#while at the same time being so cold and distant

[seokminfilm]

longing to long for him ♫ lee seokmin

♫ pairing, lee seokmin x reader ♫ warnings, non-idol au, ceo au, husband seokmin, reader and seokmin have a baby girl, angst, hurt/no comfort, one allusion to being nude ♫ synopsis, you hate the feeling of being so close yet so far away.

♫ author's note, trying out a new layout! let me know your thoughts on it 🤍 been listening to same dream, same night, same mind by svt and suddenly had this urge to write something angsty with seokmin so here you go!! hurt no comfort too?? am i going insane?? (yes)

♫ now playing, same dream, same night, same mind, seventeen

♫ word count, 1.8k | for @kstrucknet

"welcome home, seokmin." your voice feels empty as you speak, but you bypass it, allowing your husband to bring you into his chest for a equally-empty hug.

being married to lee seokmin came with its ups and downs.

as the hardworking ceo of his own corporation, passed down to him by his grandfather, he always had a full, busy schedule. when seokmin wasn't busy in his office at home, he was on the road, driving from one meeting to another from sunrise to sunset.

as the youngest couple in the midst of seokmin's business partner circle, you were used to the so-called "advice" the older, married ladies would share with you at company dinner parties, as if it made the reality of your situation any better.

"there's no more time for love or play, now that mr. lee is climbing the ranks. you might as well get used to loveless nights, overdramatic reactions, and distant conversations. it happens to the best of us." one lady had said while stroking your back as if you were a miserable cat, and your skin boiled with anger, hoping that the lady would just drop dead.

the night you and seokmin had said "i do", he had laid down in your untouched hotel bed beside you, face and body still warm from the wedding's festivities. the sparkles in his eyes still haunt your memory to this day, and you could remember his sentence word for word, the feeling of his soft hand on your cheek as he looked into your eyes.

"no matter what happens from now until eternity, you'll always be on my mind."

that sentence was simple, but complex enough to make you teary eyed as seokmin hugged you, body engulfing yours as the sheets seemed to protect you from the harsh cold─the harsh cold being life without lee seokmin in it.

now, all you could feel was that cold.

"how's mihan?" seokmin's voice was tired, layers of disappointments and annoyance seeping into his words. his eyes were tired too, gaze harsh as he stripped himself of his shoes.

his styled hair was still flawless from this morning, and the sharp point of his nose was highlighted by the light shining down on him as he looked at his sleeping baby girl in your arms. she had your eyes and his nose, resting peacefully in her swaddle as you sighed, giving a small smile if only for her.

"she's doing okay. she's been sleeping all day." you say, and seokmin nods, sighing as he leans against the countertop. he stares up at the light, eyes unflinching as he shuts them tightly seconds later. the sigh that leaves his lips is felt, and your heart falls a little bit more, watching him bypass you without another word and disappear into your shared bedroom.

it hurts to see him leave without another kiss or tight hug like he used to do. as much as you wanted to ignore the warnings given to you in the early stage of your marriage, they were like bright stage lights, illuminating the things even you wanted to deny.

love used to be such an integral part of you and seokmin's marriage, and now, no matter how hard you looked or tried to pretend, you couldn't see it anymore. you couldn't remember the last time you or seokmin had said the phrase 'i love you' without sounding tired or empty, and it made your heart ache.

tears pricked the corner of your eyes as you walked to your bedroom, and mihan stirred in your arms, lips turning into a small smile as her tiny fingers clung to your shirt─the faded smiski tee seokmin had let you have the first time you had come home with him.

even he didn't recognize the shirt now. that, or he just didn't care anymore.

sitting on the bed after putting mihan to bed in her crib just a few steps away from you, you wipe the now freely falling tears from your eyes, wedding ring glinting on your finger as you chew at your lip, falling silent as the shower turns off in the bathroom.

soft piano lullabies play from your phone to calm down both you and mihan, and you sigh, turning away from the door as it opens to reveal seokmin's fresh face and toned figure, sweatpants thrown on around his waist as he scrubs his face dry.

your eyes meet for a second, taking each other in, and for a moment, it feels like old times again─the shyness you feel rising up in your body is just like when you saw seokmin nude for the first time, and it makes you turn away again, holding back fresh tears.

seokmin cleans up his mess, throwing his suit in the clothes hamper as he combs his fingers through his wet hair. his dark brown eyes seem to have more shadow under them, and he slowly makes his way to the bedside, crashing onto the sheets without a second thought.

silence goes through the room like a blaring siren, suffocating in nature as you look over to your husband. he's already fighting sleep, letting the silence and drip of the showerhead lull him to dreamland. his face is relaxed now, eyes half-lidded as he meets your gaze.

something lingers behind his eyes, but you don't know what, and before you can work up the courage to speak, he falls asleep, leaving you to long for him even more.

how long would you be longing to have lee seokmin back?

[inchesinbetweenus]

Sunshowers

a/n: should i turn this into a josh washington x reader series?

Some say a rain cloud named "tragedy" seemed to follow Joshua Washington everywhere he went. Some could hardly tell. Over time, he had learned how to live with the cold.

Many assumed he experienced the usual "rich kid problems" like his parents not letting him use their private yacht as a speedboat, or crying over not receiving enough presents for his birthday or Christmas, third-world problems really. While he was still young, the boy did experience more detached issues from his friends. These problems fleeted as quickly as they came. His childish attention span could only hold grudges for so long. One feeling that Joshua couldn't quite let go was loneliness.

Joshua first learned what it felt like to be alone when he was five. The deep pit in his chest started when he was very young, seeing Daddy leave for long periods to work on his movie projects. His mother, already used to the absence, busied herself to keep her sanity. Being left to take care of three young children is a daunting task. So she would hire nannies and babysitters to help fill the spaces she could not. Melinda tried her best, but it wasn't quite what her son needed. With his parents more distant than others, most of the time, Joshua never truly felt attached to anyone except for his sisters.

As they grew older, Joshua cared for them in the ways their parents lacked. In return, they did the same. The three siblings were incredibly close. It wasn't until Joshua was 10 that his family noticed something was wrong.

Joshua had grown up with the feeling that he was broken. Somewhere he couldn't quite figure it out. It all just felt wrong. That feeling and idea hung over his head in his low moments, but at some point, it felt consuming. He had brushed it off when it was easy to, a child had little time to be sad for too long. Over time it grew harder and harder to push away. It continued to grow and fester on his skin. Like a rash, he tried to conceal it, but to no avail. Now he felt like all could see. It took over him, and he had no idea what it was he felt or what he should do.

Soon enough, each day felt longer than the next. Each day, he spent more time in bed than out of it. Only leaving for necessity. Then something happened. The Washingtons spent copious amounts of money to hide the incident. All that is left of it, is a record in Joshua's doctor's notes regarding an "incident at school". Joshua was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder at the age of eleven.

Joshua never felt a lack of people in his life. He felt a lack of connection. His sisters, his friends, Chris, and others, they could only do so much. Josh was a hopeless romantic, with emphasis on "hopeless". A movie enthusiast, a trait he shared with his father. Joshua spent many sleepless nights rewatching his favorite movies. Many being romances. Some nights he so desperately wanted someone to jump in and sweep him off his feet just like in those movies. Someone to share a connection with. Each year that passed without anything close only made him feel more hopeless. And then he met you.

                                                 ---------------------

Junior year, for you, meant a new school. Your high school had been next in line to be remodeled over the summer, and due to unexpected circumstances, it wasn't ready in time for the new year. Most students got distributed to other schools in the area, but you were out of the district of your old school, so you were placed in the correct school. Away from all your friends. You weren't entirely thrilled at this, but ultimately there wasn't anything you could've done. Not on such short notice, but maybe later in the year, you could get a transfer. Hopefully.

Walking into a new school is not for the faint of heart. Each class felt like forever. Former friend groups mingled as you tried to find your spot in it all. The realization you were alone tightened your chest. A silent prayer that it wouldn't last fell from your lips as you entered the next classroom. It was Physics, and it seemed you were pretty early. The kind teacher instructed you to pick your seat as you were one of the first there. You settled on a seat towards the front of the class, but not dead center. Your eyes focused on your phone as the rest of the students filed into the room. The seats beside you remained empty as groups found each other. The tightening in your chest grew until someone sat next to you. She was blonde and had her hair pulled back out of her face. She was beautiful, sporting a bit of a grungey look. With a smile on her face, she introduced herself to you. You learned her name was Samantha, and she also had no friends in that class. Her best friend was in the year below, so they often took different classes. After sharing schedules, you realized you had lots of classes together. The two of you seemed to let out a sigh of relief. Guess loneliness had missed its target today. You spent most of the day with Sam, she showed you around the school and provided insight into the teachers and student drama. At lunch, she introduced you to her best friend, Hannah, and Hannah's sister, Beth. You learned they were twins and their brother, Joshua, also attended the school in the year above them. The first day you already knew three new people you could talk to. This was going better than you expected.

One thing you were still concerned about was your last class. You had been placed into AP English Literature as a Junior. It was commonly a Senior class, but you tested out of AP English Language. This meant none of your new friends would be in that class, but Hannah and Beth had mentioned their brother taking that class. Was it possible you had the same period?

Walking into the warmly lit classroom was a relief in your eyes. The fluorescent lights in most of the other classrooms always strained your eyes when reading. The moody lighting was a nice change. Purple LED lights were strung around the top of the room, matching the deep purple of two of the walls. Warm fairy lights dangled beneath the LEDs, better fitting the other two white walls. A beautifully calming contrast. Sunlight poured in through the blinds of the windows behind the teacher's desk. It had been raining all day, a dreary first day. But now the weather seemed better. Only the raindrops still fell but the sun peeking through the clouds gave hope of better weather.

The desks were arranged in groups of four, with two seats facing the front and two facing each other. You chose a seat closer to the teacher and the windows. Not really wanting to face a new person, you chose one of the seats facing the front. Similar to your other classes, students walked in, but with less urgency than this morning.

The seat next to you remained empty. Two girls sat in front of you, they were nice but more interested in each other. You kept your attention on your phone as they chatted about the drama that already seemed to be happening on the first day.

Finally, the last wave of students walked in. With that group was a boy that looked slightly similar to the description Hannah and Beth had given of their brother. You noticed it all. The brown hair that looked slightly styled, the clothes he wore, and the goofy smile on his lips as he spoke with some friends. What you also noticed was a distinct look in his eyes. Despite all the laughs he shared as he walked in, his eyes looked like they held a sea of grief. You were shocked at how deep they were. Your face burned at this sudden infatuation with a stranger's eyes, but you couldn't help it. There were two open seats, and by whatever miracle it was, he chose to sit next to you. At least you thought it was a miracle.

"Good afternoon, class." The teacher looked up from her seat in the corner, surrounded by the sunlight peeking through the blinds. "Please take a few minutes to get acquainted with your tablemates. They will be your group for the year."

The two girls paid no mind to you and Joshua. Returning to their previous conversation. A smile pulled at your lips as you turned to face the boy next to you. Your gazes met, and you glanced over his features. Quite striking, but his eyes were something else. Something you couldn't quite put your finger on. If you weren't too busy with your own inner thoughts, you'd have noticed the brunette was staring right back at you.

"Joshua, right? I have lunch with your sisters."

The mention of his sisters snapped him back to the conversation as he blinked away his thoughts.

"Right, but everyone calls me Josh." The same goofy smile from before graced his face. "And you are?"

"Y/N."

                                                 ---------------------

Josh was usually focused in school. It was the one place he could muster the strength to get stuff done. On particularly bad days, he was allowed to stay home. Sure, he would get behind, but eventually, he could catch up. Once his medicine kicked in. If it kicked in. Last year was particularly rough, but not rough enough to stop him from placing in one of his favorite classes AP Literature. He looked forward to the film portion of that class, and wouldn't let anything get in his way of it. He worked his ass off studying for the AP Lang exam, passing with flying colors. His current medicine seemed to work, for now.

He walked into AP Literature, actually excited for the class. He split off from Chris and his other friends as they walked to their final classes. Being almost late for his classes was a signature for Josh, and his teachers had learned it was best to not mention it. It was a fight they couldn't win anyway. Josh was expecting to love this class but for an entirely different reason than now. Now he found himself drawn to a new face.

It was a girl. She was definitely new, between Josh and his friends, he knew most people at the school. A new person would've been noticed. How he hadn't noticed her before, he didn't know, but now she was the only thing he could notice. Her hair looked purposefully done, even if it was just brushed there was intent there. There was intent in everything about her appearance no matter how small. But what he really was looking at was her eyes. There was a warmth in her eyes that he didn't see from many people. As cliche as it sounds, time felt slower. With a breath in, Josh almost wished he could stay here and figure out what it was about this girl he was so interested in.

Without much thought, Josh walked over to the empty seat next to her. He settled in the spot. Usually, Josh sat in the back of the class, not wanting to be front and center. That was the last thing he was thinking of right now. He turned to the teacher as she spoke. The sunlight danced through the blinds.

"Please take a few minutes to get acquainted with your tablemates. They will be your group for the year."

His eyes followed the light that glimmered in the rain, the way it fell on her felt almost poetic. A pause before either of them spoke. Taking in the sight of her, he could've sworn she was looking at him the same way. She spoke first; her voice was just as warm as she looked. She spoke of his sisters, snapping back into the conversation, Josh felt a smile pull at his lips.

"Right, but everyone calls me Josh."

Nobody really called him Joshua except for his parents, his teachers, his doctors, or people he didn't know well. Maybe something in him wanted to get to know her more, or he felt more at ease knowing she was friends with his sisters. Whatever it was, he welcomed it. "And you are?"

"Y/N"

"Y/N"

He repeated her name lightly.

Some say a rain cloud named "tragedy" seemed to follow Joshua Washington everywhere he went. Some could hardly tell. Over time, he had learned how to live with the cold. Well, for once, he could've sworn the sun was peeking through the rain. And he knew that what he only ever wanted was to bask in its warmth. Maybe you could help him do that.

[looulouv]

cloud gazing — epic!telemachus x reader

pairing: telemachus x gn!reader synopsis: after years of serving as the queen’s guard, (Y/N) never expected their favorite moments to be spent with the prince of Ithaca—not because of who he is, but because, for the first time, they’ve found a place that feels like home. warnings: mentions of poverty, so starving child, stealing, cold night cold days etc, tele being cute, lil guard being cute and sad word count: 465 author's note: thought ab this as my sims were cloud gazing and it instantly brought a smile to my face oml guardwolf. also ! lil guard's first pov, nice !

not proofread.

pt 1: here!

(Y/N) and Telemachus lay side by side on the soft grass outside the palace walls, staring up at the endless blue sky, barely covered by the refreshing shadow of an apple tree. The afternoon sun was warm, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of the sea, mingling with the distant hum of Ithaca’s life below. For once, Penelope didn’t need their protection—locked away in her chambers, weaving the shroud while the seventeen year old prince and the guard had some time to spare and to get away from the suitors that seemed to multiply by the second.

"That one," Telemachus pointed lazily at a drifting cloud, "looks like a ship. Don’t you think?"

(Y/N) just hummed in thought, squinting up at the white mass before responding with a slight playful tone. "More like a sea monster about to swallow a ship whole..."

Telemachus turned his head to look at them, his lips quirking up. "You always see the most dramatic things."

They smirked. "And you always see the hopeful ones, my prince."

The sky was the same shade of blue back then. The clouds drifted just as lazily, painted golden by the afternoon sun. But there was no warmth, no apple tree—only hunger gnawing at their ribs, only the bite of the wind through their torn, threadbare clothes. Their bare feet pressed into dry, cracked earth as they sat alone, arms wrapped around their knees, staring up at the sky like it held answers from the gods themselves.

Their stomach ached. They had counted the days since their last proper meal—five? Six? Longer? The sun had been high when they last found a scrap of bread left too long in the market dust.

They pointed at a cloud, whispering to no one. "That one looks like a ship."

Their voice barely carried in the empty field.

Ships meant the possibility of escape, of going somewhere, anywhere that wasn’t here.

(Y/N) shivered and pulled their knees closer. The wind whistled, rustling through the dry grass, and their stomach twisted again. The world was too big, and they were too small, and the sky, as wide and endless as it was, held no answers.

Not yet.

Telemachus’ voice brought them back. "You see it now? The ship?"

The guard blinked, turning their head to him. He was watching them, soft and curious, waiting for their response.

(Y/N) thought back to that day, alone and shivering, starving and helpless. And right now, they weren't hepless, and most importantly, they weren't alone anymore.

They let out a slow breath, then smiled. "Yeah," they murmured, leaning just a little closer while they turned their attention to the sky once more. They had all the answers that they needed now.

"I see it."

[kathlare]

old rivalries

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Charles and Amelie reunite in London for a night that takes an unexpected turn. What starts as a simple dinner plan shifts into a playful but competitive karting rematch, reigniting old memories and teasing banter.

Wordcount: 1.6 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

April 2nd, 2022 - London, United Kingdom

Charles tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he waited outside Amelie’s apartment building, glancing at his phone to check the time. London traffic had been a nightmare, but he had made it, ready to spend the evening with her after months of not seeing each other.

The passenger door swung open, and Amelie slid in, a playful grin on her lips.

—About time, Leclerc. I was about to order takeout and call it a night.—

—You’re dramatic— Charles rolled his eyes, shifting the car into drive. —I told you I was five minutes away.—

—Five minutes is a lifetime in the cold.—

She rubbed her hands together for emphasis, and Charles snorted.

—You live in London. You should be used to it by now.—

—Doesn’t mean I like it.—

Charles just shook his head with a smirk, eyes focused on the road. They were supposed to be going to dinner, but at the last second, he changed his mind. It had been too long since they’d properly hung out, and he wanted to do something fun—something that wasn’t just sitting at a table.

Amelie, oblivious to the change of plans, sat beside him, humming along to the music playing through the speakers.

—So, how’s everything been?— Charles asked, making a turn. —Haven’t seen you since… what? February?—

—Yeah, it’s been a while. I’ve been good. Busy, as always. You?—

—Same. Ferrari never lets me breathe.—

—I can tell. You’re getting new wrinkles.—

Charles gasped in mock offense.

—I am not.—

—No, you totally are. You should invest in a good skincare routine.—

—Shut up.—

She cackled, leaning back in her seat.

They fell into comfortable conversation as Charles drove through the city, but when he finally pulled into their destination, Amelie froze.

—No.—

Charles turned off the engine and looked at her, amused.

—What do you mean, no?—

—There’s no fucking way I’m getting in a kart again.—

Charles burst out laughing.

—You’re still mad about that?—

Amelie turned to him with an incredulous look.

—You sent me into a wall at full speed! I broke a rib, Charles!—

—It wasn’t on purpose!—

—You literally pushed me off!—

Charles laughed harder, reaching over to pat her shoulder.

—Oh, come on. Stop being a pussy.—

She scoffed, arms crossing over her chest.

—I should make you drive me home right now.—

—But you won’t— he smirked. —Because deep down, you’re dying to prove you can beat me.—

Amelie narrowed her eyes at him.

—You’re a dick.—

—You love me.—

—Unfortunately.—

She sighed dramatically before unbuckling her seatbelt.

—You better promise you’re not gonna try to kill me again.—

—I promise.—

—Say it like you mean it.—

—I promise, Amelie— Charles said, overly serious.

Amelie rolled her eyes but opened the door to step out.

She pulled her jacket tighter around her as they walked toward the entrance of the karting facility. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, illuminating the track that stretched beyond the glass windows. The scent of burning rubber and motor oil filled the air, and the distant hum of engines sent a shiver down Amelie’s spine.

—This is a terrible idea.— she muttered as she followed Charles inside.

—No, it’s a great idea.— Charles corrected with a smirk.

A staff member greeted them, recognizing Charles instantly, and after a few pleasantries, they were led toward the changing area. Amelie hesitated, staring at the row of racing suits hanging on the wall.

—You don’t have to do it if you really don’t want to.— Charles said, softer this time.

Amelie turned to him, her lips pressing into a thin line.

—I’m not scared.— she said, grabbing a suit. —I just don’t trust you.—

Charles grinned. —That’s fair.—

She disappeared into the changing room, emerging minutes later in full gear.

—How do I look?— she spun around, arms outstretched.

—Like you’re about to lose.—

Amelie flipped him off, making him laugh as they were handed helmets.

—Alright, let’s do this.— she sighed, securing the strap under her chin.

Once they were on the track, sitting in their karts, Charles glanced over at her.

—Ready?—

Amelie exhaled sharply, gripping the wheel.

—No. But let’s go anyway.—

The lights counted down, and the race began.

At first, Amelie was cautious, gripping the wheel tightly as she got used to the feel of the kart beneath her. But as the laps went by, the old thrill kicked in, and soon she was pushing harder, chasing after Charles with determination.

He was fast—annoyingly so—but she managed to keep up, weaving through the turns, her competitive side fully taking over.

Charles was laughing through the entire thing, throwing teasing glances her way whenever he overtook her.

Amelie, in response, muttered a string of curses under her breath and pushed even harder.

But, of course, Charles won.

—Unbelievable.— Amelie huffed, yanking off her helmet as they pulled into the pit lane.

—Some things never change.— Charles smirked, climbing out of his kart.

—You’re insufferable.—

—And you still have a broken ego.—

Amelie rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at her lips.

They made their way to the benches on the side, flopping down as they caught their breath.

—Admit it, you had fun.— Charles nudged her.

—Whatever.— she mumbled, sipping from the water bottle someone had handed them.

Charles chuckled, stretching his legs out in front of him.

Silence settled between them, comfortable but thick with unspoken words.

Amelie glanced at him, tilting her head slightly.

—So... how are you?—

Charles gave her a confused look.

—What do you mean?—

—You know— she shrugged. —With everything. I know we don’t talk as much anymore, but I figured I should ask.—

Charles let out a small hum, leaning back against the bench. He appreciated Amelie's concern, but he wasn’t sure how much he wanted to get into.

—I'm alright. Busy. Tired. The usual.—

Amelie eyed him, unconvinced.

—You sure? You look a little... how do I put this nicely?— she tapped her chin in thought. —Worn out. Like you need to sleep for a year.—

Charles scoffed. —Merci. Very nice of you.—

She smirked, nudging his arm. —I'm just saying. F1 is brutal, and you’re always too hard on yourself.—

Charles exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. —It’s been a rough start to the season. The car is unpredictable. I feel like I’m driving at 110% just to keep up with Red Bull. It’s exhausting.—

Amelie nodded in understanding.

—Yeah, but if anyone can handle it, it’s you. You always bounce back, Charles.—

—Let’s hope so.— he muttered.

They fell into a comfortable silence, both watching as a group of kids ran toward the track, their excitement contagious.

—And you?— Charles asked after a moment, turning to look at her. —How’s life outside of being sent into walls by me?—

Amelie laughed. —You’re never letting that go, are you?—

—Never.—

She rolled her eyes, then shrugged. —Life’s been... interesting. Good, mostly. Busy. I’m working on some music, and, well... I’ve been seeing someone.—

Charles raised an eyebrow. —Oh? Who’s the lucky guy?—

—Shawn.—

Charles blinked. —Shawn as in Shawn Mendes?—

—Yeah.—

His lips curled into a smirk. —Damn, back to your first love? That’s very movie-like of you.—

—Shut up.— Amelie laughed, nudging him.

—No, seriously, that’s cool. Is it weird, being with him again after all these years?—

—A little. But in a good way. It feels... familiar, but also different. We’ve both grown up a lot.—

Charles nodded. —Well, I’m happy for you.—

—Thanks.— she smiled, then hesitated before adding, —You’re one of the few people who doesn’t have some dramatic reaction when I say it.—

Charles frowned. —Why would people react badly?—

—Because it’s me. And people love to have opinions about my life.— she sighed, leaning back. —But whatever. I’m happy, and that’s all that matters.—

Charles hummed in agreement.

They sat in silence again, but this time, Amelie’s expression shifted slightly, something contemplative crossing her features.

—Can I ask you something?— she said.

—Of course.—

She hesitated for a second before speaking.

—Have you talked to Lando recently?—

Charles’s brows furrowed slightly at the mention of his name.

—Not really. We see each other at races, but you know how it is. Everyone’s busy.—

Amelie nodded slowly.

Charles studied her for a moment before asking, —Why? You two still not talking?—

Amelie scoffed, shaking her head. —Nope. Not even a little bit.—

Charles didn’t press immediately, but he was curious. He knew something had happened between them, something bad enough to completely destroy their friendship.

—What even happened?— he finally asked. —You guys were inseparable, and then suddenly... nothing.—

Amelie exhaled through her nose, looking straight ahead.

—It’s complicated.— she muttered.

Charles raised an eyebrow. —That’s the most bullshit answer I’ve ever heard.—

Amelie let out a dry laugh. —Yeah, well. It’s all I’ve got.—

Charles didn’t push further. If she didn’t want to talk about it, he wouldn’t force her.

—Fair enough.— he said.

Another silence settled between them, and after a few moments, Amelie turned to him with a small smile.

—Thanks for tonight, by the way. Even if you’re an ass and made me relive my trauma.—

Charles chuckled. —Anytime. We should do this more often.—

—Yeah, we should.—

And with that, the night carried on, laughter and teasing filling the air, just like it always had between them.

[sc0rpain]

the first time i watched s4 and s5 i thought that the way they handled rayla and callum was kinda odd and unrealistic... but like. upon rewatch im just like. "yeah theyre 17... that tracks"

[mydarlingclaudia]

idk what came over me I have a disease and it's incurable and idk if this makes any fucking sense and I know very little about vikings so... anyway viking!Simon Riley x fem!reader

wc : 548

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Viking!Simon who you’re married off to, you're a fisherman’s daughter and he's one of the most feared Vikings for miles around, it’s an oddity that the both of you are over twenty and still unmarried

the thing is your consummation was quick, left you with fingertip bruises on your hips and thighs, but it was still quick. reason being that you and Simon finally got to bed only an hour or two before dawn and he was supposed to leave for a raid in the morning

he left in the early days of spring, him and fifty other men, only to come back in the middle of summer

you never thought he liked you much, even before you were married, if you spoke your conversations were short and he spoke in that same gruff voice that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. along with him hardly saying a word to you for the entirety of your wedding night

so when he trudges back to your cabin and the first thing he does is kneel in front of you while you’re sitting and sewing, pushing his head down into your lap and gripping your calves before you can even say hello to him, of course you’re confused

your confusion only deepens when he plants kisses to your thighs over the fabric of your dress. you don’t stop him, he’ll be done in a few seconds and then go back to being the cold man he is, you’re sure

but he doesn’t stop, he takes the needle and cloth from your hand, places it on the ground next to where he kneels, and kisses along your wrist. the kisses trail up until they reach your sleeve, then returns to your lap, pulling you closer to him so your knees dig into his chest and he presses the top of his head against your stomach

“you’re a vision,” Simon mumbles against your dress, his voice muffled. you don’t say anything, you don’t reach out to touch him

he does finally stand after another minute, looking at you for another second before he leaves to change

Simon’s kind of back to normal when he returns, he stares at you while he eats the food you cooked for dinner, but he’s back to the normal, distant Simon

up until it's time for bed and he's already pushing the skirt of your nightgown up around your hips, softer than he was on your wedding night, the next morning is even more startling when you wake up to him kissing along the back of your neck and cupping your navel

Simon's not changed in any way, maybe finally having a wife to come home to made him sweeter, at least with you

because now for as long as he's home he's shadowing you, following you around to tend to the gardens and split wood, doing the heavy lifting for you. the sweeter part of him wraps you up in the furs that cover your bed when you're about to fall asleep, the sweeter part of him insists that you come join him to bathe, the sweeter part of him says "can't keep m' bird waitin'," after being stuck in a conversation with someone in the village for a few minutes

[myheartxmyman]

The You I knew seems to be gone.. Last year I tried to find the old you, I couldn't reach you anymore. Wasn't able to feel our bond the way it had been and I got more and more desperate.

Those last week's I am not desperate, I am truly unhappy, sad, feeling alone while being in 'a partnership', I am deeply hurt, and at the same time trying to get over those feelings I feel. Sometimes being with you is just too much, because I want nothing more than spending time with you, but I am not feeling it. It hurts. Sometimes being in your presence makes me feel so so lonely. Sometimes I have to be alone, because it feels like I am still fighting to keep my sanity after you did what you did. You ripped my heart completely open and gave not one shit. I am still suffering that much and I don't know how to make it stop.

Meanwhile I KNOW, you behaved in a horrible and cruel way towards me. Not just once but again and again and again. It seems like you don't even are aware of that. But that's one of the things I am trying to tell you. You don't seem to spend a lot of time even thinking about us, me, my feelings and so on. I feel like you're not reflecting yourself, it's more like you are running from something; and I think somehow it's you. I wish you would for once try to understand my feelings, put yourself in my shoes, see why your actions made me behave in certain ways. You broke my trust not just once or twice, how am I supposed to open up to you again? I won't talk to you if my trust level is that low. That's how it is. And at the same time this situation is hurting me over and over again. Because what we shared was something special, and now we're so close to losing each other. Somehow it feels like I am waiting and waiting for nothing, because we don't seem to be on your mind anymore. You want to talk to me, you're blaming me.. Why don't you listen to my words? When did you get blind? I am hurting, I am unhappy, I don't want to leave, but I fear 'this' is not going anywhere. We are standing still.

[princesssmars]

baby girl, im finna rock your shit!

a sequel to this vi x reader. p.iii

wc : 1.735

contains : fxf relationship and sex. some romantic fluff. rough sex. penetrative sex (r!receiving). some dom!vi i think. lowkey highkey jealous/possesive vi.

a/n : greatest writing motivation is being horny as fuck. enjoy.

for better or worse, violet could not keep her hands off of you.

when you first glanced at her you did not take her for the type to be so affectionate - dyed black hair, smudged eyeshadow, not to mention the abundance of leather she was wearing as she celebrated knocking her opponent out cold. that mixed with her playboy reputation with some of her more desperate fans? let’s say you weren’t expecting nightly shoulder rubs and playful smushing of cheeks when you got home.

but when you finally gave her a chance to worm her way into your heart you were gladly surprised to see just how much of a sweetheart the boxer could really be. she texted you every day and constantly made sure you were taking care of your physical and mental well-being.

and of course, once you gave her the go-ahead she was so physically affectionate. she always had a hand on your hip when walking in public, gently moving you to avoid a small obstacle or to show you a small place she wanted to treat you to. at your shared apartments she would follow you around almost akin to a puppy, a big dopey smile on her face as she stood behind you while you were grabbing some chips from the kitchen.

“uhh…do you need something?”

“nope.”

“…are you sure?”

“yup.”

and every time you couldn’t help but roll your eyes and smile at her before putting a kiss on her cheek.

and while you noticed it beforehand, after you slept together for the first time you saw just how…depraved her affection could get.

from your experience, the first few days after the first time with a partner could be strange, with neither partner knowing when it would be right to initiate the next time without seeming too distant or too desperate. but gods were you glad you and vi were on the same wavelength. it was only the morning after that you were ready to go at her again, nearly embarrassingly desperate to feel the ache she left between your legs again.

but you were feeling just the slightest bit of self-conscious over how eager you were with her last night, so you decided to do something nice to show your appreciation by making her and you a nice breakfast. even though your legs felt the slightest bit wobbly as you made your way to the kitchen.

in the middle of you poking at the eggs to check their progress when you feel a pair of strong arms encircle your waist and a towering body press into your back. you try to keep focusing on the cooking but it becomes impossible when vi starts to playfully bite and kiss at the skin of your neck, forcing you to giggle as the feeling of it combined with her hair getting in your face.

your giggle turns into an airy gasp when her palms grasp your hips and she brashly thrusts her crotch into your backside, moving your body over to the side so you can grip the counter. a deep groan escapes from her throat when your hand travels up to grip her hair. another moan leaves your throat when she lets one of her hands travel down beneath her your sleepshirt.

so you were both equally desperate. and it was amazing.

now her quick kisses before boxing matches had a fair chance of turning into heated make-out sessions and quickies, her scarred lips smiling as she whispered how she needed to complete her ‘winning ritual’ before she goes out to fight, which usually consists of her getting on her knees and eating you out until you’re dizzy. she also loved downright groping you whenever she got the chance when you slept over at her apartment. you could be mopping the floors and she wouldn’t hesitate to reach down and squeeze or slap your ass before walking off like nothing happened.

and though you initially didn't suspect it, you find out she can be incredibly possessive. and again, it was amazing.

once you started to become more official vi made sure you had a front-row ticket to her matches so she could turn her head and spot you whenever she was in the ring. she was scheduled to fight some up-and-coming boxer who was known for her big mouth, and after shit-talking vi one too many times in the press your girlfriend was more than eager to step into the ring. you just didn't expect the woman to have an apparent death wish as she openly flirted with you before the match started, blowing you a kiss and a wink before coming face to face with an uncommonly calm violet.

it was one of the faster knockouts she'd gotten in her career.

as soon as the press and her team were done talking to her she gave you a look. a look that said “get your ass in the car because you are so getting messed up when we get home,,”

and so, you get your ass in the car. and not even an hour later, she makes good on her silent words.

“fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“thats it, take it baby. just fucking take it.”

when you had called vi depraved you truly meant it, as there was no other way to describe the provocative posiiton she had you in - your body pliant and settled on top of hers as her arms wrapped under your kneed and locked behind your head.

all of it was just so deliciously disorienting. the way her feet planted on to the mattress so that she could use her core to thrust her hot pink strap inside of your cunt, the frequent growls and grunts she let fly right next to your ear, how her clasped hands kept forcing your head from rolling back to looking down-

you let out a pitifully desperate whine when your eyesight locks onto the sight of your body from the mirror she dragged over to the front of the bed. youd felt a zap go through your body as she was doing so, and it was only increased ten fold as you saw the creamy mess between your thighs, strings of your slick expanding and contracting each time she pounded herself into you.

“god, i can feel you clenching around me. you like looking at how fucking messy i make you?” violet sneers before delivering a random harsh thrust inside you, laughing nearly cruelly when an odd squeaking comes from your throat.

“aw don't worry baby, i love it too. sounds so fucking good, should've set up a god damn camera-”

it is definitely not embarrassing how loudly you moan at that. you aren't allowed to be bashful when violet giggles into your shoulder. she brings one of her hands to wrap around your throat while the other travels downwards. she brushes over your breasts and stomach, reveling in the ripple it causes when you take a shaky inhale at the feeling.

you’re so caught up in the contradictory softness of her touch and the roughness of her hips movements that you’re more than shocked when she raises her hand and brings it down in a hard slap against your thigh. your hips involuntarily move up into her palm while down towards the strap, conflicted on which pleasure you want to overwhelm you.

“come on, don't run from it. we know you can take it.” she groaned, bringing her hand down in another rough slap against your thigh. she was never the most jealous person. she was never in a relationship long enough to be jealous. but seeing you fall apart for her so desperately after that bitch had the nerve to hit on you in front of her put a sick feeling of satisfaction in the pit of her chest.

your whines start to take on a higher pitch that reveals to her you’re closer than ever to your orgasm. high off of the win and the euphoria of fucking you and feeling the base of her dick bumping into her clit with each thrust, she decides to take a gamble and do something that she knows will make you make a mess for her.

there are no words to describe the full-body feeling you have at her rough palm smacking down on your clit, or the way your orgasm rips out of you like a bullet train. it’s so powerful it nearly hurts, and no matter how much you try to arch away from her she uses her grip to hold you down and follows you up with her hips.

“nuh uh, don't fucking run from me, baby. just feel it, god take it, bet you look so fucking pretty.”

the pleasure feels like it lasts for hours, and its only halfway through that you realize you’re leaking all over both of you and the sheets. you also realize that the experience has brought violet to a fiery orgasm herself, her body pushing through the pleasure as she uses shaky thrusts to help the both of you ride through your orgasms.

with how much she loves being affectionate, it's no surprise that vi is a god at aftercare. once it's clear your high has passed and you’re teasing the edge of sleep she immediately gets to work by slowly slipping the strap out of you and pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek when you whimper at the object leaving your warmth. ever so gently she handles your body to slip off of hers and rest on the bed and on shaky legs walks to get a rag from the bathroom.

after cleaning both of you off she tosses the strap to the floor to be cleaned later and flops in bed next to you. as she lays on her stomach she rests her arm over your body, pulling you in ever closer to her.

“y’know i think that reaction gives me permission to start calling you jealous.” your voice is quiet but hoarse and gives her just the littlest bit of pride.

“’m not jealous. maybe i just can’t get enough of you.”

god, you hope you get flirted with more often.

[prythianpages]

But the Worms | Azriel

Azriel x Green Witch | Azriel is woken up by your daughter in the middle of the night to answer some of her questions.

warnings: fluff, dad Az

word count: 943

a/n: Just a short little fic that can be read as a stand alone. This was inspired by a scene from Bob's Burgers lol.

Rain pattered against the window steadily, accompanied by the distant rumble of thunder. Every so often, the sky would flare with a jagged streak of lightning, briefly illuminating the room with a cold, blue light before plunging it back into shadow. The storm was a familiar, comforting backdrop to Azriel’s slumber.

But his shadows, ever vigilant, stirred with a whisper of unease.

Azriel’s eyes fluttered open, drawn by the shift in his shadows. That’s when he heard them. The faint, hurried sound of small footsteps. His shadows fluttered toward the door as they sensed the hesitant shuffle against the wooden floor.

He didn't need his shadows to tell him who was on the other side. Had it been his first born, he'd never hear the steps as she loved to sneak up on him,. The door would've been open abruptly with no hesitation whatsoever but it's been years since she last had a nightmare. A nightmare she didn't welcome, at least.

That was not the case tonight. It was his second-born. Sweet little Alora, who, true to her name, should be dreaming of unicorns and rainbows as she loved to recount to him every morning, rather than being awake.

His gaze flickered to you. While Azriel was a light sleeper, you were a heavy sleeper and truth be told, you were sound asleep, back turned toward him. A shadow tenderly caressed your back before he shifted his attention back to the door. He was already sitting up in the bed, blinking away the sleep or at least trying when the door opened quietly, muted with the help of his shadows.

Alora stood at the door. Her hair, the exact shade of yours, was disheveled, the bangs she cut herself last week splayed over her forehead awkwardly. A rite of passage, you had called it, reminding him that your first born had done the same.

Her eyes, the exact shade of his, were wide and glistening, and there was a pout on her face.

Azriel’s chest tightened at the sight, wanting nothing more than to soothe whatever troubled her, despite his fatigue. He extended his arms out, and Alora ran right into them, her small frame immediately enveloped by his.

Cradling her to his chest, he pushed her bangs back and pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. “Did you have a nightmare?” He asked, voice still heavy with sleep.

“No. I haven’t slept at all,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

Azriel frowned, glancing at the clock. It was well past midnight, and his eyes were begging for sleep, lulled by the rain falling outside. “Is it the storm?”

Alora placed her hands on his chest, pushing herself up slightly. She spared a glance to your sleeping form before leaning in closer to her father, careful not to wake you with her voice. Though, Azriel doubted you'd wake at all.

Her hazel eyes, so innocent and pure, stared into his own. “Do you think worms have dreams too?”

Azriel's heart softened further. Her worries were so small, so wonderfully trivial compared to the burdens he had carried as a child.

“I’m sure they dream,” he murmured, gently pulling his daughter's head back to his chest, wishing for her to always have such simple worries. He also hoped she’d be content with his answer and finally drift off to sleep herself.

“But what do they dream?”

“The same things you do.” He replied, trying to stifle a yawn. He snuck a glance at you, still oblivious to your daughter’s insatiable curiosity.

“Do they get nightmares too?” 

Azriel fought back his groan. He loved his daughters deeply and strongly. He would go through all ends of the world for them. Any other time, he would entertain this conversation fully, but it was late, and Alora should be fast asleep like her sister. 

“Mel says worms come out when it storms so that we don’t hear their cries.”

Speak of the little devil herself. Mel was sure to get an earful from him. Tomorrow morning, or rather, in a couple of hours. Azriel took a deep breath, trying to muster the energy to explain, his body aching for rest.

Azriel could hear the thoughts swirling through her mind as she continued. “Why would they cry? Is it because of the bad dreams?”

“Don’t listen to your sister,” he said gently, running a hand through Alora’s tousled hair.

“But you told me to listen to her yesterday morning.”

“I did,” Azriel replied with a slight grimace, regretting that decision immensely at this very moment. Granted, he had said that after Mel told Lor to stop riling up Sprinkles, her pet scorpion. “But that’s different.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ll explain tomorrow,” he said, his voice a mix of patience and weariness.

“But the worms–”

“The worms don’t have nightmares and they come out during storms because they love the rain. Now, go to sleep. Please.”

Alora let out a small gasp, her hand losing its tension against his chest. “You promise?”

“Yes.” Azriel replied quickly, not certain what exactly he was promising. He'd deal with it later.

“Okay.”

When he finally felt her body relax in his arms, he let out a breath of relief. He held her tighter in his arms, shifting them to face in your direction before settling Alora between you both. He didn’t have the energy to take her back to her bed.

He gladly gave in to the heaviness of his eyelids, his eyes closing shut and ready to embrace sleep under the comfort of the rain once more--

"Daddy?"

He didn't bother opening his eyes. "Yes?"

"I love you."

His lips tugged up into a smile. "I love you too, my sweets."

Alora snuggled closer to him, tiny hands grasping onto his larger one and placing it over her face. She always found comfort in his touch, despite the scars that marred his hands. It was something that never failed to make his chest swell with warmth. Along with the way both his daughters always looked up to him, eyes full of affection and admiration.

His thumb caressed her cheek, soothing her as his shadows settled back into their corner of the room, curling into the bed Alora had gotten them for Solstice this year.

For centuries, his shadows had slept among other shadows, usually underneath the bed or in the corners of rooms. But Alora had felt bad for them one night, and when shopping for Solstice this year, she had asked you to take her to the pet store and picked out the softest bed for Azriel’s shadows.

Though his shadows had never complained or shown any interest in comfier sleeping habits, they had vibrated with excitement at the sight of the gift. Now, they slept there every night, happy and content, snuggling amongst one another and curling into a ball.

As his thoughts began to blur and drift, the world around him softened, the edges of his awareness becoming fuzzy and indistinct. Now that he knew your daughter was okay and her curiosity satiated, he could go back to sleep.

His breathing slowed, deep and even, matching the gentle rise and fall of your own breath. Just as he was about to give in to the sweet embrace of sleep–

“Daddy?”

He could barely manage a grunt in response.

“Would you still love me if I were a worm?”

Oh, this was definitely your daughter.

series tag list:@fxckmiup, @aria-chikage

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human, @mrsjna

[mirandasidefics]

Autumn Leaves

(Late Submission for @erisweekofficial Prompt: Bonds/Bargains 👑)

Pairing(s): Eris x Archeron Sister! Reader  

Summary: Eris never anticipated to find his Mate in a former human. 

Word Count: 3.1K

Warning(s): Mention of traumatic childbirth, mentions of Beron (he’s a trigger all on his own these days). 

Author’s Note: BASED ON THIS REQUEST. I felt that this scenario fit perfectly with the prompt of Bonds/Bargains for Eris Week. I hope that this fits well with what you had wanted anon! I know the request specifically asked for Reader to be the youngest, but I felt that it would be a bit more inclusive to leave the birth order more ambiguous for those that maybe don’t relate to being the youngest sibling. My brain wasn’t functioning enough to allow me to write an understandable dance scene, so…sorry that it's not as descriptive as I would have preferred. I also didn’t go back to review any of the events that occurred in ACOWAR or ACOSF, so if it’s not exactly canon compliant just ignore that. Also, Lucien was at the Hewn City solstice ball for this because I said so. 

Special thanks to @hardcoremarvelfan for beta reading and coming up with the title for this. Also, there will very likely be a part 2.

dividers by @/tsunami-of-tears ACOTAR Masterlist

The first time Eris saw the Made female he was immediately intrigued. She was quiet and stoic, much like the two sisters she accompanied for the High Lord’s meeting. Her eyes, the same shade as her sisters, appeared cold as she took in the room. It was clear she was observing more than she let on, gaze trained forward yet keenly aware of every single one of the High Lords and their various entourages. It was apparent to Eris that she saw more than her sisters, perhaps even more than his brother’s mate who was rumored to have been gifted the powers of a Seer by the Cauldron. He could feel the power that radiated off this fourth sister and couldn’t help but wonder what gifts she may have been granted. 

The second time he saw her was at the end of the battle with Hybern on the edge of the Spring and Summer Court border. Her eyes appeared distant as if she was separated from her body and the gore that surrounded her. But his answer regarding her gift had been answered as a circle of ice forged spears surrounded her. At least a dozen bodies were skewered while she stood stock still in the center of the circle. He had been compelled to approach her, but his brother got to her first, asking if she was okay and if she had seen his mate. After a single nod and a pointed finger towards a series of tents Lucien gently guided her away from the carnage she wrought. 

The third time he saw her was at the solstice ball in the Hewn City over a year later. Dressed in a drab black gown clearly intended to prevent her from sticking out. However, it wouldn’t have mattered if she was dressed down or in the most lavish of gowns. Eris’ eyes were instantly drawn to her as soon as she processed along with the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court. His youngest brother was by her side as an escort. As she approached the dias with her family, her eyes found his own, and Eris felt the world tilt on its axis. It took all of his mental will power to remain upright at the realization of what she was to him. Mate. 

Eris couldn’t remove his eyes from the female as Rhysand made his speech. Nor could he remove them when the music started and various Fae in attendance began to dance. He followed every one of her steps as she was escorted towards the dance floor, a beautiful smile spread wide across plush pink lips. He was vaguely aware of Rhysand's approach, his introduction to the High Lady’s sister. The only one that was dressed to be admired by the eyes of others. Nesta, he believed it was. But Eris wasn’t interested in the female that stood before him. He held up a hand, instantly silencing the High Lord, and simply pointed to the sister on the dance floor. 

“What is her name?” He asked, the light russet gaze never faltering. Eris could feel the tension in Nesta’s shoulders as she followed his gesture. Rhysand, always one to never give away his thoughts, supplied her name. Eris repeated it, the name tasting like honeyed wine in his mouth. Nesta attempted to redirect the conversation and offered Eris a dance, but the Autumn Heir ignored her. 

“Any bargains that you wish to make will be offered by her,” Eris’ voice was smooth as his eyes finally met purple. “Shall I introduce myself or will you make the introduction for me?” Rhysand turned his head towards the direction where Lucien spun her around as the two waltzed. His youngest brother’s head whipped in their direction, before he halted his dance and brought her over for a formal introduction. As expected, the female politely accepted Eris’ invitation for a dance. 

That first dance was all it took for Eris to know he didn’t want to be separated from her moving forward. Her demeanor was so different from what he had observed when he was only able to watch her from afar. He danced with only her for the remainder of the celebration and found himself completely enraptured by her. While he could tell that she wasn’t as strong a dancer as her sister, whom he caught out of the corner of his eye, it didn’t deter his conviction of only wanting to be by her side. Conversation flowed freely and easily as they danced. She was sharp witted, with a penchant for dry sarcasm. Her wry smile and her laugh ignited something deep within. 

Eris always had a drive to protect those he cared for, such as his Mother and Lucien, but the desire to keep her safe was stronger than anything he had experienced before. He couldn’t leave her in the Night Court, even if most of her time was spent in a city far safer than the one in which they danced. However, she couldn’t exactly join him in the Autumn lest he run the risk of her becoming one of Beron’s targets to keep Eris in line. For the first time in decades, Eris didn’t know what to do. 

“Is everything alright my Lord?” Her voice was filled with nothing but genuine gentle concern. His eyes refocused from their far away haze, taking in her sharp features. Features that were so indicative of the High Fae. Looking at her one would never guess that she used to be human. 

“Eris,” He corrected. “Please.” 

“Is everything alright, Eris?” Her cheeks flushed with the slightest tinge of pink. His own heart stirred at her reaction to the use of his name. Their dance had come to a halt, and he hadn’t even realized the musicians were taking a break. 

“Yes,” He cleared his throat. “Just a bit lost in thought.” She nodded her head, taking a slight step back from his hold on her waist. Eris had to refrain from the desire to pull her back towards his chest. 

“I’ve enjoyed our time together,” She took a look towards her sisters. All three were huddled against the edge of the dance floor. Nesta and Feyre’s sharp steel gazes attempted to pierce through the mask that Eris held in place. While the other, whose name he had sadly forgotten, had a glazed over look. Upon focusing, he noticed that the brown was nearly obscured by milky white. He heard the female in front of him gasp, her eyes trained on the Seer. Her head whipped back towards him, giving a slight nod.  

“I hope that we are able to count on your discretion about the Trove,” Her speech was rushed and she gathered the bottom of her skirts. “I’m certain that the High Lord will provide support to any claim you have to being the Heir.” With a quick second bow in parting she turned to rush over to her sisters. 

Before she got too far, Eris grasped her elbow and asked, “Would you come visit me? In Autumn?” She blinked at him. Almost as if she was surprised by his desire to see her again. 

“I must get to my sister,” She glanced back across the hall, at the High Lady trying to gain the attention of the Seer who was clearly lost in a vision. 

“I understand,” He released his grip and nodded solemnly. “I will write to you.” She blinked again. What he wouldn’t give to know what that beautiful mind was processing. She gave him a curt nod, before she quickly made her way across the hall. 

Eris couldn’t even last a week before sending his first letter. Again he asked if she would be interested in visiting his home court. She provided no answer or any acknowledgement of his question. Of course this didn’t deter Eris as they continued to exchange letters. With each one he would make his offer, enticing her with descriptions of celebrations and various traditions. He would tell her about his Hounds and his Mother. Yet she continued to not provide an answer to his offer. This same pattern went on for three months before Eris had enough of the tip-toeing around the subject. He was determined to get an answer, even if it was “No”. 

Eris arrived at what he assumed was Rhysand’s townhouse as the High Lord had instructed in his brief correspondence with the Autumn Heir.  He tapped the back of his knuckles on the large oak door. A few brief moments drifted by with no response. No movement could be heard from inside either. He peered his head towards the large bay window at the front, but the curtains were drawn shut. 

His heartbeat began to quicken with each passing moment as there continued to be no response. Eris was wholly unfamiliar with the city. He had no clue where to even begin looking for his mate. He was under the impression that he was at least expected by Rhysand. So why was no one here? 

Eris turned, prepared to winnow to the Hewn City in the hopes that Keir may have knowledge of where the High Lord could be, despite how unlikely that prospect was. Instead, he came face to face with an ethereal looking female. Skin and hair dark as shadows. A billowy white dress hugged her frame, yet appeared as if it was floating in a barrier of invisible water. It took him a minute to recognize her as one of Rhysand’s half wraith servants from Under the Mountain. 

“They are all at the High Lord and Lady’s home,” The female began to explain without preamble. “If you would follow me.” She turned, not bothering to ensure that the Autumn Lord followed. When the pair approached the near ostentatiously large home near the riverfront, screams could be heard from inside. If his heart hadn’t already been on the verge of an attack it surely was now. The half-wraith opened the front entrance, beckoning Eris to follow. 

No sooner as he stepped inside did his mate come surrying down the main staircase of the foyer. A pile of blood stained sheets spilling over her arms. Her eyes were rimmed in scarlet. Stepping onto the bottom landing she finally looked up, taking notice of the male. 

“Eris,” Her voice was no more than a whisper. Her lower lip wobbled, teeth sinking into it to prevent the tremble. Eris didn’t bother with formality, taking quick strides to meet her. As he reached her side, she dropped the pile of fabric and allowed her arms to encircle his waist. Her body shook with her sobs as her finger dug into his shoulders. 

“Feyre went into labor unexpectedly,” She cried into the elaborate brocade of his tunic. “The babe…his wings…” She couldn’t get her thoughts out in a coherent manner without the sobs overtaking her completely. “ They’re dying, Eris.” She wailed upon hearing her own words spoken aloud. He pulled her in tighter to his chest, his other hand gently rubbing in soothing circles along her shoulders. Eris had no words that could provide her with any sort of comfort, making him feel as if he was already failing her as her Mate. All the male could do was hold her and hope that she didn’t feel as alone in her grief if the High Lady of the Night Court somehow didn’t survive.  

Suddenly, Elain called out to her sister from the top of the staircase, “Come quick! Nesta she…” The warm brown eyes of the middle sister swam with unshed tears, a smile graced her features as well. Eris’ shoulders relaxed as the female's expression could only be an indication of good news. His mate quickly detached herself from his hold, racing back towards where the family convened. 

As soon as the two were out of sight, Eris looked around the foyer. He quickly found a small bench and sat down. He had never felt more awkward in his life. While he had developed a correspondence with this particular sister, he wasn’t exactly part of the family just yet. 

Eris sat in the hall, waiting for what felt like hours for his mate to return. Once she did, she escorted him into a large sitting room. 

“They’re going to live,” She smiled, sitting down in a chair across from him. She smoothed out her skirt, tucking in a corner that had somehow ended up with blood spatter staining the material. Eris merely hummed in acknowledgment. He didn’t know what to do with himself now that they had a moment alone like this. He had planned this elaborate greeting and proposal for her to come and visit, not giving her the room to ignore the request. However, that all went right out the proverbial window. His hands straightened the fabric of his shirt, then went to remove a non-existent strand of hair from his trousers, before finally resting on his lap. 

“You’re fidgeting,” She pointed out. Her smile grew as she suppressed a giggle. He was happy to see that her mood had lifted so quickly. It made the reason for his visit appear less strange, inappropriate even given the intensity of the events that occurred. She gently placed one of her hands over his. Her delicate fingers soothing and calming the rolling fire that he didn’t even notice had built up within himself. He allowed himself to grasp her hand in return, interlacing their digits. The sensation of fire against ice erupted throughout his being. Opposite yet still a perfect complement of powers. Eris couldn’t help but wonder what they would be able to achieve together. 

“Eris,” Her voice pulled him from his thoughts, his deep hues meeting her own cool gaze. “I’m happy to see you, but what are you doing here?” He swallowed, suddenly realizing that his actions were a bit sudden and perhaps not as well thought out as he intended. His arrival without notice to her would be unexpected. He only informed Rhysand that he needed to speak to Archeron female, but never explained why. 

“I,” He began, voice cracking. His pale features flushed and he was reminded of his younger days when his voice hovered between childhood and deeper timber of maturity. The female before him suppressed another giggle behind her unclasped hand. 

“I’m here because you consistently ignore a very specific question,” His gaze was steady, exuding what he hoped would be seen as confidence and not the uncertainty he felt. “I’ve come to ask one final time. If you say no, I will not burden you with asking ever again.” 

“Eris,” She pulled her hand away, eyes now unable to meet his own. 

“I acknowledge that Autumn is not always considered the most beautiful, what with the decay that can accompany the season in the mortal lands, so if you don’t like it-”

“Why would I not like the place where my mate lives?” Her perfect brows furrowed as she looked at him. Eris was at a loss for words. 

“When…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. However, it appeared that he didn’t need to as her response was a perfect correlation to what was on his mind.  

“Since the Winter Solstice,” She said. “When you first asked me to come visit.” It was Eris’ turn to blink in stunned silence. She had given no indication of being aware of who he was to her. Then again, he also hadn’t explicitly made their bond known. Perhaps he was wrong in thinking that his actions were obvious. 

“It’s not that I’m afraid that I won’t like it there,” She went on. “I’m actually afraid that I would not want to leave. But I simply can’t abandon my sisters.” She lowered her head, averting her gaze from the embarrassment. However, Eris understood the desire to be with her siblings. The same desire to ensure the well-being and safety of his younger brothers was one of his reasons for not abandoning the Autumn court. For enduring the cruelty of his Father for nearly 5 centuries. 

“I would never ask that you do,” He assured. “In fact, I wouldn’t want you to call the Autumn Court home just yet anyway. Not while my father still breathes.”

“I’m not afraid-”

“I am,” Eris admitted quietly. “I can’t risk anything happening to you.” He meant it, and was surprised at how easily the truth slipped from him. But it was just the two of them at this moment. He didn’t have to hide behind that mask when with her. He tucked a strand of (h/c) hair behind the perfectly pointed arch of her ear. He watched a shiver run through her as his flesh met hers. 

“There are some places where I can keep you safe,” He explained, all of his thoughts spewing forth as his mind raced to prove that he could keep her safe enough for short visits. “Places where my Father doesn’t have the loyalty of the subjects, but they are loyal to me. I have a cabin, just along the borders of Summer and Winter. Close enough for you to run across either should the need arise. I’d prefer Summer, there is a temple not far from the border where you could claim sanctuary until Rhysand or one of the brutes could get you.”

“Eris…” 

“Please,” He implored. “I do not wish to scare you away or force you to come. But I cannot stay separated from you much longer. My brother is the one with the endless amounts of patients when it truly matters.”  She laughed, the melodic and soft sound made him feel light. 

“How often can we meet?” She inquired. Her bright blue eyes lit with anticipation of when they could have their time. 

“I can secure a few days away every month,” He explained, almost more to himself than her as he considered the variety of excuses he would need to utilize. “Maybe up to a week at most. The time of month would need to vary as well. Any semblance of a pattern would tip my Father off. He’s just paranoid enough to assume that I’d be planning some type of conspiracy against him.” Of course, his Father’s fears were not without reason. Eris was indeed planning to usurp the High Lord. Someday. 

“Alright then,” She beamed. “I will come and visit. Every month so long as it is safe and as long as I am able to return to my sisters.” Eris felt the corners of his mouth lift up, and soon she mirrored the expression. His heart flipped, and he had to clear his throat to regain control of his senses. 

“Then I shall send word when everything is ready.” He stood, preparing to leave when she clasped his hand again. 

“Stay for a while Eris,” Her voice was soothing, making it feel like she wasn’t giving him a command. Even if she had, he would have gladly done anything she bid of him. He knew in that instant he would do anything for her. 

General Tag list: @loving-and-dreaming @samslulumelon

[gf2bellamy]

enough ( part two ) — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: it's been a week since your conversation with spencer content warnings: mention of insecurites , very emotional , a/n: a lot of people asked for a pt2 so here it is :) hope you guys enjoy this <33

part 1

A week had passed. Seven long days. It could have been a peaceful week—a rare break from the chaos of working in the BAU.

No cases, no unsubs, just quiet.

But instead of enjoying it, you found yourself curled up on your couch, staring blankly into the void of your living room. 

The words Spencer had spoken haunted you. “I’m in love with you.” They played on an endless loop in your mind, each repetition like a dagger twisting deeper into your chest.

How many times had you cried in the past few days? You’d lost count somewhere around five, but it hardly mattered.

The tears came in waves—sometimes in the middle of the night, sometimes while staring at a book you weren’t reading, and sometimes when you least expected them, triggered by the smallest of things. 

You hated yourself for how you’d handled it. For how you’d shut him down, pushed him away. For the look on his face when he left your room that night. 

And then there was the dread. The gnawing, suffocating dread of what came next. Because at some point, your phone would buzz.

At some point, someone from the team would call or text, and you’d have to go back to work.

You’d have to see Spencer again. 

The thought of being in the same room as him made you feel like you were unraveling. Would he act like nothing had happened? Would he be distant? Could you even bear to meet his eyes? 

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your palms to your temples as if you could physically push the thoughts away.

It didn’t work.

The memory of his voice, his expression, the sheer vulnerability in his confession—it all came rushing back, sharp and vivid. 

And then there was your own voice, trembling as you’d told him you weren’t enough. That you’d ruin him. That he deserved better.

That was the worst part. You wanted to believe him.

But the fear was still there, gnawing at the edges of your resolve. You couldn’t stop questioning yourself, your worth, your ability to give him what he deserved. 

You let out a shaky breath, your hands dropping to your lap as you stared blankly at the coffee table. A half-empty mug of tea sat there, long since cold. Your phone lay beside it, the screen dark and mercifully silent. 

For now.  

Two days later, the thing you’d been dreading finally happened. 

Your phone rang, the shrill sound cutting through the quiet of your room. You groaned, rolling onto your side and blindly reaching for the device on your nightstand. Your fingers fumbled for a moment before you grabbed it and pressed it to your ear. 

“Hey, we’ve got a case,” Derek’s voice came through. 

Your stomach dropped. 

“I’ll be right there,” you mumbled, your voice groggy. 

As soon as the call ended, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and sat there for a moment, gripping the phone tightly.

Your heart was racing, the feeling of panic building in your chest. 

You stood, your legs feeling heavier than usual as you made your way to the closet. Pulling on your clothes, you tried to focus on the motions—zipping up your jacket, tying your shoes—but your mind kept drifting. To Spencer.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you brushed your hair back and grabbed your bag. 

Get it together, you told yourself, but the words felt hollow. 

The drive to the office was a blur. You barely registered the streets you passed, the familiar route offering no comfort as your thoughts swirled endlessly.

By the time you pulled into the parking lot, your hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly that your knuckles had turned white. 

Once parked, you killed the engine and sat there, the silence pressing in around you. Your fingers started tapping on the wheel—a nervous habit you couldn’t seem to shake. 

Focus. You’ve done this a hundred times before. Just... put your personal stuff aside. You have a job to do. 

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment as you tried to calm the racing of your heart.

The memory of his voice, his confession, his heartbreak—it all came rushing back, and your stomach twisted painfully. 

Stop it. You shook your head sharply, trying to push it all away. There was no room for this now. 

You grabbed your bag, stepping out of the car and shutting the door with more force than necessary. The crisp morning air bit at your skin, grounding you slightly as you made your way toward the building. 

Each step felt heavier than the last, but by the time you reached the elevator, you forced yourself to stand a little straighter. The doors opened, and you stepped inside, pressing the button for the floor where your team worked. 

As the elevator doors slid open, you took a deep, steadying breath.You stepped into the bullpen, your shoes clicking softly against the tiled floor as you made your way to your desk. 

Setting your bag down, you instinctively glanced at Spencer’s desk just across from yours. His bag was already there, a clear sign he’d arrived earlier than you—no surprise there. But seeing it sent a fresh wave of panic rolling through your chest. 

You headed straight for the conference room. The case briefing would be starting soon and you did not want to get in trouble with Hotch for being late. 

You pushed the door open slowly, almost hesitantly, and peeked inside. A relieved breath escaped you when you saw only Penelope sitting there, her bright, cheerful presence immediately calming you. 

“Morning, Pen,” you greeted, stepping inside and letting the door close behind you. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” she chirped, looking up from her laptop with a warm smile. Her outfit, as always, was a kaleidoscope of color and patterns, and just seeing her made the room feel a little less heavy. “How are you this fine morning?” 

You hesitated, forcing a smile onto your face as you slid into a seat across from her. “I’m... here.” 

Penelope raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying your vague answer. “Uh-huh. And how’s the rest of you?” 

You blinked, caught off guard by how quickly she’d zeroed in on your mood. “I’m fine, really. Just tired,” you lied, avoiding her gaze. 

Penelope didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press—at least, not yet. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, watching you with a knowing expression that made you squirm. 

“Alright,” she said finally, her tone light but her eyes sharp. “I’ll let you off the hook for now. But you and I both know that when you say ‘fine,’ you mean the opposite. And as your friendly neighborhood tech queen, it is my duty to investigate further.” 

Despite yourself, you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Noted.” 

The door opened again, and you tensed instinctively, glancing over to the door. But it wasn’t Spencer—it was Hotch, followed closely by Derek and Emily. 

You relaxed slightly, turning your attention to the case file Penelope slid across the table. But even as you flipped it open and started scanning the details, a small part of you couldn’t stop bracing for the inevitable moment Spencer would walk through that door. 

Two minutes later, the door opened again. 

Spencer stepped inside, clutching his bag and muttering a quick, “Sorry I’m late.” His voice was soft, almost hoarse, and he moved quickly to take a seat at the table without making eye contact with anyone. 

Penelope paused for just a beat, her eyes flicking toward him in concern, but she quickly resumed her explanation, her usual enthusiasm a little more subdued. 

You kept your gaze glued to the file in front of you, but it was no use. Your heart was pounding so loudly in your chest that you were sure everyone could hear it. 

Don’t look at him, you told yourself. But the pull was too strong. Slowly, cautiously, you let your eyes drift up, stealing a glance at him across the table. 

And that’s when you saw it. 

Miserable. That was the only word for it. 

He didn’t look like himself. His usually bright, curious eyes were dulled with exhaustion, framed by dark circles that told you he hadn’t been sleeping well—if at all. His hair was a little messier than usual, strands falling into his face as he bent over his files

Your chest tightened painfully. 

This was your fault. 

You tore your gaze away, looking back down at your file even though the words blurred together. Guilt churned in your stomach.

You’d been so wrapped up in your own fears and insecurities that you hadn’t stopped to think about what all of this was doing to him. 

Penelope’s voice carried on in the background, but it sounded distant, like you were underwater.

You heard snippets—details about the unsub, the profile they were building—but none of it stuck. Your mind was too busy spiraling. 

You glanced at him again, unable to help yourself. You watched him go through each page of the file. For a moment, his hand stilled, and he glanced up—just for a second. 

Your eyes met, and your breath caught in your throat. 

It was quick, barely more than a flicker of a moment, but it was enough. You saw the hurt there, before he quickly looked away.

Your fingers tightened around the edges of your file, the paper crinkling slightly under your grip. 

You knew deep down that if you’d just told Spencer you didn’t feel the same way, he wouldn’t be acting like this. He’d be hurt, yes, but he’d move on. He was kind, understanding—he’d respect your boundaries. 

But that wasn’t the truth. 

The truth was you did feel the same way. And because of your own fears, because of the deep-rooted insecurities that whispered you’re not good enough for him, you were both caught in this endless cycle of hurt.

You barely registered Hotch’s words as everyone started shuffling out of the room. Spencer didn’t waste a second—he was the first to leave, his long strides taking him out the door without so much as a glance in your direction. 

You sat there for a moment, staring down at your files, as the sound of footsteps and conversations faded into the background. The knot in your stomach tightened. 

Standing up, you gathered your things, forcing yourself to focus on the task at hand.

You stood up slowly, clutching the file to your chest like a shield. You had just taken a step toward the door when Derek’s voice stopped you in your tracks. 

“Hey, hold up,” he said, leaning casually against the edge of the table.

You turned to face him, doing your best to keep your expression neutral. “What’s up?” 

Derek tilted his head slightly, studying you with those sharp profiler eyes that missed nothing. “You tell me. Something’s been off with you lately.” 

You blinked, caught off guard. “Off? I’m fine, Derek.” 

“Uh-huh.” He crossed his arms, giving you a pointed look. “Fine doesn’t look like you zoning out every five minutes. Or avoiding certain people.” 

You froze, your grip tightening on the file in your hands. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Come on.” Derek said, his voice softening slightly. “We’re all profilers here. You think we haven’t noticed what’s going on between you and Reid?” 

Your heart dropped. 

“There’s nothing going on,” you said quickly, too quickly. “We’re just—” 

“Don’t even try that,” Derek interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. And I’ve definitely seen the way you're avoiding each other.” 

You opened your mouth to protest, but no words came out. Because he was right. 

Derek sighed, stepping closer and lowering his voice. “Look, I’m not trying to get in your business. But whatever’s going on, it’s messing with both of you. And that’s not good—for the team or for you two.” 

You looked away, your chest tightening. 

“I don’t want to hurt him.” You said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “

“And what do you think you’re doing now?” Derek shot back, his tone gentle but firm. “You think this is easier on him? On you?” 

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. 

Derek sighed again, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Just... think about it, alright? Talk to him. You two are better than this.” 

With that, he gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before walking away, leaving you standing there with your thoughts swirling. 

You stared down at the file in your hands, Derek’s words echoing in your mind. 

What do you think you’re doing now? 

Half an hour later, you were sitting in your seat on the jet, staring blankly out the window as the rest of the team filed in. You had deliberately chosen a seat as far away from Spencer as possible, and you weren’t surprised to see he’d done the same.

The jet lifted off, the familiar hum of the engines filling the cabin as everyone settled into their roles. You opened the case file on your lap, pretending to read, though none of the words seemed to stick in your mind. 

“Alright,” Hotch’s voice broke through the silence, snapping you back to reality. “Here’s the plan. Rossi and Emily, I want you to head to the crime scene and coordinate with the local police. Derek, you’re with me—we’ll talk to the victim’s family and follow up on their statements. And you two—” he glanced between you and Spencer—“work on the geographical profile. I want a better idea of where the unsub might be operating.” 

Your breath hitched. You felt Spencer stiffen from across the cabin, but neither of you said a word. 

“Understood,” you managed to say, your voice steady despite the anxiety bubbling inside you. 

Spencer gave a small nod, his expression unreadable. 

Once you landed, the others dispersed to their respective tasks, leaving just you and Spencer in the small conference room.

You both moved around the table quietly, spreading out the maps and working in parallel, careful not to cross paths. The markers in your hands squeaked softly as you outlined possible areas of interest. 

“Do you think this area here could be significant?” you finally asked, breaking the silence and pointing to a spot on your map. 

Spencer looked up briefly, his gaze flicking to where you were pointing. “It’s possible,” he said curtly. “It’s close to the highway, so it would make for an easy escape route.” 

“Right,” you said, nodding. You added a note to the side of the map, trying not to focus on how detached he sounded. 

The silence stretched on again, but it wasn’t the comfortable kind you used to share with Spencer.

This was heavy, awkward, and filled with all the words you weren’t saying. 

By the time the rest of the team returned, you were so mentally drained that hearing Hotch announce you’d pick things up in the morning was a relief. 

You didn’t waste any time. The moment you were dismissed, you grabbed your things and headed straight to the hotel.

Your body felt heavy, not just from the day’s work but from the emotional weight of the tension with Spencer. 

When you finally made it to your room, you let the door close behind you with a soft click and dropped your bag onto the floor.

You collapsed onto the bed, letting the plush mattress engulf you as you closed your eyes. For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to exhale, to let the day melt away, but it didn’t take long for the familiar ache in your chest to return. 

You could still see his face in your mind—the way he’d looked at you, the hurt in his eyes. You squeezed your eyes shut tighter, willing the image away, but it was no use. 

Why did it have to be like this? Why couldn’t you just let yourself be happy, let yourself take the leap? 

You groaned softly, burying your face in the pillow. It was no use. No matter how much you tried to push him out of your mind, Spencer was always there. 

Shaking your head, you sat up and swung your legs over the edge of the bed, trying to force yourself to snap out of it. You reached for your bag and rummaged through it, pulling out a big hoodie and a pair of oversized sweatpants.

They were your comfort clothes, and right now, you needed all the comfort you could get. 

Once changed, you padded into the bathroom to brush your teeth. The fluorescent light buzzed softly above you, and as you stared at your reflection in the mirror, you froze. 

It had been a long time since you’d really looked at yourself, and the sight before you was startling. Dark circles framed your tired eyes, and your face looked drawn, as though the life had been slowly drained out of you. 

You looked miserable. 

As miserable as Spencer did. 

You gripped the edge of the sink, your toothbrush dangling limply from your other hand. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut.

The hurt you saw in his eyes earlier today wasn’t just his—it was yours too.

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them away quickly.

You set the toothbrush down and splashed cold water on your face.

You leaned against the sink, water dripping from your chin, and stared into your own eyes.

How had it come to this? You’d faced down killers, survived unimaginable danger, and yet here you were, completely unraveled by the thought of loving—and being loved by—Spencer Reid. 

You thought back to the conversation you’d had with Derek, his words echoing in your mind. He wasn’t wrong.

You were hurting Spencer. And in doing so, you were hurting yourself. 

But what could you do now? How could you undo the damage you’d caused when you weren’t sure you could even face him again? 

While you sat in your hotel room, wrestling with your thoughts, Spencer sat in his, just a few doors down. 

He couldn’t shake the image of you today—how your eyes had darted to his when you thought no one was looking, how you’d quickly looked away the moment he caught you.

It wasn’t just the silence between you that hurt; it was the loss of the friendship. 

His heart ached. He missed you so much it felt like a physical pain, a hollow ache in his chest that wouldn’t go away. 

Spencer leaned back against the headboard, his hands resting limply on his lap as he stared at the ceiling. He’d replayed the argument between you two a hundred times in his mind.

At this point, he wasn’t even sure if confronting you about his feelings had been the right decision.

Part of him wished he could go back to the time when he wasn’t certain if you liked him back.

At least then, he could cling to hope, to possibility. 

But now? Now he knew the truth—that you loved him too—and yet it felt worse. Because while his confession had brought a fleeting moment of joy, it had been snatched away by the words that followed. 

Spencer squeezed his eyes shut at the memory, his chest tightening. It hurt him that you thought of yourself that way. That you couldn’t see what he saw in you. 

To him, you were everything. Kind, intelligent, brave—more than enough. And it pained him to know that you didn’t believe that.

That you thought you weren’t good enough for him, as if he were some perfect, untouchable figure who couldn’t see his own flaws. 

He sighed, rubbing his temples as he tried to clear his mind. But no matter how hard he tried, your face kept appearing, your words replaying in his head like a broken record. 

A knock on his door startled him, and he quickly sat up, hoping it was news about the case. But when he opened the door, what he saw left him momentarily frozen. 

You. 

You stood there in your oversized hoodie and baggy pants, your hair slightly disheveled and your eyes red from what was likely hours of crying.

The sight of you, so vulnerable, made his heart twist painfully in his chest. 

Without a word, Spencer stepped aside, opening the door wider to let you in. You hesitated for a moment before walking past him, your steps slow and uncertain as you stopped near the edge of his bed. 

He closed the door softly, turning to face you.

“Hi,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“Hi,” he replied, tilting his head slightly as he studied your face. His tone was gentle, but there was a hint of confusion in his eyes. 

You fidgeted with the hem of your hoodie, your gaze darting around the room before finally settling on him. “I’m sorry for... just showing up like this. I didn’t know what else to do.” 

Spencer shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize.” 

Another beat of silence passed. He could see you struggling to find the words, your brows furrowing as you looked down at your hands. 

You stammered, your words tripping over each other as you struggled to meet his eyes. “I... uhm,” you began, your voice shaky, barely above a whisper.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the intensity of his gaze made it nearly impossible. 

His heart ached as he took in the sight of you—disheveled, vulnerable, and clearly torn apart.

“Spence,” you finally said, your voice trembling as you clutched the hem of your hoodie to ground yourself. Hearing his nickname from your lips again made his heart skip, though it was bittersweet.

He missed it, missed you. 

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, the words tumbling from you as if they’d been trapped for days. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you like this, and I—” Your voice cracked as you rambled, your breathing uneven. “That’s exactly what I was trying to avoid—” You broke off, tears slipping down your cheeks as you looked anywhere but at him, avoiding the weight of his gaze. 

Spencer’s chest tightened at your words, the pain and guilt evident in your voice cutting through him.

He stepped closer, his movements slow, cautious, as if afraid you might bolt. “Stop,” he said softly, his voice calm but firm. 

You shook your head, the tears falling faster now. “I was trying to protect you,” you whispered, your voice breaking again. “From me. From all of this. I didn’t want to hurt you, but I’ve done exactly that. I have ruined everything” 

His brows furrowed deeply, and he took another step closer, the distance between you shrinking. “You haven’t ruined anything,” he said, his voice gentle but resolute. 

You finally met his eyes, your own filled with guilt and anguish. “How can you say that?” you asked, your voice barely audible. “Look at us. Look at what I’ve done. I’ve hurt you, Spencer, and that’s the last thing I ever wanted to do.” 

Tears continued to spill down your cheeks no matter how much you tried to wipe them away. Your hands trembled as you fumbled to control your emotions, but it was useless. 

“Stop,” Spencer said gently, his voice soothing yet firm. He stepped closer, the hesitancy in his movements showing how carefully he was treading around your fragile state. He stopped just inches away, searching your face for permission before he reached out. 

His fingers brushed against your cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch was soft, careful.

Then, with both hands, he cupped your face and used his thumbs to wipe away the tears streaming down your cheeks. His touch was warm, making it impossible to focus on anything but him. 

Your breath hitched as you opened your eyes, meeting his. His gaze was soft, filled with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

You could see the concern there, the care, the love he had for you. It made the guilt in you swell. 

“I’m really sorry,” you whispered again, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. 

His hands stayed on your face, steady and unmoving, as though he were anchoring you. “You don’t have to keep apologizing,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Yes, I do,” you insisted, your voice trembling. “I hurt you, Spencer. I pushed you away. I—” 

“Stop blaming yourself,” he interrupted, his voice breaking slightly, though his tone remained gentle. “Please, stop. I know you’re scared. I know you think you’re not good enough, but... do you realize how incredible you are? How much I—” He paused, closing his eyes for a moment as he steadied himself. “How much I love you?” 

Your lip quivered, fresh tears threatening to spill as his words washed over you. You wanted to believe him.

You wanted to let yourself believe.But your doubts lingered, the years of insecurities weighing you down like an anchor. 

“I don’t want to ruin you,” you whispered, your voice so quiet it was almost drowned out by the sound of your shaky breaths. “You deserve someone who can give you everything, someone who—” 

“Stop,” he said once again, his voice more insistent now. His thumbs brushed your cheeks again, wiping away another round of tears. “You don’t get to decide that for me. You don’t get to tell me who I should love or what I deserve.” 

You blinked at him, staring into his hazel eyes. 

“I don’t want someone else,” he continued, his tone softening but his resolve unwavering. “I don’t care about perfect, and I don’t care about whatever you think you’re lacking. I want you. With all your flaws, all your fears, all your messiness. I want you. And the only thing that’s ruining me right now is the idea that you don’t believe me.” 

You swallowed hard, his words hitting you like a wave. He looked at you with such sincerity, such unshakable devotion, that it left you speechless. 

What could you possibly say to that? To the sweetest, most genuine man alive, standing in front of you, telling you he loved you and no one else? You felt the words lodged in your throat, tangled with fear and disbelief.

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts, trying to make sense of the storm of emotions swirling inside you. 

“Spencer,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I... I don’t know how to do this.” 

He didn’t move, didn’t take his hands from your face and you felt the way his thumbs gently brushed against your skin. 

“You don’t have to know,” he said softly. “We don’t have to have it all figured out. I just need you to let me in. To trust me.” 

His words were a plea, gentle but so full of emotion that it made your chest ache. You opened your eyes and looked at him, his face inches from yours, his expression filled with a vulnerability that matched your own. 

“I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “I’m scared I’ll mess this up, Spencer. Scared I’ll hurt you again..” 

“You won’t,” he said firmly, his voice steady despite the crack of emotion in it. “You can’t. Do you have any idea how much you mean to me? I’m standing here telling you that I love you, that I want you, and nothing you say or do is going to change that. Not your fears, not your doubts, nothing.” 

You shook your head slightly, tears brimming in your eyes again. “But you deserve so much better—someone who isn’t this... this mess. Someone who can—” 

“Stop,” he interrupted, his voice gentle but firm. “Stop deciding what I deserve. Stop convincing yourself that you’re not enough. Because you are. You always have been.” 

His words broke something inside you, the walls you’d built around your heart crumbling under the weight of his love. A sob escaped your lips, and you brought your hands up to cover your face, trying to hold yourself together, but Spencer wouldn’t let you retreat. 

He gently took your wrists, pulling your hands away from your face as he stepped even closer. “Look at me,” he whispered. 

You did, reluctantly, your tear-streaked face meeting his unwavering gaze. 

“I love you,” he said again, his voice softer now, but no less certain. “and I love all of you.” 

You stared at him, your heart pounding, his words sinking in deeper than you thought possible. 

For a moment, the air between you was heavy with emotion, neither of you speaking as you stood there, so close yet so unsure of what would happen next.

Then, slowly, hesitantly, you stepped forward, your arms wrapping around him as you buried your face in his chest. 

His arms came around you immediately, holding you tight, as though he was afraid you’d slip away.

You could feel his heart beating against yours, steady and sure, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, this could work.

[gghostwriter]

A Series of Happenstance

Spencer Reid x House!Daughter!Reader

Summary: The three times Spencer loathed to see you and the one time he pleaded to Trope:Angst; think post Tobias Spencer Reid w.c: 5.2k Disclaimer: I am no way a medical personnel, least of all a psychiatrist so there will be medical inaccuracies A/N: this is part one of my house!daughter series and it’s angst, babes. Spencer is just mean and lashing out here which is totally understandable. It also took a while since writing such heavy pieces of fiction takes a toll on me but I hope, especially to the ones who were excited for this series, love it still. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

The first meeting

Spencer didn’t want to be here—here being in this cream colored, four cornered room, facing off the ultimate nemesis of profiler. Not an unsolvable case, not an unsub, but rather a psychiatrist contracted by the FBI for psych evaluation. 

He was fine, he insisted to Hotch. He can compartmentalize well, he rationalized to Gideon. He just needed rest and the comfort of his own bed, he stated to the whole team. But protocols were protocols and his unit chief was a stickler to rules especially when it involved the care for his team. 

That was how he found himself on a Tuesday afternoon, sitting in silence and watching the ticking of the clock as if it was the most interesting piece of art there was. 

The tension was stifling. Spencer could almost see it tainting his vision red. Biting the insides of his cheek, he wanted to keep everything in. 

No, he needed to. 

He knew he was being rude, petulant even but for once, he didn’t have it in him to care. He didn’t know you. You were a complete stranger being paid by the government to report back any findings that could keep him out of the field. It wasn’t fair. You were just accepting the call of duty but you bore the brunt of his ire and hostile gaze. 

In the normal setting, he would have found you intriguing. Your office colored in taupe—cold, distant, and linked to the desire to escape from the world but in the farthest side of the room was a shelf littered with books and small knick knacks that seemed to be collected over the years rather than curated to match the professional setting. The books ranged from published psychology dissertations, medical teaching materials, and collections of essays from well-revered and obscure writers. 

You were dressed in black and white, standard for your importance, but your nails were painted in a pale pink color—close to looking natural but not quite. And lastly, your looks. 

You were beautiful, don’t get him wrong, he may not have the same experiences as Morgan did with the opposite sex but he knows a beautiful attractive woman when he sees one. No, it wasn’t that, it was how young you looked—almost or maybe even sharing the same age as him. 

A genius, then.

A prodigy in your own field just like him. 

“Doctor Reid,” the low timber of your voice bringing him out of his musings. It sent a shiver down his spine when he first heard you speak. A reaction that he catalogued in his mind as a mystery to be revisited later on. 

He subtly tilted his head to the side, an indication that you had his attention albeit reluctantly.

“Anything you say in this room is strictly confidential,” you gestured with your hand. “No file or notes will be passed to your unit chief or any personnels of the brass. I promise you.”

He scoffed, breaking his vow of silence. “That’s not a hundred percent true, Doctor. Lying to get your patient to talk can only get you so far.”

“I understand where you’re coming from but all I submit to the FBI is my conclusion if you’re fit to go back to work or not, patient-confidentiality still stands—” your delicate fingers feebly holding your pen. “Now, I sensed a little resentment. Is it coming from your self-loathing about having to choose a victim for Tobias Hankel or is it your displaced anger from separating with your team liaison, Agent Jareau?” 

He glared at you. How dare you imply the seething anger from within him is directed at anyone but himself. “What? No, no, no. I’m not angry at anything or anyone! Maybe at you and this whole evaluation but never at JJ or—” he cut himself off.

“The suspect,” you continued on for him, jotting down notes on your black leather journal.

“The unsub. Unknown subject.” He corrected, second nature of him to do so. “We call them the unsub.”

You nodded, a lock of hair falling away from your bun. A distracting motion that momentarily rendered him speechless. “Alright. Are you angry at yourself and your decision to separate with Agent Jareau during the case?”

He scoffed but opted to stay silent. Spencer had already given too much of his emotion away by answering the earlier questions. 

For any regular citizen, it may seem like the opposite but given the sound of you scribbling away on the pages of the notebook, you beg to differ.

You crossed your pant covered leg and stared into his eyes, a maneuver that could mean two things: 1) you were sizing him up, which was highly unlikely given the dynamics, regardless of his hostility or 2) you were trying to connect with him, a move backed by science that stated eye contact releases oxytocin—a bonding hormone. 

A study he didn’t want to prove right at the moment.

“Do you perhaps feel remorse for the unsub?”

His left eye twitched. “Tobias Hankel.”

“Is there a reason behind why you’d prefer to call the unsub by name?” You further asked, having found a sore subject to poke and prod to elicit a reaction.

The answer was yes, of course. Tobias was just a victim as much as he, Spencer Reid, was—the unsub, in his eyes, was a victim of bad fate that resulted in fracturing his psyche but a shrink didn’t need to know that. 

To be exact, the FBI didn’t need to know that he, an active and upstanding agent, felt remorse and guilt for not being able to save Tobias. Human emotion rarely had a place in bureaucracy and paperwork.

“How old are you?” Spencer nonchalantly inquired to throw you off his trail. “You look too young to be a Doctor contracted by the brass.”

You scribbled something again in your notebook before answering in a monotone voice as if your reply has been well rehearsed. “24, about to turn 25 and yes, I do look young. I graduated early due to my intelligence which I believe is the same case for you, Doctor—” you clasped your hands in front of you, leaning slightly forward. “—which brings us back to the topic, the anger inside of you, who is it directed to?”

His eyes shifted to the clock—5pm. 

A small smile graced his face. The time was up.

“Well, I believe we’re done here, Doctor—” he proceeded to stand up, picking on an imaginary lint as he did so. “—I would say it’s been nice meeting you but that would be a lie you’d no doubt catch and analyze.”

Your lips pressed thinly together, imitating a smile but Spencer knew that move quite well—you were reining in any unsolicited and possibly inappropriate comment regarding his snappy behavior. 

A small chuckle escaped his lips. If he, a profiler, considered you, a psychiatrist, his number one nemesis, there was no doubt you consider him the same. 

As he was about to step out of the office, your slender fingers brandished a calling card.

“Here’s my number—” he gingerly took it as if it contained some unknown pathogen. “—and my door is always open when you’re ready to talk, Doctor Reid.”

He nodded once, a goodbye. “Doctor House.”

There was little doubt in Spencer’s mind that he’d never willingly stop by your office again but if he had been paying attention to your subtle patronizing words of farewell, he would have picked up that this encounter was far from over. 

Especially when he found out on a busy Tuesday morning from Hotch that you had deemed him unfit to return back to the field—effectively barring him from the jet on its way to Idaho. 

The second meeting

There was a series of rapid knocks on your office door. 

As a psychiatrist with your own practice, it was highly unusual for clients to suddenly show up with no prior appointments or even a customary phone call. 

It was a Tuesday morning and like clockwork, you’ve allotted the first half of the day in catching up with paperwork dealing with your office and evaluations for the FBI. 

That gave you a pause, remembering a snipping agent who you deemed unfit for duty. Dr. Spencer Reid. The genius profiler who joined the ranks at the tender age of 22. A prodigy in his old field, just like you.

He was closed off, simmering with rage almost, and there was little doubt in your mind that he was the one behind the door, ceaselessly knocking. After all, when you sent in your evaluation directly to his unit chief, the stoic man’s face twitched with concern and maybe a little bit of annoyance in the paperwork it would entail.

“Come in,” you called out, hands clasping together on top of your desk. A perfect picture of professionalism.

The door swung open, revealing a tightly wounded Dr. Spencer Reid. 

With a thick cardigan adorning on his body and a leather satchel draped over his shoulders to his front, he looked normal. But you knew better, his choice of outerwear represented a security blanket in the middle of September and his placement of satchel acted as a shield and its’ straps a stress ball. With just that one look you knew he wasn’t ready to back with his team. 

“Dr. Reid, what can I do for you?” You asked, hand unclasping and indicating to the seat in front of you. “Please sit.” 

Closing the door behind him, he shuffled closer to your desk but made no indication to sit down. “I’d rather stand, Dr. House, and I think you know why I’m here.”

A show of dominance. Right away, he wanted control the outcome of this conversation to his favor. It was textbook psychology, a taunt you wanted no part of.

A slight smile appeared on your face, one that could be translated as friendly for those open and condescending for those closed off. “I believe I don’t follow.” 

“My evaluation, you made a mistake,” the left corner of his mouth lifting for a smirk. There was a vein visible on his temple, his anger and will to bottle it up manifesting physically. 

You tilted your head to the side, unwavering in your gaze, hands clasped and index fingers tapping together. The pause and silence was a standard tactic to get a patient to break, similar to what law enforcement uses with suspects but results may vary especially when used on a seasoned profiler.

Right away, Spencer understood your tactic. “That won’t work. We use that in every case, I know the standard—” he looked around the room. “—should I lower the temperature too?” 

You answered with silence. The agent in front of you now was no longer thinking clearly. His objective mind that would deem him fit to return for duty clouded with emotion, anger and something else. 

His right hand touched above his left wrist. A subconscious move provoked by your unrelenting gaze. A move that gave away an important piece of information that his unit chief no doubt omitted in the reports.

Ah.

Tobias Hankel was a drug addict.

And in turn has subjected the agent in front of you to his vices.

You sighed. Suddenly the case no longer felt black and white, it was treading close to home as you remembered your father who’s abusing Vicodin in lieu of his leg pain. It was a sore spot for you—a clink in your armor. 

“Sit, please,” you indicated to the chair in front of you again.

Spencer complied this time, having heard a change in your tone. 

“Dr Reid,” you started. “I believe my evaluation of you is still correct—”

He opened his mouth to argue.

“—but, please let me finish, perhaps we can compromise. As a psychiatrist, it’s not in my practice to give in to my client’s demands but as you are not a regular client, I believe it would be beneficial for the both of us to reach an understanding.”

You walked towards the locked cabinet to your right. It was where you kept all medical equipments—including medicine for patients. Reaching back to the depths of the lower shelf, your hand brought out a non-descriptive black pouch from its hiding. You sat beside Spencer, effectively communicating that you are both on the same level.

“I will approve your return for duty as long as you come back for a couple of sessions, not FBI contracted, strictly confidential, and you—” handing him the zipped pouch before continuing on. “—get drug tested.”

Spencer narrowed his eyes. Perhaps he knew that his unit chief and mentor kept the delicate nature of his case out of the bureau and wondered how you pieced everything together. He underestimated you, you realized. A mistake on his end. 

“I’m a psychiatrist, I know the signs Dr. Reid, and besides, I’m a genius just like you,” you adjusted your posture, slightly leaning back. 

Check. 

He smiled, one that you could say no longer contained malice. It was instead filled with resignation and relief. “You’re right. I underestimated you, Dr. House.”

Standing up, you dusted imaginary lint from your black pencil skirt before extending your hand out for a handshake. 

He hesitated before reaching over shaking it once. His hands were rough and calloused from frequent holding of his gun but felt oddly warm and soothing. It represented who he was in your eyes—prickly and rough around the edges but soft and good on the inside.

As he exited your office with a soft thud of the door behind him, you admitted to yourself that you took a huge gamble. Rather than a checkmate, all you did was check his king. You didn’t ask if he had built his own stash of drugs after the case was finished. It was a risk you were willing to take just to take a step closer in getting the agent to trust you. Baby steps were better than nothing. You could work with that.

There was still the drug test you could rely on. A black and white piece of paper that would tell the truth if done at the right time. After all, the most important teaching your father, the older Dr. House, has imparted on you was—

Everybody lies.

The third meeting

The bar at the corner Main Street on a Friday night was a rare place for you to be. The echoes of its pulsing music could be heard a couple of shops away, luring bodies than the space could ever handle like it were Pied Piper and the people—by extension, you, were the unsuspecting kids. The lights were colored orange, giving the area a tint of good times and bad decisions. The aged brick walls discolored in a multitude of shades and the decorative posters were aimlessly nailed to the wall. There was a section far from the bar that was filled with moving bodies—people letting loose and exhibiting what you’d call a mating dance for anyone interested and beside the bar were two dart boards, popular with the crowd, but had seen better days. 

This wasn’t your usual scene as you excused your way to the bar tucked at the center space. It wasn’t due to snobbery, like what your friend Kyle once joked, it was preference.

The sticky floor beneath your sensible nude heels had you wishing that your feet were tucked in a soft blanket with mind numbing television playing in the background instead of navigating the throng of people holding their drink of choice and inhaling the musky scent of liquor and sweat.

“Haven’t seen you around here,” a tenor voice flirted from beside you.

Your eyebrow raised as you took in the source—a burly African-American with a buzzcut. There was something distinct about him that set him apart from the rest. It wasn’t his built or the way his grey shirt stretched to fit around his biceps. It also wasn’t the twinkle in his eye as he tried to entice you to flirt back. One of his hands drifted down to his waist and with his wide leg stance, you knew.

A cop. An off duty law enforcement officer.

You laughed. “Does that line usually work on women, especially from—” you paused for suspense. ”—a cop?”

“Okay,” the stranger chuckled. “Close, want to try again?”

A smile stretched your glossed pink lips. You were never one to back away from a challenge—it was one of the traits you inherited from the other Dr House.

“Well, if we’re basing it on where the bar is located nearby and my fifty percent guess from a while ago, I’d say you were a cop—maybe for a couple of years, before joining the FBI. Maybe counter terrorism—” the memory of Dr. Reid talking about his team found its way to the forefront of your mind. “—or by any chance, the BAU?”

He could no longer hide the surprise from his face. “Right, that’s right. What gave it away? Was it my ruggedly handsome looks or are you just a mind reader?”

You thanked the bartender before trying to find your way out of the surge of people behind you, clamoring to place their order. The stranger stretched out his muscular arms, guiding you away from the bar towards his booth.

“Just a mind reader,” you simplified—an action that came as second nature to you. In the past, when you would disclose your job as a psychiatrist, people would react in two ways. One, they’d get subconscious that you’d read into every body language they’d have, causing them to shy away or two, they’d become over-zealous and ask you to diagnose them all in good fun like it was some sort of magician’s trick.

A mop of light brown curly hair parked beside a long blonde hair caught your periphery. He had his back turned but it was a presence you’ve slowly started getting familiar with. It was Dr. Spencer Reid, out in the natural setting, a first.

Your eyes slowly widened as you realized where he was guiding you and who he might be. 

“Huh,” you uttered under your breath before flashing a smile to the stranger beside you. “Are you by any chance, Derek Morgan?”

“Okay, now you’re starting to freak me out. How’d you do that, Ms. Mind Reader?”

A different timber of voice answered. “It’s because I told her—” a pair of hazel eyes turned to you, filled with accusation. “—Dr. House. Are you keeping tabs on me?” 

“Dr. Reid, I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

He scoffed. “In a bar? Near my office? The statistics on seeing me here is actually surprisingly high.”

He was hostile, understandably so as here you were, a stranger, who knows his deepest, darkest secret mixing in with the otherwise innocent parties of his personal life. It was no harm, caused no click in your armor—he’d been cooperative as of the late within the confines of your office but seeing you beyond the four corners of your taupe walls threw him off the loop.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t think I caught your name,” the blonde woman beside Spencer, flashed you a smile, hand stretching out for a handshake. “I’m Jennifer Jareau, but you can call me JJ.”

You shook her hand. “Ah, it’s great to meet you, Agent Jareau.” 

“So, how do you know Spence?”

You smiled, unsure on how to disclose your psychiatrist-patient relationship with someone he works with. You didn’t know how much his team members knew about his scheduled Saturday meetings with you or if they even knew at all what Dr. Reid was going through.

From the past appointments, you’ve categorized the agent as an anxious avoidant type—something geniuses who grew up in a non-secure household tend to share. Yourself, included.

Your eyes glanced at Spencer before drifting towards the table behind him, subtly trying to figure out his choice of drink. You hoped it was non-alcoholic. He’d be suffering from withdrawals and if he clung to a substitute vice, you’d have to find a roundabout way to tackle the issue without pushing him to close off again. You didn’t need that, he was just starting to open up after all, plus if he stopped cooperating, you’d have no choice but to bring it up to his supervisors, jeopardizing his career. 

A clear glass came into view as he shuffled his weight from one foot to the other.

Water. It was water.

You breathed a sigh of relief before slowly panning up, locking eyes with Dr. Reid. His gaze narrowed, having understood what you were checking on.

Checkmate.

“She’s FBI’s contracted psychiatrist,” he explained, jaw tight from anger. 

You flashed him a little smile before averting your eyes in chagrin.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you look a little to young to be a licensed doctor,” Agent Jareau observed. 

“I graduated early.”

Morgan’s left hand pats your back while the other pats Dr. Reid’s. “Another genius, then. You’d get along great with our pretty boy over here. He’s always going on and on about facts and statistics—“

“No offense Morgan, but I don’t think we’d get along at all,” Spencer sneered. “I’d rather not get to know someone who has an ulterior motive.”

Your hand tightened around your glass. “It’s great to meet you, Agent Jareau and Agent Morgan but I think my friends would be looking for me,” you flashed the young agent a dejected smile. “Dr. Reid, hope to see you again soon.”

“I don’t,” he sardonically replied.

You nodded once before turning back to where you friends would be, settled in the four seater booth, unaware that you may have just burned the rocky bridge you’ve built with a patient in need. 

The fourth meeting

A warbled hum roused you from slumber. 

With one eye straining to stay open, the digital clock on your dresser displayed 12:21. Midnight—the time for humans to all be in stupor but based on the humming, subdued underneath your pillow, there was one exception.

You sat up, blindly reaching for the phone. There was no programmed name for the number and right away, an eerie feeling started swirling in your gut. This was no social call. A call this hour could only be one thing, an emergency.

“Hello. Who is this?” Your voice still rough from sleep.

No answer. 

You pressed the phone closer to your ear, hard enough to possibly leave a mark. There were light rustles on the other end that indicated a presence, a person that wouldn’t or couldn’t answer your inquiry.

“Hello,” you tried again, voice raising at the end from tension. “Is anyone there?”

There was silence. The dread in your stomach further worsening as if group of bats decided to wreak havoc in its dark crevices. There was no indication that this was a prank call and there was also no indication that it wasn’t. 

You bit your lip, torn between hanging up and waiting for an existence to make itself known. It could be nothing or it could be—your train of thought suddenly taking a sharp left turn to the corner that a certain FBI agent unknowingly occupies. You had given him your number, having scrawled it at the back of your calling card during the very first meeting, purely out of the goodness of trying to put back the broken genius that graced and intrigued your doors.

“Dr. Spencer Reid?” You hesitantly asked, hoping that your intuition was wrong. That this wasn’t the agent calling for help.

A deep groan answered.

“Oh gods,” you breathed out. “Okay, okay. Just—shit, just stay on the line. I’m coming, I swear. Just—fuck.” Your feet scrambled out of the apartment, never mind the lights or the chill that the midnight had cloaked the air with.

It was your worst nightmare. You knew what this call was, you knew his state on the other side of the phone by experience.

Hands trembling as you started the ignition of your car and speedily backing up the parking lot and out the streets in little time. 

“Spencer,” formality be damned at this point as you turned a sharp right, your GPS indicating 8 minutes away from destination. “Spencer, are you still there?” 

A light rustle replied. 

“I’m almost there, hang on for me, okay,” your hand letting go of the steering wheel to push the tousled hair away from your face.

Each second felt like an eternity, each time passed threatened to push your mind into the fog of panic and memory of your very own father taking a whole bottle of Oxycodone and leaving a message for you and your grandmother. The panic, the fear, and the dread of that very moment had come back in two folds.

Your clammy fingers leaving pinch marks on the back of your palm. “Not now, not now,” you whispered to yourself. “I can’t have an attack now, keep it together.” 

“Dr. House,” Spencer gravely slurred.

You haphazardly parked the car at the nearest available sidewalk space, uncaring if by some miracle you get ticketed. “I’m here, Spencer. I’m here.”

There was a groan as you hurriedly ran up the apartment stairs, grateful that the security below was surprisingly lax.

Third floor, get to the third floor. I need to get to the third floor—you repeated under your breath. You could have called an ambulance or better yet his team member, SSA Derek Morgan, but you felt the urge to make sure he was alright. To make him see that someone else besides from his mother and team care about him. To make him see that life was worth living, no matter the good or the bad.

“Spencer, I’m outside your door,” you tried to catch your breath. “Do you think you could let me in?”

And for a few seconds, there was only the tense silence before a series of gasps and groans crescendo’ed louder and louder from the phone speaker and on the other side of the door. 

Shit. You knew what those grunts of pain and pleas meant, he was seizing.

Slamming down on the ground, uncaring if your exposed knees get bruised, you sent a silent thank you to your past self for leaving a hair pin inside the pockets of your sleep shorts. Breaking and entering was yet another skill set you learned from the other Dr House and his team of skilled doctors, you just never imagined you’d be applying that knowledge in breaking and entering a federal agent’s home. 

The door unlocked and you barreled your way to the living space where a frightful sight greeted you—Spencer on the floor, laying still as if he was peacefully sleeping.

“No, no, no,” you slid beside him, mind cataloguing every detail for the right action. An empty needle near his exposed right arm and an empty glass bottle of Dilaudid.

No rise and fall of the chest.

And no pulse. Medical training kicking in, you tilted his head up, clearing the pathway, and started chest compressions.

One. Two. Three—

“C’mon, Spencer, breathe,” you grunted in between pumps.

One. Two. Three. Four—

You leaned down to his chapped lips, blowing air to his mouth. “I need you to breathe for me, okay. Breathe, Spencer.” 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five—

“Breathe, c’mon Spencer,” you knew there was a high probability for the agent to have his own stash of narcotics and in by agreeing to keep his secret, lest he loses his badge, to get him to open up was a gamble. A risk you were now regrettably paying for.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six—

“Dammit Spencer, I could lose my license for this. Breathe, I need you to breathe.”

A sputtering of coughs escaped his lips.

“Oh thank you, thank you,” you breathed out, arms sagging from the pressure of performing CPR and the weight of fear that you might have been too late. 

Spencer groaned. “Dr. House?”

You nodded, the salty tears blurring your vision. The image of him lying still was burned into your memory, the same way the mirage of your own father lying in a pool of his own vomit. He’s alive—they’re both alive.

Your hands angrily erased the rivulets the tears left behind on your cheeks. Now wasn’t the time to give in to relief and emotion. Although Spencer was out of the woods, there was still a huge uphill battle to tackle. 

“I’ll carry you to bed, lean your weight on me,” you huffed as you helped him up the floor, making sure to take in most of his weight that you could.

The form of you, tears still streaming down your face and steps away from a breakdown, and his hunched form, weak and pliant, was a sight to behold. It was a sight after battle—after the white flag had been waved and the injured tying their best to find their way back to life.

It was sad. It was hopeful.

It was a brush on humanity’s eternal friend, death. Death that still loomed in the corners of the apartment, biding his time to take what was promised.

You laid him gently on the bed before running back to the spied kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. The smell of books permeated the air as if to try and bring your panicked mind back to the present. If it were any other day, you would have found yourself perusing his shelves of eclectic classic literature but this wasn’t the right time and place.

Your bare feet sliding across the floor to make its way back to the groaning figure on the bed, threatening to sit up.

“No,” you tapped his shoulder to get him back down. “I need you to rest.” 

“But—”

“No buts Spencer. Rest, I’ll stay here.” 

His drooping eyes reading yours, trying to find any type of lie that would break his being further than it already was. Spencer was a broken man and this was the first time you could see written in his eyes his plea for help and company. “You promise?”

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” 

His hands blindly groping across the bed spread before it found the treasure it was searching for, your hand. He enveloped his with yours, calloused fingers intertwining with smooth. A contrast that brought him comfort—you were here. You were real. You felt safe. You saved him.

He was alive.

And with that, his eyes closed to fall into a peaceful slumber, one that he hadn’t had in months. 

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[really-fanny-longbottom]

a solstice to remember

summary: nothing could keep azriel from the place where he wants to be the most.

warnings: fluff

pairings: azriel x reader

words: 3.6k

a/n: let's pretend i'm not like a week late with this fic, anyways, happy 2025!

velaris was beautiful during this time of the year.

the city was surrounded by snow, the houses decorated, the frozen river and the streets illuminated by bright lights. 

even the cold couldn't shake the magical atmosphere for the sounds of singing and laughing could be heard from the top of the mountains. 

it truly was a sight to behold.

but it was azriel who had the best view of all.

high in the sky, with a distant flapping of wings from the clouds, azriel flew over the beautiful city of starlight.

the stars kept him company on his return flight, and the wind that blew against his face, his wings, taking all his worries away, welcomed him back. 

there was nothing like home. 

if this were the old days, azriel wouldn't have hesitated in arranging some poor excuse and locked himself in his bedroom in the company of his shadows until morning arrived.

but things were different now—they had been different for quite a while. 

the sight of the house of wind came into his vision, soothing his heart, which azriel had carried heavy all day.  

he wasn't supposed to work today, but with last-minute information coming in through one of his spies, azriel couldn't postpone it.

a conversation with rhys had taken place. the brothers had discussed the best plan of action, both coming to the same conclusion.

and with that, azriel left at dawn with only a promise to try to return today.

a risky promise, knowing what was at stake, but one that he would do and did everything he could to keep. 

with a lighter heart, azriel landed happily on the house's porch. 

still in his spymaster attire, the male made sure to check that everything was in order before opening the double doors. 

the moment the doors opened, he was welcomed with all the scents and sensations he was grateful to experience.

the smell of roast meat, mashed potatoes and vegetables filled the air, the fire in the fireplace warmed the room and the decorations left no room for doubt as to which festivity they were celebrating. 

his family was already in the room, snuggled up in the comfort of the sofas with glasses of wine in hands and with brief conversations and laughter being exchanged. 

azriel closed the doors behind him before stepping forward.

"finally!" rhys exclaimed, a relieved smile appearing in his features. 

at his exclamation, all heads turned in azriel's direction, welcoming him with warm and kind smiles. 

cassian, ever the playful, "took you long enough. we were starting to wonder if we had to send a search party for you."

azriel chuckled, shaking his head while entering the room, "it was work, you know how it is." 

as he approached the sofas, rhys stood up, walking towards him.

"sorry for making you work today, brother," he apologized, a firm hand taking the place on his shoulder.

"nonsense," azriel was quick to reply, "we both know it was the right decision," he finished with a light pat on rhys's back.

rhys smiled, knowing it wasn't easy for his brother to be away from home for long periods of time, especially during the holidays, and now more than ever. 

"still, i'm glad you made it. it wouldn't have been the same without you here."

azriel was grateful for his words, more than he let on.

a raise of rhys's eyebrows allowed azriel to hear his brother's silent question—if everything had gone well and if he was okay.

a simple nod was all that was needed, and a quick hug was exchanged between the brothers, ending the conversation about work. 

"here," cassian said, handing him a glass of wine, "we've already started, so you'll have to hurry up to catch us."

azriel chuckled and shook his head, but before he could take a sip, he found himself looking around the room, his hazel eyes hoping to find a pair of green ones.

feyre smiled fondly at her brother-in-law, understanding the feeling all too well "looking for someone, az?" 

the corners of his lips rose, his heart skipped a beat at the thought of those green eyes. 

"indeed," he replied as his eyes kept traveling through the room "where's my girl?" 

and as if the universe had listened, there you were, entering the living room, helping elain to bring out the desserts.

as soon as he spotted you, azriel's heart melted.

affection and love filled his eyes, and shivers ran through his body.

after all this time, his body, his heart, and his soul, they all still reacted to you just as they did the very first time. 

"there she is," azriel said, his voice laced with adoration while setting his glass of wine on the table.

your eyes moved towards the sound—the first one you heard every morning and the last one you heard every night. 

azriel watched you as your features change from reserved and quiet to one of surprise and relief. 

"az!" you said and hurriedly to place the tray of food on the table before running into his arms— your safe haven. 

his heart skipped another beat as he saw the smile that lit up your face upon seeing him and the male didn't hesitate to hug you tightly, his face going down to your neck, inhaling your familiar scent. 

it was both adorable and terrifying, the effect you had on him, but azriel never complained—and he never would. 

"you made it," you said softly against his chest, where his heart was beating faster than he could fly. 

"of course," azriel replied, his scarred hands caressing your back before tangling in your hair. "i promised you, didn't i?" 

you responded by breaking the hug and cupping his face with your hands, your thumbs caressing his skin before pulling him in for a much needed kiss. 

azriel deepened the kiss, his hands grabbing your hips to pull you closer, however, the kiss was interrupted when your body pressed entirely against his and a small tap was felt by both of you.  

the shadowsinger pulled back slightly, a loving smile already plastered on his features "looks, like we have an intruder." 

you chuckled and rested your forehead against his, closing your eyes for a second to savor the moment, "it looks like we do." 

azriel's smile widened, he kissed your forehead, his lips lingering on your skin for a beat before looking down.

"hi, little one. daddy's here" he said, his large hand coming to rest over your small baby bump, running his fingers through it.

another kick was given, the baby clearly happy for their father's voice. 

chuckles erupted from the both of you, his hand continued his caress as he lowered his head down to plaster a kiss there.

his hazel eyes met yours when he stood to his full height again, his hand remaining on your bump.

"sorry for being late, love" his fingers caress your cheek, before grabbing a few loose strands and tucking them behind your ear "i tried to hurry up as quickly as pos-" 

you silenced him with a kiss on his lips, both of your hands finding his chest while his hand positioned on the back of your neck.

azriel's heart melted even more, you always knew how to disarm him, at any moment.

"the only thing that matters is that you're here, az," you ran your hand over his jaw, the touch soft and affectionate "the only thing."  

"you're right," he said, before lowering his head to your shoulder once more and placing a light kiss there.

he lifted his head moments later, his hazel eyes scanning the room, trying to find his own eyes in a smaller version. 

a smile graced your face, and you couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped you. 

"he's upstairs." 

azriel's eyes meet yours, behind them you could find a hint of nerves "how is he?"

you sighed, your heart clenching for the male in front of you. 

"a little sad for thinking that his daddy won't make it for winter solstice" you told him softly, your hand caressing the length of his back to help him relax in a way only you could. 

azriel sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration, "i hate to disappoint him." 

at that moment, despite being a little more serious, a laugh escaped you before you could hold it back.

azriel raised an eyebrow in question, his nerves being replaced by confusion. 

"what's so funny?" he asked you, squeezing your hip slightly.

"you're such an idiot" you answered him, another laugh leaving you.

at his reaction, you grabbed his face and looked into those beautiful hazel eyes.

"dorian it's not disappointed with you, azriel. he's sad, yes, but not disappointed. he thinks you're the coolest person of prythian, he wants to be like you when he grows up. you could never disappoint him." you explained, finishing with a light swat to his chest.

your words helped calm his heart. you knew more than anyone how insecure azriel still felt about fatherhood.

even though your son was already five years old, there were still times when he didn't feel worthy of you, or dorian, or the life you had managed to build together. 

it was in moments like these where he needed you the most, your words were more powerful than any other's.

"you're right," he told you, his hand running up and down your hips. "i'll go upstairs, telling him that i'm here." 

when azriel turned to head for the stairs, you were quick to grab his hand and pull him towards you.

"let me go," you told him, "i'll tell him that one of his presents arrived earlier and bring him down." 

a big smile invaded the male's features, excitement running through his veins "yeah, okay."

you kissed his cheek before letting go of his hand and walking upstairs.

azriel kept his eyes on you as you left the room and headed for the stairs.

his eyes studied your purple dress and how the color only helped to highlight your beauty even more, how your hair had gotten longer since you decided to grow it out over the summer, how you always have one hand resting on your bump, and the golden ring with a cobalt blue stone as you placed your other hand on the railing of the stairs. 

he watched you, with a goofy smile, as you disappeared up the stairs and his attention was drawn to cassian when he imitated the sound of a whip. 

laughter reached his ears, and the male let his head fall in defeat, knowing exactly what was in store for him.

"oh, you're whipped, brother," cassian told him as he watched his brother join them on the couch. 

azriel sighed as he took a sip of his wine, shaking his head in response to cassian's comment. he didn't even bother to deny it, knowing clear as a blue sky that he was hopelessly whipped for you.

as he leaned further into the couch, cassian leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs.

"i have to say, i never thought i'd see the day where azriel," he began, a smirk forming on his lips.

"...the feared shadowsinger, the ruthless spymaster, the most brooding illyrian," he continued, earning chuckles from every member of the family, especially the said male.

azriel rolled his eyes, and crossed his arms over his chest, knowing very well there was no way of stopping his brother, so he embraced the teasing.

"...would be completely whipped by a female." cassian finished, winking a eye in his direction while taking another sip of his wine.

azriel barked a laughter. he didn't correct cassian because there was nothing to correct, everything the general said was true.

he himself had not imagined the day where something like this would be possible—but here they were.

"i never thought about it either," azriel replied, a fond smile on his face, his eyes locked on cassian's.

cassian's face softened at his words, he knew that despite his teasing, the words carried nothing but truth and he couldn't be happier to be that way.

"i bet it feels damn good," the general said, raising his glass in the direction of his brother.

"it does," azriel said on his turn, mimicking cassian's gesture "it really does, it's the best feeling in the world."

they both drink to that, a feeling of gratitude passing through both of them for the life that, after everything they faced, they managed to have. 

azriel couldn't help but smile, his eyes flickering towards the doorway you had just disappeared moments ago. 

•••

as you reached the top of the stairs, the sound of giggles and lively conversation echoed through the hallway. 

as you made your way down the hallway, you smiled softly, your heart warming at the sound of the children enjoying their playtime.

when you reached the door, you stood there for just a moment to hear another set of giggles, a small chuckle escaping you.

you opened the door and were greeted with the sight of your nephews.

"auntie!" nyx exclaimed, dropping his toys to the floor to come wrap his arms around your leg in greeting.

your other nephew, kaden, followed nyx shortly, hugging your other leg.

"hi, auntie!" kaden said, showing you his big toothless smile.

"hi, sweethearts," you caressed their heads, "you're boys having fun?" you asked with a smile mimicking theirs.

"yeah!" the boys answered in union before returning to the floor, definitely to finish their toy's mission.

your eyes stayed on them for a little longer before your attention was drawn to the side and settled on your son.

dorian was seated a little further from his cousins—sadness was evident in his eyes, his head was resting on his hand while the other one was fiddling with the toy. 

the sight made your heart ache, so little he was and yet he already felt such great emotions. 

you approached him, one hand on your baby bump while the other held the skirt of your dress.

you knelt in front of him, your hand caressing his back carefully to not hurt his little wings.  

"hi, baby" you said, your voice gentle and calm.

your voice drew dorian's attention and he lifted his head and you found you "hi, mommy."

your eyes locked on his hazel ones, the same ones you had fall in love with "still sad about daddy leaving for work?"

dorian sighed before nodding his head, his eyes dropping to the floor.

"yes," he murmured, his small voice filled with sadness, "he should be here." 

your fingers found his hair, the one he had inherent from you, and caressed it in a soothing manner.

"i know it's hard, baby," you spoke softly, your tone comforting him, "but daddy's job is important. he didn't want to leave today, you know that right?" 

dorian's eyes flickered to meet yours, a hint of understanding making it's way on his features.

"i know, but i still miss him," dorian whispered, leaning into your touch.

a small smile formed on your lips, and you gave him a mischievous look.

"well, what if i told you that one of your presents arrived earlier?" 

dorian's eyes lit up at your words and he moved closer to you, his small hands reaching out to touch your baby bump. 

"sissy?" he asked you, his sadness being replaced with excitement.

despite not knowing the baby's gender, dorian had been convinced since the very moment you and azriel had broken the news that he was going to be a big brother, that he was having a baby sister.

a small chuckle escaped you at his eagerness "no, my love. it's not your sister, she's still going to take a little longer to get here" you caressed his chubby cheek with your thumb.

his eyes fell at your words but you were quickly to intervene "but," you started, his eyes lifting immediately to find yours "this present is much better." 

his face light up at that, and your smile widened, seeing that your sweet boy was no longer sad.

"do you want to come see it?" 

dorian nodded his head eagerly "yes, mommy" he said and a beat later, he was on his feet.

you laughed and got up too, extended your hand towards him which he didn't hesitate to hold onto.

"let's go then," you said as you led him towards the door.

when you opened the door, you turned around to look at your nephews "you boys come too. it's almost dinner time." 

at the mention of food, kaden got up almost as fast as the speed of light, his toys now forgotten on the floor—he really was cassian's son.

you let the boys go ahead of you, keeping an eye on them so they wouldn't get any ideas about doing something reckless on stairs. 

as dorian walked down the stairs, he suddenly stopped when azriel's voice came from the living room.

your son lifted his head to look at you, "daddy?" 

your response was a smile, and you had to quicken your pace as dorian began to descend the stairs faster, taking you with him.

as you entered the room, his eyes began to search for azriel and you only had a second to register his happiness before he let go of your hand and ran towards your husband. 

"daddy!" he shouted, his voice filled with joy.

azriel's lip formed a smile the moment he son your son running towards him.

the male stood up just in time to catch the little boy who threw himself into his arms, the little boy's arms wrapping tightly around his neck.

"hey, sweetheart," azriel said, hugging dorian just as tightly.

dorian snuggled into his father's embrace, his face on his neck "you're here!" he exclaimed, his excitement echoing through the walls.

"of course," azriel replied, his hand caressing your son's back "i promised you and your mommy, didn't i?"

"yes, yes!" dorian confirmed, too excited to contain his happiness.

your heart melted at the sight, grateful for having your two favorite boys with you.

you approached them, your hand going to dorian's hair and ruffle it a little "did you like your present?" 

dorian lifted his head to look at you, his smile never flattering "yes, best present ever!" 

at the mention of presents, the other boys couldn't contain themselves.

"when can we open the presents?" kaden asked from his seat on nesta's lap.

"soon, we still have to eat dinner first, son." cassian told him, ruffling his hair.

"can't we just have dinner later?" nyx insisted, more than ready to open his presents.

the boys eyes flickered between the adults and all the presents gathered under the tree. 

even dorian couldn't hide his eagerness to open his.

you, living up to the title of coolest aunt, had no choice but to back up the children "since we're all here, we might as well take advantage and open the presents." 

the children cheered and didn't waste another second before launching themselves towards their presents.

your heart swelled with love and affection, seeing that dorian was happy, his sadness from earlier completely forgotten.

you and azriel observed as he opened his presents, his face lit up.

your arms wrapped around azriel's waist, pulling him closer to you "thank you."

azriel's hands found their place on your hips, as they belong there "for what?" 

you studied his features before answering softly "for keeping your promise." 

azriel's eyes softened, his heart filled with pride and love "of course, there's nowhere else where i would rather be than here." 

you couldn't help the small blush that painted your cheeks and drew a chuckle of amusement from azriel. 

you leaned forward to peck his lips, enjoy your little bubble of love for a little longer.

"i love you," you whispered to him.

he rested his forehead against yours, his hands leaving your hips and finding your baby bump.

"i love you more."

you didn't try to argue with him, knowing already how azriel had about a thousand arguments to use in his favor and how he was the one who loved you more.

with a small peck to his nose, you reluctantly pulled away. 

azriel took a seat on the sofa, pulling you to sit on his lap while you both watched your son opening his presents.

cassian passed his present to dorian, a box so big it was almost the size of the little boy.

"that's a big present, dorian. what is it?" azriel asked, his arm coming to surround your waist.

you looked at cassian, silently asking him what could he possibly have got dorian that needed a box so big.

when he replied to you with a mischief grin and a wink of an eye, you knew you were in trouble.

"oh, no," you mumbled.

nyx and kaden let out small gasps as dorian's face lit up so much that it could have been a shooting star. 

"it's a guitar!" dorian exclaimed with widened eyes and a bright smile.

you and azriel freezed, your mouths slightly opening, not believing what you had just heard.

you both looked at cassian at the same time. 

the general dismissed you with a shrug of his shoulders "what? dorian is the baby of the family, he deserves special presents."

you and azriel kept looking at him dumbfounded, your reaction making everyone laugh.

"oh, this is priceless," rhys said, taking a sip of his wine.

 nesta patted your knee, her face red from laughter "good luck."

you and azriel looked at each other speechless, but you didn't have time to try to say something when the sound of the guitar reached your ears.

"this is so cool! thank you, uncle cass!" dorian exclaimed.

"you're welcomed, kiddo," cassian replied while ignoring the glares he was receiving from you and azriel.

he was enjoying this entire situation too much to care about your death stares.

however, when on the following winter solstice, you and azriel offered kaden a drum set, cassian didn't find it that funny.

masterlist

general taglist: @emryb @fantasyandshit @azrielover @shadowsingercassia @littlelou22 @brieflyclassymortal @lilah-asteria @meul-a @lure-of-writing @pruvii @olive-main @mybestfriendmademe @anuttellaa @mrsjna @lively-potter @avajustreads @talesofadragon @circe143 @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @dark-chaos-314 @tequilya @scoliobean @saltedcoffeescotch @charlotteintumbleland @agirlwithwifiandalaptop @987coley

*if you asked to be tagged and you weren't, it's because I couldn't find your blog.

the beautiful dividers belong to @cafekitsune

[thrashkink-coven]

Things for beginners to know before starting demonolatry or demonology practices

1. The classifications of demons were written by humans, not demons.

Different occult schools of thought will have different understandings of the Hierarchies of Hell, whether Hell even exists, and what attributes are associated with each demon. In some sects Lucifer reigns supreme Emperor of Hell, in others it is Sammael, Moloch, or Baal. It all depends on the perspective of the practitioner. All of these models are equally correct and incorrect. Documentation of de(a)mons were often written by right hand practitioners who saw them as evil, therefore their negative attitudes are emphasized. Other times devotees have documented the same entity as being very kind and affectionate. It is incredibly important to take into account who is speaking whenever you read about demons. No single book or author can deliver to you the most **objective** facts about these demons or the model of reality, if they claim to, they’re lying to you. You as the practitioner must discover and decide what reins true in your reality. Teachers and gurus may influence you but ultimately you must make the decision for yourself.

2. Assume all spirits are multi dimensional

Lucifer, the light bringer, is also the spirit of darkness. He is the sweet prince and the adversary, he is a devil and an angel. It is extremely rare that you will encounter a spirit that is only one thing. There is a little bit of truth to everyone’s interactions. To a Luciferian, Lucifer is a guide, a companion, and a positive presence. To a Christian he is an adversary, a tempter, liar and bringer of evil ; and there is an entire rainbow of other experiences that contribute to the understanding of “Lucifer”. Demons are not all good nor are they all bad, trying to paint them in only one light will only lead to disappointment and confusion. It is just as foolish to assume that a so called angel will always be pleasant and nice, as it is to assume a so called demon will be terrible and mean. Every energy interacts with every person uniquely.

3. Scary and intimidating doesn’t automatically mean “evil”

Nice and pleasing doesn’t automatically mean “good”

If you’re interacting with demons or spirits associated with death, it shouldn’t be very surprising that they’re dark, mysterious, or have a frightening appearance. If you’re dealing with demons or spirits of sex and lust, it shouldn’t be very surprising that they’re alluring, attractive, or beautiful. This doesn’t mean that the scary demon is going to kill you, and this doesn’t mean that the sexy demon is going to fuck you. There are very likely going to be times when your demons will scare you. This doesn’t mean that they’re going to hurt you or possess you (they shouldn’t be frightening you to the point of constant paranoia, but seeing some “disturbing” or strange imagery isn’t out of the norm when you’re contacting a de(a)mon).

If you enter a deep dark cave looking for a bear, don’t be surprised when you see sharp teeth. Demons of violence may summon gory imagery. Demons of death my feel cold and distant. A large part of demonolatry is understanding your fear and overcoming it.

4. Yeah, it’s intense.

Okay. This is hard for me to explain. Infernal spirits and angels alike are entities that force you to confront your innermost self and change. It’s not always spooky and scary and whimsical. Sometimes it’s losing your dead end job, having a serious breakup, losing toxic friends, or having a personal epiphany. When I say it’s intense, I don’t mean that I’m levitating and seeing gnarly gory shit and summoning demons while covered in blood all the time. I have dreams and experiences of course, but seeing a demon work is not about the theatrics. Are you ready to confront the things you rrrrreeaaaaalllly don’t want to think about? Your trauma, the lies you tell yourself to get through the day, and the toxic cycles you comfort yourself with?

Lord Lucifer has made me cry many MANY times. But it was never because he hurt or scared me. I’ve seen many demonolaters refer to Lucifer as a therapist and I couldn’t agree more. He not only changes your understanding of yourself, but others and the world. Through this understanding you can change yourself, and others, and the world.

5. You as the practitioner need to be able to withstand the symptoms of your demonic relationships

Being in a relationship with Lilith or Asmoday is not an excuse to develop a porn addiction. Being in a relationship with Lucifer does not give you the right to psychoanalyze all of your friends, being in a relationship with Eligos is not an excuse to destroy all of your relationships or be cruel towards others. Demons represent energies and concepts that are unfavourable to the masses. When working with Astaroth I will feel more lustful, just by being in her proximity. That is not justification to cheat on my partner or force myself onto him. As much as demons like Lucifer for example can inspire us to be wise and sharp, he can also influence us to be vein and narcissistic. We must always be aware of these effects and resist them, working with demons and shadows does not mean becoming the worst version of ourselves, quite the contrary. Interacting with these negative aspects is meant to show you how to overcome them.

6. Demons cannot and will not replace your relationships with humans

I am very pro godspousing and having friendly and affectionate relationships with demons and spirits. Having said that, as much as our spirits may love us and care for us, they will not be the ones to text you good morning. They will not make you soup when you’re sick, or buy you flowers after a hard day. Demons are guides and companions, but they are not people. Trying to use demons to solve your loneliness will only lead to heart ache. You very much can have a sincere relationship with a demon or other spirit, but be aware that that relationship will not mimic your relationships with humans, and it shouldn’t. Gods and demons are not humans, therefore your relationships with them will not feel human.

7. There’s always more to learn

Devotion to any spirit is an endeavour that can take years or even a lifetime. Your work is not done because you read 3 books and browsed the Occult Wiki for an hour and a half. Become very dedicated to learning about your demons of interest and the culture that surrounds them. Yes, this means boring, tedious research.

8. No, ______ is not mad at you. Please talk to them

You will at some point inevitably do something wrong, especially if you are freshly initiated. Demons understand that we are human, we make mistakes. Instead of becoming paranoid and avoiding your demon out of fear of consequences, put on your big boy pants and confront them directly. Understand what you did wrong and learn from your mistake. There may or may not be consequences, every demon is different. But making yourself sick thinking they’re going to smite you down doesn’t make anything better. I guarantee you that talking to them about it will serve you a million times better than running away.

9. You need to know your boundaries BEFORE you reach out

As important as it is to research your demons, it is equally important to research yourself. You need to have strict boundaries that you will not negotiate. These boundaries should be outlined in your contract if you have one. If blood magic is uncomfortable for you, don’t allow any demon or spirit to coerce you into giving it until you are ready. If you’re a minor you’re more than allowed to not do sex magic. This relationship belongs to you as much as it does your demon(s). If it doesn’t serve you, simply refuse it.

10. On that note, demons can and will reject you. You can and will reject them as well.

On many occasions I have approached spirits who did not want to work with me at the moment. Sometimes they end up showing up later in my life, other times they never do. Oftentimes this is because of an incongruency on an alchemical level, we just aren’t meant for each other. It doesn’t necessarily mean you’re doing anything wrong. Sometimes you are, but your demon or deity will usually make that clear to you in some way. Don’t force it. If I’m already terribly preoccupied with life or other spiritual relationships, I’m within my right to reject another demon trying to enter my circle. That isn’t a rude thing to do. I’m within my right to deny a ritual I don’t have the energy or resources for. We can put it on the back burner for now.

Likewise, if a demon or spirit is repeatedly overstepping my boundaries or harming me in any way, I can (and should) leave that demon. If I’m not doing enough or causing insult, that demon can leave me. As binding as devotional contracts can be, we are not trapped with each other if we choose not to be.

11. Protection shouldn’t only be against spirits. Be very aware of your surroundings and the people around you

Learn the power of secrecy. As a Luciferian living in an extremely conservative area, I have to be extremely careful about when my pendants are visible. I have to be careful when entering certain places because I don’t want to be hate crimed or harassed. Yes, being out and proud of my demonic relationships is very important to me, but it is not worth risking real danger from bigots, or risking my employment. When I go to work, I have to leave my Lucifer ring at home, not because my work is discriminatory, but because I don’t know when I’m speaking to a christofascist grandma who would make a complaint to my boss because she saw my devotional ring. I don’t know which of my coworkers would make my life more difficult if they knew about my practice. If you are visible, people will approach you and make comments. Now, there are those of us who don’t give a fuck, and on most days I don’t. But for those of us who are vulnerable to that kind of discrimination, please be aware.

12. Self mutilation is not demonolatry

If you choose to offer blood it should be no more than a few drops. You should be using safe tools like a lancet, and disinfecting the area you extract from. This should be done in the least harmful manner possible. Devotional markings or tattoos should be done by a professional.

13. This stuff takes time. Relax

These relationships don’t develop in 24 hours. It takes a tremendous amount of repeated effort to gain the favour of a demon or spirit. If you’re not getting the results you want, take a break, reevaluate your methods, and try again later.

[a-hazbin-reader]

Not me back on my BS 👀

Imagine being Alastor's wife in life and thinking you had the perfect husband even if he was a little distant most of the time. Then he goes missing, and you spend your entire life searching for him despite everyone around you wanting you to move on

When you die and become an angel you just assume that you'll see beloved Alastor again only to be confused that you can't find him. So you spend your afterlife roaming heaven in search of your husband.

It never crossed your mind that Alastor wasn't in heaven.

Until you find out about Adam and his exorcist army going to hell every year, and then you're stuck with the uncomfortable idea that your husband might be a demon. So you find a way to sneak down into hell during the extermination.

You almost regret the decision once you see the carnage and horror happening around you but you're determined to find Alastor. You don't even care that you're stranded in hell once the extermination is over, you had to know if he was down here.

You're easy prey for demons, so you have to do your best to be discreet about your true nature while you try to get information about Alastor. Only to find yourself surprised and confused when people talk about The Radio Demon instead.

"That couldn't be my husband..."

Your husband was kind, gentle, and warm with you while this Radio Demon sounded cruel, manipulative, and cold-hearted. The idea of these two Alastors being one and the same was baffling to you.

But despite your denial, all the facts lead to back to this overlord, a princess and a hotel... so for the sake of your sanity, you decide to find this hotel and put your fears to rest. You hide your angelic features as best you can and head out with your heart in your throat.

The hotel is beautiful and grand yet a bit creepy feeling, it's also rather empty despite it's large size. You feel swallowed up by it as you step inside, looking around for any sign of your Alastor but finding none.

You're just about to turn around and leave, satisfied that this lead was a dead end when suddenly a tall blonde demon woman in a red suit stops you, all smiles and giddiness. Somewhere in between excited squeals and being dragged around by your arm you manage to catch her name.

"You're Charlie..? As in-"

"OH! Don't let that silly title intimidate you! I'm here to help!"

She starts showing you around the hotel and introducing you to the staff and other guests, obviously assuming you're there to stay.

"Ah, I'm sorry, but I'm not here to be a guest... I'm looking for my husband and heard he might be here."

"You're husband? Well, I'm sorry but you've already met everybody here except for Alastor-"

"What about me~?"

You immediately recognize the voice behind the static, turning to see your husband-The Radio Demon-your Alastor-

He takes you in slowly, his smile faltering every so slightly-more of a twitch really- and his eyes widening in surprise once he realizes you're standing in front of him

"Y/N? What are you doing here?"

You're already walking towards him quickly, drawn to him like a magnet and forgetting all about pretending to be a sinner, wrapping your arms around him as you try not to cry with happiness.

"I've missed you so much, Alastor....I never stopped looking for you-this has to be a mistake why weren't you in heaven? I thought I'd see you again after I died but then you weren't there either and-I had to find you!"

He's stiff and awkward at first, hyper aware of your audience and baffled by your angelic appearance. How did you even get down here?? You didn't belong here-why did you try to find him?

Alastor grabs your arms and makes to push you away but one look at your watery eyes and he melts just like when you two were alive. He suddenly pulls you in tighter instead and refuses to look anybody in the eyes, instead focusing on you.

His wife, his innocent wife who had forced her way into his heart back when he was alive was here in his arms. She left heaven to come find a man who had only married her for the sake of keeping up appearances and stayed with her because she made him feel...something close to love...(it was love) (was not) (was too)

You had no business being in hell, not when there were so many ways you could get hurt down here. So many different ways he could hurt you... So Alastor nuzzled his head into your hair, breathed in your scent and pulled away from you.

Sharp claws scraped against your chin as he forced you to look into eyes that were once so familiar to you, his grip loosened slightly as you cupped his cheek. Even now that his true nature was revealed to you, you were unafraid and enamored with him.

"You should've stayed in heaven, my dear. As much as I have missed you as well... you don't belong down here-"

"I belong with you, I'm not leaving when I only just found you again!"

Your stubbornness when it came to him was always something he had liked about you, he was glad to see you still had it. At a loss for how to send you home and some part of him missing your company, Alastor decided to make a selfish decision.

"Alright my dear, you can stay down here and rot with the rest of us if you wish~ But I must warn you~"

Your relief is cut short when he suddenly pulls you in close by your waist, sharp teeth snarling at you in a twisted evil smile as you stare up at him with wide eyes.

"Warn me about what..?"

Alastor pulls you in a bit closer, lips nearly touching yours when suddenly he drops you and you barely manage to catch yourself. He's chuckling and walking away from you, a mean side to him that you've never seen before.

"You're going to have to deal with the real me now, I do so hope you can handle it~"

Spoiler alert: Wifey can match his freak just fine once she gets the hang of how things work 😏 but he's gotta try not to fall for her~

Ugh had this idea in my head for awhile where wifey is an angel who sneaks into hell to find Alastor but has to come to terms with the fact that he's MEAN 😡 and Alastor has to keep up the mean persona because all he wants is to spoil and coddle wifey but HES NOT IN LOVE HE SWEARS HE WAS ONLY USING HER AND ALL THESE FEELING AND URGES ARE JUST SECOND NATURE FROM MANIPULATING HER FEELINGS

Then maybe a part 2 where wifey realizes that a lot of their relationship is one-sided and she left eternal paradise to be with this jerk but oops- Alastor realizes how whipped he is for her and that he actually loves her

☺️

[nebulousmoon3990]

GHOSTS OF THE PAST (Batfam x neglected hero reader)

I 𓂃› GHOSTS

Warning: neglect (unintentional), Damian being Damian, violence, blood, swearing, sensitive topics, writing errors (English is not my first language) and reader has black hair and blue eyes (sorry),Fem reader!, I accept criticism but please don't be rude, everything is fictional!

You consider yourself a good son

I mean, you were never a saint, there were times when you did stupid things and got into trouble with her, but you always managed to solve them. But apparently the universe decided that you weren't good enough.

Not for your family at least.

You were just another product of your father's affair, the only difference is that you were born (something that wasn't supposed to happen) but that's okay! Your mother still loved you and took care of you with all the love she had to offer.

She never spoke openly about your father, but you saw on TV the news about your mother, the great writer from Gotham, with the businessman Bruce Wayne. You were always smart and quickly connected the dots but you didn't question your mother because she was clearly uncomfortable, so you kept quiet and let it go, because you didn't need him. You already had your mother, you already had your uncles, even your little friends from school! You don't need your father.

That is until she died.

It was when you were four years old, you had gone to the market to buy things for dinner and on the way a criminal tried to steal them, your mother trying to protect you ended up with a bullet in the chest, you remember little, but you remember that he ran away while your mother died in front of you. After that you thought you were going to be sent to an orphanage, believe your surprise when your father came to take you home. The first time you saw him you were surprised by how much alike you were: same hair, same eyes, your face was really your mother's, but your skin was his, you were a perfect mix of your mother and your father, at the time you loved it but now... you are not so sure.

When you arrived at the mansion, you met your half-siblings. You were so excited. You always wanted a sibling, since you spent a lot of time alone. The possibility of having siblings made you very happy. The first was Dick: a bright smile and the sunshine of the family. Dick was friendly with you and at least bothered to ask a little about you, like your age or when your birthday was. But the next day, he completely forgot about you. Even though he lived in Bludhaven, he visited the mansion often. Of all your siblings, you felt the most excluded by him. While he said that family was the most important thing, he ignored you. Maybe it wasn't intentional, but what's the point of apologizing for not being there if you don't change anything?

The second was Tim: the Robin of the time. Tim was just... Tim, he was never that neglectful with you, but he didn't try to get closer either. He had no opinion for you. You would say that Tim was observant, quiet, and cold. He would help you if he saw that you needed help, the problem was that he was never there, so he never had time for you (like everyone else).

The third was Jason: in your opinion he was your favorite, Jason was the one in the house who gave you some attention. It wasn't always, but when he came to the mansion he really cared about asking about you.

"Why are you so skinny?" "Are you doing well in your studies?" "Is someone bothering you, brat?" and things like that. Jason wasn't that close but he was never distant either, that's why he was your favorite, but just like Tim he was never there when you needed him, since he couldn't stay at the mansion much (you believe that part of the blame is Bruce).

Then came the rest of your siblings, Barbara was always busy like Bruce and Dick, Cassandra and Stephanie weren't interested in you, and Duke never exchanged more than two or three words with you.

And then to top it all off came Damian: your younger brother. You thought that even though Damian was Al Grul's (trained to kill and all) maybe, just maybe, you two could have a good relationship.

Oh, how terribly wrong you were.

And you realized it the moment Damian almost cut your throat with his sword. That day Damian was reprimanded by Bruce while Dick was taking care of his neck, from what you understood Damian thought he needed to kill you to become Robin. 

You, a civilian, almost wanted to laugh at his presumption that you could be a vigilante when you couldn't even lift your backpack properly. After that day you didn't get close to Damian again, the fear of him doing something to you terrified you to the core. Damian realized it, you knew it by the looks he gave you, but whether it was pride or shame he never apologized to you.

Bruce never had time for you, wrapped up in work and as Batman his time was precious and he had to spend it on what was necessary, and you understood that.

You understood all of them.

But...it still hurt.

It hurt your soul a lot.

That's why you stopped trying to impress them, stopped enrolling in classes they liked just to get their attention, stopped bothering them to get some family time. You gave up, simple as that, the family didn't care, probably not even knowing about it.

There was Alfred, who probably spent the most time with you, acting like a grandfather. But Alfred is also Bruce's butler and the sidekick to Gotham's heroes, he couldn't spend all his time with you either (you accepted that, it was okay).

But sometimes there were rare moments that happened, moments when they cared, when you saw a little bit of love from them towards you.

Like when Jason gave you one of his sweatshirts for your birthday, one that you really liked (you still wear it to this day, it's still too big on you).Or when you didn't have a partner for your history project since no one was your friend, so Dick and Tim spent half the night helping you with it. Or when school bullies beat you up, you went back to the mansion (which was empty) with a black eye, just so Damian could see you. By some miracle, you convinced him not to tell Bruce, thinking that the matter had died there, you went back to your room only for Damian to knock on your door in the middle of the night and give you a pair of brass knuckles for you to use next time (you never used them, but knowing that he cared was comforting).

I think the most important of these moments was when Bruce showed up at your elementary school graduation. Thanks to your mother, you were more gifted than the others, advancing a few years in school, making you finish school before your age. Imagine: a pre-teen in the middle of almost adults with other adults looking at you (it's desperate) but you saw him, Bruce Wayne together with Alfred looking at you for the first time. He didn't stay until the end, but he was still there, he was there for you.

That's why you hated them.

How dare they? Play with your heart like that, giving you hope that maybe you could be a normal family, a happy family. You hated that, you hated having hope, you hated that they cared and then left you aside.

And what you hate the most is that every time you fall for their talk.

That's why you're taking some time for yourself, far away from them at your aunt's house. In two weeks it will be your fourteenth birthday and you decided this time to spend it with your aunt, to try to forget about your life in Gotham with your family (besides, it had been years since you saw her, it was time to get over the longing).

You told her well in advance, already planning it since the beginning of the month, so now at the train station you didn't feel any worries as you got on the bus.

You didn't tell your family, they wouldn't even care, you just told Alfred so that the poor man wouldn't have a heart attack if he didn't see you in the room.

Maybe if you had told them, this wouldn't have happened.

Dick loves his family.

No matter how many problems they have, he will always love them, family is everything to him.

So why these days has he felt like he's forgetting something?

Was it training with Damian? No, that was for tomorrow, maybe patrol with Bruce? That was impossible to forget, could there have been something with Tim? He doesn't remember his brother asking him for something, maybe Cass? She said a friend was going to have his birthday-

birthday.

(Name's) birthday.

The realization hit him like a train, that was it! His birthday, he had completely forgotten about it, when will it be? If he remembers, will it be in two weeks? You're going to be-

How old are you again?

No, that's absurd, he knows how old you are, he would be stupid not to. You must be twelve? No! Thirteen? But he doesn't remember your thirteenth birthday.

In fact, he doesn't remember any of your birthdays.

Okay, maybe he doesn't remember now, but he was definitely there for your birthday, he's your big brother! Why wouldn't he be?

Okay, he decided that as soon as he finished patrolling with the rest of the family he would talk to everyone about it.

As he jumped between the rooftops his phone vibrated loudly, but he didn't bother to look at it, he would check it later.

Hurry up Dick, before it's too late.

Tim was monitoring the batcave today, helping with location and crimes remotely. Today would be a normal patrol, too calm. Tim hated these patrols, too calm and preparing for the storm.

This time a hurricane would come and no one would be prepared.

The first to arrive was Jason, who came just to help with the investigation of a particular case. He leaned on the table next to Tim and watched the cameras and sensors on the television he controlled. The second was Bruce and Damian. Bruce went to talk to Alfred and Damian went to the table in the center where Tim's phone was. Tim, listening to Dick's message, who was near the mansion, almost didn't hear the youngest Wayne talking.

"Someone's calling you." Tim looked at Damian, who turned on his phone. Without worrying, he went back to the computer. "I can answer later." Damian apparently wasn't satisfied and turned on the phone only to see that the flames were his, his name engraved on the screen. "It's our sister's." "Cass's?"

"(Name's)" Now that caught Jason's attention. He looked at the youngest Wayne. For some reason, a bad feeling took over him, the same feeling that something bad was going to happen. "Oh, that's it. I'm kind of busy here. Can you see what she wants for me?"

Grimacing, Damian would have put the phone down, but something inside him told him to check, to check, so he picked up the phone and unlocked it to find over twenty missed calls from him “oh my”

“What’s wrong?” Bruce approached the boys, having vaguely heard the conversation. “There are over twenty calls and at least fifteen messages” now that really caught everyone’s attention.

“What?” Jason answered for everyone, breaking the silence that settled in the room, but Damian didn’t bother to answer, instead going to the messages, he was going to go through them when a word caught his attention.

Help 

Just with that the bad feeling inside Damian grew, his behavior changing and showing the others that the matter was serious “Oh shit."

“What’s going on” Dick finally arrived, only to find the tense atmosphere in the room, as he walked Damian went through the messages finding words like “help” “help” “invaded” and “bus”

“Damian what happened” he opened the voicemail, seeing many of them only in the last hour, he put it on maximum volume for him and the others to hear.

"T-Tim please pick up" your voice came out shaky, low almost in a whisper and desolate, full of fear "I-I... I tried calling Dick a-and even Bruce" the sobs of your voice were restricted by your mouth, sighing heavily a bang was heard on the other end startling you "I-I need help... p-please" and so the voicemail ended

“The mansion was invaded?!” Jason didn’t ask anyone in particular, but Tim went to see the footage of the mansion for the last few hours anyway. “No, no one came into the house.”

“Where is she?” Dick was quick to pick up the phone, just like Damian, he came across at least twenty voicemails for him. To get attention, Alfred coughed lightly and automatically everyone’s heads turned in his direction. “Master (Name) went out to spend her birthday with her aunt who lives in New York.”

And that’s how chaos exploded.

The next minute, everyone’s voices echoed through the cave. “What?!” “What do you mean?!” “When did she tell you that!?” Bruce replied as he walked towards Tim’s computer. “She didn’t tell you anything, Alfred, why didn’t you tell me?”

Alfred looked at his master, almost exploding at such stupidity, he knew Bruce didn't have time for you but he also made it clear that he didn't care about you, it was no surprise that you hadn't even warned him before, but respecting you (and master Bruce) he answered. "Master (Name) thought it wasn't necessary, he told me only if you gentlemen asked for her." Tim went back to the computer, now not scanning the streets of Gotham, but looking for you, Dick scrolled through the voicemail and clicked on the most recent one, made 15 minutes ago, his voice once again filled the air making everyone hear you.

This time the line started in silence, only your agitated breathing being heard, it is possible to hear a whisper much quieter than before on the line "Dick please, I-I... I beg p-please, please, p-please, p-please, please-" you were silenced by the noise of something near you, your breathing was weak, footsteps echoed wherever you were, you approached the phone and whispered into the cell phone "save me" when you finished speaking voices approached and then a scream came from you, your phone fell somewhere far from you but even so it was possible to hear your screams and your fight for the cell phone until the line finally ended

“Holy shit…” tension built up in the room, the family was completely stunned by the line, Jason was the first to go looking for him, Dick tried to stop him but he went looking for him too, Damian and Bruce left soon after and Tim went back to his computer at full speed.

They need to find you, Now!

But it was too late

“Tim tell me you found her” Jason shouted on the line as he moved with Dick, the two of them as well as the rest were moving at each of the bus stops to look for their route, the result was nothing.

Tim huffed on the line, irritated with his brother. “If you stopped asking me every two minutes maybe I would find her”

“Your-”

“Enough fighting! That’s not the focus right now” Dick said to Jason and Tim, although his harsh tone gave him away showing how exasperated he was. “Our focus is to find (Name)” Jason looked ahead accepting his brother, they had to find her, he needed to.

Jason wouldn’t forgive himself if his sister died.

“I found her!” Tim shouted excitedly, the spark of hope on his face until he saw the bus where he was “oh no” his heart started beating faster, fear started to settle in his body, but he remained paralyzed without being able to move. 

“Tim? Tim, what happened? Tim saw on the computer the image of his bus fallen to the ground, with fire gathering around it. The red robin could only move when he heard Bruce's voice. With his fingers shaking, Tim sent the image of the accident to each person's cell phone.

Bruce could feel his heart beating out of his chest, the sight of the bus lying on the ground, burned and destroyed was enough to make his heart stop, Damian was in no different situation, all he could think about was your face, scared and afraid of him.

He wanted to see you.

Everyone wanted to see you, but it was too late.

The hurricane passed and destroyed everything

“This morning, news shook all of Gotham, a bus destined for New York was intentionally unloaded in the middle of the road. In total, of the twenty-two passengers, five were injured and seven were kidnapped, among those kidnapped was the second youngest daughter of the great businessman Bruce Wayne, (Name) Wayne, the police are investigating the case-” the television was turned off by Jason, who threw the remote control hard on the couch, now with all the brothers gathered (Barbara, Cass, Stephanie and Duke there too) they were waiting for news from Bruce, who went to a press conference to speak at home with Alfred. Dick, trying to calm his brother, approached him and put his hand on his shoulder “Jason, we're going to find her-”

“Are we going to find her? She might be dead now!” Jason said without thinking, but the mood in the room dropped even more than it already was. Both the guilt and the despair of losing you were what terrified not only Jason, but everyone in that room.

“She’s not dead.” Damian was the one who calmed the situation, approaching the two of them. “You saw it yourself, she was taken, but she’s alive.”

“And who can guarantee that she’s not dead, huh, demon?” The youngest Wayne narrowed his eyes. Jason was right too. Who can guarantee that she’s not already dead? Who can guarantee that she’s not already six feet under, buried?

“(Name) isn’t dead.” Bruce and Alfred entered the mansion. Wayne’s suit was all wrinkled, but he didn’t care. Maybe it was because he had more important things to worry about. “She isn’t dead, and we’re going to find her.”

“Even if it’s just her corpse.”

Oh, okay that was a lot of work to do, enjoy.

@bunbunboysworld - @h-ib - @sheep-from-rad - @tatsuri-zomushiki - @the-holy-pigeon - @geminis93

Tchau.