. “Come in. Sit on the bed. I have water.”

Without giving him the chance to refuse, you turned and walked into the room, leaving the door open for him to follow. He didn't even have a chance to react before he found himself inside your room, feeling like he was in a whole different world. Even though he was familiar with the space, as his room was exactly the same, somehow yours felt more comfortable and cozy.

Spencer followed you to the bedside table, still feeling a bit shaky. The scent of your perfume and the quiet of the room made him a bit nervous, but before he could say anything, you offered him a glass.

“Thanks.” He said, taking the water and sitting on the edge of the bed.

As he sat down, the bed sagged slightly under his weight, and he felt a surge of nervousness. Being alone with you in your hotel room suddenly felt incredibly intimate, and he found himself taking small sips of water to keep himself grounded. The drink was refreshing, but it didn't do much to calm the pounding of his heart in his chest. He avoided looking at your figure standing in front of him, focusing instead on the glass in his hands, fidgeting and nervously bouncing his leg.

“Okay, I have to ask now. You showed up at my door out of nowhere, looking like you'd just run a marathon, flushed like a tomato, and reeking of alcohol to boot.” You said, sitting down on the bed next to him. “So what brings you exactly here?” Your voice seemed to ring in his ears.

You. Only you. Forever you.

“I, uh, I came here to...I came here to...talk. I wanted to talk.” He managed to stammer, his eyes fixed on the glass of water.

“To...talk?” You repeated, your voice bringing back his attention. He suddenly felt tongue-tied, like he forgot everything he wanted to say right then and there. “About what?”

You, again.

Reid fiddled nervously, bouncing his leg up and down, and he suddenly felt the urge to pull at his shirt, feeling his skin too warm and overheating under his clothes. Why did it suddenly feel so hot in there, in your hotel room? He found himself unable to maintain eye contact again, but this time he found bravery in the depths of his mind and he managed to speak.

“I, uh…” He paused for a moment, his words becoming shaky. “I just...I just wanted to talk about you.”

Your eyes widened slightly, not expecting that answer. But before you could say anything, Spencer spoke again as his thoughts burst out unfiltered.

“You’ve been quiet. I mean, since the case, and you left the bar early. You’ve been...different, sort of...I mean, not different-” His stammering was cut off by a frustrated sigh as he ran a hand through his hair. He was rambling, and he knew it; he could feel how warm he was under the heat of your gaze, but he couldn’t stop his words from coming out. “I heard about the job offer in New York that you've accepted.”

In that moment, you frowned, confused by the drama that perhaps the influence of alcohol in his system was bringing. The job offer was more of an internship than anything else, something temporary, just for three months, not a permanent change of scenery. But for some reason, hearing his words made your heart sink.

You hadn't really expected anyone on the team to be so affected by your leaving for a while; everyone seemed too wrapped up in their own business to wish you anything more than a good trip. After all, the world didn't stop spinning, and serial killers didn't stop killing because you weren't around. You didn't consider yourself that indispensable.

“I just, I don't know...” He mumbled, rubbing his face again, tired of his own thoughts. “I just...I feel like...I might miss you a lot.”

His eyes closed for a split second in fear, but then he looked at you and saw that you were smiling.

“You really drank quite a lot today.” Your tone was gentle as you carefully adjusted his glasses and took the empty glass from his hands. He hadn't even noticed that he had already finished all the water.

The feeling of your fingers on his glasses made his brain buzz for a moment, and he found himself wishing it would last for just a few seconds more. But then the glass was gone, and he was left there fidgeting with his hands.

“I know.” He muttered weakly, feeling the heat and alcohol taking a toll on him. His mind felt foggy, his thoughts swirling around and getting more tangled by the second. “But that’s besides the point.”

“Spencer, you’re being impulsive and emotional.” You said it bluntly, leaning forward slightly. “You were drinking earlier; you're all sweaty, and you're rambling. That's what alcohol does to you…you get overly reactive.”

His gaze shifted to the floor, his fingers gripping the edge of the bed as he let out a shaky breath. “Maybe you’re right,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe I am being impulsive and stupid, but…it doesn’t make it any less true.”

The weight of his words hung in the air between you. There was a vulnerability in his tone that caught you off guard, like he was peeling back layers you hadn’t seen before. You studied him for a moment—the disheveled hair, the flushed cheeks, the way his shoulders slumped slightly under some invisible weight. This wasn’t the person you were used to—the analytical, composed genius who always seemed to have an answer for everything. This was someone raw, someone caught between logic and emotion, struggling to make sense of it all.

“I’m sure you’re incapable of being stupid,” you offered lightly, your tone tinged with a gentle tease, hoping to pull him back from the edge of his spiraling thoughts.

His head lifted, and his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that took your breath away. “I think I love you,” he said, the words tumbling out in a single breath, unpolished but heavy with sincerity.

Your heart stopped for a beat, your breath catching in your throat. “Oh.”

His confession hung in the air, electrifying the space between you. For a moment, neither of you moved, the words settling like a weight in the room. Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, as if realizing the enormity of what he’d just said, but there was no taking it back now. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he awaited your response, his vulnerability laid bare.

“You can be stupid, then.” You say it in a kind of joking tone, trying to process.

Does he love you? The same person you were afraid to touch so much for fear of making him uncomfortable. The same one who looked at you funny when you tried to fall asleep on the jet after drinking too much tea and said incoherent things. The one who always questioned your words with his statistics and exact data. Does he really love you? Can he do it?

It was impossible. Completely impossible.

“You’re a little too drunk to be saying things like that now,” you added gently, a note of concern creeping into your voice.

Carefully, you stood up, moving closer to him, your heart softening as you saw the way his fingers gripped the bed. He looked like he was already treading on the edge of something, but you weren’t sure he was in the right state to navigate it.

His brows furrowed slightly, a conflicted look crossing his face. “I’m fine,” he mumbled, though his words slurred slightly, and his eyes seemed unfocused. He shifted slightly but his balance was off, and his hand wavered as he reached for the glass that had once held water, only to stop and let it fall back onto the bedside table.

“No, you’re not,” you said softly, taking a step closer and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. His warmth was comforting, but it only made you more aware of how fragile he seemed at that moment. “You’re exhausted, and you’ve had too much to drink. You need rest.”

He tried to look at you, his gaze unfocused and blurry. “I don’t want to sleep…not yet. I want to…I want to stay awake with you.” His voice faltered, as if the words were fighting to stay coherent. “Forever with you.”

Did you hear that right? He said…? Really?

“You’re not going to stay awake all night,” you say, talking firmly but kindly. You could see the drunkenness in his eyes, and you knew he needed more than just a glass of water or a few minutes to collect his thoughts. “And you’re staying here for sleep.”

His lips parted in confusion, but you didn't give him a chance to argue. You led him to the bed, supporting him as he swayed slightly. He was too drunk to protest in that moment. Then, you helped him lie down, adjusting the pillows behind him so that he was comfortable. And you also took the time to remove his glasses and shoes, placing them on the bedside table and the floor.

“I’m fine,” he murmured again, but this time it was barely audible, and his eyes were fluttering closed as he relaxed into the bed, his breath evening out. He was fighting sleep, but the weight of his exhaustion was too much for him to push back any longer.

After a brief period of reflection, you sit on the edge of the bed and observe him as he moves slightly. His face appears relaxed, and the tension from before seems to have dissipated. However, there is still a subtle vulnerability in his demeanor: open, unprotected, and exposed in a way you had never seen him before. This only serves to deepen your desire to care for him.

You gently reached over, tucking the covers around him and brushing a lock of hair away from his forehead. “You’re too drunk to be making big decisions tonight, genius,” you whispered softly.

His eyelids fluttered open for a moment, his bleary eyes locking onto yours with a faint sense of clarity. “I didn’t…mean to make you uncomfortable,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. “I care about you.”

A small smile appeared on your face, your heart aching as you brushed another strand of hair from his forehead. “I know,” you whispered.

His hand reached up weakly, grazing your wrist before falling back to the bed. He blinked a few times, his words coming slower now, as though the weight of sleep was already pulling him under. “I care about you so much,” he repeated, his voice quieter this time, as though he were fading away in the middle of his confession.

You let out a gentle sigh, your thumb brushing his knuckles in a soothing gesture. “I care about you too,” you said, your voice calm but filled with warmth, though you kept your tone soft to keep him relaxed. “But right now, you just need to rest. Tomorrow, we’ll talk about all of this, okay?”

Spencer nodded weakly, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Okay...” He murmured, his breathing muffled even more as his body relaxed on the bed and his gaze rested on you, on every feature of your face. “I think you're very pretty, and not just physically by genetics...you're very, very pretty. I could look at you forever, even if, technically, forever doesn't exist for humans.”

At any moment, your heart would leap out of your chest, or you'd probably vomit butterflies. It was too much sweetness in a Spencer way.

You remained by his side, sitting on the edge, keeping watch over him for a few moments. It felt strange, being so close to him in this way. You hadn’t expected this moment, hadn’t expected his confession.

But for tonight, all you could do was let him rest and let him find peace in his sleep. You brushed one last strand of hair away from his face, then, with a soft sigh, you stood and pulled the blankets up around him.

The silence of the room enveloped you as you settled into bed, careful not to disturb him. You remained seated for a moment, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, his features softened by sleep. In the darkness, Spencer seemed different, more fragile, more human. His usual confidence in every word that came out of his mouth, the brilliant mind that made him so formidable, gave way to something more tender.

You cautiously stretched out your legs and leaned against the headboard. Sleep still seemed a long way off, even though the fatigue of the long case closed in the afternoon weighed heavily on your body. But your thoughts refused to calm down and leave you alone for a moment. His confession kept repeating in your mind, driving you and your heart crazy.

Not knowing what else to do, you let out a long, slow sigh, your fingers brushing the edge of the blanket wrapped around him. He stirred slightly, moving closer to your side as if subconsciously seeking your comfort and closeness. He tilted his head in your direction, a faint smile on his lips, and the sight brought a pang to your chest.

“What am I going to do about you, Spencer Reid?” You murmured to yourself, with a curious sensation in your chest.

You leaned your head back, staring at the ceiling as the questions began to tumble one after another. What if he hadn’t been drinking? Would he still have said those things? Did he even fully realize the gravity of what he’d shared, or was it just a moment of emotional release brought on by the late hour and the relief of a solved case?

And then there was your own reaction. The warmth in your chest, the protectiveness that surged when you saw him looking so vulnerable—it wasn’t new. You’d felt it before in smaller ways: a fleeting moment of connection during a case, a shared glance that lingered just a little too long. You’d always chalked it up to admiration or friendship, but now…

Now it felt like the beginning of a bridge you weren’t sure you were ready to cross.

Another sigh escaped you, and you tilted your head to glance at him again. His hand had slipped out from beneath the blanket, resting loosely against the mattress. Without thinking, you reached out and let your fingers brush against his, barely touching. His skin was warm, his presence grounding in a way you didn’t quite understand but didn’t want to question.

II. Sunlight ☀︎

The first thing you noticed when you woke was the soft warmth of sunlight spilling through the blinds, bathing the room in a quiet, golden glow. It was a still moment, the world outside almost silent, save for the faint hum of traffic far below. For a second, you weren’t sure where you were. The unfamiliar bed, the softness of the sheets, the absence of noise..it all felt distant, like a dream you couldn’t quite grasp.

But then you felt it, a slight weight on your arm. You turned your head slowly, your eyes softening as you took in the sight of Spencer still asleep beside you. His face was turned towards you, half-hidden by the pillow, a lock of hair falling over his forehead. His hand lay just a breath away from yours; his body curled slightly, seeking warmth and comfort. The usual lines of stress and guardedness that creased his features during the day were gone, replaced by a peace you rarely saw. He looked unguarded, almost childlike in his vulnerability, and it made your chest tighten in a way you couldn’t explain.

For a moment, you just watched him, your mind replaying the events of the night before. Especially the way he’d reached for your hand, even in his half-conscious state, like it was instinctive and natural.

And now, here you were, lying next to him, watching him sleep like it was normal and meant to be.

You shifted your position slightly, being careful not to disturb him, and sat up, propping yourself up on your elbow. The room was silent, except for the faint hum of traffic. That stolen morning moment felt intimate to you, and you found yourself wondering how much Spencer would remember when he woke up.

Would you regret it? Would you want to go back and erase it all? Would he stop talking to you forever?

But then, it was almost as if he was meant to give you all those answers because he stirred. His hand moved, his breathing changed, and slowly but surely, his eyes opened. At first, Reid was dull and unfocused as he blinked in the morning light, feeling a sharp headache. Then, as he realized where he was, you saw his expression change: confusion, a flash of concern, and finally recognition.

“Morning,” you said softly, trying not to startle him.

He blinked again and frowned, feeling a twinge in his head. “Morning,” he replied, his voice groggy. He glanced around the room, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings, the tangled blankets, and then you.

You were sitting on the bed next to him—the first thing he saw when he woke up and the first person to greet him. It was just like the kind of dream he'd been having lately—only this time he wasn't asleep.

A brief silence fell as the pieces seemed to click into place in his mind. His lips parted slightly, his eyes widening just a fraction. “Wait,” he murmured, his voice low, almost hesitant. “Last night…”

You gave him a small, reassuring smile, though your heart was racing, unsure of what he might remember, or worse, what he might regret. “You remember?” you asked, your voice quiet but steady.

His hand came up to rub his forehead, trying to shake the lingering fog of sleep. “I think so,” he said slowly. “We finished the case. We went to the bar.” His voice faltered, and his eyes dropped to the bed, as though searching for something solid in the scattered blankets to steady him. “I came here and said…some things, didn’t I?” His words hung in the air, filled with hesitation and a growing sense of discomfort. His cheeks flush, and he quickly looked away from you, almost embarrassed.

You tilted your head, your smile softening. “You said a lot of things.”

Spencer’s cheeks deepened in color, his hand dragging down his face as if that could somehow shield him from the weight of the moment. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I shouldn’t have…I didn’t mean to put you in that position.”

You frowned, leaning forward slightly. “You don’t have to apologize. Not for talking to me.”

His eyes flicked to yours, searching your face for any hint of reproach or discomfort, but all he found was warmth. Still, he hesitated, his fingers playing nervously with the edge of the blanket. “I was drunk, and that’s so embarrassing,” he murmured, his tone tinged with self-reproach. “I don’t even know if what I said came out right.”

“It came out right,” you assured him gently, reaching out to cover his fidgeting hand with yours. The touch stilled him, his wide, uncertain eyes locking onto yours. “And it was just the alcohol talking…I know, don’t worry.”

He stared at your hand covering his, his throat working as if trying to form the right words. He didn’t pull away; if anything, he seemed to steady himself in your touch, though his voice wavered when he finally spoke. “It wasn’t just the alcohol,” he said, his tone quiet but firm. “I don’t want you to think that it made me say something I didn’t mean. Everything I said was true.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the vulnerability in his eyes made the words catch in your throat. He held your gaze, his fingers unconsciously brushing against yours as though grounding himself in the moment.

“I’ve felt this way for a while,” he continued, his cheeks still faintly pink but his voice growing steadier with each word. “I didn’t know how to tell you. And then last night, I guess…I couldn’t hold it back anymore.”

His honesty was like a punch to the chest, leaving you breathless and unsure of how to respond. You hadn’t expected this level of candor, not so soon, and certainly not first thing in the morning. You pulled your hand back gently, needing space to think, though the warmth of his touch lingered like an echo.

He really meant every word.

“Spencer,” you began, your voice cracking. You bit your lip, searching for the right words. “I don't know what to say. It was all so sweet and nice to hear, but I'm not sure I'm ready to find out what this means, especially not with–”

“The distance,” he finished for you, his voice soft but resigned. He looked down, nodding slightly as though he’d anticipated this. “You’re leaving for New York soon.”

You exhaled slowly, relieved that he understood but also pained by the way his shoulders seemed to slump ever so slightly. “It’s just three months,” you said gently, though the words felt hollow.

“I know, since I found out I did the math, and it's three months and four days.” He pointed out, almost not noticing that your cheeks had flushed slightly. “What I need to know is if you...if you have feelings for me, as more than friends.”

“Yes, I do.”

At that moment, it seemed that after almost a year of hiding his heartbeat for your sake, he could finally let his heart beat as much as he wanted.

But then you talk again.

“But it’s not fair to either of us to make any big decisions now, when I have to leave soon. I don’t want to risk ruining what we already have if we…if something doesn’t work.”

He looked at you, his expression serious. “But what if it works well?” Reid asked, his voice barely above a whisper. There was no despair in his tone, only quiet hope. “What if it's so much better that we have between us now? Isn’t that worth the risk?”

His question settled between you, heavy and unanswerable in the moment. It wasn’t desperate or pleading—it was simply Spencer, laying his heart bare with a quiet hope that made your chest ache.

“I'm not sure,” you replied, your expression thoughtful. “Three months is a significant amount of time,” you added, striving to acknowledge his feelings while maintaining a degree of caution.

“I can wait if it's for you. I can.” He replied without hesitation.

The unwavering certainty in his voice and the calm patience he offered you were more than you expected. Perhaps even more than you thought you deserved.

“You shouldn’t have to wait for me,” you said softly, your gaze falling to the sheets. “It’s not fair to ask that of you.”

Spencer shook his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. “You didn’t ask,” he replied gently. “This is my choice.”

“What if the distance changes things? What if we lose this…connection?” you asked, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

“Then we’ll figure it out,” he said, his voice steady but kind. “Like I said, it’s not like I haven’t done the math before. Three months isn’t forever, and if what we feel is real, then it won’t fade.”

In that moment, it was like a light bulb went off in your head, and the perfect solution just came to you.

“Exactly.” You pointed out with a small smile. “You know the three-month rule?”

Never before had you seen Dr. Reid confused, denying knowledge of any subject. It was as if the alcohol of the night before had caused a circuit breaker in his brain, or else you had no explanation for having to explain something he didn't know, and you did.

“A few weeks ago, I was drinking coffee and overheard a woman at the next table talking about how the first three months between two persons are enough to indicate whether they have a future or not.” You began to explain quickly, feeling a bit strange at how the usual roles between you seemed to have been turned upside down. “You know, if they're going to make it as a couple.”

Spencer’s brow furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line as he considered your words. “You mean…is like a trial period?” he asked, a hint of doubt in his voice.

You nodded, feeling a flicker of nervous energy coursing through your entire body. “Yes, that's exactly it. So we don't have to put a label on it right away or rush into it. But we could call, text, talk, maybe visit...just see how it feels. And when I officially come back, we'll know if it's something we really want to pursue.”

He was silent for a moment, his eyes studying yours as though weighing the sincerity in your suggestion.

“Okay,” he said, his voice soft but resolve. “Three months. We’ll figure this out.”

Relief flooded you, though it was tempered by the uncertainty of what lay ahead. “Three months,” you repeated, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “And we’ll talk. Be honest. No expectations and the assurance that we can be friends again if we want.”

Spencer’s smile grew a fraction, and this time, when his hand reached for yours, it was deliberate. “Honesty,” he echoed, his thumb brushing lightly against your knuckles. “I can do that.”

For the first time that morning, the tension between you eased, replaced by a fragile but undeniable sense of hope. It wasn't a resolution, not quite, but it was a step forward, a promise to try. And for now, that was more than enough.

Because night before, you'd gone to bed early, thinking you didn't have much of a future at the BAU. But now you had Spencer with you in a way you'd never thought possible, and everything feels right.

[aktrashpanda]

A fucked up fairytale needs some fucked up stained glass.

One more from my MMM collaboration with @late-to-the-magnus-archives Read Blood and Sand here!