#also I feel like he wouldn't call her his sister because to him that would feel as if he's replacing Lumine

[leafyduckwebs]

Thinking about Aether & Paimon again but with a parent & child-like dynamic,,,,

[seonghrtz]

teen!megumi ★ seeing you hurt is one of the things that has terrified megumi since he was a kid !

Megumi has always loved you. Perhaps from the moment Gojo carried him to your house when he was younger. You were the mother figure he never had, the person he knew he could rely on in any situation, the person he didn't have to be mature with all the time. You were always his safe haven.

Megumi may not have known how to express his own feelings or how to verbally express his adoration for you ⸻ he wasn't like Gojo, who was always making declarations of love to you. Sometimes Megumi envied Gojo for the ease with which he could say 'I love you' to you. But it never seemed to matter to you whether Megumi expressed his adoration for you verbally or not, it wasn't necessary as you understood it through his actions. You knew Megumi like the back of your hand and he was eternally grateful for that.

That's why one of Megumi's worst nightmares was losing you.

If he lost you, what would become of him? How would he manage without your care? How would Megumi survive in this world without being able to hide in your arms?

So when Megumi saw your exhausted and bruised body being thrown across the battlefield, he felt his whole body tremble and a sense of despair consume him.

Desperate, Megumi ran towards you, leaving Itadori and Kugisaki to fight the curse. And when he saw you lying on the floor with your eyes closed, bruises all over your exposed skin and bright crimson blood dripping from your forehead and mouth, Megumi's legs went weak and he fell to his knees beside you. With trembling hands Megumi grabbed your shoulders and rocked you, hoping that you would open your eyes and say that everything was fine. But unfortunately this utopian fantasy didn't come true.

Maybe it was all just a dream. A nightmare of that night ⸻ the night you sacrificed yourself to save Megumi when he was still a child. And if it was just a nightmare, Megumi would wake up at any moment and run into your arms. You would hold him with such affection and love that he wouldn't be able to hold back the tears because he knew you were all right.

But Megumi didn't wake up.

And it wasn't a nightmare, it was reality.

Megumi's voice faltered and he held back his tears, you were there, in front of him, injured, on the verge of death, and he could do absolutely nothing, powerless in a critical situation.

"Hey, Fushiguro!" Yuji ran over to where Megumi was standing, "I think I'd better take Kamo-sensei to Shoko-san, Nobara's already called Kiyotaka-san.” The pink-haired boy looked at his friend and felt sad for him. Itadori had heard Megumi's story and how Gojo and Kamo had saved the little boy (and his sister) from the clutches of the Zenin clan. And Itadori also knew how much Megumi admired and loved the woman he called his mother, it was evident in his expression. "Come on, Fushiguro, we'd better go quickly if we don't want to lose her."

Without saying a word Megumi slipped his arms around your back and behind your knees and started to run with you in his arms to where the car was parked, waiting for the sorcerers.

The corridor was dark and cold. Megumi was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, his head down, holding back his tears. He couldn't cry, he had to be strong ⸻ be strong for you. Megumi had to stay positive, Shoko would save you no matter what.

"It's going to be all right." Gojo's voice echoed through the silent corridor. Megumi raised his head and met his sensei's crystal blue orbs. "Y/n is one of the strongest sorceresses there is, she's seen worse.”

"It's my fault." Megumi's voice was deep, "It's my fault that she's in this situation..."

"Don't blame yourself Megumi. It wasn't your fault."

"I should have paid more attention and listened to her instructions."

"Situations like this happen all the time when you're a jujutsu sorcerer, don't blame yourself for something you couldn't do. And Y/n is fine, she'll be fine, I know my wife very well. And I also know that she would hate to see you get hurt on her watch, so don't blame yourself for giving her life to save you." Gojo's hand reached for Megumi's head, ruffling the boy's ebony locks. "You better go to your room, I'll call you when she wakes up."

"I don't want to go."

"Don't be stubborn. Y/n will make me sleep on the sofa if she finds out I've let you sleep in the hallway."

"That's your problem, I'm not going."

"Come on, Megumi! I thought we were past that stage." Gojo sat down beside Fushiguro. "Are you going to get the silent treatment now?" A short laugh escaped Gojo's lips when he noticed Megumi's lack of reaction. "Okay then…”

The next day, Megumi woke up to a conversation next to him. He noticed Gojo and Shoko talking outside the room you were in.

"Finally awake, Sleeping Beauty?" Gojo smiled in the direction of Megumi who got up from the floor and stretched slightly, "She wants to see you."

"Is Mom awake?" He asked hopefully.

"Go ahead, I'll be right back with breakfast." Gojo gave Megumi a light squeeze on the shoulder before leaving with Shoko.

With a little trepidation Megumi slowly opened the bedroom door and saw you lying on the bed in the corner of the room, close to the wall. With light, quiet steps, the boy walked to the edge of the bed and stood, watching you. You were clean, not a drop of blood running down your face, and the bandages on your wounds were clean too. You were well. You were alive.

"Megumi..." You spoke quietly and opened your eyes, startling the boy a little.

"Mom..." his voice was weak, surprised and relieved at the same time.

You raised your hand and brought it close to Megumi's face. The boy, who had expected you to stroke his cheek with your thumb, was surprised when you tugged at his ear.

"Mom!"

"I told you to stay out of danger, Fushiguro Megumi." You said seriously, but then stopped pulling on his ear and hugged him, "Thank you for saving me.”

"You scared me..."

"I'm sorry, my dear." You smiled and released Megumi from your embrace, "I wouldn't let you get hurt, not for a second time."

"I'm not a child, I can take care of myself." A pout formed on Megumi's lips.

"I know, I know." You laughed at the younger man's reaction, "And of course you know how to handle yourself, you're my son, but you'll always be my little boy.”

Without thinking, Megumi hugged you again. Sinking his face into the curve of your neck, he felt a motherly affection that he had never known until he met you, and he let the tears roll down his cheeks.

After all, you were his mother and he was your son.

© seonghrtz, 2023. all rights reserved, please do not copy / steal / translate / modify any of my works !

[the-other-art-blog]

Violet to Colin: "You're one of my most sensitive children."

The fandom: "How can she say that! Anthony, Benedict bla, bla bla..."

Colin is ONE of her most sensitive children. ONE, just ONE of them. And she's right.

ONE OF HER MOST SENSITIVE CHILDREN

He was the only one who indulged Violet and let her introduce him to debutantes in s1, while Anthony fucked his mistress and Ben went to orgies.

He was a complete gentleman with Marina. AND defended her when Anthony implied something about her.

And when he learned the truth, he confessed that he would have married her if she had told him the truth. 🥹

He danced with Pen after Cressida bullied her.

He wrote dozens of letters that his family of 8 could not care to respond to often. There are 8 of them!

He worried about Ben in s2 and supported him on his application to the Academy.

He learned the truth of Jack Featherington and instead of simply leaving, he did something about it. Not only did he help the Featherington family, but he saved other lords from being scammed.

He apologized to Will, explained why he acted rudely AND made amends to repair the damage by bringing men to Will's club.

He returned with gifts for everyone, but he seemed particularly thoughtful to his sisters and mother. A perfume for Hyacinth, music for Francesca, and a book for Eloise 🥹. Violet was so moved by his gift and here we have a lovely headcanon on the watch:

Then with Pen...

He runs after Pen, despite other men wanting to know about his adventures.

He acknowledges his mistake and immediately tries to apologize to Pen in the Four Seasons Ball.

The next day, he comes back with a heartfelt apology.

Then, he offers her help, despite the risk of scandal and embarrassment for him. He knows Pen has no one else.

He goes to see Pen at night to make sure she's ok. And when she asks him for a kiss, he does it so sweetly.

He is brave enough to leave the men who just want to know about his sexual life.

HE WAS BRAVE ENOUGH TO ASK, as soon as he put himself together and understood his feelings. He didn't play jealousy games like others, he went and put his heart on the table. He didn't even know about Pen's feelings and he risked it!

Some extracts from Colin's journals show that his family is always in his thoughts.

You can see why Violet, as the good mother that she is, can tell how sensitive he is.

Colin travels during the summer and comes back during the season to be with his family. It angers me that people think he's selfish for this when Benedict also abandons the family to fuck.

And yet, both Colin and Ben are sensitive. BOTH OF THEM, Francesca too. I wouldn't call Hyacinth or Gregory sensitive right now, and before s3, I wouldn't include Eloise either.

Anyway, I needed to get this out because I am so fucking tired of Kanthonies and Benophies making tantrums about this line.

I'm sure when s4 comes, we are going to see a moment between Violet and Ben where she acknowledges how amazing he is and everything he has done for the family. But not now, because this is COLIN'S SEASON.

(NOTE: If you are thinking of reblogging this post with the tag #Colin is the most sensitive, kindly fuck off. I made this post to fight the Kanthonies and Benophie that are attacking Colin, not to validate your own need to make Colin superior to other characters. HE IS ONE OF THE MOST SENSITIVE CHILDREN, ONE)

[lilahisntsadanymore]

Growing up with a deatheater father doesn't teach you much about emotions, so when Theo finds himself developing an infatuation with a muggle-born, he thinks she gave him a love potion.

Pairing: Theo Nott x granger!fem!reader

Words count: 1.9k

Warnings: jealous Harry

There is a 2nd part!! <3

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

Unveiled Desires

It was strange to him. So strange how he went from mocking, annoying and occasionally bullying her every step she takes to secretly wanting her. Wanting to have her, or even needing her.

He didn't know how or when it happened, but one day he realized she was constantly in his head. It creeped up on him in small steps and eventually he had developed an infatuation for the girl.

Of course nobody knew about it, Theo wouldn't dare telling anyone. He just kept with his antics, hoping the obsession will somewhat disappear one day. Unfortunately, the more he tried to get rid of this feeling, the more he gave it power, the more it grew.

But he couldn't be with her. He couldn't be with a mudblood.

But he wanted to be with her. The more he thought about it, the less he cared about the blood status. He cursed at himself for these thoughts. Raised by a deatheater father, he would get disowned for dating anyone who wasn't a pureblood.

"Granger, can I talk to you for a second?" A question left his mouth as he approached the Golden Trio. Who was better to talk to about Y/n than her older sister?

The three Gryffindors looked at Theo as if he wasn't good in the head. Just casually wanting to have a chat, a normal chat, with someone outside of his social circle. Pretty unusual for a Slytherin.

"What is it?" Harry asked protectively.

"I was talking to Granger. I need to talk privately."

Hermione looked at Harry and Ron, exchanging suspecting glances. Eventually she spoke, "Alright, but make it quick."

"Great, let's go." Theo started walking, but Hermione stood in her place.

"Where are you going?"

"Somewhere they," he gestured to Harry and Ron, "aren't gonna eavesdrop."

Hermione crossed her arms on her chest, a knowing expression on her face.

Theo raised his hands, "It's not a trap again, I swear."

The girl sighed and walked after her rival.

Hermione and Theodore weren't fond of each other not only because of their houses and their blood statuses, but also because they were academic rivals. Both of them were extremely competitive. Since first year they aspired to be better than one another in pretty much everything.

"Can we stop already?" The girl asked. "I'm pretty sure they won't ear us from here."

"Alright, alright." Theo agreed. "But I need you to promise me you won't tell anybody about it."

"Why me? Why would you trust a Gryffindor with keeping a secret for you?"

Theo lowered his voice to a whisper, "Because it's about your sister."

"What?!" Hermione's voice was the opposite of a whisper. "What have you done to her?!"

The boy gestured telling her to lower her voice. "No, I didn't do anything. She has done...something."

"What on Earth could that possibly be?" A little more quiet, but still unpleasantly surprised, she decided to listen to him.

One last time, Theo looked around to make sure there's nobody there who could be a witness to what he was about to say.

"She used some spell on me." He accused. "Or put something in my food, my drink."

Hermione scoffed with laughter. "You must be joking. You bully her for whole five years, but one time she pays you back for it, it's an issue?"

"Not like that." He took a second to gather his thoughts. "Granger, do you remember how we learnt about amortentia few weeks ago? I think Y/n gave it to me."

Hermione started at the boy for a moment and then burst out with laughter. Y/n wasn't the issue, there was no way a fifth year would be able to make amortentia. Not even Y/n Granger.

Theodore felt annoyed and offended by Hermione's reaction. He looked at her with disgust. "What is so funny to you about it, mu-, Granger?"

Noticing how he almost called her a slur, her expression immediately became serious. "Seriously? You know what, deal with it by yourself. I don't even know why you're telling me all of this."

"Why? Because you have to talk to her, tell her to do something about it! Tell her to stop it!"

Hermione got a brilliant idea.

"You know, I've heard professor Slughorn had a remedy for amortentia."

"Yeah, and I'll end up in the hospital wing like Weasley."

"It was poisoned mead, not the amortentia cure itself. You can ask him to make one from the ingredients in the classroom."

"I will," Theo scoffed, "look at you being useful for the first time in your life."

Without another word, Hermione walked away. "Boys..." She muttered to herself.

"Don't tell anyone I told you this!"

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

"What?! He likes me?!" Y/n asked with blush on her face. "Theodore Nott likes me? The boy that has been bullying me for the past five years?"

"And the thinks it's because you gave him amortentia." Hermione giggled.

Y/n wouldn't ever think that he could be into her and the whole story that her sister had told her was simply unbelievable. But Hermione had no business in lying to her very own little sister, especially not about that.

"Does anyone else know about this?"

"Not yet, but I talked him into asking Slughorn for the cure! I suppose he'll do this tomorrow after class, as soon as possible."

"Who are you and what have you done to my sister?"

The girls were sitting alone in the common room and as Y/n laughed, Ron and Harry walked in.

"What are you two laughing about?" Harry asked, ready to hear that story.

"Can I tell them?" Hermione looked at Y/n. The younger Granger nodded. "Nott likes Y/n."

The girls and Ron laughed, meanwhile Harry stood there with his lips in a thin line, far away from laughing.

"The best part is," Hermione continued, "he thinks Y/n gave him amortentia!"

"What?" Harry spoke eventually, his voice a bit more surprised than it should be. "Y/n, did you give amortentia to Nott?"

"No, why would you accuse me of this?!" The youngest girl defended herself. "Is it that unbelievable that he can fancy me?"

"I mean... You're a muggleborn... And-"

"And what?! Does that mean I'm not worthy of that? We don't know him, maybe he doesn't believe in this whole blood purity thing."

"He does. That's why he hasn't asked you out. And he never will. Because they're all the same."

Y/n's eyes became a little glossy, the tears ready to start flowing anytime. "Are they, though? And you're saying this. You, whose godfather was Sirius Black."

"Sirius was different!"

"We don't know because we don't know what Theo is like!"

"Theo? It was Nott for the past few years that he was tormenting you," Harry put an emphasis on the word bullying, "now he fancies you and he becomes Theo?"

"I would actually give him a chance. It's not his fault that he was born into a blood purity obsessed family."

"Don't you think that's a little pathetic? Running into his hands the moment you find out he might fancy you meanwhile you had chances to date...other Gryffindors."

"Pathetic? You call me pathetic?"

"I didn't call you pathetic, I said what you do is-"

A sound of a slap filled the room, but the following silence spoke even louder. Y/n looked Harry in the eyes, a light red mark on his cheek that her hand left.

Harry could see and sense that it was too much, he said unnecessary words. He regretted them, but he just couldn't stop them from coming out.

The Golden Trio watched Y/n run upstairs. She was so glad nobody else was in the bedroom yet.

≫ ──── ««•◦ ✪ ◦•»» ──── ≪

"Excuse me, professor," Theo walked up to Slughorn after the class on the following day.

All the other students were slowly exiting the room, Harry's eyes fixed on the Slytherin standing by the teacher's desk.

"Yes, Theodore?" Slughorn asked. "Do you have some more bright insights you'd like to share with me?" He was clearly happy to have this conversation.

"I actually need help, professor."

The man's expression dropped. "Yes? Do you have a problem?"

"I'm worried that I've been given amortentia."

Slughorn's eyes widened. He was surprised or even shocked. "Are you sure? I remember seeing other people under the influence of several love potions and you don't quite match the criteria."

"There's this girl who I can't stop thinking about... I suspect she has given it to me."

"Who that might be?"

Theo waited until all the other students exit the classroom before he said the name.

"Y/n Granger."

Y/n stopped in her tracks just as he was about to enter the potions classroom. She was about to show the teacher a part of her project, wanting to consult the texts she has written. Instead, she stopped and decided to listen to the conversation.

"Ah, she's one of the best students in her year," Slughorn said proudly, "but I assure you - she wouldn't do that to you."

"How can you be sure, professor?"

"Well, could you describe your symptoms, Theodore?"

"Whatever I do, Y/n is on my mind," the boy admitted, "I can't eat, I can't sleep, I zone out thinking about her. It's not normal, I've never experienced it before."

The teacher gave his student a sympathetic smile. "My dear boy, you might be experiencing the actual feeling of being in love."

"What? And how could it have been caused? Was it a love potion, after all? Maybe a spell?"

"It's a part of muggle science, biology. The chemicals in your brain cause it and it's not something you can control. It happens when it happens. A truly beautiful feeling."

Theo's mouth twisted into a dissatisfied grimace. "Is there anything I can do about it?"

"You can talk to the girl about it, for example," Slughorn looked at the door and shouted, "come in, Y/n!"

Y/n cursed to herself in her thoughts. How could he know she was there?

The girl walked in shyly, holding a paper in her hands. "I wanted to show you my paper, professor," the girl spoke, "if there's anything you think I should change or... anything."

As the girl handed the paper to the teacher, she looked at Theo. They stood dangerously close to each other. The silence between the was so loud, Y/n was praying for the teacher to say something. Anything.

"Amazing, Mrs Granger," he spoke eventually, "although the Draught of Living Dead is an extremely difficult potion to make. I'm glad you're so ambitious, but I'd suggest you get help from someone more experienced."

"I'm pretty sure I can do it on my own." Y/n assured.

"Maybe Mr. Nott here could help you. The sixth year has been just learning about this potion, actually. Theodore, would you be so kind and help Mrs Granger?"

Suddenly, Theo's gaze somewhat softened. There was no more disgust in his eyes. When he stood so close to Y/n, he wondered why did he act the way he did. Why did he do all the mean things to her. Maybe he had always liked her, but didn't want to admit it, even to himself alone.

"Yes, sure," he said, "I can help."

Y/n felt happy. For some reason, she didn't dislike Theo for all the things he did. She secretly always liked him, he was attractive, and she would even sometimes daydream about the day he would finally talk to her like a normal person. Maybe the day has finally come.

[deebris]

The Mysterious Visitor 2

Batfamily x batsis (platonic!)

Synopsis: The unknown child evokes conflicting feelings in Bruce Wayne, who once again finds himself needing to deal with Talia's life problems. The girl only wanted the simple desire to see her brother again, unaware of the danger she had put herself into on her journey.

Warnings: The reader is 13 years old and is Damian's twin sister; the tone of the story is somewhat sad; Bruce is intimidating; Hugo Strange mentioned.

Word count: 2.8k

Note: I feel like maybe I could have developed a more emotional scene between Bruce and the reader, I also want to delve deeper into her thought process, but I hope to make up for that in the next part.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

Alfred could finally check the exact time now that he was standing in front of Bruce's room, admiring for a few seconds the clock in the corridor's decoration, which showed 4:17 am. He prepared to knock on the door, but suddenly a thought crossed his mind: would it be more rational to wake Damian instead of his father? Throughout his life, he had faced unusual situations thanks to the Wayne family; hardly anything would shake him now. His concern, however, was not for himself, but for Bruce.

Talia was a persistent shadow in Bruce's past, still haunting him, and although he had tried to convince the butler many times that the only link he had with her now was because of their son, Alfred still doubted it. Their relationship had been complicated in many ways, either because of her ambiguous nature or Ra’s al Ghul's insistence on trying to persuade Bruce to join the League of Assassins, making Alfred fear that Bruce's morals might deviate because of this passion at the time.

Alfred raised his fist to knock three times and waited patiently as was his custom, but it seemed that was not enough to wake his master. He knew the door was open and knew he was allowed to enter without knocking, so just this once he used the liberty the young man had given him over the years; because in the end, Bruce Wayne was just that, a young man, and would always be seen that way by him.

Inside the room, he turned on the light, and the intense glare made him close his eyes to avoid the sting of the brightness. Approaching the bed, he sighed at the sight of Zolpidem pills left on the nightstand. This had been the only way Bruce found to stop spending sleepless nights, reluctantly since he was too stubborn and preferred to patrol in the darkness. Waking him would be a difficult task.

"Master Bruce," he called, waiting for a response, but got nothing. Alfred felt sorry for waking him, seeing how he finally seemed to be resting. "Master Bruce," he called again, this time nudging his shoulder. The pills must have been wearing off because he started to stir on the mattress.

"What’s going on, Alfred?" Bruce asked in a hoarse voice while rubbing his eyes to relieve the discomfort from the lamp. He sat up in bed, leaning his back against the headboard, blinking several times to see the butler in the corner. One of the room's curtains was open, and he saw the snow falling outside with the dark sky, showing that it was still night. "Is it Hugo Strange? Has he shown up somewhere?"

"Unfortunately, or fortunately, no, sir." Alfred paused, then licked his lips, preparing to continue and finally revealing, "There's a young lady downstairs who claims to be Master Damian’s sister." Direct, as always.

"Sister of Damian?" Bruce repeated the information, still not fully comprehending its meaning. He needed some time, just standing there absorbing the words. It seemed to be taking an eternity, but Alfred wouldn't interrupt the moment of clarity he was having.

He squinted, pushed the covers aside, and picked up the shirt he found nearby. Buttoning it up and getting out of bed, he continued, "When did this happen?"

"Just now, sir."

"Did Damian bring her here?" The question had a bitter tone but never crossed the line of respect that was drawn between them, and Alfred knew he should prepare for his interrogation. Bruce saw the alarm clock and, like the butler a few minutes ago, checked the time. "He never mentioned anything like this."

"Nor to me." Alfred suddenly extended a coat for him to take. Bruce held the fabric between his fingers, confused. "This coat is hers. There’s a map of Gotham City and a letter inside. I recommend you take a look at the addressee."

Pulling the papers from the right pocket, Bruce noticed a map folded into many smaller parts and a letter witch was still sealed, though the corners were noticeably crumpled and marked by small fingers. Carefully analyzing the cursive handwriting, he read. "I had no idea Damian still had contact with his mother. Much less that Talia had a daughter," he said, still drowsy, staring at the name 'Talia Head,' to whom the letter was addressed and recognizing his son’s elegant handwriting. Apparently, she still used the alias surname.

"It's not surprising considering you only discovered your son after so many years." The statement could have easily been interpreted as irony, but it was acidic. "She didn’t seem sure Damian lived here; I suppose she found out because of this letter."

"You left her alone downstairs?" he ignored the previous comment.

"I left her in Master Dick's care."

Bruce stared at him for long seconds and hurried out of the room. Halfway down the stairs, he could already see some glimpses of Dick's hair over the back of the sofa, talking to someone, or rather, laughing with someone.

"Dick?" The voice quickly caught his attention, turning his face to see his father approaching. When Bruce stood in front of the fireplace, he could finally look at the child beside the boy. Dick began to say something, but Bruce couldn’t hear. 

He stared at the girl, analyzing everything about her, from the way she intertwined her fingers nervously to her deer-like eyes. Her iris were shining, as if she had cried, and her swollen and bruised lips were quite noticeable. She had definitely been outside not long ago, shaking and rubbing her hands together constantly to warm herself up. She seemed too sweet, but Bruce knows that appearances can be deceiving.

His gaze passed over the pendants hanging from her bracelet, a simple detail that caught him off guard. Two crossed swords and a demonic head, he understood well what they meant; they were some of the symbols of the League of Assassins, the third was a simple "T" surrounded by a moon. He shouldn’t have been surprised, Talia was a possessive woman and he knew that the "T" was her way of marking property.

"Her name is Y/n," he heard Dick say after a long time.

You noticed how this man's eyes went dark while he watched you and couldn’t help but shrink back on the sofa. It was impossible to hold his gaze, and you began to feel ashamed of being stared at for so long.

"Y/n, this is Bruce Wayne."

"What do you want?" That came out ruder than he intended, but his aversion to the League of Assassins stirred a certain anger. The idea that this could all be a trap crossed his mind. You might be young and exude innocence, but you must have enough understanding to participate in their malicious plans.

"I just wanted to see my brother," you said with sadness in your voice, questioning yourself if this whole situation was worth it. Bruce knew the best way to confirm if this was all true would be by his son’s word, but the signs were so explicit that it might not even be necessary.

You don’t look anything like her, at least at first glance, but you wore her favorite colors and clothes so perfectly matched that no girl your age could choose yet, exactly to Talia's taste and with the appropriate youthful touch for your age. The pendants, the cut of your hair, literally everything had her touch. It was impossible for anyone to convince him otherwise.

"Go get Damian." He said, and Dick understood that the message was for him. Bruce needed to make sure you were telling the truth, or at least needed to make sure you weren’t dangerous. This could still be a League scheme or some plot by your mother.

"Can I see him?" Your voice was the loudest you had spoken that night. The excitement was clear, and it was so much that irrationally you stood up to follow Dick, but a calloused hand suddenly wrapped around your torso and stopped you, making your back hit a slightly prominent belly. You looked up and saw the old man again, his expression was not happy, and you realized it was directed at Mr. Wayne, who had an arm extended towards you but that never managed to touch you.

Like his face, his arm was tense, with visible veins and contracted tendons. You didn't know what his intentions were, but by the way the old man grabbed you to prevent him from laying hands on you, maybe he wasn't as good as he or Dick. It was a very scary sight., making you feel that this man could be dangerous. Trusting the old man, you turned to hug him, hiding as much as possible. Mr. Wayne’s aura was dark, very unfriendly, but you still saw how he recoiled with his face displaying a certain sense of regret.

Dick noticed Alfred's sudden movement behind him before he could leave the room. He glanced at their faces and for a moment considered whether it would be appropriate to turn back and mention the conversation he had with you to the butler in secret, but then his eyebrows furrowed thinking of Damian. Maybe he should confront the little demon first.

"Don’t do anything stupid, Bruce." Dick thought.

Frantically he knocked on the boy’s door. One, two, three, four times until he lost count. At no point did he hear any noise inside, so he began to turn the doorknob, only to find it was locked.

"Of course he’d lock it, that brat..."

"What are you doing?" Suddenly Tim's bedroom door behind him opened abruptly, making a sliver of light from inside illuminate the opposite wall. He was obviously irritated at being woken up but still had that tone of seriousness he carried most of the time.

"Where's his room key?" Dick completely ignored his brother's attitude.

"Forget it. I heard him sneak out to patrol again." Tim's voice sounded tired.

"And you let him?!" Dick snapped but reminded himself to contain it, remembering that Jason was sleeping in one of the rooms in that wing and that you three downstairs might hear the commotion. "Why didn’t you stop him?"

"And what good would it do? That boy is too stubborn." Tim tried to defend himself. "Besides, I have his location right here. He’ll be fine." He opened the door a bit more to show one of his computer monitors tracking the trajectory and heart signals of a green dot on the streets of Gotham City.

Dick looked both ways down the hallway before pushing Tim back into his room and closing the door.

"Hey, what's this? Why are you acting so weird?" Tim was startled by Dick's unusual behavior, feeling anxious as he watched him go to the computer to check Damian's exact location, observing the dot on the screen moving. Dick pressed a button, likely an emergency notification to get Damian to return home. Then he turned to Tim, gripping his shoulders and looking at him with intense seriousness.

"Tim, what I'm about to tell you might be a lot to take in, and I need you to try to understand as much as possible." Dick pointed a finger in his face, waiting for confirmation.

"You're scaring me like this. What the hell happened?"

"No questions and no interruptions! Understood?" Dick's tone was authoritative, stepping back only when he saw Tim nodding affirmatively.

"Why the hell is everyone awake downstairs? Did someone die or something?" Jason barged into Tim's room without ceremony, trying to make a joke, but when he saw the ghostly expressions on their faces, he quickly shut the door again, this time with him inside the room. "My God," he exclaimed in shock. "Can I join in on your little secret?" he asked ironically.

"Did you see the girl?" Dick asked Jason nervously, with a certain expectation.

"Yeah. I saw a girl with Bruce and Alfred. But they didn't see me, since I went back upstairs. The mood down there is pretty tense." Jason threw himself on the bed, making the mattress bounce and Tim frown in displeasure. "I think Alfred is going to give him a lecture afterwards."

"She's Bruce's daughter."

Jason propped himself up on his elbows, and Tim had to sit in the computer chair. His mouth formed a perfect 'O' as he struggled to believe Dick's words.

"With who this time?" Jason seemed to be reacting better than Tim to the news, even letting out a light laugh. It was a typical, caustic Jason response.

"That's not all." Dick ignored his comment. "She said she's Damian's twin."

Tim let out a short whistle, processing the idea like a complex calculation. "Tell this story from the beginning, Dick. Why did she show up now?" He finally managed to rejoin the conversation. It took a while for the shock to pass, but now he had his usual rational demeanor.

Dick rubbed his hands over his face, trying to recount the night and organize the information. "Apparently, she doesn't even know Bruce is her father. And he doesn't know about it either."

"Damian also never mentioned having a sister."

"Damn. Hiding one kid for a decade is something, but two?" Jason stared at the floor as if it were the most interesting thing in the world, a strange sensation taking over the room. But seeing the melancholic expression on Dick's face, his curiosity grew even more. "What else do you know, huh Dick?" He questioned him, sensing there was something much deeper behind this, and his brother just gave him an enigmatic look.

"She said she came here to see Damian. That she found out where he was because of a letter he wrote to Talia..." Dick suddenly froze, pulling a little box from his pocket as if it were a dangerous bomb. "While we were talking, she said a man had helped her get here. He gave her a map and asked her to deliver a present to Bruce, but she gave it to me to deliver." He handed the beige little box to the two, but it was Tim who took it.

Whatever it was, it was very well wrapped.

"Is it right to open it?" Tim asked. "I mean, it's for Bruce, isn't it?"

"I already opened it." Dick said bluntly. "I thought it might be a trap, I was careful."

"Give it here." Jason took the small box from Tim's hands. It was the same size as an engagement ring box, perfect for carrying in a pocket. He pulled the lid off and took out a card, freezing when he read it.

"What does it say?" Tim was curious, taking the card from his hands and reading it out loud:

'I sent your daughter home as a demonstration of my benevolence. Merry Christmas, Batman. Signed, H.S.’

"Holy shit," Jason exclaimed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "That bastard figured out Batman's identity."

"Even worse: he knew about her before we did." Tim added reflectively, his voice barely a whisper. "That means he knows much more than just Batman's identity. He might know other things, including our identities. He probably suspects we are also vigilantes."

"I want to hear the whole story properly." Jason's intensely serious voice broke the silence that had settled in the room, determined to fully understand the appearance of this girl and how she got involved with Hugo Strange.

Dick took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before speaking. "Alright, here it is. Minutes ago, Alfred and I woke up because a girl showed up at the manor claiming to be Damian's sister. She told me that she had a map of Gotham and a letter addressed to Talia from Damian. Alfred brought Bruce to her, and then I went upstairs to call Damian, but I discovered that he's out on patrol. And now we're here."

Tim interrupted, "Wait, so Damian's been in contact with Talia and didn't tell us?"

"That's what it seems like," Dick confirmed, rubbing his temples. "The girl didn't even know Bruce was her father. She mentioned that a man helped her get here and gave her a map along with a present for Bruce."

Jason leaned forward even more. "And this man was Hugo Strange."

"Not xactly, he could have sent someone else." Dick nodded. "The present was that card. Strange knows about her and about Bruce being Batman. He sent her here as some twisted gift."

Tim, processing the information, asked, "Did she say anything about why Strange would do this? What does he gain from sending her here?"

"She didn't seem to know much about Strange's intentions," Dick replied. "She just wanted to see Damian. But it’s clear that Strange knows a lot more than he's letting on. He must have some larger plan in mind."

Jason clenched his fists, his anger palpable. "So, this girl is just a pawn in his game. We need to figure out what his endgame is."

"Agreed," Dick said. "But first, we need to make sure she's safe and find out everything she knows. We also need to talk to Damian and see what tell us about all this."

Tim nodded, adding, "And we have to stay vigilant. If Strange knows this much, we can't underestimate him. He could have more moves planned."

Jason stood up, his determination evident. "We need to get to the bottom of this before anyone gets hurt."

"But what about Talia? Did she just let her daughter go out there, be deceived by a stranger, and then simply come here?" Tim pointed out. "And you, Dick? Are you going to tell Bruce?"

Suddenly, the sound of someone tapping on the window glass was heard. The three brothers turned their heads to see Damian, clad in his Robin attire, asking to come in. "Open up already, you idiots."

Tag list:

@lafrone @sylum @mileskisser @belowbreadcrumbs @riddle-me-im-sirius

@rafa-the-beautiful @shehrazadekey @fairuzwhat @bedeater @arianapjs

@idonthaveanameforthisacc @azulawayne @nciolisa @lovelywritersgarden

@spideybv28 @faimmm @formula-space @cherry-peach-flavored

🍒

@nebuluma

Credits for the divider: @cafekitsune

[writing-for-life]

The Endless Are Not Their Opposite--They Only Define It

I read quite often, on here and elsewhere, that the Endless are also their opposite (@tickldpnk8 and I were just talking about an interesting thread on Reddit), so I just decided to speed-complete this one and get it out of my drafts before it dies in there (so not as much in-depth as originally planned, but sometimes, you just need to run with it 🤣).

The Endless are not their opposite. They define it. It’s a (in my mind, and I’d love to hear what you think) massive difference. And they define their opposite by their absence. If they truly were their opposite, it would give very different meaning to canon, and if we were to do so, a lot of it wouldn't make sense in my view.

Dream is not also reality. He defines it. He is, and forever will be, unreality. It is his absence that defines reality. A dream that becomes real isn't a dream anymore--it's real. That’s the main reason why pulling the ship into reality in Overture weakens him. If he were reality, he could have just snapped his fingers and make it happen. If he were reality, a lot of his problems wouldn't be... well, problems. The fact he is (a) D/dream is pretty much why all his relationships are doomed to fail. Dreams don't last. Dreams are forever strange and can't be truly known.

Delirium is not also sanity/clarity. She defines it through her absence. And when she pulls herself together like in Brief Lives, it hurts her "muchly". It is immeasurable pain for her because it is what she is not and cannot be for any extended period of time without hurting herself.

Despair is not also hope. She defines it via her absence. As long as you hope, you don’t despair. If Despair were also hope, we would not have 6 issues of Overture very clearly showing us who and what H/hope is. If Despair were also hope, we wouldn't need a little girl called Hope reach out her hand and touch Dream—he would have a sister who could do it. But the only time Despair shows up for him, so to speak, is after he killed Orpheus—make of that what you will.

Death is not also life. She defines it. The fact that she is there at your beginning does not mean she is the one who gives you life. She is there so you will remember her, always (and especially when she takes your hand), hence you will cherish life. She does not directly give life to immortals either--they are immortal because of her absence, because she withholds her gift, like she does with Orpheus and Hob (the Eblis-situation has nothing to do with anything in my mind and is linked to a funeral rite, and we are clearly told it is not something she usually does [“it’s been so long”], or is remotely comfortable doing. It is just that she is the Endless that is most life-adjacent and hence the one who will have to do it. Just like Dream is the most reality-adjacent and hence the one who has to pull the ship).

Destruction is not also creation. He defines it. He is what gives us the blank slate, he is what makes creation possible, he is what starts the cycle and ends it, but he is not creation himself. Keeping on destroying makes creation impossible. There needs to be a pause, a break for creation to come to fruition—the absence of destruction. If he were also creation, he wouldn't create so badly (to the extent that it is canonically turned into a running gag), and being around him and seeking him out wouldn't be an issue. But it is.

Desire is not also hatred (I’m still not sure if hatred is really the opposite of desire, but I’ll run with it because that’s what Gaiman chose). They define it via their absence. You know how Dream doesn’t want Desire in his life anymore after one major spat (whether he had reason to or overreacted isn’t really the issue). And what feelings are often left in the absence of Desire? And what does Desire feel and gets themselves tangled up in because they are pushed away and are basically not acknowledged/desired by their own sibling despite constantly trying to show him they are important (desire is not just a sexual thing, people, get your mind out of the gutter 🤣)? Yeah, about that one… There is definitely a different type of enmeshment here which sometimes seems a bit plot-hole-y to me, but I think that might be down to the fact that Desire is the chosen antagonist (and even that, only to a degree until they aren’t). Even so, it still makes sense.

Destiny is not also freedom. He is the absence of it. All paths lead to the same end. Or a decision you make was the decision you were going to make all along, and what looks like a different ending was the ending that would have happened anyway. And even if you choose, the book will start to make that choice destiny again. Only Delirium knows what’s not in his book, and in this universe, the only true freedom is not bound by any rules, logic or sanity…

[aashi-heartfilia]

What MaoMao feels for Jinshi...

(Vol 5 epilogue discussion)

Love, duh. She wouldn't let just anyone choke her to death. Isn't it obvious? She just doesn't realise it yet because of her repressed emotions. I've seen a lot of bad takes and people hating on the Vol 5 epilogue, saying it's one heck of a disaster but honestly, it's not. Here's why:

I think it does a very good job of humanizing Jinshi, the imperial brother. Before this point, we were always given a picture perfect image of Jinshi, in his most angelic form...but after seeing this, it looks like he's very much capable of murder, lol. No seriously!

Previously, Jinshi was always all sunshine and roses and this is the first time we see a pinnacle of his anger and frustration taking a form.

Honestly, anyone would be angry. Jinshi has done so much for MaoMao and almost everyone close to him knows that he has eyes on her and only her from pretty early on in the series and only MaoMao is the one person who seems to be in the dark. Or more precisely pretending to be in the dark.

She is literally running away from her own feelings and that's what made Jinshi so frustrated.

It was the same thing in the 'Frogging chapter' (yeah, that's what we're calling it). She was "playing the role of an ignorant maid who's in the dark as to what her supiriors are upto". Jinshi was trying to tell MaoMao that he is the imperial brother and he does in fact like her but that never happened because MaoMao kept pretending that it was a frog.

Same here, even if he didn't say it outright, he was dropping so many hints! Who else could have gifted MaoMao a Moon hairpin? Who would have given her beautiful dresses to wear in the banquet?

Jinshi is called the Moon Prince for a reason and that hairpin had a moon and opium poppy. even other people recognised that it was given by him to MaoMao like Rishu's half sister, so a smartass person like Mao should be able to guess that this was all from Jinshi.

The same person who's busy day and night made preparations for her, only to see some unknown random person dancing with her and kissing her hand.

He was jealous and it's only human.

In fact, I'm glad that he's not a complete saint.

He was mad at MaoMao for pretending to be in the dark when he has gone to great lengths to take care of her, and he was hurt that the same person would even suggest him to marry someone else, i.e. consort Rishu.

He was trying to tell her how he feels, and she wasn't even willing to acknowledge anything that is between them.

Adding to the fact, she knew the thing between Basen and Rishu and yet she chose to turn a blind eye, to the love that could blossom between them and suggested her name to Jinshi. It was wrong on so many levels because MaoMao knew everything and yet chose to give the most political suggestion she could think of.

Maybe because of her repressed emotions, she herself has become heartless while making decisions but just like a double edged sword, it has consequences.

So it was a mixture of anger, hurt and jealousy for Jinshi.

And he wanted MaoMao to feel the same.

The same amount of frustration he has felt as MaoMao keeps running away, just because it would be a little troublesome.

Yeah, he's shitty just like that, and so is she.

(and we love them for it ❤️)

Does it justify what he did? No. But it seems like MaoMao herself doesn't even mind it that much. She looked like well within her comfort zone. Otherwise, we know how capable she is of defending herself. But she was there, pretty much sitting with Jinshi until she dominated him completely and made her escape.

Guess they're both far from the vanilla couple that are usually expected in these kinds of series and I absolutely love it.

She was just mad he didn't poison her instead, like he promised her, to which he replied he would NEVER let her poison herself (because he also loves her a lot too, duh)

This entire scene looks more like a battle for sexual dominance, which MaoMao won.

She always has, since the very first day he saw the real her ❤️

[flowerandblood]

The Lost Haven (4/16)

[ modern mafia • Aemond x niece • female ]

[ warnings: uprotected sex, drunk sex (with consent), incest obviously, smut, fingering, the angst, suicidal thoughts, description of cruel physical violence, bad, bad things ]

[ description: The vacation from eight years ago still haunts his memories and doesn't let him forget what happened between him and his niece, the daughter of his sister and Harwin Strong. Their paths separate and he immerses himself in his father's mafia world until the day she calls him for the first time since those events. Sexual tension, dark, dangerous, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]

Author’s note: As promised, this is another, this time official modern version of The Fall from the Heavens. In this version, Daemon is not related to the family, but is simply Rhaenyra's husband and the leader of the second gang, Alys and Larys are also not related to each other, but Larys is Harwin's brother. I will partly refer to the original series, hiding some easter eggs, and some will be a completely new, fresh plot. As in every universe, only Aemond calls her Rhaenys and this is not her real name (she is unnamed character and the others also do not know that he calls her that). There will be a lot more brutality and angst in this version, so watch out. You can read this as a standalone story. Song used in this chapter: Every Breath You Take by The Police

Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond & Rhaenys Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Over the next few days, Daemon tried to get out of her what had happened and who had put the rape pill into her drink. To his fury, she lied that some guy she didn't know had done it, afraid of what would happen if her stepfather declared war on Larys Strong.

She figured this man wanted just that.

Chaos that he would be able to cash in on, using what was happening to destroy them.

"I do not comprehend you. From now on, I or your mother will be dropping you off and bringing you back from your classes at the University. No meeting friends or going out until you come to your senses." He communicated to her coldly and she replied nothing, not having the strength to stand up to him.

It wouldn't do any good anyway.

Although she should have been worried and terrified, she felt a strange kind of excitement and tension because her uncle, whom she hadn't seen for eight years, had really taken her out of there.

He had really helped her.

She closed her eyes, remembering the touch of his warm, broad hand on hers and his voice, so different from his childish one, deep and low.

Her heart beat harder at that memory, a pleasant, familiar warmth rippling through her lower abdomen.

She felt she had to write him something and after hours of thought she simply wrote the usual thank you. She couldn't stop the feeling of disappointment that spread through her body when he didn't write her back, even though she checked her phone once in a while.

For some reason, she had naively believed that something would now change between them, that she would regain contact with him, that his person would return to her life making her able to finally close this difficult chapter of her past.

However, he remained silent, exactly as he had done for eight years.

She thought it would stay that way until it turned out that her grandfather was organising his sixtieth birthday party with pomp and her whole family was to attend.

"No." She heard Daemon's voice standing in the corridor, overhearing in silence their conversation which he was having with her mother in his office. "There's no way I'm shaking that whore's hand."

"Daemon. My father is dying. You can only show up for a little while and then lock yourself in a hotel room. None of us like it, but I don't want to say no to a man who may not be among the living tomorrow."

Although no one seemed to be happy about it, they were all going to travel there and with each day approaching the event, she was panicking more and more.

She was going to see him for the first time in eight years.

He had no Facebook, Instagram or any other social media accounts: she had no idea what kind of person he was now, what he looked like.

She was afraid that seeing him would make her feel disappointed, that something inside her would finally snap, that the thought that all was lost would make her fall into a state she would never get out of again.

In addition, no one but her knew about what Larys Strong had told her.

Otto Hightower had ordered the murder of your father.

How was she supposed to look that man in the eye?

How was she supposed to look her uncle in the eye knowing he worked for him?

Driving there in their big, black Mercedes she felt like she was about to throw up, her heart pounding like crazy, making her head spin.

"Are you all right? You're pale. I don't want to go there either." Said Jace, glancing at her over his shoulder from the front passenger seat.

Daemon, who had been driving while her mother, following behind them drove the other car, looked at her in the reflection of his mirror, throwing her a piercing, menacing look.

He knew she was hiding something, he could feel it, and the tension between them grew more and more.

When they arrived, they were all searched: no guns were allowed inside.

This was to give the guests some sort of sense of security.

As they walked into the great hall, she was overwhelmed on the one hand by how many people were there, but on the other she was glad to disappear into the crowd. She felt her heart stop for a moment when she spotted Aegon talking to his mother – his blonde hair was pulled back, his jacket carelessly thrown over his shirt, sunglasses on his head.

She spotted Viserys sitting next to him, she spotted Helaena, she even spotted Otto measuring her with a focused gaze, but she didn't see him anywhere.

She felt a wave of disappointment at the thought that he would not come.

As they sat in their seats, searching for their name cards, she felt she was on the verge of crying.

He won't come because of her.

He would never forgive her.

They were served starters and drink, the loud music and the conversations of the people around her made her feel like she was at a wedding, only the guests were individuals she wanted nothing to do with.

She saw how tense Daemon was, looking around the room impatiently, throwing Otto Higtower a warning glance once in a while.

She saw out of the corner of her eye that someone had entered the room and froze, recognising him instantly – he was looking at her, his healthy eye wide open, his nostrils quivering with each of his deep, anxious breaths.

She was taken aback by how tall he was, how drawn and sharply defined his jaw and nose were, his pale, long scar running from his eyebrow arch to his cheek.

He was dressed all in black, in a leather jacket and turtleneck tucked into belted trousers, his short hair, although visibly styled in a hurry, looked elegant.

She wanted to get up, to approach him, to thank him for everything he had done, but as she rose from her seat he immediately turned his head away, something akin to disgust flashed across his face, from which she felt a squeeze in her gut.

She watched, feeling like an idiot as he took his seat next to Aegon and turned tense, thinking that she needed to get out of this place as soon as possible.

She walked out into the garden and headed towards the pier, wanting to be alone – she felt like her heart was about to leap out of her chest, burning tears squeezed under her eyelids, wanting to run down her face.

He couldn't even look at her.

He just pretended not to see her.

She couldn't say why it hurt her so much, why she couldn't let him go when he wanted it so badly: she felt there were years of unsaid words between them, wrongs that had never been made up for.

There had been no apology or explanation from anyone's lips, nothing to help her get back on the right track.

She sat on the wooden platform, staring dully into the black surface of the water, thinking about how it looked in the starlight as if it were some disgusting, dark, dangerous thick mass.

She had a feeling that if she jumped into it she would be all sticky.

She shuddered as she heard someone's footsteps, convinced for some reason that it was Daemon who had come out after her, unable to bear sitting with all these people alone. As she turned over her shoulder she froze, noticing him and stood up quickly, terrified by his gaze, piercing and cold, his eye wide open.

Her heart pounded like mad, her breath heavy in her chest as she watched him pull a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from his jacket pocket, his gaze fixed on her face.

"− what were you doing there? −" He asked finally.

She shuddered to hear that his voice was exactly like the one in her dream: cold, deep and low. She swallowed hard, overwhelmed by how close he stood to her, that he had come to her, that he smelled of some intense, masculine perfume.

"− what do you mean? −" She choked out with difficulty, unable to take her eyes off his face.

He took his time answering − he leaned with the cigarette between his full lips over the flame, its tip lit red and hissed as he took a drag.

"− what were you doing in that club −" He hummed. "− looking for a new experiences? −"

Something in the way he said it, mocking and amused, made her feel discomfort and pain in her chest. She furrowed her eyebrows, unsure of what she should answer to such a brazenly asked question, surprised by his directness.

His lips tightened in displeasure, something in his gaze changed – she had the impression that his iris had turned completely black as he puffed out smoke with his mouth, the smell of tobacco filling her lungs.

"− I don't like to ask twice −" He said coolly, making an unpleasant shiver pass along her back. She swallowed loudly feeling that her whole body tensed, ready to run away.

There was something about him that she feared, as if he wasn't fully human.

You don't even know what monsters lurk in the shadows.

"− I wanted to find out how my father died −" She said finally, wanting to see how he would react to her words.

To her surprise, he burst out laughing, however, it was a downright chilling sound that had nothing to do with genuine amusement. He tapped his finger on his cigarette, causing ash to fly to the ground.

"− and what did you find out? −"

She looked at him with big eyes feeling her heart in her throat, wondering if she should tell him, if she should confront him.

Will he kill her for what she says?

Will he hurt her family?

Despite the questions in her head, it seemed to her that her words had left her mouth without participation of her will.

"− that your grandfather killed him −"

He stared at her for a moment, surprised, his hand frozen in mid-motion to his mouth as he laughed again – this time it sounded like a low chuckle.

"− who told you that? − Larys Strong? − was he the one who dragged you there? −" He sneered making her feel a cold sweat run down her back.

How did he know?

Seeing the look on her face he grinned in a way from which she felt a shiver sweep through her − her breath caught in her throat as he took a few steps towards her, towering over her with an expression on his face from which she could read nothing, taking a drag on the remnants of his cigarette.

"− it was Larys who reported him − after the death of his father and brother, all the fortune fell to him − my grandfather just passively looked on −"

She felt as if he had stabbed her in the heart with his words − the real pain in her chest made her open her mouth wide, her eyes filled with tears of horror.

Larys had used her like a silly little girl.

He had planned everything.

"− did you know about this? −" She muttered, for some reason wanting to believe he had nothing to do with it.

The smile disappeared from his face, as if her question had frustrated him.

"− everyone knew −" He replied. "− he passed sentence on himself when he started talking with the police − his days were numbered anyway −"

His answer made her simply move ahead, bursting into a sudden, hysterical sob, as if everything she had held inside her for the past days, months, years, had poured out of her like a dark, viscous, thick wave that could not be stopped.

Everyone knew.

She sighed and squealed when she felt his wide hand clamp down aggressively on her arm like steel tongs, turning her violently back towards him, causing her pain. She tried to push him away, panting and whimpering, something about his movements, his brutality, the ache he was causing her gave her pleasure.

Some part of her felt she deserved it.

Some part of her wanted him to kill her, to strangle her with his own hands.

She sobbed when his hand tightened on her hot cheeks, wet and red from the tears that flowed down her face, forcing her to look at him − his wide-open eye seemed completely black to her, his lips parted in a heavy, drawn-out breath swollen with excitement and rage.

He was so obscenely close, watching her as if she were some pretty, interesting, expensive object, the smell of his perfume, his sweat and his cigarettes made her dizzy, everything around them seemed blurry to her.

"− don't you miss your favourite uncle anymore? − hm? −" He breathed out at last, his words on the verge of a hiss, his face so close that the tips of their noses rubbed against each other once in a while.

There was a kind of desperation and helplessness in what he was doing, in his words, in his gaze fixed lustfully on her lips, as if he wanted to bite her.

The person in front of her had killed the boy she loved and she knew it perfectly well.

"− I don't recognise you − God, I don't recognise you −" She mumbled at last, feeling the warm tears of grief run down her cheeks.

She closed her eyes, thinking that he could do whatever he wanted to her − strangle her or throw her in the water – she would let him do anything as long as she finally stopped feeling anything.

She squealed in pain as his fingers dug into her tender skin as hard as if he wanted to break her jaw − he took a loud breath through his mouth and shuddered as if something in her words had broken him.

"− good − because I don't fucking recognise myself either −" He hissed out in a trembling, dispassionate voice full of pain from which she felt hot in her heart.

A quiet sigh escaped her lips as his forehead pressed against hers, accepting at last that his brutality stemmed from a need for closeness, a need to take by force what he was sure she would never give him of her own free will.

Something in his words and in his gesture of despair made her hands, clenched until now on his jacket, rise higher, to his neck and to his face, running slowly over his jawline. He sighed and shuddered, feeling it, closing his eyes for a moment, the grip of his fingers on her cheeks easing.

She felt her nipples harden under the material of her dress, felt the space between her thighs swell and pulsate at the thought of what she wanted to do.

The moan that involuntarily escaped his throat when her fleshy, moist lips ran over his sounded sweet and innocent, the lick of his tongue that was his response made them cling to each other in a violent, loud, sticky kiss.

It had nothing to do with a gentle caress because it seemed to her that they were simply trying to devour each other − their hands clamped down on each other's bodies as if they wanted to merge into one, their slick tongues meeting again and again between their teeth, licking and teasing each other with loud clicks of their saliva, stripping this act of any sense of innocence.

They knew it was wrong and that's why they wanted it so badly, so when his fingers tightened on her plump buttocks, pressing her against the throbbing bulge in his trousers, she felt her sticky wetness run down her thigh, her hands clenched on his hair, letting him know he could take what he wanted.

"− it's your fault − it's your fault −" He panted into her mouth between deep, passionate, messy, hot kisses, his lips beneath hers swollen and wonderfully wet – he tasted of mint chewing gum and cigarettes, something forbidden, strange, terrifying.

He was a monster, and she wanted him to devour her.

There was no longer a lamp to light for her.

"− mghm −" She mumbled as she felt his hips begin to roll back and forth, rubbing deliberately against her lower abdomen, his tongue thrusting again and again deep into her throat, telling her that he could fuck her, he could destroy her, he could take everything from her, and she felt a wonderful heat in her lower abdomen at the thought.

She wanted him to do this to her.

She wanted to know what it would be like to feel him there, deep inside her.

What it was like to have someone devour you with every thrust of his hips, every loud sigh of desire that was wrong in itself, what it was like to experience fulfilment on the brink of revelation.

"− are you sure you saw her here? −" She heard Daemon's voice and froze, pulling away from him instantly.

They looked at each other with big eyes, pale and terrified, panting hard and quivering as if they didn't recognise each other.

Oh God, oh God, oh my fucking God!

"− I'm here − I'm coming −" She called out in a trembling voice and ran towards them, towards the light, seeing the silhouettes of her step-father and her brother standing just inside the entrance where two evening lamps were lit.

Back to the light, back to the light, back to the light.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

Daemon furrowed his brow as he looked at her, his gaze fleeing to the side, far away to the silhouette of her uncle standing in the distance.

"Did he do something to you?" He asked coldly.

"N-no. No, I just thanked him for what he did for me. Let's go inside." She lied, stepping back into the hall, struck immediately by the loud music, Every Breath You Take was playing all around her, dancing pairs of businessmen, gangsters and drug dealers made her feel like she was about to vomit.

Oh, can't you see You belong to me? How my poor heart aches With every step you take?

"Mum, excuse me, will you show me what room I'm going to sleep in? I feel bad." She muttered with difficulty feeling like she was suffocating, her heart pounding like mad.

His tongue deep in her throat, his heavy breath smelling of cigarettes and mint, his swollen lips pressed against hers as if he had been dreaming of this moment for years.

This is your fault.

Rhaenyra stroked her shoulder, worried, and rose from her seat.

"Are you sure? There will be birthday cake and wishing soon." She said softly, but she shook her head, the words of the song echoing around her had her on the verge of crying.

Since you've gone, I've been lost without a trace I dream at night, I can only see your face I look around, but it's you I can't replace I feel so cold, and I long for your embrace I keep crying, baby, baby please

"I can't make it." She whispered.

She and her mother went to get her backpack with her things from their car, and then they walked to the hotel part of the manor − the lady at the reception gave them the right key, and her mother escorted her to her room wanting to make sure she could manage.

"Do you need anything? Shall I give you some pills for a stomach ache?" She asked, but she shook her head quickly, opening the door with her card.

"No, thank you. And I'm sorry. Have a good night."

"Don't apologise, my love. Sleep well."

As she closed the door behind her she turned on the light and saw that her room was tiny: it contained a small toilet, and beyond that a single bed, a desk with one chair and a wardrobe for clothes.

She pulled off her dress, washed her face and teeth, then changed into her pyjamas, which were really just an oversized white T-shirt and panties. The night was warm, so she turned off the light and opened the window, lying down in bed.

She tried not to think about what had happened, about how wonderfully he had kissed, about how she had never felt with any boy she had dated what she had felt with him, after years of separation.

She thought she was broken, that she was attracted to something that would help her destroy herself.

Even though her whole body screamed for her to relieve herself with her hand, to sink her own fingers into her warm folds, leaking with desire, she decided that she would not do it, that she would keep the remnants of her dignity before herself.

She fell asleep only hours later from exhaustion, dreaming of him, of him coming to her, of him taking the pillow in his hands, only to press it to her face.

She shuddered, terrified, seeing only darkness around her, hearing some noise. Only after a moment did she realise that someone was knocking on her door.

"− Rhaenys − fuck −" She heard his unclear mumble indicating that he was barely conscious and drunk. Her shoulders lifted in some subconscious defensive gesture, her lips parted in a terrified, accelerated breath.

Oh no, oh, God, no, no, no, no.

She heard a rustling and a thump, as if someone had fallen over, her hands clenched into a fist on the fabric of her duvet.

"− I want to go to sleep −" He muttered so that she barely heard him. She covered her mouth with her hand, feeling that his words, his request, what he subconsciously wanted was tearing at her heart.

He wanted to return to that moment, to fall asleep beside her as he had then.

It frightened her how well she understood him.

She stood up on trembling legs, feeling that they were as soft as cotton wool, and walked quietly to the door, pressing the handle slowly. She looked uncertainly out into the corridor, afraid of what she would see – his silhouette sat on the floor leaning against the wall, his head bowed, a nearly empty bottle of whisky in his hand.

He was not coping.

"Come." She whispered.

He shuddered and lifted his gaze to her, his stare soft and dishevelled. He muttered something under his breath, trying to get up, but fell over, collapsing to his knees, his bottle falling out of his hand, spilling its contents on the floor.

"− fuck −" He growled, wanting to reach for it and pick it up.

"− no − leave it − come inside −" She mumbled quietly, afraid someone would hear or see them.

His body was heavy and numb, making her help him up with great difficulty − he had to grab onto the frame of her door and lean against the wall to keep from falling over, and after a moment he slumped down on her bed, sighing heavily.

She closed the door behind him, swallowing loudly, and walked slowly towards him. He only flinched when she untied his shoes and pulled them off his feet, but furrowed his brow, displeased when she tried to pull his leather jacket off him.

"− you'll be too hot −" She muttered, slipping it off his shoulders but unable to pull it from behind his back, which was crushing the material. She squealed, surprised, placing her hands on his chest for balance as he drew her down with a sudden, sharp movement, causing her to fall against his body.

"− come here − God, you smell so good −" He exhaled making her moist insides pulsate greedily around nothing, a pleasant, tickling sensation filled her lower abdomen as his fingers ran through her hair in a gesture she might call affectionate.

He forced her to bend over so that her body clung to his − his thighs parted so that she could feel what was happening to him, how hard he was because of her proximity, while his lips clung to hers with a loud, messy click.

He smelled of alcohol, the taste of whisky melting on her tongue with each of his wet, hot, hungry licks − his hands slid from her neck down her back to her buttocks, slipping under her panties, his fingers digging into the soft texture of her skin.

"− tell me to leave −" He gasped out. "− tell me to stop −"

She moaned softly into his moist lips, knowing that she should do it.

But she didn't.

She felt his erection pulsate hard beneath her as she let the motions of his hands guide her body, rubbing against the bulge between his thighs, her weeping cunt all hot and swollen with desire, leaking with longing.

How could she let him do this?

How could it be so pleasurable?

She got the answer to her questions when his fingers slid deeper between her legs − she squirmed in his mouth, simultaneously terrified and delighted when the tips of his fingers found her hot, throbbing slit, slowly teasing her opening.

"− shhh − easy now −" He whispered in such a way that she felt a tickling shudder run through her lips, nipples and insides making her wetness begin to drip onto his hand, the circular motions of his fingers pressing wonderfully into her sticky folds began to be accompanied by the quiet clicks of her moisture.

She moaned into his mouth like a helpless little child − he hushed her as if he wanted to soothe and calm her, one hand placing on her head, combing his fingers through her hair, the other teasing her puffy little bud, once in a while running over her entrance, making wonderful waves of heat flow again and again through their bodies.

Their kisses became deep and lazy as they concentrated on the movements of their hips, rocking them so that they brushed against each other.

She shuddered and squirmed, shocked when she felt the tip of his middle finger sink between her fleshy walls, soaking wet with desire, sliding in and out of her with the sticky sound of her moisture, making her hips roll back and forth, coming out to meet him.

"− uncle − we can't − we can't, we can't, we can't −" She mumbled out, feeling his tongue thrust deep between her mouth with his sigh of pleasure, repeating the movements of his finger between her lips, her hands roaming over his cheeks and hair, stroking him tenderly as if she loved him.

As if she loved him.

"− we can − we will − we need to prepare you properly − shhh −" He gasped softly, making her body arch in a spasm of pleasure, a helpless, girlish moan ripped from her throat as his finger sank fully into the hot, soft structure of her throbbing cunt.

"− please − it's wrong − God, it's so wrong −" She whimpered, feeling tears of terror begin to run down her cheeks, her hands clenched on the material of his black turtleneck, her hips falling and rising on his finger, seeking fulfilment.

They both knew it wasn't enough.

"− shhh − I know, baby − I will take care of you − I got you −" He whispered as his free hand from her head slid down between their bodies, undoing his belt and the button of his trousers − she cried out loudly as she felt him slide them down along with his boxers, his fingers slick with her wetness pushing the material of her panties aside, directing her swollen, pulsing slit at the head of his cock.

"− please, Aemond, please −" She mewled, trying to pull away at the same time and spreading her legs wider, involuntarily allowing him to open her wide on his thick, long erection.

"− let me − I need you −" He exhaled, tilting his head back only to look again a moment later at their bodies, at what he was doing to her, at the way he was forcing himself deep into his niece's body.

The experience was wonderfully painful and pleasurable, as if something that had remained empty had at last been filled, as if she was at last whole, as if his body had always been part of hers.

Her walls offered him only apparent resistance, clenching against him in delight, his quiet, helpless moans were evidence of how good it felt.

She let him sink into her fully, sitting up on top of him, placing her hands on his chest, surrendering − she tilted her head back as his hips with deep, sure thrusts began to slam his cock into her body, his fingers clenched on her soft buttocks.

"− I − ah − mghmmm − G-God −" She mumbled out, bursting into sobs, parting her lips wide, leaning lower, letting him rub her with each stab where she needed it − her silky walls began to throb around his erection, soaking him wet, their breaths heavy and hitched, full of helplessness and vulnerability.

She felt strangely full, with each movement of his hips deep inside her body realising what they were doing and how sickeningly pleasurable it was.

"− thaaat's it − that's my girl − fuck, so good −" He exhaled, drifting off completely into the world of his fantasies, with steady, deep pushes building their way to fulfilment.

She thought in disbelief, panting heavily, that the experience of feeling him inside her was something almost spiritual, a revelation of sorts, her body rocking to the rhythm of his thrusts without involving her will.

What they were doing seemed both animalistic and natural to her, as if it was obvious that it had to end this way.

"− just a little more − please, just a little more − let me cum inside, baby −" He mumbled softly, his hands spreading her buttocks apart, allowing him to sink deeper into her fleshy core − she leaned over him and kissed him, their tongues colliding, licking each other in the most ungodly, perverted, lewd way imaginable.

"− A-Aemond − Aemond-Aemond-Aemond − ah! −" She whined into his mouth as he wove his hand into her hair and sank her face into his neck, feeling her warm moisture run down his thighs − her moans and cries of delight were muffled by his skin as her cunt squeezed and sucked him deep inside her in a stunning, overpowering orgasm that shook her body like a wonderful, hot, tickling wave.

She heard him sigh loudly and tilt his head back, clamping his fingers on her flesh, his body convulsing several times as if he had suffered some kind of attack when his hot seed filled her insides at last.

"− God − oh my fucking God −" He gasped out, panting heavily along with her, their hips moving for a moment more in a subconscious desire to prolong this feeling full of relief and warmth.

"− oh, baby −" He whispered, stroking her head and buttocks as if she were a small child.

For some reason unfathomable to her, she was not indebted to him, stroking his torso, neck and jaw, snuggled into him as she had been then, many years ago, feeling at peace, feeling safe, feeling good.

She felt his hand slide from her ass under his back, slipping his leather jacket out from under them, with which he covered their hips. His hand returned immediately to her soft buttock, as if he liked the feel of her silky skin under his hand, his soft manhood pulsing gently deep inside her.

She didn't mind.

"− sleep − don't worry − I want this baby −" He muttered and she swallowed hard, smiling involuntarily, wondering if he even understood what he was saying to her.

I want this baby.

His drunken alter ego was ready to become a father if it turned out that she became pregnant.

She sighed quietly and closed her eyes, focusing only on his scent, on his heart pounding hard beneath her breasts, on his broad hands embracing her body.

She thought, feeling a strange lightness in her heart, that she hadn't felt this wonderful in eight years.

[thinkingotherwise]

can i request umemiya and reader that they are a couple and since he is like the guys big brother she would be like his big sister? ugh, umemiya is so handsome, gentle, sexy, i love him, i fell in love, i need more content about our number 1.

Umemiya making our expectations for partners way too high. The man seems too perfect.

Hajime Umemiya and his girlfriend being the older siblings or maybe something else to Bofurin members

I think that some Bofurin members give off the youngest sibling energy. Guess who?

You loved Hajime, not only because he was smokin' hot and very charming, even though you loved it as well, but also because of his kindness, the playfulness he showed to everybody, and the attentiveness to, as well as, care about others. He just seemed so perfect and you always told him how lucky you felt to be with him.

As time passed and you spent more and more of it with your ideal man and Bofurin, you also got used to them and the unique relationship they shared. They even started calling you their big sister, as Hajime would usually name himself the big bro, and what other name could they call the girlfriend of their leader?

Honestly, you'd need to be the harsher of you two because your boyfriend was just too soft and playful. He'd pamper the "kids", as he did with the first years, and encourage them to use their youth however they want. You, at the same time, were the voice of reason, trying to keep the Bofurin members under control, as the chaos they could sometimes create was a little too much.

When there was trouble and Bofurin was involved, however, Hajime would become a very protective and firm "older brother". A person you can depend on and leave all your troubles to, and you, as his partner, were responsible for keeping him at bay and not letting him get hurt too much.

The family-like relationship between you, your boyfriend, and other members of the school didn't prevent you from the arguments that arose, thankfully, very rarely.

While you were having a heated conversation with Hajime, the present Bofurin students, who observed it would try to ease you up.

The best ones at that were the first years, because of their awkward, yet playful comments that just made you stop and look at them not believing the words that left their mouths.

"You two always argue like an old married couple." Suou commented loud enough so you could hear him and stop your argument.

It did work and you turned to him but he was far from done and continued with a wide grin on his face.

"Do you plan to adopt all of us in the future, I think some wouldn't mind it."

"The parents are arguing again, what shall we do?" Kiryu joined in on the fun.

You felt your heart beating faster at their teasing getting easily flustered. In the hopes of stopping that your gaze moved to Hajime, who wore a matching grin like the first years, already forgetting about the argument he had with you.

"Well, I wouldn't mind marrying her one day. I'm sure (Y/n) would make a great wife." He commented smiling lovingly at you already imagining the life he could have with you.

"You're getting married?!" Sakura asked loudly getting the attention of other Bofurin members nearby.

That included Hiiragi, who the moment those words left the first year's mouth bent in half feeling the ache in his stomach coming back. He had enough of their shenanigans and slowly walked away to sit somewhere else and calm down.

As well as, Sugishita, who turned with wide eyes to look at the leader in betrayal. How could he not tell him that he was getting married, before telling Sakura?

The whole misunderstanding made you embarrassed and when you saw how much joy it brought Hajime you smacked his arm repeatedly trying to unload the feeling on him. He just laughed loudly and embraced you keeping you close to him.

"Stop it, it's not funny. Sakura, Kiryuu, and Suou you're in so much trouble when I get you!" You called to them trying to push away from the tight embrace but it was impossible.

"Well, hopefully, one day she'll be Umemiya." Hajime said and looked at you with his big loving eyes and you just couldn't take it.

You scrunched your face before hiding it in his shoulder and slapping his biceps twice. You gave in to your fate letting him hug you and shower in love.

Tags: @misticbullet

[imfinereallyy]

“Dad is going to be very angry,” El says with wide eyes taking in the scene before them.

“You think Hop will kill him?” Steve says as he leans against the doorway, eating a Twizzler.

El looks at Steve momentarily, sticking her hand out for some candy. Steve hands her one without hesitation. El rips a piece off before speaking. “Oh yes. He might ask you to help hide the body.”

Steve nods solemnly, “I’ll do what needs to be done. Mikes’s my least favorite child anyway.”

“Hey!” Mike yells, gaining the duo's attention. It brings them back to the scene they walked in on. Mike and Will, with the door closed (no three inches in sight) on top of each other, making out.

Steve doesn't think he’ll ever get that image out of his brain.

“Chill, Wheeler, I'm joking,” Steve says pointedly before turning to El and mouthing no, I'm not.

El giggles, and Steve can't help but feel like he won a prize at the sound.

“I'm sorry, El.” Will blushes with shame, like he is betraying his sister somehow.

El just shrugs, “I do not care. But Dad might. He hates Mike.”

Steve snorts, “That's the understatement of the century. I don't think Hop has ever hated someone’s partner like he has Mike. Honestly, I was surprised he liked Eddie. I mean like is a strong word. But he tolerates him.”

Will pipes up, “I think he does mostly because he knows you'll move out, and he only just got you to agree to stay here.”

Steve shrugs, “I’ll take what I can get. At least he doesn't walk on me having sex.”

“We weren't having sex!” Mike practically screams. Hands up exasperated. “And don't talk about you and Eddie; it's gross.”

Will blushes deeply with head in his hands, “Oh, God.” El pats him on the shoulder in sympathy.

“Also, this wouldn't have happened if you weren't an idiot and just knocked!” Mike stomps. Jesus, this kid is 15 acting 6.

“I was the one who walked in, Mike. I wanted to know if Will wanted to watch a movie.” El says coldly, getting defensive of her brother.

Mike clams up, Steve can't help but feel smug.

“Who’s having sex?!?” A distinct Hopper-like voice echoes through the house.

Will and Mike share a panicked look while Steve and El take more Twizzlers from the bag.

“Oh no. Mike! What are we going to do?”

Mike sputters, “He doesn't have to know it was us! And we weren't having sex!”

Will looks at him like Mike is the biggest moron he's ever met. Steve loves the kid (despite early protest) but has to agree. “Oh gee Mike, I wonder who he will think it was about. Steve? Who is dating a man who isn't here and keep in mind, it's Steve. Who is our brother, and five years older than us? And in a relationship? And let's not forget..is Steve?!”

“This is fair.” Steve agrees. If anyone but Baby Byers had attempted to say that, Steve would have been pissed. But it's Will, so it's coming from a good place.

“Also! Also! The other person here is El! Who is my sister! Not to mention your ex—”

“—well it could have been—”

“Micheal Steven Wheeler, if the next words out of your mouth are it could have been you and El, I will never be kissing you again.” Will uses a deathly tone. Steve isn't convinced he didn't get from El.

“Your middle name is Steven?” Steve fills giddy.

“Shut up Steve!”

Will pinches his brows, “And you idiot, if it were you and El, you would still he toast.”

Steve whistles, “Shit, Will. Next time I need to win an argument against Eddie. I'm coming to you.”

“How long does it take for dad to get upstairs?” El interrupts.

All of them look down the hall. “Huh, maybe we are in the clear,” Mike whispers.

“I said who is having sex?!?” Hopper comes thundering up the stairs.

“I think this is what Max calls a jinx.” El looks at Mike unphased.

Steve can't help but feel a little bad for Will. He looks panicked around the room, probably looking for a hiding place. Steve knows that it isn't that same fear Will once had of Lenny, Hop wouldn't hurt them ever, but he can't help but feel a little protective of him. Steve knows all too well how the fears of biological fathers can sneak up on you, even if you know you're safe. “Don’t worry, Will. I'll make sure Hop takes it easy.”

Will relaxes, “Thanks Steve.”

“What about me?” Mike asks, eyes wide.

El shares a look with Steve. Spending as much time as they have lately has allowed them to talk without speaking most of the time. It freaks everyone but Robin out (she gets it). Seconds go by before they both nod in agreement.

Steve and El both wip their heads towards Mike, and Steve says, “You were grossed out by my relationship and called me stupid. Suffer.”

Mike's outcry is in synch with Hop breaking through screaming, “There better be three inches!”

[dcxdpdabbles]

Any new ideas for congratulations! It's triplets? Love the idea of Jason just freaking out and trying to figure out how to build a relationship with his kids while being made fun of by his family and said kids. Especially if he goes overprotective mode because Danny has clown trauma too and gets snagged by the joker

Jason watches as Danny- his son.- impatiently taps his fingers against the table. His boy's gaze was looking at everything, taking in the big fancy Wayne Mannor with a sort of disinterest he was not expecting of a child so young.

His sister and Brother- both with alarmingly similar names- were also disinterested, but Dani was swinging her legs, and Dan was tapping his spoon and fork against the table in a fast-paced drumming.

It's strange to know he would fidget a lot as a kid but he always resorted to finger tapping. Was the tripples little habit from him? He wonders what else they inherited and what he missed out on seeing.

"I don't understand," Jasmine said, overlooking the contract Bruce's lawyers wrote up. " Why would you want custody now? It's been five years."

"I didn't know." Jason swallows past the lump in his throat as she gives him an unimpressed stare over the paper. He feels Bruce place a hand on his shoulder, and the silent support allows him to continue. "If I have, I wouldn't have ever let them grow up without me."

"Jason doesn't want full custody," Tim cuts in with a soft voice that has tricked lesser men into selling their shares. He and the rest of his family are all sitting across from Jassmin Fenton, as she is carefully lured back to the manor to discuss their next step. "He just wants to be part of his kid's lives and would happily share that with you."

"Not telling him about the kids sort of played into that," Steph mutters tactlessly. Unfortunately, her voice carries, and the woman across from them bristles.

There is a tense moment where he thinks Jassmin is about to curse them all out before she sighs and slumps in her seat. "Well, it wasn't like I had a means to contact you when I found out. You gave me a fake name."

Jason winces. "I sort of forgot I told you my name was Petter."

"Wasn't a total lie" Dani chirps "It is your middle name."

Jasmine rubs her eyes. "Look, Jason, I don't want to stop you from seeing the kids, but this is all too much right now. I'm dealing with a lot right now-"

"You are currently homeless," Damian cuts in, causing Jasmine to stop in genuine bewilderment.

"No, we're not." Dan scoffs. "You were waiting for us at our house. Waiting to ambush us."

"The house that was on the street that Poison Ivy just destroyed," The boy says, showing everyone his phone screen. There, clear as day is, their home is nothing but rumble. Jasmine's face spams, and she quickly checks her phone, paling at what she reads.

"Oh, Ancients. It's gone. It's all gone," She whispers, gripping the phone. The three kids immediately stiffen, watching their mother with strange intensity. Too aware of what this means.

They were mature for their age, and that is never a good thing.

Oh gods. Did his children live on the streets? Had Jason's carelessness hurt his children like his parents have hurt him?

"Mom?" Danny asks and that seems to snap Jasmine out of her spirl.

"Hotel!" She gasps, hands shaking as she quickly starts tapping on her phone. Jason catches a glimpse of her screen and realizes she is making a to-do list. "I have to book a hotel room. Call the insurance company, go and try to salvage whatever we can....what else?"

"You can stay here, Fenton," Damian surprisingly offers. "Until your home is rebuilt"

"We couldn't possibly-"

"Hotels are expensive, and you must focus on other more important needs. Father certainly has the space."

Jason jerks into action. "This will also give me a chance to connect with the kids!"

Jasmine bites her lip, turning to her children. Jason could appreciate that she was willing to include them in big decisions. The three nodded, so she eventually sighs.

"Alright. But only until I can get our housing settled. And I'll pay rent"

Jason would argue but he recognized the look in her eye. She would not be sway from making payments. So he agrees, tapping his fingers on the table in a specific rhythm to make sure his family agrees too.

He knows it pains Bruce- the old man already thinks of the triplets as his grandchildren and the idea of charging them to live with him will kill him.

Jason notices the way Dan's eyes zero in on his tapping and the glance around the family members. He fights a proud grin when realization bleeds into his boy's eyes. He's got a smart one, likely aware of that the tapping is a form of Morse code.

Tim did say- after pulling up all files of the four- that his children had developed insane intelligence. Maybe he should get them tested for certification geniuses.

"Hey Mr. Jason," Dani suddenly speaks up.

"Yes Darling?"

"I suggest you remove your eyes from my mom before I remove them from your face." The little girl even punches her palm in a poor intimidation attempt. His heart melts.

Then his face turns a dark red hue at Jasmine's raised brow. Unwillingly flashes of thier last time being face-to face rise in his mind. He coughs awkwardly as his sons face become as protective as their sister, Dan cracking his knuckles and Danny reaching for a knife.

"Oh yeah" Tim deadpans watching the kids reaction "No need for DNA test. Those are definitely Jason's kids"

He agrees, he just hopes he can show his children he plans on sticking around and being the father they deserve.

No one notices Cass and Steph slip away to deal with Posion Ivy. Jason kinda wants to send her a thank you gift for making it possible to have his family move into the manor.

[luciantapes]

The forgotten child

Pairing's : fem! reader x peter parker, tony stark daughter! x tony stark, tony stark daughter! x peter parker

Warnings: really sad angst, jealousy, daddy issues, neglect, lmk if i missed anything! :)

Summary: dad of the year award? surely isn't going too him

a/n : I know the gif doesn't really match the theme of this story I just really liked it. I did not reread this so please ignore any grammar mistakes. Also, I'm not sure if i wrote a panic attack correctly but I wrote based on what their like for me. hope you all enjoy!

you really tried not to become the forgotten child, always tried you're very hardest to live up to your father expectations, trying to make him proud in hope's he'd show some form of attention.

always studying to get straight a's even through countless anxiety attacks from fear of failing and disappointing your father.

all you ever wanted was reassurance, and if you ever got lucky enough a "You did a good job" after getting a high score on a test.

but it never came, it would forever be something you longed to hear. he would usually just mumble a small, quiet "congrats" as his mind stayed focused on his work and his eyes stuck to the blueprint laid out on the table Infront of him.

you always tried you're best not to feel jealous whenever your father held morgan, you had no ressentiment towards morgan whatsoever, in fact she was the one that kept you smiling most days. although you couldn't help but feel your heart tighten from jealousy as you watched them have daddy daughter time

you really did try you're best to be happy for your younger sister, but you couldn't ignore that aching feeling. all you wanted was the attention she had that your heart ached so desperately for, but it never came despite your countless attempts.

you we're astound to hear a new avenger had been recruited, you always enjoyed meeting new people. mainly because they gave you attention they didn't even know you craved.

you always seeked to see the best in people, no matter what the circumstances we're. including peter parker, there was nothing wrong with him, he wasn't a bad person in fact quite a good one, and if you weren't so envious of him you possibly could have been friends with the boy. but you watched how peter and your father clicked so easily becoming like father and son.

it made the knots in your stomach tighten as you watched them spend time together, it made you feel as if something was wrong with you, like maybe if you tried harder or changed, he'd give you the attention you deserved.

your mother, pepper always said he loved you just as much as he loved morgan or even peter, but you knew the truth as much as you ignored it you knew. but oh, how you wish he did.

"Mom, I'm home" you called out knowing if father was home, he wouldn't answer you. after not receiving an answer, you decided to look through the house in search of your mother, after a couple of minutes searching you still hadn't found her and decided she probably went out and took morgan with her. you heard talking but it sounded like your father, and peter?? "what's peter doing here?" you wondered. you decided to peak you're head through the door and saw peter and tony standing with their backs faced away from you, working on some upgrades for peter's suit.

"you're a pretty great kid peter" tony told him as he smiled at him patting his shoulder. a wave of jealously hit your chest as you watched them, your throat tightening. "Thank you, Mr. stark," peter smiled cheekily as your fingers clenched into a fist at your side.

"Becoming like my son."

once those words left Tony's lips, your mouth went dry, your head aching as you backed away from the door as quietly as possible, you're breathing picking up rapidly. you quickly made your way to your room, tears forming in your eyes, you walked into your room and shut the door softly as your hands started shaking as you paced around your room quickly, trying to stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks. you never liked crying, it made you feel weak.

you're breathing came out in heavy gasp as you struggled to breathe. you leaned against the wall coughing as you squeezed your eyes shut as you tried to stop the words from replaying in your mind.

"Becoming like my son" continuously echoed through your head as soft sobs left your lips, you didn't want to feel this way, envious of what your father and peter had. it's not peter's fault about what your father feels about you so why hold him accountable. he'll never love you, at least not like he loves peter. you can't figure out why? you always tried you're best to impress him, but nothing seemed to be enough for him, it's like he didn't even care about your existence.

you stumbled over to your bed, taking deep breathes as your body grew exhausted from crying. you plopped down on your bed tiredly as you snuggled up against your blanket that was where your pillows we're supposed to be, you grabbed a pillow and hugged it too sleep.

you didn't want to put the blame on peter because it wasn't his fault, but a little piece of your heart blamed peter parker.

a/n: CLIFFHANGER!?!? I decided to leave it for now because I haven't come up with an ending that I thought fit the way I wanted so if you guys have ideas, please let me know. reblog's are highly appreciated, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

[darlingbabyboo]

"You're Something Else... "

♡ Synopsis: Megumi had been (sorta) prepared to live with this white weirdo who claimed to be the strongest... what he hadn't been prepared for was his daughter.

♡ Content: Reader is described as a girl and shorter than Megumi and Tsumiki and tiny because I'm tiny, black reader, good dad Gojo, Megumi is deeply repressed

♡ Notes: This is from the vote! Where people said they wanted Megumi x Gojo's Daughter instead of Giyuu x Urokodaki Daughter! Hope you enjoy 😘 Just say smth if I should make a part 2

♡ Inspiration: @ketsuyuki-hibana-typed! Their series Rengoku x Little Sister Figure is so good!

So Megumi was less than excited to live with Gojo (could not be me but this ain't about me so...)

He was only doing this so Tsumiki wouldn't have to suffer under the Zenin's

He was expected more or less of the same thing

Just him and Tsumiki living in a house, being forced to take care of themselves

Yippee

That's why he was so surprised to find you

"And you two, say hi to your other housemate!" The white haired weirdo cheerfully exclaimed

Megumi looked at you with wide eyes, you were hiding behind the tall man's legs and shaking like you were forced to be here

He wouldn't be surprised if you were

"C'mon honey bun, you gotta introduce yourself, you'll be sharing a home with these guys."

He removed you from his leg and squatted so that he was at his level

"Introduce yourself!"

You give a shy wave, curled in on yourself. You say your name through stutters and when you're done, you bury yourself into the weirdo's chest

Gojo smiles at them, stroking your back

"She's a little shy-"

A little, Megumi thinks

"-you two introduce yourself too! Don't be shy!"

"I'm Tsumiki!" His sister happily says besides him, like you're not shivering even if it's spring. "It's really nice to meet you!"

You remove yourself from Gojo a little to give her a small nod before burying yourself in Gojo's chest again

Megumi doesn't say his name, he observes (what he can when you're buried in Gojo's chest). You look nothing like him. He wonders if you've also been kidnapped taken in by Gojo

Does the freak have a habit of taking young children?

You look younger than him, though maybe it's because you're so small. You remind him of a mouse, especially with how much you were stuttering

He certainly hasn't seen someone like you before, maybe it's because of how sheltered he is, but you're different

Your skin is darker then what he's seen before, but the difference makes you even prettier. Your skin makes you glow in the sunlight, like some sort of angel

His stomach twists, even with how little he saw of your appearance, you're beautiful

"Aw are you already smitten with my little girl."

His face burns, "no!" He regrets staring so long when you bury yourself even deeper into the older man's arms, your embarrassment making his worse

Gojo waves off his words, "honey bun, this is Megu-chan, your first suitor!"

"Don't call me Megu-chan." He mutters, not bothering to clear up the other statement when the man is rambling something about your 'love story'. He looks up, sparing another glance at you.

You've removed yourself from Gojo a little, your brown eyes making contact with his blue ones.

Simultaneously, you both hide your faces

It's four people in the house but to be honest, it feels more like two

Usually, Gojo is out settling clan business or off on a mission, it's different than before though, Gojo's not neglectful, always making sure they have double of what they need and bathing them in nice comments

And he usually makes it home by dinner

It's honestly really nice (but never tell Gojo he said that)

The reason you don't count though is that you're really...

Quiet

He doesn't even know if that's the right description of you, you're almost like a ghost

The few times that he has laid his eyes on you, you disappear faster than he can blink

Usually, he would assume it's a him problem, but Tsumiki faces the same issues

"Do you think she hates us?" Tsumiki says one day, fiddling with her fingers.

Somehow, it makes him feel better that Tsumiki has the same struggles.

He shrugs, "I don't know, I thought she was mute, but she introduced herself fine the first time so..."

Tsumiki nods in agreement, she moves from playing with her fingers to playing with her hair, "I hope she doesn't hate us, she seems so nice."

"How would you know?" He mutters, "she doesn't even say anything to us."

Tsumiki frowns, opening her mouth to argues but then closes it in thought, "you have a point..." She reluctantly concedes.

Somehow, the win doesn't make him feel better, stomach twisting at the thought of you not liking them.

Of you not liking him

But one fateful day changes everything

"H-hello." You stutter out, looking at the two of them with wide eyes. Their eyes move from the TV screen to your surprising declaration.

Tsumiki eyes bulge out but she snaps her mouth shut out of fear of scaring you away. Megumi hopes that he doesn't share his sister's surprised look (which makes her look like a fish gasping for breath), forcing himself to remain calm.

He doesn't think he's heard your voice since Gojo introduced you all.

"D-dad won't be coming home today...a-and he said we could order food," You bite your lip, "d-do you guys want pizza?"

Tsumiki nods so quickly that he's scared her nose might start bleeding, "that sounds wonderful!"

When your eyes fall to him, he gives a simple nod. "That sounds really good."

You relax, and Megumi didn't notice how tense you were at the thought of a disagreement.

You poke your fingers through a hole in your shirt. "...C-can one of you order for us?"

Tsumiki shoots up, "I can!" She volunteers, already rushing to grab the landline.

You watch her with relief, and Megumi can already see the cogs in your head turning, you thinking about going back to your room.

He doesn't want you to go

"Do you wanna watch a movie with us?" He blurts out.

You jump at the words, surprise evident on your face. You point to yourself as if to ask Me?

He nods, looking away with embarrassment from how red his face is turning, "yeah, it would be nice to talk to you..."

When you don't respond, he looks to you and god he wishes he hadn't.

You're smiling, a smile that lights you up. Gone is the usual worry on your, eyes soft with joy and crinkled because of how wide your grin is

You're beautiful

"Okay..." You respond, softly, "I-i would like that."

He nods absentmindedly, aware that he's staring but he's under a spell, he doesn't know how to look away.

"Do you guys want garlic knots?" Tsumiki yells from the other room.

"Y-yes please!" You respond back, voice soft even when raised.

You turn back to Megumi and award him with another smile, "I-i need t-to call my dad really quick-- b-but I'll come back to watch the movie with you guys!"

He watches you go, butterflies in his stomach.

He buries his face in his hands.

Oh god

He has a crush

[morganwrites12672]

Crush

Sam Winchester x Reader

Summary: The sorority girl that Sam has had a crush on for ages approaches him at a party one night.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: 18+ Sorority Girl!Reader. Drinking. Smoking. It's a party. Smut. Fingering (f!receiving). Unprotected sex (bad idea, don't try this at home).

A/N: MINORS DNI also, thank you to @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles for beta reading and helping with some of this for me!

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The music was blasting throughout the house. Everyone had already drank too much. Well, almost everyone. She had been drinking soda all night. Being the designated driver was something she didn't mind doing. It was difficult though. Sorority girls were a fucking nightmare after a couple of shots.

Most of her Saturday nights were spent like this. The only difference was that by now she had usually gone upstairs with a guy. She leaned against the doorframe in the kitchen, watching the party. She took a sip of her soda. It was late, she was starting to get bored.

Parties weren't near as much fun sober. Probably because they had no real appeal. Without the liquor coursing through her veins all she saw was a bunch of idiots getting shit faced. She didn't think much of it. Next week, whenever one of her sorority sisters would be on designated driver duty, she would have a blast. Get shit faced, hookup. Anything she wanted. Anyone she wanted.

Being a sorority girl had benefits.

She threw her empty solo cup into the kitchen trash can before venturing back out to the party. She weaved her way through all of the drunk college kids. Knowing that she looked just like them on any other weekend made her feel a bit stupid. She ignored those thoughts. They wouldn't prevent her from partying next weekend. She needed to have something to look forward to after a week of hell.

She made her way to an area with less people; right beside the staircase. She noticed a man with shaggy brown hair and smiled. She could tell that he wasn't from one of fraternity's around here, or on the football team. That didn't seem to bother her for some reason.

She gave him a smile, her glossed lips shimmering in the lights of the party. "What's your name?" She asked him, eyes taking him in. He made her stomach do a back flip. The feeling was. . . oddly unusual. It almost made her do a double take.

The mans cheeks turned a soft shade of pink before he replied. It wasn't that hard for her to notice how flustered he was. She found it adorable. Again, something oddly unusual. She usually chose guys with a lot more confidence.

"Uh, Sam." His words were nearly drowned out by the music of the party. He realized how quiet his words had came out and repeated them a bit louder. His eyes drank her in. He couldn't believe that she was talking to him. The girl he'd had a crush on for most of his time at Stanford.

"It's nice to meet you, Sam." She replied before giving him her name. She fixed a piece of hair that had fallen into her face, pushing it behind her ear so that it wouldn't bother her any longer. "Did you come here alone?" She asked, her curiosity getting the best of her.

"N-no. My friend made me come," He replied. He ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair to fix his messy bangs. Her eyes lingered as she watched him. He noticed her gaze and his blush deepened.

His words made her smile brighten, "I take it that means you're available?" She asked. She wanted to confirm that he was single. She might get called a slut but that doesn't mean that she goes after guys in a relationship. It's not her fault that most lie.

Sam's eyes went wide. His heart hammered in his chest. He stuffed his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. Was she seriously asking him that question? He had known who she was before she'd introduced herself. Who didn't? She was pretty and popular. Sam had always hidden a tiny crush on her. Well, him and half of the other guys at this school.

"I-I am."

"Good," she said with a smile. She fixed her dress, pulling the hem down from where it had ridden up on her thighs. She loved the dress she was wearing. It was gorgeous and fit her body like a glove. The only issue was how much of a pain it was to keep pulling it down all night. It was worth it though.

"You look nice," Sam said, having built up an ounce of courage (which has already vanished). He was nervous as hell. Confidence wasn't his strong suit.

She leaned in a bit closer. "Thanks. You look great yourself," She replied. She couldn't take her eyes off of him. He looked like a god damn dream. She wondered how she hadn't noticed him before tonight.

Sam's eyes lingered on the way her sparkly eyeshadow gleamed in the light. He couldn't help but admire her. She was fucking gorgeous tonight, and any other night. He thought she looked incredible no matter where he saw her, or what she wore. She was perfect in his eyes.

"I'm gonna kiss you now, okay?" She said, making sure that he was okay with it. It wasn't often that she was the one to make the first move. She enjoyed it. Usually guys were pawing at her body with their tongues down her throat before even asking her name. Sam was different.

When Sam stayed silent she pressed her lips against his. She guided one of his hands to rest on her hip. She deepened the kiss, her tongue slowly sliding into his mouth. His lips tasted like cheap beer and Carmex.

He let out a soft groan as she kissed him harder. He let her have most of the control, going along with her movements. He let his hand gently squeeze her hip. She didn't seem to mind.

She pulled away after a minute, wanting to see the look on his face. The look on his face made her want to drag him upstairs that very second. His cheeks were a perfect shade of pink, his mouth hung open slightly, and his eyes were wide. She noticed the way his hazel eyes stared at her lips.

She noticed a smudge of pink gloss on his upper lip and wiped it away with her thumb. It made his blush deepen even more. Every touch from her had his body on fire. He has a chance with a girl he'd had a crush on for a while, he couldn't screw this up.

"That was-" she began to say but was cut off whenever Sam kissed her. She let out a small gasp against his lips. She hadn't expected him to do something like that. Not that she minded, not one bit.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and threaded her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. He moaned into the kiss as she gently tugged on the hair she had been playing with. She walked a few steps backwards, all while still kissing Sam.

Whenever her back hit the wall, she leaned her head back to catch her breath. Sam pressed a cautious kiss to her collarbone. Her body arches into his touch and a smile spread over his lips. He kissed his way up to her jaw line, not yet brave enough to leave an actual hickey. Soft kisses would have to do for now.

"Let's take this upstairs," She said with a smile. Her lip gloss was smudged. She knew it, and didn't give a fuck. She would fix it later. Sam took a step back from her so that she could lead the way. He wasn't sure if she had a specific room in mind.

She walked past him, grabbing his hand as she walked. They walked last a couple drunkenly making out on the stair case, she rolled her eyes. At least she had the decency to get a room. Well, whenever she was sober. Tonight was making her rethink how often she drank. And how wasted she got. Maybe Sam would be a better influence on her.

She walked to the end of the hallway, finding a door that didn't have any noises coming from behind it. She gave sams hand a soft squeeze before opening the door and walking inside. She wasn't used to guys treating her this way. Sam made her feel special, even if she's barely even met him.

The door was shut and locked as soon as they had both stepped inside. She looked up at Sam, admiring every feature of his face. She couldn't help herself. He looked at her in a way that made her feel special. She didn't feel like some cheap hookup. She felt like he wouldn't leave her the second he got his fill.

Her hands went to the top button off his shirt. She paused though. Her eyes met his. "I'm going to take this off now, okay?" She said to him.

"Y-yeah. Okay" Sam's breath caught in his throat as she slowly unbuttoned his shirt. She wasn't ripping his clothes off. No, she was taking her sweet time. She wanted to enjoy every second of this. And she would.

As she was unbuttoning his shirt, she leaned up to kiss him again. His hand rested on her hip for a moment before resting on her ass. The two made their way to the bed, their lips never separating. It seemed as though breaking the kiss for even a second would be the end of the world right now.

She laid back on the bed. Sam's shirt had fallen to the floor sometime during the short walk over to the bed. He looked down at her with a smile. She was beautiful. He would never get tired of this view. He could only hope that he'd get the chance to see her again.

She sat up before adjusting the pillows behind her. She leaned back, half sitting up. Sam moved towards her and his hand gently cupped her jaw before kissing her again. She grabbed his wrist and guided his hand to her thigh.

She let her hands drift to the waistband of his jeans. She palmed his growing erection through the thick material. He broke the kiss, whimpering against her lips. The beautiful sound made her chuckle softly.

"You like that, huh?" She asked with lustful eyes. Every sound that Sam made had her going crazy.

Sam's cheeks turned red and he didn't reply, his gaze drifting down to the cleavage visible with how low cut her dress was. His eyes widened slightly. He didn't like how easily she was able to fluster him.

"Have you done this before?" She asked. She wanted to make sure that he wasn't about to lose his virginity at a shitty party.

"I-I have," Sam replied a bit quieter. It has been his first year at Stanford with some girl in his old English class. It hadn't been at a party like this though. No, the girl had been over at his apartment to study.

"Can I touch you?" Sam asked as his gaze went even lower. "Please?" He added. His eyes couldn't budge from her thighs. Her dress had ridden up whenever she had sat up against the pillows.

She smiled and pushed her dress up over her hips before spreading her legs for him. Sam grazed his fingers over her black underwear. He looked up at her to see her reaction.

Her breathe caught in her throat. Her core was throbbing. She was desperate for his touch. She noticed his hesitancy. She lifted her hips up a bit and he retracted his hand. She slid her underwear off.

"It's okay, you can touch me." Her words were gentle as she guided his hand to in between her thighs.

Sam slid a finger through her wetness and she gasped. She let her head fall back on the pillows, her hair sprawling out around her. Sam's touch was cautious. She grabbed his wrist and made his fingers prod at her entrance.

"U-use your ring finger first."

Sam followed her instructions, gently pushing his ring finger inside of her. He heard her gasp and looked up. He pushed his finger in all of the way and she groaned.

"Now c-curl it."

She moaned as he followed her instructions. The noise made Sam freeze for a moment. The second she bucked her hips against his hand he went back to curling his finger inside of her tight cunt. The noises coming out of her had his cock straining against his jeans. He attempted to ignore it as he curled his finger a little faster.

She gently wrapped her fingers around his wrist and he froze. She guided his hand so that his ring finger was now curling while thrusting in and out of her wet cunt. She moaned again, he was a fast learner even if his previous experience was more limited than hers.

"Ah-Add another," She gasped as she felt heat build up in her core. She felt Sam slip his middle finger inside of her. She rocked her hips in time with the thrusting of his fingers. Moans escaped her throat as he worked her open. "Fuck! Just like that."

"D-do you like this?" Sam asked. "I-i mean it sounds like you do but. . . I want to make sure I'm doing. . . this. . .right," He stuttered, not stopping his movements. Her cunt squeezed around his fingers.

"Y-yes!" She moaned. "J-just like that. You're doing such a good job for me," She gasped. She grabbed his other hand and moved it to her clit. He seemed to understand what she wanted and began rubbing sloppy circles on her puffy clit.

Her thighs had a slight tremble as her cunt squeezed his fingers even more. His fingers rubbing her clit sent jolts of pleasure throughout her body. She could feel her orgasm creeping up on her.

"I'm close!" She moaned as she clamped down around his fingers. Her head fell back as her orgasm washed over her. Sam felt her walls tighten around his fingers as her moans increased in volume. He kept thrusting his fingers, riding her through her orgasm as her moans grew more strained. She grabbed his wrist as a signal for him to stop. The overstimulation left her cheeks flushed.

His fingers slipped from her sopping hole, and his eyes flicked to her face, wide with awe. She took his wrist in her hand, guiding it to her mouth, and sucked on his fingers, letting her eyes flutter closed, she swirled her tongue around his fingers. A low moan escaped her throat at the taste of herself. Her eyes fluttered open and she giggled at the sight of Sam. She couldn't help herself. His mouth was hanging down for God's sake.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair, as she pulled him down to her level. Her lips pressed against his. Sam was still frozen in a combination of shock and awe. He thought all of the noises that he had pulled out of her. As they kissed, her tongue invaded his mouth. Sam let out a small, needy whimper as she kissed him.

She sat up, pushing him down onto the bed before straddling his waist. Her hands went to the zipper of his jeans. She looked up at him. Sam's face and chest were flushed, his lips were red and slightly puffy, he already looked so fucked out and she had barely even touched him. She didn't waste any time in unzipping his pants. Sam lifted his hips and helped her get rid of the constricting material.

She teased him over his boxers. A strangled moan escapes Sam's throat as she ran her fingers over his clothed erection. His head dropped down onto the pillows, she gazed at his exposed throat. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the smooth expanse of delicate skin. Sam's breath hitched in his throat at the feeling of her lips.

"P-please. . . Please," Sam practically whimpered.

She let out a soft chuckle. "Please. . . what?" She continued her movements, gently running her fingers over his clothes erection. "I need you to use your words for me, sweetheart."

Sam's hips buck up, desperate for more. "P-please," He moans out. His chest heaves as he fights to keep his breathing even. "I need you to f-fuck me."

She tugged on the waistband of his boxers. Sam quickly lifted his hips so that she could rid him of the pesky material. She wrapped her hand around the base of his cock and gave it a light squeeze. She admired the pretty pink tip, leaking precum.

She lifted her hips before lining up her entrance with the tip of his cock. She had to admit, he was definitely larger than most guys she'd slept with. She wasn't going to tell Sam that though. She studied his expression with a small smile on her face. Sam watched her every move with his jaw slack, quiet moans leaving his throat.

She sinks down on him and his hands fly to her hips. She places one of her hands on his chest for support. She moans as she slowly sinks down. The stretch is a burn that quickly fades into an ache for more.

"F-fuck," She moaned out, adjusting to his size.

Sam was a beautiful mess beneath her. His hands squeezed her hips, just for something to hold onto. His body quivered ever so slightly. She felt so fucking tight around his cock. She'd barely even started and he could already feel heat forming in his stomach.

He moaned out her name as she rocked her hips. "P-please," He gasped as she lifted her hips up before dropping back down. Every thrust of her hips had him begging for more. The feeling of her tight cunt wrapped around him was almost too much.

He let one hand fall from her hip and slide in-between her legs. As his fumbling fingers found her clit, she let out a small gasp. Her eyes met his. It was the most gorgeous sight Sam had ever seen. Her tits bounced with every thrust of her hips, her lips were parted as she let out another moan, every piece and part of her was perfect.

How had he gotten this lucky? He never would have thought that she ever find out he even existed. Let alone wind up in bed with him. The view in front of him was like something from one of his wildest fantasies.

"Y-you look. . . s-so perfect," Sam half moaned, half whimpered as his fingers rubbed tight circles on her clit. He experimented with the speed. Whenever he hears her breath hitch in her throat he knew that he was doing it right.

She struggled to keep up her current pace with the way that Sam's cock hit that place inside of her cunt that practically made her see stars. Her lower abdomen was on fire. If Sam didn't slow down she might come quicker than she had been expecting.

"F-fuck! Just like that," She cried out.

Sam might not be the most experienced guy ever, but he was definitely a quick learner. The hand that wasn't on her clit went to her chest. He gently massaged one of her breasts. The soft skin felt like heaven beneath his hand. He squeezed her nipple and she moaned even louder. He was carefully watching every reaction she had, making sure that he was doing all of this right.

"Y-you feel so good," He whimpered.

His back arched up from the bed as he felt her walls tighten around him. He could feel his orgasm creeping up on him. His hips bucked up, meeting her thrusts. The action made her cry out.

"I-I'm. . . I'm about to come," Sam whimpered, his chest heaving.

His fingers had found a steady pace on her clit. Every circle of his fingers sent white hot pleasure coursing throughout her body. The way his hands carefully gripped at her chest. He soon moved the hand that had been on her chest, to her hips. He attempted to help guide her thrusts. She seemed to be tiring out.

"M-me too," She replied with a moan. She could feel his cock twitch inside of her. His eyes rolled back as his grip on her hips tightened. It only made her work harder. She was so fucking close. Sam wouldn't be able to last any longer.

He cried out from the overstimulation as her tight walls clenched around his cock, her own orgasm making her thrusts shaky. She felt pleasure overtake her body as Sam kept circling her clit with his no longer ungraceful fingers.

She guided his hand away as she slowly rocked her hips, basking in the subtle feeling of overstimulation. She slowly sat up before she stops. Her legs had a slight quiver as she walked into the bathroom. The loud music of the party was muted through the door. Though, it was obvious that the party was not even close to being finished for the night.

"Do you want to hop on the shower with me?" She asked with a smile. Sam's eyes went wide (for the hundredth time that night) before he climbed off the bed. He was standing at her side in seconds.

"T-that sounds nice."

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A/N: Don't forget to leave a comment or reblog if you enjoyed it!

Tag list: @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @aidansloth

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[daycourtofficial]

Cold was the steel of my axe to grind

Pairing: Eris x Rhysand’s sister!reader | WC: 8k | Warnings: blood, gore, violence, death

Summary: in the immediate aftermath of your arrival in Autumn, Eris moves forward with his plans to overthrow Beron and secure the throne for himself

Note: this is a part of my gingerfucker series and is a companion piece to ‘Chains around my demons, wool to brave the season’ but can be read by itself

Author’s note: Happy day 3 @erisweekofficial !!! The second I saw the betrayal prompt I knew EXACTLY where to go with it. I wanna give a big shout out to @mybestfriendmademe because they actually commented on my first gingerfucker fic about writing Eris killing Beron and it's always just been floating around in my head and now it’s here!!! Also need to thank @basketoffish - this fic wouldn't be half as good without her input/editing/brainstorming.

Beron Vanserra was going to die come sunset.

On the other side of the window, the trees shook from the wind, bending to their will. The branches occasionally scraped the window, calling for the male inside.

Eris laid in bed, gazing toward the closed window, his mate tucked into his arms. He never slept with the window open - it was a vulnerability, an opening, a way in. He watched the closed window, irritation creeping in at the persistence of the trees, their scratchy call grating on him.

You hadn’t been in Autumn for more than a few hours, but Eris could feel the tides changing. He couldn’t tell if your sudden arrival made the trees louder, their calls more insistent, or if he was more receptive to their pleas. 

He felt the call deep within him.

Eris has had centuries to contemplate the many, many ways one can kill their own father. Wrapping his fingers around Beron’s throat, applying more and more pressure until he felt the life seep from his body. Tying weights to his ankles and pushing him into the nearby lake. A dagger to the heart. A sword slicing across his neck. A hunting ‘accident’ that saw Beron caught in a bear trap laced with faebane, a sacrifice to the animals nearby that his father’s flesh was worth more as a meal than as a father.

Eris had imagined it all, each scenario becoming more and more detailed and gory than the last. None seemed foolproof enough to kill his father.

All except one.

It was dark as he moved about the room, though no less loud as he continued to ignore the shaking windows, the frenzied tapping of the trees as they tried calling out to him. He knew what they wanted, wanted it himself, but pretended to avoid it - his destiny - for as long as possible. Their calls followed him as he moved about the room, steps silent as he outlined his plan internally, going through every step as he placed plates of armor on his limbs. The clay colored metal fit like a second skin, that layer of protection doing little to slow him. He ran through every minute detail, everything that has to work out in his favor for a positive outcome.

“What are you doing?”

Your voice stops him cold, halting his movements. He hesitates before he turns around to face you - he hadn’t heard you stir, hadn’t felt the twinge in his chest at you waking - had no time to prepare for this reckoning,

“Going for a stroll.”

You blinked, making a show of running your eyes over his partially armored body, clearly in disbelief. He could kiss you for not scoffing in question, cry because the understanding feels worse. He sighed in defeat, leaving his things on the bed before moving toward you. He reached out a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, mouth opening and closing, the words not coming, but you waited.

“Please.”

It came out more like a sigh. He could have said more. He probably should have. Your soft gaze hardened his resolve even further, determination further settling in his bones as his shoulders straightened. The bond picked up in his chest, the duet between your souls a familiar song. As the sun would rise on this day, the melody that was so familiar to him would be played with trepidation, tempo increasing as the day continued, as if the string connecting your souls had no idea the outcome the day would provide, the Mother herself plucking the string in anticipation.

He took in the planes of your face and he could feel the lightest touch of your powers deep in his chest.

Resolve.

Determination.

Love.

He could hold you, tell you how he had to do this. How he couldn’t stomach the thought of you in Autumn with Beron just around the corner. How his world shifted with the mating bond, as if he had been walking through life at an angle but could now stand straight. Instead, he watched your breathing, eyes roaming across your face. His thumb brushed your lip, taking in the shape of your lips, the slope of your nose.

“My mate.”

It conveyed all of his thoughts and more. His thumb caught your jaw, holding it in his grasp just enough to keep you from turning away. As if you would ever look away.

“Stay with my mother. Please.”

His tone was urgent. A final instruction he had to share or else he’d be unable to leave. You must’ve seen the urgency, the plea in his eyes - protests and questions swallowed as you nodded. This was his fight. A meticulous plan he had cultivated over a century of scheming and bargaining and debating. The abruptness of his plan being put into motion wouldn’t stop him from keeping out any unknown players.

Especially you.

He looked to the window, finally acknowledging the call from the trees, allowing their song to entice him and coax him from his place of comfort. 

Gods, he hated leaving you. Hated every part of it. Years later, when he would think about this day, mull over all of the impossibles that happened, he would tell his children that the hardest part of the day was when he gave one final kiss before departing without looking back.

His hands itched to hold you longer, his palms burning with the feeling of you as he winnowed outside the Forest House, landing not too far from the exit. He had considered winnowing directly, however he had to be careful to reserve his magic for the day to come. He only winnowed outside the house so he would be seen by as few people as possible. 

Eyes and ears were everywhere inside.

Eris moved through the forest, the wind through the trees a familiar song as he looked to the moon, asking for the first time in centuries for some entity to look over him. A century of unanswered prayers led him to not bother to ask for much, but tonight it was more than his life on the line.

Eris followed the beaten path to the stables, long legs leading him through the stalls, until he finally came to a stop before Cameron, his red friesian, and his preferred mount of many years. She had been a young foal much too small to hold his weight when Eris first met her but he'd been patient and encouraging, feeding her sugar cubes as he watched her grow into her gangly limbs. He was rewarded by the now sure footed beast with gentleness and docility, even as the stable hands fought to land in her good graces.

Cameron had been a young foal when Eris met her, much too young and small to handle his weight. He had enjoyed watching the young beast grow, feeding her sugar cubes as she went from gangly limbs to a sure footed force to be reckoned with, docile and gentle for eris even as the stablehands fought to land in her good graces, but she was always docile and gentle for Eris.

He walked her out of the stall after providing a saddle for himself, closing it behind him, leaving as little evidence he was here as possible. Once out of the stall, he mounted her, swinging one leg over her back before she took off, the Forest House disappearing behind him quickly.

Eris tries not to think of the day ahead as he goes through the motions of saddling Cameron. Doesn’t want to think of the many lives on the line for him nor about how he would rather not involve Cameron or his brothers in this. He closed the door, double checking the stalls to make sure he's left as little evidence as possible. He cannot afford to count his regrets now. He will have an eternity to repent, as hellion or High Lord. Once out he mounted her with practiced ease, swinging a leg over her back mid stride, the Forest House a speck in the distance before he's fully seated.

The landscape changed as Cameron galloped beneath him, her hooves leaving impressions in the mud in their wake as they rode north, the trees leading Cameron with their song. Once the song got loud enough, he pulled the reins, stopping in a clear field. HIs pull urged Cameron to stop before dismounting and tying her reins to a nearby tree. He gently stroked her mane, the horse unsettled at Eris’s destination. He spoke softly, telling her he wouldn’t be long. It had a slight effect on the mare, her hooves staying planted as Eris turned from her.

The leaves crunching beneath his boots got louder as he approached the exact spot he’s thought about every day for the past century. Mapping out the exact route in his head thousands of times. The leaves sounded like the bones of the fallen beneath him, a walk through the graveyard of his father’s reparations.

He could feel the thrumming in his chest as he got closer, a rhythmic pulsing mirroring his own heart. It sounded nothing like the song of the mating bond inside him, the tones deeper and more primitive. Almost like the drums of fire night, calling to him from deep within his soul. The call to fire night is one of claiming a body. This call was the same, but the call asked for violence, not eroticism.

The drums became louder as he walked in circles, trying to pinpoint where the sound was loudest. If the sound grew softer, he marked a line in the dirt with his boots before turning around until eventually he had made a circle of marks about three feet in diameter.

Eris considered turning around, taking a moment to collect his thoughts, but the wind pushed him forward. He sunk his knees into the earth, his fingers breaking the topsoil. Dirt clung beneath his nails as he clawed through the soil, moving mound after mound toward him. The dirt began caving back into the hole, causing him to start pushing the dirt away from him.

He felt more and more rabid the further he dug, as if he should have brought his hound Clover to do this instead, her paws much more efficient and adept at digging than his fingers.

But he didn’t want Clover here, or any other living creature for that matter.

He hardly wanted Cameron here, but he needed her. Too far to travel by foot, and he didn’t want to waste his magic by winnowing everywhere.

The song in his ears had gotten louder as he dug, a chorus of long gone heartbeats drowning out all noise. The song was deafening now, uncertain he’d ever be able to hear any other song again.

His nails made a toe curling sound as they scratched across a metal box, his ears twitching at the sound. He dug around until he could see the entirety of the box, his hands moving to pull the box from the earth. He inspected the long box, the metal exterior having no cracks or screws keeping it in place. After finding none, he took a deep breath before placing his hand on the top side of the box, pushing heat from the palm of his hand onto the surface of the box, the dark gray metal glowing orange from the heat. 

His fingers gripped the hot metal, his skin unflinching from the heat as he curled his fingers into the metal, forging his own opening. The contents glittered through the hole he created, his eyes full of reflected light as his fingers wrapped tightly around the jewel encrusted hilt that turned into branches.

The hilt was magnificent - a sword truly made for slaying a beast. The song in his ears was louder, the heart beats racing as he unsheathed the sword from the prison it had been confined to for over five centuries. A legendary sword - one of the few magic imbued items in the Autumn Court.

The Spine of Autumn.

A name unspoken for centuries, millenia perhaps. Beron had spent a long time ensuring the few who had known about it were quickly taken care of, never to be seen again.

The light hit the metal as he pulled the sword out, the blade glistening in the sun. The sword was harsh on his senses - the glint of the hilt nearly blinding, the song in his ears deafening. 

The only thing keeping him grounded was the cool touch of the sword against his palms.

He placed the sword into the sheath he brought with him, the long blade covered in cracks of lava hidden once more. 

He placed its old sheath back into the box before he reburied it, the efforts much quicker than unearthing the blade. With the box in the ground once more, Eris turned his back on the mound of disturbed soil. His steps were quick as he reached Cameron, mounting her quickly before taking off once more, the handle of his sword gleaming in the sun.

The sun rose higher as Cameron ran through Autumn, her chestnut braided mane glowing in the morning light. Both of his stops were kept to a strict itinerary- entering his younger brother’s separate homes, Alastor and Cormac, telling them that they knew exactly what to do and to begin their work.

He didn’t linger - hardly spent enough time in their home for his scent to linger for long before departing onto the next brother. He hadn’t bothered planning for Flint, knowing it would be in vain. It was more likely that Flint would turn him into Beron for his treason than even consider helping, so he stuck to the brothers he knew would provide some aid.

The long journeys between his brothers gave him large chunks of time devoted to praying to the Mother that things were going as they should in the Forest House.

There was, unfortunately, one place Eris had to winnow to. Too far to reach in time by horse, once he had made it a few miles from the barracks, he had dismounted from Cameron before tying her reins to a tree once again.

“I shouldn’t be long, Cam.”

He stroked her mane slowly, trying to reassure the mare that he would be fine. There was a nip in the air as Eris strolled into the human lands, the early morning fog hovering just above the wet grass as he approached the manor. 

Swift knocks twinged with urgency met the wood. He could hear movement from behind the door, hushed voices coming from behind it before it swung open, a dark skinned woman with bright red hair looking up at him. Her eyes looked Eris up and down, an eyebrow raised as she quickly shut the door, steps quick as she went further back into the house, before a moment later the door swung open again, Lucien’s tan skin greeting Eris instead. Lucien’s hair shone against his dark chest, his fingers fumbling with the tie of his breeches.

“Lulu.”

Lucien met Eris’s tone with an eyeroll and a quiet fuck you before his fingers moved to shut the door, but Eris quickly placed his foot in the doorjam. Lucien sighed out of his nose, turning on his heel inside the house knowing Eris would follow. The inside of the manor was covered in gray walls, gold ornate furniture, and, much to Eris’s amusement, a bright pink couch he walked towards as Lucien sat opposite him in a red and gold armchair.

“What do I owe the displeasure?”

Eirs took in the room - a handful of landscape paintings on the walls, the two humans Lucien lived with down the hall listening. Lucien’s scent wasn’t very strong, meaning he likely got back into the moral lands not long before Eris’s arrival.

“There used to be a time when you were delighted to be in my company, sunshine.” 

“Anything is preferable to the company of our other brothers.”

The ruse grated on Eris. He had half a mind to come clean, uncaring of the two humans listening down the hall. But this was Lucien’s life. The choices he made were his to tell, and if Lucien wanted to continue the ruse, then so be it.

“I see your choice in decor has become rather flamboyant with time.”

“My time in Spring made me quite fond of hues of pink.”

The two brothers stared at one another, not letting many words pass between them, an almost awkward silence stifling the room. Eris had turned to the one common ground that always remained between them, like a second language only they knew.

“Have you heard about the birds of Night? The one so precious to Rhysand and the other bats?”

Lucien’s eyes widen if just for a second before returning to an unamused look.

“Yes, I’ve kept my ear to the ground and heard rumblings.”

I know about you two.

Eris reoriented himself, fixing his posture. “The flightless birds have left outside of their normal migratory patterns.”

She’s left Night unexpectedly.

Lucien shifted in his seat, and Eris knew he understood.

“And where have they gone?” Lucien was giving Eris his full attention, and it panged in Eris’s chest that the only reason for that was the subject matter.

“They’ve begun crossing the border, making it past Winter into Autumn, either forgetting or not caring about the predators that lurk there.”

“And why are you here?” An almost accusatory tone, one he has become accustomed to hearing from his youngest brother.

“I know you’re quite fond of these birds and I’m sure we can come up with some plot to protect them.”

Please help.

Lucien’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes cast to the door Vassa and Jurien stood behind with bated breath.

“Yes, I’m sure we can. Did you have something in mind?”

Eris nodded without speaking. Lucien nodded quickly before rising, running a hand through his long hair.

“Allow me to change into more appropriate attire and I shall accompany you.”

After several moments, Lucien reappeared in light armor that had their family crest on the chest, but he could see black leathers peeking out from beneath the metal plating. Eris’s throat went dry at the sight, not knowing Lucien had such armor, much less kept it for whatever purpose.

“Don’t look so surprised. Mother brought it some time ago.”

Of all the reasons for Lucien to be wearing Autumn armor, that was certainly not one of them. Before he could ask, Lucien clarified further.

“She dropped them by one evening quickly because the last time we had met, I had told her an interesting story about a bird and a fox.”

His mother had known for quite some time - but Eris had never indulged her in details past the night he discovered his mate. “And how did the story end?”

Lucien shrugged, attempting to seem unbothered, but his eye betrayed him. The golden thing whirred in its socket, making the hair on Eris’s arms raise. “It hasn’t yet.”

Eris waited as Lucien changed and the two brothers winnowed directly into the barracks, Lucien groaning at the site of Alastor and Cormac before him. 

“You failed to mention the likes of these two were involved in your harebrained schemes.”

“Don’t be a fool, Lucien. Everyone save for Flint is involved.”

Lucien opened his mouth to speak once more, but Eris’s raised finger stopped him.

“When all of this is done, the three of you may fight for a century for all I care. We don’t have to like each other, we just have to be in agreement as to the real threat.”

No one spoke his name. A habit since childhood, as if the utterance would summon him.

Eris breathed in through his nose, preparing himself to share parts of his grand plan.

“The three of you will be a part of my army.” Their voices started up again, but his raised voice immediately silenced them. “The three of you will blend into my army, seizing the Forest House. I will be meeting with him this afternoon, and the three of you will work with my guard to take control of the house once I’m inside. Once we have control, he will fall shortly after.”

“What of the advisors?” Cormac’s thick accented voice cuts through, interrupting Eris.

“Don’t worry about them. They are being dealt with now.”

That raised more questions than it answered, but Eris didn’t have the time to walk his brothers through his plans.

“I have to go, but I am entrusting this to you three. Having a stronghold in the Forest House is key to this plot, otherwise it will all fall apart and we will all be executed for treason.”

His eyes looked at each of his brothers, taking a few seconds to remember their faces. None of the relationships within the Vanserra family tree were ever simple and clearcut. His brothers all hated him for various reasons, and he them. The only thing truly connecting them other than blood was pure hatred directed toward their father.

On any other subject, he knew having his brothers involved would be a risk. But the three looking at him now would do anything to see Beron disposed of, no matter the cost. Petty squabbles can come later. His ears rang again with the drums, his fingers annoyed at every surface he touched that wasn’t the hilt of the sword.

He spent several minutes going over the layout of the house with them, which strategies would work best for taking it as a stronghold. It was mostly for Lucien’s benefit, Beron having changed a few things around since his youngest brother was ran out of Autumn.

“You all know what to do.”

He didn’t have the ability to convey any of his feelings towards them. How he felt like he failed them by allowing Beron’s corruption to turn their hearts. How he should have killed Beron centuries ago.

But he doesn’t. Instead he turned, walking through the barracks before finding Cameron once more and riding through the trails of Autumn toward the Forest House.

Upon Eris’s arrival into the Forest House, the house moved about in a sense of normalcy. Servants fluttered about, avoiding his eyes as they went about their duties. He made his way to the throne room, where Beron preferred their private meetings to be held. He pushed open the double doors to find Beron already sitting at the throne, waiting expectantly. Eris walked forward before stopping halfway between the door and Beron to kneel.

Over the years, Eris had allowed himself to seem sloppy for this moment. He spent the mornings and afternoons training his soldiers, his armor more like a second skin. 

The first time had been a mere accident. He had forgotten to shed his armor, not thinking about the rules and expectations Beron sets upon his family. Instead of the issue they had planned to discuss, Beron had forced Eris to shed his chest plate, spending the hour-long meeting whipping his back instead.

When Eris had returned to his training, the pain from the wounds on his back gave him an idea. He didn’t do it frequently enough for Beron to punish him outside of these perceived wrongdoings, but just enough so a small pattern would form. Eris just needed the right moment, just needed Beron to be comfortable enough so he could move things into motion.

But it never came.

Beron’s voice filled the hall, the room entirely empty save the dais decorated with one throne.

“Any male in a position of power will always wonder how he will fall. He will try to see thousands of possibilities.”

Eris remained kneeling, not having been dismissed or even acknowledged when Beron began speaking.

“It is always on your mind - who is an ally and who is a foe?”

Screaming could be heard through the halls, the unmistakable sound of fighting coming through the crack beneath the door. Beron didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge the sounds beyond the door. Somehow he knew this was coming.

Eris kept his head down, gritting his teeth in annoyance that someone tipped off his father, but his jaw fell slightly at the sounds of barking beyond the door.

It was Clover, he was sure of it. He had told Alastor to put armor on his hounds and release them, wanting them to act as an alert system to those inside the house that more soldiers were approaching. He didn’t expect them to be in the middle of the battle.

He could hear their growls and the shrieks of those they dug their jaws into.

He had been training the hounds for years on who to attack. Any advisors who happened to pass the kennels and were received less than kindly, Eris chalked it up to his hounds being bitches. The real truth was he spent decades gathering the scents of those advisors, guards he couldn’t sway, anyone who would stand in his way, using the clothing or fabric whenever he would be training his hounds on aggressive tactics. Getting them used to their targets.

But they still weren’t supposed to be here.

Thousands of hearts were beating in Eris’s ears, uncertain which was his own. He was sweating now, trying to keep the sword unsheathed for as long as possible.

Beron’s smile was feline as he took in the sounds of chaos. “Beautiful sound, isn’t it? I always loved the echo of treason in the afternoon.”

Beron breathed in deeply through his nose, straightening as he stood. Eris finally stood before he unsheathed the Spine of Autumn, the sword glowing all on its own. The molten lava in the metal practically crackling with heat. Beron laughed at the sight of it.

“You wield the power of things you don’t understand, boy. Give it to me.”

Berin held out his hands, fully expecting Eris to blindly obey his command. 

“No.”

Beron’s eyes crackled with anger. He never responded well to any defiance from any of his sons. In a fit of rage, Eris struck first. The first deviation from his plan. His sword sliced through the air, Beron quickly unsheathing his own to block. Beron’s counter attack was expected, Eris able to block with his hilt quickly. 

Several moments passed as the two swapped blows back and forth. Eris was sweating profusely, the roar of the sword growing louder in his ears, now silently chanting kill, kill, kill. Their combat consisted of matched hits, the room a sweltering heat between the two of them. Eris rolled from Beron’s blade, maneuvering through the room, trying to use anything in the bare room to get any form of leverage against his father. He walked up the steps of the dais, blocking each of Beron’s blows as he walked backward up to the throne.

The doors shook, he could make out occasional shouts and yells from his brothers from the other side, their voices desperate to get in. Each time he swung the blade, he could practically feel the rage of his last act of betrayal through the doors as he could hear them fighting off any more of Beron’s guard.

“I always wondered which one of you fools would try to overthrow me. Delightful to find out all of you participated in the coup.” Eris swung once more, his centuries of training his body into a weapon needed for this very moment. 

“Eris.”

His name was a hiss from his father.

“You are playing games you do not understand.”

The only other noise in the room was the clanging of their swords, the air heavy with dreams on both sides. One wanting a successful coup, the other wanting to prove time and again his strength and brutality.

“I understand well enough, father.” Beron tsked as if admonishing a schoolboy, his mouth sneering into a smile. “No, you don’t.”

Eris’s limbs ached as he bore the brunt of Beron’s full strength with each block and each attempted attack, the throne room devoid of any way to tell the passage of time. Was this purgatory, an in between life for those the Mother deemed unworthy of rebirth?

“A month before you were born, the stakes with Hybern were rising steadily. I found a witch and had a curse placed on myself.” 

The drumming in his ears made his father’s words next to impossible to make out, but somehow his mind knew what he was saying even if his ears couldn’t pick them out.

“Whoever kills me, kills themselves in the process.”

His father’s words did little to stop his movements, his attacks using more and more of his strength. The doors rattled once more, an echo of broken promises added to Eris’s neverending list of lies and betrayals.

He knew he was lying to his brothers when he said they would have a chance at Beron. The lie had rolled off his tongue, a means to get them here no matter what. Every plan he had had to get to this moment with their involvement in one way or another. Vengeance was always at the forefront of their minds and he gave them a taste for it. All he can do now is hope they will see this through.

His father having a debt for his soul, a life for a life, was not surprising to Eris. He was certain there was some cosmic debt for killing his father. Everything he worked for in this life came at a cost, why should that stop now in his final act?

If this was the end, he’d do all he could to ensure he had slain the dragon.

Eris mustered the last of his strength. The male who calculated every move, every breath he had taken over the past five centuries. 

It was the last move to make. The last time he’d deviate from the plan.

A life he’d dreamt of so close if he outstretched his arms his fingertips could ghost over it.

He thought of whispered promises, midnight declarations of love.

And he erupted.

The sword was bright and covered in blue flames as it met Beron’s sword once more, the clanging metal echoing through the air. Every slash, every hit was countered perfectly. 

A battle of wills.

Eris tapped into the well of rage within him, using that to push himself forward. To keep striking, even as Beron matched every hit. Eris felt his father having to use the well of power within him, and he was certain if he could just wear the bastard down he would have a shot.

Beron was powerful, a magic so deep and vast it wasn’t unheard of for new High Lords to drown in it. But Eris was ravenous, a hunger for that power so deep his bones were malnourished.

After what felt like centuries, Eris was finally able to thrust under Beron’s guard, the point of his sword nicking Beron in the neck. His father acted quickly, his counter parry catching Eris in the side, the heat from the blade slicing through the metal of his armor. Beron stomped forward, his sword raised over his head and Eris just barely blocked with his hilt in time. Eris pushed forward, using his legs to push Beron off of him to allow himself some breathing room. 

Beron took Eris’s expectation and used all his force to swipe his sword through the air, causing the Spine of Autumn to slip through Eris’s grasp.

Beron used the advantage to hit Eris in the torso, the reverberations from his armor causing his chest to vibrate. He took two more hits before his knees fell, the armor digging into his skin as he panted for breath.

“You stupid, stupid boy.” The words crashed into Eris as Beron’s sword hit him in the side.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t see the greed in your brothers’ eyes? Expect your wretched softness to stray your mind?” 

Another clang, this one to his thigh. His limbs were roaring in pain, the heat of the room sweltering.

“You think I’d make my father’s mistake and let his runt of a son take his crown? No, my dear.” His tone was softer, as if he were imitating Eris’s mother, the sound causing Eris’s stomach to churn. 

Eris saw the sword glint in the moonlight, and he watched a hand cover the light from it. Beron smiled, his teeth covered in blood, making him appear more animal than fae.

“All of my idiot sons working against me. I should be proud to produce such heretics.”

Beron turned his sword, using the hilt to hit Eris square in the chest, causing him to fall onto his back, the clang of the armor echoing through the throne room. His father stalked toward him - a predator at the end of the hunt. His teeth gleamed in hunger.

“Perhaps your little coup would have worked if you had just one more of your brothers aiding you.”

Flint stepped out of the shadows, appearing from behind the High Lord. Flint was only a few years younger than Eris, but he had gladly taken on the personality that Beron wanted him to have. His long, practically maroon-colored hair covered parts of his face, but he made no move to fix it.

Eris was the only son to live permanently in the Forest House, all the others were scattered across Autumn in the hopes to keep more of the population in line. Flint had been sent to the furthest reaches of Autumn because he so resembled Beron with his cruelties that the High Lord wished for the farthest communities to feel his power.

Flint carried with him an air of unease, the scars on his face making him seem far more sinister than the legends that surrounded him could. He kept his words far and few between, preferring to keep any disagreements in the physical sense.

“Do not fret, I’m sure your mother and brothers can learn some very valuable lessons from your folly, even if you’re too charred to do the teaching.”

Beron gleamed with wicked delight as he heard Flint pick up the sword, his steps growing nearer. His father stayed rooted as his brother moved closer, dragging the sword behind him, the drag creating a terrible high-pitched noise.

Eris’s eyes were calculating as he looked to the sword, trying to gather any semblance of strength to move, to pick himself up. He just needed a speck of energy, to hold out long enough for the magic of the new High Lord to heal him.

But he was stuck. He couldn’t move. Forced to observe his own failed assassination. Ruminate on the life spent to get to this moment just to fall short.

Flint heated the sword, his flame dancing around the metal, turning into a redhot coloring.

His thoughts flicked through the hundreds of people he brought with him today, the fighting in the hallways, the banging on the throne room doors. It all faded to nothing, the only sound in his ears the tune of the mating bond deep on his chest.

It was a beautiful thing, even if it was only real for a glimmer of time.

Flint handled the sword, checking the weight of it as Beron looked to his oldest son, his eyes full of eagerness at the possibility of spilt blood.

Eris’s breathing was labored as Flint lifted the hilt high over his head before he quickly turned and sliced the sword through Beron’s neck, his blood flowing across the front of his body. The heated sword sliced easily through the High Lord, a squelching sound coming from him as Beron’s face remained with the sneer he held before it fell from his neck, his body following suit. Beron’s head rolled a few feet, his body slumping to the ground in a thump. He watched Beron’s eyes, watching the life seep from them as his head landed a few feet from Eris’s knees.

Beron’s armor clanged throughout the throne room, the last sounds of a tyrant jarring and almost anticlimactic.

The beast was slain, a shocking finale to a tyrant’s life. Eris couldn’t focus on him, couldn’t allow himself to feel anything other than concern at the male that was staggering before him, swaying on his feet.

Eris quickly moved to stand, not bothering to look at his father’s body as he darted forward, just in time to catch Flint. His weight was heavy in Eris’s arms, the deadweight nearly causing both males to collapse. Eris wiped the blood from his own mouth before trying to speak.

“What the Hel were you thinking?”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes, the deep brown full of sadness as if Eris could watch all of his memories through them. The air was colder now, the rhythmic prose of the sword gone from his ears as his intended target had been slain. The bloodthirst sword had been quenched, but his brother had paid a steep price.

“You told me to strike when they least expect it.”

Autumn leaves crunched beneath his feet, his boots blocking out the chill of the air, his ears full of the sounds of tiny exhalations. He stood, watching the small boy maneuver around the tree, cutting up the bark with each slice.

“You’re too loud.”

Flint moved his head quickly, startled at Eris’s presence.

“I didn’t hear you.”

Eris moved toward his younger brother, easily pulling the sword from his hands.

“That’s because I didn’t want you to.”

He looked at the hilt of the sword - much too heavy for a boy his brother’s size. He huffed as he pulled a small dagger from the lining of his jacket before handing that to Flint, ignoring his brother’s attempts at reaching the sword again.

“Flint, there’s a reason every male worth his weight carries a dagger.”

Flint handled the small blade, flicking it through the air as if fighting an opponent, nearly cutting Eris’s jacket in the process.

“Why?”

“Because daggers allow you to strike when your opponent least expects it.”

His own words echoed back to him, feeling so unfamiliar in Flint’s mouth.

He always had the same eyes. Full of depths Eris could never fathom, a bottomless well of sadness and concession to an unwanted life. Somewhere over the centuries they lost that spark that Eris loved so much. He wondered briefly if to have a child is to watch that spark dull. But then his thoughts wandered to Lucien - the only one who got out, who got their spark back.

“Flint, we’ll get the healer. Mother’s coming, you have to- you have to see her.”

Eris started clawing, tugging with everything in him on the bond in his chest, urging you to come quickly. He needed someone, anyone to come. To see what his brother had done for him, for all of them, for Autumn.

“Eris, I-“

His bloodied hand reached up, shushing Flint. He was growing pale, his cheeks losing the red glow they always had.

“It’ll be okay. You’ll- we’ll be okay.”

Tears fell from Eris, landing directly onto his brother’s chest. He wasn’t sure where it came from - perhaps some pit deep inside of himself still cared for Flint. Their relationship was rife with double and even triple crossing, each conversation a meticulous game of chess that allowed for no winners, only heartbreak.

The blood loss was getting to him, he was sure of it. The room was spinning and the pounding in his ears finally stopped only to be replaced with an incessant ringing. His limbs felt so warm, his body overheating. He wrapped himself around his brother, trying to warm him.

“Flint, I have - I have a mate.”

As he spoke, he heard the doors burst open, and could hear the footsteps as several fae entered the throne room. He didn’t look up, instead keeping his eyes on his brother’s. He didn’t know why the admission had come forth, some part of him knowing that his brother was not going to make it through the night. It slipped from his lips, only now realizing this was the first time he had told anyone he had a mate.

His mother had sniffed it on him the night the bond snapped. Lucien - Eris had no idea how Lucien knew. 

But Flint was the first one Eris ever got to tell. And he watched his brother smile, an act more taxing than it should be, his eyes flickered with the life they used to have. Flint’s hand reached up, cupping Eris’s, before he nodded his head.

It was too late for words, but Eris knew what his brother was saying.

Eris looked into that dark brown - the color of soil, chocolate, coffee. Things that give life, things that are worth living for. And he swore he watched the life fade from them slowly, a dull sheen creeping in from the edges.

Traitors don’t get a victor’s life. 

To stab from behind is either cowardice or cunning, depending on which side of the blade you’re on.

He felt the presence of others, but this moment was all consuming: grief, relief, the new influx of emotions and sensations as High Lord.

This was supposed to be his ending. He had accepted that the moment Beron mentioned the curse, having given up any hope of leaving this room alive. He had accepted that Beron would be the last face he saw. A terrible ending to a life unlived.

He looked down at Flint, his eyes still having some life, and he called for his mother, beckoning her near. He didn’t take his eyes from his brother, but he somehow knew she was who Flint would want to see in his last moments. 

“Flint,” Marigold cooed, dropping to her knees next to Eris. He moved Flint’s head into her hands, his brother relaxing at her gentle touch, combing her fingers through his hair. His brother didn’t stir, so Eris jostled his body, desperate to get Flint this final moment with their mother.

“Come on, wake up. You have to tell her.”

Eris jostled him a bit more before his brother opened his eyes, half-lidded looking up at Marigold. Eris’s heart panged for her - another son gone at the hands of a Vanserra. Beron’s cruelty left no survivors, not even for a mother.

“I did it for you, Mother.” His voice was weak, but his words were full of need, as if this were a final confession. Marigold’s face remained soft, a flicker of a memory passing through Eris at being tucked in at night. Her soft voice lulled him to sleep, her serene smile the last thing he saw before he slumbered. Eris hoped death felt safe and warm like that memory. 

“I know, sweetheart.”

Flint coughed, a congested sound that didn’t sound right echoing through the throne room. Eris knew his other brothers littered about the room, but he didn’t dare look away from Flint. For the brother who gave up everything, Eris could devote his full attention in these final moments.

“It was all for you.”

He clutched her other hand tight in his, and she pulled him up to rest his head in the crook of her neck, sliding him from Eris’s grasp.

“I know, I know.”

Marigold did not ask for a healer. She must have known what Beron’s curse entailed. Perhaps having three of her sons killed by other family members was enough penance for her wrongdoings. 

Eris felt the magic surging through him, amplifying his senses, emotions, everything in him. It stitched and healed all the broken skin, the marred flesh. He felt his mate’s presence on his back, gentle touches that screamed I’m here, I’m here, I’m here. But his eyes stayed on his brother, each breath more taxing than the last one. 

It was Lucien who came forward with the ornate crown that looked like an infinite circle of branches with dying leaves and berries in his hands. A crown Eris had spent his whole life imagining how it would feel on his head. His neck didn’t ache with the weight of expectation like he thought it would as Lucien placed it atop his head.

It felt as if the sprigs were nestling onto his head, the crown coming to life to fit him perfectly, to take root with him as if to say you cannot go back.

Choices all led to this moment. Every decision made over the course of five centuries led to the thrumming power in his veins, the powerful family of nine now about to be a dwindled mess of five. 

There was no way back. What even would there be to go back to?

For centuries, Eris had thought he was doing it all alone. Scheming in the dead of night, forced to bloody his own hands. As his mother held Flint, his breaths taking longer pauses in between, his heart slowing in Marigold’s lap, Eris realized that he would never have gotten to this point alone.

A family fractured and wounded by each other for centuries, all coming together for this one moment in time. Nothing was simple in the Vanserra family, no relationship untouched by Beron. No matter how warped and twisted they were, this was still Eris’s family and they all came through when it mattered most.

There was no way to know how the future would unfold for the Vanserras. Millions of cruelties lay between all of them, even his mother was guilty for holding a grudge with him for what he took from her. No one in this room had the joys or naivety of youth.

Flint stopped breathing in his mother’s grasp and once she knew he was gone, she began sobbing into his head. His mother hardly cried. He had watched her deliver all of his brothers and been there in the aftermath. Heard her cries when Beron had first discovered her affair with Helion. These cries were different -like an animal howling at the moon in anguish. An unjust ending for their beloved child. Fire crackled in Eris’s veins, a silent promise that this was the last betrayal on the Vanserra line.

Roots popped up from beneath the tiling, startling Cormac before they wrapped around Beron’s body and severed head and dragged him beneath the surface, uncaring as they broke limbs and skin, the resounding crunch from either the tree or his body. His father’s body was pulled from the surface, a violent burial that left the throne room a disaster.

Outside the doors, Eris could hear the trees and paused at the tune of his mating bond. Despite there being no windows, the song was so loud his brothers could make out the melody. He listened closely, the song had a slow melody that flowed well. It sounded different than before - as if there were a different arrangement of instruments. The melody was the same, but it was less harsh than it was when he left the Forest House this morning. Then it sounded like a march, a call to battle. But now it sounded like he could make grand sweeping movements to it, spinning about a dance floor. It was then he understood. It was a waltz.

He listened once more, hearing the silences of the song that were usually filled in by your presence, only to find the gaps more prominent without your duet. His eyes stung as he realized they were singing a song of him and that it sounded beautiful.

The song of Eris floated through the trees, being carried on the wind throughout the fields of Autumn, telling the land that the evil has been expunged. The fields would bloom quickly, the land becoming more fertile and bursting with the life that had been missing for centuries. 

Across Autumn, the new High Lord’s song would be whispered, a beacon of hope to those long suffering beneath a tyrant. For the first time, the fae would hear Eris’s song and they would dance to it.

Divider by @tsunami-of-tears

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Thanks for reading❣️

[iaure]

𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔪𝔶 𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔰, 𝔶𝔬𝔲'𝔯𝔢 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭

𝖞𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖒𝖎𝖌𝖚𝖊𝖑 𝖔❜𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆 𝖝 𝖋𝖊𝖒!𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 1: 𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℑ 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔶; 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔳𝔦𝔬𝔩𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 3: 𝔦 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 𝔪𝔶 𝔟𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔰 𝔬𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔫𝔢𝔠𝔨, 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔰𝔩𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 4: 𝔰𝔞𝔡𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔰𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔱 𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔴𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴

CW: description of family death, ptsd, stalking, harassment, obsession. Written in the third person. Use of Y/N. Y/N acts as a mom/sister to the four teens. This mostly establishes her relationship with other characters.

Spoilers for Spider-Man: Across The Spiderverse.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ not quite sure how i feel about this one Ꮚ≡д≡Ꮚ it's very filler-y and explaining some of the mental process Y/N went through, but it's okay! it's a stepping stone to miguel confessing! we'll get there! ✩ᏊꈍꈊꈍᏊ the new updates tag is also #୨♡୧ gothic updates because of the font i'm using for the titles!

wc: 1.9k

𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀𝗻❜𝘁 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗱𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗮𝗿𝗺𝘀.

Y/N wondered what it was like. When her brother leapt to save the child from a falling building, he refused to look at her. They hadn't spoken in years, estranged because they lost sight of when they were kids. Separated by family politics. They hadn't spoken in years. And he knew Y/N was Spider-Woman. He knew, and when she tried to stop him, he just...tore away. Said he wasn't a child, said that he didn't need her help.

He, very evidently, did.

Y/N didn't get the chance to see his body. He was carted away too soon, and the child was rushed into her arms, a little thing sobbing.

That day, Y/N found out she had a soft spot for kids.

Y/N previously had lived her life as normally as possible. She worked as a manager for some joint she never really cared for and did her job as Spider-Woman as quickly as possible. It became a running joke that she never really 'cared'. Well, duh, she cared, or else she wouldn't do it, but she was quite...lackadaisical. Nothing so jarring human death had occurred to her aside from her uncle's death, but it was far easier to get over him. She found out six hours later that this was something called a 'canon event'; things that are impossible to stop, like earth-shattering trains. All you could do was lay on the tracks as comfortable as possible. The woman that told her was good. Beautiful. Heavily pregnant. Surprisingly quick on her feet for being (aforementionedly) pregnant. And she said she was Spider-Woman, too. It took a second for Y/N to process it. But the woman, Jess, was cool, and to be frank, Y/N wasn't too worried. And Jess talked to her about what was effectively an army of Spider-Men, trying to stop anomalies. She asked if Y/N was interested.

It's not like Spider-Woman 7290 had anything better to do, anyway.

The watches were weird, Y/N would admit that. And the tower was like a temptation stairway, to just get lost in and never be found again. The other spiders were kind, waving hello and offering sympathies for her brother. One, a Spider-Moth, kept on bumping into her. It was...funny, to say the least. All had, to some degree, accepted their fates as Spider-Men and Women and Things and Animals and Beasts and everything she could possibly imagine. There was a car, of all things. It was...delightfully absurd, after observing such a hellscape as her brother's death. She was still in her torn Spider-Suit, still bruised with the dirt-marked tear stains down her face. She tried rubbing away what she could, but when Jess shot her a look of concern, she stopped. She didn't need pity. She didn't need worry. She was Spider-Woman. She could do it on her own.

She, very evidently, could not.

Y/N realised that when she saw Miguel. He was massive, built like a brick wall and an upside down triangle with a stare that felt like he was prying her apart at the seams. She tried to match it, but nothing quite felt as harsh as his stare. He seemed downright villainous. If that thing was chasing her, she would've screamed. Y/N was glad he was on the good guy's side. Jess introduced her, and Y/N felt lucky that she was so confident. Spider-Woman 7290 felt like she was shrinking under Spider-Man 2099's gaze. She wanted to run, as stupid as it sounded. Every sense except her spidersense was lighting up, telling her to bolt. The introduction felt like it lasted forever, with how Miguel didn't say a word. And to be frank...it kind of pissed her off. She'd already been through so much that same day. Why did she have to deal with this guy?

"Spider-Woman, from Earth 7290. Also known as Y/N."

Jess said it so matter-of-factly, and Y/N made it a point to look Miguel in the eye. Despite the cold terror that gripped her, she was not going to back down. Who was this guy, even? He reminded her of how her brother was over-confident. Maybe this guy had the past to back it up, but Y/N didn't know that.

And he just stared.

Y/N and Jess shared a look, and Jess put a hand to her shoulder. There was another beat of silence, before Jess cleared her throat. "Miguel? Are you listening?" Miguel seemed to jump, not physically, but mentally, snapping out of whatever haze he was in. He waved a hand, looking away. "Yeah. Sure. Ger her a watch." That wasn't even what Jess had been talking about, and the two women shared a glanced before Y/N looked to Miguel one last time. And he stared at her, as though she were a ghost.

Whatever. Guy was weird. Leave it to a superhero to be weird. He had enough on his plate to let him be a little weird.

Y/N got comfortable in the Spider-Society. She thought it was a stupid name, and she came off a little meaner than most of the other Spiders, but everyone had such similar experiences that it was easy to talk. Pav and Hobie became fast favourites-kids who got dropped in too fast, too soon, and could use some help from someone who gave a damn. Pav didn't seem to quite get it yet, but Hobie did, and Y/N found it easier to try and talk to the two of them than anyone else. Soft spot for kids. More like a soft black hole where if it wasn't those two, she didn't care. Then Gwen showed up, and poor girl needed someone to look after her. Jess cared, clearly, but Gwen needed someone who wasn't so preoccupied with saving the multiverse. Whenever she caught Gwen crying over her father, there was a little bit of rage that built up, because who treats their child like that? What kind of nightmare did Gwen have to go through?

The three started tailing her, following her around. And against all reason...she liked it.

She began prioritising helping them. Jess told her multiple times that they needed to do their own thing, but they were kids. She was about to have a kid! Y/N didn't understand Jess's reasoning all too well, but she wasn't upset, either. Everyone did their own thing. In this case, her thing was taking care of the kids that needed adult supervision. This also meant she had three extra pairs of eyes looking out for her.

Hobie was the first one to notice Miguel. The two of you were out, handing an anomaly (a rogue Doc Ock), when the teen shot you a look. "On your six," He shrugged. "Guess he wanted to watch." Y/N never spun around so fast in her life. She got the barest glance of his neon webs, but nothing more. And the discomfort in her gut began to grow. Pav was next, far less casual about it and positively gushing about it. He thought it was cute, how Miguel 'watched over you'. Something, something, romantic tension. But he went quiet after Y/N said she'd only spoken to Miguel a handful of times. That day, the discomfort was shared.

Little things began to shift around her apartment. Groceries replenished themselves. A Vulture was found beaten so bloody that he turned himself into the hospital, speaking about a Spider that very much wasn't Y/N. Once, her clothes had been washed, folded, and placed on her bed. And Y/N could put up with all of it, if it was just her. But Gwen would stay with her, usually, if she wasn't visiting Hobie or Jess. The apartment was small, but when Gwen walked into the guest bedroom and saw it was tidied up while the two were out, Y/N knew it was an issue. Why Miguel would do something like this was beyond her. He had so much more to take care of than to harass some Spider that he'd only spoken to...what? Four? Five times? Y/N was angry. Couldn't she just live her life? She just wanted to help the kids, beat the bad guys, and go home to relax. Was that a crime? She'd barely looked at him, even. Granted, it was partially because he was still scary as hell. Was he handsome? Sure. But he was so serious all the damn time, and there was the rumour about his dead wife, so Y/N was just pissed.

But whatever. She could put up with it for a while. Just until the next anomaly was figured out: some guy named the Spot.

She'd talked to Jess about putting Gwen on the job. Begged, even. Gwen needed a big break, something for her ego, and Y/N figured some villain of the week ought to do it.

That, evidently, didn't do it.

The situation spun out of hand. Y/N blamed herself, begged Jess to give Gwen some leniency. And thank god, Jess listened. The idea of Gwen suffering because Y/N pushed her in too far, too fast, would eat her alive. But if there was one thing Y/N was curious for, it was meeting Miles Morales. Gwen never stopped talking about him. Was excited as all get out any time he was mentioned. So seeing the young man in the Spider-Society was a treat. He was nice, and it was clear to her that Gwen and Miles cared for one another. How wasn't any of her business, just that they did, and now Miles was encompassed into the small army of children Y/N had amassed.

Which...brought her to this point.

An army of Spiders to her right. An army of Spiders to her left. And the one man army himself to her very front. Y/N was pissed Miguel treated Miles like that. Miles was a child who, god forbid, wanted to save his father. And besides. Miguel had already built up enough bad blood between Y/N and himself, with his little antics. She didn't find it hard to pick sides. Which led her to trying to block off the window Miles leapt out of. Her webs weren't the strongest, but considering it was an active act of treason, she knew she had to act fast. A Spider pinned to the wall there. A Spider dangled from the ceiling there. Buying Miles as much time as possible. The look on his face as he fell...the confusion. The gratitude. Miles had become one of her own, and she was not going to forsake him. But no one can stop Miguel.

He rammed into her, knocking the breath out of her like a bullet the size of Peter Parkedcar. There was a brief moment where Y/N were only spinning, Miguel's arms wrapped around her as she was used as a battering ram against her own webs, flung out the window. Miguel spun back, inexplicably, to place her back in the tower, muttering under his breath in Spanish before he launched himself back out the window.

"¿Por qué me hiciste esto, mi amor?" He had whispered. But she was too far gone. The world was getting hazy, and Y/N had one last thought.

That bought Miles another thirty seconds.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

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