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after-witch · 6 months

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Eight Deadly Mistakes [Yandere Alastor x Reader]

Title: Eight Deadly Mistakes [Yandere Alastor x Reader]

Synopsis: You've made a lot of mistakes in Hell, but this one has to be the worst.

Birthday fic for @absolute-flaming-trash who is absolutely awesome!

word count: 1899ish

notes: yandere, abuse, obsessive behavior, humiliation, I'm joining the 'alastor yanks reader by a chain' club

Hell was full of mistakes, and you figured that yours amounted to a sizable chunk--particularly since meeting Alastor. Of the countless mistakes within that particular bucket, there were at least seven distinct mistakes that led you to this very moment.

One. It was a mistake to thank Alastor for holding the door open for you, the day you entered some run-down market in search of a book. Your voice had been surprised and sweet and ever-so-thankful.

Two. It was a mistake to let him strike up a conversation with you a few minutes later, and not pay attention to the horrified looks that even the most hardened patrons in the shop gave you.

Three. It was a mistake, later on, to think he was your friend; to believe that the shared meals, the late night discussions about music and books and little topics you’d forgotten you enjoyed, were a sign of pleasant companionship.

Four. It was a mistake to sell your soul to Alastor, after his honeyed offers of protection from the seedier elements of Hell, his casual assurance that your friendship would go unaltered.

Five. It was a mistake to move into the Hotel when Alastor asked, and not think there was some ulterior motive behind it all.

Six. It was a mistake to think Alastor was actually kind, just because he was helping Charlie with her hotel, and seemingly protected those within it.

Seven. It was a mistake to, on this day, ask Alastor if he would give your soul back, now that you’d decided to aim for heaven. Because you were friends, and he cared about you, and therefore, he should want what’s best for you--which is to get (you pardon yourself the phrase) the hell out of Hell.

Every one of these seven mistakes--the last, you must admit, being the most significant--led you to here.

To you, trembling on the floor, the tangy copper of blood in your mouth from where your teeth rattled against the end of your tongue when Alastor’s palpable anger made your knees literally buckle.

“I… I don’t understand,” you spit out, voice trembling as much as your body. “I thought--I thought you…” The words don’t need to be spoken for Alastor to know them.

I thought you liked me, I thought you were my friend, I thought you would be happy to do it.

“You thought what, exactly, my dear?”

A low electric current buzzed in the air, making the lights flicker once, twice, and again before he continued.

“That I would simply let you go?” He laughed, but there was nothing pleasant about the sound. It was full of mockery and something else, something metal and cold.

Your stomach squirmed awfully. It was not a feeling you’d ever experienced around Alastor, despite some other’s trepidation around him. He’d never given you a reason to feel that way.

Until today.

Until you asked Alastor to let your soul go, and the room seemed to fizz with electrical interference that left the lights sparking and

Your eyes went wide. And your brain, stupid thing that it was, pieced things together that you had been all too naively eager to ignore until now.

The stories of Alastor’s past that you’d heard in snatches and dismissed as jealous fantasy, probably all deriving from Vox and his ilk. The way people who knew Alastor from before his sabbatical tended to steer as clear of him as possible.

Or how Alastor always insisted you try the things he liked--clothes he left in your room (even before you told him where you lived, before the Hotel); music he insisted you’d admire more than your current collection of alt-rock CDs; foods that were tastier, he said, than your favorites.

“I didn’t think--” The words stuck to your mouth until you forced them out. “I didn’t think you’d be mad that I wanted to get better, repent and--and get out of here.”

Alastor, despite his smile, did not look impressed.

You didn’t have time to flinch as he swung his microphone down and out, pressing it against your throat.

“Don’t act surprised now. After all,” The microphone dug into the flesh of your neck, lifting your chin until you were looking at him through blurs of oncoming tears. He continued, voice softer, missing most of its usual radio sound. “You made me like this.”

You wanted to shake your head, but the microphone kept you only capable of looking up and straight at him. His smile made you sick.

“I didn’t do anything,” you said, voice light, but not quite naive anymore; you didn’t fully believe the words now, and your voice wavered.

Even if you didn’t mean to do anything to draw the attention of the radio demon, that didn’t mean Alastor wasn’t clearly--wasn’t clearly… affected by you. In some way that you didn’t understand; moreover, you didn’t want to understand it.

What you thought had been a surprising friendship made in the bowels of hell was something else entirely, and you hated the newfound knowledge.

Whatever it was that Alastor actually felt for you, it was dark and awful, like sprinkles of mold you find underneath the bathroom sink. Damp and rotting and unwanted.

“You,” he said, pressing the microphone harder into your throat for emphasis, “have been quite the busy bee when it comes to me, my dear.” He sighed in a way you’d heard him do a hundred times before. But now it feels wrong; sticky, oozing. “I’d never given much thought to… certain endeavors before you. And now I find myself distracted.”

His neck turned again, cracking, and a song began to play from somewhere.

“Distracted?” You asked, feeling sicker and sicker.

“Oh, yes,” he answered, dragging out the word. “Quite unlike me, if I must admit it. And yet there’s something about you that’s been making me…”

He didn’t finish. The song got louder, mingling in with the ambience of the room. It was almost soft and wistful, except for the lyrics that made your skin feel cold, repeating on a loop.

And you’re mine… mine… mine…

“And you thought…” His voice continued, each word punctuated by an awful radio crackle that made goosebumps blossom up your arms. “That you would get to simply leave me after all I’ve put into you?”

All he’s put into you.

The dresses, the food, the guidance on what to listen to and how to dance; who to talk to and who to avoid. Advice from a friend, you thought. Advice from someone stronger and maybe smarter.

“Well,” he said, almost cheery now, pulling the microphone away from your sore and probably bruising throat. “I trust you’ve learned your lesson and we can avoid this…” A crackle, short and low. “Unpleasantness in the future.”

You should have said that yes, you learned your lesson; yes, you won’t ask again. But you didn’t. Instead you swallowed hard, feeling the ache from where his microphone pressed in, and added an eighth mistake to your list.

“We can avoid it if you release me from my contract--if you give me back my soul.”

“Well,” he repeated. And this time, his voice was muffled by a brief, shrieking radio frequency. “Perhaps a reminder is in order.”

The reminder came with cold metal choking your throat; a vivid green chain led straight from your imprisoned neck to Alastor’s hand.

One trembling hand came up to feel the collar. It was real. It was there. And the chain, too, was solid and unbreakable.

It was a shocking sight.

You’d seen the chains of other owned souls before. Angel’s, in particular, when you’d accidentally witnessed an argument between him and Valentino. But there had never been a singular thought given to the fact that you, too, must have had chains. Alastor never showed them to you and until now, had never seen fit to remind you about your lack of freedom.

Until today.

Your surprise and fear made you stupid, and you tried to yank yourself away from him; he held fast to the chain and began to wind it around his hand, forcing you to look upwards, speaking all the while.

“You are never to ask me to release your contract again. And you are certainly never to even entertain the silly notion of leaving me, now or in the future. Do you understand?”

An awful, slimy feeling overtook your gut. He owned you, and he had owned you for some time. You just had been closing your eyes to that reality.

A reality that was now choking you.

“Well?”

You nodded. You didn’t think you could speak, not now. Not to him.

But it wasn’t good enough. He yanked on the chain, choking you.

“I don’t believe I heard you, dear.”

“Yes.” The word was spoken through gritted teeth. It tasted like tears.

“Yes what?” The grin on his smile widened deceptively as he yanked against the chain, jerking your head upward. It hurt inside and out.

It was so unfair, that your heart could hurt like this, even after you were dead.

“Yes, sir.”

That should have been the end of it. He should have let go of the chain and let you slink off in fear and shame, off to sob in your bedroom over the sudden turn of events.

Instead, he leaned down, and for a moment, his eyes glowed in a painful flash.

“You can do better than that, my dear, can’t you, to the person that owns your very soul?”

His hand wrapped around the chain, shortening it even further as he leaned in so close you could smell the rot around him. But it didn’t matter that you wanted to pull away from it, because he held you--literally, held the chains that kept you bound to him. Forever.

Yes, he owned your soul. He owned you.

“Yes, boss?” you murmured, copying what Husker sometimes said; you were unable to look at him anymore as humiliated, hot tears spilled down your cheeks.

In an instant, the chain was gone, and you fell to the ground with a clumsy thud. Your chin hit the hard floor before you could brace yourself with your hands.

“Wonderful,” he said, praising, almost cooing. His neck cracked to the side and you imagined his bones shifting in impossible ways to achieve it. “I suppose I should remind you who you belong to when you get out of sorts like this, my dear.” His smile widened. “A healthy reminder now and then is good for the soul!”

He laughed. Whether he thought it was a joke or not was unclear.

“Although, I hope I won’t have to remind you too soon. I do so enjoy your company more when you’re not being…” He waved his hand in the air, glancing up at the ceiling for effect. “Stubborn.” His eyes darted to you, accompanied by the faint sound of a radio hum. “Don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” you breathed out without hesitation, unable to stop shaking from your position on the floor.

“Good girl,” he said, patting the air above your head. You watched his footsteps until he paused at the threshold of the door. You heard his neck snap as he turned it back around--you didn’t dare look up to see.

“Don’t forget to tidy up before dinner. I’ve left a dress in your bedroom that I’m sure will look lovely on you.”

#yandere alastor #yandere hazbin hotel #yandere #alastor x reader #afterwitch writes #/

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runninriot · 2 months

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written for the @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'behind the scenes'

fun to be famous

wc: 1000 | rated: M | cw: language | tags: famous Corroded Coffin, musicians Jeff, Gareth and Frank, frontman Eddie Munson, model Steve Harrington, the 'struggles' and perks of being famous

Eddie hates photo shoots. Hates the clothes the stylist chose for him to wear. Hates having to pose like a soulless mannequin just to portray some bullshit cliché - surrounded by cheap props like fucking plastic skulls with red glowing eyes that look absolutely hideous. Really ruins the magic of the end result when you know what’s going on behind the scenes.

But he knows it’s part of the game, part of what makes people want to buy their albums, and merch, and come to their shows.

It’s a small price to pay, really, when put in perspective. Because what’s a few hours of being uncomfortable if in return, they get to live their fucking dream.

To be the rock stars they always wanted to be, playing sold-out shows in huge arenas, listening to massive crowds singing their songs back to them.

Still, he hates it.

Especially because they always put him upfront, always the centerpiece of every goddamn magazine cover, as if the other members don’t matter as much. It's stupid but his band mates never complain about it. And maybe he brought it upon himself for being a bit of an attention whore on stage.

It was never a conscious choice; he’s always just being himself. Sue him for looking damn fucking good in his mesh tops, and skin-tight leather pants. For loving to make the crowd go wild when he struts around with his pierced nipples out in the open, wearing a skirt that barely covers his best bits, and thigh-high boots.

He loves to be just a little extravagant and coquettishly playful when putting on a show.

That, and the fact that he's always been unashamedly open about his sexuality and his many hook-ups in the past, gave him a certain… reputation. And he’s completely fine with that, really, as long as the way they’re marketing said image doesn't take away from the really important stuff, which is and always has been the music.

They are good at what they do, all of them, didn’t become famous for nothing.

Jeff, Gareth and Frank are exceptionally gifted musicians. And Eddie doesn’t just say this because they’ve been his best friends forever. It’s a fact. And without them, Corroded Coffin wouldn’t be the band it is.

Eddie wouldn’t be who he is without them.

That’s why he wants to protest when the photographer suggests to do a few shots of just Eddie, to ‘give the people what they want.’, but his treacherous friends beat him to it, agree happily to step back and let them do their thing.

He’s told to sit down on some kind of makeshift throne like he’s the Dark Lord himself, while someone calls for someone else to ‘bring in the models’.

Eddie’s mouth falls open when he sees the two ravishing beauties that look like they’ve just tumbled out of a kinky fantasy. The girl is petite with big blue eyes and the cutest smile, her strawberry blond hair in a high ponytail, dressed in lace and leather, enhancing the perfect shape of her body. She’s gorgeous and totally his type, but-

It's the other model, the guy, who has Eddie's full attention. Because holy shit, that man’s a wet dream come true and for once, being in the spotlight doesn't seem so bad anymore.

Eddie thinks he might be in love.

The photographer is yelling instructions but Eddie can hardly hear what he's saying. He’s too distracted by the way the girl drapes herself lasciviously over the armrest on his left, making him feel hot all over with her closeness. And when the guy drops down to his knees in front of him, both hands on Eddie's thighs, looking up at him like he's a fucking God - Eddie forgets how to breathe.

He moves on autopilot, mindlessly following orders. Not once taking his eyes off the beautiful fucking good boy at is feet, thinking dirty rotten thoughts about all the things he'd do to him if this scenario was real and not just for reader-baiting purposes.

It all ends too soon. He could've done this for hours.

Eddie is in the dressing room when someone knocks at the door. And because he assumes it's one of his mates, he just calls for them to 'Come in!', unbothered by his state of undress, naked except for his underwear – nothing to hide once you've shared a tour bus so many times – standing with his back to the door, rummaging around in his suitcase for a fresh set of clothes.

"Sorry to bother you. I just wanted to as-ohmygod! I am so sorry! I didn't know you where-"

Eddie turns around so quickly it makes him dizzy, surprised to find not Gareth, or Frank, or Jeff but another a familiar set of eyes staring back at him.

It’s hot guy from earlier.

“You’re not a fan, huh?” Eddie asks with a cocky grin on his face, just a bit too proud of himself for how quickly he regained his composure. “Because if you were, you wouldn’t be so shocked to see me half-naked.” Eddie winks and pretty boy's face turns a deep cherry-red.

“No, I, uh, I mean, yes. I mean-,“ the guy struggles for words and it's so precious, Eddie wants to bite him.

“I wanted to ask you for an autograph.”

Oh please. Baby, you can have so much more.

“Tell you what, sweetheart. I’ll sign my name if you give me your number. How’s that sound?”

When Eddie reunites with his friends 30 minutes later, Gareth is immediately onto him.

“Please tell me you didn’t just fuck the model.”

“His name is Steve and you know what they say - what happens behind the scenes, stays there.”

“Literally no one says that. And you’re a slut.” Gareth laughs and Frank and Jeff agree.

They're not wrong, Eddie’s definitely a slut for Steve. And he can’t wait to meet him at the hotel room later to finish what they started.

#corrodedcoffinfest #writing prompt #corroded coffin #eddie munson #steve harrington

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 3 months

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the heist

the wistful wyvern, chapter five

a/n: HEIST TIME, BABYYYY!!

summary: eventually, after you thought the palace couldn’t unfold any further, you finally came upon the chamber that you sought.

warnings: knight!bucky barnes x knight!reader, fantasy AU (monsters, but not much magic), original fantasy world, ex-friends to lovers, coworkers to lovers, former fuckboy!bucky, tattooed!bucky, slow burn, one-sided pinning, forced proximity, ball, heist, kissing, violence, injuries, cliffhanger

word count: 3535

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With city walls high enough to shade the outer rim of the town, Ingorn, the capital of the southern kingdom, was notoriously operated under tight supervision. One could not simply wander in or out of the city, a key factor that had managed to worry you to the point that your stomach was still in knots long after you and Bucky had successfully blended in among everyone else and sneaked your way inside through the main gate.

The central castle towered behind you as you now found yourself tugged away in the shadows of one of the small alleys that made up the vibrant and bustling market. The stick in your grasp dragged through the dirt as you explained with the aid of your spontaneous battle map.

“…and then we slip out,” you moved the little pebbles you’d found to help the visualisation, “right under their noses,” Bucky’s eyes then flickered up from the map at your feet to flash you his slightly apprehensive expression, “it’ll be fine, we’ll be fine,” you tilted your head, “and if not, you know, the food on the inside isn’t as bad as people think.”

Tossing the stick, you then dragged your boot over the drawing to erase it.

“Alright,” you exhaled, “step one,” and cast your glance out the dim alleyway to the seamster across the street, “we gotta look the part in order to blend in.”

Seizing a goblet of wine as a waiter passed, “here,” you handed it off to Bucky beside you, who was visibly fighting every instinct in himself to not undo the tight top buttons of the black ensemble he now wore, “don’t actually drink it.”

As you both scanned the ballroom meticulously, you slinked your arm in his to blend in with all of the other couples at the party.

“So,” you murmured above the music, “we know the king has a copy of the key, as well as his head of security, Commander Abbot.”

“Which are both too risqué,” Bucky chimed in as his gaze checked in the opposite direction to you, “so we’ll have to go with the last option.”

“Crown Prince Callum,” you elaborated, only seeing drunken gambling and dancing duos for as far as your eye would take you.

“Mhm,” he hummed, then swiftly nudged your side lightly as he spotted the aforementioned royal, “purple dress shirt, to your left,” he subtly pointed him out for you, “the keys are on his belt.”

After slyly sneaking a peek at the royal standing further down, mid-conversation with a monocle-wearing gentleman, you let out a heavy sigh and tugged the neckline of your blue gown down further, “gods, why couldn’t you have been his type?”

But when you turned to grab the wine goblet out of Bucky’s grasp, he only bit down a laugh and winked, “good luck.”

Making your pace brisk, you neared the prince just as he began to turn. Clutching the full glass of burgundy wine in your hand, you purposely collided with the noble and spilt the drink all over his purple tunic.

“Oh gods,” you faked a gasp and stared down at the stain, “your highness! Please forgive me, I didn’t see where I was going, I–… I’m so sorry.”

The immediate anger that began to blossom on Prince Callum’s face withered and faded when his gaze did a double take as you bashfully batted your eyelashes at him.

As you swiftly grabbed a napkin from the nearby buffet table to hand off to him, he simply breathed, “ah, it’s–…” as his stare was too busy dropping to your cleavage to notice how yours dipped to the keys dangling from his belt, “it’s fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I mean, you can barely even notice the stain,” he glanced down at the faint mark, “so that’s lucky.”

“I’m still so sorry, I really should have been looking where I was going.”

After he let his stare linger even longer, the crown prince then blinked, “forgive me if this is too forward of me, but would you care for a dance?”

“A dance?” you faked a timid gasp, though the corners of your lips lifted as this was exactly the proximity you needed in order to steal the keys, “with you?”

“Yes,” he then leaned in closer to smugly whisper in your ear, “if you’re so sorry, then dance with me,” before floating back enough for his emerald eyes to capture yours.

Bending your knees slightly, you offered him a small curtsy and said, “it would be an honour, your grace.”

After he offered you his palm and you swiftly slid yours into it, he led you to the middle of the dancefloor. Snaking his grasp around your waist, he drew you in a little too close for what you were comfortable with, but exactly what you needed to get the job done.

“So, my lady,” he uttered as the pair of you began to sway to the music, “I don’t believe we’ve formally been acquainted.”

“Oh, I’m aware of who you are, your highness.”

“But I don’t know who you are,” he briefly twirled you an arm’s length away from him before whirling you back to him, “we haven’t met before. I’d surely remember a beauty such as you.”

“Lady Delphine of Cællimbe, your grace.”

“Ah,” his brows lifted with recognition, “so you must be one of Arthur’s daughters?”

“I am,” you lied.

“Forgive me, I’ve always had a hard time keeping track of all of his daughters,” a skill you knew even some members of that house in Cællimbe didn’t have, “but perhaps now’s the time I finally learn.”

As you let your eyes drift down to the keys dangling from his hip once more, you then uttered, “you know what I think you deserve,” you let your hand softly, yet suggestively, glide from his shoulder and down his frame, “after I so rudely spilt my drink on you?”

With a palm firm on your lower back, he dipped you down to the rhythm of the song. Staring back at you with bated breath, “what?” you knew he was hooked.

“A kiss,” you managed to whisper just before he crashed his lips against your own.

Running your palm further down his body, your fingers grazed the delicate loop the keys hung from just as he began to lift you up from the dip and press your frame closer against his. Letting your other hand wander, you tried to make your touch come off as just the same kind of attention he was giving you. You tried not to gag when his caress curved around your bottom and stole a swift squeeze. But just before he finally parted from the repulsive kiss, you snatched the small bundle away and hid it down your cleavage.

“Wow…” he breathed, eyes fluttering between each of yours, “that was–…” he speechlessly murmured as the song came to an end and everyone around you began to bow and curtsy to their partners, though the prince didn’t move an inch.

“Thank you for the dance, your highness,” you pulled away and offered him a small smile.

And as you turned to walk away, his voice found your ears once more as you weaved through the crowd, “will you grant me another one later? Perhaps in a more private quarters?”

Casting a glance back over your shoulder, you playfully answered, “how about you find me at midnight and get the answer then?” before you ducked out the open glass doors onto the broad balcony that stretched so wide it connected many of the chambers.

Rounding the corner, you wedged yourself into a little nook and momentarily let yourself melt against the stone wall, finally granting yourself a chance to shutter over what you’d just endured.

“Did you get it?” your eyes swiftly fluttered back open as Bucky’s low timbre washed over you, haven evidently kept a close eye and followed you out here.

“Of course, I got it,” you fished the keys out from between your boobs and handed them to him. As he slid them into his pocket, you swiftly leaned away from the wall to snatch up a drink from the tray balancing servant that hastily passed by. In an attempt at washing out the taste of the prince’s possessive kiss, you downed the sweet liquor as quickly as you could manage, “urgh,” you groaned, then noticed the amused expression plastered on Bucky’s features and grumbled before he could begin to tease you, “oh, shut up,” you watched him bite down on his grin, “let’s just go.”

Heading back inside, the two of you swiftly slipped down hallways and sneaked by a bunch of boozed-up guests, before your swift steps echoed softly on the staircases as you made your way deeper down into the gilded palace.

When you reached the basement, you quietly made your way down the long corridors. The torches hung sporadically along the walls were the only source of light, making the sudden passages that occasionally crossed the one you ventured down nearly come as a shock.

Suddenly, a pair of footsteps, not your own nor Bucky’s, found your ears.

And just as a shadow began to appear from around the corner, Bucky’s arm quickly wrapped around you as he dragged you into what he’d assumed was a chamber, but turned out to be a very tight broom closet.

The sound of the treads slowed as the door shut behind you. With Bucky’s burly body now firmly pressed up against yours, you scarcely breathed at all as you listened intently to the approaching footsteps. As torch light began to seep in from the crack beneath the door, your eyes found each other’s in the darkness.

Though as the handle began to twist, your partner reacted quickly and did the very last thing you thought he’d do in order to not blow your cover.

Grabbing a hold of your face, Bucky swiftly pulled you in and captured your lips just as the door swung open.

“Oi! You can’t be down here,” the guard bellowed and Bucky’s lips faded from yours just as swiftly as they had appeared, making the whole decoy feel like it had just been a dream.

Being quick to respond, Bucky glanced at the man and said, “sorry, just thought we could find somewhere private down here,” but your eyes were still too spellbound to tear away from his visage even as the ruse faded.

“Sir, just take it back upstairs,” he held the door and ushered you back out, “there are guest rooms a servant can point out for you if things get very dire,” before the guard then began to escort you back to a staircase leading up.

“Thank you,” Bucky said, his palm still scorching through the fabric of your dress on your waist as you conquered the lowest of the steps, leaning enough into the guard’s command for him to turn and go back to his post.

You stayed at the foot of the stairs a moment longer before the coast was clear once more.

Eventually, after you thought the palace couldn’t unfold any further, you finally came upon the chamber that you sought.

Around the corner from a short and curving stairway, there stood the entryway to where the massive vault lied. Before the solid door stood two guards, a layout you silently explained to your partner with a few hand motions.

With your spines pressed against the wall at the very bottom of the staircase, you wordlessly shared your plan before giving it a go.

Purposely stumbling down the last step, you glanced up at the guards and pretended to be incredibly intoxicated, “oh, hey,” you took a few wobbly steps towards them.

“Madam,” one of them perked up, “you’re not allowed to be down here.”

“Do you know where the bathroom is?” you slurred, “I think I might have taken a wrong turn,” before you reached out and leaned against the decorative vase standing tall at the edge of the chamber. As it began to wobble violently, one of the soldiers instinctively reacted and reached out to catch it before it smashed, “wow! I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” with their attention turned to you, you tried to twist their view away from the stairs where Bucky waited to sneak out from, “that last drink is just really getting to me, I think.”

Doubling over the vase, you pretended to heave. As one stepped even further away from his post to near you, the other one pipped up, “madam, you really should return to the party–, uh!” before Bucky appeared and his solid fist knocked him clean out.

Swiftly, you wrapped your limbs around the guard close to you, nearly climbing him like a monkey, as you slipped your arm around his throat and squeezed.

“Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep…” you murmured through your laboured breathes as the soldier slowly lost consciousness and tumbled to the floor, taking you down with him.

Offering you a hand, bucky helped you back up onto your feet. As he conjured the keys, your eyes fell upon the dark hellstone that made up the sturdy vault door. The intricate lock in the centre of the arched entrance wasn’t difficult to spot in the slightest as its opulence was on par with the rest of the palace’s decor.

When the corresponding key twisted and the vault door swung open with a heavy creak, your arm swiftly shot out to hold Bucky back before his boot could cross the threshold.

“Stop!” you nudged for him to glance down and spot the tripwire he nearly triggered, “this place is probably rigged with tons of traps…”

Carefully, you stepped over the wire, each one of your slow footfalls came accompanied by an anxious breath. Like a shadow, Bucky meticulously placed his feet exactly where yours had been.

Between the hoard of glimmering gold and sparkling gems, dazzling armour and secretive scrolls, there below a shiny shield lied a small chest, already cracked open to reveal the treasure within.

“There!” Bucky pointed for you to spot it as well. Safely tucked away in the narrow box were five coarsely textured eggs, all the size of honeydew melons. Crouching down before it, Bucky then closed the lid and seized it safely under his arm. Turning to you, he flashed you a bright smile, “we did it.”

But his victorious grin didn’t last long as his boot then shifted and stepped on what turned out to not just be another tile on the cool floor, but a pressure plate that clicked down from just a fraction of his weight.

From a cluster of small holes on the opposite wall, a dozen poisoned darts soared out, but thankfully, Bucky’s reflexes were sharper than his perception, as he swiftly tackled you both to the floor.

Treasures clanged around you from the crash as you blinked up and saw the small bolts fly above your heads.

“Are you okay?” one of his palms found your cheek as he hovered above you, eyes frantically scanning your features, “did you get–”

“I’m fine,” you swiftly stated before the approaching of rushed footsteps suddenly found your ears. Evidently, the clatter had been enough to alert your presence, “Buck,” you panted as the alarm hadn’t yet seeped into his soul, “we gotta move.”

After you scrambled to your feet and exited the vault, the warden at your side cast a glance your way before you began to run.

“You smuggled that dagger in with you, right?”

“Yep,” you breathed, as you bent down and grasped the fabrics of your skirt, giving it a suborn tug till it ripped a slit all the way up to the top of your thigh in order to grant you better mobility, but retroactively also revealing the hidden blade that was strapped to your leg, “let’s hope we won’t have to use it though.”

Running back the way you came, you managed to hide from the first wave of guards that came rushing down towards the vault, but when you rounded a corner and came upon three soldiers, everyone froze up for but a moment.

“Oh, no…” Bucky muttered before he raised his voice and tried, “uh, gentlemen, this isn’t what it looks like,” before he gave up and threw a punch at one of them.

Unsheathing your dagger, you tossed it into the thigh of one of the ones storming Bucky. With the chest still clutched under his arm, Bucky snatched up the weapon with a flourish and used it to his advantage.

The last in the trio rushed at you and swiftly wrestled you to the ground till you found yourself in a position you weren’t sure how you’d get out of. But then, your eyes flickered to the long leather bracelet ever glued around your wrist. Swiftly, you unfurled the improvised weapon and tangled it underneath the guard’s thick neck and tightened it so fiercely that the boulder of a man nearly turned blue in the face before he passed out.

As you pushed his heavy body off of you, you watched as the last of Bucky’s guys tumbled to the ground, both of them bleeding, though nothing fatal.

Getting to your feet, your gaze found your fellow warden's while you hastily wrapped the cord back around your wrist before your feet began to move once more.

Eventually, after you’d slipped out of the basement and raced higher up into the palace, you found yourself cornered with nowhere left to run. Every corridor you ran down had guards on the other end of it.

Ducking into a chamber that had a canopy bed so elegant that it nearly kissed the tall ceilings, you and Bucky worked together to push a polished wooden wardrobe against the door to block it off.

Your stare stayed glued to the only exit as your chest heaved with every breath, though Bucky’s didn’t linger as long, instead flickering to the windows right behind you.

“I’ve got an idea,” he uttered before unlatching the window and pushing it open.

Stepping closer, your gaze mimicked his and spotted the roofline below.

“Seriously?” you glared at him as heavy thumps began to echo at the barricaded door, “how far down is that?”

“Just don’t think about it,” he grabbed your hand and helped you up onto the windowsill, “it’s not like we got that many options,” his fingers laced with yours as he came to join you, “on three,” you stared down at the shingles below in horror, “one, two, three!”

And just as the cupboard scraped across the floor, the guards successfully barging the door down, the two of you jumped. Getting the wind thoroughly knocked out of you, the pair of you crashed onto the roof in a bruising tumble.

Thankfully, though your body throbbed from the fall, nothing seemed broken as you helped each other to your feet and began to sprint across the rooftops and jump over gaps between buildings towards the pending city walls.

And with one last leap, you reached the parapet. Helping him down the wall first, Bucky then promised to catch you as you hesitated the steep climb.

You felt like sitting ducks as you sprinted across the open fields surrounding the city. Lungs burning from how long you’d been running, you saw the main gate roll up and let out a hoard of soldiers, all on horseback.

The lights in a few of the watchtowers flickered as you passed them, and before you knew it, arrows began to fly, only narrowly missing your heads.

A plan then stuck your partner as he pushed the chest into your arms and urged you to keep running in the same direction while he curved off in a reckless attempt at leading the enemies away.

Though you knew it was too dangerous, he darted off before you could stop him, only glancing back to tell you to meet him behind the small cluster of pine trees that shot up further down the meadow.

Tears began to prick the corners of your eyes as you soon heaved to regain your breath and the pine needles pricked your spine. Whipping your head around, Bucky was nowhere within your sight, even as your breathing began to grow steady.

And just as paralysing thoughts of his demise settled within your mind, his silhouette suddenly appeared from around a tall shrub.

Unable to stop yourself, you ran into each other’s arms.

“That was so stupid,” you sniffled against his shoulder as you clung onto him like you never had before.

Seizing your face, he gently tilted it back enough for him to flash you a cocky smirk, “worked though,” as he wiped your cheeks dry.

Blinking up into his eyes, the moonlight nearly made them sparkle as fiercely as the palm-sized gemstones you’d spotted in the vault.

Then, just as victory washed over the both of you, the soft smile that warmed Bucky’s features faulted as a breathless gasp of pain tumbled out of him.

Still faintly vibrating from its journey, an arrow suddenly jutted out of his left shoulder.

#lea’s writing #eflorr au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes hurt/comfort #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff

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yoonia · 26 days

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the bedroom hymns ● chapter xxiii

⟶ Chapter summary | He may not be the Prince Charming written in fairy tales, but in your eyes, he seems perfectly yours. Even with many secrets lying between you, a part of you insists to put faith in him, to trust him, even with your secrets. Besides, there is a good reason why fate answered your prayers by allowing you to meet him again, shouldn’t it?

chapter xxiii. serendipity-3

The sun has finally gone out. The bright sky is now painted in vibrant colours of blue, faded teal, and purple as dusk slowly melts into night. Up above, the stars are beginning to show their presence, looking like pixie dust spreading into the night.

Once the pixies welcomed Yoongi into their circle, he was sat down by the curious pixies to endure the same questioning as you had.

“Where did you come from?”

“How did you cross the border?”

“Is that a real sword? Is it heavy? Have you ever hurt anyone with it? Have you ever hurt yourself?”

“Your hair is so soft. What did you put in it?”

You had to hold back a smile while he went through it, yet your own curiosity rose when Yoongi visibly tensed and surprised when he heard Illyn asking, “Did you also walk past the fairy portal in the woods?”

It didn’t take long for the pixies to lose interest in Yoongi, however, as fireflies began to come out of their hiding once it grew dark and caught their attention. Seems like they have yet to run out of energy, even after playing the whole day and the entire afternoon, as they are now busy chasing the fireflies and slipping between the thickening white mist rising around the riverbank. The sound of their joyful giggles echoes through the evening as you join Yoongi on a stroll along the length of the river, spending the last hour that you have left before you have to run home.

The thought of having to say goodbye when you barely have enough time to share with Yoongi saddens you. Yet you try to make the best of it. You don’t even resist when Yoongi insists on holding your hand when he helps you jump across a small puddle, and you say nothing when he still keeps your hand in his as you slowly make your way back towards the elven town.

“It feels really peaceful here, doesn’t it?” you muse with a sigh as you look up beyond the canopy of leaves above your head, marvelling at the colours showing in the sky—colours you wouldn’t normally see back home—and the sparkle of stars now filling the sky.

Far ahead of you, just beyond the tree line, the elven town lights up. Golden lights emerge through the open windows, lanterns hanging from the houses and on the small roads illuminate the rest of the town, and each sparkle of light is reflected on the waterfall that gleams brighter in the night.

“Aren’t you afraid of the dark?” Yoongi asks, almost teasingly, “There is barely any light here, under the trees, and starlight can’t really reach us once we get deeper into the woods.”

You glance around, seeing the contrasting sight of the dark forest filled with nothing but unmoving shadows against the brightening town. Before, it would have been daunting for you to travel into these woods, when the only colours you’d see are the white mist crawling on the ground and the fog forming from your breath. But after the chilling darkness and the daunting sights you find during your previous trips, this kind of darkness doesn’t incite any uneasiness rushing through your skin.

The cold breeze doesn’t make you shiver. The cricket sounds echoing from the riverbanks, the faint night birdsong, and the echoes of the giggling and humming sounds of the pixies only give you a sense of calmness. Yoongi’s gentle hold on your hand and his warm presence make you feel secure enough to stare into the darkness and walk through it.

“No, I’m not afraid,” you simply answer him with a smile. “Compared to where I’ve been lately, this place feels more like heaven. And what should I worry about when I have you here with me?”

Yoongi lowers his eyes as he draws his bottom lip between his teeth. “Have you missed me while I was gone?”

“No. Not really,” the lie easily slips out of your lips, and the corners of his lips rise to a smile.

A deep chuckle escapes him, causing your heartbeat to trip. Air slowly leaves your lungs as he gently opens his eyes, showing you the deep gaze which haunts your thoughts whether you are in slumber or when you are awake. “You look pretty even when you lie,” he whispers with a low voice.

Turning away from him, you take a deep, long breath. You have no idea if the heat rising on your cheeks came from his words or the way he is looking at you. “You always speak as you please.”

“Yet I’m not the one who is lying,” he replies, and you can almost hear his smile before your eyes find him again. “That’s me saying that I don’t believe you. Not for one second.”

Your cheeks are flushed, his words become a spell that makes your heart race and your hope bloom like wildflowers. And then the feeling is made worse when you turn to face Yoongi, capturing the deep longing in his gaze which mirrors yours perfectly that your words begin to spill out. “And if I tell you that I missed you, what would you do?”

His chest rises with a sharp breath. The intense look in his gaze makes it hard for you to breathe and you cannot understand why. “I will cherish it,” he says, his voice sounding firm and sure that you find no reason to be doubtful. “The thought of you thinking about me in my absence brings me joy like no other.”

Your throat feels dry. Your heart feels like it is about to jump out of your chest the first chance it gets.

“Always so charming with your words.”

A ghost of a smile appears on his face, and then it is gone. “Yet none of it is a lie.”

“I believe you,” you whisper with a sigh, and you mean it. because you can see it—you can feel it—simply by looking into his eyes. For a moment, you find it hard to look away. You despise ever thinking about having to look at other things but his face, to even look away from his eyes that are sometimes more honest than his words.

But then the sound of wild giggles seems to be coming closer, the fluttering movements of the pixies entering the trees break the spell forming between you, and Yoongi is the one to give in first with a smile.

“Now, shall we enjoy the rest of the evening? Maybe see what they are up to now before I send you home?”

Home.

The thought of having to walk away from this place, from him, is eating you from the inside. Yet you try to push it down, silently hoping—praying—that this wouldn’t be the last evening that you would be spending with him.

“All right. Lead the way.”

Yoongi is left astonished at what is happening at this moment.

Right before his eyes, the pixies are dancing and singing together, giving the two of you a show in an opening they found in the middle of the forest. Here, the moonlight is shining brightly from above, as if creating a special stage for them to perform their little celebration. And you are standing right beside him, enjoying this view together with him, with your hand entwined with his and shoulder brushing against his as you gently sway to the song the pixies are singing.

He secretly steals a glance at your face without you realising it. He wants to commit this moment to his memory; the look of awe on your face as you watch the pixies dancing before you; your eyes that are glowing with amusement and pure joy; the delicate way your fingers seem to sink into his palm, as if they belong there.

For the first time after quite some time, Yoongi feels at ease. Perhaps being with you helps, feeling your presence nearby and the touch of your hand in his becoming his anchor.

For the past week, he felt as if his life was going out of control. But with you, he feels like everything is slowly falling into place, and he simply wants to hold on to everything before it slips away from his hold.

Smiling, Yoongi turns his attention back to the pixies. The song they are singing seems to rouse a peculiar sensation within him. It fills him with joy and—amusingly—raw pleasure that he had only ever felt from drinking the strongest ales created by the hands of the moon fairies of Emburn.

He shouldn’t be surprised to feel this kind of sensation simply by listening to the pixies’ tune. He has learned quite a lot about pixies after his previous journeys and his various close encounters with beings of their kind. Many may not have known this, but their magic dust isn’t the only thing that is special about the pixies. The song they sing, the tune and the words they hum, are said to be magical, acting like a spell to incite various sensations within other beings—mostly humans, as they are the most vulnerable beings against magic.

As he continues to watch their performance and feels as if he is no longer carrying unwanted weight on his shoulders, his troubles forgotten and feeling only hope blooming in his chest, Yoongi wonders if the song that they are singing is the kind of spell that only brings joy. The kind that often causes dream-like experiences for other beings like himself, and others like you.

Needing this escape, Yoongi allows himself to relish this feeling for a moment longer, to enjoy this moment with you, before he begins worrying about other matters.

One of which is trying to make things right with you, when his lack of presence as of late may have placed him a few steps behind from what he wanted to achieve by following you through the portals. All he wanted was to become closer, not to feel as if you were a world apart from him even when you are right beside him.

He wanted to win your trust, and perhaps one day, he can win your heart. But how would he be able to do so if he kept missing from your life whenever you needed him?

“Forgive me for not being able to join you during your previous trips. I had somewhere else to be, and not one of my excursions ever led me to your path.” Yoongi says as he walks beside you, continuing your stroll along the river once he can sense that your time here is slowly coming to an end.

You and Yoongi have left the pixies behind you, still enjoying their time partying in the forest with more and more other pixies joining in to form a bigger circle. The last time Yoongi turned to glance over his shoulder, the pixies’ dancing had become so intense that he began seeing golden dust sparkling all around them, their rapid dancing and the spells they were singing brought together magic pixie dust to illuminate the forest around them.

Those pixie dust have now scattered all over the gravelled pathway before him, as the wined pixie kept floating across to drop the magical dust to help light up the way, allowing the two of you to see clearly through the darkening woods.

Muted golden glow from the magic dust spreads all around him, the lights reflecting perfectly on your face that Yoongi cannot look away. In his eyes, you look as if you are walking among the stars, up there in the night sky, and he is floating with you like a shadow, protecting you from the night.

He has pictured this moment many times before, when he was walking down the royal garden or through the halls within the Imperial Palace, wishing that you were by his side. Wishing that he was spending time with you instead of with the bratty princess who was more than happy to play along with the Empress’ ploy in keeping him back home. Now that this is finally happening, it seems hard for his mind to accept that this is his reality and not just a figment of his imagination, his wishful thinking playing tricks on him to make him believe that this is real.

“I—wasn’t sure if I’d ever get to see you today, to be honest,” Yoongi painfully admits, while recalling how hard it was for him to escape from the palace today.

It was his own fault for getting him in such a situation, after all.

He shouldn’t have traded the dance that he wanted so badly to avoid with a promise. A promise that he regretted the moment he stepped into the royal garden, when he realised too late that he had made a deal with the wrong force.

What Yoongi had imagined to be a swift affair, a simple afternoon tea to appease the royal brat of a princess where all he had to do was sit and act nice while she gushed and gossiped about life within the empire, had turned out to be everything that was not.

The entire encounter had instead turned mostly peculiar.

Princess Celestyna has always worn the facade of a coy and almost naive and child-like, just like any other sheltered and spoiled princess he has ever met. But this afternoon, as she sat at the table set up for their little ‘date’, the princess had shed her entire facade and worn a new persona. Her presence emitted arrogance and an eerie calmness that made him feel uneasy. He was just about to call everything off when the princess dropped a bomb on him.

“I know that this is the last place you would rather be, Your Highness,” she said to him between taking dainty sips of her tea, with a gaze that carried a peculiar look to which Yoongi felt cautious. But then his blood ran cold when she added, “Do you know the real reason why I followed my father to visit your empire and meet the Empress? You’ve felt it, haven’t you? The air is changing. You cannot tell me you have no idea what, or who is causing it.”

Realisation dawned in Yoongi back then, just as everything that he noticed about the realm upon his return came back to him; the turbulence he felt welcoming him home in waves; the stillness in the air; and the imbalance of magic.

Before Yoongi could process things further, or inquire the princess about the secrets that she seemed to be offering him, he felt the ripple of magic rising at the back of his mind. It was subtle enough so that he knew he would be the only one who could feel it, and he immediately knew that it was the moment you stepped into a portal.

Yoongi was caught between staying, accepting the princess’s olive branch, and the fear of losing the chance to see you again, so for a moment, he nearly faltered. But his wish to see you again prevailed. He felt your presence calling for him, pulling at his soul, and it gave him the willpower to walk away and race through the portal to catch up with you.

“You won’t be able to keep running, Your Highness,” the princess called out to him just as Yoongi began to walk away, “You can try to avoid me as much as you want to or deny what must happen for as long as you can, but you must know that you won’t be able to change anything.”

Yoongi shakes his head, shaking away the memory of the unpleasant encounter from his mind. He hates that even now, when he is supposed to be enjoying his time with you, that second princess of the Kosha Empire still dares to invade his mind—just like how she has been trying to invade his entire life.

“It wasn’t easy, and I debated if I should risk making this trip at the last minute, when I still had my duties ahead of me,” he says with a grim smile on his face as the memory of Princess Celestyna’s cunning smile comes and goes. “But in the end, I am glad that I chose to listen to my gut and risk everything for a chance to see you again.”

The smile that you give him alleviates his guilt. Only slightly.

But it is still the same smile that he has been longing to see. So much so that he has been seeing it in his dreams that he suddenly feels the urge to pinch himself just to make sure that this isn’t another dream, taunting him with your presence only to take you away from him so soon.

“And here you are, right when I was just wondering if I should walk away sooner than planned,” you respond to him, much to his relief. A part of him was expecting to see your growing distrust of him, and yet your words hold no adversity in them that it makes him feel almost undeserving of your kindness.

“I am beginning to believe this matter of fate that you spoke of so often, seeing that you were able to find me despite how busy you’ve been.” A soft chuckle slips out of your lips. “I’m amazed that you managed to find me at all.”

Pain pierces through him as he returns your smile. He feels bitter about the fact that he had been the one who spoke of fate intertwining your lives together and yet has become the one defying fate itself. He cannot stop feeling as if he has failed you, and he knows that this feeling will continue to haunt him each time he remembers the disappointed look in your eyes looking back at him.

And he knows that he will disappoint you further by not being able to share his secrets, even if only to answer your curiosity.

“Is it another mercenary work that’s been keeping you away?” you innocently question him, and Yoongi can only bite back his tongue. In a way, it wouldn’t be too off the mark, since he did use his mercenary work as an excuse to stay out of the imperial palace from time to time, or when he needed a break from the Empress’ plot of keeping him close to their royal guests.

It was safer for him to use the mercenary army as an excuse rather than using the magic portals, with the chances of having the Empress planting an eye around him.

“Perhaps,” he sighs, “you can say that.” He hates not being able to tell you the truth, but he also has no way of confessing that his lack of presence in your expeditions has been caused by another. With a tight smile on his face, Yoongi turns to ask you, “Have you been travelling well lately?”

For a moment, you look quite reluctant to answer. At first, Yoongi simply takes it as your hesitance about sharing the secrets behind the magic that you are using. But instead, you choose to share something completely unexpected.

“Not that much, actually. I have been—unwell,” you slowly admit. “After the last time we met in Grimm, I was left bedridden for quite a while.”

His brows rise. “How so?” he asks, feeling uneasy.

Pressing your lips together, you shrug at him. “It seems that I have been using up my mana due to my travelling.”

“Do you mean to say that your means of travel has been draining your mana?” Yoongi asks. His surprise almost caused him to make a slip-up, to show you that he knows by which way you have been travelling to different places.

Thankfully, you don’t seem to notice it as you continue walking. “It may seem so”—a touch of a smile flickers on your face—”although it is just a personal assumption that I made up, seeing that it happened after I came back from travelling.” You stop for a moment, thinking. “Actually, now that I think about it, this kind of exhaustion only happened when I went across to places within Far Far Away.”

Yoongi falls silent as he ponders over this. He cannot figure out why the same magic that empowers him—and one that he has learned to understand and control since he was just a young boy—would be reacting differently towards you. While this explains the reason behind your recent absence, he cannot say that he takes any pleasure in knowing.

Perhaps it would have been better to hear that you had encountered something else getting in the way of you using the portals. Anything else but having your well-being and your safety having been compromised to be the reason for it.

“You never felt the same when you were travelling back to Smotia?”

You consider it for a moment before shaking your head. “Hmmm, I don’t recall that I have. I always felt tired, but it wasn’t as bad as it has been lately.” You stop, furrowing your brows, before turning to him. “Do you think—”

“What?”

Gnawing your lips, you shake your head gently before sharing your thoughts. “It’s just something that I thought of,” you begin to say, still hesitant. “What if, the—magic that I’m using to travel is feeding off my mana?” You turn to him. “Can something like that happen?”

“You mean, it’s using your mana like fuel?” Yoongi asks, raising his brows.

You slowly nod. “Like what oil does to a lamp, or food to humans.”

Humming to himself, Yoongi recalls everything that he has learned about the magic portals. To think of any possible side effects or the possibility of it not taking its powers from the moon—as expected of these types of portals—but from its user instead. Yet he comes up with nothing. Because nothing similar to this has ever happened. Not to him, and certainly not to the Emperor, who used to travel merely through the portals to deal with the empire’s business.

But the truth is, he simply never heard of it.

A random thought suddenly crosses Yoongi’s mind just then.

“In theory, it can happen,” he cautiously says, just as he remembers something that he once learned about magic.

Any form of magic requires a price. A sacrifice is needed to be made to pay for any magic that is pulled out of the realm, used and cast by whoever is summoning them. For the type of magic as strong as the fairy portals, a sacrifice must be made. The Ancient moon fairies, however, had found a way to resolve this.

By borrowing power from the moon, the fairies obtaining the skill to create, open, and use the portals would no longer need to sacrifice a thing. Only to then repay all the powers lent to them by the moon by celebrating the rites during the Runea Luna Eve. This is how it’s been done for centuries, until Yoongi was given the keys to the magic portals.

But could this really be the reason?

Yoongi wonders as he looks at you. Since you are not a fairy such as himself, nor you were born with a fairy blood or a direct connection to the moon, using the magic which belonged to his kind may require you to pay for it with something else. Something valuable.

Your mana. A piece of your heart. Your—lifespan.

Yoongi fists his hands by his side. “Have you talked about this with anyone else?”

“Well, yes.” The crease between your brows deepens, and then you mutter, “Okay, maybe not.” A beat of silence passes, before you correct yourself, “Not really.”

Yoongi says nothing, only that he knows now that you have yet to share your secret with anyone else. No one knows about her using the portals, he muses, surprised with what he just learned. He shouldn’t feel relieved about it, since that only means that you have no one by your side to guide you through it.

But if you still have nobody to talk to about this, if you are still keeping this a secret, then this means he can use this to strengthen the bond he has with you. To gain your trust that has become so fragile from his own doing.

Cocking your head, you innocently ask him, “What are you thinking?”

Yoongi grabs your hand instead of answering directly. He still has to work on finding out the truth about this side-effect before slowly revealing the truth about the portal—that he knows more about it than he is letting on, and that he and his family are the ones behind it. He needs to make sure that you trust him enough before he can.

Because revealing the origin of the portal you are using might risk him losing your trust. It might risk him losing the only link he has to the Wicked King.

“I’m just wondering,” he says, as he begins rubbing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb, drawing shivers through your skin, “you mentioned before that this is all new for you. That you are still getting used to your new life in Far Far Away.”

He stops to wait until you respond with a nod before he continues, “Even without having to use magic, travelling within this realm itself can be draining, and you still can’t fully access your magic to begin with.” Looking down at the ground covered in pixie dust, Yoongi points at the glowing lights. “Take a look at how the scattered magic dust is covering the dark, hard ground beneath. Look at it as the realm we are standing in.”

You turn to look at the sparkling magic dust and keep your eyes on it while Yoongi keeps speaking, “There are layers and layers of mana in this realm which—depending on which part of the land you are—may require different levels of mana within yourself to withstand it. For you to be able to ride the energy flow that is present all around you when you are stepping into a new territory.”

Yoongi smiles as he senses you growing more at ease, and that you seem to understand what he is trying to say. “With your magic still restrained, you haven’t been able to put your raw mana to use. At the very least, not in its full potential.”

Your gaze finds his after hearing this, which encourages Yoongi to continue, “So it’s quite possible that your body was weakened due to the insufficient amount of mana you had to boost the power of the magic. And it if had instead begun to feed on your life energy, that might explain why you experience fatigue and why it took longer for your mana to recover.”

An understanding look fills your eyes. “That would make sense,” you mutter softly, and Yoongi can almost hear the wheels in your head turning. He can hear the questions that you have before you even think of voicing them out loud. He knows that—despite your lack of experience with magic—you are smart enough to understand things quickly.

Right when you are about to speak, to question him further—to force him to tell you everything about the portals—Yoongi cuts you off with his own question, “What about your latest trips? I thought you said you had been going back to back while I was away? How are you feeling now?”

Finding out that you are experiencing some side effects from the portals made him feel wary, and it worries him more when he thinks about the constant waves of magic reaching out to him and he was never there. “You know, some people might think that it would be better to avoid anything that was harmful to them,” he tries to joke, “and yet you decided to jump right back into it again the moment you had the chance.”

A grin lifts on the corner of your lips. “You got me,” you softly laugh. “I suppose my curiosity got the better of me. In a way, I wanted to test my theory, and—” You stop for a moment as you recall the past few days—the days that Yoongi would have loved to hear more about in detail—and then shrug a little. “You can say that the circumstances made it hard for me to avoid going on those trips.”

Your gaze flicks back to him. “I might say that fate pointed out the way and I simply followed.” Yoongi returns your smile. “But things are different now.”

“Different? In what way?”

You make a humming sound as you answer, “I’ve been training. Someone—one of my guardians—offered to help me practice controlling my mana, even if I can’t really use it to expel magic.” Yoongi cannot help but smile as you share this. He loves seeing how proud you look, simply from thinking about what you have achieved on your own. The look of excitement for overcoming a challenge and getting yourself ready to try facing another.

“Do you think your training has been helping you, seeing that you are doing quite alright now even after—how busy you’ve been?”

“I’m not quite sure, really,” you admit with a nervous smile, “That’s also why I’ve been waiting to see you. What do you think? Do you reckon my progress may have anything to do with how I’m not sick right now?”

Yoongi considers the option for a moment before nodding. “It might,” he cautiously says, “By having control of your mana, you might have been able to inadvertently prevent your mana from being drained completely while you had your expeditions.”

This answer seems to please you. “Of course, I am not an expert in this type of magic,” he quickly says before you get your hopes up. And it is not a complete lie, as there are real experts back home at Emburn who study this old magic properly that would know better than he does now. And he quickly makes it his mission to find them once he returns. ”I can try and help you look for answers if that can help you.”

Your smile widens. And he suddenly feels like his chest is too tight for his beating heart. “Would you do that for me?” you ask, to which he feels his knees weakening beneath him that he comes to a halt, bringing you close to him as he pulls you gently towards him.

“Anything, little dove,” he murmurs as he gently leans closer. “Even if only to make up for my recent absence and the days that went on without us being able to enjoy our time like this.”

Yoongi is so close. You are so close that he can breathe in the scent of your shampoo and the soft fragrance that you might have dropped onto the curves of your neckline this morning—something sweet and floral and maddeningly luscious—that his entire body grows warm. Before he can stop himself, his hand rises, fingers gently sweeping back some stray strands of hair that keep escaping to your cheek, and your face flushes.

Clearing your throat, you lower your gaze with a bashful smile. “Speaking of places with mana,” you softly speak, a hint of shyness flutters in your voice which pleases him dearly when you ask, “Have you been to a place called Aeris?”

Swallowing hard, Yoongi tries to calm his expression when he answers. “I’ve been there many times. Some of the merchants and barons that have hired me are those who deal with businesses in both realms, that’s why I frequently go to marketplaces like Narlès and Aeris.” He inclines his head. “Why do you ask?”

“Have you been there recently?” you question him, gnawing your lips as if you aren’t sure to ask.

“Not that I recall, no. I’ve been going to places where people were dealing with various crisis, and I have yet to visit any marketplaces lately.”

You try to hide it, but Yoongi can see a hint of disappointment in your eyes. “I see.”

Yoongi falls silent instead of questioning further. Because he knows why you would ask him about Aeris.

He was unable to leave the Imperial Palace when he felt you visiting the Mage City, so he had to send out the only one he trusted to go in his place and watch over you, making sure that you were safe. Yet it seems that Yijeong has failed to report back to him to let him know that you had caught him, or perhaps felt his presence while shadowing you through the city.

That fool.

Swallowing a frustrated groan, Yoongi reminds himself to be grateful. Despite his recklessness and his lack of trust in you, Yijeong has been there when Yoongi couldn’t. His loyal friend has continued volunteering to take his place, jumping into the magic portal whenever the ripples came calling for Yoongi to follow, all to be able to watch over you and keep you safe while Yoongi was stuck in the Empress’ little ploy.

From the mage city of Aeris to the legendary E’l Alora, the ancient place that is no longer shown on any kind of map, and then to the fallen city of Arselon, where mortals are no longer welcomed after they became casualties of war.

Yoongi cannot imagine what kind of adventures you have been to. Not even Yijeong’s reports were adequate in letting him know what you’ve learned from these expeditions of yours. How much he wishes to be there to witness it. And how inadequate it makes him feel to realise how much he has missed.

“The next time we meet again,” Yoongi gently says, “Tell me everything about your latest journey.”

The smile you give him holds hope and promise. “As long as you share me yours.”

As soon as you’ve made it across the bridge with Yoongi, you come to a halt, hesitant to continue.

You can feel it from a distance; the ripples of magic coming out of the portal, waiting for your return, hidden deep between the trees.

Silently, you wonder if Yoongi can feel it too. For some reason, you know that he can feel it, but he chooses not to show it. Not to say anything. Respecting your need to hold your secret just a bit longer until you can trust him completely with it.

Judging from the way he isn’t making any move to continue, he is respecting your choice by not following you through the woods unless you allow him to.

But keeping your secret and preventing him from following you to find the opened portal is the least of your concerns at this moment. You hate having to say goodbye so soon when you just met him again. Your time together has been too short, you feel like it wasn’t enough.

Yoongi tilts his head, noticing your silence. “Is there something wrong?” he asks, as if he can sense you having an inner battle in your silence.

“I don’t want to say goodbye so soon,” you admit with a quiet whisper.

“Then don’t,” Yoongi says, smiling. “Don’t say goodbye. Not when we’re going to see each other again.”

“Is that true? Will we be able to see each other again?” You cannot help but ask, “I’ve believed that we would, but—”

Taking your hand in his, Yoongi gives it a gentle squeeze. “I promise, whenever you make the jump to travel somewhere, to a new place across the realm or even towards the next realm, I’ll come running to you,” he says with a firm voice, only that you are too afraid to believe him, to hope, after being disappointed the last few times you went and never found yourself crossing paths with him.

“Don’t say such promises as if it is something that you are capable of doing,” you whisper bitterly, looking away.

Still keeping a gentle hold of your hand, Yoongi tilts your chin up with his other hand, bringing your gaze back to him. “As I’ve told you many times before, little dove. I wouldn’t dare make a promise that I’m not sure I can keep,” he whispers as he plays with a few stray strands of your hair before tucking them behind your ear. Just like before, when he did the same and the tips of his fingers brushed lightly against your cheek, your body shudders. Your skin grows hot, and you sway on your feet, your body leaning towards him to feel more.

Your eyes flutter to close as you embrace this feeling, yet you quickly open them again, resisting, only so you can look at him longer. But then his face comes closer, almost as if he is leaning for a kiss. “Can you keep that promise?” you force yourself to ask, even when your voice comes out small, almost breathless. “Can you really find a way to know where I am the next time I walk across the realm and be there when I make the jump?”

Yoongi says nothing at first. But the intense way he is looking at you, with no words, only with a gaze that seems tortured, as if he is pained for not being able to say much seems to speak louder than his words would.

“How? How would you be able to do such a thing?”

Instead of answering you, Yoongi only smiles. “Why don’t we make a little deal, you and me?” Yoongi offers instead, “I will tell you the next time we see each other again. Better yet, each time we meet again, I will share with you one secret of mine for you to keep. Something more about myself.”

Sucking a deep breath, you try to calm the flutter building in your chest. And fail. “Promise?” Your voice comes out in a whisper. “And I—” You continue, feeling your throat tightening when you think about all the things you can offer to make this fair. You want to give something back. A piece of you to every piece of himself that he is willing to give you.

Bringing your hand up, you offer him your pinky finger. “Then I’ll share something about myself too when we see each other again.”

Looking up close, Yoongi’s eyes seem to sparkle. Intrigued and pleased, Yoongi’s smile deepens as he entwines his pinky finger around yours and murmurs, “It’s a promise.”

Neither of you makes a move to separate, remaining in this position just a bit longer, staying close with his eyes staring deeply into yours. For a moment, you wonder if he is going to kiss you, as he slowly bends down, his face growing closer, until he suddenly stops with a hesitant smile. “Until we meet again,” he says instead, kissing the back of your hand.

You are filled with a mix of emotions, yet the touch of his lips on your skin makes your heart flutter, soaring with hope.

“Remember,” he whispers, “All you need to do is jump, and I’ll come running to you.”

Despite everything, you know deep down that you can hold onto this promise. You want to believe him, and that is exactly what you say to him in the end before you finally decide to part ways just beyond the last line of trees.

“Will you be okay crossing the woods on your own?” Yoongi asks, still reluctant to let you go into the woods.

“I have my dagger with me, and I know how to defend myself,” you reassure him, and his gaze flickers with knowing, believing that you are telling him the truth. “If all fails, I’ll scream for help.”

Yoongi softly laughs. “I’ll be here,” he says, as he slides his hands into his pockets, as if he is doing so to hold back from reaching out to you. “At least until you make it across.”

You leave him standing by the bridge as you trudge into the thickets, his warm smile becomes the last thing you see when you look over your shoulder one last time, before slipping deeper into the woods and entering the magic portal waiting to take you home. You close your eyes for a brief moment when the magic engulfs you, pulling you through the space in between before you arrive back home. The force of the magic is so strong, that you barely feel it when another ripple of magic follows your departure, coming from somewhere nearby, right before the magic door closes behind you.

The moment you open your eyes again, you are standing in the middle of the quiet corridor back in Stargrave. There is an emptiness in your chest as you walk further away from the ghostly feeling of the magic portal slowly waning behind you as you slowly make your way back to your bedchamber, yet you find no reason to feel any sorrow as you stroll down the empty hallways and into your silent quarter.

Because you've arrived back home not all empty-handed. Not when you have the warmth of a promise filling your heart, the ghost of Yoongi’s touch lingering in your palm, and five pouches of pixie dust in the pocket of your dress.

The day after your last trip, where you got to visit the home of elves and pixies, you remain in the castle instead of allowing your curiosity to take you away once again.

Your father’s keys are secured safely in one of the drawers inside your bedchamber. Out of sight, though not entirely out of mind.

“Take a day off from travelling, especially since you’ve been travelling more frequently as of late,” Yoongi had suggested yesterday, right before you parted ways, right after you made him so obviously worry about your well-being after you shared your recent predicament.

And you have chosen to follow his advice. To preserve your energy and mana until the next time you will be needing it again. Until the next time you see him again.

“And where will you be while I’m gone? Back to your mercenary business?”

Yoongi had given you a tight smile when you asked. Yet his eyes were filled with resolve when he answered, “Perhaps I shall handle my business to make sure they will no longer be in the way of me catching up to you.”

With no plans on escaping the confines of the castle, you spend your afternoon at the terrace on Nanny Abigail’s quarter for some afternoon tea with your governess. It has been a while since you spent some time with her without any agenda hidden under your sleeves—or hers.

Being here also means keeping you away from any possibility of you straying down vacant hallways in the castle and finding cryptic doors with humming spells enchanting you to open.

“It’s quite remarkable to think that on the same day you spent the hour of your dancing lesson stubbing your toes one too many times, you spent the rest of the afternoon sparring with the knights,” Nanny Abigail lifts her eyes from her tea and runs her gaze on your body, perusing briefly before commenting, “and without any injuries on your skin.”

You look up, forcing a smile as you resist the urge to admit that you did gain some injuries. But you choose not to say anything, lest you are to be forced to explain everything. Or worse, to risk causing an innocent royal knight to take the blame.

“How did you find out?” You ask her instead while keeping your voice calm.

Nanny Abigail presses her lips together. A look of displeasure is written all over her face. “Words travel fast in this place. The maids here keep curious eyes on the Princess who had been kept away from the only home she ever knew and is struggling to adjust in this new place,” she says with a wistful tone of voice, as if she has grown tired of the gossips, until she adds, “And those words always come back to me.”

“No wonder I felt like I was constantly being watched.” With an exaggerated sigh, you shake your head and mutter, “And here I thought it was all you.”

Eyebrows raised, Nanny Abigail looks at you with an unamused look on her face. “You think I planted a spy on you?”

You give her a sly grin as you shrug. “Wouldn’t be too surprised if you had. You’ve always seemed to have many eyes looking at me even when you are not around.”

Your governess narrows her eyes at you as she murmurs almost to herself, “Perhaps it’s time I should put a spy on you to make sure you behave like a princess for once.”

The bitter way she says it only makes you laugh, which draws a smile to her face. A fleeting sight to see, that you almost believe you are imagining things, until you hear the sound of her soft chuckle, laughing at her own joke. She expertly hides it behind her cup of tea, keeping her poise as always.

“May I ask you something?” you carefully ask her when a thought comes through your mind. Something has been weighing in your mind lately, and seeing that your governess seems to be in a light mood—enough for her to joke around with you—you figure this might as well be the right time to bring this up.

Nanny Abigail lifts her eyebrows and hums. “I don’t suppose it will stop you from trying if I refuse.”

You roll your eyes. “Glad to know you think so highly of me,” you tease, once again drawing a small smile from her. You take a deep breath before asking, “How well did you know my mother?”

At the mention of your mother, Nanny Abigail’s shoulders grow stiff. She quickly recovers and straightens up as she slowly lowers her cup. She clears her throat before answering, “Well enough to see parts of her in you each time I’m looking at you. It’s like seeing a reflection of her when I look at your face, or listen to you speak.”

Her gaze finds you. The joy in her eyes dims and softens when a smile comes to her face. A smile that is filled with melancholy and a familiar sense of longing. “Might be why it doesn’t surprise me when you are always up to something whenever no one is looking.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Nanny Abigail sighs. “The Queen, your mother, has always been just as mischievous as you are. She has always been like that since she was a child. Always so curious, always questioning and looking for answers, even if it’s the most impossible ones to find.”

You cannot help but smile as you hear this. “How did that go with my father?”

“His Majesty was always worried about her, but what can he do?” she says, waving her hand dismissively. “Not even the most strict rules can stop her from going out to see the world.”

Your back straightens. You have learned from Lord Gordan that you may have some similarities with your mother. You never expected to even share this with her. “She was a traveller.”

Nanny Abigail looks at you, smiling. “And a scholar,” she adds. “That was her true power.” She briefly halts, thinking, before adding, “Well, one of them. Her curiosity is one, and her knowledge is the other. But the most important one that she obtained over the years would be her courage. The one thing that kept pushing her to find more and more knowledge, no matter where and how.”

“This castle is full of books,” you muse, recalling how much the royal library had amazed you the first time you entered it. And it seems that you keep finding more and more books—all the rare ones that have often helped answer your questions—the more you explore deeper. “Was it because my mother loved to learn?”

“Yes, it was. Your mother’s always so fond of books,” Nanny Abigail says with a fond look in her eyes. “I believe she also kept a journal with her. A small notebook where she would keep the things she found and learned through her journeys.”

The conversation halts for a moment as Nanny Abigail pours some more tea into the cups, while your mind wanders. “How did she travel?” you find yourself asking, wondering, to which Nanny Abigail merely scoffs.

“Heavens know. She always had her secrets,” she answers with a soft chuckle. “Mostly, she would disappear hours into the day and come back once evening comes. Sometimes later, looking weary and excited at the same time from whatever adventure she got herself on.”

Furrowing your brows, you think about what she mentioned earlier. “The journal. Have you ever seen it? Have you ever read what she wrote in it?”

Nanny Abigail presses her lips and shakes her head. “No, she used to keep it to herself. Kept it hidden in her bedchamber.” Her gaze seems far away when she continues, “But she would talk about her day as she was writing about it. Sometimes she would do sketches. She would draw the places, the people she met, and the things she saw into these rough sketches for her to keep in her memory, but never once had she ever shown me anything she put down in that journal.”

Talking about your mother and the things they used to do back then brings another smile to her face. And she talks as if the memory is still fresh, that everything is happening in the present instead of the past, that you can almost see it through her eyes, to feel your mother’s presence the way Nanny Abigail is feeling it now. “Besides, even if I ever got a peek at her writing, I wouldn’t have understood it,” she adds.

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Your mother’s quite adept with languages. She grew up speaking the language of the elves, and she was learning the native language of the moon fairies when she first began writing in that journal.” Her sigh is filled with longing when she continues, “She left a page on her desk once, something that looked like a letter that fell from the journal. She was quick to hide it, but I remember not recognising the language or the letters that she used. I couldn’t even read her scribbles, since she wrote them so quickly. Perhaps she had done it while on the road.”

She laughs. “I think it’s her way of keeping all the information she wrote a secret, only for certain people to be able to read them.”

You lean forward, getting more and more curious about this journal that your mother had allegedly carried with her. “Do you know where it is now?” you try to ask. “Or is it—is it lost with most of her belongings?”

Nanny Abigail only answers with a resigned sigh. “No one knows. The Queen holds her secrets deeply, even in her absence.” Her gaze finds yours as she raises her cup of tea to her lips. “Just like you do.”

A beat of silence falls. The wheels in your head are turning wildly as you try to connect all the dots. The places you’ve been. The words that were given to you by the people you met.

But then all the puzzling clues you have gathered in your memory scatter when Nanny Abigail suddenly chastises you, “Of all the things you could have been doing in your free time, why did it have to be a sword fight?”

Scoffing, you raise your brows at her. “Are you wishing that I’d be doing embroideries instead?”

“Well, you could need some more work on that, for sure,” she teases, making you laugh.

“Hah! Very funny,” you respond with a chuckle. “But really, I was—” Sighing, you decide to share some truth about what has been troubling you. “I was bored, and I was getting too soft.”

Nanny Abigail gives you an incredulous look. “From dancing?”

“From the lack of physical training,” you bitterly admit, “I don’t think Lord Gordan is brazen enough to defy my father in terms of giving me lessons in fighting.”

You hear Nanny Abigail sighing as she mutters, “As if you still need one.”

“You are good at dancing and yet you still practice when you have the chance.”

Your governess looks at you, saying nothing, but you can tell that she is silently agreeing with you. But the world will end if she ever admits it to your face. “So,” she says after sipping her tea. “Did you win?”

Your lips twist to a sly grin. “What do you think?”

One hour later, you find yourself returning to your quarters after a lazy afternoon. Your bedchamber is quiet, yet your mind is almost as lively as the rapid sound of your heartbeat as you reach for your dresser. Opening the top drawer, you find the set of keys gifted by your father. The magic keys cast silver and golden glow across the drawers and onto your face, the spell hums through the quiet space around you, as if asking why you haven’t reached for them today.

Yet your gaze moves past them, landing on the small bundle that you had carried home with you from the fallen city of Arselon.

You slowly reach for it, lifting the bundle in your hand with precise care—as if the thing will crumble into dust under your fingers. The bundle felt small when Gaia first handed it to you, enough for you to slip it under your cloak when you took it home. With gentle fingers, you pry open the velvet fabric covering it, revealing three small items bound together by a thick, white thread.

The first item is a key; made of steel and mostly covered in rust, reminding you of the iron gate leading towards the forbidden part of the royal garden that you have yet to travel into.

The second is an old folded map; with an inscription on the front cover written in one of the native languages you have been learning from Lady Laurel. Elven tongue.

But what intrigues you the most is the third item. Weighing down on your palm is a small notebook. Small enough to fit in the small sling bag that you often carry with you when you are travelling or into the side pocket of your coat. The leather cover is tainted with ink stains and appears to be slightly worn out by age. The papers seem old and worn, with yellowing edges and some growing crisp and falling apart. Deep down, you have a feeling that you already know what this item is even without having to open it.

“I believe she also kept a journal with her…”

Nanny Abigail’s voice echoes through your head as you gently run the tips of your fingers over the leather covering, finding the small initial embossed into the leather, right at the bottom corner of the front cover.

The inscription is made in a cursive letter, looking almost like a signed autograph marked into the leather coverings so it wouldn’t wear away by the passing of time, and the inscription reads the letter ‘M’.

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