#cass in 4k

[ghostbsuter]

It was supposed to be a normal gala, everyone attending and maybe smuggle in Danny's official introduction to the public.

Danny didn't really mind, having been lectured and taught by Sam during the times of suffering they'd had to go through together.

Yet, since waking up, he'd had a bad feeling.

Good thing he listened to that bad feeling, considering the situation he is at right now.

(He had looked at Dami when he saw the agents pile in, handing him his glas and grabbing the bottle. He ignored the scowl in favor of shouting, "Viva la revolution!")

The comm crackles to life as he smashes one of the GIW agents with a bottle of champagne over the head, grabbing another and downing in one go.

He passes Jason, grinning like a feral cat and swiping another GIW agent to the ground.

(At that moment, the forced-to-be-here Jason watched wide eyed, a soft "What the fuck" leaving him as he held his glass.)

"Get him!" Multiple guns were pointed at the running teen. The guests and the waynes were pressed to the walls of the room and murmured.

Danny jumped, kicking the agent down and ducking from the shoots.

He's running to the tall windows, opening one and sending his farewells.

"You will never catch me alive!!"

And jumps out, a flurry of colourful laser shoots following.

The agents pile behind the window, shouting incomprehensibly.

(One of guests leans towards Mr. Wayne, sipping her champagne. "Say, Bruce, are you sure he isn't from Gotham City?"

The man in turn blinks, smiling charmingly despite the demon's fighting in his head at what's going on. "I... was pretty sure, maybe he just fits in?"

The Lady laughs, dumping her rest of the drink on a agent and making a haste retreat.

Bruce is only half sure that, that was someone he knew and just disguised.)

I kinda want danny who's been adopted by the wanyes to be schmoozing it up at a gala (because listen nothing is funnier than the image of Gotham elites being like oh whats this one's gimmick cus all the other's have something only for danny to just be a dude) only for like the giw to raid the place to get danny ( cus he's a ghost? Cus he's a Fenton? Who knows)

Only for danny to pick up a bottle chug it smash it and vault out a window shouting you'll never catch me alive

Now this increases his reputation with most Gothamites and rouges and absolutely worries the fuck out of the batfam why is the government chasing you danny and hiw are you so good at running

[yourejinx]

Late Nights

Azriel x F.Reader

Warnings: NSFW, smut, +18, minors dni. Oral, fingering, unprotected sex, p in v. A bit of fluff? I think that's it.

Author's note: I wanted to try something different, this is my first time writing content like this so please be gentle but also PLEASE FEEDBACK.

Word count: 4k

It was the fourth night in a row that you were deprived from sleep, cursed with listening Cass and Nesta fuck like rabbits in the room next to yours. In all honesty, you loved your friends and were absolutely thrilled they were enjoying and exploring the extent of their relationship, they deserved it after everything they went through. You just wished they had a little consideration for your poor ears and sleeping schedule. 

You had been working your ass off the past few weeks, Rhys had you and Az going around the courts every other day, plus you've been dealing with Eris, since you seemed to be the only member in the Inner Circle that the Autumn heir tolerated just fine. So you had your plate full, and wished for a little peace and quiet at your own home. But your friends had other plans.

Nesta let out a particularly loud moan that you clearly heard through the too thin wall. It made you grimace and you decided you had enough. Huffing, you tossed the sheets off your body, grabbed the shirt you had stolen from the shadowsinger years ago and opened the door, putting on the clothing while you made your way down the corridor. If you were awake, then Azriel had to be too, he didn't miss a thing happening in this house. 

You didn't bother knocking on his door, you were way past that line with him. Azriel was your best friend, your confident, the person who you most trusted in the entire world, and vice versa. You were too comfortable with each other to bother with politeness. You flung open the door to his bedroom, making your way inside and slamming the door behind you dramatically. The room was dark except for the dim fae light hanging on his bedside table, Azriel had put down the book he was reading to stare at you amusedly. 

"Good evening to you too." He uttered playfully.

You didn't reply, just scowled, walked up to the other side and plopped down face first on the bed beside him. He chuckled. 

"Finding it hard to sleep?" He asked, setting the book aside. 

"They are insufferable." You mumbled around the sheets. They smelled like him, an instant comfort for your tired mind. "Agh! You can hear them from here too! How are you not bothered?!?" You lift your head from his pillows to look at him exasperatedly. 

Azriel smiled somewhat apprehensive at you. "I'm kind of used to it by now." He shrugged. 

You narrowed your eyes at him, smirking. "Kinky."

He rolled his eyes feigning annoyance. "You have no idea, sweetheart." His voice was a deep purr as he smirked back at you. 

You lifted one eyebrow in amusement. There was this recurrent thing between you two, where you usually teased and flirted with each other but never dared to actually do something about it. It was just for fun right? You were friends who just liked messing around as a joke. Always dancing the line between friends and something more, it was a dangerous game for sure, but you had to admit you loved the thrill of it. 

“Is that so? Oh please, do enlighten me then.” You shot back, lying more comfortably on his bed. Arms behind your head, eyes fixed on him. 

Hazel gaze traveled all the way down to the now exposed skin of your upper thighs, your movement had caused the shirt – his shirt– to ridden up a little, revealing more of your legs and the underline of a pair of lacy black panties. His pulse spiked slightly at the sight. You didn’t seem to notice, he averted his eyes before you could catch him shamelessly staring at you.  

There was a glint in your eyes when he caught your stare again, a slight flush to your cheeks, but he didn’t back off. 

“Curious now, are we?” He tilted his head, resting his cheek on his fist to properly look at you. 

“Ah, don’t flatter yourself, pretty boy. You brought it up, are you backing out?” 

Azriel opened his mouth to respond, a playful spark dancing in his golden eyes, when—

“Fuck, Ness!” Cassian’s growl reached both your ears as clear as day. There was a beat of silence after that where you just stared at each other stunned, then you broke in a fit of laughter. 

“Seriously Az, I don’t know how you endure it, if I have to listen to them one more night I’m gonna lose my shit. I haven’t slept in days,” you sighed, rubbing your eyes. “and neither have you, it seems.” you pointed out, poking open one eye to stare at him. Azriel had laid back facing you, wings tucked behind his back, shoulders involuntarily curving inwards, a sign of tiredness. You noted the dark circles under his eyes. 

“I look that shitty, huh?” he smiled tiredly.  

“Never.” You stated matter-of-factly. “You’re always pretty.” 

It was his turn to blush then, heat rapidly crawling to his face and neck. He could handle your flirting, your teasing, but he didn’t know how to react when you blatantly called him pretty. It just sounded so…sincere, coming from you. It made his heart flutter in his chest. It was no secret that he found you attractive, he thought he made that clear, but there was more to that, wasn’t there? He didn’t just think you were hot, he thought you were beautiful, smart, and kind, and it freaked the hell out of him to acknowledge all those things because that would mean that he wanted more. More than being your friend, but it terrified him to ruin your friendship. If you wanted him in the same way, you would’ve said something by now, right? You’ve known each other for years. 

“What are you thinking about?” you whispered, breath fanning across his face. He hadn’t noticed how close you were. He could feel the heat radiating from your body. 

“I’m thinking that we should sleep.” He answered, but made no move whatsoever. You smiled at him and nodded, making to reach the faelight to turn it off. You angled your body half above him and stretched to the bedside table, hair barely grazing the hot skin of his torso. Gods, you were practically straddling him, his mind taking him to all sorts of indecent scenarios. Your breasts were just a breadths away from his mouth, he could make out the perked nipples under the shirt. He loved seeing you in his clothes, but right now he wanted nothing more than to rip the fabric out of you. Azriel swallowed dryly. 

What was his fucking problem? It wasn’t like you hadn’t shared a bed before, he blamed his friend’s heated session down the hall. He had to admit it had gotten him a bit railed up, especially with you on his bed, smelling like him. It was hard to ignore the growing want in his veins. 

“Goodnight, Az.” You said, pulling back a little to look at him through half lidded eyes, even in the dark. Was it possible you were feeling the same? or was it just tiredness in your features? 

“Goodnight, angel.” He whispered back. If you leaned in any closer, he swears he’d kiss you, consequences be damned. But you slid right back onto your side, back facing him. 

Azriel lets out a quiet, frustrating sigh, reaching an arm out to wrap around your waist pulling you close. More moaning can be heard outside his bedroom, all the way to Cassian’s room. He feels slightly jealous. 

Suddenly you snorted, “We’ll sleep better if we get past the nghs, ohh, right there Cass!” you moaned, imitating Nesta. Azriel inhaled deeply, trying to ignore the way your little whimpering had shot straight to his dick. And the bite of jealousy he felt at hearing Cassian’s name falling so sinfully from your lips.

He scented the slight change in your scent though, a pinch of sweet arousal that got him mouth-watering. It had gotten to your head too, the display of passion from your friends a few bedrooms away. Azriel debated whether it was wise to do something right now, to taste the waters maybe. But you rolled onto your back again, facing the ceiling and letting out a frustrated groan. 

“Someone has to teach them though, make them uncomfortably listen for once. Maybe I’ll go to Rita’s tomorrow, choose a random male and bring him home. Beat them at their own game.” 

“No.” Azriel growled. You turned your head to the side, looking at him and were met with the dark, lustful haze in his eyes. You felt your core pulse in response. Fuck, why was he so hot?

“What do you mean"no "?" You asked, feeling your tongue paper dry  in your mouth.

“Why wait until tomorrow, if you can beat them tonight?”

The offer hung there, unspoken, for a few heartbeats. You felt your face grow hot, felt liquid fire pooling at your belly at the mere suggestion. He hadn’t even touched you and yet he got you all hot and bothered with a few words. You licked your lips, staring at him, shirtless, hair tousled over the pillow, shadows dancing dangerously over his shoulder. As if expecting your answer. He was a sight for sore eyes. It had to be illegal to be this beautiful. 

“I’m game if you are, sweetheart.” There it was, the deep purr again that had you clenching your legs together. He noticed the shift of course, smirking smugly. 

“Haha, very funny.” you said, huffing. 

“I’m not playing.” He pulled you closer, pressing you against his front. You gasped, feeling the not so subtle bulge in his sweatpants, rubbing against the side of your thigh.

“Is this why you kept me at an arm's length tonight?” you chuckled, but he could hear the breathlessness in your voice. “So I wouldn't find out they got you all worked up?” 

“No, this isn’t their doing, angel. It's all yours.” He dared a hand down your waist, past your hips, to ghost over the skin under the hem of your shirt. You shuddered. “Tell me to stop and I will. It's okay.” 

He lifted the fabric ever so slightly, inching closer to the waistband of your underwear. 

You turned fully to him, chests pressed together, breasts dragging against the firm muscle with every breath. 

“Fuck it, let’s show them.” You breathed into his mouth before crashing your lips together in a searing kiss. 

Azriel groaned low against your mouth, grip tighter bringing your hips flushed together, and kissed you back with fervor. Your hands found purchase in the dark locks at the back of his neck, tugging gently and urging him impossibly closer. He pushed you onto your back, knees parting on their own accord to accommodate him between your legs. It was all so hot and messy. Like you both have been waiting for this for a very long time, it made you throb with need. The thought of him wanting you as much as you wanted him. 

You rolled your hips onto him, desperate for any sort of friction, moaning loudly when the clothed tip of his cock catched on your clit deliciously. Azriel took his chance to slip his tongue inside your mouth, exploring every inch and taste of you, kissing you deeply, desperately. He wanted more, he wanted everything. A wave of arousal licked down his spine, your lips were sweet and addictive, he wondered — needed to know— if other parts of you tasted as sweet. 

He kissed your jaw, your neck, biting and licking his way down to your collarbones. His right hand came to fondle with the generous swell of your breast over the shirt, pinching at the perked nub. The smell of your arousal hit him at a full force, Azriel felt like a youngling in heat rutting his cock at your core. Fuck, he couldn't help himself, he was so enamoured with the sounds he was getting out of you. 

“Take this off,” he ordered, tugging at your shirt. “If I do it I may rip the damn thing off of you, and I love seeing you in my shirt.” 

You obeyed without a second thought, too lost in the feeling of him already. He invaded all your senses, his touch sending your skin on fire, his scent sparkling pleasure bubbling in your insides. The rich tone of his voice had you feeling all tingly and sensitive. Gods, you wanted him everywhere. 

With the offensive clothing now discarded, Azriel wasted no time dipping his head down and latching his mouth to one of your nipples, swirling his tongue and grazing his teeth around the nub. His hand came to play with your other breast, giving it the same attention, switching between your tits. You arched your back into him, whining in pleasure. 

He let go of your chest, looking down to admire you, all spread out for him. Nipples hard and shiny with his spit, breathing unevenly, underwear drenched with arousal, all because of him. He felt his cock throb within the confines of his sweats. Fuck, you looked so pretty like this, he had to taste you. Azriel looked up at your face, your glazed over eyes and swollen lips, and kissed you hard. Scarred fingers found the flimsy material of your panties, pushing them aside and dragging two digits along your soaked folds; you both moaned at the feeling. He rubbed tight circles around your clit, then ran a finger through your slit, smearing your juices everywhere. Your breathing quickened and he bit down your lip before kissing his way to your heat. Azriel looked at you from between your legs, pupils blown with lust, smirking wickedly. He hooked his fingers under the waistband and tugged the material painfully slow down your legs, snarling softly at the sight of your dripping pussy. 

“Beautiful,” he moaned. “So damn beautiful.” His tongue darted out to lick a long stripe out your center. It almost knocked the air out of your lungs, your hips bucking off the bed to get closer to his face. He chuckled darkly. “Eager, angel?”

“Az please, stop teasing,”  you whined prettily, eyes locking with his. 

At this point you didn’t care if your friends could hear or not, you wanted Azriel’s mouth on you, his fingers, his cock. You wanted to feel all of him. 

“Whatever my sweet angel wants,” he blew some air into your cunt, making you shiver in anticipation. Azriel dive in, devouring you like a male starved, like he might die if he didn’t get to taste you. He all but full on made out with your pussy, dragging his tongue along your folds, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking sharply. He groaned at your taste, the reverberations causing your eyes to roll back into your head, hips jerking up. He wrapped one arm around your hips to keep you pin to the bed and switched between harsh sucks and flicking the wet muscle around the nub. The pleasure was all too much and not enough at the same time, you moaned his name aloud and tugged at the strands of his hair again. 

Azriel’s free hand reached down to spread your folds, soaking his digits in your arousal before proding one finger at your entrance, and pushing inside. Your walls immediately clenched around him, making you both growl in pleasure. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, so tight. Already clenching on me,” he moaned, teeth grazing your clit. You could feel the pressure building in your lower belly, walls clamping down on his finger when he added a second one. You cried out, desperately trying to ride his face. Azriel pumped his fingers inside of you faster, curling his digits to reach that sweet spot that had you seeing stars behind your lids. Words were beginning to fail you, mumbling incoherently about how close you were. “You wanna cum? C’mon angel, give it to me, cum all over my face and fingers.”

His words had an immediate effect on you, pushing you over the edge. Pleasure overpowered you and you let go, cumming hard on his fingers, moaning his name for all the house to hear. Azriel kept thrusting his fingers into your hole, guiding you through your orgasm and licking every last drop you had to offer. He watched you closely, eyes shut in pleasure, soft pants leaving your plush lips as you came down from your high. Only then he pulled his hand away, mesmerized by you. He crawled up your body, coming face to face with you. 

“Hey,” he whispered, smiling. 

“Hey,” you replied, face flushed and smiling satisfied. You reached your hand to push away the dark strands that had fallen into his face, cupping his cheek in your palm. He looked absolutely gorgeous, hair disheveled from your tugging, lips bruised and shiny with your juices, gaze clouded with lust and something else. More intense even, more deep. 

You dragged your thumb over his bottom lip and he sucked it into his mouth, you almost whined again. Breaths coming in short. You brought his face to yours, kissing him with such devotion you couldn't hold back any longer. Azriel shuddered, leisurely kissing you back, you could taste yourself on his tongue. Moaning softly, you ranked your nails down his body, from his pecs, to the hard planes of his abdomen, all the way to his cock, palming him through the fabric. He hissed when you slid your fingers past the waistband of his pants, gripping him in your hand. His hips buckled. He was big, and warm and sticky with pre-cum. You made to put his sweatpants down but he stopped you before you could take it any further. 

“Fuck baby, are you sure?” he asked, looking intently at you. A swirl of emotions passed through his eyes, it made your heart flutter in your chest. “We don't have to, unless that's what you want. I think we made our point clear.” He laughed breathlessly. 

“It is what I want Az. I want you, I need you. Please.” You watched him with pleading eyes, full of trust and… He didn't dare acknowledge that emotion yet, not unless you spoke it out loud. Although his heart still gave a flip. Pulse picking up. 

He helped you pull his pants down, and kicked them out of his legs. His cock sprung free, slapping against his abs, tip swollen and dripping. You flashed him the most beautiful smile he had ever seen you wear, dragging your eyes shamelessly through his body. It gave him a little bit of an ego boost. 

“You're so pretty Az. So so pretty,” you murmured, eyes half lidded already devouring him. 

There it was again, you calling him pretty. He didn't know what to do with himself so he leaned in to capture your mouth in a scorching kiss. You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him flush against you, both hissing when the tip of his proud cock bumped against your clit. 

You broke the kiss to slide your mouth along his jaw, down his neck, peppering his sun-kissed skin in love bites. Marking him as yours. Azriel groaned and thrust his hips forward, sliding through your folds, coating his length in your arousal. He repeated the action a couple of times before aligning himself with your entrance. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, your wetness and the remnants of your orgasm making it easy to slide all the way in. Your walls hugged him tightly as he bottomed out, stilling, to give you time to adjust to his size. Azriel let out a moan so hot and sinful it made a new wave of arousal wash over you. 

He felt on cloud nine, his head falling to the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent and letting it intoxicate him. He could’ve cum right then and there, buried to the hilt in your heat. But he wanted it to last, taking his time to savor the feeling of you wrapped around him so perfectly. He had no doubt in his lust filled mind that you were made for him. You were his and only his. 

You rolled your hips at last, running your fingers down his sides urging him to move. That was all it took for him to pull out to the tip and slam his hips hard into yours, Azriel set a slow, sensual pace, intended in making you feel every last inch of him. You welcomed the stretch with a wanton moan, feeling the veins with every delicious drag of his cock against your walls. 

“Gods, Azriel, more!” you whined. “I can take it.” 

“I swear you're gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.” He panted. Pulling out he gripped your hips tightly and turned you onto your stomach, ass up in the air. He thrust in harsher, making you cry out in pleasure. All signs of restraint gone. 

Azriel picked up speed, angling his hips just fine so that he could reach even deeper inside you. He quickly found the spot that had you gripping him tight, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Abusing your hole, hitting your g spot every single time, mercilessly. He had you in a state of pure bliss, bringing one arm to wrap around your middle, reaching between your legs to play with your clit. You were so close, already too sensitive from your previous orgasm. Squirming around in his embrace, pushing your ass back to meet his thrusts. 

“Fuuck! Don't stop,” you managed out, fisting at the sheets for support. 

“I won't,” he grunted, the swollen head of his cock kissing your cervix. “You're mine, do you understand me? Mine. No other male gets to touch you.” 

“Yes, yes I'm yours,” you panted,  desperately wanting to please him. 

“Good girl.” 

He was relentless, hips slapping with a force that had the headboard smashing against the wall. He knew you were about to cum, could feel his own orgasm sneaking up on him. Azriel went impossibly faster, pulling sobs out of you. You clamped down on him after one particular sharp thrust and your high barreled through you without previous warning. You screamed, white hot pleasure blinding you. Cum gushed out of you, making a mess of your thighs and his. He held your trembling body up, pressed to him as he fucked you through your orgasm, thrusts becoming sloppier by the second. His wings flared proud behind him and he felt the tight knot in his gut snap. Azriel came with a growl of your name, hips coming to a stop. Your body falling limp atop the bed. 

Slowly pulling out of you, he watched astonished at the mess you made, both of your juices dripping down your legs. When his breathing became even again, Azriel leaned in to press a kiss to your spine, making you shudder. 

“You okay, angel?” He asked, scarred fingers gently pushing your hair out of your face. 

You smiled tiredly at him, content. “I feel amazing.” 

He chuckled and laid back next to you, pulling you to lay on his chest. You pressed a kiss over his heart, arms resting on his stomach, still catching your breath. No one spoke for a while, enjoying the aftermath of your actions. There was no room for worry, not with Azriel. Not ever. 

He traced iddle circles on your skin, loving how well you fit next to him. 

“Az?” You called softly to him, he hummed in acknowledgement. “Do you hear that?” 

He stilled, straining his hearing. Muffled moans could be heard down the hall and the distinct sound of a headboard smashing hard against the wall. You laughed in unison. 

“I think we may have spurred them on,” he said amusedly, voice hoarse. 

“I've never been more glad to have left my room than right now” you chuckled. 

“You and I both, angel.” He added, squeezing your ass. 

You turned to him, placing a kiss to the outline of his jaw. Silently admiring the hickies you left on his neck. 

“How does a second round sound?” You purred. 

He smirked, cock already hardening. “Absolutely delightful.” 

[daycourtofficial]

Now I’m in exile seeing you out

Pairing: Azriel x reader | WC: 4k | warnings: none

Summary: a follow up to you’re losing me - You've reached your tipping point where you can't forgive Azriel's constant choice of work over you. Can he fix things? Or did things get wildly out of hand and it's too late?

Author’s note: you guys loved part one, hopefully this offers a satisfying conclusion 🥰

2k celebration masterlist

Your new apartment was quiet, not even your neighbors were making noise. You had grown accustomed to the silence the past few months - Azriel always being gone had left the house a certain way - too large, too quiet, too much without him. This silence felt different.

It wasn’t full of expectation - of wanting Azriel to come through the door or expecting him to treat you like he did in the before.

Now you’re in the after, your finger feeling light from the lack of the ring on it. Fae don’t usually wear rings - a human custom that Feyre had told you all about, one that Azriel found quite romantic.

“So that way when we are buried and our scents are gone, if anyone found our bodies, they would know what we were.”

His words were romantic, but now the tan line on your finger just made you feel hollow, as if this wasn’t supposed to be happening.

Any sound you made just echoed through the too empty space - you had foolishly gotten rid of most of your previous furniture when you and Azriel bought a house - your new furniture not arriving for a few more days. Feyre had found you this apartment rather quickly when you showed up at the River House in the middle of the night, uncertain of where else to go. She and Rhysand had agreed to let you stay there until you found a place of your own and they also agreed to not tell Azriel where you were.

“We could start fresh,” you had said to him, mainly wanting a good enough reason to throw out the couch you’ve had for half a century. But now all the new furniture was left behind, in a house too big for one occupant, probably laughing at your past words.

A knock at the door interrupts your thoughts, and you look through the peephole to find Feyre standing outside with a large plant of some sort. You unlock the door, letting her in. She gives you a soft smile and hugs you, the absurdly large plant making it somewhat difficult to get your arms around her.

She chirps a greeting to you, rubbing your back gently as you pull back from her. She knew why you had done it - you spent several nights over the past year on her couch crying to her over Azriel and his lack of time for you.

Behind her came Rhys, carrying several buckets of paint, rollers, tins, tarps. Your eyebrows raised, “is this your new art studio, Feyre? Are you going to teach Rhys how to paint?”

She giggles and Rhys rolls his eyes at you, setting the things in his arms down before kissing you on the top of your head. You lean into his touch before he pulls away, softly telling you, “we’re helping you paint the place - white walls are boring.”

In the days to come over the next week, you had multiple visitors. They all made you feel better while they were here, but whenever they left you felt that Azriel shaped hole in your heart all over again. Cassian had been the first after Feyre to visit, barreling into your apartment, nearly squeezing the life out of you once he got in the door, upset he had to wait so long to see you.

“Cass, it’s been four days.”

“The house’s not the same without you.”

“I highly doubt that.”

Cassian gave you a look that you didn’t like, and the two of you were teetering on the edge of the forbidden. You had asked Feyre to tell everyone they can come visit, but not to talk about Azriel in any way.

Unfortunately, much of Cassian’s life involves Azriel so he had a much harder time than everyone else. Any time he’d veer into Azriel territory, he’d quickly go, “oops” and cover his mouth very quickly, as if he had cursed in front of a child.

Elain had visited the next day, offering to help you prepare some potted window plants. The two of you walked through the Velaris markets, Elain prattling on about different kinds of plants. You knew she was trying to distract you, help you pick up the pieces of your broken life. So you picked out different plants for your windowsill, the weight of them in your arms much lighter than the weight of your emotions.

It was hard wandering the streets with Elain - this city felt so much like him, the streets littered with cafes the two of you frequented. Elain, whose presence you enjoyed greatly, felt like a stabbing reminder of what you lost.

You know Elain came in with you when you got back to your apartment, repotting the plants into the window planter she brought. Fresh dirt covered their roots, allowing them to grow in their new place. You can’t remember what Elain spoke about, just nodding along with her until you eventually found yourself alone again.

Each day brought a new member of Azriel’s family to visit, and you loved them, truly loved them, but it was hard to feel like they were coming for you as opposed to coming on behalf of him. You knew they loved you, despite whatever was happening between you and Azriel, but your interactions were always colored with him in the background.

You had been expecting Nesta to show up when you opened the door to find Azriel looking back at you.

You were a bit surprised at the restraint he maintained waiting so long, a whole week passing since you had left, but you said all you wanted to say in that note. You wanted him to feel awful, to finally see how you were feeling.

You just hated that it came to this to get him to see you.

He looked terrible. His shadows were pooled at his feet, darting towards you with affection, dancing around you. His wings were practically dragging on the floor, his shoulders sagged, his hair was a mess. His eyes looked lifeless, his jaw covered in stubble.

Good.

“Azriel,” you bit out, not an ounce of affection in your tone. “May I help you?”

“I want you to come home.” His words were clipped, agitation clear in his voice.

“This is my home, you may come in for a few minutes if you want to talk.”

You didn’t really want to invite him in, wanting him to stand outside your door, feeling as unwanted as you had for so many months. But you had new neighbors, and you weren’t sure you wanted to find out how nosy they were with this conversation.

The sight of him made you so angry, but a tiny part of you wanted to reach out to him, running your fingers through his hair, and coax him to come to bed so the two of you could actually sleep.

He shut the door behind him before turning back to you.

“Please, come back. I’ll be better.”

Your hands nestle onto your hips, your jaw rotating in annoyance. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

He sighs, his feet moving of their own accord across your floor, pacing back and forth on the hardwood floor.

“Was I not enough for you?”

His words send you into a tailspin of rage, your vision going red. “Azriel,” you say, voice rising, “that’s a funny thing to ask, when you were never there! I gave you everything. Endless excuses, endless empathy. I spent so much time telling people that what you were doing was okay, that I forgot it wasn’t! You weren’t there!”

His hands run down his face, shaking his head in denial. His shadows swirled the room, and you could hear them whispering to him, but what they were saying you couldn’t make out.

“You’re the one who decided that everything I had wasn’t enough for you.”

Your words hit their mark, and the Illyrian before you halts and removes his hands from his face, looking nothing like the formidable soldier he was, but rather the boy he had been. You take a deep breath, opening your door once more behind him.

“I needed you to risk something, I needed you to choose me.”

You stop forward, pushing him through the threshold.

“Most of all, I needed you to choose yourself, too.”

You shut the door on him, leaning your forehead against the wood. The place was suffocating you with its silence. It was a new silence, compared to the one you’d wait in while Azriel was off.

This one felt full of hope and possibilities.

-

Three decades passed since that fateful night, but you could still see Azriel’s eyes in the shadows some nights. You hated burning candles - the way the shadows flickered and danced reminded you of the shadows that curled your fingers, the ones that kept you company whenever Azriel spent too long away.

You had dated here and there since Azriel - none of them lasting more than a few years. They were fine - all attractive, all nice, but they all ended for one reason or another. One moved to a different court, which you didn’t want to do. Another’s mother didn’t like you and it just didn’t work out after that. Several relationships fizzled out because there just wasn’t a spark between you two. You felt cursed, unlucky in love, destined to be alone.

Or perhaps destined to always be heartbroken.

It wasn’t all bad - you just weren’t lucky with romance. You had fallen back in love with Velaris a few years after leaving Azriel, the city lights coaxing you back. You had actually considered leaving entirely, the city feeling too much of him.

Until one day, about five years after you left, you had walked the Sidra one night, the reflections of the street lights giving the city and the river a new glow.

It enchanted you, waking you up from the stupor you had been in for so long.

After that, you spent a lot of your time around Velaris - running events for the city, making friends with several of the business owners. It felt good to find a new support system in the city - one not connected to your ex boyfriend.

You clutch your coat tighter around yourself as you weave through the streets of Velaris, heading back to your apartment. You walk by some apartments, a few men standing around outside, their boisterous laughs making you feel uneasy. One of them starts calling for you, but you ignore his words and walk faster.

You heard footsteps behind you, and you turned a corner hoping he’d stop following you.

“Leave her alone.”

You knew that voice - the deep timbre one you heard in occasional dreams, calling to you even after all these years. You stop your fast walking, turning just in time to make eye contact with those hazel eyes you’ve been dreaming of forever. You can’t run - he’s already stopped still at the sight of you, as if time was stopping for this unexpected reunion.

He stands behind the guy who was following you, his face peering over the male’s shoulder at you.

“She your bitch?”

Azriel’s growl shocks you, and the male turns, allowing his siphons to glow bright in the night. The male stops his chuckling, replaced with deep apologies, running off in the other direction as Azriel moves closer to you, and the two of you start walking in the direction towards your apartment.

The streets are quiet as Azriel follows your lead, his boots scuffing the cobblestone street. It felt strange to be next to him again, the wind rippling against the skin of his wings a sound you never thought you’d hear again.

He clears his throat, “sorry about them.” He gestures behind himself before adding, “I saw them yelling at some female and just wanted to keep anything from happening.”

You look up at him, drinking in his appearance. Thirty years had passed since he came to your apartment that day - since you yelled and screamed at him. You had wanted to yell more that day, but you were so drained from how things ended, you just wanted to move on. He looked much the same - his jawline sharp, his large nose littered with the freckles you loved so much. They were more prominent now, likely a result of the summer sun. His hair was a little lighter, cut a little shorter than you remembered it, the curls lightly dusting the top of his forehead.

You had hardly spoken to much of his family recently, your new job and not living in one of their properties making it quite difficult to schedule dinners and lunches. The last time you saw any of them was either when Elain visited you about six years ago or when you saw Cassian in a coffee shop, a tiny babe in his arms some odd years ago.

You had caught glimpses of the inner circle over the years - a wave to Feyre across a restaurant, the sight of Rhys’s smirk through a window, the bookshop clerk down the street mentioning Nesta. Glimpses of their lives, but you never allowed yourself to stop for too long to get caught back into their orbit.

You had once been so integrated into the family, but it was hard to continue when you pulled away from Azriel. They loved you, you knew that, but they were his family and it never felt quite right without him, every one of your conversations with them overshadowed by the lack of Azriel. So, you had pulled back. It’s not what they wanted, it’s not what you wanted, but it was what you needed.

So many things were the same, but he somehow looked lighter, as if the weight of the world weren’t on his shoulders anymore. It made him look so free and so beautiful.

Maybe he found someone who could finally help against his demons.

“It’s quite alright - I actually should thank you for that and for walking me home. I wouldn’t feel comfortable walking home alone after that.”

You two continue on in silence, the only sound your shoes against the cobblestones and the fae moving about on the streets, heading off for their nights to start as yours ended on this strange note. The silence was lingering for too long, old emotions stirring beneath the surface. You had to break the tension.

“Is Cassian a dad now?”

Azriel’s eyes widened before throwing his head back laughing. You had almost forgotten just how beautiful that sound was. Almost. “Fuck no.”

His chuckles bounce off the streets of Velaris as he mutters, “but he and Nesta still fuck like they’re desperate for one.”

“But I swear I saw him out with a kid with wings a few years ago.”

Azriel stops to think for a moment before squinting his eyes a bit, “do you remember the issues we had with wing clipping?” You nod, remembering how just the details of some of the things Azriel’s seen at the hands of his people made you queasy. “We helped a few of the women escape the camps - we’ve been trying to make safe spaces for them to live in to prove to the males that they don’t need them. It’s slow, but we’ve got a few dozen living in and around Velaris.”

Wow, you thought. Your smile is genuine as you congratulate him, “that’s impressive, Az!” He shakes his head at your celebratory tone. “Really, I know progress is slow with them, but that’s great.” You beam up at him before scratching the back of your head, “but it still doesn’t explain the kid I saw.”

“A few of the females brought their kids with them, and Cassian likes to spend time with each of them one-on-one. He says it’s a good excuse to get ice cream, but I think he just likes seeing them have a present male in their lives.”

You two continue winding through the streets, a cool breeze lifting through your hair. It was so odd to be here with him, odder still for this to feel normal. Azriel clears his throat, his voice a bit uncertain, “I’ve been uh delegating more.”

You pause, feet stopping on the road. They’re just words, nothing more, but Azriel’s never delegated. A true perfectionist to his core, he never even considered delegating any task Rhys asks of him. You turn to look at him, his hazel eyes looking back to you full of regret and longing.

“I’ve been uh, using some of the spies under me more. I’ve been trusting them with more important work.”

The two of you reached your apartment door, the same one Feyre had painted silver all those years ago. You can hear his shaky breath as he continued. “I don’t deserve you. I never have. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, I don’t-“ he sighs. “I don’t deserve you, but I do deserve love.”

His voice breaks at that and some piece of you shatters all over again at how poorly he was treated to never feel like he deserved anything good or kind.

“This is coming out all wrong,” he huffs, tugging lightly at some of his hair, “but Madja’s been helping me for a long time. I- it’s so hard to let me be deserving of love. I always felt I had to earn it. I felt I had to do the impossible things asked of me and that would finally make me worthy.”

He sighs, a slight thump from the door as he leans his forehead against it.

“I am worthy of being loved. And so are you.”

His hands are shaking, but his shadows wrapped around them, forming something similar to tight fitting gloves, offering some kind of security to him to continue.

“If the damage is too much, I understand. You can tell me to fuck off at any point. But if… if you would let me, I’d like to.. I’d like to show you that I’m trying. That I’ve been working on myself.”

You continue to look up at him, gobsmacked at this confessional from him.

“It’s hard. I couldn’t make progress overnight, hence my long absence. But I have made progress. I’ve uh actually been taking days off. I started going on trips to Day and Summer a few years back. I read three books at the beach a few months ago, actually.”

He laughs at the absurdity of his trip - a vacation. Something he’s never done. To spend days on his own, nothing but a book to keep him company is all you’ve ever wanted from him.

A pause. A breath. But he keeps going, needing to get his jumbled thoughts out of his head and into yours.

“It’s been a long time, but I think about you every day. I’ve probably made a fool of myself out here, but if there is any way you aren’t seeing anyone and if any part of you misses me at all…” He trails off, his fist lightly hitting the door. “I just wanted you to know that I’m trying. I’m bettering myself. I am better. I know it’s late, but..”

He trails off, unsure of how to finish his sentence. Your silence was eerie, leading him to keep talking, his words unable to stop.

“I just- I never wanted things to get here. I was foolish, and I didn’t appreciate you. It took you leaving to realize I could not continue like I was… I can’t.. Let myself hurt the people I care about anymore.”

You stay rooted, pressed against the door, not moving.

They were just words, the same things that hurt you over the years of broken promises and missed dates. But they’re so thought out. He’s had thirty years to mull things over, and he feels so much lighter than before.

You’re conflicted, but the optimist in you wins out as your voice finally finds you.

“Show me.”

-

Every Sunday for several weeks at 8 AM Azriel would stand on your doorstep and knock gently. You would open the door and he would present you with a bouquet of flowers - varieties of colors and species made their home on your dining room table as the weeks go by.

The two of you stroll through the city. The city you loved so dearly and for so long, parts of it feeling impossible to look at without thinking of the male next to you.

He would usually open up with some story about Cassian or Rhysand to break the ice. Then he’d tell you about his week - where Rhysand had sent him off, what he did on his days off that weren’t Sunday, anything that stood out. The two of you wander the streets, only stopping for occasional treats to eat while continuing your walk.

As the weeks go by, he starts filling you in on the past thirty years. For a long time, he saw Madja almost daily. She began providing him with herbs that helped regulate his moods, helped him sleep better, and helped him feel better. She also began having him comb through the deepest parts of himself he tried to forget, the memories of that little boy abandoned in that dungeon. He’d also tell you about how the rest of the Inner Circle was doing - Feyre and Rhys were trying for a baby, Elain was traveling a lot, Nesta and Cassian were… Nesta and Cassian.

Now he only sees Madja every other week, and she seems quite impressed by his progress. She should be, you think, he’s a far cry from the male you kicked out of your apartment all those decades ago.

After a few weeks, you began opening up to him as well. How hard it was to leave, your relationships in your time apart, how empty everything had felt without him, how you’d developed some strong friendships in the years apart.

“I had to pick up the pieces of myself too, Az.”

His heart pangs with guilt, but you reach out for his elbow, eyes bright with beginnings.

“I always wondered what I’d do if you came back to me, but I never thought you’d be how you are now. You seem so… light?” Your voice comes out more like a question, and you chuckle. “You just seem so different, but in a good way.”

“I feel different. I feel like I’m not… like I’m not that little boy anymore. Like I don’t have to prove myself to be loved. If not by you, by someone.”

His words linger in the air and you couldn’t help the pride that swelled in your chest at his words.

“I do want it to be you, though. If you’d have me, that is.”

Your heart wanted you to lean forward, wanted nothing more than for you to wrap yourself in his embrace. But before either of you could move forward, you had to know, one way or another.

“Why did you keep pushing the wedding back?”

Your voice was soft and shaky, but the question had been lingering on your mind for so long, it was on the tip of your tongue every time the two of you met up.

“I couldn’t tell you before because you would have been so nice about it, but I- I thought I was ruining you. I didn’t want you, so kind, so wonderful, to be tethered to me for all eternity. But I was too selfish to let you go. I still am, I suppose.”

He shrugs, his shoulders folding inward toward you, his wings drooping a bit. “I know now how ridiculous that sounds, but I.. wanted you but I also wanted better for you.”

He turned toward you, his skin shining like gold in the sun. He was radiant - a word hardly ever used for him before. He looked as Helion does, as if the sun was redirecting its rays through him.

“So I became better for you, for myself, for my family.”

And that was what you needed to hear. It was never about you (in many ways it was), but at the end of the day, you always wanted what was best for the both of you.

And he became that.

On a beautiful summer day, you stood on your tiptoes, your hands reaching upwards to pull his face into yours.

And by gods even his kisses felt lighter.

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen

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People who asked for a part two: @piceous21 @itsswritten @leeknows-wife @12344321heyyy @cauldronboilmetakemetovelaris @naturakaashi @janebirkln @slut4acotar @kaitttttttt @queerqueenlynn @anuttellaa @dee-writes-smut @bunnyredgirl @historygeekqueen @michealharrypotter @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @dyingsinglecuzimfangirl @crazylokonugget @yearninglustfully

Thanks for reading 💕

[neellscapsule]

a place where you aren't you

summary | when a fight breaks because of a broken rule, damian says something that he will regret later . . . or not that later, actually.

pairing | bruce wayne x kent!reader. platonic batboys & cass x batmom!reader

warnings / tags | ANGSTY, this is hurt/little comfort, at least in this part. this involves travelling to another universe, kinda based on the wizards of waverly place movie. au!reader is not the nicest but

word count | 4k

authors note | hi there!! english is not my first languaje so there might be some mistakes, or not, it can depend :)

this is NOT part of the kent!batmom!reader series. this is an alternative universe that still has kent!batmom!reader.

THE SHOUTS STARTS BEFORE THE REST OF THE LEAGUE EVEN REALIZES WHAT'S HAPPENING.

You barely hear Bruce’s voice trying to get your attention. You're already too focused, heart in your throat, stepping down from the League's console platform to where Damian is standing near the Watchtower's central table — fists clenched, scowl etched so deep into his face it might never leave.

He doesn’t care that you're in the middle of a Justice League debriefing. Doesn’t care that Diana’s eyebrows rise or that Clark shifts with a subtle, disapproving frown. Doesn’t even care that the entire League is there, along with every single one of his older siblings behind him. Dick’s mouth is open mid-protest, Jason is already tense, Cass half-turned to intercept, and Tim’s arms are crossed so tight they look like armor.

You stand there with your arms folded across your chest, your voice deadly calm even as the room tenses around you. “I told you not to patrol, Damian. You had school. A test. And instead of being in bed by ten, you were jumping rooftops with Jason like the rules don’t apply to you.”

Damian’s lips curl back with a snarl. “Because they shouldn’t apply to me.”

Your voice stays level, but the edge in it cuts sharper than any blade he’s trained with. “You’re eleven, Damian. The rules exist to keep you safe.”

“I don’t need safety! I need to do my job!”

“You need to pass your classes,” you shoot back, eyes narrowing. 

“I wasn’t doing anything I haven’t done before,” he snapped. “Crime doesn’t take a day off just because I have some asinine history test.”

“That asinine history test is what keeps you in school. And school is what keeps you safe, keeps you building a future that’s bigger than rooftops and batarangs,” you shot back, your heart twisting with each syllable. “You need to grow up with a life beyond the cowl. You’re grounded. No patrol until further notice.”

“No!” he barks, and his voice cracks under the weight of his fury. “You can’t do that! You’re not even my real mother!”

Silence.

It sucks the air out of the Watchtower in an instant. Everyone freezes.

You blink once. Then again. Damian’s chest is heaving, his fists still balled at his sides. You don’t even realize you're shaking until Bruce’s hand tries to find your arm, grounding you, anchoring you — but you're too stiff to feel it. Too stunned to move. Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

He doesn’t stop there. Damian’s face was red, blotchy. Not from guilt—yet. From anger. Frustration. That cold pride that always came before regret.

“I wish my father never even met you. I wish none of this ever happened. I wish you weren't in the family!”

And that’s when it happens.

You don’t see the stone until it’s too late — the golden shimmer of an ancient relic set on the table by Diana after a mission in Themyscira. The Wish Stone. It glows suddenly, pulsing between you and Damian, fed by fury and heartbreak and the purity of a child’s wish spoken from the gut.

“No—!” Diana lunges toward it.

“Everyone back!” Bruce barks.

But it’s already flashing — golden light bursting from its core, humming with raw, ancient energy. The blast swallows the room, and the last thing you see is the way all five of them — Damian, Dick, Jason, Tim, and Cass — are pulled toward the light, their bodies lifted from the ground like marionettes.

“Kids!” you scream, reaching for them, too late.

Then everything goes dark.

It felt like falling through a web, then crashing out of it mid-air.

The five of them—Damian, Dick, Jason, Tim, and Cass—landed roughly on a rooftop, not Gotham, not their Gotham. The city was brighter. Cleaner. Quieter. The moon didn’t look like it was straining to light an alley. The skyline was littered with lights and towers they didn’t recognize. The sounds were wrong. The air smelled too... sweet.

Jason groaned, rolling onto his back.

“Okay, what the actual hell was that?”

Dick coughs and sputters as he hits the ground, rolling onto his side, arm buckling under him. “Everyone in one piece?”

Tim winces, curled on his stomach. “Define piece.”

Cass lands in a crouch, her feet silent even in this chaos. The middle one stumbles to his feet beside her. Damian, for all his temper, is suddenly very, very quiet.

“…Where the hell are we?” Jason mutters, dragging himself upright and squinting at the sky — too darkly cleaned, too low, as if dusk had frozen in place above them.

“Not the Watchtower,” Tim says grimly. “It was the Wish Stone. I think Damian just screwed the timeline.”

“Don’t say my name like that,” Damian muttered.

“You don’t deserve your name right now,” Dick snaps. He looks furious. Dusty, scraped, bleeding just a bit from his elbow. “Do you even realize what you just did? What you said to her?”

Damian’s lip curled. “She’s—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Dick warned.

Cass’s eyes flick back and forth between them, calculating the tension, bracing her stance. Jason rises behind them, hand on his holster but not drawing.

Damian squares his jaw.

“I didn’t mean—”

“You wished her away!” Dick shouts.

And just like that, it explodes again.

Tim is the one who tries to stop it, but he’s not quick enough.

Jason blocks Dick’s second hit before it lands, and then it’s a mess of grunts and swears and pushed shoulders. Damian twists free, launching at Jason instead, because he knows he can’t hit Dick and win. Cass barely manages to knock Damian’s feet out before he takes someone’s jaw off.

“Stop it!” Tim snaps, grabbing Damian by the back of his collar and yanking him away. “We’re not solving anything like this!”

Jason spits blood on the rooftop.

“Tell that to mini-Demon. He’s the one who just exiled us to Happy Gotham.”

“Stop calling it that!” Damian shouts.

“Don’t like the name?” Jason says, his grin sharp and mean. “You’re the one who cast the damn spell, kid. You selfish little—”

“Stop,” Tim said quickly, shoving between them. “Fighting’s not going to help. We need to figure out where we are.”

Damian’s eyes glittered with frustrated heat. But he backed away. His mouth tightened. He looked smaller now. Quieter. As if the words he’d thrown in anger were already curdling inside him.

They were just beginning to realize what those words had done.

They walked the rooftops in tense, quiet formation. This Gotham was bright. Sleek. Even sterile. They passed a Wayne Enterprises building that was glass and white chrome—not black steel. The Wayne Tower crest looked different.

“Look at this place,” Jason said under his breath. “Feels like Gotham after a bleach bath.”

“Or a parallel dimension,” Tim muttered. “If the Wish Stone was charged when Damian made a wish…”

“…Then this is a world where Bruce and Y/N never got together,” Dick said softly, voice tight. “Where she’s not our mom.”

Damian flinched at the phrase.

Cassandra, walking beside him, said nothing—but reached out and took his hand. Her grip was soft, grounding. She didn’t speak often. She didn’t need to.

“Something’s off,” Tim added, scanning a tech pad he’d managed to snag. “There’s no record of Nightwing. Or Red Hood. Or Orphan. Or Robin. Or any of us. Batman’s still active, but... alone.”

Jason’s brows lifted. “Like no sidekicks alone?”

“None. No Oracle. No Batgirl. No signals. No family. Just... Batman.”

“Sounds lonely,” Dick muttered.

Jason let out a breath. “Sounds wrong.”

“Who’s Batman, then?” Damian asked. “If it’s not Father—”

“No. It’s still Bruce,” Tim confirmed, voice low. “But... Bruce is different here.”

Something moved in the distance.

A shadow across the clouds.

The air shifted.

Cassandra tensed first. “We’re being watched.”

And then they weren’t alone.

Out of the darkness, with almost no sound, a figure dropped from the sky, landing on a nearby ledge with ease and heavy boots. He wore the cowl, yes. The armor, yes. But his jaw was tighter. His posture was different—hollow, somehow. Unweighted. And when he looked down at the five of them, crouched and ready for battle, there was no flicker of recognition.

Not even in his eyes.

This was not their father’s Batman.

“Stand down,” he ordered.

They didn’t.

Behind him, Wonder Woman landed with a soft metallic thud.

“Batman,” she said gently. “Look at their suits. Their faces.”

“I am,” he replied. “But I don’t know them.”

“Bruce?” Dick stepped forward cautiously. “It’s me.”

“Who are you?” Batman demanded, voice low. “You’re wearing my symbol. But you are not from here. The detector caught up immediately.”

Jason snorted. “No kidding.”

“You’re trespassing on a League-class perimeter zone,” he said. “I won’t ask again. Identify yourselves.”

Tim held up his hands. “My name is Tim Drake. That’s Dick Grayson. Jason Todd. Cassandra Cain. Damian Wayne.”

There was a pause.

Wonder Woman turned her head slowly. “Wayne?” she repeated. “As in Bruce Wayne?”

Tim nodded. “Yes. He’s our father. At least… in our world.”

Batman said nothing.

“Okay,” Jason muttered. “Yeah. This is officially too weird. He should’ve flinched at that. Or said something. Or punched something.”

Damian stepped forward now, quietly, slowly. His eyes never left the man behind the mask. “You’re not him,” he said, voice barely a whisper.

“I am Bruce Wayne,” the man answered. “But I don’t have children. I’ve never had children. And I work alone.”

None of them spoke.

Tim’s breath hitched. “You’ve never… adopted anyone?”

“No.” Cold. Flat. Unfeeling.

“Never trained sidekicks?”

Batman’s lip curled. “I don’t do sidekicks.”

A silence followed that. A silence that said everything.

Jason let out a long breath, stepping back. “Yeah. Cool. Okay. That’s—normal. Totally normal. We just got dropped into a world where you’re a jackass who’s never loved anyone. Awesome.”

“Jason—” Dick began.

“No. Screw that. The Demon Spawn made a wish, and the damn stone turned it into this.”

Damian’s face twisted. “I didn’t mean—”

“You said you wished they never got together,” Jason growled, stepping forward again. “You said she wasn’t your mother. You wanted to know what that felt like? Now you do.”

The smallest Wayne backed up a step. Cass touched his shoulder gently.

“Stop it,” she said, voice quiet but commanding.

They all fell silent again.

Batman and Wonder Woman exchanged glances, low-voiced conversation murmuring between them—protocols, League containment, off-world interference.

Tim looked at the skyline again. The lights. The moon. This wrong Gotham.

“. . . We need to find the stone,” he said quietly. “We need to find her.”

“She’s not here,” Damian muttered.

And yet—

“Do you, at least, know Y/N?” Cassandra asked, eyebrows twitching.

“Y/N Kent?” Diana asked, tilting her head. “Yeah. She’s a vigilante.”

Every one of the kids froze.

“…What?”

The silence rang too loud. No one could even breathe for a second.

“She works in the city,” Diana added, confused by the sudden tension. “Spider-something. Funny one. Red suit. You don’t know her?”

They were all staring now. Every one of them. Dick’s mouth hung open. Jason had stopped breathing. Tim’s eyebrows slowly rose higher and higher, disbelief pulling taut across his face. Cass didn’t even blink. And Damian—

Damian looked like someone had just kicked him in the chest.

Bruce glanced up at Diana. “She’s registered,” he said. “Class-B ranking. Operates alone. Annoying. Unpredictable.”

“Very effective,” Diana added quickly.

Jason laughed. A short, stunned sound that wasn’t funny at all. “Okay. Okay. That’s—no. That’s not right. She’s not a vigilante.”

“Y/N Kent?” Diana repeated.

“She’s not a vigilante,” Dick said firmly. “She’s our—” He stopped himself.

None of them said the word. Not one of them could.

“She’s Clark Kent’s sister,” Tim tried, forcing logic. “You must know that. Smallville. Raised on a farm. She’s—she’s normal.”

Diana shrugged, now visibly more confused than ever. “I know she’s Clark’s sister, yes. They’re close. I see her often.”

“You see her?” Cass asked sharply.

“She’s in and out of the Watchtower all the time,” Diana said. “Why are you all acting like you’ve seen a ghost?”

Jason stepped away, muttering, “Because maybe we have.”

Tim looked like someone had dumped a bucket of freezing water over him. “In our world, she’s—she’s a civilian. She’s our mom.”

Diana blinked. “I… see.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” Damian said, voice cold, too sharp for an eleven-year-old. “You said she’s a vigilante. What does she do?”

Diana looked between them, uneasy. “She’s an original. Joined the League’s reserve some months after we started. Works solo most of the time. Enhanced reflexes. Arachnid-based powers. Some tech. She uses a red suit, wisecracks a lot, very fast on rooftops. Goes by Spiderdevil.”

“Spiderdevil,” Cass echoed faintly, eyes distant.

Bruce, ever the commander, stepped forward. “You’ll come with us,” he said. “We’ll take you to the Watchtower. Maybe we can trace what happened with the artifact.”

He said it like a command. He didn’t ask.

But for once, none of them protested.

Because the Watchtower—even here, even now—was the one thing that felt solid.

It was space. It was neutral. It was familiar. If anything could help them orient themselves, it would be there.

They followed.

The ride was long and too short at once.

Tim gripped the straps beside his seat like they might steady his thoughts. Jason sat slumped, foot tapping furiously. Cass kept watching Damian, her gaze more like a shadow than a stare. Dick sat rigid, eyes on the stars, jaw tight.

And Damian—

Damian hadn’t said a word since Diana uttered your name. Even as the shuttle docked and the pressure equalized and the bay doors opened with a soft hiss, he stayed quiet. Tense.

The Watchtower was exactly the same. Almost.

That made it worse.

The halls gleamed the same way. The lights flickered just faintly. The hum of distant energy pulses in the walls, the barely-audible gravity calibrations—it was all identical. It looked like home.

But it wasn’t.

The main meeting room, the center of the tower, was still lined with holographic displays and long conference tables. But there were fewer chairs. Fewer signs of habitation. No second mugs left on the console by mistake. No Dick’s hoodie slung over the back of a seat. No post-it notes from you stuck to monitors with reminders to “eat something, Bats.”

Diana gestured toward the central terminal. “We’ll run a system scan,” she said. “If the stone reacted to an emotional command—”

“It did,” Tim interrupted. “It was activated by a verbal wish. Damian made it.”

“And I said I didn’t mean it,” Damian snapped.

“That doesn’t undo the damage.”

Diana raised a hand. “Enough. We’ll find a solution. I’ve already sent out a system-wide ping to cross-reference all interdimensional anomalies.”

She moved to a side console, fingers flying over the panel. “I also pinged all Class-B city-level vigilantes. Including Kent. She should be inbound.”

No one moved.

“…You called her?” Dick asked, voice tight.

“She’s a registered hero,” Diana said, as if that were the obvious part. “We need all eyes on this.”

The doors slid open with a whoosh.

None of them breathed.

You walked in like gravity didn’t apply to you. Well, in fairness, it didn’t always—especially not when your boots clung to glass and your gloves shot webbing thick enough to hold a car. But up here? You just had your red jacket zipped up halfway, goggles perched high on your forehead like a headband, and that half-eaten churro still in your hand.

“Yo!” you called, chewing as you walked. “Sorry, sorry, traffic on the magline was a mess. Something exploded in Metropolis and the tunnels are all gummed up. I brought snacks though—kind of. I ate most of them.”

You waved the stick of your mostly-devoured churro like it was a staff of authority. The grin you wore was crooked and full of easy charm, dimpled, unapologetic. The goggles glittered when the lights hit them just right.

Five pairs of eyes locked onto you.

“…Why are you all looking at me like that?” you asked, mouth full.

You didn’t recognize them.

You glanced at Diana. “Okay, seriously, what’s going on? Did I forget a meeting? Is this a multiversal invasion? It’s a multiversal invasion, isn’t it?”

You pointed at Cass. “She looks like me when I had braces. Is she me from a different timeline? Are any of them me? Because I feel like I missed the memo.”

“No,” Diana said, giving you a look.

You tilted your head. “Are they alternate Earth refugees? Because if I have to clean up that protocol paperwork again, I swear—”

“They’re from another timeline,” Bruce interrupted.

You stopped mid-step. The churro hung forgotten in your hand.

Bruce Wayne. Still wearing that cowl. Still standing exactly how he always did—broad, unyielding, every inch the soldier of shadow. You never liked him much. Always too serious. Too rigid. Still, you respected him.

You lowered your voice, then. “Oh. Got it. You want me to leave?”

“No,” Diana said. “We need your help.”

“My help?” Your eyebrows shot up. “What kind of messed-up timeline needs my help? Don’t you have like—twelve Batmen or something?”

“They know you,” Diana said.

You blinked. Slowly. “I mean, yeah. Most people do.”

“No,” Dick said, stepping forward now.

Your gaze flicked to him.

His eyes. His posture. The way he said your name when his mouth finally remembered how.

“Y/N.”

You faltered.

He said it like a prayer. Like something lost. Like something he wasn’t supposed to be able to say anymore. You studied him—older than the other teens, strong build, but kind eyes. Familiar eyes. Your heart twisted, a weird feeling you couldn’t place.

You looked at the others.

The smallest one—the one with the green eyes and trembling hands—looked like he was trying not to speak at all. Guilt spilled out of his expression like ink.

You licked your lips, voice gentler now. “Have we met before?”

None of them answered.

You laughed softly, trying to cut the tension. “Okay. That’s cryptic. Definitely not creepy at all.”

Diana turned to Bruce. “We need to figure this out. Fast.”

“We will,” he said without missing a beat. “They’re not lying.”

You looked back at them. And for a second—just a second—you felt something in your chest. A flicker. Like déjà vu. Like falling through a web of someone else’s memories.  Your gaze caught on the trembling one again. The youngest. His shoulders were stiff but his hands were shaking.

He looked like a boy who’d seen a ghost and realized it didn’t recognize him.

But still. Nothing clicked. You didn’t know them. Not a single feature sparked recognition. Not a single thing on their faces made your heart beat with love, or even the tiniest flicker of affection.

You shifted your stance, uncomfortable in your own skin for once. You didn’t like that. You usually wore discomfort like armor, like silk. But this—this was something else.

You turned away slowly, the moment breaking like glass under a boot.

Then the Watchtower’s alert system pinged. “Additional League members arriving in Docking Bay 2,” the AI chimed.

You perked up, almost visibly. “Oh, thank God. Maybe one of them knows what the hell is going on.”

And sure enough, in came the cavalry.

Clark was first—because of course he was. Always first. Hair windswept, cape just a little too dramatic. He looked at you with a flash of confusion—one brow raised as if to say, “Why are you fidgeting?”—and then at the cluster of younger strangers with a slow, calculating gaze.

You immediately stepped toward him, the way you always did when the meetings got too stiff or the company too Gotham.

“Clark,” you said, not bothering to hide the relief in your tone. “Good. I was starting to feel like I’d wandered into someone else’s therapy session.”

Hal followed close behind, green glow still dimming from his ring. “What’d we miss?”

“Oh,” you said, flopping against Clark’s arm like a lazy cat, “just parallel universe trauma. You know. Tuesday things.”

Barry gave a low whistle as he caught sight of the five strangers. “Damn. That’s… a lot of Bat.”

“Five of them,” Hal muttered. “What’s Gotham breeding over there?”

“Bats,” you deadpanned. “They multiply when you turn off the lights.”

The joke didn’t land. None of them laughed. Not even a twitch of the lip.

You blinked. 

“Tough crowd.”

“Y/N,” Clark murmured, more seriously now, “maybe… tone it down a bit.”

“Tone down what?” you said, pushing off his arm. “They’re strangers. From another dimension. I don’t exactly know how I’m supposed to act around a bunch of Batman-themed mourners who keep looking at me like I died ten years ago.”

Behind you, Jason shifted, jaw clenched so hard it clicked. Cass’s fingers curled into her sleeves.

Bruce said nothing.

And you hated that. Hated the silence more than the confusion. Because silence meant there was weight. Meaning. Things left unsaid that clearly had teeth.

You turned your attention elsewhere. Specifically: the thin thread of webbing you began to twist out of your palm like a nervous tic. A thin glimmer of white thread pulsed from beneath your skin, crawling from your veins and spiraling between your fingers.

You knew people hated when you did this in meetings.

You did it anyway.

The sensation grounded you—always had. Ever since the mutation took root. The webbing wasn’t tech, not really. Organic in origin, but enhanced later with Clark’s help, once he realized your little gifts weren’t going away. It spilled like silk and solidified with a thought. Responsive. Yours.

You flicked a wrist and let a loose strand form between your fingers, lazily twirling it in your grip. A second strand connected to your other hand. You made a slingshot. A hammock. A net so small it could only catch flies. You grinned.

Barry leaned in. “Y/N…”

“I know,” you said, not looking up. “I know. Just... itchy.”

Hal raised an eyebrow. “Itchy?”

“Shut it,” you muttered.

Clark stepped forward, trying to bridge the gap. “We need to understand what caused the shift. If it was a wish stone—”

“It was,” Tim interrupted, his voice shaky but controlled. “The real one. The one locked in the Themysciran vault.”

Diana’s expression grew dark. “That stone should not be functional.”

“Well, it is,” Jason snapped. “It reacted when—” He stopped, glaring down at Damian, then away. “When someone said something they didn’t mean.”

Diana took over then, walking through the entire chain of events once again, voice composed but serious. She didn’t leave out a single detail, from the children’s claims of who you were in their world to the truth of Damian’s wish—though she left his name out of that part, letting the guilt speak for itself.

“Wait, wait, hold up,” Barry said, raising his hand halfway. “She’s their mom? Like… full mom?”

“No,” Tim said, voice thin. “Not biologically. But she’s—she’s the only one that ever felt like one.”

Something inside you jerked, like a string being yanked tight from the inside.

Barry blinked. “I thought you were allergic to commitment.”

“I am.”

You tilted your head to the side slowly, blinking down at your hand. You flexed your fingers absently. You didn’t want to look at them anymore. It hurt in a place you didn’t know you had.

Your friend glanced between you and the group. “That’s wild. I mean—Y/N’s great. She’s a menace, but she’s great.”

“Thanks, Barry,” you muttered. “I think.”

Hal threw you a wink. “Don’t worry. You’re still our favorite spider freak.”

“‘Freak’ is such a strong word,” you said, clicking your tongue as you shot a single, thin line of web straight into his mouth. He yelped, swatting at his face as Barry burst out laughing.

Bruce, behind you, groaned audibly. “Must you do this now?”

“Yes,” you replied brightly. “Because you’re annoying, and I’m nervous.”

You didn’t like Batman. Or rather, you didn’t like working with him. He was cold. Stiff. All gravel voice and rules. You respected him in the way you respected black holes—dangerous, efficient, completely devoid of warmth. He didn’t care for your improvisational style, and you didn’t care for his brooding self-righteousness. A mutual understanding of irritation.

One of the Batkids flinched when he saw it. Tim. The motion was small, involuntary. But his eyes widened the second he realized it was coming from inside your skin.

That wasn’t what their mother had.

They didn’t say anything about it.

Clark hovered nearby, always protective, always watching your shoulders. You appreciated it more than you said. Even now, the way his hand hovered near your arm when you stopped spinning webs was enough to keep you steady.

You swallowed hard, pushing an imaginary mask over your facade, jumping to the side to see the console more closer, leg moving up and down.

“Alright. Somebody tell me what we’re doing. Are we fixing the wish? Calling Zatanna? Reversing quantum fallout? Because if I sit here another ten minutes watching you all argue while these poor kids look like they’re one emotional breeze away from crumbling, I might actually lose it.”

[fever-fluff]

Cat's Out of the Bag, Claws and All

Synopsis: You’re sick of Cassian and Rhysand sticking their noses where it doesn’t belong. And Azriel’s tendency to let things slide when it comes to himself isn’t helping. Word Count: 4k (not proof read)

“I just think you’re becoming a bit…”

“A bit what, Cass?” Azriel was not in the mood for this. Sitting in Rita’s, in a booth right to the back while his two brothers pestered him on his love life was not how he wanted to spend the night after he’d returned to Velaris. You had been absent from his bed when he’d finally made it back in the early hours of the morning. Though he wasn’t worried. You had duties to attend to for Rhys as one of his foreign relations advisors, normally starting as soon as you woke in order to enjoy your evenings free of work to spend with him- even if he was the one still doing paperwork.

“Don’t you think she’s a bit too… extreme?” Azriel snarled at Cass’ blatant insult to you. But he held his hands up in peace, Rhys cutting in before he could do more damage. “What we’re trying to say, Azriel, is that it seems like you aren’t yourself lately. You’ve been showing up more recently, which is not a bad thing and we’re happy to see more of you. But it’s the reason of these increased showings that has us worried.”

Azriel supposed it was true. He had been showing up more – to social events that is. He was always present when it was just their inner circle, but the regular accepting of invitations to social events that didn’t need his presence was a new thing, something that you had gently insisted on since the two of you had become so close.

He was never one for meaningless interactions and had been pushing himself outside of his comfort zone for quite some time now by giving in every time you looked at him, pleading with those eyes of yours. He could never quite say no when you asked, and begged him, so nicely. But he nodded all the same to the two that he understood what they were trying to say, “I guess. I honestly didn’t think it was such a big deal. It makes her happy.”

“That’s the thing Az. Sure, it makes her happy. But does it make you?” Cass was trying, really trying not to say the wrong words and have this blow up in his face. Azriel thought for a moment, of all the times he’d watch you interact with others he didn’t even know the name of, never mind their importance to your work, while you linked your arm around his and had him trail along. He was always uncomfortable in the light, always wanting to slink back to the shadows. But you were the opposite, always blooming so lovely in the presence of everyone you deigned to offer your time to. He sometimes wished he could coddle you away from all their adoring eyes and have you all to himself. But he would never cage you like that.

“Not particularly. I do it for her, but sometimes I would rather sit at home while she goes about her work.” His admission was quiet, feeling that if he said it too loud it would carry on the wind and into your ear as you slept.

“What we’re trying to say, brother, is that spending your life with someone is all about compromise. You need to tell her when you don’t want to do something that makes you uncomfortable.” Since when has Cassian ever been so wise and all-knowing? He’d bet five gold marks Nesta had whipped that piece of sense into him after he’d thrown another of her books out the window, insisting on ‘a lovely stroll through Velaris’ instead. Azriel knew he was just jealous of the new male protagonist in her recent book series, garnering all her attention throughout the day.

But Cassian’s words had stuck in the back of his mind and refused to leave. Had he been compromising on his comfort for your own? You’d never pressed the issue with him, but he supposed he’d not put much of a front up against it in the past, agreeing almost immediately every time you’d asked for his company.

“You know I respect her and the work she does” Rhys had ordered another round as they settled in for the night of drinking ahead, “she’s one of the best at her job that I’ve ever seen, placating Eris is a testament to that. But she is intense, she has to be. I don’t want that to jeopardise you or your happiness with her in any way in the future. Putting up boundaries with her now is the best way to do that.”

Azriel knew his brothers had always had his best interest in their hearts when it came to things like this. Rhys’ intervention between him and Elain on Solstice years ago was a testament to that. He would have been hurt in a way he would never have come back from. Elain and Lucien’s bond was one of the strongest he’d ever seen – even rivalling that of Rhys and Feyre’s once given the chance. Then he’d met you. You had courted him from the minute you’d met, and he’d preened under the attention he’d longer centuries for. You weren’t his mate; no bond had snapped for him in the time he’d gotten to know you. But he’d worked past that and found that someone choosing to be with him purely of their own volition made it much harder to doubt whether he was worthy of you or not.

So, as they drank on, Azriel let their words mill over in his mind, finally agreeing with their concerns, and decided tomorrow he’d tell you how he really felt about all the parties you were asking him to attend.

Waking up to a hungover Azriel was a rare sight, but an amusing one none the less. You’d gone to bed last night early after reading a note he’d left, saying Rhys and Cass had asked him to drinks to catch up after being away for three months. You were upset, naturally, as you hadn’t seen him either during that time. But Azriel was a people pleaser, and he’d accepted their invitation with no qualms. So instead of wallowing in self-pity of not spending the first night with him back falling asleep in his arms, you had invited Mor and Feyre over to take your mind off it.

They’d left soon after midnight, Feyre wanting to get back to Nyx seeing as his father would be away most of the night. But all those sour feelings had left the second you’d awoken curled into his strong, tanned arms this morning.

Trying to shift in his hold, you’d felt him curl further into you with a groan, wing casting over the two of you to block the ray of sun peering in between the curtains. You laughed, sending a small gush of magic to pull it closed, cutting the bright light off. His hum of appreciation vibrated against your neck while you reached to play with the tresses of dark hair falling in front of his eyes. It was getting long again – which you preferred on him – but he’d cut it soon now that he was home.

“Good morning, love” you’d never tire of the purr the name elicited from the Illyrian warrior beside you, and it rumbled lowly as he reached into your touches further. “How were drinks with Cass and Rhys?”

“Long. Too long. Wanted to come home to you.” his voice, gods his voice. You loved it, the deep tones in the morning unlike anything else you’d ever heard.

“Yeah? I should have realised I’d need to rescue you, nab you back to have you all to myself.” One thing you’d realised in pursuing the Shadowsinger was his need for directness. His heart had been torn so many times that it wouldn’t beat for anything else. And you’d been more than happy to provide.

The morning was slow, full of sweetness and adoration you’d both been missing in his absence. Neither of you had been pressed to rise before noon until your stomach had grumbled its dislike of the lack of food. And so, you’d found yourselves sat at the small table in front of the windows overlooking Velaris, coffee and pastries in hand.

Azriel had woken from his drunken haze, and appeared caught in his own world, more so than usual as you noticed him missing the handle of his mug, for the second time. “Something on your mind, my love.”

His sigh was enough to know you wouldn’t like what he had to say, and your mind wandered to unpleasant thoughts of Rhys already assigning him to another mission far from home. “I swear on all that is good if that High Lord of yours assigned something else to you last nigh-”

“He hasn’t. And don’t forget he’s your High Lord also.” Azriel hated when you spoke against any decisions made by his family, which was rare. You were on the same page as them, mostly. But there were some things you disagreed strongly on. Not always living in Velaris had given you another taste of the world, and it faired well for you in your work here. But there were times when it caused temporary rifts between you and your friends, and you weren’t inclined to change if it could be solved with words instead of blades. But when it involved Azriel, you found yourself more and more inclined to picking up something sharp and slicing it into anything that wanted to steal him from you.

“We were… talking. Last night. About a couple things.” Azriel was not as sweet with words as his brother, but to see him lose them completely was new altogether. Putting the pieces together from the non-existent puzzle he’d left for you, you felt your breath hitch slightly, “About us?”

“Yeah…” you didn’t like this Azriel. The unsure and unconfident kind. He had a silent strength you’d admired since the first time you’d met. You’d fallen in love with the male that wasn’t this, and you hated seeing him act like anything lesser than he was.

“Azriel. Whatever it is, please speak to me about it. I want to know.” You’d moved from your chair, coming to sit on the side of his as you laid your hand next to his, letting him decide whether or not he wanted to take it. But the warmth that encased yours was comfort enough to know it wasn’t something that would break the two of you.  

“I – don’t want to go to the – social events anymore.” Your brows pinched in confusion, where was this coming from? “Care to tell me why?”

“I’m not a fan of them. At all really. And I realised I was doing something that wasn’t making me happy. It made you happy, which I’m glad, but I can’t do it anymore. S’ too much.”

You watched Azriel retreat into himself at the admission, but you said nothing as you saw his gaze flicker over the room until it finally landed on you, searching for any anger, or hurt. “If you think I’m angry, I’m not. I understand what you mean, and I’m glad you could tell me.”

“You are?”

You huffed a laugh, “Yea, I am. So long as they’re your thoughts and not your brothers, right?” he nodded, “They are.”

“Okay, no more unnecessary social outings, for you at least. I’ll still have to attend them, considering.” He nodded again, “of course, I wouldn’t assume otherwise.”

You kissed him lightly as you made to get ready for the day, the conversation ending quicker then it began. These mornings were all you really had alone with him, both your professions taking up the rest of your days and swallowing the majority of the daylight- and twilight.

He’d winnowed soon after from the garden after kissing you goodbye, seeming lighter now that he’d voiced his discomfort, and you released a sigh you’d been holding since.

There was a party in three days, one you’d assumed Azriel would attend with you. But now that he’d expressed his feelings about them, you couldn’t bring yourself to ask. Instead, you’d prepare yourself for the emotional and verbal onslaught to come without the Shadowsinger by your side.

You hated these things. Really, really hated them. being in a room full of fae looking to raise their status, their family name in the long list of nobles was always a tiring feet to be around, but it was a necessary evil to your work. Mor stood beside you in all her ethereal glory, and the pair of you looked nothing more than astounding. Emerie was somewhere in the crowd of people, charming her way through each table she rounded. You were sometimes envious of the support she lends to Mor at these times, the two made a good pair in these places, balancing the other out that lead to progress you would only dream of making in such short time.

But it seemed tonight all you would find for yourself was concealed and blatant admissions of fae asking about your seemingly juicy availability.

“Ladies, it’s an honour to have received an invitation to such a grand celebration, pray tell” the male who’d sauntered his way over to the two of you leered in you direction, “has the lovely lady finally been freed from her cage? Should I thank the Shadowsinger for his decision to set you free from you confines that is the Court of Nightmares?” You blanched at his obvious attempt but concealed it under a smile too easy that it felt tight, “I believe you’ve been fed the wrong fruit from the vine my lord, Azriel and I are still quite the pair. I do hope you don’t mean to sully his name when he is not here to defend himself?” your sinister pout had the blood leeching from the males cheeks, and he stuttered himself into a stupor until he could find his feet to walk quickly away.

Sighing, you grabbed a fresh glass of wine, the last going sour from the interaction. Mor’s head leaned to yours unceremoniously, “Mother, that’s the fifth one in the last hour! How often does this happen?”

“Any time Azriel isn’t with me. When he’s accompanied me in the past it stopped a lot of this for the most part. But with my reputation among the courts here and abroad, anyone will try to get their claws into the person holding the most honey pots.” You were feeling the effect of it much sooner than ever before, the mental strain making your mind lag. You’d really hoped Azriel would have been here tonight, but you couldn’t lean on his strength every time.

“That’s why you’ve been bringing him along…” something seemed to click with her. “You know he hates these things. But you wanted him here for support, for you.” You nodded without hesitation, confused as to why her face seemed so stricken by the knowledge.

“There’s something I have to tell you” Mor’s tone was sullen. As she explained, you listened and felt anger wash over you in gulfs. Oh, you were going to murder someone, and soon.

The following weeks after Azriel had admitted his feelings to you were…odd, to say the least. He wasn’t sure what to make of them. you had been the same as ever to him, loving and oh so understanding when it came to his every need. You didn’t press him to attend the gatherings you had to, opting to inform him instead of your departure. While you were gone, he would catch up on all the paperwork he had waiting, and by the time you came home, his arms would be open and waiting for you to fall into.

But something was still off. He felt it in the way your shoulders slumped more than they usually would after socialising all night. It was still taxing to you, but you had always smiled after when he had attended them with you. Now, you barely had enough energy to lift yourself from his hold, falling straight to sleep once he’d guided you to bed.

Those nights, when you’re too tired to tell him about your day, and instead just curl up against his side, Azriel thinks about the moments of when you’d first met.

Your connection to him was almost instantaneous, you’d follow him everywhere you could. The idle chatter you started with had eventually turned to long and deep conversations, sweeping him along into the early hours of the morning.

Your first kiss, when you’d found him after a more draining mission. You’d helped him bathe, nursing the tension from his back and mind with loving but firm touches to his skin. He’d turned to you in a burst of confidence and captured your mouth with his before he had anytime to think himself out of it. You’d melted into him almost instantly, and the rest had been a blur of tangled limbs and sheets.

The weeks after had been full of secret touches and longing looks, until Cassian had caught the two of you in a heated kiss after venturing to the kitchen for some late night tea. Always the one known for having loose lips, the whole house had known before Azriel could’ve knocked him unconscious, but you had laughed and squeezed his hand in reassurance, letting him know that you didn’t mind being claimed by him, if he were okay with you claiming him. No, he didn’t mind that at all.

Gods, he had been in heaven ever since. Having someone to come home to, to reach for in the long family dinner when before he had to watch the mated couples around him stare adoringly at one another. He now had someone to call his own, and he was so glad it was you.

But you seemed to be getting worse as the weeks rolled on, and he couldn’t quite understand why, until Rhysand pulled him into his office.

“She’s taking a leave of absence from her position.” Azriel’s world spun on the wrong axis as he processed the words coming from his brother’s mouth.

“She hasn’t spoken to you about this?” he shook his head, mind spiralling as to why you’d do something like this. You loved your job, more than anything. It gave you a purpose, something to give back to the world.

Cassian ventured in not long after, seeming to already know what was going on, “you’re not communicating again. Azriel, this is gonna really affect your-”

“Affect his what, Cassian?”

The three of the bristled at the sharpness of your tone. Azriel cast his gaze over you. Your eyes seemed darkened by a tiredness that hadn’t been there until a few weeks ago. Even your posture, always one to hold your head high, looked slumped against Mor and Feyre, who stood behind you.

“I was just saying that you both should talk a bit more about-”

“Oh, I’m sure you have a lot of comments on what me and my mate should talk about.”

Azriel stopped.

Everything stopped.

Your- your what?

You sighed, your admission seeming to go amiss amongst the thoughts swirling in you mind, but Azriel couldn’t comprehend how you’d said something like that so…so… casually.

“Azriel, Can I speak to Rhysand and Cassian – alone?” he didn’t feel himself answer, but Mor and Feyre seemed to understand and guided him into the hallway, where the three of them waited with baited breath to hear the onslaught you’d ensue. It wasn’t a secret, how much you detested some of the decisions they made in this court. Hels, you had even come to Eris’ defense more than once during the time of the alliance to put him on the Autumn throne. But this was different, and he knew it deep in his bones.

Mate. You’d called him your mate. But there was no bond. Nothing had snapped in all the time you had known each other. He loved you, infinitely. but that had been a choice you had both made in all that you had gone through, not for some fate woven between you.

“I know, it’s a lot to take in” it was Feyre, “I think we should sit down, get some tea while we wait until they’re finished.”  

So the three of them walked away from the voices on the other side of the door, and made for Feyre’s studio.

“You two need to butt out, now.” You were fuming, white hot rage consumed you as you looked to the grown males in front of you. But they weren’t acting like that, not in all the time you’d known them.

“You-you called Az your mate?”

Shit. Had you? Oh gods he was probably going insane with the thoughts in his head. No wonder he hadn’t answered you. How were you going to explain hiding something so profound from him for as long as you’d known each other.

“What of it.” you were snapping now. You don’t ever snap. That was your charm, ever the collected one, no matter what. But gods they had stuck their noses where it didn’t belong. And you detested it.

 The statement had seemed to shut the two of the up quite quickly, so you continued, happy for the lack of interruption. “I understand you’re looking out for Az; I do. But this is getting to the point where it’s ridiculous. Have you ever considered the weight in which Az holds your words? They’re like gospel to him.”

“We were just trying to help, nothing more.” You snorted as the High Lord’s words. Feyre and Mor have known of your secret since you met Azriel, but it seemed the two of them have truly kept it privy to your circle of three.

“Have you ever thought, for a second, that maybe sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong does more damage than good?” you were breaking now, the emotions you had welled up the past while cresting. “I wasn’t asking Azriel to those gatherings because I wanted him out of his comfort zone. Gods, I know he detests them.”

“Then why did you?”

“Because I needed him. It’s not easy listening to fae ask about your hand in marriage while your mate sits happily at home.”

You took a breath as the two said nothing more. “I came here to tell you that my leave was because I was overwhelmed. It’s a lot sometimes, even for me. And I hadn’t gotten a lot of time with Az without interruption since we met. I was going to tell you both today, about… the predicament. But it seems I’ve let the cat out of the bag, claws and all.”

Gods, how were you going to explain this to him? You’ve kept him in the dark for months. He’ll never forgive you.

“We-acknowledge our misstep. We truly didn’t mean to hurt you, or Azriel. And for that I apologise, for us both.” Rhys’ face was sullen enough for your anger towards the two wash away, and you nodded. “Believe me, you’re not the one who’s hurt him.”

With nothing else to say, you made for the door. Cassian’s voice stopping you just as you reached for the handle, “Just, make sure you get him to listen. He’ll go into his head, and its not a good place.”

You nodded.

 “I know.”

There will be a Part II

[jscrawls]

I need the kids to have watched Bruce get his ass kicked by window reader. Like all of them cheering her on because who doesn’t wanna see the Batman lose to this (much smaller of a build) person. He’s 6 foot something and she’s 4 to 5 foot something 😂 anyways I loved the new chapter it was so good. That I’ve decided I don’t wanna throw rocks

LMAO 4 SOMETHING FEET? Widow reader that small would have to get extra nasty in a fight like-it'd be a bloodbath 😅

If you mean the actual accidental fight in the alleyway? Babs 100% got that on camera and watched every bit of it on repeat. Probably did some bat-ai digital enhancing so she could watch it in 4K if it was on some shitty security camera. And yes, she shared it in the non-Batman group chat with the others. Jason rated the gun-slap 8/10, (he thinks they could've hit harder, loosen a tooth at the least!)

Damian and Cass both rate the gas splash and bottle smash 10/10. They can appreciate using what's available to you.

Now I wanna do a normal sparring blurb 😂

Everyone's in the cave for the first official spar with widow, they've seen them train and workout by now, but they all do that, even Alfred does. So it's nothing groundbreaking, what they really wanna see is their fighting style.

Currently Bruce and widow are on the mats, hands wrapped and taped up and they've got compression wear on their elbows and knees for safety of course. The others are all watching very closely as Bruce gestures then towards the center of the mat to explain the rules.

"alright, let's go over the basics. No hitting below the belt, no going for the eyes, and no deadly force." He gives you a pointed look at that one while Jason boos him and gives two thumbs down from where he's leaning against a post, Bruce continues speaking regardless of the interruption. "... This is a serious spar though, and I'd like you to treat it as such. No horsing around, just give me your best shots so I can see what you can do."

You watch him patiently while tightening your wrist wraps one last time, the pressure feels nice after all this time without proper gear, but hitting a person is gonna be even nicer. "It's a serious fight?"

Bruce clears his throat subtly, Cass and Tim exchange glances and out of the corner of your eye, you watch Stephanie and Barbara handing something to each other.

"yes, like I said I wanna see what you can-oof!" Bruce grunts as your shin connects with his side in a sudden crane kick, the strike was so sudden it caught him off guard as you hadn't even wound yourself up first.

Stephanie loudly guffaws and you hear someone slapping something, possibly covering their mouth?

Well the fights on apparently.

Bruce throws his hand up to catch your arm as you swing a left hook at him and moves his foot to sweep your ankles, okay maybe it was just a lucky shot-

Your free arm grabs his wrist while you hop over his leg, pressing your feet against his side and leveraging yourself up to throw a thigh over his arm so you're now upside down, hanging your entire weight off his limb like a fucking spider monkey. You secure one thigh around his bicep, squeezing him hard enough that you won't be shook off easily and start kicking at his head with the other leg.

Holy shit you're brutal, he should've worn a mouth piece or something because wow you don't pull your punches or kicks. Bruce quickly drops his weight to the mat like a ragdoll, using his size to his advantage to land heavily on you and put your damn kicking to a stop.

Jason's calling out random advise to you like this is a televised wrestling match and Duke is filming the whole thing, narrating and giving commentary to his phone like this is a nature documentary.

Even Dick is invested, though he's trying to maintain a calm demeanor since Damian's right beside him, trying to analyze your moves and he's trying not to distract the kid.

As soon as both of you loosen your grip you roll away from each other, Bruce quickly stands but you remain squatting, hunched like a defensive cat in the center of the mat. The kids and Bruce are watching you closely, are you out of surprise attacks? Your whole thing seems to be take them by surprise and end it as quickly as possible so maybe you're running out of ideas?

You tilt your head as you watch Bruce closely, your expression becomes more mocking as you smirk at him.

"well? Do I have to take the lead on everything or are you gonna move."

Bruce knows a goad when he hears one, but obviously you expect him to participate more than just blocking and standing around so he'll oblige you. Cautiously, he steps forward. Leading with his dominant side in defensive posture as he waits for you to do something.

Instead you just stand up and back away like you hadn't taunted him a moment ago, do you expect him to follow you all the way across the mat? You're not exactly indicating anything with your body language so Bruce carefully pauses in the middle of the area to see what you'll do, his stance widens and he keeps his hands up and close to himself.

The cave seems to quiet down as everyone holds their breath in wait, nine pairs of eyes on you as you stretch your arms above your head, then dart towards Bruce.

You throw your elbow up towards his throat and he blocks, he blocks the knee aiming for his gut too. Feeling emboldened he attempts to throw a kick but you hop out of the way like a bunny and then come right back into his personal space, he catches your hand bait you can aim for his nose and starts to twist your arm behind your back to restrain you, but you lean forward and again drop your weight to the mat like a wet bag of laundry and kick at his elbow.

He grunts disapprovingly at that. "What part of fight clean did you not get?"

Alfred speaks up from what he's occupying the bat computer chair. "You did say this was a serious fight, master Bruce."

He crosses his arms over his chest scornfully, one thin brow raising as if judging Bruce.

Stephanie Snickers and lightly elbows Cass. "I'm starting to think all shorties are viscous, I thought you and Tim were examples not the standard."

"hey!" Tim sounds very offended at that, but still doesn't take his eyes off the ring for long.

"well you know what they say, short people are closer to hel-ow!" Damian roughly elbows Dick before he can finish that sentence.

While the crowd of children all bicker, you kick Bruce in the knee in an attempted take down. He grunts in pain but manages to stay upright enough to throw his arms around you in an aggressive bear hug, yanking you close enough to trap you against his body. as soon as his hands move you tense.

Once his arms start to lock around you do you realize he's going for a classic chokehold, so before he can lock his hand in the crook of his elbow you play dirty and reach up to give him a nasty horse bite. Your thumb and forefinger curl and pinch the softest part of his inner underarm, you knowing damn well how many nerves are there as you grab as hard as you can.

The second Bruce hisses you let go and quickly drop your weight and drive your elbow into his liver repeatedly, he seems to be fed up with you and drops his arms from around your neck to grab your waist and body slam you to the floor.

That really winded you, so you're slow to wriggle out from under him. Though you both seem to be done for the moment as he sits down properly, now he's just watching you quietly as he recovers. His dignity

Duke is the first one to break the silence that followed the end of the fight, pausing his video and triumphantly holding his phone in the air. "I got all of it!"

Babs glances over at him in amusement. "You know there are cameras all over in here, right?"

Duke nods even as Jason sidles over to him and gestures for his phone. "Obvs, but those don't capture the best angles on the training mats."

Dick ducks into the little training area and hands both you and Bruce a water bottle and a helping hand up, Bruce declines as he cracks his bottle where he sits but you allow the younger man to pull you to your feet. Smirking to yourself before throwing one final verbal jab at the man before walking off the mats.

"y'know..... Bucky definitely still hits harder."

He scowls at your back so quickly you'd think you'd just poisoned his drink, dropping the water bottle as he pushes himself to his feet. "Okay, who the hell is Bucky!?"

🔹🔹🔹

| m.list |

A/n: thank you for sparing me, I've had threats of dog-stealing and everything 😭😭based some of this off past boxing experience lol 😂 smaller hands might equal less muscle behind it, but the smaller point of impact can make up for the power loss and still mess u up. At least that's what I remember that ish felt like anywho, I've slept since then so eh 🤷‍♀️

@viilan

[bbywhitefox123]

Summary: Cass Rhett and Drew Starkey sit down for their first interview together — Wired Autocomplete Interview — and things get chaotic.

Warnings: fluff.

“Hi, I’m Cass Rhett,” Cassie smiled sweetly at the camera, legs crossed, glossy hair ties back to show her crisp white top off. The skirt was matching, the boots were expensive, and the energy was already unhinged.

“And I’m Drew Starkey,” Drew said beside her, his matching white shirt clinging a little too nicely, blue jeans casually ripped at the knees. His hair was messy in that on-purpose-but-not-really way, and he was already grinning.

Cassie shot him a look, sly and sharp. “We’ll see about that.”

She handed him the oversized whiteboard covered in peeled-back strips hiding Google’s nosiest questions, her manicured fingers grazing his. The crew behind the camera was trying not to laugh already.

Drew peeled the first strip off. “What’s Drew Starkey’s real name?” He snorted and looked sideways at her. “Joseph Andrew Starkey.”

Cassie gasped dramatically, head tilting. “Joseph? Okay, no wonder you go by Drew.”

“Hey,” he mock-glared, “Joseph is a strong biblical name.”

“So is Jezebel,” she shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I’d name my kid that.”

Drew just shook his head with a smirk, reaching for the next strip like he wasn’t already mentally preparing for disaster.

“What’s Drew Starkey’s girlfriend’s name?” he read, slow, glancing off to the corner where the crew stood pretending they weren’t hanging on every word.

That was the most searched question, and Cassie knew that because she had, in fact, googled him last night. Not even on incognito. She wanted to catch him in 4K if he lied.

“Don’t have one. I’m very single,” Drew said casually.

“And emotionally unavailable. Add that there too,” Cassie chimed in, eyes locked on him like she was reading a lie detector test.

Drew turned to her, unfazed. “I’m very available.”

“Yeah,” she snorted, “just not emotionally. Maybe at 3 a.m. on a Friday though.”

That made the crew laugh behind the camera. One of the sound techs actually snorted.

Unbothered, Drew peeled another strip. “What is Drew Starkey’s address?” He arched a brow and stared right into the lens. “Wouldn’t you like to know that.”

Cass looked into the same camera, mouthing text me, then turned her face with faux innocence. “You should read, pause, and read again. For dramatic effect.”

Drew shot her a look. “Do you want me to tape it back, Cassie?”

Cassie shrugged, lips curling into that signature wicked grin. “We can start over?”

He turned to the camera, expression deadpan. “That’s the brat I had to deal with on set.”

The crew lost it again.

Drew chuckled, pulled another strip. “What’s Drew Starkey’s sign?” He looked over at Cassie, brow raised. “Wanna try to guess?”

“Have you told me that before?” she asked, tilting her head. Her glossed lips pouted like she was trying to summon the memory.

“You texted me to ask if I’d bring cake on set,” he reminded.

Cassie blinked. “Virgo?”

The smile dropped from Drew’s face like someone had just insulted his mother.

“Virgo?” he echoed, scandalized.

She winced. “Not Virgo?”

“I give Virgo?” He looked personally offended.

“You give someone who keeps a clean car,” she said, holding in her laugh.

He looked at her, dramatic pause and all. “Scorpio.”

Cassie froze for a moment. “Oh,” she said, then smirked. “That tracks.”

“Scary?”

“Sexually aggressive,” she deadpanned. The boom mic wobbled from someone laughing too hard.

Cass’ brain—always five miles ahead of her mouth—finally caught up. Her eyes flicked to the lens, wide like a deer in Louboutin headlights. “Not that I would know,” she added quickly, smoothing her dress. “There were no sex scenes in The Do Over. Sorry for the spoiler.” She grinned smugly, and Drew burst out laughing beside her.

“Then we have to see if it’s just a stereotype, right, Cass?” Drew raised a brow at her, playing right into the tension.

She narrowed her eyes. “I think it might be true, baby. The stars don’t lie.”

His eyes matched hers, glinting. “I can be loving though.”

Cassie’s lip twitched, struggling not to break. Drew was already mirroring her expression like they were teenagers getting away with murder.

“Are we gonna kiss or…” she teased, only half-joking.

Drew turned dramatically to the camera, lips pursed like he was confused now. The crew laughed out loud, and Cassie couldn’t help but grin wide.

Then he cleared his throat and picked up the board again like he hadn’t just been seconds away from kissing her. “Alright—What does Drew Starkey,” he said, pausing like she told him to, “do in his free time?”

Cassie didn’t even try to hold it in.

“Sexual aggression,” she said, doubling over laughing.

Drew threw his head back, wheezing. “That’s—yeah, okay—that’s the answer, I guess,” he said, nodding straight at the camera as if to confirm it officially.

They were still wiping tears from their eyes when he pulled the next question. “What is Drew Starkey’s…” he paused, tugging the final slip, “shoe size.”

His brows furrowed. “That’s a weird one.”

Cassie leaned in close, her voice a breath against his ear: “Dick size, smarty.”

And then she blinked, freezing.

Because she still had her mic on.

Drew’s eyes snapped wide. Somewhere off-camera, someone choked on a drink. Then—without missing a beat—he ripped the board from his lap and launched it across the set like it had personally betrayed him, not caring about his last question.

Cassie collapsed into giggles.

“Cut?” someone finally called, but nobody moved.

Not when Drew was red in the face, grinning, and Cassie looked like she had zero regrets.

Twenty minutes later Cassie held the board like it was a prize, freshly reset and gleaming with questions. Her lipstick had been touched up during the break, hair slicked back into place by a stylist with impressive speed, but Drew was still flushed and loose from laughing too hard just minutes ago.

“We’re back,” she said, leaning into the camera like she was letting it in on a secret. “After some technical difficulties—” her tone smug, like it was his fault and not her mic’d-up mouth, “—and now we’re getting to the juicy part you all clicked on this interview for.” She gave Drew a side-eye.

Drew leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching her with that soft, lazy grin. He didn’t even realize how much he was smiling until a PA had to tell him to stop leaning forward and blocking the light.

She ripped the next question like it owed her money. “What’s Cass Rhett’s… full name.”

She straightened her spine dramatically. “Cassandra Rhett Silverstone,” she declared, then added, “I know. My parents just knew I’d be famous one day.”

Drew chuckled, brushing his fingers over his mouth like he could hide the smirk there. “Damn right they did,” he muttered, but the mic caught it anyway.

Cassie shot him a warning look—playful, flirty—but kept going. “Alright,” she said, tugging at the next question. “What did Cass Rhett… do to get discovered.”

“Oh, this is a good one,” she beamed. “Listen carefully.” She held up a finger. “Step one: go on a vacation to London with your friends during your university exams in Moscow without telling your parents.”

The crew behind the camera laughed already.

“Step two: spend all your money on vintage boots and magic mike, so you and your friends cannot afford to go back.”

Drew snorted beside her.

Cassie continued. “Step three: look for jobs that pay daily. Step four: sign up to be a background character on The Do Over. Step five: accidentally upstage the actual lead actress just by existing, and boom—get cast as the lead and never go back.”

The room clapped like it was scripted, even though it wasn’t. She bowed without standing up.

Drew leaned in, resting his elbow on his knee to look at her. “That’s not an origin story, Cassie, that’s a heist.”

Cassie smiled wide, turning to him. “And you were the treasure, baby.”

He blinked, caught off guard for half a second, then smiled bigger than before.

Drew peeled off the top question. “What’s Cass Rhett’s zodiac sign?” she read.

“Leo,” he said immediately, without even looking at her.

Cassie lit up like Times Square. “Ding ding ding,” she beamed, facing the camera proudly like she’d trained him herself. “And my rising?”

He furrowed his brow. “Gem— no, wait. That’s your moon. Your rising is... Virgo. Yeah. Virgo.”

She grinned like he’d just passed a pop quiz and reached over to pat his head without taking her eyes off the camera. “Good boy.”

He snorted, ducking slightly, trying not to smile like an idiot as the crew behind the camera cracked up again.

Cassie peeled the next question off the board. “What was Cass Rhett’s first job?”

She raised a brow dramatically. “This is it. This is my first job. Never worked before. My parents trained me to be a nepo baby even though I’m… kinda not.”

“Spoiled brat,” Drew commented without even thinking, still staring at her like she was a painting he wasn’t allowed to touch.

Cassie pointed at him proudly. “Exactly. And proud of it.” She tore off the next one. “What’s Cassie Rhett’s... age?”

“Twenty,” she said casually.

Drew paused. “Wait, you’re twenty?”

She turned to him, smug. “Legal to drink in Europe, not so much in the land of the free.”

Drew blinked at her like someone had just hit him with a frying pan. “I thought you were, like… twenty-five.”

“Rude,” she said, pretending to be offended, though her dimple was showing.

“I’m thirty-one,” he said, still processing.

“I can be your unconventionally young girlfriend,” she offered with a slow smirk, eyes flickering down to his lips just to mess with him.

Drew didn’t laugh.

She squinted. “Wait. Did the joke not land?” She looked around as an assistant walk to them and passed a new board, clearly on a mission now. “Or are you just too old for the slang, daddy?”

The assistant gave Cassie a look on her way out—half scandalized, half entertained.

Cassie turned back to Drew, shameless. “That was for the Tumblr fans.”

Drew dragged a hand over his mouth, trying to hide how hard he was smiling. “You’re gonna get me in so much trouble.”

Cassie smirked, leaning in to rip the next question off the board in Drew’s massive hands. “Is The Do Over family friendly?”

Before she could answer, Drew beat her to it with a grin. “The Do Over? Yeah, sure. Cass Rhett? Debatable.”

Cassie just shrugged, flicking the sticky paper behind her as she grabbed for the next question. But this time, the paper clung stubbornly to the board. She looked up at Drew, and suddenly they were way too close—her green eyes locked onto his intense blue ones.

“We’re gonna get demonetized,” she mumbled.

Drew didn’t hear a word. He was completely caught up in her gaze, oblivious to the world. Finally, she tugged the paper free, breaking the spell.

“Does The Do Over have Drew Starkey in it?” she read aloud, voice laced with mock boredom.

“It was made for him, baby,” Cassie teased with a sly grin.

She grabbed the next card, clearly getting restless with all the predictable questions. “Which book was The Do Over based on?”

They both looked straight into the camera, raising eyebrows like, Seriously? — silently asking if the fans were being for real.

[fr0stf4ll]

Forge of Stralight - Part 2

here is the link for part 1 or part 3

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the heart of Velaris, a skilled blacksmith's quiet life is turned upside down when unexpected bonds begin to form with the enigmatic Spymaster of the Night Court. As she navigates the challenges of her craft and the complexities of newfound relationships, she discovers that love and loyalty may be the strongest forces of all in a world where darkness often lingers just beyond the light.

Word Count; 4k

notes; Hey everyone! This chapter is more centered around the IC. New clues and questions will arise while following Y/N from a different perspective. Also I already wrote a good part of the story, I will try to publish a new chapter every day/two day. I hope that you will like the part 2. Do not hesitate to comment. Bisous <3

---

Two weeks had flown by, and the long-awaited night of the Winter Solstice had enveloped Velaris in a festive blanket of snow and twinkling stars. Inside the stately townhouse of the High Lord, the inner circle—Mor, Armen, Cassian, Azriel, and Rhys—gathered around a roaring fire, the room aglow with the warmth of friendship and laughter.

Mor, ever the heart of any gathering, clapped her hands with a bright, infectious enthusiasm. "Alright, everyone, it's the moment we've all been waiting for—gifts time!" she announced, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Laughter and cheerful banter filled the room as small, beautifully wrapped packages began to change hands. Azriel joked about how he hoped his gift was better than last year's infamous "invisible cloak"—which turned out to be just an empty box. Cassian roared with laughter, slapping him on the back, while Rhys watched on, a sly grin playing on his lips.

As the gifts made their rounds, the moment came for Cassian and Azriel to receive their gifts from Rhys. With a dramatic flourish that matched the occasion, Rhys presented them each with an elegantly wrapped, long, slender box. "For my brothers, who deserve nothing but the best," he said with a warm tone of brotherly affection.

Cassian and Azriel exchanged a look of curiosity and anticipation before tearing into the wrapping. As they lifted the lids, the room fell into an appreciative silence. Inside each box lay a masterfully crafted sword and dagger set, the metal gleaming even in the soft light of the fire.

Azriel’s set was sleek and shadowy, with subtle, intricate engravings along the blade that seemed to shift and move in the light. The hilt was expertly crafted to fit perfectly in his hand, and the syphon stone nestled at the base pulsed with a faint, mysterious glow.

Cassian's sword and dagger were robust and commanding, with bold designs etched along the blades and a heavier, more aggressive build. The handles were wrapped in dark leather that contrasted starkly with the bright gleam of the steel, and his syphon stone throbbed with a powerful, steady light.

"Rhys, these are... incredible," Cassian finally broke the silence, his voice thick with emotion. "Seriously, brother, they're more than I could have hoped for."

Azriel, ever the more reserved of the two, was quietly inspecting his blade, but his impressed expression spoke volumes. He looked up at Rhys, a question in his eyes. "Was this why you sent me to the new blacksmith’s shop? To deliver our old syphons?"

Rhys nodded, a satisfied smile lighting up his face. "Yes, I wanted Y/N to incorporate them into your new weapons. I knew she could breathe new life into those old stones."

Mor leaned forward, her interest piqued. "That was a brilliant touch, Rhys. Y/N’s craftsmanship is truly remarkable. Did you see how Az’s blade almost seems alive with shadows?"

"And Cass’s looks like it could lead an army on its own," Armen added, smirking as she felt back in her comfy sofa.

The conversation spiraled into a lively discussion about the craftsmanship, the battle stories that the old syphons had seen, and how these new weapons would soon make their own marks in history. Laughter and heartfelt thanks filled the room, creating memories that would warm their hearts for many solstices to come.

As the night wore on, filled with more stories and laughter, Cassian and Azriel handled their new gifts with something akin to reverence. It was clear these were more than just weapons; they were symbols of their brotherhood, their strength, and the silent, unbreakable bonds that held them all together.

As the Winter Solstice celebration unfolded in the warm glow of the townhouse, Rhysand and Azriel found a brief moment of quiet near the crackling fire. The High Lord, nursing a glass of wine, caught the spymaster's thoughtful gaze and smiled knowingly.

"Y/N, hmm?" Rhysand began, his tone light with a hint of intrigue. "I heard about her long before she set up shop in Velaris. It was during a meeting with Helion at his court. He couldn't stop boasting about the spear she crafted for him—it was truly magnificent."

Azriel, leaning casually against the wall, raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "Helion? That's high praise coming from the Day Court. She must be something special."

Rhysand nodded, a gleam of pride in his eyes. "Indeed she is. From what I gather, she keeps to herself, lets her work speak for her. Mysterious, but fiercely talented."

Azriel’s interest was clearly piqued. "She seems to have a knack for keeping a low profile. What do you know about her background?"

Rhysand’s gaze shifted to the fire, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. "She’s originally from the Night Court, Velaris to be exact. But beyond that, she’s a bit of an enigma. Not one to share her story readily."

Azriel nodded slowly, absorbing the information. "Her work speaks volumes, though. Each piece feels imbued with a story, a history."

Rhysand chuckled softly. "Sounds like someone else I know," he teased, nudging Azriel playfully. "But she’s different. There’s a depth to her craftsmanship that’s rare."

Meanwhile, across the room, Mor and Cassian were engrossed in their own revelry, their laughter filling the air as they enjoyed the solstice festivities with abandon, seemingly oblivious to the more serious conversation unfolding between Rhysand and Azriel.

Azriel’s gaze lingered thoughtfully on the flickering flames before returning to Rhysand. "Do you think she’d be willing to collaborate with us more closely? Her talent could be a valuable asset to our efforts."

Rhysand nodded in agreement. "I was thinking the same thing. Let’s give her time to settle in, though. If she’s as exceptional as we believe, she’ll find her place in our plans soon enough."

Their conversation shifted to lighter topics as the night wore on, but Azriel couldn't shake the intrigue Y/N had stirred in him. Her presence in Velaris promised more than just exceptional craftsmanship—it hinted at alliances, mysteries, and a potential for change that resonated deeply within the heart of the Night Court.

----

A few days after the festive celebrations of the Winter Solstice, Rhysand was deep in discussion with Madja, the esteemed healer of the Night Court. They were seated in a quiet, sunlit room in the House of Wind, poring over scrolls and plans aimed at enhancing the health infrastructure of their court. They debated new strategies and shared insights on how best to equip their healers with advanced resources.

As their meeting drew to a close, Madja, ever observant, shifted the topic with a hint of intrigue in her tone. "Rhysand, have you heard of the blacksmith Y/N?" she asked, her eyes sharp and probing.

Rhysand nodded, a hint of pride in his response. "Yes, I'm quite familiar with her work. She crafted the weapons I gifted to Cassian and Azriel for the solstice. They were exceptional."

Madja leaned in slightly, her voice lowering to a confidential whisper. "Keep her close, Rhysand. She bears a power that could save many lives, far beyond what her craftsmanship alone might suggest."

Rhysand's interest was immediately piqued, his strategic mind already turning over the implications. "What do you mean, Madja? What kind of power are we talking about?"

Madja sighed, and her gaze became distant as she recalled the day she visited Y/N's smithy, prompting a flashback:

The day had been unusually brisk for Velaris, the winter chill seeping through even the warmest of cloaks. Madja pushed open the door to Y/N's smithy, greeted by the familiar clang of metal on metal and the comforting heat that rolled out from the forge. The shop was lively, with customers admiring the array of weapons and tools displayed with meticulous care. The air smelled of iron and burning coals, a scent that Madja had always associated with strength and resilience.

Y/N emerged from the back, wiping her hands on a leather apron, her sharp eyes taking in the scene before settling on Madja. "Healer Madja," Y/N greeted with a nod, a small smile on her lips. "What can I do for you today?"

Madja reached into the folds of her cloak and pulled out an old, well-worn sickle. The blade, while still sharp, had seen many years of use. "I need a new sickle," she explained, holding the tool out for Y/N to examine. "Something similar to this, but I’d like it embedded with healing gems—something that can amplify my abilities when I work."

Y/N took the sickle, turning it over in her hands, studying the craftsmanship with a discerning eye. "I can do that," she said after a moment. "I’ll need a few days to gather the right materials, but I’ll make sure it’s exactly what you need."

As they spoke, the shop was bustling around them. Alexander, ever energetic and eager to help, was darting about, juggling several tasks at once. At one point, he was carrying an armful of swords, trying to show a client the finer details of a blade while managing the chaos around him. Madja watched with a smile, amused by the boy’s enthusiasm.

But then, in his haste, Alex’s foot caught on the edge of a carpet that had bunched up beneath the weight of all the activity. He stumbled forward, the swords in his arms clattering to the ground with a sharp, metallic crash. His wide eyes filled with panic as he lost his balance, teetering dangerously.

Y/N reacted instantly, her hand shooting out to catch Alex before he could fall, her grip steady and sure. But in the chaos, Madja’s old sickle, which had been resting precariously on the edge of the counter, was knocked off, plummeting toward the floor—and directly toward Alex.

Madja’s heart leaped into her throat, but before she could move, Y/N’s other hand lashed out, snatching the sickle by the blade just inches from Alex’s head. The sharp edge sliced through Y/N’s palm, blood welling up immediately. But the sickle never reached the boy. Instead, Y/N held it firmly, her expression more concerned with Alex than her own injury.

"Alex, are you okay?" Y/N asked, her voice calm despite the cut on her hand.

Alex, wide-eyed and shaken, nodded slowly. "Y-Yeah, I’m fine. I’m so sorry, Nana, I didn’t mean to—"

"It’s alright," Y/N assured him, her voice gentle. She set the sickle down carefully, then knelt to help Alex gather the fallen swords. "Just be more careful next time, okay?"

Madja stepped forward, her healer’s instincts kicking in as she moved to examine Y/N’s hand. "Let me see that," she insisted, reaching out.

But Y/N pulled her hand back slightly, shaking her head. "It’s just a scratch. I’ll be fine."

Madja was about to protest when something caught her eye—small, flickering blue flames that danced across Y/N’s wound, sealing it shut with a soft, almost musical hum. The flames vanished as quickly as they had appeared, leaving behind smooth, unbroken skin where the cut had been just moments before.

Madja stared, her mind racing. "What... was that?" she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else.

Y/N seemed unfazed, her focus still on Alex, making sure he was steady on his feet. "Nothing to worry about," she said, her tone casual. But there was a tension in her voice that didn’t escape Madja’s notice.

The healer hesitated, unsure of what she had just witnessed, but knowing better than to press the issue in front of others. "If you’re sure," she finally said, though the uncertainty lingered in her eyes.

Y/N nodded, giving her a reassuring smile. "I am. Thank you, Madja."

Madja left the shop soon after, but the image of those blue flames stayed with her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that what she had seen was more than just a simple healing ability—there was something deeper, something powerful about Y/N that she couldn’t yet understand.

Back in the present, Rhysand’s expression was contemplative, his mind turning over the possibilities. "Blue flames that heal… That’s not something you see every day. You’re sure it was real, Madja?"

Madja nodded, her expression serious. "I’ve never seen anything like it before, Rhysand. There’s a power in her that could be incredibly valuable. Her abilities could redefine healing, or perhaps... something more."

Rhysand leaned back, his thoughts racing. "This is something I need to look into further. If Y/N possesses such power, she could play a crucial role in the future of the Night Court."

"Be careful, Rhysand," Madja warned gently. "Power like that isn’t always easy to control. But if anyone can guide her, it’s you."

Rhysand nodded, the weight of this new revelation settling on his shoulders. He knew he needed to approach this carefully, to understand the full extent of Y/N’s abilities—and to ensure that whatever power she held, it would be used to protect and strengthen the Night Court.

----

The day had been kind to you, the steady hum of work filling your hours, and now, as night fell over Velaris, you decided to treat Alex to a well-deserved meal. The two of you strolled along the Sidra, the river reflecting the twinkling lights of the city, casting everything in a magical glow. The restaurant you chose was a cozy, yet elegant establishment with an outdoor terrace that overlooked the water. The warm, inviting lights and the soft murmur of other diners created a serene atmosphere that was perfect for unwinding after a long day.

You had dressed nicely for the occasion, opting for well-fitted pants and a tailored shirt that allowed you to feel both comfortable and presentable. Alex, too, had cleaned up well, his usual enthusiasm shining brightly in his eyes as you both took your seats at a small table by the river.

"This place is amazing, Nana," Alex said, his voice filled with excitement as he scanned the menu. "We should come here more often!"

You smiled, taking in the joy on his face. "We’ve had a good run lately, haven’t we? I figured we deserved a little treat."

The waiter arrived, and you both placed your orders— your young apprentice going for sugary drink and you for a glass of white wine. As you sipped your drink, Alex leaned in with a mischievous grin.

"You remember that client who came in last week?" Alex began, his tone full of amusement. "The one who insisted he needed a sword for 'taming wild beasts'? Turns out he thought the sword would actually talk to the animals and convince them to behave."

You nearly choked on your wine, giggling at the absurdity of it. "No! Did he really? I thought he just wanted a strong blade for hunting or something."

Alex nodded, laughing. "Yeah! I had to explain to him that swords don’t exactly come with instructions for bear negotiations."

Your laughter was soft and genuine, the joy of the moment spreading warmth through your chest. It was in that moment of shared humor that the door to the restaurant opened, and you caught sight of Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian entering. They were dressed as impeccably as ever, their presence immediately commanding attention in the room. 

The three of them were clearly expected, as a table near the river, a bit more private, was promptly made available for them. However, before they were seated, Rhysand’s gaze fell upon you and Alex. His eyes lit up with recognition, and a charming smile spread across his face as he made his way over to your table, the others following behind.

"Y/N," Rhysand greeted warmly, his voice smooth as ever. "What a pleasant surprise to see you here." He turned to Alex with a grin. "And this must be the famous Alexander I’ve heard so much about."

Alex, never one to shy away from attention, beamed up at the High Lord. "That’s me! Nice to see you again, my lord!"

Rhysand chuckled, then glanced back at his brothers. "Y/N, allow me to introduce Cassian, our esteemed General of the Illyrian legions. I believe you’ve already met Azriel, our spymaster."

Cassian extended a hand with a friendly grin. "I’ve heard nothing but good things about your work, Y/N. It’s a pleasure to finally meet the master behind the blade."

You shook his hand, feeling a bit shy under the attention but managing a smile. "The pleasure’s mine. I’ve heard a lot about you as well."

Azriel, standing slightly behind Rhysand, gave you a nod of acknowledgment. "Good to see you again, Y/N."

Rhysand then motioned toward their table, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. "Why don’t you both join us for dinner? We’d love the company."

Caught off guard, you hesitated, glancing at Alex before responding. "Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude. This is your night out, after all."

Cassian waved away your concern with a laugh. "Nonsense! The more, the merrier."

You were still about to politely decline when Alex piped up, his eyes wide with excitement. "Please, Nana! I’ve always wanted to have dinner with them. Plus, I think they’ve got some cool stories to tell!"

You bit your lip, trying to hide your smile. Alex’s enthusiasm was hard to resist, and the idea of joining them, despite your initial reluctance, was becoming more appealing. Finally, you sighed playfully and nodded. "Alright, alright. You win, Alex."

Rhysand’s smile broadened as he gestured toward their table. "Perfect. Let’s make this an evening to remember."

The evening by the Sidra continued to unfold beautifully as you and Alex joined Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel at their table. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, the city lights reflecting off the river, casting a soft glow over the terrace. The five of you settled in comfortably, and soon, food and drinks were ordered—a mix of hearty dishes and lighter fare, with wine flowing freely.

As the meal progressed, the conversation naturally turned to more personal topics. Rhysand, ever the curious and perceptive High Lord, leaned in slightly, his eyes twinkling with genuine interest. "Y/N, you’re a bit of a mystery. I’d love to know more about your story—where you’re from, your family, how you came to be the talented blacksmith you are today."

You hesitated for a moment, swirling the wine in your glass as you considered where to begin. The table fell into a quiet, expectant silence, all eyes on you.

"Well," you started, "I’m originally from Velaris. My father was a guard here, dedicated to protecting the city, and my mother came from a family of old politicians who eventually left Hewn City to make a life here."

Cassian nodded thoughtfully, sipping his drink. "Sounds like they were strong people. What happened to them?"

You sighed softly, the memories bittersweet. "My mother died giving birth to me. It was... hard on my father. They were mates, and the pain of losing her was too much for him. He passed away a few hours after she did."

Cassian’s brow furrowed, his voice laced with concern and curiosity. "He just... passed away? How?"

You took a deep breath, meeting his gaze steadily. "He killed himself. The bond they shared was so strong that living without her wasn’t an option for him."

The table grew solemn, the weight of your words settling over everyone. Rhysand reached out, "I’m sorry, Y/N. That’s a lot for anyone to bear."

You nodded, appreciating the gesture. “I never actually knew them so I��m fine with it I guess. After they died, I was raised by my father’s best friend—my master. He taught me everything I know about blacksmithing. We traveled to most of the courts and across the continent, honing my skills. Alex," you added with a fond glance at the boy beside you, "is my master’s son. After my master passed away, I took Alex under my wing."

Alex, who had been quietly listening, smiled up at you, his admiration evident. “Y/N's the best teacher. She’s taught me everything."

Azriel, who had been quietly observing, spoke up, his tone thoughtful. "You’ve had quite the journey, Y/N. It takes strength to turn pain into something as beautiful and powerful as your work."

You smiled softly, nodding in agreement. "It wasn’t easy, but it’s the only way I know how to honor them."

As the evening wore on, the conversation flowed freely, accompanied by the delicious food and the soothing ambiance of the Sidra beside you. After sharing your story, a question that had been lingering at the back of your mind finally surfaced.

“You three,” you began, glancing between Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel, “are you truly brothers? I’ve heard stories, but I’ve always wondered how much truth there is to them.”

Cassian chuckled, exchanging a glance with Rhysand and Azriel. “Well, not by blood,” he admitted, “but in every way that matters, we’re brothers.”

Rhysand nodded, his expression softening as he looked at his two closest friends. “We grew up together in the Illyrian war camps. It wasn’t an easy upbringing, but we forged bonds that can’t be broken. Cassian and Azriel have been at my side through everything—through battles, victories, losses… they’re my family.”

Azriel, who was usually reserved, added quietly, “We’ve faced more together than most blood-related brothers ever would. That kind of connection goes beyond anything as simple as blood.”

Cassian leaned in, a grin spreading across his face. “And if you need proof, just look at how often we bicker like brothers.”

You laughed softly, understanding now the depth of their bond. “It’s clear there’s a lot of history between you. It’s… comforting to see that even in a place as powerful as the Night Court, family—however it’s made—still matters most.”

Rhysand smiled at you, his eyes reflecting the sentiment. “Family is everything to us, Y/N. And it’s something that grows—not just with blood, but with loyalty and trust.”

At this, Cassian turned his attention to Alex, who was listening intently. “Speaking of family, Alex, how about joining ours in a different way? Ever thought about training to be a warrior? You’ve got the makings of a good one.”

Alex looked up at Cassian, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “What time would the training start?”

Cassian grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Around dawn. What do you think?”

Alex wrinkled his nose playfully, causing everyone to chuckle. “Dawn? That’s way too late! By then, Nana and I have already finished our training.”

The table fell into a momentary silence, the surprise evident on the faces of the Night Court’s inner circle. Azriel raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “You train before dawn?”

You couldn’t help but smile at their reactions. “What did you expect? We don’t just create weapons; we know how to wield them, too. Alex is becoming quite skilled, actually.”

Cassian let out a low whistle, visibly impressed. “Well, consider me impressed. Maybe I’ll join you two sometime—if you’ll have me.”

Alex beamed with pride. “You’re welcome anytime, but don’t expect to keep up!”

Laughter erupted around the table, the earlier heaviness of your shared stories giving way to a light-hearted camaraderie that wrapped around you like a warm embrace. The night continued with more stories, jokes, and the easy flow of conversation that only comes when people truly connect.

As the evening drew to a close, and the stars twinkled brightly above Velaris, you felt a deep sense of belonging. This dinner by the Sidra had revealed not just the pasts of the people around you, but had begun weaving your own story into the fabric of their lives. It was the start of something new, something meaningful—both for you and for Alex—and you couldn’t wait to see where it would lead.

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[notevenhayleyhart]

Red Lipstick - Yandere!Batfam X RichGirl

Preview: Being a hero meant doing tasks that were dangerous but necessary. Out on his usual patrol, Nightwing was hard at work. Though that was nothing new. What was new was this brand of thugs that were particularly harder to deal with. Unexpectedly, the night went in a direction that left him dumbstruck.

Word count: 4k

Pov: Dick Grayson

Chapter Four:

Sliding my escrima sticks into place behind my back, I was the first one to get ready. Which undoubtedly got some weird looks, especially when I was usually the last one to be out the door. 

Steph was zipping up Cass's suit. She said in a not-so-whisper, “What's got him all buzzed today?”

“Hey, Dick,” Cass narrowed her eyes on me. “Are you doing drugs?”

“Haha, very funny.” I returned her narrowed look and scoffed. 

Tim came into the Batcave and had a sour look etched onto his face. 

Steph looked at the two of us and planted a hand on her hip. “Okay, I missed something. He's grumpy and he’s practically bouncing on his feet.”

“I’m not,” the two of us said at the same time. Both of us glaring at the other. 

“Should we leave them to duel it out?” Cass asked Stephine. 

That's when Bruce’s deep voice cut through. “No. We have work to get to. No time for dueling.”

“Did someone say a duel?” Damian’s head peeked into the room. 

“I'm down. I call Bruce.” Jason said, strolling into the cave like he owned it. 

A vein in Bruce’s temple throbbed. “No duels.”

Stephanie's walk was catlike as she came to my side, the others jumping into an argument that was all but expected. She poked my arm, “How come you're all excited? I take it something happened today.”

A smile twitched at my lips, but I restrained. “Well, I met this amazing girl-”

“Asshole!” Tim suddenly shouted, throwing a shuriken near my head that missed me by a centimeter. 

I didn't even flinch, but I did scowl at him. “You should've been quicker if you wanted to go with Bruce.”

“I was fast! I was in the car before either of you guys. Bruce planned to take me!”

“You're not even interested in Penelope! Just her dads fricken designs. Let it go!”

He spits, “I'm not interested!?” He took a dangerous step closer to me where I stood my ground. “It was my computer we were doing that research on!”

“Well, since you're so interested, you should know I had a great time with her! I kept her company and even bought her food. So suck on that, Tim. You didn’t go, so cry me a damn river.”

I was being an ass, but it was for a good cause. 

A good part of me was looking forward to rubbing it in his face. 

When I saw him in a nice suit, all pressed and without a wrinkle, I just knew he planned to try and impress her. Something in my gut told me he would mess it up, get too nerdy, or not know how to show a girl a proper time. Being a good older brother, I saved him from embarrassing himself.  

“You tied me to a tree, Dick!” Tim’s outburst got a sputtering laugh from Steph. “How the hell is that fair? I would've done what you did in her company, if not better.”

“Let's not kid ourselves here.” 

My gaze darted to my phone on the desk when it pinged with a message, the ID ‘Nell <3’ there for all to see. Tim and I both lunged for my phone, fast but not fast enough, because Steph got to it first.

I tried to get it from her but she sidestepped me and tossed the phone to Cass who wore a wicked grin. “My my my. Our little Grayson found a girl.”

“Bullshit,” Jason grabbed the phone and his eyes widened at the ID. “Nell? With a heart? How pathetic can you get, dickhead?”

“She’s a good person, I want to bring her-”

Damian was the next one to snatch the phone, an entitled look on his face as he inspected the phone. “You won’t bring anyone to the manor without my knowing who it is. I’ll own it some day, and I don’t want weirdos in here dirtying the floor.”

“Nell isnt weird.”

“You call her Nell? Her names Penelope, if you already making up nicknames-”

“She said I can call her that!” Turning away from Tim, feeling my heart pounding too hard, I turned my attention to Damian. “Give me back my phone.”

“No, I must find out who this girl is since she matters so much. She may be a threat to the family.”

“Ooo, I want in on that action,” Steph came closer to Damian as he unlocked my phone. 

I groaned as not just Steph came close, but Jason and Cass too. 

I wanted to be the one too see her message first. With a family this stubborn . . . I sighed and gave in. 

The six of us hovered over the little screen.

Damien scrolled through the dozens of pictures she sent. She was giving Oreo a bath by the looks of it. Giving him a little foam beard. 

“That's the cat she found.”

“Found?” Jason crossed his arms. 

I shrugged, “she's got a thing for strays.”

The very last picture was a selfie of her laying down and Oreo right next to her head. 

Damian huffed, “she's not bad looking.”

“I like her lipstick . . .” Jason comments under his breath. I gave him a sideways glance. 

Cass rolled her eyes. “Wonder why.”

“If you all are done now,” we snapped to attention when Alfred announced his presence. “I believe Master Bruce has been gone for at least five minutes now. If you leave this second, you may be able to catch up.”

A sneaking suspicion that Tim was up to something crept up on me. We all generally went off in our own directions. Cover more ground in less time that way. Though as we left the Batcave, he was particularly quiet. . .

So I may or may not be following him at the moment. 

Okay, I am following him. Only to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. 

The man was a professional blabber, so when he stopped, it was cause for concern (even though people were rarely listening when he was on those rants). So I may have put a tracker on him.   

Keeping close behind him, I stumbled upon petty crimes and managed to devise them without falling too far behind him. 

My earpiece picked up on the radio feed that goes to the cops, an attempted robbery at a 7-Eleven. On the scene in record time, I saw a man wearing some kind of purple substance on his face. It caked his features, globbed on so thick I could hardly see his eyes. He was holding the cashier at gunpoint; the poor, shaking man was putting money in a bag. The store was empty except for the two.

Perfect. 

Coming into the store, I assessed the situation and stayed calm. The man with the purple mask pointed his gun at me, and even though I could barely make out his expression, he sure looked angry. “Get outta here, Nightwing! Nobodies gotta get hurt!” 

“You're right. So why don't you give the man his money back?”

He was jumpy, something about him off. Probably on something. Without fear, he reached for the collar of the cashier, who whimpered when the barrel was pressed to his temple. But before the man could fire the gun, I started running towards him. 

Thank god the place was empty. 

The man with the gun was shaking harder, eyes frantic. Right before I got to him, I baffled him by leaping into the air, once behind him—I used my staff to slam the end into the center of his back. He fell forward with a grunt, gun flying away from his hands. 

He was quick to get back on his feet. He scrambled to get his gun, but I kicked it away. 

I was surprised by his grip strength when he grabbed my ankle. He tugged and I landed on my ass. Wincing, I stomped on his hand with my free foot. He wailed, clutching his hand with his other hand. Taking my chance, I got out a line to detain him with. On his back—I pushed my weight to keep him like that—pressing my foot into the center of his back. I tried to grab his arm, but was caught off guard when he suddenly flipped himself. Now on his stomach, and with my leaning down to tie him up, he took his shot at socking me in the face. 

His fist effectively made contact with my jaw, and I bit back a grunt. I punched him back, hitting him in the gut. He gasped for air and I didn't give him another moment as I dealt another blow. Incopasitited, I twisted his arms around and bound his wrists together. 

Panting a bit, I was beyond surprised by his strength. 

He wasn't a big man, lean and lacking in muscle. 

But he was able to pull me, a man twice his size, down on his ass . . .

“He got me good,” I said as I smiled to the cashier who was trembling behind the counter. “It’ll be alright, sir. The police will be on their way. Did he hurt you?” I ignored the throb in my jaw; he did get me good. 

The older man shook his head frantically. “No-no, no, I'm fine. As fine as I can be, anyway.”

I gave him a nod and a small smile before taking the man with me. He looked mad, but didn't put up a fight. He was grumbling about something being disappointing, though I didn't catch much of it. 

Waiting on the sidewalk with him for the officer to arrive, it was five minutes before I saw the red and blue lights. Handing him off to the kind officer, I gave him a small once-over. 

He wasn’t a huge threat. Probably acting on impulse, or high, from how frantic he seemed. 

Weird crap on his face too. I frowned. Why did it look like there was less of the gunk on his face? 

Shaking my head, I watched the officer drive off. Must be getting tired. I only got three hours of sleep last night! 

I looked back at the tracker device. Tim hadn't gotten that far ahead. 

Using a grappling hook, I took to the rooftops. A much faster way of travel. Scaling the building, I ran to catch up to him. My eyes watched the tracker, wondering where he was going. 

That's when I caught radio feed for a street that only sounded like a distant memory. Where the hell was that? 

Wherever it was, Tim was likely going to it, from how he suddenly picked up speed. I stayed behind by a fraction, in the shadows as not to get caught.

Ducking and diving, I traveled the rooftops as I've done for years. A feeling of freedom consumed my chest soaring through the air. I flipped and twisted, suspended by no man, gravity my only captor. And when I fall, I stick the landing. Only to do it all over again. The night air bites and I smile to myself, running off a building, I free fall, facing the sky, and feeling my breath leave me. Breathless, I use the grappling hook to launch myself onto the tallest building's roof. 

Tallest building? No, this building was average height. 

Noting my surroundings, my heart beat a bit faster when I noticed I was nearing the end of the city. 

That bastard, he must have been looking for an excuse to come this way. I frowned at the tracker. The little dot that was Tim was going further away from the hustle that was Gotham. Passing by the MorningStar building, I picked up the pace.

I only assume her house was in this direction, considering she was able to bike ride to her father's building. She was at the very least in the area. 

How the hell did he even know where she lived?

Mind flashing back to all the research (stalking) we did online, I mentally face-palmed. 

There was a certain interview done at their home. It truly did baffle the people—for whatever weird reason—that the MorningStars were living in such a normal home. No hot tubs or jet skis. No helicopter pads or collection of cars. Instead they lived near the country side, had a two and a half acre plot of land. Four bedrooms and two baths. In the interview, Willow looked uncomfortable but toured the people around their home, saying it's ‘really not all that small.’ Literally, that was a quote pulled from the video and put into the article as one of the most scandalous lines ever. It was a miracle the public didn't think they were trying to be those ‘down-to-earth rich people.’

Maybe it's because they actually were down-to-earth rich people. 

I groan internally as a neighborhood familiar to the pictures we saw in the article comes into view. Just great. 

Hiding behind a warehouse, I watch Tim survey the area. Looking for the threat. 

It didn't take long for him to catch who it was. 

In the nice quiet little neighborhood, cloaked by the night, there was a man in a trench coat walking around with a shotgun. His gait was steady, each step sure. There was a power to it, as he held his chin high like he owned the place. What would he get out of disturbing this peaceful place? It would make sense for someone to report him. 

He was out of place and didn't belong in this backdrop. 

Aiming the gun—he pointed it at Tim, noticing Red Robin before he saw him–he fired his shots without hesitation. Tim barely dodged them by a hair, lunging away from the spot. Dropping a few smoke bombs, he concealed his presence and tossed shurkians in the direction of the criminal. 

As he was running through the smoke, a sudden hand came out and grabbed him by the arm. Shocking even me. Tim, using his fast reflexes, kicked the man's gut. Only that did nothing. Eyes widening, he was pulled into the smoke screen turned against him. 

“Shit,” I said under my breath. Running from the hiding spot, I entered the smoke. Senses on high alert, trying to find the two. 

I hear them before I see them. Tim groaned and hard punches were thrown. Someone fell onto the concrete road with a slap. There's a bang, the gun going off flashes light, I quickly dashed to it. 

Leaping into the air, I kicked the man's head. He reeled back, hands shielding his face and he let go of Tim (who didn't have time to be shocked by my presence). While the man was recovering, Tim expanded his staff and slammed it down on the nape of the man's neck. The thwack, though, did nothing to him. 

Instead, he laughed like a hyena and took hold of the staff, tugging and taking Tim with him. I brought my own staff down on the man's hand, putting enough force into it to make him let go. 

Now free, Tim twirled the staff and jammed it into the man's side, this being effective as the man clenched the spot in pain. 

Shit, he was strong. He takes nearly every hit. I looked to Tim who had a bloody nose. 

Good thing I followed him.

With the gun gone, he reached into his coat and produced a knife. While he was a thick man, I’d been trained since I was little to deal with men like him. One hand on his wrist and the other right below his elbow, I twisted his wrist and pain must've shot up his arm because it fell to the floor. The man let out a strangled yelp as I kept twisting and managed to pull him around and slam him onto his back. 

Tim took his cue as the man tried to get up. Punching his jaw with enough force that it left the man reeling. His lips curled back, teeth bared and challenge set. He reached for his knife in one fast movement and slashed at my calf. I winced and leaped away. Tim was able to dodge the move in time before it could cut him. 

But before I could land on my feet from the leap, I surprised the man by landing on my hands. Bending my elbows, I used my momentum to backtrack, landing backwards, I was all to aware of my body. Feet smashing down on the man's knees. 

He wailed, and the knife dropped for a second time. This time, I kicked it away. Blood dribbled down my leg. Dropping to my knees, I got closer to him. 

We both worked together trying to hold him down. Getting out the wire, I was ready to detain him. Then at the house, there was a light that turned on. 

In the split second I was distracted, the man got the jump on me. Landing a square punch on me. 

Shit shit shit. 

Tim lunged for the weakened man's legs, as a result, he tumbled a hair away from grabbing me. Taking a few steps back, I lunged forward and flipped into the air, form perfect as I landed a hard kick to his gut this time. 

The man groaned before I watched his eyes roll into the back of his head. 

I licked my lips and tasted copper. 

Tim sighed and his own gaze swung to the now-lit house. I hissed under my breath. I could barely make out his rosy cheeks in the cover of night. He snapped to focus and took his time to detain the man. All the while she ran out of the house in this baggy ‘I love food’ shirt, sweatpants just as oversized. Penelope looked even more comedic with the shotgun in her arms. From the way she held it, it was clear she knew how to use it. She was even willing from the expression creasing her forehead.

“Are you two okay?” 

By now, Tim had wrapped the man up well. I swiped at the blood from my busted lip with the back of my hand and put on a brave smile. 

Now close enough, she saw our hero get up, and I expected her eyes to widen. My heart did a little jump and I cleared my throat. 

“You shouldn't be out here,” I said. “For all you knew, we were the bad guys.”

She shook her head, tucking blond hair behind her ear. “No. I knew you weren’t because of how you moved in the air. Your nightwing. My sister likes your work a little too much,” she tacked on the last part, as if to explain herself. 

Tim spoke up, smirk half-corked. “I'm here too, ya know.”

“Right. Which Robin are you again?”

Tim gaped, offended. “I'm not a robin anymore.”

“Are you a Red Robin? It's the suit, it's just . . .”

“Yes, I am Red Robin. Thank you very much.”

“So then you are still Robin!”

Tim grew red again. “But I'm not!”

She assessed him, lips downturned. “Detectives have to be smart. For a smart guy, you’d think you’d be able to have a better comeback.”

I laughed, unable to help myself. Seeing her here while out on patrol so soon after I just saw her was a gift. I didn't let it go to waste. I wanted to soak up everything her while I could. And her coming out in pajamas and a shotgun all to bicker with my brother was priceless. 

So yes. I threw my head back and laughed to the stars. 

 The other two look at me. When I opened my eyes, I took in Nell’s concern and Tim’s disturbed sneer. I cut him a look before turning to her and the shotgun she still held. 

I forced myself to remember she didn't see Dick right now. She didn't know Nightwing. It was like I had to get to know her all over again, get her to warm up to me. 

Taking a breath I crossed my arms, the mood dying down. “If you knew we were heroes, you had no reason to come bearing arms. You could've gotten yourself hurt.”

There was a stubborn set to her face. “But it looked like it was bad.” There was no question in her statement. 

“We don't use guns.”

Tim held up a finger—about to correct me about the one member of our family who broke that rule—but put his hand down and thought better of it. 

Her lips pressed together. “Either way, my first question still stands.”

My brain racked through the whole interaction before I let out a tired sigh. In this short interaction, it let me forget my aching body. All because she was her. My ribs throbbed, and a few cuts on my arms and legs bled. I looked at Tim, who was just as hurt as me if not more. 

“We’ll be fine. This is nothing.”

She eyed the blood and looked unamused. 

Tim tried to save the day. “Civilians don't usually see the heroes all bloodied, usually you see us accepting medals on a stage. But getting hurt is as normal to us as breathing.”

“You say that like it's a good thing.” 

I watched her put the safety on the gun and begin walking away. I reached out a hand and unknowingly looked forward. Tim is gaping, and I'm just about ready to blame him for her leaving so suddenly. But she looked over her shoulder and raised a brow. “You coming?”

“Inside?” I asked like an idiot. 

“Yeah. I can help patch you guys up,” she paused briefly. “I mean, you guys look like you can use it.” This version of Nell surprised me. She was blunt like her usual self (or at least from what I was able to tell from our short hangout), though she seemed a bit more distant. Smart of her. It reminded me of how stern she was when she was being introduced to Bruce and me. 

I appreciated that she wasn't super kind with anyone and everyone right off the bat. 

I cleared my throat for what felt like the thousandth time tonight. 

We literally know nearly as much as a nurse with how many injuries we’ve all had. I know these injuries hurt now, but are minor and nothing I can’t clean and slap bandages on. Do all that with my eyes closed. Case and point, I knew damn well how to take care of my injuries. Tim as well. 

Did that stop me from jogging to catch up with her? Walking up her porch and keeping close to her?

Hell no. 

I smiled like a schoolboy as I saw Tim tying the man to a nearby pole in a rush. The police would take care of the man. Tim, too, wasted no time following her into the home. 

It's not smart. For a multitude of reasons. 

Seriously, this was how people got kidnapped. 

Though if it were Nell, I don't think I’d mind all that much. Not since I can still taste the corn on my lips. 

So I took in her humble home. Hard to tell much in the dark. But the article had been right. This place wasn't screaming ‘rich people live’ here. The smell of dirt clung to the porch, and the surrounding greenery made the air fresher than the main city. Most of all, the house looked worn. Like a home. One that had been well loved and cherished, that much was obvious from the whole vibe the house gave. 

Not to mention the girl standing in front of me, who held open the door with enough ease to scare me. 

You shouldn't be so quick to let strangers into your home, Nell. Hero’s or not. 

I’ll have to tell her that later, as Dick Grayson, not Nightwing. 

Most of all, I took notice of her warm smile that was lacking its signature red paint. 

If you want to read further ^^ -> Chapter 5 of Red Lipstick

Taglist: @whognuthis, @nervousalpacalady, @angwlart

[fantastic-nonsense]

okay I am engaging in some public accountability because I have a ridiculous number of WIPs and I actually want to get some of them done. so I'm going to list out all of the WIPs I consider to be active, and by the end of the year I hope to have at least 5 of them finished and published

DCU:

Batfam PJO AU [outlining+writing stage, 500 words in]

Bruce, Harvey, and the RY1 Aftermath Fic [ideas stage, outlining]

Damian and Tim Time Travel [ideas stage, outlining]

Dick and Donna-5 Stages of Grief [ideas stage, outlining]

Donna and Tim Space-Time Road Trip [ideas stage, outlining]

Grayson+Ric Arc Fix It ft. Tim Trauma Run PART TWO [ideas stage, outlining]

Jason Paranormal Detective Agency WIP [outlining+writing, 1k words in]

Leave Me and Live (Jason) [writing, 7k words in]

Bruce Wayne Religion Discourse Fic [ideas stage, outlining]

The Rise of Oracle [outlining+writing, 800 words in]

To Look for Herself in the Sunrise (Cass) [writing, 5k words in]

universal donor (Dick) [ideas stage, outlining]

WW Antiquities Repatriation Saga [ideas stage, outlining]

Six of Crows:

Ghafa Parents Twoshot [ideas stage, outlining]

Horse Racing AU [outline done, 2k words in]

Kanej Snow Queen AU [ideas stage, outlining]

Kaz-Wesper Wedding Gift Fic [writing, 900 words in]

on the seas and in the city [outlining+writing, 4k words in]

Forced to Choose fic [writing, 19.5k words in]

To Build a Legend (Inej Knife Fic) [final editing stages, currently being published]

to love him is freedom (kanej) [writing, 7.6k words in]

Unorthodox Methods for Parenting Criminal Children [writing, 3k words in]

Other Fandoms:

Meanwhile in the Galactic Senate (Star Wars) [ideas stage, outlining]

The Last Jedi Reworking (Star Wars) [outline done, 3.5k words in]

De Rolo Trauma Electric Boogaloo (Critical Role/Legend of Vox Machina) [ideas stage, outlining]

De Rolo Favorite Siblings (Critical Role/Legend of Vox Machina) [ideas stage, outlining]

Susan Stays AU (Narnia) [outline done]

Problem of Susan Character Study (Narnia) [writing, 750 words in]

30 Years Later Interview (Hunger Games) [writing, 600 words in]

Endgame Revamp WIP (Marvel Cinematic Universe) [outline done]

[uniasus]

Black Bird Sounds - by PaperPuffin

fic rec! 4K DP x DC

Summary: Cassandra Cain has a home now. It's different and new and wonderful. It doesn't mean that she's going to leave Danny behind.

Comments: Cass and Danny became siblings-by-choice when they meet on Gotham's street, and Cass continues to do what she can for Danny after getting adopted, even as he tells her not too. I love how Danny just knows Cass, can read her body so well it doesn't matter she's in the mask. And Bruce's description of the batfam is spot on.

[destieltaggedfic]

Oh my god please tell me you have fics where people think Dean is talking about his wife or girlfriend when he mentions Cas and then they find out Cas is a guy

Do I ever?!

dean's coworkers vs the heteronormative agenda – cowboydeanwinchester   Ao3

Set 15x20 didn’t happen AU.  Dean’s co-workers at the garage all have different ideas about Dean’s personal life, due to the seemingly conflicting things he mentions about his family.  They’re all about to be surprised when they finally meet Cas and Jack.

Word Count: 4k                                 No Sex

Impala Rendezvous - sandean_cas   Ao3

Nonspecific timeframe.  Sam knows that Dean has started seeing someone, but doesn’t understand why Cas is so upset when he mentions the woman and as the months go by Cas gets more upset every time he asks Sam about her.  (Cas is spelled Cass)

Word Count: 3k                                 Non-Graphic Sex

Dean Winchester, loving husband and father – impravidus   Ao3

15x20 didn’t happen AU.   When Dean talks about Cas and Jack people expect that to mean Dean has a loving wife and a toddler running around.

Word Count: 6k                                 No Sex

Revelations – littlewonder   Ao3

Set S14.  A talk with John during Lebanon has a surprising result when John assumes Cas is a woman and that Dean is in love with her due to the way Dean talks.

Word Count: 1k                                 No Sex

Just unattached drifter stuff – Tossukka   Ao3

Set 15x20 didn’t happen AU.  Its Valentine’s Day and Sam thought Dean was past picking up random chicks.  But when Dean tells him he has a date and the following day is covered in hickies it seems like he was wrong.  Or is he?

Word Count: 2k                                 Non-Graphic Sex

[toodelusionalforreality]

Azriel x OC | Chapter 8

Vice

Both his brothers are mated. Both his brothers are happily in love. But after five centuries of rejection, Azriel doesn’t hope for such luxury in his life. When he meets the bar owner who is too mysterious even for the spymaster to decipher, his intrigue turns into more. Lines between mystery and secret blur. The closer he gets to her, the more his instincts warn him to stay away.

Previous Chapter: Sinner

Word count: ~4k Warning: Mentions of Blood. Mild Torture. Hints of Stalking. [PLOT]

A/N: This is an experimental piece of work. I'm testing a writing style, so feedback is welcome. I'll be adding another tag to from now on. Chapters that include interaction between Azriel and Ayla will have ROMANCE, irrespective of the theme in them, and the rest, PLOT. So you can pick and choose whichever you want to read. This one needs major editing but editing is hard. Hope you still enjoy it.

The beats thrummed through the wood beneath his feet, through the velvet cushion against his wings, and through his very skin. Empty laughter and delirious cries filled the brief, fleeting silences. Globes of lights swirled and shimmered close to the ceiling, their harsh glares coasting over the upper landing where the private booths were situated. The red carpets were too bright, the air too thick, the liquor too strong. Everything that made Rita’s a beacon to the souls who longed for a taste of nightlife.

Yet, the true temptation was across the room. A beaded curtain at the entrance wavered—red flashing behind, like the maw of a beast waiting for its prey to walk right into its belly. Outside, there was no limitation or restriction. Males and females indulged in vices and each other to their hearts’ content. Even so, what lay beyond that veil was far more enticing. Drunk on liquor and lust, it wasn’t a mystery what transpired. It wasn’t merely the pleasure of the body these souls sought. The allure of secrecy and the courage it granted them to explore their urges and unleash their darkness, test it, and perhaps, tame it. Azriel should know, for he had been behind those locked doors a few times himself.

A cheer rumbled through the air sending the shadows wrapped around him in skitters. Azriel took a deep breath. Sweat, smoke, and sex—the stench he once was accustomed to, he now despised with his being.

‘Staring a little early, are we?’ asked Cass, as if he weren’t filling a glass to the brim himself. Though Azriel ignored his smug face, he couldn’t disagree, after all, this was the only thing that numbed his ache.

‘Let me guess,’ said Rhys, ‘Our weaponsmith is being. . .difficult again?’

Our. 

Azriel gritted his teeth at how easily the word fell off his lips. He should have known. As he left the House of Wind, Cass gave him a monstrous grin, and no sooner had he found a booth his friends settled on either side, trapping him. For a moment, he considered disappearing amidst the crowd, but one look at the bodies writhing against each other rather obscenely and the decision was made.

Rita’s didn’t hold the same appeal anymore. The fifty years Rhys was. . .gone had changed their lives. They were neither young nor reckless, no matter how much Mor played pretend. While Cass preferred the nights in River House so Nesta spent her evenings with her sisters than in a bar, Rhys would have his wings nailed than spend a day away from his son. And lately, he rarely touched his precious whiskey. 

Now, as the two sat beside him giving up everything they had built in the past years only for his company, fear began to unfurl in the depths of his heart.

Azriel glanced across the room again.

A harsh thump broke their silence as Cass set his glass down, ‘Are you sure you want to add one more to that list?’

As fortune would have it, his family overheard his conversation with Ayla three months ago. Azriel knew this day was coming—when the two taunted him as though they hadn’t watched their mates fuck another. He had at least hoped to be drunk enough. Pity, he wasn’t.

Rhys arched his brow. Amusement shone in his eyes. ‘Don’t tell me she is going ahead with it.’

‘I won’t.’ Azriel surveyed the faces of the passersby who gawked at them. The High Lord and his Illyrian General drew too much attention. Shadows enveloped him once again as soon as another flare swept away from the booth. ‘Are you done discussing my sex life?’

‘Sure, if you had one.’ Cass clasped his hands on the table, raising his voice over the steady beats. ‘How long has it been? Four months?’

Six. He couldn’t imagine touching or being touched by anyone but his mate since the bond. Not that he minded the celibacy, but when every inch of his skin ached and that familiar fire burned through his veins, he knew it had to be her.

Seeing that male with her, Azriel solaced himself with petty hope—a male a day and Ayla would free him of this torment soon. But, she was vicious. She savoured this twisted game of hers. Months passed, three, and so was the count of chosen victors to claim her. 

Had it been someone else, Azriel would have dragged her into that office, and kissed that smirk off her lips while he sank his fingers into her warmth. Had it been someone else, he would have toyed with her until she begged him to take her.

‘It’s concerning you know that. Aren’t you too invested?’ Rhys’s voice broke the spell of his fantasy. A smirk tugged at his lips.

‘Not when he’s taking it out on me every morning,’ grumbled Cass.

Rhys grinned. ‘It certainly helps your case when you put it like that.’

Laughter began in Azriel’s throat, cutting off into a gasp as a shudder rolled under his skin. He sank back into the cushions, pinched his eyes closed, and tuned out the pounding in his ears. His legs shifted on their own, spreading wide to relieve some tension.

‘Remind me, Az,’ Rhys was staring at him. His eyes carried a glint. Somehow he knew yet he pressed, ‘Did you also tell her what you did to the females you took to your bed?’

Azriel managed to chuckle. ‘Why, are you looking for notes to please Feyre?’

‘I’m not the one a breath away from pleasuring myself with an audience.’

‘Fuck you,’ spat Azriel.

‘Believe me,’ Rhys purred, ‘I’m sorted for tonight.’ 

Cass laughed loud enough to cut through the wails of delight from below. A wave of shadows knocked the glass from his hand, and before it did the same to Rhys’s, a cloud of starry night blocked its path. Bastards, both of them were.

Wiping a tear from his eye—there clearly was none—and with a cruel smile on his face, Cass said, ‘Did you try talking to her?’

‘That’s what got him here,’ said Rhys. ‘I wouldn’t recommend it again.’

Azriel ran a hand through his hair. For centuries, he managed to keep his life private and with one conversation, he had become the ridicule of his family. If Nyx could talk, Azriel was certain he would taunt him too.

His breaths laboured. A myriad of emotions smothered every bit of his senses. Jealousy for the male who had the honour of coaxing moans from her lips. Longing to be the one witnessing her consumed by ecstasy. Yearning to touch and savour every inch of her body. Shadows crept up his arms but they refused to sing, a mild comfort for they didn’t narrate his embarrassment.

‘Do you need the booth to yourself?’ asked Rhys, prying him away from his agony.

Azriel glared at his stupid smirk. ‘Can’t suck me off anymore?’

Rhys’s response was lost on him as another shiver raked through his body. This was a mistake. He should have stayed in the House of Wind, far away from this square.

‘Ayla?’ 

No one dared utter her name in his vicinity. Hearing it, even in his prick of a brother’s voice, sounded like a symphony. 

‘You sense her,’ said Rhys carefully. His words were more surprised than guarded. He nudged Azriel’s glass closer, the drink still untouched.

‘I don’t.’ 

The two fell silent at his harsh tone. 

Light shifted across the room, fleeting over a movement deep in the hallway. A male walked out through the curtain adjusting the lapels of his tunic. Its intricate gold threadwork, the glinting gems on his fingers, and the delicate red scarf wrapped loosely around his neck were enough indication of which part of the city he was from. He made a desperate effort to tidy his hair, glancing around before he headed for the main doors.

Noting his stare, Cass shook his head, ‘It’s a bad idea.’

‘Is it?’ Rhys grinned watching the empty doorway. ‘His mate is having her fill, why shouldn’t he?’ He shot a wink at Azriel, ‘I’m sure this will win her over after that talk about his conquests.’

If his words were meant to unnerve him, Rhys succeeded. His life sounded pathetic, more so than he felt.

Ignoring Cass's curses to come back, Azriel left the booth making sure to land a kick to Rhys's leg on his way out.

The chill in the night breeze was a soothing balm even before he stepped out. The aroma of charring meat and herbs from the stalls on either side of the pathway sweetened the air. Quiet murmurs replaced the pulsing rhythm behind the closed doors. But Azriel was the most grateful for the dull lights marking the way.

He navigated through the ambling crowd clapping his wings close and his shadows shaded them from curious eyes. Even in a city like Velaris, an Illyrian was still an oddity. Fortunately, Rhys and Cass didn’t pursue him this time. He wondered if they had also followed him on his little detour before he came to Rita’s. 

The path ahead forked into two and Azriel slowed his pace, waiting for signs of his friends for another minute. Darkness wreathing around him swallowed every sound, including the fall of his footsteps. As he turned around the building, he tamed his powers dimming the glow of his siphons to a lingering hue.

Moonlight barely illuminated the alley. Red tassels rustled in the stillness. Gravel crunched beneath unsteady feet. The stranger halted and looked over his shoulder, his breath quickening. ‘Is anyone here?’ His words echoed.

Silence answered him, except for the distant melody from the streets.

His eyes darted around lingering on the unlit corners. His shoulders fell. Sighing heavily, the male faced forward only to meet a whorling darkness. He staggered back.

‘They are harmless,’ Azriel whispered into his ear.

With a gasp, the stranger twisted around. Before another sound could escape his parted lips, shadows slid into his mouth. He griped at his throat clawing through his skin to rid of the hollow choking him.

Azriel inched forward. ‘It won’t kill you,’ he said, his voice as gentle as the breeze that drifted past them. ‘But you might want to stop resisting.’

Tears pooled in the corner of his grey eyes as the male let out a strangled cry. 

Slowly, Azriel eased his dagger from its sheath making a show for his captive. In moments like these, he preferred the recognition; he didn’t have to imply the consequences. ‘As long as you’re honest. . .you’re safe.’

Shadows rose around them into rippling walls. The male, still clutching his throat, backed away, searching for a way out. When he found none, he nodded.

‘What do you want from her?’

Dark mist sputtered from his mouth. He tried again and again, and with each wasted attempt, his breaths grew ragged and his cries louder. Tears spilt from his eyes freely, and yet, Azriel simply watched.

Pathetic.

When the whispers first reached him, Azriel assumed him to be one of the recent lovers returning for more. He dived into his work, taking on missions in Hewn City on those nights. Days away from Ayla cleared the fog in his mind, however slowly. He had called off his spies long ago and diverted them to other tasks, the ones they were paid for. Still, reports from the borders poured in and among them was the list of travellers to the city. It brought a jolting awareness to the threat Azriel had been so glad to trade for his lovelorn ache.

It worsened when his shadows returned frantic one night, hissing about a “suspicious male”. Whenever Ayla was concerned, Azriel learned to not trust the shadows anymore. Everything he did was wrong, everything he said was wrong. 

Although, curiosity was a curse and Azriel was born cursed in more ways than one. 

The one in question was tall and muscled, mildly tanned and dark-haired—exactly how his mate preferred her males. There was nothing to suspect. Until the wraiths spotted him following Ayla on her way back from her smithy twice.

The suspect often wandered the streets for hours and only visited Pharus when Ayla stayed upstairs and the bar was crowded. He sat at the counter and entertained anyone who kept him company. As the nights drew late, he honed his attention to the tired bartender charming her with his sympathy. That brought him favour from Uri too.

And none of them noticed the unusual shadow cast by the display. A specific bar owner would have, Azriel was certain. What her friends didn't realise was he never needed to be let in.

Then, it started. ‘The owner, she seems lonely.’

Ever so loyal, that was all it took for Uri to defend Ayla. He spared no details—the hag, the shop, and Orvin. Even a “strange prick” at the back of his neck from a rogue shadow couldn’t stop him.

Though, the male remained unsatisfied. ‘Does she live alone?’ ‘Does she travel often?’ ‘Does she get many visitors?’ ‘When is her next trip?’

In four days, he learnt more than Azriel did in his first month. He picked his moments when the server and bartender were likely to spill in their exhaustion. If they turned wary, he would chuckle and a blush would tinge his cheeks. ‘She’s interesting is all.’ He looked more desperate than a lovesick begging for scraps, and yet, Uri looked to Raya with gleeful eyes.

Azriel lost all reservations then. It was his turn to do some learning.

He expected the stranger to meet with his charge when he went to Rita’s. But all he did was drink more, fuck someone in one of the pleasure chambers, and leave.

This Hewn City lowlife was who her friends deemed fit for Ayla. One who saw her, who knew her, and still fucked another in a backroom. One who couldn’t defend himself, who stood frozen in fear and spewed garbles.

Shadows slithered out his mouth and wrapped around his throat in warning.

The male took a gulp of air. ‘I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you!’ His voice grated from the gagging and choking. ‘She approached me. She wouldn’t stop touching me. I vow on my life.’ An eager step forward. ‘I noticed your eyes on her back in the bar. She’s yours! All yours. Take her.’

‘Ayla,’ said Azriel quietly. The shadows mimicked his temper simmering under the surface, barely restrained. ‘You have been following her.’

Realisation set in those grey eyes and fear darkened them. His fingers slackened around his throat. ‘I—I—’

‘Lying won’t help you walk out of here alive.’

‘I don’t know who she is.’

Azriel smiled. ‘Yes, you do.’ He gently took the male’s wrist and coaxed it forward. When he rolled the sleeve up revealing his arm, the male tensed. ‘You lie,’ Azriel brought the Truth-Teller down in a swift, precise flick, ‘I’m forced to hurt you.’

Blood pooled in the groove of his elbow. His breaths quickened as shock cleared and pain set in. His fingers twitched but he couldn’t move them, nor would he feel them.

‘You won’t need a healer. Your body will heal on its own soon. But that’s what makes this convenient.’ Azriel observed, his prey only stared at his frozen arm. ‘I can do this all night and you’ll still live.’ Hopeful eyes shot up. ‘Until I get the truth out of you.’

The male tugged his hand back. A real scream tore from him, though it didn’t live very long in the shadows. With the nerves and sinew damaged, pain exploded down his arm even with the slightest movement. He pressed his fingers under the cut trying to numb himself. The bleeding began to slow. ‘Please,’ he rasped, ‘please. I haven’t done anything wrong.’

Azriel almost felt terrible. Almost. He gripped the blade again. He took all but one breath and his back collided with the cold wall. His wings thrashed and protested in pain.

Violet eyes glowered through dark night and shadows. Azriel snarled. Rhys shoved an arm against his chest pinning him in place.

Azriel looked over Rhys’s shoulder. The stalker had the wits not to scream again. He backed away from the two fighting for dominance, his gaze only on the blade still gleaming with his blood.

Rhys ordered, ‘Leave,’ but he didn’t trust his brother enough to look away.

Shadows barricading the exits thickened and closed in around them. The male didn’t move. For a brief moment, his eyes glazed over and then he took off. And, right before he broke through the wall, he stopped.

‘Leave.’ 

His body struggled against Rhys’s command. ‘She told me to,’ the male said, turning around. His eyes were only on Azriel. ‘She wa—She wants to know a—a—about that one.’

Azriel pushed at Rhys. ‘Let him talk.’

‘It’s not me.’

’Sh—’ The male continued, not caring for the words of the other two. ‘She’s waiting.’

‘Who?’ Azriel demanded. ‘Where is she?’

The male blinked. ‘She misses the sun,’ he sighed, removing the scarf from his neck and mindlessly wrapping it around his wound. ‘She misses life.’ He backed towards the exit and Azriel fought against Rhys’s hold. ‘She likes it here. It’s the only place the roses grow.’

‘Who?’ growled Azriel.

Rhys frowned, ‘There’s nothing in his mind. No memories. No thoughts.’

Azriel froze. It had happened before, only once. ‘The crown?’

Rhys returned his worried gaze, ‘No—’ 

The stranger broke through the veil, claws made of darkness reached for him. Startled cries filled the air, feet pattered on the cobblestones, wood and metal crashed on the ground.

Stop. Rhys’s voice took an edge in his mind, hardening with the High Lord’s power.

Shadows dispersed and became one with the night leaving an eerie calm behind.

Gone, the word echoed in his ear. Azriel shoved his brother off him. ‘You should’ve stayed out of this,’ he gritted his teeth, running his blood-stained hand through his hair. ‘I had him.’

‘That’s how far you’d have gotten with him. He wasn’t going to talk.’ 

Azriel steadied his breath. ‘You said he had no thoughts. What did you mean by that?’

‘I don’t know.’ Rhys frowned skyward. It was unlikely of him to admit it so openly. When he had no answer, he preferred silences and riddles. ‘He could speak. He was aware of what was done to him.’ 

Just another daemati then—however, adept at hiding even from the most powerful one to exist. 

‘You need to stay calm.’ Rhys stated with utter lethargy, although his effort to steer the conversation away didn’t go unnoticed.

Azriel scoffed, stepping around him. ‘That’s rich coming from you. Have you forgotten how “calm” you were when Feyre acted as your spy?’

Rhys pursed his lips.

The war revealed their worst parts to them. Breaking the Hybern soldiers wasn’t as yielding as they hoped it to be, but Azriel had been making progress. As days passed and Feyre’s return seemed precarious, Rhys grew tired of waiting. Night after night, he returned to Hewn City. He ignored every warning and tortured the prisoners himself; he didn’t invade their minds, he broke them, limb by limb. Had Azriel not stepped in, they would have been left with no one to interrogate.

Neither spoke of it again. It was a secret the two brothers shared. Only darkness recognised darkness.

‘It’s why I’m warning you. I can’t have my torturer go berserk on me.’ Rhys looked him up and down, his gaze softening, and with a snap of his fingers, the blood from Azriel’s hands vanished. ‘I understand you worry about Ayla—’

‘You understand nothing.’

‘—I have a mate too,’ he said softly. ‘I live with that fear too, Az. Everyday. Feyre and I—we’ve lost and found each other more than once.’

It was not the same; Rhys had a mate to lose. 

Pulling a rag from a pocket of shadow, Azriel wiped at the stains on the Truth-Teller instead. He breathed in the stench of blood clinging to the air. It seemed the only constant in his life; it calmed him even. It proved he wasn’t in the waiting. It proved he wasn’t hopeless, useless. He had done something.

‘Fine, what now? Do you intend to carve everyone who looks at her?’ 

Azriel cast a glance up and lifted a brow. He wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea.

Rhys slipped his hands into his pockets, the portrait of his usual cool. ‘You need to be stealthy. After all, you wouldn’t want her to learn of the bond this way.’ When Azriel’s eyes hardened, a smirk etched onto his face, smug that he had hit the right nerve. ‘That’s twice she’s been targeted now. We need to know what she’s hiding, and you’re the only one she may be inclined to trust.’

His instincts were right. It was for Ayla that the two had been so brotherly. Azriel growled, struggling to keep the bite from his words, ‘You want to use me against my mate?’

‘No,’ Rhys said slowly, ‘I want you to protect your mate. What occurred tonight will ensure whoever is after her knows she is not alone.’ Azriel shoved the dagger into its sheath rather harshly and made to walk past, but Rhys stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. ‘This isn’t about her, Az. You are bound to her.’

Every minute standing in that alley was a wasted moment to find that stalker or the mystery female. Azriel levelled a look at Rhys, ‘You didn’t follow me here out of concern for my mate.’

The hand slipped off him. Rhys poised himself, the softness marking his face and voice vanishing. ‘It’s quiet in the South. It doesn’t look like Tamlin is eager to revive his court anytime soon.’

Guilt filled him briefly, yet Azriel hid it well like everything else. ‘I’ll have someone look into it.’

Rhys frowned, ‘I want you to do it.’

‘My spies are capable of handling this.’

‘You will leave at dawn,’ continued Rhys, ignoring his words and glare, ‘Lucien should be in the mortal lands. Still, I’d suggest you stick to the shadows.’

Azriel stepped closer, ‘You want information,’ his voice as quiet and lethal as his shadows, ‘It doesn’t matter where it comes from.’

‘Need I remind you, shadowsinger, you are my spymaster.’

Dark power skittered over Azriel’s skin. Soothing and ravenous. The longer he resisted, the stronger it suffocated him, snuffing even his shadows out. His body strained against the urge to bow to his High Lord.

Through it all, the vision of that stranger in Pharus filled his mind—smiling at Raya, talking merrily with Uri. Had he run off to the bar again? Ayla was home that night, alone and unaware.

Had the male been instructed to only spy? Was he the only one sent after her? 

Azriel’s breath froze, his body grew cold.

Had they been invited into her home already?

Shadows cut through the star-speckled darkness and writhed around him. His wings flared. Rhys’s eyes glimmered with his power, Azriel snarled back and shot to the sky.

Next Chapter: Whore

[themculibrary]

Marvel Siblings Masterlist 2

part one

AJ And Cass

bedside manner (ao3) - writethewolvesaway G, 3k

Summary: “You okay, Cass?” he asks. 

“I-” Cass clutches at his water again. “I don’t really,” his voice cracks, “ I don’t really feel so good.”"

-

Cass falls sick when Bucky is watching him. And other things happen, kind of. That’s the main thing, though.

Find Our Way Home (ao3) - Lokinyan G, 15k

Summary: Bucky is invited to stay with the Wilson Family over Christmas.

letters we never sent (ao3) - MissAmyShay bucky/sarah G, 6k

Summary: Bucky likes Sarah. Sarah likes Bucky.

Cass and AJ think it’s time for their relationship to progress to a new level.

Scorpion Games (ao3) - Sholio T, 12k

Summary: Sam’s nephews have been taken by HYDRA. Zemo is getting them back. No matter what.

weekend at the wilson’s (ao3) - orphan_account bucky/sarah T, 3k

Summary: With her out of town, that meant that Bucky would be assigned her duties in her substitution. He’s watched the boys before but it’s never been for more than a few hours (considerably the reason for Sarah’s prior concerns.) But Bucky had siblings of his own and he knew how to tend to children’s needs. Cass and AJ weren’t even difficult children to begin with anyway, so he wasn’t worry about the end results of this weekend at all.

—

or bucky’s first weekend alone watching the boys.

Billy And Tommy

family is forever (ao3) - lady_romanov wanda/vision T, 35k

Summary: “So long, darling,” Vision says, as the walls of their house turn to dust, and Wanda watches as he disintegrates right from her hands, floating away in a cloud of gold as the real Westview reappears around her. Wanda’s empty hands fall back to her sides as she struggles to breathe evenly, and just as grief is starting to claw its way up her throat to choke her, she is startled by a voice behind her.

“Mom?”

(AU: Tommy and Billy survive.)

Perfect As You Are (ao3) - boopoopeedoo wanda/vision T, 4k

Summary: Wanda and Vision’s resolve to remain just friends is tested when Tommy and Billy rope Vision into rescuing Wanda from a bad date.

So Take Me Home (ao3) - wisteriafic wanda/vision T, 16k

Summary: Wanda and Vision, living a happy little life in the suburbs.

Zenith (ao3) - Cyan_Rain wanda/vision T, 61k

Summary: Billy and Tommy wake up miles from Westview, in a world that’s nothing like the idyllic life their mother made for them, a world still reeling from a bizarre mass disappearance and reappearance people are starting to call “The Blip.”

Six years later, there has been no sign of Wanda for so long she’s presumed dead. Her children decide it’s time to find answers.

Billy, Tommy, Vision, Doctor Strange, America Chavez, and Reed Richards follow a series of clues to another universe, to a variant Earth so different from their own it might as well be an alien planet, where they will face unknown dangers, strange mysteries, and possibly the Scarlet Witch.

Thor And Loki

All Through the Night (ao3) - gaslightgallows (hearts_blood) G, 832

Summary: Loki’s always had nightmares. Thor has always been a light sleeper.

Break (ao3) - kneelinganon (the_netherlady) G, 19k

Summary:

(Why didn’t you let me go?)

“Let me help you, brother.”

(Not your brother. Never your brother.)

“All things can be mended.”

(You are a fool.)

Grounded (fanfiction.net) - DearCassius G, 29k

Summary: Thor and Loki haven’t been getting along lately and it’s really wearing on Odin’s nerves. As a punishment, he sends them to Earth to attend a mortal school. But when a dangerous new threat arises, will they be able to learn the real value of brotherhood?

Shallow Grave (ao3) - takadainmate N/R, 5k

Summary: Thor finds Loki after his return to life. He’s been gone too long.

Set after The Mighty Thor 12 and before Exiled 01.

Gamora And Nebula

Flesh and Blood (ao3) - Marvelicious (Jayjaybe) T, 1k

Summary: She catches up to Nebula on one of the outer star systems; more precisely, a moon known only by letters and numbers, tucked into the atmosphere of a gas giant.

Port Previously Unknown (ao3) - Hecate N/R, 3k

Summary: Gamora still remembered her parents. Nebula hated her for that.

This Too Shall Last (ao3) - interabang T, 7k

Summary: Gamora through the years with each of her family members.

what we have is not a sisterhood (ao3) - Kierkegarden T, 4k

Summary: “I think your name is beautiful,” he continues, “Nebulae can come from the explosion of a dying star, but they can also mark the place where new stars begin.” “You’re my new star,” Nebula whispers back, and for the first time since he picked her up, she feels the sting of tears in her eyes. He reaches towards her, one giant thumb almost covering her face, as he gently wipes them away. A story of hope built in negative space.

Pietro And Wanda

Birthday (ao3) - MantaI305ApollosChariot G, 2k

Summary: Wanda and Pietro get some new markers for their fourth birthday. Unintentional mischief commences.

Moving Pictures (ao3) - red_starshine wanda/vision T, 30k

Summary: She doesn’t look right.

She’s the same age as Wanda, his twin sister, like the oppressive voice in Peter’s head keeps telling him, but her face is different. Close, but not quite there. He’d never seen his Wanda look this distraught.

Vigil (ao3) - AlphaFlyer T, 1k

Summary: Pietro and Wanda, waiting.

[havendance]

I’m back again with another fic rec list. This time with a baker’s dozen of excellent Batman fics of the hidden gen variety that I’ve dug up. Hopefully there’s something new for everyone on here. Check them out! Give them some love!

Boy Hostage by kuonji

2.5k, complete. A fun little piece showing each of the batboys getting in and out of getting kidnapped for ransom.

but I don’t own a single gun by Molly_Hats (@mollyhats)

1.1k, complete. DICK AND TIM! A conversation between them set at a vague point in the timeline in which various old wounds of the past get dug up.

Get Used to Dying, by papered_king (@paperedking)

1.6k, complete. A very neat character study for Jason that’s formatted as a script for a play and does and excellent job of utilizing it’s format.

It could be worse by Runespoor

2.8k, complete. A series of vignettes about alternate universes where it was somebody else that took Jason in instead of Bruce.

paradoxical sleep by brawltogethernow (@brawltogethernow)

4k, wip. A vibey and cool inception AU. I have never actually watched inception so I don’t know what’s going on half the time when I read this, but I do know that it’s a fun read!

Promises by RenaRoo (@renaroo)

33k, wip. A fix-it fic for Cass’s One Year Later/Evil!Cass arc. This one admittedly, has not been updated since 2018, but it is still very good and you all should read it! It’s got Cass & Tim! Cass interacting with the Birds of Prey! And it really does a great job of digging into her head and all of her raw emotions.

Rose Garden by batling_out_of_hell

6k, wip. In which Cass decides to rebel against Batman and take over the world in order to make sure that no one kills ever. A delight to read. The first chapter is a little slower to start, but chapter 2 onwards is rocking!

Ships and Schemes by Molly_Hats (@mollyhats)

1.3k, complete. A short and fun little fic where Oracle’s been running a misinformation op by harnessing Bruce Wayne/Batman Shippers.

The Fisher Prince by Arctic_Cyclist

3.4k, complete. Damian vs Poison Ivy during the Batman Reborn era. This fic has rich prose, cool lore, and Damian kicking ass through superior ecological praxis.

these crosses by mintchocochips (@mintchocochipsposts)

7.1k, complete. Post-No Man’s Land Helena Bertinelli character study my beloved! Also features a fun Tim & Helena scene for fellow fans of their dynamic.

There is no milk! by chucklesbuckles

2.1k, complete. A fic where Catherine is alive when Jason dies. The start of a Red Hood!Catherine AU, but hasn’t actually gotten to that part in the series yet. It does an excellent job at capturing Catherine’s grief. (Note: This fic is only available to read if you have an AO3 account)

They move and it's fire by Arctic_Cyclist

1.5k, complete. Dick and Damian doing gymnastics together and Damian being recognized as Talia’s son.

when the bodies hit the floor by nashequilibrium

7k, complete. A fun Steph & Damian teamup where they take on a ghost at a sleepover gone wrong with some really fun to read prose.

[somefanficrecomendations]

January Monthly Roundup

BATFAMILY

Three’s a Crowd (But I’m Here if You Are) by JUBE514 (Bernard Dowd/Tim Drake/Conner Kent) 20k, Identity Reveal, Fluff      Bernard pops the top off his water bottle, a roll of his wrist at the perfect angle and it comes right off, and pops the faucet in Tim’s very nice kitchen to cold. Tim presses a kiss to the back of Bernard’s neck before Tim moves to the fridge to get his own water.      Bernard used to not drink as much water, but Tim drinks enough water for three people a day so Bernard naturally has followed- and now Bernard has no acne so he’s sort of mad about it actually. “The main character has two hands.” Bernard chimes easy and teasing. “Polygamy is the awnser here babe.”      Tim peaks over the door of the fridge. “Oh? Is this you telling me something?” —      Tim Drake, Bernard Dowd, and Kon-El have two hands each. They use them to hold onto each other.

My Evil Twin From Another Universe by FabulaRasa (Hal Jordan/Bruce Wayne) 22k An interdimensional anomaly strands another version of Hal in this universe, and two Hal Jordans in one universe is several Hal Jordans too many.

this week in heroblr by UnidentifiedFroggy (multi) 22k, WIP, Social Media, okay im sorry y'all did SUPERBOY just say he's a tumblrina??? #SUPERBOY AS IN KON EL AS IN SUPERMANS CLONE #DIED IN THE CRISIS SUPERBOY #holy shit #superblr #heroblr - a viewpoint into tumblr as it might exist within my own exceedingly self-indulgent form of the dc universe, told through epistolary fashion in batfamily social media fic tradition. features heroes getting cancelled, takes of middling veracity, plenty of queerness both on heroblr and in the hero community, my self-indulgent ships, and something vaguely resembling plot and lore told obliquely through tumblr drama and outsider pov interpretations of superheroes

The Big Boss by Crowlows19 (gen) 4k, POV Outsider The story of Bruce Wayne and his family as told by his insane Wayne Enterprises calendar and the poor assistant that had to manage it all.

Batman for Dummies by Havendance (gen) 38k, No Man’s Land, Helena Bertinelli-centric In the aftermath of the quake that shook Gotham, Helena Bertinelli takes on the mantle of the Bat. (It isn’t like Batman’s using it.) If she’d known the cowl came with a certain moralizing little bird following her around — well, she probably still would’ve done it, but it would’ve been nice to know in advance. (Or: Tim and Helena team up 2: electric boogaloo. Now with more bats!)

Older Sibling Duty by Icestorm238 (gen) 2k, Batfam Names are important. The Bats tend to bypass their real names, however, in favour of increasingly dumb nicknames. The older sibling trio of Dick, Jason, and Cass are the primary instigators of this. After all, it is their duty.

AITAH For Tricking My Brother Into Drugging My Other Brother? by TaxiCabToSlowtown (gen) 1k, Social Media, Am I the Asshole? Okay, look, I know how that sounds, but hear me out. My (M, 19, "Fred") little brother (17, I’ll call him “Percy”) has problems. These problems stem a lot from the fact that his parents abandoned him for long periods of time as a kid and he didn’t have a proper upbringing. I should mention that Percy’s parents then are not the same as our parent(s) now. We’re both adopted, and I’m messed up too, I’ll admit it. Our Father (45, I’ll call him “Arthur”) had sort of turned his house into a home for kids with really traumatic families.

Welcome to the Family by ViiA01 (Hal Jordan/Bruce Wayne) 67k, WIP, Batfam Bruce’s children want to meet the man that their father deemed worthy of a smile. So they do, in the only way they know how. By breaking into people's houses and lurking in dark places. Bruce just wants his children to stop stalking Earth’s Green Lantern, if only because they're ruining his plans. And Hal? Well, Hal is convinced that Bruce has concocted a plot to get around his ‘no killing’ rule, by having his children stalk him until his heart gives out from the stress.

A Series of Unfortunately Timed Coming Out's by Queerbutstillhere (multi), 7k, Coming Out The batfamily had this gift.  This wonderful skill. They are such talented, brilliant, capable individuals. But they are absolutely horrendous at wisely timing coming out to their family members. These are their stories . Aka: "I love you all but could we stop coming out to each other during the middle of battles?"

Call to a Lonely Earth by Drag0nst0rm (gen), 7k, Angst, AU-17776 Fusion There are no children left in Gotham. Not until the multiverse spits one out right in front of Batman, at least.

buy the ticket, take the ride by Anonymous (gen), 13k, Vegas Tim had always figured that if he ever woke up in Vegas sans-memory, it would be when he was older than fourteen. But there were some things he couldn’t control, and apparently whatever had happened last night that he didn’t remember was one of them.

CROSSOVER

Keystone by Kalinjdra (gen), 26k, WIP, HPxDC Harry Potter double-checked his lists before sending off the letter to an unknown cousin. He hoped for maybe some money at least, he didn't expect to get a scary bodyguard brother instead. Jason Todd has never stopped searching for his real parents so when Tim offers solid information in exchange of taking care of some kid, he really doesn't have anything else to do but take it. No one really could have foretold what followed.