#in a way that's invisible and can be kept hidden

[iyote]

I like to headcanon Kakyoin as some form of queer because I think his backstory works really well as a metaphor for growing up closeted

[harryspet]

well kept [5] r. cameron

[warnings] dark!ceo!rafe x reader, size difference, billionaire!older!rafe, shy!reader with low self-esteem, reader is a person who stutters, boss x personal assistant, heavy abuse of power, emotional/mental manipulation, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: even longer chapter :)

word count: 5.3k

In which Rafe presents you with his plan for your future and you question the true cost of his offer.

well kept masterlist

You breathed easy for the first time in a long while. You laughed, smiled, and your heart beat at a normal pace. You sipped your drink not from nervousness but from a desire to truly enjoy yourself. The evening was about fun and connection, and you were determined to embrace it.

The week following your cabin trip had been a deep pit of depression. Your friends, concerned by your obvious distress, had insisted you join them for the weekend. They only saw the stress of work weighing on you, Rafe’s hidden bruises were invisible to them. You had opted for jeans and a crop top, deliberately avoiding a dress that might reveal the lingering marks of his anger. 

It was an act of rebellion to wear something Rafe hadn’t picked out but it was freeing. It was time you accepted that he didn’t own you 24/7, he had no right to you two days out of the week.

You bought your friends drinks, a part of the new perk that came with having salary. You liked treating them but every swipe of your card reminded you of all you were putting up with to get it. 

What Rafe did to you, he did out of selfishness, no one who cared for you truly could treat you like he did. You certainly weren’t a couple like everyone in Rafe’s close circle assumed you were. You didn’t know much about relationships or what real love looked like, but you were certain of one thing: whatever you had with Rafe would never evolve into something warm and tender enough to be labeled as love. You were reclaiming some normalcy. Or at least, that was what you hoped for. 

The three of you had decided to move the party back to your apartment at 2 AM, and the city lights flickered like stars in the darkened sky. Imani, with her arm securely interlocked with yours, clung to you, her presence both comforting and grounding amidst the night’s chaos.

You squeezed into the backseat, chatter and laughter from the evening buzzed in your ears. Angel was making smalltalk with the driver because that was just the type of person she was. Closest to the window, you checked your phone for the first time all night. Three messages from Rafe. Your heart started to beat in the rattled way it had been, pressing against your ribcage in a way that made you feel like you couldn’t breathe. 

Two images of you. Outfits you’d sent him. Along with a message. 

For Monday and Tuesday. - R.C. 

Sent at ten the night before. Imani leaned closer and you locked your phone, shoving it between your legs. 

“He’s really texting you? It’s Saturday.”

“Sunday now,” You tried to not sound rattled as you met her eyes.

“Like that makes a difference,” You expected her tone to be light given the vodka on her breath and silly pop songs playing on the radio, “No wonder you’re going crazy.”

“Crazy?” You laughed but it came out hollow, “Y-You guys thought I was sad and now I’m going crazy?”

“Yes,” She spoke matter-of-factly, “And it’s strange that you won’t tell us anything about him.”

“I don’t wanna talk about this,” You said, realizing she wasn’t going to drop it.  You wondered if this was her plan, to get you drunk and then pry out all the gossip about your new boss.

“I’m really worried, Y/N,” She said, “You don’t have to tell us everything but at least … let us help. We can help, I promise.”

Angel tuned into the conversation, realizing it had gone serious, “Yeah, my Mom and Dad are literally cops, Y/N. Just say the word-” 

“I promise it’s not that serious, Angel,” you said, shaking your head. The idea of involving the police felt almost laughable given the magnitude of Rafe’s wealth and influence. “I told you g-g-g-guys, he’s just a demanding asshole.”

“If it’s not that serious than why has he been over at our apartment? If you’re not sleeping together or not dating?”

“It’s complicated,” You spoke robotically. 

“We want to be there for you,” Angel added. You wanted to believe that. If you told them the truth, you’d have to explain why you hadn’t walked away yet. Rafe had given you every reason to quit and yet here you were. 

“You guys are there for me. I-I-I appreciate this night so much. I’ve just b-b-b-been letting work consume me. You guys have pulled me out of my fog. This next wwww-week will be better because I’m actually taking care of myself.”

It was an excuse, a way to rationalize why you hadn’t walked away from Rafe yet. You started to believe it, convincing yourself that things would get better just because you were trying to take care of yourself now.

“Just because he’s rich doesn’t mean he gets to have your body,” The world seemed to go quiet after Imani spoke those words. The music quieted and both you and Angel stared at her, the heavy silence enveloping the three of you. 

“She’s right, you know,” Angel said softly. 

How had she seen so clearly what you were trying to hide? Why were they prying into your life? You were an adult, after all. You should have the right to make your own decisions, however flawed they might seem to others. But their concern felt invasive, as if they were prying into a private struggle you were barely managing to keep under control.

Pity. 

Your best friends pitied you, “Oh, y-you’re not serious,” You smiled crazily, “He’s not …I’m nnn-n-not …you both have it so so wrong.”

They stared at you, trying to guage your reaction, but your heart and brain were going crazy. You couldn’t pick what emotion to convey because you were feeling all of them. 

“I’m drunk,” You rested your head back, “I’m so drunk.”

As the rideshare pulled up to your apartment building, you fumbled with your seatbelt, eager to escape the heavy conversation, “Y/N, we didn’t mean to upset you,” You heard Angel say at they followed you out of the car. 

“I’m okay. So okay.”

You wanted to hurry inside the lobby but felt a hand wrap around your arm, “Y/N,” Imani stopped you. 

You whipped your head around, panicked, “I’m fine. I sss-said I’m fine.”

“You boss’s car is parked over there.”

You followed her pointed finger, and your blood ran cold. There it was—Rafe’s sleek black car, parked conspicuously outside your building. “Wha—” you stammered, unable to process the sight of it, “Oh.”

“Why the fuck is he here?” Imani cursed. 

“I’ll meet you guys inside–”

“Go talk to him but we’re standing right here until you’re done,” Imani crossed her arms in front of her and gave you pointed look. 

“Angel,” You looked at you other friend, pleading. 

She shook her head, “We’re standing here, Y/N.”

“Fine,” You whispered. It was a quiet declaration of your frustration, a statement of your internal struggle. 

They didn’t trust you. You could take care of yourself. This would upset Rafe, you knew it would. You took a deep breath as you wandered towards the small parking lot beside your building. His bright truck lights shined against the brick of the building and you saw his arm resting outside the window, fingers drumming nervous on the frame. You pulled at your crop top, wanting to force it to be longer, as you got closer. 

“Y/N,” His voice cut through the night air with a sharp edge. 

Tonight, Rafe’s blue eyes were wild. Instead of the usual darkness you saw behind his pupils, you saw wildness. Dark circles under his eyes spoke of sleepless nights, and his other hand was busy rubbing worried circles over his buzzed haircut, a nervous habit you hadn’t seen before.

“Rafe, wh-what are you doing out here?” You dropped the formalities. It felt wrong to address him with respect, more than it usually did, when he was sitting outside of your apartment at two in the morning. 

He looked you over once, before his door opened, and he climbed out. Dressed in a polo and khaki shorts, he left his car running, before he was standing in front of you. Only a foot away and already you weren’t breathing correctly. He moved closer but you said, “You shouldn’t touch me.”

Hurt, confused, he gave you a look you hadn’t seen before, “Why not?”

You gestured as subtly as you could, to your two friend who were settled under the awning that hung over your apartment buildings entrance, “My roommates are waiting for me.”

Rafe’s jaw ticked, before his hands found his hips, “Right,” He nodded before he laughed, “Fuck, I’m sorry. I just feel crazy tonight, you know?”

Yes, you knew. Now your crazy was starting to feel like nothing compared to whatever was building inside of your boss. He was different tonight, younger, and out of control, “What are you doing out here?” You asked again, “It’s two in the mmm-morning.” 

“Yeah, I didn’t mean to show up like this. I just wanted to talk to you. I came earlier and you weren’t here and I … I started spiraling, you know? You’ve been out all night. I don’t like …I just felt fucking nervous.”

“Nervous b-because I went out with mmm-mmm-my friends?” Your words were cautious but you couldn’t help that your eyebrows raised in confusion. 

“I needed to see you.”

“You see me now,” You said, “What … what is it?”

Rafe took a breath, “I made a mistake at the cabin and I think, ever since then, you’ve been distant.”

You nodded as you tried to understand his meaning. He made a mistake when he spanked you with a belt, making two of his close acquaintances listen to you scream, and leaving you to cry yourself to sleep. The distance he now complained about was a direct result of his actions—a defense mechanism you’d put in place to protect yourself. And yet, here he was, expressing frustration over your response, as if your withdrawal was the real issue rather than his behavior.

“Rafe, honestly, this isn’t h-h-helping … I d-d-don’t know if I can handle this right now. I don’t know if I can be who you need me to be,” You took a step back and you were comforted by the fact that he couldn’t take a step towards you. He wouldn’t make a scene, not in front of your roommates. Maybe you could forgive their intrusiveness. 

Rafe seemed to tense at your words and you watched as his eyes wandered down the sidewalk towards your friends, “Okay, uhm …they say something to you?” His voice carried a note of suspicion, as if their presence was somehow a direct affront to him.

“They’re my friends,” you replied tersely, hoping that would be the end of it. Of course your friends had expressed their concerns about him. 

“Okay,” Rafe said, his voice edged with frustration. “I just … I’m here because I want to fix things.”

“C-Can we talk about it on Monday, please?” You asked, “I’ve been-”

“You’ve been drinking,” He filled in your words, more unamused than before, “It’s not safe, little girl like you, only your friends to protect you … there’s lots of bad, bad people in this city.” 

The way he said "little girl" stung. It wasn’t the first time he’d used it, but it felt more patronizing and condescending tonight.

“I can take care of myself,” you said firmly, taking another step back towards your building, trying to put more space between you and his imposing figure.

“Can you?” he taunted, the words heavy with mockery. “Alright, I’ll give you some space. You know what? Go ahead and take Monday off, you deserve it, sweetheart.” 

“Goodnight,” You said before you turned away from him. You jumped when you heard his truck door slam close but you didn’t look back. 

Your friends, witnessing the tense exchange from the corner of the awning, approached you with concern written on their faces. Angel reached out, placing a gentle hand on your arm. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice soft but filled with worry.

“Fuck, that dude is crazy,” Imani said, “You have to quit. I’ll get another part time job. We both will while you look for something else. We’ll make it work.”

You should have cried in their arms, letting their comfort and love wash over you, but instead, all you felt was exhaustion and apathy. You didn’t have the energy to be comforted or to express your gratitude. Numb and drained, you trudged inside, your mind already longing for the softness of your pillow. Your friends followed quietly. 

Tuesday morning, your alarm didn’t wake you up. There was a pounding on your door before Imani stormed into your room. Heart racing, you lifted your head and checked your phone sitting on your side table. It was thirty minutes before your alarm was even supposed to go off, “What the-”

“Look!” Groggily, you sat up in your bed just as a crumpled white envelope was thrown at your chest. You held it up to the light trickling into your room from the window, and you easily saw red bold letters stamped across the top of the letter: EVICTION NOTICE. 

Without another thought, you ripped open the envelopement, “It’s probably a-a prank, Imani.”

“What is going on?” Angel stumbled into the room next, mouth full of foaming toothpaste. 

You held open the letter as you began to read carefully, “As per the terms of your lease agreement and in a-a-accordance with the state and local regulations, this letter serves as your official notice of eviction–”

“Fuck,” Imani cursed. 

“This decision has been mmmm-made in alignment with our current business strategy which includes renovating the apartment to increase its value and preparing the property for sale to a prospective buyer …”

“Someones buying our entire apartment building?” Angel asked, eyes wide with disbelief.

“This is fucked,” Imani added. 

You continued reading, “The termination for your lease w-w-w-will be affected sixty days from the date of this notice. Please ensure thhh-that you vacate the premises by this date …”

You read the letter over and over, trying to make sense of it. The signature at the bottom confirmed its legitimacy.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Imani sat down on the edge of your bed, head in the palm of her hands, “They can’t do this. It’s illegal! Where are we supposed to go?”

“Sixty days from now is right before the holidays start,” Angel leaned in the doorway, her eyes starting to well with tears, “I can’t go back home.”

Imani shook her head, “This apartment is my home.”

Determined, you climbed out of bed, pulling on the work clothes you had pre-selected. You kicked off your fuzzy socks, removed your bonnet, and began fixing your braids into a messy bun. “I’m going into the office,” you said resolutely. “I w-w-w-work for a real estate company. Rafe will know what to do. They can’t just do this. If anyone knows how to get out of this, he will.”

The two girls exchanged glances, their concern palpable. “We don’t need his help,” Imani said firmly.

“I don’t think I want it,” Angel added quietly.

You stared at them, incredulous. “He c-can help. You don’t know him like I do.”

“Y/N, is this really smart?” Angel asked, her voice tinged with worry.

“I can’t believe you guys. Get out, I’m getting ready,” you snapped, frustration rising. “Get out, now!”

As they left the room, their worried faces lingered in your mind, but you were focused on finding a solution.

Despite drunkenly conveying your uncertainties about your position with Rafe a few nights before, that morning, you were the epitome of perfection.  You wore exactly what he had chosen for you: a light blue dress embellished with sparkling sequins, pockets, and a Peter Pan collar. You even spent more than ten minutes putting on your makeup that morning, you looked flawless, more effort than you’d ever put in before.

You recited his entire schedule with only a slight stutter, had a steaming cup of coffee waiting for him at his desk, and arranged for lunch from one of his favorite restaurants. You allowed him to wrap his hand around your waist, to lean down and bury his face in your neck, to inhale your scent and press a gentle kiss against your skin.

It was like nothing had changed. Seeing Rafe outside of your apartment that night was frightening, a reminder of the presence he now had in your life, but you’d never seen him look so … desperate. Rafe Cameron was desperate for you, of all people. It dawned on you that perhaps there was room for negotiation. At the cabin, you had vehemently resisted his behavior, and his reaction had been explosively violent. But now, with him admitting to a mistake and showing a rare glimpse of vulnerability, you realized you might possess more leverage than you had previously imagined.

You spent the first few hours at work hyping yourself up to bring up the eviction notice to Rafe. All of his morning meetings went well and he didn’t have the usual cloud of darkness that was constantly over his head. When there was finally a lull in the day, you finally told him the news you’d learned that morning. However, his reaction made your face fall into a frown that you didn’t have the strength to correct.

“I’m not sure what the problem is. Don’t I pay you enough to be able to afford your own apartment?”

“My friends …” you began, struggling to find the right words. Mentioning your friends was wrong. You knew how he felt about the voices of reason in your life. 

“Right, your friends. What would you have me do?” His words continued to be indifferent and detached, as if he could want you so bad, but care nothing about the lives that were closest to you, “Offer them jobs? Pay for them to live as well?”

“No, that’s nnn-not what I mean,” It felt like he was purposefully miscontruing your words, and in turn, your character. Of course you didn’t expect for him to take care of your friends. Not letting him take advantage of the sea of emotions you were feeling, you recited your problem clearly, “I just want to know if you have any advice. For handling the situation. Something that’s in our control as tenants.”

“You don’t have much power at all, as tenants. You’re subject to the decisions made by the property management and the owners,” Before the reality of his words fully sunk in, he sighed, continuing, “You could look at your lease agreement and read it thoroughly to find any clauses that protect you. You could consult with a lawyer though that would be a pricy right to go down. You could talk to your landlord and try to get an extension to find a new place. That’s where I would start, sweetheart.”

Rafe’s hands folded together, looking up at you, as a smile graced his face. You nodded, “Okay,” You were grateful for a straight answer, but admittedly, you thought he would offer a better solution, “What should we look for in the lease? What would protect us?”

“Anything about early termination, language about renovations or changes in property management. Stipulations about how much notice is required before evicting you. If the landlord has violated any of those terms, it could be grounds for negotiation.”

“Huh,” you nodded, your heart filling with a small bit of hope, despite how out of reach some of his suggestions felt, “O-Okay, thank you. Yeah, I’ll t-t-talk to my roommates about it.”

“If it were me, I would be make sure I focused on my own safety and well being. You can’t really help your friends if you’re out on the street with them.” 

His words, rude and smart like always, stung but you didn’t dwell on them, “Thanks for the advice, sir.” 

For the rest of the morning, you shuffled between tasks and scrolling through your lease agreement. You searched it for the keywords that Rafe at mentioned and when that search wasn’t fruitful, you started to read it top to bottom. Your landlord was only required to give you sixty days notice for an eviction. You found absolutely nothing about property management changes. Hours passed and as lunchtime approach, you were sufficiently frustrated. 

You brought Rafe his lunch as he sat through a lunch time meeting but you made your way to the breakroom quickly afterwards.

Imani had called you a few time so you returned it. You’d texted your groupchat about all the steps that Rafe had mentioned. Imani had replied that he was probably withholding information. You weren’t quite sure why that idea hadn’t crossed your mind. 

“Hey, I still haven’t found anything–”

“Cameron Development is the one purchasing the apartment building, Y/N.”

Your heart sank and you plopped down on the breakroom’s leather couch with a heavy sigh, “Shit,” You whispered. 

“Shit is an understatement,” She replied, “Y/N, I’m starting to think you need to be really careful. Maybe we should go to the police.”

He’d lied to your face, unabashedly. 

"We'll talk about it later, I promise," You spoke before you hung up, not giving her a chance to argue.

It was much too late for careful. You should’ve ran after your first conversation with him but now … you were effectively trapped. Rafe had sex with you even when you didn’t want to. He hurt you and you held him for comfort after you. It had been weeks since you’d even felt like yourself. 

You leaned back to stare at the ceiling and you didn’t move for the next thirty minutes. Eleanor was the one who came to find you after you’d gone missing, “Y/N, Rafe’s been looking for you. What are you doing?”

“Did you know?” You asked her solemnly, your voice felt broken. 

She came to sit beside you and you felt her place a hand on your shoulder as she leaned closer, “Topper told me they rushed the deal. Offered twice the asking price. Said it was horrible idea, completely financially irresponsible, but Rafe insisted. ”

“Wh-What should I do?” You turned your head towards her, tears in your eyes, “I-I’ve never had sss-someone feel this way about me b-but th-this feels wrong.”

“What should you do?” She repeated, “I think he loves you.”

“L-Love?” You seemed to choke on the words. 

From what you could tell, it didn’t seem that Rafe was capable of loving anyone, “What does your gut tell you?”

This entire time, your gut had been telling you one thing, “T-To run?”

Even now, you were so unsure of yourself, “Makes sense, he’s suffocating you.”

You sat up in your spot, “Should I go now? Leave all my stuff? He p-paid for it, anyways.”

“I don’t think this is the time,” She squeezed your shoulder gently, her eyes soft as they fixed on you, “If you run, he’ll drag you back to his mansion kicking and screaming. Rafe just made this grand gesture to display his power. A huge fuck you to all the people you care about. He’s desperate. This is your time to get what you want from him. Tell him, you’re not going to be his little sex secretary anymore or follow him to the mountains, unless he changes.” 

“Y-You think he can change?”

“I didn’t think so before,” Eleanor said, her voice firm. “But now, seeing how desperate he is, I believe he’ll do anything to keep you.”

You could barely admit to yourself that part of you wished what she was saying was true. The notion that Rafe might have feelings for you, even if expressed through flawed and controlling actions, was both intoxicating and unsettling. Maybe you could take the bad with the good if the good started to outweigh the bad. But Rafe’s bad was more than bad. His soft gestures were often accompanied by demands and manipulations. 

There was no pros and cons list to be made. You looked at your situation objectively, Eleanor’s words having finally forced you to. If you ran, he’d come after you. If you ran, you’d have nothing. No apartment or salary to support yourself. You longed for a relationship where you felt safe and cared for and you wanted to live in a world where your friends were also taken care of. 

“I hope you’re not handling your personal business during workhours,” Rafe had said when you finally returned to the office. 

Ironic, given all the personal things you two had done together in that very office. 

“I’m not the one who made it personal,” You spoke easily, smoothly. 

You made your way to your desk. Your words seemed to bothered him but you didn’t glance at him long enough to take in his reaction. 

“And how did I make it personal?” You flipped through your personal calendar, taking a pen and marking down all of Rafe’s scheduled social events. 

“It’s not g-g-going to work. Using my friends to threaten me.”

“Oh?” That single word was dripping with venom.

“Just makes me think even www-worse of you. And I-I already had a poor opinion.”

“Yeah?” You wanted to look at him but you kept your eyes focused down, “What makes you think I give a fuck about your opinion of me?"

“B-Because I drive you crazy. Because I’m the one person y-you want to control completely.”

“Maybe I wanted to make things easier for you. Maybe I know that you’ll outgrow your little friends soon and you need a push in the right direction. You have friends in higher places now, you know that?”

“Y-You don’t like that they tell me to quit. That they know sss-somethings wrong with you.”

“You’re wrong,” He shot back.

“You’ve done a good job b-because now I can’t leave without losing everything,” It took everything to keep your voice from breaking. Finally, you turned your heads toward him. You saw the way his chair was towards you, the way his grip was tight on the armrests of his chair.

“Maybe I’ve been selfish.”

You scoffed at that, “You’ve mmm-made it clear that you don’t care about my needs or mmm-my feelings.”

“I know your feelings, sweetheart. You wear them so clearly,” Rafe replied, you could see it in his face that he was trying to keep his tone subdued He leaned foreward slightly, eyes as intense as ever, “Tell me what needs I haven’t tended to. Let me fix things, yeah?”

His offered seemed genuine and exactly what you were hoping for, weren’t you? 

“You really want to fix things?”

“Yeah,” He said like the crimes he’d committed against you were something that could remedied, “I can’t change what I don’t know.”

“It’s not just about what you’ve done wrong. It’s a-about how you handle things from now on,” You started, choosing your words carefully, “It’s about allowing mmm-mmme to set boundaries and respecting them.”

“Boundaries?” His head twisted to the side like he wasn’t entirely familiar with the term, “There’s multiple?”

“First, I want you t-to do what you can to remedy this apartment situation. Then, I don’t want you to ever bring my friends into this again.”

“Fine, I’ll get them another apartment. I’ll even throw in free rent.”

“No,” You shook your head, “You own the building which means you let us stay. No renovations.”

“I made an investment. I have to make a profit–”

“I’m serious,” You countered, “Y-Y-You made your point. You have all the mmm-money in the world and we have nothing in comparison.”

Rafe sighed, fingers tapping against his leg, “Okay, they stay but you come to live with me.”

“What? Why?” It was another layer of control, not a solution. 

“Your friends will want nothing to do with me or my help. If you continue to work for me, they won’t want anything to do with you either. If you want to maintain those relationships, some space would be better. Let them see you happy and they’ll come to their senses about our relationship.”

The implication of his words was clear. He was offering you a way to keep your friends, but it came with the price of further entangling your life with his. It felt like a manipulative trade-off.  You thought about the way he had manipulated you before, using your friends as leverage, and it made you wary of his intentions.

“I won’t say yes right now,” You decided, “Sss-sss-since we’re talking about living situations. Next year, I want to stay in Charlotte.”

“That won’t work.”

What had Eleanor told you to do? Had she forgotten how stubborn he was? 

“Y-You’re asking me to move across the state with you. I-It’s t-t-t-to much. There will have to be another arrangement.”

“Hmm, I won’t say yes right now,” he repeated your wording with an edge of mockery. You scowled, feeling the frustration build up inside you.

“You just sss-said you wanted to fix things.”

“My intentions … my intentions are to leave the city and spend the next few years settling down. I’m getting to a certain age and I’ve been thinking about, you know, getting married and having kids. It feels like the right time,” The information is a shock to you, not the thought of Rafe wanting a wife and kids, but knowing immediately he was implying that you’d be filling that role, “It’s a beautiful area. I wouldn’t expect you to continue your role there. You’d fully be a stay-at home wife, you could pursue any hobbies you wanted, and of course you’d have access to even more money than I’ve been paying you.”

Rafe began to paint a picture of a gilded cage. On the surface, it was tempting: a life of comfort, stability, and freedom from financial worries. But the price was your independence and autonomy. The thought of becoming a stay-at-home wife, completely reliant on him and cut off from your own life in Charlotte, was suffocating.

“What if I d-d-don’t want that life? W-What if I want my own career?”

He hesitated, his gaze narrowing as he leaned back in his chair, “What career do you want? I’ll give it to you. You can do practically anything from home these days. If you want to spend the first years doing that, fine, I’m not expecting kids right away.”

You hadn’t realized it but your breath was starting to quicken. You placed a hand over your chest, all of that resolve you had going into the conversation starting to fade away, “This is why I didn’t want to tell you,” Rafe seemed to talk to himself, “Hey, hey, calm down.” 

Your breath came out in quick shallow breaths. Rafe’s proposal pressed down on you as the room started to spin. You felt his arms around you before you could fall from your chair, “Eleanor, I need you here,” You heard clearly. For the next moments, you could only hear their muffled talking. You remembered seeing both of them, panicked look on Eleanor’s face, a hand rubbing down your back. Rafe was talking to you, his eyes trained on you intently. You remembered a glass of water coming to your lips and you tilted your head back, welcoming the liquid, thinking it might quell the fire inside your mind. 

Though your thoughts still raced, the room’s spinning slowed down, and the you heard Rafe dsay, “It’ll help you feel better.”

He stayed with you, rubbing soothing circles into the skin of your thighs, “Thank you,” You whispered though you hated that you found comfort in his touch. A wave of drowsiness overcame you and despite your best efforts to stay alert, you felt yourself lean forward until you were fully in Rafe’s arms, “Rafe–”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Rest,” Rafe murmured, his voice soft and reassuring as he held you close.

This got too long, gonna have to make another part! Pls pls pls reblog and let me know your thoughts and predictions!

[shallyouobeyme]

Map

Platonic!Yandere!Damian x reader (GN)

Summary: Damian and you have to work on a project together and he realizes how you seem to be invisible to everyone else - how you want to be invisible - and something in him makes him want, no need, to figure out why...

! Minors Do Not Interact !

TW: Domestic abuse (not shown directly), planned kidnapping, Dark content, yandere, This is all fiction, I do not condone this

Day 4 of my Yandere Writetober, Tomorrow word is 'Golden' so if you have any ideas lemme know

People did not think Damian was sentimental, most of all his family. If a person had an idea of who Damian was, but wasn’t close to him or hasn’t personally met him then they could probably still assume that in private he might be a bit more emotional than in public. This person would be wrong though. Sure, in private Damian might be a little more open and showed a few more emotions, but most of those were rage, pettiness and sarcasm. Damian was a lot of things, but definitely not sentimental. At least not usual. And then you came into his life. 

From the moment he was born, Damian had a map of how exactly his life would be played out. Then he was brought to his family and the map changed. From wanting to become the next head of the League of Assassins, he now wanted to become the next Batman. He wanted to step up once his father needed to step down and take his rightful place as the head of the family. Alone.

Everyone and everything else that was a hindrance in that way - be it his age, school, villains, friends or even his own family - was just an obstacle on the map of his life. He thought you'd be just the same, a Problem to be taken care of and to leave behind. Just another annoying child in his class - which Bruce insisted he attend - that weren't fit for the reality of life he faced every single day. It was just typical that he had to be stuck with you working on a project for a class in which he had a grade to make up, because of too many absences. He didn't bother to question why you had to do the project, he just wanted to get it over with.

"I'll be doing the project - I doubt you could help anyways - and you can just put your name on it as well, then I don't have to bother with you," Damian sneered to you once class was disbanded, already more than done with you and with the situation. You seemed to turn into yourself and he recognized how shy and intimidated you were and if he had been just a tad more empathetic he'd feel bad. Damian rolled his eyes and turned to leave when your hand tugged on his uniform's blazer.

"Uhm... I-I'm sorry, but-but I'd really like to-to work on the project together, I-I really need this grade," you stuttered, your head lowered in shame, even though you had no real reason to be ashamed. Damian wanted to make a snide comment about how the project was definitely better off if he was doing it on his own, but something about how small and fragile you looked kept him from doing so.

That was the first detour from the life on his map. That moment of emotion that no one witnessed, not even you because of how your head was held down. And it was only the beginning. He scoffed at your request, but it wasn't truly malicious like before.

"Fine, but we'll do it at your place today after school, no discussion," Damian stated and left no room for arguments, turning around and leaving the room, not hearing your small sound of protest.

During the rest of the school day, Damian couldn't help but watch you from the corner of his eyes, he saw how you were hidden in your uniform, seemingly wanting to merge with the backdrop of the classroom, how you kept completely to yourself and seemingly managed to become completely invisible to anyone but him and some of your teachers.

So after school, he had to keep his eyes peeled open to see you come out since you really seemed to disappear between all the other students. He went over to you and told you to lead the way home, not bothering to offer to have Alfred drive the two of you since, for reasons he didn't understand himself, he wanted to spend the time with you alone. Detour number two.

The way to your home was spent in silence, Damian looking around sceptically and you turned into yourself like you always seemed to be. The route to your home took you out of the more or less safe and high-income neighbourhood of Gotham Academy to the less secure area not that different from the region around Crime Alley. He wondered how your parents were able to afford your tuition for Gotham Academy, but he knew that you were rather good in school so he figured you were on a scholarship.

When you finally arrived at a rundown apartment complex you brought him to a flat on the fifth story, carefully opening the door as if you were afraid of making any sound.

"I'm sorry if it's a bit messy," you mumbled vaguely in his direction as you carefully opened the door and Damian realized it was the first thing he had seen you say since you had asked him to let you work on the project as well. Then you lead him into the apartment and everything somewhat fell into place.

To say it was a bit messy was an understatement. There were empty bottles of beer, vodka, wine and all other kinds of alcoholic beverages, Damian even caught sight of some less legal substances, but he decided not to mention them aloud, already seeing based on the darkening colour of your face and the way you tried to avoid looking anywhere near him that you were highly ashamed and emberassed. Detour number three.

He saw how you looked through the open doors into the other - not cleaner - rooms and he could hear your relieved sigh when there was no one else in there with the two of you. Then you lead him into your room if one could call it a room, which had a size just barely big enough for a measly small bed, a box usually meant for laundry filled with your clothes and a small desk that looked like you had taken it from the side of the road. There was no chair or even a stool.

Damian noticed Jason's influence - much to his anger - when his first thought was that 'Harry Potter would feel bad for you'. His next thought was that you didn't deserve to live like that, that you deserved better. Detour number four brought him right off of the road like never before.

"Uhm... You-You can sit on the bed if that's okay, I'll-I'll sit on the floor, then we can work on the project," you spoke hesitantly and shuffled to sit on what little space was left on the floor, but was stopped when Damian pulled you to sit beside him on the bed.

"There's enough space here for both of us," he argued and turned to you. "But- uhm- we don't have any space for the project then."

You were right, he supposed, as he saw that both of you sitting on the bed were basically taking up all the mattress had to offer. He sighed and decided that he was already neck deep into whatever was happening so he might as well see where it was going.

"Then we won't do the project today," he stated in the same tone that left nothing up for discussion and you seemed almost relieved, "We can work on it tomorrow after school in the library."

"O-Okay, I'm sorry it's so-" You stopped in your tracks, seemingly on the verge of tears, and then gave it another go, "-I'm sorry you came here for nothing, I can lead you to the door."

"I'm not leaving yet," Damian said much to your surprise as he saw the shock displayed on your face, "first I want you to tell me what is going on here." He tried to tell himself that it was just his vigilante persona shining through, but deep inside he knew it was you that made him so curious about this situation.

"What do you mean?" you squeaked, obviously - but badly - trying to hide something. Damian let his instincts lead him as he quickly took your hand and pulled up your sleeve, he had been noticing how you were playing with it every time you were scared or ashamed. He wasn't all too surprised to see blue, purple, green and yellow splotches littered over the area, some bruises new, some old. You tried to pull your hand away, but Damian's grip stayed strong.

He pulled your hand even closer to him as he inspected the arm and asked: "Did your parents do that to you?" He looked up at your face and saw tears welling up in your eyes. It made you look even more fragile and delicate than he already thought you looked like throughout the day, but it also made this rage well up inside of Damian. How dare these people make you cry, how dare they hurt you. He wanted to rip them apart, wanted to make sure nothing and no one ever hurt you again.

"Tell me the truth, I will help you, I promise," Damian encouraged you and received a weak nod from you as your tears started to flow down your face in streaks. "Okay, give me a second, I'll be right back, don't worry." Damian used his blazer's sleeve to gently wipe away some of the tears - something that his family would believe to be a lie if you had told him about it - and got up to leave the room to call Alfred to come pick him and you up.

He told Alfred that he'd be inviting a friend for a sleepover, hanging up on a too-stunned-to-speak Alfred who was surely already on his way to inform Bruce of this new development, he didn't bother to tell him that he planned for it to be a more... permanent... sleepover.

You needed him, you needed him to protect you, to care for you, to make sure you never again had a reason to cry. You were such a pure, fragile soul, one that didn't deserve to be left alone in this cruel world, he was sure that once his father had met you he'd understand. He'd feel the same way. You'd be safe with them, they'd become your family, the family you deserved and needed.

And if Bruce didn't agree if Bruce told him that he was crazy, that he couldn't just take you away from your life, no matter how bad it was, and take over your entire existence... well, he had already become ready to derail his entire plan, had become ready to redraw the entire map of his life just for him to have you along, so he might as well return to his roots because he was sure his mother would be more than happy to take you in as long as it made Damian return...

[asvterias]

𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦

part 1 || clarisse masterlist

clarisse la rue ✘ black!fem!demigod!reader (daughter of nyx)

summary: overwhelmed with her girlfriend's having a near-death experience, clarisse breakdowns in front of y/n.

word count: 1.9k+

author's note: also tysm for 1,680 followers, i appreciate every single one of you! i kinda thought this song related to this fic, lmk what you guys think in the comments! the song lyrics are bold and italics!

song playing — my love mine all mine by mitski

requested by an anonymous! (pairing ONLY!!)

TAGS BELOW:

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moon, a hole of light

through the big top tent high up

here before and after me

“you know what happens if you extort your powers too much.” she hastily reminded you. from her tone, you knew that she hesitated to remind you of that incident, and it was shaky leaving from her mouth.

“that was one time.” you sighed heavily.

by now, your existing abilities become stronger as you grow older. you managed to control your current powers, and clarisse encouraged you to discover your hidden powers.

shining down on me

moon, tell me if i could

however it’s not encouraged to extort your powers to full extent, liable enough to render you unconscious for weeks, not even days. as a result of your persistent stubbornness, unfortunately, it happened to you and clarisse was an emotional wreck without your comforting presence beside her.

she became more easily irritated and annoyed by anyone who even dared to look her way, almost threatening to kick their ass, surprisingly she’d just rough them up a bit, and stormed off afterward. spending hours at the sparring center, clarisse released all of her anger onto the sparring dummies, using her trust-worthy spear and being completely ruthless with it, rage consuming both her stability and mentality. everyone stayed out of clarisse’s way for their own safety.

all those times you kept her grounded felt like a big waste to her right now. she felt loved, and truly loved by someone blessed to cherish her until your last breath gave out. all of a sudden, you were harshly ripped away from her, without any type of warning, permanently leaving an invisible scar on her heart.

despite being stuck in a temporarily induced coma, clarisse still had a guilty conscience of unawareness, possibly having a chance to rescue you and prevent this from occurring. in other words, she wished that you didn’t intentionally overwork your powers to the core, but you did, and now you’re currently suffering the consequences of it.

send up my heart to you?

so, when i die, which i must do

for the two weeks, you were unconscious, clarisse visited you, kept quiet most of the time, muttered small incoherent words, barely even sentences. she held your hands tightly, they were lukewarm, temporarily not providing the warmth they usually do. she missed everything about you, your presence, your touch, and your love.

and when she’s staring at your face, a small smile litters her face, reminiscing on your wholesome shared memories. sadly, all of the radiation that your face once held was drained and a firm line took its place.

despite the large pit of despair in her stomach, clarisse felt you slipping away from reality with every passing day. your girlfriend was persistent, knowing that you can handle yourself, and often proud of your capability in those sorts of skills.

she couldn’t fathom what it was even like for you to endure the 2-week coma, forced into a dream-like state, hearing and sensing everything going on around you but unable to respond. it must have been torture for you, stuck with your thoughts endlessly on repeat, with no interruption at all. just you and your thoughts there all alone. nothing but you and your thoughts.

she prayed that you would somehow non-verbally assure her, confirming your well-being, not like that would have made a difference regardless, but still, your reassuring words would’ve lessened her worries, even if it was for such a short amount of time.

but the ares girl remained strong, at least for the both of you. clarisse mentally promised for her own sake, desperately clutching onto the small yet meaningful words of encouragement.

could it shine down here with you?

‘cause my love is mine, all mine

i love mine, mine, mine

with a devastated sigh, she’d depart with a forehead kiss before heading to her cabin for some rest, sometimes she’d forget to eat and one of her siblings had to remind her. at this point, it was a common routine for clarisse; wake up, teleport to visit you, complete her daily tasks, and train. and when she’s finished her task of the day, best believe that she’s with you, nursing you back to consciousness.

“yeah, and we both know how that ended!”

“clarisse…”

“no, please let me finish.” she shushed you with a shake of her head, “and i hope it doesn’t happen again, it doesn’t need to happen again!” clarisse whisper-yelled at you, “i almost lost you, and i refused to experience that wretched feeling again. you were unconscious for almost two weeks and we weren’t even in the same place. your mom teleported me to you almost every day since you were in that coma. i refuse to experience that again because i love you and seeing you there made me feel useless for once in my life.” her tone became shaky yet she proceeded on, wanting you to understand, needing you to understand what it was like for her, witnessing you in that comatose state. “i couldn’t stand the thought of you dying, of you leaving me here all alone. you only truly understand me, you love me despite all of my flaws, rather accepting them than ignoring them…nobody else but you…i didn’t think i could love anyone as much as i love you. and that terrified me before but now it doesn’t anymore, knowing you wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. sometimes i wonder if i’m ever worth loving…” a sob escapes her, continued by many heartbreaking sobs. that gut-wrenching feeling in your heart returned, growing larger when clarisse attempted to restrict any more sobs, terribly failing, allowing her emotions to run wild for once.

it’ll probably be the only time she can freely express her emotions without feeling judged within your presence. this was one of the many reasons why clarisse fell in love with you, your compassionate soul, a trait she strongly lacked but adored from you.

she loved that you made her feel comfortable, enough to express her emotions without having to look over her shoulder.

nothing in the world belongs to me

but my love mine, all mine, all mine

your girlfriend didn’t realize the tears freely falling down her face until you wiped the tears away from her eyes. clarisse seems betrayed by her own emotions once she realizes that she’s crying, expressing her vulnerability towards you. the curly-haired girl began to stammer out some words, attempting to defend herself but you kissed her temple and pulled her in for a hug. going off on instinct, she buried her head into your neck, harboring her labored breaths as she tightened her grip on you as if she was too scared to let go and lose you all over again.

“never again…never again…” clarisse mutters, repeating it like a mantra. “i don’t wanna lose you ever again…”

catching on to her rapid muttering, you cupped her face, steadying to your face level.

“i won’t leave you again, i promise babe,” you reassure her. your eyes connect easily, gazing into her glossy eyes.

clarisse looks up at you, a swirl of emotions flowing across her eyes. you pout at your girlfriend, reaching out a hand to gently touch her face, watching her melt by the simple touch.

her glistening eyes made you swoon at her gentleness and vulnerability, “you promise?” her voice was low, similar to a whimper of pain.

my baby, here on earth

showed me what my heart was worth

“i promise,” you clarify, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “do you wanna stay here for a while, with just me?”

hiding her face back into your shirt, she nodded against the fabric, tightening her grip on you whenever you slightly shuffled in her embrace. your touch was required for her peace, and clarisse made sure that you weren’t escaping from her grasp. too much time was wasted, and clarisse needed to make up for lost time.

at times, clarisse felt extremely weak, exhausted, and defenseless which according to her father, any sign of vulnerability is also perceived as useless in his eyes. ares engraved that motto within his daughter, and you hated that it stuck with her that much! wanting to please her dad, her personality changed over time, and the lingering thought of displaying an ounce of vulnerability vanished. no surprise that you rekindled that thought during your relationship when she started opening up to you.

every time clarisse received surprise visits from her dad, you were always there, listening about him degrading her great abilities because of her gender. all those nights of her crying on your shoulder, wondering why she couldn’t be good enough for her father. from that moment, your hatred for your girlfriend’s father fueled with each passing day.

you taught her that being vulnerable wasn’t weak and that it was actually strong. to be honest, clarisse was skeptical because her girlfriend said the opposite of what she learned from her father. eventually, she got used to the idea, accepting only being vulnerable around you. that was good enough for her so it was good enough for you.

so, when it comes to be my turn

could you shine it down here for her?

clarisse laid on top of you, her head snuggled softly against your breasts with her arms around your waist. one of your hands held onto her head, scratching on her head softly as the other drew imaginary stars on her lower back.

“my beautiful beautiful, brave girl…” you cooed as you heard tiny sniffles from her, “you certainly are worth loving and you’re my entire world.

‘cause my love is mine, all mine

i love mine, mine, mine

“am i?” her lower lip trembles as she innocently stares up at you.

“you are my entire world,” you gently kiss her forehead as she places her head down onto your chest.

“you’re my whole world too,” she murmurs against your chest, either it was her sweet tone or that you were naturally ticklish which made you laugh wholeheartedly. clarisse’s face lights up, feeling the rumble from your chest as a smile erupts on her lips.

“nothing in the world belongs to me...” you sing softly into her ears, massaging her head, soothing her into a peaceful sleep alongside your peaceful embrace. “but my love mine, all mine...”

you lullabied her to sleep with your gentle singing, finally feeling at ease when you heard the light snores, smiling fondly at her. gods, clarisse was adorable. too adorable to disrupt her out of her sleep, resting comfortably on you, partially skin-to-skin.

“good night, my love.” you kissed her forehead, glimpsing at her small smile from the loving touch. turning off the lamp before refocusing onto clarisse, wrapping your arms around her waist and her head gently nuzzling into your neck, requiring very much close contact. soon enough, you drifted into sleep just as your beloved girlfriend did a few minutes ago, both content in each other’s arms, wishing to remain like that forever.

nothing in the world is mine for free

but my love mine, all mine, all mine…

likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated!

© asvterias, 2024. please do not copy, repost or translate onto any other platforms without my permission.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

KÖNIG WITH BRAT READER PLS PLS PLS

Me myself i am a BIG brat, good luck to him trying to discipline me lmao

König is a nice man, hes sweet and stuff. So i wanna see König lose his patience. I want him to be mad at me. I want him to take out his built up anger. I requested you this because i trust your writing the most.Pls feed me i love ur blog<3

König w/ a Bratty S/O

Warnings: 18+, Nothing too Explicit TBH, Bratty Reader, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’, Dominant König, Spanking, Edging, Overstimulation, Restraints, Punishment, etc.

König could handle your incessant whining, your moaning and your complaining.

At most, he usually found it endearing, perhaps even adorable when he looked past the vague hostility and saw insecurity buried within, hiding, trembling.

But then you had to go for the throat – hit him where it really hurt.

You’d had the gall to suggest that he couldn’t satisfy you – that you’d go and search for someone who could, someone who “can do it with their hands tied behind their back.”

And König snapped.

You didn’t notice it at first; the shift in the atmosphere was so sudden, the snap of a harp string – a heartstring.

And you didn’t notice König rising, his shadow eclipsing your form as you faced away, arms crossed, spouting fallacies about your neighbours who you wagered were “ten times better” in bed than him.

It was only when his chest was to your back, his bulge between your thighs, that you snapped out of your beration.

The air was thick now, begging to be sliced, dissected, with something – anything – to end its own existence.

Aside from the rising volume of your battering heart and König’s restrained, bullish breathing, it was silent. A carbon monoxide death in all but feeling. This was silent, this was invisible. And it was deadly.

No-one was around to help you; that much you gathered from the lack of voices or footsteps from your neighbours, no cars passing by on the street, no chatter except for that dying in your mind.

König’s anger bulged from his very soul. And with his face hidden behind you, you could only imagine the look of thunder that rolled across it.

König clapped a large, bearish, calloused hand upon your shoulder, and squeezed. Tighter and tighter with each passing second, he became. The thought that he could break your collarbone this way crossed your mind.

Wincing, you tried to turn around, to placate König.

He growled, gripped you by both shoulders now, and kept you facing forwards, pushing you.

“Go on, Darling,” he hissed. It was not a request. “Keep going.”

You were unsure as to whether he meant to keep goading or keep walking, but you weren’t taking any chances.

König marched you to the bedroom, his wall of a body making escape an impossibility.

This was going to be a long night.

NSFW:

König’s veil stays on during punishment.

It’s his way of letting you know that your loving boyfriend is gone; no human soul exists in this vessel anymore.

Ties you to the bedposts. He’s not giving you a moment of reprieve, nor a chance to defend yourself.

Spanks you with a thick belt he keeps hidden away in the wardrobe, which he bought specifically in anticipation for your insufferable behaviour.

Makes you tell him you love him as he’s beating you.

Gives him a sense of power that he can force your love in some way, whether you love him or not (you do; but for the sake of this segment, you usually pretend you don’t. König knows you’re lying, though).

He’ll see your backside red and inflamed before he lets up, and even then it’s because he’s moving on to the next phase of your punishment.

Edges you. Constantly.

And König has the restraint to keep withdrawing whenever he feels you’re close.

He doesn’t want you feeling even a second’s worth of relief. Not after the way you spoke to him.

And, eventually, after hours of edging, he’ll finally let you finish.

But don’t be mistaken; this isn’t the end.

There’s a dark glint in his eye as you’re left panting, sweating, almost crying.

“Oh, Darling,” he says, brushing a sodden lock of hair from your forehead. Faux reassurance. “We’re not done yet.”

Overstimulation Central.

You’ll be absolutely weeping as König slams into you, your already sensitive body forced to bear the pounding shocks he sends through you, even when you plead with him to stop.

“Can’t satisfy you, can I?” König says, mockingly. “Then tell me who’s filling you right now – tell me who you belong to.”

“You, König! You, you – only you!”

Your throat will have run raw with how you scream König’s name, his body caging yours beneath it.

It’s his way of telling you you’re his.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

[small-z24]

One-Shot: Shadows of Secrets

Summary: 

Y/N Archeron, gifted with invisibility, secretly listens in on the Night Court’s plans against Hybern to prove her worth. When she goes missing during the battle, Azriel must find her amid the chaos, leading to a moment of vulnerability and a deepening bond between them.

Word Count: 2306

Warnings: None 

The shadows were her refuge. Y/N Archeron, the youngest of the Archeron sisters, had been given the gift—or curse—of invisibility when she emerged from the Cauldron. While her sisters had received powers that they wore like armor, Y/N’s ability was more elusive, more secretive. She could vanish from sight, slip through the cracks, and listen to secrets meant to be kept hidden.

Growing up, Y/N often felt like the forgotten sister. Feyre, Nesta, and Elain were always busy, strong, and capable, while Y/N, being the youngest, was often overlooked. She had been too young to contribute meaningfully to the family’s struggles, and that feeling of uselessness had stayed with her. But tonight, she was determined to change that. The Night Court was planning their next move against Hybern, and she needed to know how she could help. This was her chance to prove herself.

Slipping into the war room undetected, she positioned herself in a corner, her body fading from view. The room was dimly lit, a large map spread across the table in the center. Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel stood around it, their expressions grim as they discussed strategies and battle plans.

“We need to strike quickly and decisively,” Rhysand was saying, his voice filled with authority. “Hybern’s forces are on the move, and we can’t afford any mistakes.”

Cassian nodded, his arms crossed over his chest. “Our spies have confirmed their movements. We have a narrow window to catch them off guard.”

Azriel, silent and brooding, stood slightly apart from the others, his shadows whispering around him. As Y/N watched, she felt a strange connection to those shadows, as if they were aware of her presence.

Azriel’s eyes narrowed slightly, his head tilting as he listened to the murmurs of his shadows. He knew someone was there, but he said nothing, continuing to discuss plans with Rhysand and Cassian. The meeting dragged on, with detailed discussions and strategic planning. Y/N strained to catch every word, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and fear.

Finally, Rhysand and Cassian concluded the meeting, their expressions resolute. “We’ll meet again tomorrow to finalize the details,” Rhysand said, rolling up the map. “Get some rest.”

As the others left the room, Azriel lingered, his shadows swirling more restlessly around him. Y/N remained invisible, hoping to slip out unnoticed. But as the door closed behind Rhysand and Cassian, Azriel spoke, his voice cold and commanding.

“Show yourself.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She hesitated, but the shadows around her seemed to tighten, pulling her toward visibility. Slowly, she let her invisibility fade, revealing herself in the corner of the room.

Azriel’s eyes narrowed as he took in her appearance. “What are you doing here, Y/N?”

She straightened, meeting his gaze with determination. “I wanted to help. I’ve been listening, learning. I want to fight with you against Hybern.”

Azriel’s expression hardened. “Spying on us isn’t the way to do that.”

“I wasn’t spying,” Y/N protested, her voice rising. “I was trying to understand how I can help.”

Azriel took a step closer, his shadows swirling around her menacingly. “You could have been caught. You could have been killed. Do you understand how reckless that was?”

Y/N stood her ground, refusing to be intimidated. “I know the risks, Azriel. I’m not a child. I can handle myself.”

Azriel’s gaze softened slightly, but his voice remained stern. “You should have come to us directly. Spying, even with good intentions, undermines trust.”

Y/N’s shoulders sagged slightly. “I didn’t want my sisters to know. They have enough to worry about.”

Azriel’s expression softened further, the shadows around him calming. “We all have our burdens, Y/N. But secrets like this can get you killed. You’re part of this court, and that means you don’t have to do this alone.”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes filled with determination. “I want to prove myself, Azriel. I want to show that I can be useful, that I can fight.”

Azriel nodded slowly, his eyes reflecting a mix of respect and concern. “Then we’ll train you, get you ready for what’s to come. But no more secrets.”

Y/N nodded, a sense of relief washing over her. “No more secrets.”

Azriel stepped back, his expression thoughtful. “You have potential, Y/N. But you need to trust us. Trust me.”

“I do trust you,” Y/N said softly, meeting his gaze. “And I’ll prove it.”

As the night wore on, Y/N felt a strange sense of belonging. She was no longer the invisible sister, hiding in the shadows. She was part of the Night Court now, ready to fight alongside them.

And as Azriel’s shadows curled around her, whispering their secrets, she knew that she had found her place. In the heart of the battle, in the midst of the danger, she would stand with them. She would fight for her family, for her home, and for the shadows that had claimed her as their own.

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of training and preparation. Azriel took Y/N under his wing, teaching her the art of stealth and shadow manipulation. Their sessions were intense but rewarding, and Y/N quickly found herself improving. She learned how to move silently, how to blend into her surroundings, and how to use her invisibility to her advantage.

Azriel’s shadows became a constant presence, swirling around them as they trained. They seemed to take a liking to Y/N, often lingering near her even after their sessions ended. She found herself growing fond of the shadows, speaking to them in the same way Azriel did. They responded to her, their whispers soft and affectionate.

One evening, as they finished a particularly grueling training session, Azriel noticed the way his shadows were behaving around Y/N. They twined around her like playful tendrils, almost like puppies seeking attention. He watched with a mix of amusement and curiosity as Y/N spoke to them, her voice soft and soothing.

“You’ve got a way with them,” Azriel remarked, his eyes twinkling with admiration.

Y/N smiled, gently patting one of the shadows. “They’re easier to talk to than most people. They listen.”

Azriel chuckled, shaking his head. “They do seem to have taken a liking to you. It’s not something they do often.”

As they walked back to the House of Wind, the bond between them grew stronger. They shared stories, laughter, and moments of quiet understanding. Y/N began to see a different side of Azriel—one that was gentle, kind, and fiercely protective. And Azriel found himself opening up to Y/N in ways he hadn’t with anyone else.

One day, Feyre found Azriel alone in the library, his shadows dancing around him as he read a report. She approached him quietly, her expression serious.

“Azriel, can we talk?” Feyre asked, her voice soft but firm.

Azriel looked up, nodding. “Of course, Feyre. What’s on your mind?”

Feyre took a seat across from him, her eyes searching his. “It’s about Y/N. I’ve noticed how close you two have become. And I’ve seen the way your shadows follow her.”

Azriel’s gaze softened. “She’s special, Feyre. She has a gift with the shadows, and she’s become quite skilled. But more than that, she’s determined to prove herself.”

Feyre nodded, her expression thoughtful. “I’ve seen that. But she’s still my sister, Azriel. I worry about her, especially with the danger we’re facing.”

Azriel leaned forward, his voice earnest. “I understand your concern, Feyre. And I promise you, I’ll keep her safe. I care about her deeply. I won’t let anything happen to her.”

Feyre’s eyes softened, and she reached out to squeeze his hand. “I know you will. Just... be careful. She’s been through so much already.”

Azriel nodded, a determined look in his eyes. “I will. You have my word.”

As the days passed, Y/N continued to train with Azriel, their bond growing stronger with each passing moment. The shadows seemed to sense their connection, often wrapping around Y/N protectively. She could communicate with them effortlessly, and they responded to her with a loyalty that mirrored their bond with Azriel.

One evening, as they stood on the balcony overlooking Velaris, Y/N turned to Azriel, her eyes filled with gratitude. “Thank you, Azriel. For everything. I’ve never felt more capable, more... needed.”

Azriel smiled, his shadows swirling around them both. “You’ve always been capable, Y/N. You just needed the right opportunity to show it. And you’re more than needed—you’re invaluable.”

Y/N’s heart swelled with emotion, and she reached out to take his hand. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Azriel’s gaze softened, and he squeezed her hand gently. “We’re a team, Y/N. And I’m proud to have you by my side.”

As they stood there, the bond between them stronger than ever, Y/N knew that she had found her place. In the heart of the battle, in the midst of the danger, she would stand with Azriel and the Night Court. She would fight for her family, for her home, and for the shadows that had claimed her as their own.

And as the stars twinkled above, she felt a sense of peace and purpose. With Azriel by her side, she knew they could face anything—together.

The day of the battle with Hybern had arrived. The air was thick with tension as the Night Court prepared for the confrontation. Feyre had insisted that Y/N stay behind with Elain, away from the front lines. Despite Y/N’s protests, Feyre’s concern for her youngest sister’s safety had won out.

As the armies clashed and the battle raged, Feyre's thoughts kept drifting back to Y/N. She trusted her sister's abilities, but the fear of losing her gnawed at her. When the battle finally ended, the field was littered with the bodies of fallen soldiers. As Feyre surveyed the battlefield, a sense of dread settled in her stomach.

“Where’s Y/N?” Feyre called out, her voice tinged with worry. She scanned the area, her heart pounding.

Elain, standing nearby, looked around with wide eyes. “She was with me... but then she disappeared. I thought she was just hiding.”

Panic surged through Feyre, and she immediately turned to Azriel, who was tending to some of the wounded. “Azriel, Y/N is missing. We need to find her.”

Azriel’s eyes widened, and without a word, his shadows sprang into action, darting out in all directions to search for her. His heart raced with worry, but he forced himself to stay calm, knowing that he needed to find her quickly.

“Where is she?” Azriel muttered to himself, his shadows stretching out further. “Find her. Find Y/N.”

The shadows darted through the forest, guided by their connection to Y/N. They led Azriel to a secluded spot, deep within the woods. As he approached, he saw the aftermath of a fierce battle. Hybern soldiers lay scattered, their lifeless bodies a testament to a brutal fight.

In the center of the carnage, Y/N sat on the ground, her knees drawn to her chest. Her breathing was rapid, her eyes wide with panic. Azriel’s heart clenched at the sight of her distress.

“Y/N,” he called softly, approaching her with caution. “It’s me, Azriel. You’re safe now.”

Y/N’s eyes flicked up to him, her face pale and her hands trembling. “Azriel, I... I didn’t mean to...”

Azriel knelt beside her, his shadows wrapping around them both in a protective cocoon. “It’s okay, Y/N. You did what you had to do.”

She shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I killed them, Azriel. I killed so many.”

Azriel gently took her hands in his, his touch grounding her. “You were defending yourself. Defending us. It’s normal to feel overwhelmed.”

Y/N’s breathing hitched, and she clung to him as if he were her lifeline. “I was so scared. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Azriel’s heart ached for her, and he pulled her into a tight embrace. “You’re safe now. I’m here. Just breathe with me.”

He guided her through slow, deep breaths, his voice soothing and steady. Gradually, her breathing began to calm, the panic in her eyes fading. She rested her head against his chest, finding comfort in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I couldn’t stay behind,” Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible. “I needed to help.”

Azriel stroked her hair, his touch gentle and reassuring. “I know, Y/N. And you did help. You’re incredibly brave.”

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of guilt and gratitude. “I just wanted to prove that I could make a difference.”

Azriel’s gaze softened, and he cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing away her tears. “You’ve proven that and more. But you don’t have to do it alone. We’re in this together.”

Y/N nodded, her grip on him tightening. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

Azriel shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. “Just promise me you’ll let us know next time. We need you safe, Y/N.”

She managed a small smile in return. “I promise.”

As they sat there in the quiet forest, surrounded by the aftermath of battle, Azriel held Y/N close, his shadows enveloping them both. He knew that the road ahead would be difficult, but with Y/N by his side, he felt ready to face any challenge.

And as the first rays of dawn broke through the trees, they rose together, hand in hand, ready to return to their family and continue the fight for their home. In each other, they had found strength, trust, and a bond that would carry them through whatever lay ahead.

[luxaofhesperides]

Wings AU ; requested by @justwannabecat!

“Are you sure it looks good?” Duke asks for the sixth time in an hour.

Tim sighs and says, yet again, “It looks fine. Just give it to him! If he doesn’t love it, I’ll beat him up for you.”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

“I could! But you’re right, I wouldn’t. I would just psychologically torment him until he broke.”

“Don’t do that, please. I’d like to actually have a chance with him, even if he hates this.”

“He won’t,” Tim says. He actually stops typing to give Duke a severe look. “Go and give it to him. If you don’t go now, he’s going to think you bailed.”

Duke glances at the time, then jumps. “Shit! Thanks for your help, man!” He’s out of the door before Tim can say another word. He doesn’t bother with the front door, or even going down the hallway. Instead, he opens the nearest window and flings himself out of it, unfurling his tawny wings to catch the wind beneath them and ride them into the city proper.

He briefly considers stopping for a moment to change into his Signal outfit so he can fly above civilian jurisdiction, then decides that it’s far easier to just bend the light around him so he’s invisible. He wouldn’t want to be late meeting Danny, after all. Especially not for this.

He hadn’t been expecting Danny to be into traditional courting methods. Most people tend to go the more modern way of dating, but Danny had mentioned once or twice that he thought it was romantic. He had blushed, mumbling the words, but Duke heard them and went into researching courting methods to see which ones Danny might like best.

Sure, he could just ask Danny out on a date like he normally would if he liked someone, but if Danny wants to be courted, then Duke is going to court him!

It’s why he’s been planning this out carefully, gathering his primaries after his wings molted a few months ago so he could string them together into a thin wing covering. 

Admittedly, this courting method isn’t super common, but the thought of giving Danny his feathers, making it look like their wings are one and the same, has kept Duke up some nights, wanting it so badly. 

Besides, he thinks Danny will like it. Considering the state of his wings after the Accident…

Duke holds his handmade wing covers closer to his chest, flier lower as he leaves Bristol and enters Diamond District. The streets are busy, full of people. Most tend to stay on the ground, wings tucked close to their bodies, but there are plenty still flying above cars and buses that Duke has to carefully fly around. 

It takes another twenty minutes to get to Robinson Park, where Duke drops down to the ground and takes a moment to make sure all his feathers are straight and neatly displayed. Then he walks into the park, heading towards their usual meeting place.

For once, it’s a nice, sunny day in Gotham. Everyone’s taking advantage of it. The park is full of couples and families, walking around slowly, and kids dart through the air, still unable to go very high with their wings not yet fully grown in. It’s nice to hear the laughter and general chatter of people wandering the park. 

Duke doesn’t spend too long walking the paved paths through the park. He steps off of it near the second water fountain on the path, then heads into the trees, passing two moms on a picnic with their three kids rolling around the grass nearby. 

Tucked away in this corner of the park is a small clearing surrounded by thin trees. The tile is dirty and cracked, no one maintaining it at all with it hidden away. 

He sees Danny’s wings first, with long feathers that trail onto the ground, a black that shines dark blue in the light. He follows the lines of his wings back to his body, where Danny sits on a bench, leaning his weight back against his hands as he lifts his head up into the sunlight, basking in the warmth.

He really is so pretty. He insists that he isn’t, but Duke regularly spends time with the Wayne family, all who have modeled before, so he’s got a better idea than most about what pretty  looks like, and Danny fits the bill. 

“Hey,” Duke calls out softly, watching as Danny slowly blinks his eyes open and turns to give him a warm smile.

“Hey! I’m free for the rest of the day, which means we have so much time to complain about things today.”

“I didn’t keep you waiting, did I?”

“Nope,” Danny says. “I wouldn’t mind waiting, though. I like hanging out with you.”

Heart pounding in his chest, Duke walks forward. He doesn’t know if there’s something specific he has to say when presenting his gift, if there’s a courting tradition involved that he didn’t learn about. He’s terrified Danny’s going to reject it. He’s praying that Danny accepts it.

“Are you okay?” Danny asks, standing to get a better look at him. “You seem tense…” He trails off as he catches sight of what Duke holds in his hands, breath stuttering.

“I’m fine. I, um.” Duke steps into the clearing, entering the sunlight, and holds out his wing covers. “I made them for you. You mentioned before that you thought courting traditions were romantic… I don’t know if you like wing covers, but I thought you’d look good in my feathers… Only if you want it though!”

He’s trying so hard not to cringe away in embarrassment. He’s flirted with Danny before, half jokes and half serious, always playful. Duke was smooth then, delighting in how flustered it made Danny before he hit back with his own flirting. Now he’s a hesitant, stuttering fool, tripping over his words and struggling to find the perfect things to say. Maybe he should have thought up a speech, or something. Memorized a few lines to speak his intentions with this courting gift. Done literally any prep for giving the gift instead of focusing only on making it.

Danny doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move either. He just stares, wide-eyed at the wing covers in Duke’s hands.

That’s a bad sign, isn’t it.

His hands lower just a touch, and he quietly prompts, “Danny?”

Just as he’s about to pull back, step away and try to fix things, messily attempt to salvage their friendship because clearly Danny doesn’t want to be courted by Duke, Danny’s hands snap out whip-fast and latch onto his wrists.

“This is… for me?” he whispers, awed.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s for you.”

“And you’re courting me? Like, for real?”

“Yeah, definitely courting you for real. Do you accept?”

Danny throws himself into Duke’s arms, careful not to crush the wing covers between them. “In what world would I say no?” he laughs, bright with joy. He pulls back a second later, not giving Duke time to hug him back, and turns around, carefully stretching his wings out. “Put them on for me?”

“Of course.”

He starts by smoothing out some of Danny’s feathers. He doesn’t get to do this often; Danny hates having his wings on display for anyone, with how they spasm occasionally, and have empty patches where feathers will never grow in again. The Accident, all that electricity coursing through him, it permanently damaged his wings. There is no healing to be done. 

His wings are lacking too many flight feathers and primaries for him to fly. He’s stuck on the ground now, unable to use his wings for more than a minute. Old burns are still visible closer to his spine. 

Danny prefers hiding his wings away. He hates thinking about the Accident, hates how it’s taken his wings from him, how it’s changed him completely. 

But Duke loves his wings. He loves the softness of Danny’s lower feathers, how they shine in the light, how they always puff up when it gets windy. He’s only gotten to preen them twice before, and he treasures those memories more dearly than anything else.

This easily outshines both those moments.

He gently combs his fingers through Danny’s feathers, straightening them out, then lays the first wing cover over his right wing. His own brown feathers drape over the top of Danny’s wings, hiding the featherless patches from view. He does the same to the other wing, then adjust both until they lay perfectly on Danny’s wings.

As soon as he lifts his hands away from Danny’s wings, Danny is spinning around with a grin, flaring his wings out.

“How do I look?”

“Perfect,” Duke answers. He was right; Danny looks good in his feathers.

He watches, fond and amused, as Danny spins, keeping his wings flared, admiring his new look. “I’m never taking these off,” he says. “I love them so much. I can’t really make one for you, though…”

“You don’t need to.”

“I can’t just accept this and not give you something in return!”

“Well… There is one thing you could give me. Something I’ve been wanting for a long time.”

“What is it?” Danny asks, leaning towards Duke. He’s eager, ready to please, so delighted to be courted. 

Duke smiles. “A kiss.”

“Done.” 

He doesn’t have time to react before Danny is pouncing on him, hands fisting the collar of his shirt as he tilts his head up and kisses Duke. He pulls back before Duke can kiss back, blushing and unbearably cute.

And all Duke manages to say is, “Cool.”

He’s so good at this.

Danny rightfully laughs at him, then grabs his hand and pulls him down to the bench. “Come on, I promised to complain about my teachers today and I intend to deliver. And maybe later, I could take you out on a date? If you want.”

“Danny, of course I want to go on a date with you. I’m courting you! I thought I made my feelings clear!”

“I’m just making sure!” Danny shouts over him, and Duke can’t resist the urge to pull him closer and pepper kisses along his cheek. “Okay, okay, I got it. You’ve made your feelings clear. I’m going to date you so hard.”

“You better. It’s about time you put some work into our relationship.”

“Excuse you?!” Danny gasps in mock outrage, and they start bickering lightheartedly as they always do.

Even with their feelings come to light, even with a courtship started and a date promised, it doesn’t feel like anything between them has changed. 

It’s just them. Just as it always has been.

Duke couldn’t be happier.

[soldiersareyourprotectors]

Eric and Ethan had always been inseparable, their bond forged through years of shared adventures, challenges, and when they got older a mutual passion for motorcycles. As identical twins, they shared striking features: piercing blue eyes, sharp jawlines, and an infectious smile. Yet, over the years, subtle differences had emerged between them.

Eric, the more athletic of the two, had spent countless hours at the gym, honing his physique to perfection. His muscles bulged beneath the sleek, black leather motorcycle racing gear he wore, a testament to his dedication and hard work. Ethan, on the other hand, had a softer frame, his body cushioned by a layer of pudge that he carried with a certain ease. He preferred the comfort of textile gear, appreciating its practicality over the aesthetic appeal of leather.

One sunny Saturday, the twins decided to take their motorcycles out for a long ride through the winding roads of the countryside. The day was perfect, the sky a brilliant blue, the air filled with the scent of blooming wildflowers. They rode side by side, the roar of their engines harmonizing like a symphony, a sound that never failed to bring a smile to their faces.

After hours of exhilarating speed and sharp turns, they pulled into a small roadside café for a break. They parked their bikes and stretched, the fatigue of the ride beginning to set in. As they sat down at a wooden picnic table, a young woman approached, her eyes drawn to Eric's impressive physique and the way his leather gear hugged his form.

"Hey," she said, smiling brightly at Eric. "You look like you ride a lot. Can I get your number?"

Eric, always friendly and outgoing, smiled and obliged, exchanging pleasantries and his phone number. Ethan watched from the sidelines, his heart sinking as the scene unfolded.

A few minutes later, a man came over, similarly captivated by Eric. "Nice bike," he said, his gaze lingering on Eric's muscular frame. "Do you come here often? Can I get your number?"

Eric chuckled and exchanged numbers again, his charm and easy demeanor drawing the attention effortlessly. Ethan felt a pang of jealousy, but he kept his feelings hidden behind a forced smile.

Throughout their break, different people continued to approach Eric, each one seemingly oblivious to Ethan's presence. The constant attention Eric received only deepened Ethan's sense of invisibility. He tried to join the conversations, but his attempts were met with polite indifference. Each interaction chipped away at his self-esteem, leaving him feeling smaller and more insignificant.

After a while, they got back on their bikes and rode home in silence. Eric was in high spirits, the attention he received adding to his exuberance. Ethan, however, felt a storm brewing inside him. The jealousy and hurt festered, but he didn't want to burden his brother with his feelings. He acted completely normal, laughing at Eric's jokes and discussing their plans for the next ride as if nothing was amiss.

That night, as they parked their bikes in the garage, Ethan knew he needed space to sort out his emotions. He made an excuse about needing some time alone and left before Eric could ask any questions.

In the days that followed, Ethan ignored Eric's calls and messages. He needed distance to deal with the pain of feeling perpetually overshadowed. Eric's concern grew, but Ethan remained resolute in his silence, determined not to let his jealousy damage their bond further. Weeks turned into months, and then years, with Ethan maintaining his distance, his silence becoming a wall between them.

Eric continued to reach out, his calls and messages filled with worry and confusion.

Yet, Ethan couldn't bring himself to respond. The pain of that day had left a lasting scar, one that time alone couldn't heal.

Two years later, Eric still hoped for reconciliation, while Ethan struggled with his feelings, the memory of that fateful ride haunting him. Their bond, once unbreakable, now lay fractured, a casualty of unspoken hurt and unaddressed emotions. Eric had been riding his motorcycle alone through the countryside all day, the wind whipping past him, the roar of the engine drowning out his thoughts. The endless road stretched before him, a temporary escape from the loneliness and confusion that had plagued him ever since Ethan had disappeared from his life. The sky gradually darkened as evening approached, the day's heat lingering in the air.

By the time he returned home, his body was soaked in sweat, trapped within the confines of his one-piece leather motorcycle racing suit and boots. He parked his bike in the garage and staggered inside, exhaustion etched into every muscle. His throat was parched, and he headed straight to the fridge, grabbing the milk and drinking straight from the carton, gulping down the cold liquid hastily.

With the milk nearly finished, he put the carton back and slumped onto a chair, beginning the laborious process of taking off his racing boots. He could feel the heat and moisture trapped inside, his feet aching from the long ride. As he worked on the second boot, a sudden wave of dizziness overcame him, and he collapsed to the floor. Panic surged through him as he found himself conscious but completely immobile, every muscle unresponsive.

As he lay there, helpless, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. His heart pounded in his chest as he strained to see who it was. A shadow fell over him, and he saw a pair of gloved hands reach down and grab his boots. The figure then moved to his ankles and began dragging him towards the bedroom. Eric's mind raced with fear and confusion, his attempts to struggle futile against the paralysis.

He was pulled into the bedroom and unceremoniously lifted onto the bed. His eyes widened as he saw the figure looming over him, a muscular man whose face was hidden behind a black balaclava. The man's presence was imposing, his movements precise and controlled as he began to strip Eric out of his tight, warm, and sweaty gear.

The man started by removing Eric's gloves, sliding them off his hands with deliberate slowness. Next, he unzipped the one-piece leather suit, the zipper's sound a harsh rasp in the tense silence. The man had to peel the suit away from Eric's body, the leather clinging stubbornly to his sweat-drenched skin. The process was slow and meticulous, the suit coming off inch by inch, revealing Eric's glistening torso and legs. The cool air hit Eric's exposed skin, sending a shiver down his spine.

Once the suit was off, the man moved on to Eric's socks, pulling them off and exposing his damp feet. Then came the undershirt, which was stuck to Eric's torso from the day's perspiration. The man tugged it over Eric's head, leaving him in just his underpants, now visibly soaked with sweat.

Finally, the man reached for the underpants, pulling them down and off with a single motion, leaving Eric completely exposed and vulnerable. The man stepped back, surveying Eric's prone form. Then, without a word, he began to strip himself, removing his clothing piece by piece until he stood in nothing but the balaclava. His muscular body gleamed in the dim light, each muscle defined and powerful.

The man inspected his own body, flexing slightly, before turning his attention back to Eric. As Eric lay there, his breath coming in shallow gasps, he noticed the familiarity of the man's physique. It was as if he had seen this body somewhere before. The man moved closer, his eyes scanning Eric with an almost clinical detachment.

He began to feel Eric's body, running his hands over his chest, arms, and legs. Eric's mind raced with fear and confusion, his attempts to speak futile. Then, it struck him —the man's body was identical to his own. The same muscle definition, the same contours and lines. It was like looking into a mirror.

Eric's heart pounded as the realization settled in. Who was this man, and why did he have the exact same body? The man continued his inspection, his touch lingering on Eric's muscles, comparing them to his own. The surreal and terrifying experience left Eric's mind spinning, trying to grasp the reality of the situation.

The man picked up Eric's wet underpants and slowly pulled them up his own thighs, positioning everything into place with meticulous care. He then took the damp socks and pulled them over his calves. Next, the sweaty undershirt followed onto the man's torso, sticking slightly to his skin. He grabbed the leather racing suit and forced his body into it, the material fitting perfectly, just like it did on Eric.

Finally, he stepped into Eric's motorcycle racing boots, the warmth and moisture enveloping his feet. He zipped them up and stood there, reveling in the feeling of wearing Eric's sweaty gear.

The man, now dressed in Eric's leather motorcycle gear and boots, laid down next to Eric, feeling Eric's naked muscular body through the gloves. He began to thrust against Eric's body through the leather gear, his movements methodical and intense.

After what felt like an eternity, the man finally stood up, breathing heavily. He reached up and removed the balaclava, revealing his face. Eric's eyes widened in shock as he saw Ethan standing there, wearing Eric's gear. Now it all made sense— the body that looked so much like his own. Ethan had been gone for two years, and in that time, he had transformed himself to look exactly like Eric.

Ethan smirked, his eyes cold and calculating. "Surprised to see me?" he asked, his voice eerily calm. "I worked out every day for two years to become you. To take over your life."

Ethan then grabbed some rope and began tying up Eric's naked body, securing his wrists and ankles tightly. He stuffed a gag into Eric's mouth, muffling any attempts to speak or scream. Helpless and bound, Eric could only watch as Ethan felt himself up, savoring the sensation of wearing his brother's sweaty leathers.

Ethan picked up Eric's phone and held it up to his own face. The phone unlocked instantly through Face ID, confirming how identical they now were. Ethan grinned down at Eric, relishing his victory. "You see, brother," he said, his tone dripping with malice, "I've become you in every way that matters. Now, it's my turn to live your life."

The doorbell rang, and Ethan paused, looking towards the door. He left the room to answer it. Eric could hear the sound of Ethan's motorcycle boots echoing through the apartment, a familiar yet chilling sound. Moments later, Ethan returned, followed by two men. They looked at Eric's naked, tied-up body and grinned.

"This is him," Ethan said, his voice devoid of any warmth. "The pinnacle I promised your boss."

The men nodded approvingly. "He's perfect," one of them said. They moved swiftly, grabbing Eric and carrying him out of the house. He struggled weakly against his bonds, but it was no use. They shoved him into the back of a van and slammed the doors shut. The last thing Eric saw was Ethan standing in the doorway, a cold, triumphant smile on his face.

That was the last time Ethan saw Eric. From that day forward, Ethan lived his life as Eric. He wore Eric's clothes and motorcycle gear, slept in Eric's bed, and rode Eric's motorcycle. Ethan had become Eric in every way that mattered, and that is all he cared about.

[kidasthings]

Remember Me - One-Shot Noa x Mae Fanfic by Kida

Or, the last time Mae visits Noa with all those things left unsaid.

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

The wind whispered across the grass, sweeping it with invisible fingertips. She stood, seemingly strong, in a blue cowl pock-marked by holes and tears. Behind her, her horse softly whickered and nosed the ground.

The subject of the woman's focus was just in front of her, wary as always, that same breeze stirring his short fur like it had the grass.

There is a stiffness in his regal posture. There had been so many times, too many times, where she had seemingly crossed him or hid information by omission.

He knew this.

So did she.

It was more overwhelming between them than the presence of Proximus Caesar had been.

They remained that way, frozen, until he chose to break the silence with words. Without preamble, the young ape asked her if their kind could live together.

A pause followed, interrupted only by the indignant snort of a horse.

“I don’t know,” she muttered softly, her eyes pricking with unshed tears.

Noa approached then, something hidden in his calloused hand. She knew what it was, of course, but that didn’t stop a single digit from tightening on the trigger of a small, hidden pistol concealed in her cloak.

The young male's face displayed reluctance and acceptance both in that all-too-human way that conflicted emotions carried. “You should have it.”

Hesitantly, Mae reached out and took the last piece of Raka shared between them. She folded the medallion in her fingers, felt its solid weight, and was brought back to the moment the waters washed the peaceful orangutan away.

Washed her ..friend.. away.

Her eyes cut to the side in something like shame, departing swiftly from Noa’s suddenly open and honest face. Her chin tipped inward, and she closed her eyes for a second, replaying events against the back of her eyelids.

It was too much, the memories.

It was too much, Noa’s knowledge.

It was just too much, her feelings.

I should end him, she thought in a moment of sheer desperation, like a feral animal cornered. She quickly tossed that thought aside because she knew she couldn't even if she wanted to. She couldn't end Noa any more than she can end her mission. Both were vital, even if one was more clear-cut than the other.

So, instead, she gave the slightest jerk of her head sideways and took a step back. He was too close for comfort. Her blue, clear eyes remain trained on him as she retreated.

He returned the long gaze, no doubt replaying all of the events that led them to this place. A furrow ran through his brow, and his mouth flattened into a tight seam as if he were holding back more words.

Mae felt the impact of that expression, more than he knew. Her fingers curled around the handle of her hidden weapon, bone-white and bloodless. She could still..

No.

Gutted, the human woman whirled around and turned for her mount, still grazing idly by beneath a tree. The shadow of overhead branches fell over her cheeks, dappling them with shifting penumbras. Over her neck where it was since placed, she feels the circular pendant of Caesar burning a hole through the material of her cloak, her skin, and finally her heart. It carried the memory of Raka, yes, but also Noa.

He gave it to her, after all.

She glanced back, perfunctory, and found him still watching her. Their eyes, human and ape, met one last time and something deep inside Mae divides so fast it feels exactly like breaking.

No, her mind hissed. It's that trapped animal again, fearful and fighting.

Her legs are on auto-pilot now, walking away, away – just as her heart and liberated tears kept falling.

Away, away.

[stealingyourbones]

Tim Drake and Jason Todd are both halfas. They just don't know it for a while.

HI BONES I JUST WOKE UP FROM THIS DREAM AND HAD TO SHARE.

There's something recogonized between them, when Robin meets Red Hood in Titan's Tower. But it's a mystery to both of them what - especially Jason. There's no reason for the new Robin to reek of the Dead - not like him. 

The truth comes out a few years later, in hushed whispers of a desperate Tim Drake - something is happening that reminds him of something terrible: after the first week of truly being in the Robin suit, he has a gap in his memory of weeks. Okay a couple months, accurately.

He's hidden this well - the gap is after he'd taken a fairly serious injury, something that nevertheless had a relatively low recovery time. So Batman and Nightwing never noticed that it caused him to, technically, die. And like hell Tim would tell them that, especially then.

The thing is that few missing months.

Tim has put together what happened in those months; he'd always kept copious notes for himself. And Bruce and Dick shouldn't be bothered if he has a bit of amnesia.

After he "died" he was Robin - notes on his computer tell him what he did, notes in the Batcomputer fill him in on the cases. But the notes never refer to himself as Tim. And the tone and methods for what he did - well, they're like Tim's. Tim can follow all the logic in them. They just seem... off somehow. 

But there's no memory left to him, between that moment when his heart stopped in the Robin suit to a moment, months later, of waking up in the Medbay after Dick rescued him from the Drake household - targeted by a magic user with questionable morals who claims he was dead and wrong. 

So he was checked out by Constantine or Zatanna or someone and they confirmed that no, that's not the case and that's definitely Tim in the body.

Once they get there.

The thing is, the more Tim looked into it, the less he thinks that rogue magician was actually mistaken. He's a little faster now, a little stronger. Sometimes it's like he's invisible, or hanging just a little too long in the air on the grapple - but in the next moment, that's gone, and he's just Tim again. Human Tim.

So a couple years later when Jason shows up, and there's that Recognition - Dead to Dead - that he gets from no one else... the memories start filtering in. Now Tim has the memories of being - well - a ghost, in the Ghost Zone, desperately searching for a way back, a way home, filtering in.

Now for a couple years after that beatdown in Titan's Tower - a beatdown that should have left him truly dead, or healing for months longer - but his recovery time has always been faster since those missing months, especially in the minutes and hours right after the injuries, where they're easier to hide a bit. Now there's a threat to all the ghosts in Gotham, and Jason and Tim wind up in deep.

Hunted by the Guys in White.

And Jason is angry because maybe he's a weird undead reanimation of a corpse, but Tim sure isn't and these bastards aren't touching his little brother. And Tim is all like "So there's this thing that happened." and he's (falsely) convinced that if Jason just left him Jason would be okay and the GIW would stop hunting them.

And Jason is gobsmacked - and smacked with memories. Memories he didn't... really have before, not through the Lazarus haze. Not really. Memories of being Tim.

And then the Dates slot together in his head and oh shit oh shit oh shit.

The day Tim died and something possessed him? Was the day Jason crawled out of his grave and was found, catatonic, on the streets.

And the day Tim regained control of his body.

Was the day Jason was shoved into the Lazarus Pit.

Fuck. He hurt his baby brother more than he ever realized. Fuck.

(They eventually figure out, maybe with a bit of help after they rescue some more experienced ghosts from the assholes in white, that Tim... really would have died fully that day, had Jason's ghost not possessed his body, bringing it back to life, heart beating and lungs breathing. And he kept it breathing until Tim was called back to it. And the effort Jason put into that - breathing and beating and keeping that living spark alive - was the jump Jason's own body needed to truly wake up from his grave.)

Yeah so anyway they both say to the GIW: no you don't not MY fucking BROTHER you don't. And so do all the other Bats. 

And the GIW is fucked.

[tadpolesonalgae]

please… - Part 4

Azriel x reader

a/n: happy to be back here again 🧈

word count: 3,968

-Part 3-

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You watch on with barely concealed distain as your father fumbles before the High Lord, allowing himself too much leeway on the invisible leash, consequently choking when it’s pulled taut. Probably another jab at the High Lord’s mate. His High Lady.

How obnoxious.

Away in an alcove, your mother watches on with equal distaste, enough to have you raising the glass to your mouth to conceal your grin. If only she wasn’t so awful.

As if sensing your lingering gaze, she turns her sharp, kohl-lined eyes in your direction. The smile vanishes in the blink of an eye, sipping slowly as you raise a brow. Her own narrow, flicking to the duo hidden in the shadows a little way from the foot of the dais, darkness coming alive in that corner.

You idly drag your gaze back to your mother’s, taking an intentionally deep sip from your drink. Her brows draw together in cold warning, contempt tightening her features at your indolence, but you break the connection and turn to the corner she’d ordered you to. Holding the Shadowsinger…and the Morrigan.

Softer than a summer’s breeze, quieter than a concealed hunter, you make your way into the darkness, crafting together a smile fitting of your court. “Sister,” you greet, sweeping over her analytically, picking out the thrum of waves that are quietly resonating from her outline, slowly deciphering them, pulling them apart to understand her rhythm. “Spymaster.” You hold still as their attention openly lands on you, taking you in swiftly, checking a mental list no doubt. An instinct installed in them from a young age, but one you have, too.

“How lovely of you to join us,” Mor drawls, lips sharpened into a cutting smile, holding her drink elegantly between two slim fingers, nails dipped in blood-red varnish. You offer her a cool smile in return, “it took me some time to find you. I should have known you’d both be lurking in the shadows somewhere.”

“It’s hard not to in a place like this,” Mor replies, eyes glinting as she gestures to the dimly lit room. Your own smile sharpens to a grin, preparing to drink as you raise the glass to your mouth. “And…Velaris, was it? Is it much better there?”

Her eyes flinch, exterior remaining calm and cool, unruffled except for the tell-tale truth of her gaze. The stuttering pulse of the air around her, fluttering in a way she can convince her heart not to. All for nothing, in the face of your magic. You take a sip of your drink, making a show of enjoying her resentful silence, the anger that’s tucked in the narrowing of her brows.

“It really would be lovely to visit sometimes,” you muse, watching how the air distorts with the gradual irritation of her emotion, still kept under lock and key in her features. Really, without your magic you’d be utterly clueless. “After all,” you continue, “it’s always you coming over to us. It would be rude not to return the favour. We can’t have our High Lord and lady constantly being the ones to put in the effort.”

“And are those your own wishes or whispers you’ve caught in hallways?”

You break your gaze with Morrigan, turning at last to meet the cold, unruffled eyes of the shadowsinger, looking as if he were carved from stone. So fitting to the Hewn City.

“Most of the rooms are warded,” you reply smoothly, “it would take some effort to overhear such a private conversation.” You take another calm sip of your drink. “But maybe I have.”

They aren’t as foolish as to exchange glances with one another, not even a shift in attention, but you know they mark the words carefully.

“Is there a spot you favour, Mor?” You ask, returning your attention to the female you share blood with. Between the two of them, her waves are the most unsteady. The only one who has ties to this place, who has memories that run as deep as the cave systems tunnelled within. “There must be much more choice on the outside. More people about, more places to wander, more fresh air to enjoy,” you muse, watching her from over the rim of your glass. The growing agitation of her waves. “Is the sun still blinding when you emerge from our darkness, Mor?”

Power thunders through the room, the very ground shaking and you whip around along with a few hundred other bodies in time to see a figure knelt on the stone floor before the dais. Your blood turns to ice, skin freezing over with fear at the intensity of the overwhelmingly dark power, how it suffocates the room, leeching the hall of air until every breath feels empty no matter how deeply you inhale.

Subconsciously you take a small step back, legs feeling unsteady though you force yourself to hold fast, to continue hauling air into your lungs no matter how pointless it feels. There are too many figures now crowded before you to see what’s going on, who it is that’s being punished for whatever transgression they committed, but you can hear the barely muffled sobs, the pained whimpers of fear rising from throughout the room. The hall, once smelling of berry wine and roasted meat sprinkled with herbs, is now contaminated with an edge of terror, sharp and tangy, enough to put you off eating for the rest of the night.

Through your peripherals you watch as Morrigan slinks off into the shadow, aiming to be closer to the dais, ready to pounce given the chance. It’s enough to set any sane person on edge.

Something brushes against your shoulder blades, and your spine turns rigid, the softest whisper of shadow pushing you upright again. A moment later it vanishes, hardly there for a second but enough to return the warmth to your blood, the colour to your skin. Your heart still thunders against your ribs, but you find no shame in it—not before the sheer display of power that’s inevitably brought out to remind your court of its place. At his feet.

A flicker of resentment stirs in your chest, brows pulling together over your eyes, jaw wound tight as you fix your gaze upon the raised thrones, high enough to survey the revelry—and to disrupt it at their pleasure.

A cold shadow again brushes your skin, but this time on your upper arm, a swift flick to get your attention and you turn in time to see him shift toward one of the hallways, much darker than usual. An invitation to follow. Though maybe by the way it wraps around your wrist, giving a firm tug, it might be more of an order.

With a last glance at the crowd, enraptured by the show of pain, feeding off another’s downfall and gleeful it’s not their own, you silently follow after him, stepping deeper into the concentrated depth of darkness that seems to constantly surround him.

It would probably serve as more of a threat if you hadn’t been born into shadow like his.

————

“What do you want?” You ask upon locking the door, having chosen a room you know to be warded against eavesdroppers.

“How much are you able to hear through passing conversation?” It’s a question, but one he’s phrased as a quiet demand, leaving little room for argument. You regard him warily, before walking over to the half circle of plush chairs arranged openly around a constantly lit fireplace, rugs on the floor the colour of blood and oranges. “I hear what I hear,” you reply cryptically, setting down into one of the chairs, secretly grateful you no longer have to stand, legs still feeling a little wobbly. The heels are also a little uncomfortable, but it’s a familiar pain, so one you know how to manage.

“Curious about some goings on, Shadowsinger?”

His features remain neutral, shadows thick as they roll from his shoulders, swirling between the great wings that loom at his back, cutting and intimidating figure. Maybe he would be scary if you didn’t know how soft his hands could be. How gentle. Your skin aches for another set of touches, to refresh the memory, to remind yourself of the sensation. To remind yourself people can be kind, even in a world of blood and stone.

“I would have thought you’d be eager to share information,” he says neutrally, alluding to the other exchanges you’ve had. Mutual benefits being reaped in private. “And I would have thought you’d have no need for extra intel,” you reply, keeping your attention on him as the flame from the fire is cast through the open room, light reflecting warmly from the large mirror that’s mounted atop the mantel. Sweet thing.

“I know what you want,” he reminds lowly, “and you know what I want. I’m sure you can see how this would be advantageous to both parties.” The air around him remains still and unbothered, calm and steady as usual. “You’re proposing this be a mutual exchange?” You specify. “Something regular?”

“Regular, but not frequent.”

“How often, then?” You ask, brows narrowing. Things in your court are delicate at best, volatile at worst. Casually overhearing tidbits is no skin off your back, but making the effort to hear things of use…especially information that might be sensitive, intel that if acted on could be traced back to you. He has no obligation to look out for you either, if things went south. No reason to help you out unless it would benefit him.

“I couldn’t say,” he replies idly. “Maybe days apart, maybe years. Whenever I seek details perhaps only you can find.”

“I’d rather not be subject to such a mercurial agreement,” you say dryly. “If you’re seeking particulars, I can work with that, but without a direction is too much.”

“What sort of things do you have in mind for particulars?” He asks, the air faintly simmering around him. “And give away the small advantage that I have? I think not.”

“Very well,” he replies, as if having expected the small resistance, “what do you know about your father’s intentions for Velaris?”

Your brows narrow, running your gaze over him, hands mostly concealed in shadow. “How much are you willing to give for that?”

“How much do you want?” He returns, evading the question. Neither of you break the connection, staring each other down though the focus isn’t malicious. More wary—slightly curious. Unsure of this possible development.

“I’ve had no time to thoroughly look into that specific topic,” you start cautiously, angling your head, “so I’ll settle for the usual amount.”

“How much do you have?”

“Some,” you reply vaguely. Again that slight tension rises, the potential to turn into something terse, but then the two of you remember there’s no underlying violence, and settle back to relatively normal behaviour. Not quite at ease, though.

He nods his head for you to start, but you pause, looking him over once more. Letting him know you aren’t entirely at his disposal. You still hold the power to withhold what he’s after. He gives no sign of impatience, nor irritation, just bland neutrality. So you lean back into the plush warmth of the chair, inclined to pull your legs up to your chest, but that would give the illusion of weakness, of mediocrity. But maybe it would be better for him to think less of you, so you follow through with your original wish, tucking yourself into a deep corner of the cushion.

“Some things I’m able to hear through simply being in the right place at the right time, more on the side of coincidence than anything intended. Snippets of conversation people are too lazy to think to cover, or sometimes just not important enough for secrecy,” you begin, and he leans back into the wall slightly, more so that his shadows are within reasonable distance than for comfort. It’s easier to slip into darkness when you’re near a corner than the middle of a room, after all.

“Other times, there are pieces one can only have the chance to overhear depending on who they are. As his daughter I’m allowed more access than most to various rooms—some I doubt even my sister knows exist, having lacked the agency to seek them out.” Like before, he makes no external shift of his expression, no obvious tell to his emotions, but the air shifts around him, as if disturbed by something. Like how the colours above flames twist and distort as heat ripples up.

“Then, there are the things that require somehow being able to listen through walls, through wards that are spun thicker than wool and tighter than chainlink armour,” you say, catching the hint of interest in the far depths of his hazel eyes, and you wonder if you’re granted access to that piece of him through his own will or whether it’s a side effect of having foraged so deep inside of his mind you reached the bones of his soul. Tattered, but remaining strong. “Those, are the pieces I think you’d be interested in. Correct?”

His mask shifts a little, allowing his brows to dip as he takes on what you’ve said. “You know a way to listen through wards?” He asks, eyes flicking to the perimeters of the room. “I highly doubt anyone else would be able to, Shadowsinger,” you reply. “I highly doubt you’d tell me if they could, were you acting on your parent’s behalf.”

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing I’m not.”

Another tense silence passes between you, tension rising then fading, simmering away, like a pot taken off the boil.

“You already know I preside over my father’s hoard of antiquities. Ancient things with nasty spells wrapped around them, sometimes even imbued with malice themselves, which is what makes them so dangerous, as I’m sure you’re aware.” The air flickers around him, and you smile faintly. “What did end up happening to that mirror?”

“That’s none of your concern,” he replies shortly.

“I hope you put it to good use.”

His brows narrow at your tone, more clipped than he’s ever heard it. Verging on stern.

“Kier’s trove?” He reminds, still keeping to the shadows. A smile twinkles in your eyes, a little menacing. “There are all sorts of things in there—things that he really should be making more use of,” you answer wryly. The Shadowsinger remains quiet, inviting you to continue, and you settle more comfortably into the armchair. “You’d be surprised how useful some of the items in there are, once you known how to use them properly.”

“The Veritas?” He asks.

“Can repeat moments from memory, but can also record events as they happen, stored away in a secret pocket of time,” you smile, and wariness threads through his bones. “There were some interesting new moments captured within it when your returned that orb, that I doubt you knew could be accessed by me—or anyone, for that matter, if they knew how.”

“What are you talking about?” Azriel mutters lowly, shadows flickering at his back, agitation thickening in the air as the waves around him stutter.

“It’s a rather effective way of peering into someone else’s life,” you muse, “like a spyglass. I’m sure you would love to know how it works. It’s a shame the Veritas is so precious, or it would be a handy thing to leave lying about in your enemies’ rooms—see what they get up to behind closed doors.”

“What did you see?”

“Did I say that I saw?”

“It’s unwise to play games you don’t understand the rules of.”

“And here I thought we were on the same side, now you’re threatening me?”

“We have an agreement. Do not mistake that for sharing a side.”

“But we have a mutual enemy, doesn’t that put us exactly there?”

He pauses, and you watch as the shadows stretch along the walls, much further than they ought to be capable of. “I have no guarantee you aren’t under Kier’s thumb,” he says lowly, “though I suppose a quick look from our High Lord could sort that out.”

“Funny, I didn’t get the impression he would do something like that. Just going off how you all acted in the presence of the mortal queens.”

“So you did look.”

“I was curious,” you reason, smiling faintly.

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

“But satisfaction brought it back,” you remind, still smiling, more feline than before. “How do you think I came to know so much about my father’s trove? A comprehensive manual listing every little detail for every little object?”

“You’d have to be insane to meddle with age-old artefacts.”

“Or just bored to tears,” you counter. “So little happens down here, can you blame me?”

“So you decided to go and poke at ancient relics? Some that date back to prerecorded history?”

“And now you get to share in all the knowledge I’ve acquired, isn’t that wonderful. I’d have thought you’d be flying to the moon and back at getting to expand your web of informants.”

He stares at you silently, an unreadable look on his lovely face. “I’m assuming you won’t freely hand over that information, though.” You smile faintly, choosing to remain quiet. “And how much does your father know about the objects in his possession?” Azriel asks carefully.

“About the same as you do, probably.”

“Why have you chosen to keep it from him?” He inquires, hazel eyes more alert than usual. It seems you’ve successfully piqued his interest. “Surely handing over even fractions of everything you supposedly know would put you in his favour.”

“And what benefits would I get from being in his favour?” You return, amusement fading.

Azriel angles his head, the light from the fire warming the smooth planes of his features. “You tell me.”

“I think I’ve told you quite enough,” you reply lowly, “pay up.”

Something glints in his hazel eyes, the edges of his mouth curving ever so slightly, before he’s stepping back into the shadow, swallowing him whole. You bolt up in the chair, spine straightening as you lean over the arm, but he’s already vanished. Gotten out. Left you alone within the heavy stone room that no amount of fire is able to truly warm.

Your mask slips away, brows curving slightly, lips parting in quiet sorrow as a soft breath has your shoulders sloping with despondency.

Scar-roughened hands slip gently beneath your jaw, softly but firmly guiding you to lean back against the chair, tipping your chin slightly to gaze into deep hazel, the firelight refracting through the array of colours. His fingers run along the bone, raising to the spot beneath your pointed ear as he holds you still, keeping enough distance between his touch and your throat for you to ease. You may crave comfort in the form of physical connection, but the feeling of hands around your neck…never again.

“You could have just walked over,” you manage softly, staring up at him, tall enough to lean over the top of the large armchair. “I could have,” he agrees, “but you needed a reminder of your codependency.”

Your brows furrow, but he lightly applies pressure to the soft hollow on the underside of your mouth, and you lean back into the seat, eyes content to close. It’s such a rare gift, you can’t bring yourself to deny yourself of it from any angle. You need to let the touch sink into your skin, to memorise how it feels, how the warmth seeps in and remains for a little without the stinging pain of leather, or the harsh bite of metal.

His fingers trace up the arch of your ear, light as feathers as you raise into the touch, so desperately seeking more. Your breathing settles into a steady rhythm, deepening with surprising swiftness, falling into the heat of his hands as they soothe your senses.

“What are your father’s intentions for Velaris,” he murmurs quietly, sliding the palm of his right hand fully beneath your jaw, letting the heat sink in, marking how your breathing stutters ever so slightly. “He’s only mentioned it a few times,” you mumble, basking in the heaven of his hands. “What has he said?” He prompts, raising his left palm to brush hair back from your cheek, to stroke over the crown of your head, lulling you into spilling more secrets. “He’s said it’ll be a chance to expand his reach,” you mumble, “something about buying up precious commodities and reselling them elsewhere, to slowly decrease trade…I couldn’t hear all of it…”

Azriel’s brow narrows at the revelation, making a mental note to report that back to Rhys. “What else?” He asks, hands both sliding beneath your jaw, cupping it lightly as his thumbs slowly drag over the skin just below your cheek bones, pressing hotly into the hinges, the muscle making your eyelids flutter at the slightly ticklish sensation. “Something about…being able to keep an eye on Mor… Knowing she wouldn’t like sharing her home with them,” you answer wearily, softening beneath fatigue and the soothing touches. “Reminding her she can’t escape.”

“And what about Kier’s trove,” he pushes, shadows pushing into the chair with you, and you shudder lightly, fingers trembling. He can hear the flutter of your pulse, see how your lips have parted to hand over the information for a few more seconds. “He keeps it locked away,” you murmur in answer, “the really precious things, at least.”

“What can they do?”

“I…” You trail off, body losing its tension, muscles relaxing into the encompassing warmth. “I can’t tell you.”

“Yes you can,” he whispers, hand again shifting to stroke against your hair—so softly, so sweetly. Not even the slightest suggestion of pain in his touch. So cruel.

But your eyes slide open, pupils wide and blown out, readjusting swiftly to the dim light of the room. “I think that’s enough for this time,” you manage quietly, tone shaky, “can’t have you bleeding me dry in one go.”

Azriel’s brow narrows, but then he’s pulling away, your skin already feeling cooler without the comfort of his touch and shadows.

“Keep an ear out for Velaris,” he instructs, hands settling over the top of the seat so you have to remain looking upward. Azriel considers mentioning also keeping an eye out for Eris, but he’ll start you off with one task. See how you manage it, before guiding your attention to other areas of your court.

“And what should I do once I acquire more?” You ask, and he notes the certainty in your tone. As if you somehow have a guarantee you’ll be able to discover more. Maybe there really are some dangerous things in Kier’s trove, thankfully left unknown to him. For now.

“I will find you,” he replies shortly, at last stepping back from the seat, shifting to his shadowy corner. “You stay focused on one thing at a time.”

“Any artefacts you want to know more about?” You ask, and he can hear the mirth in your voice without having to see your expression.

“Don’t do anything foolish,” he reminds, leaning against the wall. “This agreement only works if you’re alive.”

“And in this world,” you add, a touch quieter than before. He doesn’t like how lightly you speak about meddling with those objects—can only hope that you of all people will know when you’re about to take a step too far.

He doesn’t reply, simply looking you over one last time before vanishing into the darkness. Leaving you to ponder the new developments.

And how much longer you can take before having to return to the great hall. Feet still aching.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya

please… taglist: @hyemishii @darling006

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Meet Up

We are so close you all! So so so close :3 @spotaus get in here friend :D

It is so nice to just uplaod the first drafts of these drabbles! :D Makes them so easy to make and finish <3

First Drabble Prev Drabble Next Drabble

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Killer runs straight home and doesn’t bother to act as if he has a normal monsters stamina. He needs to get home now and warn the others.

He is so lucky that Ellie kept him out of sight from Dream and Blue.

Because apparently those two are here now!

How did they even find them?! Especially as Ellie told him that she thinks they are looking for them.

Yeah no kidding! Killer didn’t even bother to deny it as he muttered he just needed to get home. Ellie advised him to go behind the buildings as that is mostly out of sight and should keep him hidden and out of sight.

Killer quickly set off to get home.

He is by now just running through the forest and going full speed. The LOVE in him making it easy to keep running for long times and boosting both his speed and his stamina.

He gets out of the forest in their area and rushes into the house.

Killer searches and relaxes as he sees Nightmare right in the nest where he should be. Nightmare seems to be scribbling in his little journal.

Horror walks out of the kitchen and he looks around worried himself “Crop just called.”

Killer nods as he pants “Dream and Blue are in town.”

Nightmare freezes and looks between them panicked.

Killer goes to Nightmare’s side and looks at Horror “Cross and Dust?”

Horror speaks “should be in the garden. I will get them.” and he goes outside.

Nightmare whines softly and Killer quickly pulls Nightmare close “It is okay tiny boss. No one is going to get you.” No one. Killer is going to allow anyone to touch their baby. Nightmare is their just as much as they all are Nightmare’s.

Horror returns with Cross and Dust and they all sit in the nest as they discuss what just happened.

As expected Dust immediately went around to close all the curtains and check the locks while Cross looks anxious “What if they find this place? I know we are hidden but everyone in town knows where we live. What if someone believes them and sends them our way?”

Horror shakes his skull “They won’t. Crop and Straw are going to make sure people don’t say stuff and they know not to talk about other people’s personal stuff.” Horror has yet to stop rubbing Nightmare’s tiny skull to reassure him.

Nightmare just stays plastered against Killer’s front. His souls is getting slightly squished between them but Killer doesn’t mind and it feels nice to feel Nightmare that close.

Dust nods “We stay inside. Stay quiet and lay low. Keep an eye out. We already did the big harvest and sale anyway. We can afford to hide before we need to prepare the farm for winter.”

Killer nods and grins at Nightmare “That sound okay baby? Just relax and cuddle in the nest together?”

Nightmare looks a bit unsure still but nods as she nuzzles closer to Killer and a part of Killer melts at the sight. Killer holds him close and purrs softly “That is it baby. Just let us worry about these type of things okay?”

Their phone rings in the kitchen and Dust stalks over to it before picking it up but not saying a single word. He listens for a moment before speaking “Crop.” He listens again and gives a small nod “You two can come by.” And he hangs up quickly afterwards.

They remain near each other as they talk about possible ideas on how to keep an eye out but not run the risk of being spotted. They quickly settle on that Cross can go around to check things while invisible but that he shouldn’t engage any combat. They are just discussing if Cross can keep someone else with himself invisible for long times when they hear a knock on the door.

A quick check later and they invite Straw and Crop in.

The two brothers tell them what happened with Blue and Dream in town and confirm that they are very obviously looking for them.

Straw slowly holds up a package of papers “I do think you may want to read these.”

Dust frowns and takes them to read through quickly together with Cross.

Straw nods “For what we could see. They seemed honest about it all! Even if they are rather pushy in the way they go about it.”

Crop walks out of the kitchen where he cleaned up some groceries “The others in town all agreed the two are shifty and not to be trusted.” Then a bit more amused “Heads up. They also kinda assumed that either or both of them are Nightmare’s other parent.”

Dust freezes and makes gagging noises at the very idea while Horror chuckles and pats his back.

Cross pouts as he crosses his arms and mutters about Dust being way out of their league and Killer snorts as he nuzzles Nightmare “Better for us. Makes everyone want to keep the two away from us with all the ground work we laid concerning the ‘other parent’ and how they were messed up.”

Nightmare just shrugs as he stays close with Killer.

Dust focusses back on the papers and frowns “Are they for real with this?”

Crop shrugs “We aren’t sure. They seemed honest but we can’t check the multiverse stuff easily.”

Killer frowns as he takes the paper to read through it with Nightmare as the others discuss ways to check if they really are truthful about it.

The announcement that Dream hadn’t done his job right. How Nightmare had been right. That Nightmare had never been a danger to the multiverse. How Dream had made things more complicated and how he should never have involved others into the mess.

How Dream never was a god of positivity and that he misunderstood his job. How the balance has been restored and so Dream won’t interfere with it anymore as it also is no longer his actual job.

Just lists upon lists of him going around and making sure everyone who knew about them knew the new truth.

It is so much.

Killer frowns as he sneaks a look at Nightmare. Nightmare just stares at the reports. His face blank.

Oh no.

Killer frowns and pulls him close “Nighty?”

Nightmare just stares at the reports “I told him this so many times… So long ago… why… why didn’t he believe me?” and he just looks at Killer sadly “Why did he never believe me?”

Killer frowns and holds their babybones close “I don’t know Nighty. I really don’t know.” He doesn’t have an answer. He doesn’t know what Dream was thinking or why he did what he did. All Killer knows is that their baby needs support and love and he can give that.

Dust joins their side and holds Nightmare’s hand silently. Just being there.

Cross looks at Horror “So how do we keep them away?”

Horror frowns as he clearly thinks before answering “We can’t. If they are still doing this after all this time? There is no dodging this. We will need to at least meet up to get them to stop.”

Cross looks deeply unhappy and Killer agrees.

Cross sighs and nods “How do we want to do that?”

Horror thinks before getting a small smile “I have an idea. We will also need to contact Error.”

--

Killer watches the empty road a few cities further along. He checks his phone for any new messages. It is still just the message he send the two Stars with this location and them sending back they are on their way.

Killer looks back at the street and quickly hides further behind the tree.

Dream is rushing up the road as he looks from side to side. Blue close behind him.

Killer mutters softly “They are here. You ready?”

Cross answers from wherever he is hidden “Ready.”

Killer would do the talking and Cross will be his backup in case he needs it. While they confront the Stars Dust and Horror will talk with Error about hiding this universe.

Easy does it. Blue and Dream walk by his hiding spot and Killer goes to the other side of the tree and just leans against it. His knife out. “what do you two want?”

Dream turns quickly and smiles “Killer! I am so happy to see you!” he takes a few steps but Killer holds his knife out aimed at him.

“Yeah. I can’t say I feel the same. What the fuck do you two want with us? I thought we made it clear that we didn’t want to see either of you the last time we met up?” Killer twirls his knife around as he makes sure to look unimpressed.

Dream frowns but takes a deep breath and steels himself “I want to see Nightmare. I want to see my brother. And I know if anyone knows where he is it is you four.”

Killer laughs and shakes his skull “Nah. You can go back to sniffing and shitting out good deeds. You are not going near boss.” Like hell Killer is going to allow Dream to come near Nightmare.

Dream glares at him and takes a step closer. Killer can hear Cross get his knife out somewhere near him. Dream clearly can’t see him as he glares at Killer “I know things have been rough. And I know I made mistakes. But I have been fixing those and actually making things right. I want to make things right with Nightmare. But for that I need to see him.”

Killer snorts “Just because you are selfish we should just lay over and let you get whatever you want? No.”

Dream glares at Killer “Really? What if Nightmare actually wants to see me? What if he actually also wants to talk about what happened? He wanted before. I am late and I know I was blind and acting stupid. But I want to listen. I want to hear what he has to say.” Dream takes a deep breath to calm down again as he keeps looking determined “I need to see him.”

Killer glares and hisses out his answer “No. You are not going near him.”

Dream glares right back “Like it or not but we are brothers. We are twins. We are both gods. We are always going to be connected in some way. Keeping us separate may just cause more trouble.”

Killer glares as he holds out his knife “Are you seriously trying to threaten me?”

Dream shakes his skull “No! I am not trying to do that! I just…” he holds hugs himself close “Don’t you sometimes wish you got a second chance? To make up for what you did wrong? For the pain you caused?”

Killer feels himself freeze. He has no doubt that Cross isn’t doing much better.

Dream just keeps talking “I know I messed up. I messed up badly. I just… I just want a chance to make things right. And I have done that for the multiverse… but I haven’t apologised yet to Nightmare. That is all I want Killer. I just want to see my brother and tell him I am sorry. That I am sorry for everything.” He looks desperate “please… You guys have to understand that feeling.”

Killer doesn’t like this. This still seems like such a bad idea… Cross holds his hand and squeezes it. Full trust in his decision.

Killer groans as he looks to the side “We can discuss stuff… See if he even wants to see you or prefers to just keep you as a thing of the past.”

Dream smiles and moves closer “Thank you! thank you so much-”

“I am not promising anything.” Killer glares “I will ask everyone. However. If he says no. If he says he prefers to keep you as a thing of the past. We will respect that. And you will have to respect that as well.”

Dream looks pained and shakes his skull “But… But I want…”

Killer glares “I don’t give a flying fuck about what you want or how you feel. You abandoned him. You betrayed him. You hurt him. You never listened to him. Just because you now finally got your head out of your own ass doesn’t mean he owns you anything. Least of all a second chance.” Killer keeps glaring at the god. “Am. I. Clear?”

Dream looks pained but he nods.

Killer nods himself “Good. Now leave. You are causing more problems for this universe than you are worth.” He turns and starts to walk away “When we made a decision I know how to contact you.”

A moment of silence until “At least tell him I am sorry… please… I need him to know that I am sorry and I want to do better…”

Killer stops but nods “Fine.” And he keeps walking.

This meeting could have gone better… Now to get home and let Nightmare decide what he wants.

*---------------------*

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[yoonia]

the bedroom hymns ● chapter xix

⟶ Chapter summary | A legacy kept secret. A nearly forgotten presence of a loved one. A broken link between you and your late mother. When you begin asking whether it’s worth all the risk for you to get stronger, would you dare to take a step back, when that risk opens up a way for you to find answers? 

⟶ Title | The Bedroom Hymns: a Bluebeard’s twist ⟶ Pairings | Min Yoongi x female reader  ⟶ Genre | Fairy Prince!Yoongi, Crown Princess!reader, Fantasy AU, Fairy Tale retelling ⟶ Word count | 11,358 words ⟶ Ratings | PG-13, +18 / M for Mature for future chapters; include magic terms, classism, mentions of (minor) character’s death, implied mind manipulation. ⟶ Story Masterlist: The Bedroom Hymns | ⤎ previous chapter | next chapter ⇢ ⟶ Main Masterlist | Mailbox | Taglist | Feedback | Music Playlist | Ko-fi

chapter xix. visions

Something is changing. 

No. Everything is changing. 

You can feel that change happening in your body the most. What once felt like a raw, completely foreign, indescribable energy running wild through your body since the moment you stepped foot in this realm and inadvertently awakened it, now feels like a steady current rushing through you. 

Now, the energy feels almost as natural as the warm blood flowing through your veins. Always growing stronger during your waking hours and settling down in your sleep. 

Only a few days have passed since you started going through these afternoon practices with Lord Gordan, yet the changes have been swift. The progress is evident in how much growth you feel with your awareness towards magic. 

Now, not only have you grown to be more in tune with the foreign energy you have within, but you seem to have also grown in tune with the magic that is present everywhere around you. You can sense it floating in the air you breathe, vibrating within the castle’s walls, and radiating from the people around you who obtain magic within. It pulses around you whenever a foreign mana is present, brushing against your skin whenever you walk by. Every so often, it seems to you as if the magic around you is trying to connect with your energy instead of feeding off of it just as everyone had initially thought to happen. 

Even the magic radiating from the silver doors feels different to you now. 

Every time you travel down the long hallways in Stargrave, passing by these silver doors, you can feel the magic from the portals trying to reach out to you even without you activating them. Before, you could only feel the magic by activating the portals, and they have always reacted by engulfing you like a protective shield as you stepped into them. Now, you can feel them emerging from those doors without having to touch them, responding to your presence like invisible fingers gently greeting you when you pass them by. 

The humming sound of magic coming out of those doors also seems to be growing clearer whenever you pay more attention to it. The obscure voices that you often hear from them are beginning to form into words—although spoken in an ancient language that you have yet to learn to decipher. 

They sound like whisperings of magic spells, playing with your mind and emotions to lure you in with their enchanting hums. 

Yet despite your curiosity and deep desire to travel through the portals behind the silver doors, to see new places and learn more about the realm, you have yet to start accessing them again. The magic keys are now hidden in the drawers of your dressing room. Out of sight, even if you still fail to keep them out of your mind. 

You have made the decision to put your adventure to a halt for a short while. Except for the times you get bored and decide to try on those doors to see what would happen if you try to open them with regular keys instead of the magic keys your father had gifted you. The enchanting hums are more muted when you approach them this way, yet they are always there, whispering to you, before revealing to you the rooms that are actually hidden behind these silver doors—nothing more but regular rooms, from guest bedrooms to lounges and retrieving rooms filled with wooden furnitures, ostentatious trinkets, and exquisite looking rugs that the maids tend to each day no matter how rare they are used. 

There is a valid reason why you choose to take a break from your excursions. For now. 

Your body may have recovered, yet your mind is still unsettled, filled with a damning curiosity about magic and what you can do with your powers. And you also refuse to risk losing the progress that you have been making by getting into the portals when you are not completely ready. When your mana is barely steady and your body is still too easily drained. 

The lessons that Lord Gordan has been giving you are physically draining, leaving you completely exhausted by the end of the day, with not much time left before the night comes to allow you to travel freely. And it doesn’t help that no matter how badly you wish to use the remaining free time you have left to rest properly and recuperate, fate doesn’t seem to be on your side. 

Because your sleep has been restless. Barely giving you the chance to have a proper break in your slumber and regain your energy before starting the next day. 

Because while you haven’t been able to travel through the portals during the day, at night, your mind travels on its own through your dreams. Dreams that are so peculiar they haunt you during your waking hours, always leaving you with many unanswered questions which remain at the back of your mind. 

The dreams always begin the same way. 

Always with the events from the day, replicated through your memories to let you relive it for a brief moment before the images you see shifts. Everything around you fades, leaving you on your own as you step out of your bedchamber, wearing nothing but the slip of a dress you often wear to sleep. 

In these dreams, you always see yourself walking through the long, winding hallway of Stargrave, completely barefoot, with your nightdress fluttering around your legs, lured by the shadows that act like your silent guide. 

Everything you see in your dreams during this part looks so familiar, yet at the same time, leaves you troubled. Because for some odd reason, they also feel so wrong. The dark walls and the cold stone floor feel different, although you have yet to figure out why you would feel this way when you are always more amazed at the fact that you can feel them, even in your dreams. 

In your daze, you keep walking, not stopping until you find yourself walking past the steep alcoves that you find on the outer halls on the side of the castle, heading towards one of the doors leading to the side courtyard. 

Stepping outside, a cold breeze suddenly flows around you. The sky is bright, not the usual pale grey that you often see on the daylight at Flagon. Yet there is no warmth falling on your skin. As if there is no sun in the sky shining from above you. 

The open veranda standing above the side courtyard seems desolated. Unlike what you see during the day, when you often see the palace maids walking past the flower beds with baskets of linen as they head towards the servants rooms in the back of the palace, or palace guards watching over the courtyard when they are not out there training. 

You continue walking from there, going down the long grand staircase made of stone which leads straight down the courtyard. The stone steps feel cold under your bare footsteps as you slowly make your way down. Flower petals in varying colours fall around you, carried through the breeze as they fall around your feet. You follow the petals as a guide, taking you across the courtyard that look nothing like what you recall in your memories. 

This side of the palace’s territory feels foreign to you. Never once have you ever explored this far away from the main castle. Always been too busy exploring the hidden parts within the castle walls instead. Even though you have been curious about the locked garden hidden behind the iron gate that you could see from the windows of your bedchamber. 

At the end of the courtyard, that is exactly what you see. The familiar wall of green hedges that are standing just a feet over your head. Except that this wall—just like the rest of the things you see—is different. 

They aren’t as neatly trimmed as how you remember them. Not as prettily as how you always admire them while you are sitting on the porch of Nanny Abigail’s private quarters during your late afternoon tea time.  

Yet the unkempt image of the garden isn’t the only thing that brings unease flickering in your chest. Everything about this green wall feels wrong. The pretty hedges have lost their shapes, with lumps of overgrown leaves at one side and withering and leafless branches on the other. Below, the grass have grown thickly, untrimmed with fallen dry leaves covering the ground around your feet. Ivy claims the iron gate, with relentless tendrils twisting around the iron bars, and rust growing from the corners of the gate to the floral embellishments you see at the top of the gate.

Setting aside the unease, you follow the thrum of your heartbeat and reaches out to touch the iron gate. It opens with one simple touch, and you carefully step across to the other side. As barefoot as you have been, your feet press down the dry leaves and thorny branches covering the ground with each step you take. 

On the other side, the garden that you wish to see is nowhere in sight. Once again, everything around you shifts. Instead of taking you to the royal garden, the gate brings you to an open ground that looks like the top of the rocky cliffs outside of Stargrave’s property. The grass quickly declines, replaced by gravel, damp soil, and patches covered in natural stones, with dry sand filling the crevices. 

Your mind seems barely present as you continue to walk across the opening, your bare feet are numb as you step over the uneven ground. It feels like your body is moving on its own, your legs working without your mind commanding them. Yet you are still sensible enough to notice it when the ground beneath you seems to ascend. 

At the end of your journey, you stop at the part of the ground covered in rocks, finding yourself standing atop of a cliff. 

Looking over the ledge, you are reminded of a different dream. The only difference is that instead of looking out at the wide open clear ocean, a different sight unfurls before you as you look across the horizon. 

From your new vantage point, you see a magnificent land of riches, a mirror image of the sight you have often marvelled back home in Smotia, but much larger and wider in size, and much more affluent that the place that had once been your home. 

To the west, you can see an endless stretch of the dense emerald forest, their canopies of leaves forming a sea of green swaying gently with the breeze. From the trees, you see rivers cutting through the land which sparkle under the bright sky, like ribbons of silver threads winding through the landscape. Tiny dots of villages and towns spread across the horizon, each one formed by either a cluster of thatched roofs or varying shapes of buildings made of white marble stones, all connected by winding paths that seem like bright coloured threads meandering through and between the vast green hills. 

Up here, the air feels crisp with scents of pine and wildflowers, far from the scent of see and dry wind of Stargrave. You see birds soaring gracefully in the sky, almost in tune with the rustling leaves and the distant murmur of waterfalls cascading down another part of the cliffs nearby. Between the rising green hills, you see patches of meadows and farmlands spreading across the landscape, all filled with an abundance of fresh crops, ready to harvest. 

Looking further to the north, you see the sight of mountain peaks looming in the distance. They remind you of Mount Orrum, except that they fill the horizon in a linear line with their snow-capped summits glowing under the bright unseen sun, towering the land like silent guardians. They look majestic, grand, and intimidatingly beautiful, unlike the lonely peaks of Mount Orrum that presented the long despair of the people of Nythelean Empire before your father claimed the throne. 

Looking at this sight brings you a sense of peace and belonging, but also a longing for a place that you have never seen before. This land reminds you of home. Not only for the home you found in Smotia, but the home that your heart has longed for under the lingering memory of your missing childhood. 

Far too soon, the bright sky changes as sunset arrives, and the sky is now painted in mixed shades of rosy colours and the golden hue of the descending sun. As the daylight fades beyond the horizon, a thick, white mist begins to rise from the ground, rapidly enveloping the territory.

It seeps through the trees, between the hills, rising higher and higher until you are beginning to lose sight of the green beauty of the land and the bustling life of the townspeople below. Above, white fog as thick as the clouds above also begins to build, covering the beautiful sight completely until everything disappears under the thick blanket of white.

And once again, your dream shifts. 

An icy thrill creeps through your spine when the fog is slowly lifted right before your eyes, and the sight you see changes. All of a sudden, you are no longer standing right above a magnificent land of riches and affluent life. 

Instead, you are now standing on the edge of a barren plateau. You gaze out to see a desolated land stretching out before your eyes. The lush fields and wide sea of emerald green that was the endless growing forest are long gone. In their place lay a wasteland, parched and lifeless, as if the very soul of the land that you marvelled at had been scorched away. 

Scattered across the desolated plain that had been a vast woodland are the skeletal remains of trees, their branches reaching towards the sky like bony fingers of ghosts from ancient times. They all stand in stark contrast to the lifeless ground, their twisted forms becoming an eerie sight out of a nightmare that brings shivers to your skin. The once-fertile soil of the vast farmlands is now a barren wasteland. Its rich, dark loam have now been replaced by dry, cracked earth that seems to stretch on endlessly all the way to the fading horizon. The white peaks of the mountain are now scorched black, as if a massive flame had engulfed the wall of rocks protecting the entire land. 

The sky above that was painted in varying colours is now a bleak expanse of grey. Not a sight of the warmth coming from the unseen sun, nor the golden hue of sunset. Nothing but a desolate light cast over from the sky, with no warmth to offer. The once-thriving rivers have mostly dried out to mere trickles, their beds cracked and exposed, and the sound of the trickling waterfalls now silent. 

Your eyes sweep across the landscape, your gaze lingering on the remnants of what had once been vibrant villages and lively towns. The stone-made buildings are nothing more than ghostly ruins, with crumbling walls and charred skeletons of what was once homes to many. Others appear with burnt walls and collapsed roofs, with nothing left other than broken porches tainted in smoke and ashes. 

Looking closer, you notice the faint outlines of paths and roads. Now barely discernible beneath the encroaching dust and debris. The sky is now quiet and empty. The birds and their songs are no longer present, leaving behind the mournful whispers in the wind, carrying with it the faint scent of ashes and decay, everything that represents death and a sorrowful end. 

What you see in your dream right before everything fades the moment you wake up feels like a warning, a reminder of a forgotten past. And it lingers with you through your waking hour, as the heavy weight of the sorrow that you feel from these dreams clings to you so tightly, becoming a part of you, as if your soul is crying for the broken part of the realm that has been lost in time. 

Your back is tense. Your limbs are all trembling as sweat builds in your body. You are overwhelmed with the pressure in your body that you are beginning to sway, your focus shifting, yet you know that you cannot stop now. Not yet. 

Sighing heavily, you fail to fight against the need to speak and question, “Is this practice really—necessary?” 

“You’re supposed to be focusing, Your Highness,” Lord Gordan answers from somewhere across the room after making a sound that is quite similar to a scoff. “Talking will only take your focus away.” 

With a deep breath, you swallow your annoyance and resume your position—standing in the middle of the room with your legs spread shoulders-wide, your arms stretched forward, and your gaze locked on the bare wall across the room. After having days of rigorous training—which merely included sword and weapon training and other physical exercises—Lord Gordan has finally decided that it was time for you to start your core training.

You have questioned why it was taking him this long to start teaching you this, choosing instead to focus on giving you physical training and fighting when you already have enough experiences on both from back when you still lived in the Citadel. Now, however, as you are starting to feel the strain in your muscles yet still able to keep yourself standing upright instead of shaking or falling, you are beginning to see the reason why he decided to stimulate your muscles and stamina first. The need to bring back your physical strength after taking a long break from any physical activities due to your move from the capital. 

You can understand the meaning behind it, but it doesn’t mean that you have to like it. 

“To answer your question. A heightened sense of awareness is required when you are in need of identifying mana.” Lord Gordan’s voice echoes from a different spot in the room, signifying that he has been moving around, circling the room as he keeps an eye on you.

But instead of fixating on his random movement, you fixate more on his words. A startling awareness rocks through you when you understand what he meant.  

“Identifying mana,” you whisper as you swallow thickly. Your heartbeat is racing. Never once have you ever shared about what you can do with the foreign mana inside you. No one other than Yoongi, that is. 

Surely, Lord Gordan is simply talking about the ability to sense magic, you silently convince yourself as you force yourself to remain calm. Because you have also learned that anyone with magic would be able to do this. To sense, not to identify. Because the latter is something that only a selective few can do. 

Unless Yoongi was wrong, and everyone with magic can do this. Making you not as special as he made you to be.

Keeping your voice steady, you try to confirm your thoughts by asking, “So that’s—normal?” 

The answer doesn’t come immediately. You can feel the weight of the silence that your tutor is giving you that you almost sway into the urge to rock on your feet, stepping side to side to calm your nerves. But before you can even move an inch, or speak, or take an inhale of breath, Lord Gordan finally speaks. 

“To identify its presence, yes. To recognise its form, where it comes from, whether or not they pose some danger to you, would be a special kind of skill which not many are gifted with.” 

You cannot see him as he stands behind you, one thing that you are grateful of because it means that he wouldn’t be able to see your reaction. Everything in your body grows tense, and you are sure that your shock is written all over your face. 

“How did you—”

Your words fade under the rapid thrum of your heartbeat. Warmth brushes against your back as Lord Gordan walks pass you. 

“Focus, Your Highness. Keep your questions for later. Don’t let your curiosity distract you from your practice”—he sighs—”again.” 

You can picture him walking away, brushing off his own statement, the fact that he knows what you are capable of, and your reaction to it. A part of you wants nothing more but to ignore everything. Anything to hide the fact that you have been practising your magic behind everyone else’s back and finding some hidden skills that have only been written in the books—behind your father’s back. And because revealing so would raise more questions. 

Namely questions on who might have been responsible in teaching you the basic techniques before Lady Laurel ever showed you how to, or what had actually triggered your mana to begin amplifying itself. 

But there is a bigger part of you, the one that has always been filled with curiosity, which gets stronger. That part of you needs answers.  

“I think the ship has sailed, don’t you agree? You’re the one causing that distraction by being vague.”

“Have I?” he chuckles, sounding a bit closer as he now stands right beside you. “You’re wondering how I know about what you can do, while I’m curious why you would be hiding it when Lady Laurel and Lady Abigail should be able to help you learn more about it.” 

Biting your bottom lip, you resist turning your head to look at him. You have no idea what he might see once you turn to face him. Will your secret and lies be written all over your face? Would he be able to read your mind just by looking into your eyes? 

Can he really tell how far you have actually been trying to control your mana and how the magic portals have been triggering it to get stronger? 

“Have you been practising in secret without your tutors’ knowledge?” Lord Gordan asks with a soft voice, and the breath that you had just taken ceases. “Why?” 

How your body can remain in its position is beyond you. Perhaps the fact that you are in too much shock has led to your body to become still. So still, that you barely tremble even when the breath that you take comes with a shudder. 

“Because I’ve been denied over and over again when I asked for a chance,” you murmur with a quivering sigh. It is the only reason you can think of. The only reason why you have been quite reckless about delving into magic without getting any proper training in the first place, and the same reason you had given to Lord Gordan before when you first confided in him and got him to agree to train you in secret. 

You can feel it rather than hear it when Lord Gordan turns and walks away. The tension in your body eases, but you still don’t dare to move. “You can take a break now, Your Highness,” Lord Gordan says, and you finally let go. Lowering your arms to your side, you wiggle them a little while shifting your legs before turning to look at your father’s aide. 

Lord Gordan has his back on you as he stands before a wooden credenza situated across the room. He is calm when he opens the lid of a glass decanter and places two empty glasses along with it. “Drink?”

You cannot exactly see how a liquor can help during this kind of talk. But you suddenly feel like your throat is dry and you can take anything just to ease your mind. “Yes, please.” 

Lord Gordan pours a golden-amber drink into both glasses and gestures you to take a seat on the settee near the window before handing you the glass. He sits on the chair across from you, silent as he watches you take dainty sips of the drink. It tastes sweet, a bit smoky, like the whiskey that your father keeps in his study room back in the Citadel. The same one that you had often drunk in secret whenever he was away.   

“You were denied access to your practice only because His Majesty instructed them not to get involved with your magic training. I don’t think that fact needed much explanation,” he says as he raises his glass, his eyes never wavering from you.  

“As I have already learned from the repeated rejection,” you bitterly mutter. “And I’m sure you recall that I don’t exactly have the patience to wait much longer.” 

“As I recall, from the repeated times you kept telling me and how both your tutor and your governess had informed me. Which was the reason why I’m helping you now even without His Majesty’s knowledge,” he reiterates calmly. “I’m sure you’ll be reasonable enough to keep this as our secret, as I am to keep your—private activities. I’ve always known that impatience runs strongly in your blood, after all,” he says with a chuckle. “Much like your magic.” 

Your brows rise in your confusion. “What do you mean?” 

Lowering his glass, Lord Gordan raises his free hand to start brushing his short beard. His gaze is sharp and intense when he answers, “Your ability to identify magic forms. It is an ability inherited through your bloodline.” 

Surprised to hear this, you perk up and straighten up in your seat, eager to learn more. “You mean, my father can do it too?” 

“No. Not His Majesty,” he says, shaking his head. “It was the Queen.”  

If your eyes have not grown wide before, they definitely are now. It has been quite a rare occurrence for you to hear anything regarding to your mother. It is almost as if people around you have been wary about bringing up the Queen, while your father would always avoid talking about your mother other than the times he reminisced the old days when you spent your childhood with your mother. 

Even then, he would always talk about his memories in a vague way, not entirely in a way that would help you remember everything from the past. 

That is why it becomes quite obvious that you are curious to hear more. Especially now, knowing that you might share something with your mother. That you have a piece of her in you which you have never known about before. 

“What did she do with it? How would she make use of it?” you cautiously ask him as you clutch the glass in your hands, hoping that the more you learn about your mother, the more you can learn about this ability and how to wield it. Until the day you can unlock your true magic. “I’m sorry, I just—I don’t understand why one would need to identify a magic form and its source.” 

Lord Gordan’s lips are lifted to a bitter smile. “For many reasons, in fact. You can identify someone or a party who might become a threat to your home and family, or to trace down a person or a magic source which may be of help to the kingdom.” He briefly stops, and you are almost sure that you can see a glimpse of longing in his eyes as he thinks back about the past—about your mother—but it fades too soon before you can read much of it. But the pride that he holds when he speaks of your mother remains when he adds, “But the Queen was capable of many things. She even did some questionable things when she was young with that ability of hers.” 

“Such as—?” 

Lord Gordan gives a half shrug as a smirk goes on his face. “Once she identified a new magic, she would not only learn of its source. She would dissect it, learn the system behind it to know how it worked and how to manifest it, so she would be able to learn how to wield it herself,” he explains with pride written all over his face.  

Resting both of his arms on his knees, Lord Gordan sightly leans forward to continue, “The Queen had the ability to mirror and duplicate others’s magic to her heart’s content and would oftentimes use it for her own gain. It was her ability that had gotten her in trouble far too many times in the past when she was younger, when she would often copy or mirror even the most dangerous kinds of magic she encountered way back then before she took the crown.”  

There is a buzz of energy following your footsteps as you walk down Stargrave’s dimly lit hallway. Flashes of your dream keeps following you, and you find yourself comparing every second, every detail that you see as you make your trip across the castle to the images that you saw in your dream.

Different. They are different.

Relief shouldn’t be the one emotion you have rushing in your chest as you look at the dark walls and stone floors, finding them positioned perfectly as you remember them and appearing differently compared to what your dreams have shown you. But relief is the only thing that you can feel now, finally proving to yourself that you weren’t crazy to believe that the images you have been seeing were mirror images to what actually exist in reality. 

What appeared to be on your left is now on your right. The side courtyard is placed on the west side instead of the east, and the door to your bedchamber hadn’t been flipped between left and right, causing the floral embellishment to face the wrong way as how you saw it in your dreams. 

But thoughts of your peculiar visions are not the only things that you have in mind. A few other things have also been nagging at you as you pace down the hall, nodding at the guards you come across without actually paying attention to their faces or remembering their names. 

The last conversation you had with Lord Gordan still haunts you. The story he shared about your mother and her ability keeps coming back to you each time your thoughts are quiet. 

For many years, you have tried—and failed—to learn more about your mother. You could never understand why everyone around you would never openly talk about her. You have heard almost nothing that could help you understand more about her; what was she like, what kind of person she was in the eyes of those who knew her and, more importantly, what happened to her. 

As if her life has always been a deep, dark secret that needed to be kept from you. 

If only you can understand why. Too bad you have no one to question or talk about this with, as even Lady Abigail—the only person you have known to have some kind of a relationship with your mother—has also avoided talking about your mother aside from the time she reminisced the old days before she became your governess and caretaker. She barely even talked about the days she spent taking the role as your mother’s lady-in-waiting when your mother was still alive. 

To you, any memory you have of her are hazy, as you were too young, too little to understand anything that was happening then. All you have now are jumbled pieces of memories that you still have trouble putting together, and there was no one around you who would be willing to fill in the gaps and help you get the full picture of what your childhood life with your mother was like.

No one until Lord Gordan finally came to the picture. 

Even now, you wonder why would Lord Gordan, someone who is supposed to be the King’s aide, the man who is most loyal to your father, would be willing to help you through everything. You know that you should be feeling grateful that there is at least one person in this castle who is kind enough to guide you through your new life when your father is unable to, not letting you feel lost in this new world you have been thrust into. Yet you cannot help but feel doubtful, unable to stop questioning the reason or purpose behind his willingness to help you and give you the answers you needed when you expressed them. 

Can you really trust him, when you had known nothing about this man before you moved to Stargrave? 

Does he have another purpose in helping you, and if he does, would it be wrong to believe that it may have something to do with your mother? 

The expression he made when he spoke about your mother remains in your memory. At first, you wondered if you had imagined it—the look of longing that flashed through his gaze at the thought of the Queen. But the more you think about it, the more you become sure of what you saw. Yet you have no idea what to make of it or what to do with this lingering doubt when you think about going back to his lecture the next day. 

Today’s lecture with your other tutors should have been enough to distract you from your thoughts. From Lady Laurel’s lecture about how a person can use a medium or a talisman to wield their magic, to Nanny Abigail’s lessons about royal alliances between empires and the technicalities behind them—from peace treaty signings to marriage arrangements. Yet your mind kept going back to that last interaction you had with Lord Gordan, to the part where you found out that you have a piece of her with you aside from the enchanted necklace that she passed down to you.

By the end of the day, all the things that kept troubling you began to overwhelm you so much that you decided to take a walk through the castle to clear your head before nightfall comes. 

You hadn’t exactly planned to do more than travel through the cold hallways. Nothing more but a little trip to wear yourself out so you can sleep tonight without having to enter your peculiar dream again. Yet with the magic keys in your pocket, it seems like you are being lured once again towards the hall at the other end of the castle where more rows of silver doors are located. 

This time, you find yourself being lured specifically to one familiar-looking door which had drawn your attention some long hours ago. 

It was early dawn when you walked down this same hallway for your morning stroll, unexpectedly encountering a maid who entered this room to do some cleaning. 

“Early morn’, Your Highness,” she awkwardly greeted you with an accent that you weren’t quite familiar with, carrying with her a basket filled with utensils and freshly washed linens. 

You watched her entering the room, revealing a small retrieving room with a whole set of high-back chairs covered in ivory coloured leather surrounding a tall round wooden table. You also saw twin credenzas set on each opposite walls, a twin floor-to-ceiling windows across the room where the rising sunrise was filtering through, and a long settee with the same leather cover set in front of them. 

This room wasn’t one that you had ever used before. But it was the embellishment carved on the door which caught your attention—the silver linings formed into twisting wild ivy with blooming wildflowers carved on the door and the symbolic markings on its center which mirrored the curves on the center of your ruby amulet. 

You trace those linings with your gaze as you are standing before the same door again many hours later, listening to the whispering hums that you failed to notice this morning when the maid unlocked the door with her master key. The sky outside is growing dark, as your activities during the day had turned out to be longer. Looking around, there are no guards in sight. No palace maids roaming the halls as the day nears dusk, most of them already retreating to their quarters to have their needed break and prepare for supper.  

After days of keeping it away, the silver key feels peculiar in your hand. But at the same time, it feels good to have it with you again. It gives you some sort of comfort to be holding it again, despite feeling the weight of its secret which you are obligated to protect in your father’s name. 

Looking from up close, you can finally confirm that the curves on the door truly are similar to what you have on your necklace. Lines that at one glance will only look like petals of flowers curling on each other. Yet when you take a look even closer, they appear more like cursive letters for words that are foreign to you. 

Just as foreign as the spells that are humming from the door as you step closer. 

Taking a deep breath, you slowly enter the key, opening the door with a resounding click. The blue void unfurls in the doorway instead of the view of the retrieving room that you previously saw, and you carefully step into it. Your senses immediately grow alert, opening to embrace the sparks of magic that is welcoming you back.  

A sharp gasp escapes you as you walk through the portal. 

You had expected that it would feel different this time around to come in direct contact with the magic, yet you never expected it to be this intense. Not that the sparks of energy feel painful on your skin. It’s just that the magic feels more aggressive, coming at you with a rush as it engulfs you  completely until you emerge on the other side. 

With the magic and the whispering spell still ringing in your head, it takes a bit longer for you to regain control of your senses once you step out of it. Keeping your eyes closed, you try to catch your breath, instantly breathing in humid air filled with mildew and dust. 

It nearly chokes you instead of helping you calm down. With brows furrowed, you carefully open your eyes to see where you are. 

The room where you have emerged into seems to be a closed storage, with open cabinets filling the walls around you, all stocked with boxes, canned rations, and empty glass jars that are mostly covered with dust. Judging from the state you are seeing, you are quite certain that this place hasn’t been visited for a long while. 

Coughing up all the dust, you turn to follow the humming sound of the portal, seeing it appearing behind you in the mirror standing against the wall. Its blue light sparkling brightly across your face, appearing slightly lighter and brighter than how it used to. 

“Charming,” you muse with a chuckle, realising how much you have missed seeing this magnificent sight that is still amazing to marvel at. 

Turning back to face the room, you find two different doors. Each one placed on the opposite side of the storage room. The one on your left seems to be locked, with more dust and cobwebs attached on it, and you find no desire to touch it at all. 

Lights seem to be penetrating through the seams and cracks on the door to your right, which seems more promising. The wood is also cleaner, smoother, and new, with not a sight of rust on its metallic handle and hinges that would have made you hesitant upon touching it. You can also hear muffled noises coming from the other side—people’s voices, a hum of music coming from the distance, and the sound of hoofs and carriage wheels passing across stone-covered ground. 

Dusting your coat, you walk over to the door on your right and carefully reach for the handle. It opens easily with a click, as if your touch alone is enough to unlock it. All the noises you heard earlier filter into the dark room in an instant. The golden hue of sunset that welcomes you as you step out of the door feels blinding, hitting you right at the same time warm breeze comes brushing against your skin. 

The change of atmosphere is so sudden that it becomes overwhelming and too distracting. 

So distracting that you nearly jump when the door abruptly closes behind you with a hard slam before you can stop it. Turning in shock, you inadvertently bump against someone who is trying to walk past. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” 

“Excuse me!” 

You turn to look at the person you just bumped into, seeing a young girl who is carrying a pile of boxes in her arms. The pile has grown so high that they almost reach the top of her head, making it hard for her to see clearly what is in front of her.  

“I’m sorry, Miss. I couldn’t see you,” the young girl apologises in a small voice after making sure she isn’t going to drop her boxes. You see two blotches of pink smearing her cheeks as she looks at you that you feel guilty for getting in her way. 

“That’s okay, it was my mistake for not paying attention,” you say to her, nodding, and the girl smiles before she continues on her way. 

Watching her go, you finally realise that you are standing in the middle of some sort of a back alley. Aside from the door that you had just come out of, there are lines of doors on either side of the alley. All closed and possibly locked. All leading to the bigger spaces hidden behind the wall. Curious to know where you have ended up in, you silently follow the young girl down the alley until you reach the end. 

Stepping out of the dark back alley, you emerge into a place bustling with vibrant energy. 

With cobblestone streets, lines of fancy stores and buildings made up of stone and brick walls with large display windows at the front, this place reminds you of the high street of Narlès. Amazed, you walk out into the street, joining the crowd of people who are too busy window-shopping to notice you. 

At first glance, there doesn’t seem to be anything unusual about the stores that you are seeing. 

A scent of freshly baked bread and pastries comes wafting from a quaint bakery nearby, where the display windows showcase golden croissants, crusty baguettes, and an array of sweet treats that are making your stomach rumble. But there is also a hint of herbs, spice, and other rich aroma that you aren’t quite familiar with, seemingly richer and more diverse compared to the bakery shops you have seen in the human realm. 

Right next door is a small bookshop. From the window at the front, you can see wooden shelves packed with various books. Their spines display a rainbow of colours and textures. You don’t have to step in to imagine breathing in the comforting aroma of aged paper and ink. Similar to what you always find back at the old library of Stargrave. 

Yet from here, you can also see scrolls and scriptures stacked up between those shelves, ancient runes written on the spines of the books that appear to be glowing from the furthest shelves inside the store, and tarot cards being laid across the display table by the windows. Together with candles and burning incense laid around an open spell book. 

Just like Narlès, there are small boutiques lining up the street. Their windows display mannequins wearing the latest trends, ornate fashion pieces made up of coats and cloaks, high leather boots and sparkling heels, and some other exquisite pieces that you have never seen being sold in fashion boutiques before; such as chest armours made of glimmering gold and leather straps in varying sizes and shapes which appear to be made for swords and other weapons. 

The sight of excited shoppers carrying their bags in their arms remind you of the nobbles you met at Narlès. The people of high-society who came to the market town to keep up with the trend, their faces filled with joy as they carried the goods and gifts that they were bringing home.  

But the more you look, the more you can find stark differences between both places. Unlike Narlès, the streets here are larger in width, allowing carriages to drive by and more varying shoppers strolling from one store to the next. Magic items are being displayed even in the regular shops, pixies jumping around and flying in front of some shops, happily inviting shoppers to come visit. 

Instead of seeing only nobbles roaming the streets, you see children playing around the fountain at the market square, street musicians performing for passerby with music and magic tricks within a block of each other, and varying vendors selling their goods—from various wares, flowers, even snacks and candies—at colourful stalls built between the larger stores. 

Yet the major difference you are seeing the most is within the people. Looking past the fancy linings on their outfits and the variety of colours and fabric of their coats, you catch some other characteristics that are evident between the people around you. The humans or mortals are easy to recognise, with their tilted chin and neatly combed hairs and formal demeanour, they don’t stand out as much compared to the ones with pointy ears and jewelled-like eyes, or the ones with hairs in the colour of moonlight that actually glow and sparkle under the golden hue of the sunset, or the ones who stand almost as tall as the stores they are walking past by. 

Just like Narlès, where humans from a myriad of places come to visit and find what they need, this place seems to be the destination for visitors from every part of the fairy tale realm who are not regulars to the market town for the humans. 

Elves, faeries, trolls, and shapeshifters. Most of them are either dressed as sorcerers and wizards or warriors and rich merchants, and they blend together with travelling humans such as you are as they roam the streets and the alleys lined up between the smaller stores. 

In your astonishment, you suddenly come to a halt. Barely avoiding a collision with two young elves who are pushing carts filled with goods across the market square. You continue to watch them go until they disappear into the store across the street where they seem to be working at. 

You still have your eyes locked on the busy street until you hear a mixed sounds of squeaking and rattling coming from above your head, followed by the sound of a ringing bell echoing somewhere nearby. The sounds draw your attention to the sky, allowing you to see the sight that you would have missed out on should you keep your attention to the ground.

Looking up above, you find that the skyline is graced by sleek, silvery lines of elevated tracks that you have seen pictures of from your books about the magical realm. Weaving their way beyond the top of the stores made up of stone and brick walls and between the towering buildings covered with glass walls, they cast intricate shadows on the cobblestone streets below which you have failed to notice earlier while taking in the sight of the stores and the people around you. 

Trains made up of long carriages move gracefully along the tracks, suspended in the air with cables connecting them to the silver tracks. The humming sound of the machinery mobilising their leisure strolling across the city echoes all the way down to the bustling streets below, a constant reminder of the vibrant energy pulsing through the market place. 

The monorails. That is what they are called in one of the books that you read during your lectures. 

In the pictures you saw on those pages, they looked like frail horse carriages hanging in the sky. You had imagined them moving stiffly, rocking with each curve and twist of their tracks as they move through the city. Yet as you watch them drive by above your head, they look more like a metallic serpents floating in the sky, glowing as its body reflects the golden hue of sunlight for traveling up close. You can see from the distance that each car seems to be carrying with them more shoppers and visitors from various places in and out of the city that might be way more spacious than how you had initially thought it to be. 

Seeing this makes you feel as if you have been sent years ahead into the future instead of somewhere across the realm. A modern city that many could only dream of. Except that magic exists in this place together with the technology that you have yet to see in your home realm. 

You can feel the presence of magic. Sense it. Be it pulsing from everywhere around you or to feel it as you almost come brushing against other passerby strolling down the streets. 

One of the monorails slows down to a halt in front of what seems to be an elevated post standing against the upper floor of a nearby store. The ringing bell you heard earlier becomes the sign of its arrival before a voice calls out from within the carriage, 

“Aeris! Welcome to Aeris, the Mage city!”

Eyes widening, you feel intrigued. You can hear the sound of your heartbeat growing slightly faster as your excitement grows. 

Mage city. How interesting, you wonder with a smile. Let’s see if this place can teach something more about magic. 

The chime of the bell echoes from above your head as you walk through the store’s front door.

Inside, the air is thick with the scent of old books, exotic spices, and a hint of incense. A stark change from the humid air outside. It feels comforting, in a way that you are made to feel as if you are walking into a place that feels dreamy. As if this space is enchanting and inviting you to find shelter here among the rows of racks filled with crafted artefacts and magic items. 

Looking around, you notice that the store that you had just entered isn’t too crowded, yet still lively. The muted sounds of conversations shared between shoppers and workers become a lull as you walk deeper into the shop. You can see more wizards and witches walking around, browsing through the racks and display tables. Workers that you identify as a mixed group of humans and elves are diligently tending to the customers, yet none of them seems to have noticed you enter.  

The shop is dimly lit by chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, each one adorned with crystals which refract lights in a myriad of colours spread across the room. The walls around you are lined up with wooden shelves, all reaching up to the high, vaulted ceiling, with not a sight of an empty rack visible from where you stand. 

On one side of the store, an alcove bathed in a soft glow of light appears a bit more lively than the main area of the shop. In there, elves, young and old, and some young humans dressed in intricate cloaks gather around a large wooden table. The elder elves are holding different types of scrolls in their hands as they converse with each other in gentle voices. 

Judging by the looks of it, they seem to be holding a small workshop there, teaching the younger customers the art of potion-making, seen from the way the elder elves are guiding the young wizards through the process of mixing and testing different types of colourful liquids into small cauldrons and glass bottles. 

It is quite an interesting sight to see real wizards and other beings doing magical practices so openly in such a welcoming space. To watch with your own two eyes everything that you have only learned and seen through your books and scriptures. You are also amazed to see the mystical creatures blending in, as you see mischievous pixies flitting about to help the workers and large owls with wide, golden eyes perched on wooden posts set on different corners of the store as they watch over the shoppers like silent guardians. 

And you certainly cannot miss the vibrant pulse of magic spreading all around you. 

Unlike the parts of the city which you had come across, where magic simply lingered in space, you can easily tell that the magic you are feeling is coming from different sources that are stored all over the shop. 

At the center of the room, a large, intricately carved oak table stands as a centerpoint, displaying a variety of enchanted items; wands crafted from rare woods and embedded with precious gems, enchanted rings that glimmer under the glow of the chandelier above, and talismans inscribed with runes of ancient spells. The faint hum of mana coming out of these artefacts permeates the air, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

Instead of coming closer to learn more about them, you turn away from the table, as they were not the reason why you came here in the first place. 

Your gaze moves towards the display counter at the front, to the sparkling items that you saw earlier when you were walking pass by the store. Jewelries and amulets adorned with gemstones and crystals in varying colours, all glowing under the sunset hue penetrating through the front window. 

Their alluring sparkles had been the reason why you had chosen to step into this store—after visiting multiple different stores which had drawn your attention yet hadn’t been enough to keep you interested. But it is the pulsing mana they are emitting which draws you in as you slowly take a few steps closer. 

Lowering the hood of your cloak, you keep your eyes on these amulets as you reach up to your neck, gently grazing the embellishments on your necklace with the tips of your fingers. From the moment you stepped out of the magic portal, the necklace has been humming with mana. And now, once you have it revealed from the neckline of your cloak, it appears to be glimmering. You have no idea whether this is happening as a late response to the magic from the portal or if it is calling out to the vibrating energy you feel coming from all around you. 

The only thing that you notice is the fact that these amulets are answering its call. 

Whispers of enchanting spells begin filling your head, muffling all the other sounds coming from all around you. Without you realising it, your legs begin to move forward, and there is something guiding your hand to reach out to touch the alluring pulse of mana. To feel it on the tips of your fingers. To sense the real form of this flowing energy and understand its origin. 

“Welcome to l'Équinoxe,” a soft voice greets you, shutting down the humming magic that is beginning to overcome your senses. 

Snapping out of it, you lower your hand and turn, facing the main counter on the other side of the room. A shopkeeper stands behind the counter, her green eyes sparkling brightly as she greets you with a smile on her face. The tips of her pointy ears are peeking out of the strands of her caramel-coloured hair as she slightly tilts her head. “Hello, is there anything that I can help you with?” she asks. Her voice is gentle and she speaks in a rhythm which makes it seem as if she is singing a tune as she invites you to come closer. 

“We have potions and elixirs for all purposes—healing, therapy, youth, and we also have some that can enhance your mana and strength. In the back, we have wands, crystals, and staffs for your magic practices. We also have various types of medium, talismans that are handcrafted by artisans from across the realm and—” she stops briefly, and while your gaze traces across the array of colourful bottles filled with potions and elixirs lined up within the racks behind the shopkeeper, her gaze moves down to the glimmering necklace hanging from your neck, “—amulets, just like the one that you are wearing now.” 

Your gaze snaps back to her face. “Oh,” you whisper. Something about this interaction you are suddenly having makes you uneasy. Yet you are incapable of pinpointing what it is that makes you feel so unsure about this. If only her soft gaze isn’t so comforting and inviting, perhaps you would have been able to think clearly. Clear enough to question if it would be a good idea to engage on her sudden interest with your necklace. 

Clearing your throat, you muster a smile to your face. “Yes, I was looking at those necklaces at the front. I’m not really looking for anything, I was window-shopping and got a bit curious.” Which isn’t a complete lie, since that had been the reason why you stumbled into this store. 

“Take your time. You can look around however you like,” the shopkeeper reassures you. “Although, I can’t say that we have anything that would be able to match your lovely amulet.” 

An unsettling flutter sparks in your chest. “Why would you think that?” 

The shopkeeper, the female elf with eyes like a pair of jewels says nothing at first, only keeping her gaze on your necklace for a moment too long before asking, “May I have a look?” 

Tilting your head, you barely have any thought of debating on it. Once again, your curiosity easily wins. “Of course,” you answer her as you walk closer to the counter, allowing her to get a better look at your necklace. 

As you lean over the counter, the shopkeeper herself leans forward and gently pulls the ruby amulet towards her. She hums a little as she peruses the necklace, her gaze traces across the ruby stone and the golden embellishments before her lips are lifted to an amused grin. “This is a magnificent type of amulet that I haven’t seen for a long time. Seems like your necklace was crafted many years ago, and the ruby is a specific kind of gemstone that is rarely found nowadays in modern cities like ours,” she murmurs, once again sounding as if she is speaking in tune. She brushes her thumb across the ruby stone and you can almost be sure that it vibrates against her touch. You can barely conceal a flinch, yet she doesn’t seem to notice it as she carefully releases the necklace. 

The pulse of mana remains for a moment as the necklace settles against your skin. It feels warm—not in an unsettling way which would have made you worry. But it does take a while before the rapid pulse of mana within the necklace starts to calm down. 

“I can feel the strong magic it contains. Did you wield the mana yourself?” 

At the mention of the magic hidden within the amulet, you finally realise the reason why you have been so bothered about this interaction. About everything that has happened since the moment you stepped foot into this city. From the moment you bumped into the young elven in the back alley who didn’t seem so surprised to see you, the way some shopkeepers kept offering you their goods while you were walking down the streets, and how this elven shopkeeper had greeted you first.

Your father’s voice and his insistent in making sure that you would never forget to wear your mother’s necklace echo through your head, along with the fading voice of the mysterious man you met in your dreams who sounded much like Yoongi as he talked about the necklace. 

The protective spell. 

The magic inside the amulet which had been protecting you, shielding you from other people’s eyes and making you almost invisible to avoid coming to harm, has been annulled. Whatever magic exists in this mage city is much stronger than the magic that had been implanted in your ruby amulet. Just like how it never works whenever you are back home in Stargrave, where the source of its magic is present.  

With a light scoff, you let out an amused chuckle and shake your head. “I wish I was skilled enough to do so, but no. This necklace was handed down to me from my mother.” 

The shopkeeper gives you a thoughtful look. “I see. It’s good to be able to see such a powerful amulet again after so long. We used to sell similar amulets such as yours, a long, long time ago, back when I was a novice barely capable of conjuring spells.” 

“Really?” The pitter-patter of your heartbeat sounds like a charm, a drumming song, a melodic tune that sounds almost as clear as the bell chiming from above the front door of the magic store. Hope blooms inside your chest as you realise that you may have stumbled upon a place that may have some traces of your mother’s legacy. That you might be able to find traces of her existence in this realm and finally piece together the story about her life. 

“I wish I know more about this necklace,” you find yourself murmuring as you look at your necklace with wonder. And then your gaze returns to the shopkeeper, wondering if she would be able to help answer some of your curiosity. “Do you perhaps recognise the curving on the embellishment as well? I have been trying to understand what these forms could mean, whether they are symbols or cursive letters, but I cannot seem to find anything that may explain what they are.” 

The shopkeeper lifts her brows and leans forward once more. With a slight nod, she takes a moment to asses what she is looking at before sharing her thoughts with you, “They seem to be a mixture of symbols and spells written in cursive letters. Like I said, it’s been a while since I’ve seen anything like this.” 

Leaning back, she tilts her head as she thinks deeper. “They look similar to a part of an Ancient language. The old language of the Ancient Faeries,” she calmly says, sounding firm and confident with her assessment while you are caught by surprise to hear this revelation. “You know, I might have some old spell books in the back which may help you translate them, if you are interested.” 

You don’t even waste anymore time to consider it. “I would love to buy the book if you have it in your inventory.” 

The shopkeeper’s smile widens, as if she shares your joy for coming close to solving the mystery behind this necklace. “Let me see what I can find.” 

You barely finish muttering words of gratitude when she quickly turns away from the counter. You watch her as she slips away, following her movement with your eyes as she weaves her way through the store, slipping between the display racks and shoppers until she reaches the back of the shop. 

From there, she climbs up a spiral staircase which leads to a mezzanine floor filled with scrolls and parchments, where only a small group of visitors are seen diligently browsing through them as if doing their personal research. Then she disappears behind the massive wooden shelves you can see in the far back of the mezzanine floor, one that is filled with a clutter of spell books. 

Not so keen to appear like a lost child, you turn back to focus on the display racks filled with bottled potions. You hadn’t been able to pay close attention to them earlier as you were chatting with the shopkeeper. Looking closely beyond the myriad of vials of elixirs, you see various sizes of glass jars filled with bizarre ingredients floating in thick golden liquids; dry branches and roots, preserved parts of dead animals, and other unidentifiable items. 

It intrigues you to wonder what these items would be useful of. At the same time, the sight of these unidentified ingredients makes you wary about trying out the potions, even if you had been interested to see if they could truly work in helping you during your magic training.

While you are silently marvelling these displayed components, you catch a flutter of motion at the corner of your eyes, coming from the front of the store. Turning to face the front window, you see movements of window-shoppers passing by at the front, a horse carriage driving through towards the opposite side, and weaving between the crowd is a dark, familiar figure walking in quick pace. 

Tall and slim, wearing a black cloak that flutters behind him with every firm step he takes and a large hood that covers his head, the sight of this figure causes your heartbeat to pick up. 

“I found it! I knew we had it somewhere. I’m sorry it took me so long—” the shopkeeper cheerfully announces her return, almost running out of breath in her haste. While you are glad to hear that she has managed to find the book that you may need for your research, the desire to chase the dark figure who is slowly disappearing between the crowd of people outside becomes too irresistible for you to ignore. 

“Could you excuse me for one second? I’ll be right back, I promise,” you hastily apologises to the shopkeeper who is staring at you with wide eyes. Guilt pierces through your chest as you look at her, but you have no time to explain yourself as the figure suddenly slips out of sight.  

The melodic chime of the bell at the front door sounds muted when you have your focus on the movements happening in the streets. It seems like your legs are moving faster than they have always been when you try to catch up with him, yet you still struggle to keep up when the crowd seems to grow thicker the closer you are getting to the square, and he isn’t going any slower.

The sun has gone down while you were at the magic store. The lights from the stores around you and the streetlights have been light up to compensate the rising darkness, yet they are still not enough to help you see better. 

Thankfully, the dark figure appears once again, still moving fast between the crowd of shoppers and workers without noticing you following him. The back of his cloak are billowing like a small wave as he continues to stroll away, and you can almost hear the clicking sound of his boots as he walks further away. The cloak parts at the front with the speed that he is walking on, revealing the short sword that is strapped against his left hip, the sheathed side of it bumping against his thigh as he continues walking further away from you. 

Yoongi. It must be him, you wonder. Yet why hasn’t he said a thing? Why is he leaving without saying hello? 

You cannot understand why he would choose to leave just when you noticed him. It couldn’t have been because he didn’t see you, when you are quite sure that you had seen him standing in front of the store, watching you through the front window before he suddenly turned and walked away.

But why?

Questions continue to fill your head as you keep chasing him. But the crowd keeps getting thicker, as the night quickly arrives and the evening shops and cafes are open. 

You are nearly breathless as you reach the market square. The voices in your head quickly becomes silent as your hope is depleted, and you stop with a sudden halt. Because just as you turn the corner, the dark figure that you have been following suddenly vanishes, as if he has been swallowed by the shadows of the night, taking away any hope you have had of being able to see your mysterious mercenary again.   

Author's Note | It's been a long wait, but we're finally here. This part took a long time to finish because it kept growing as more details were added in, and I had to figure out how to split the scenes to make it readable. Thank you for your patience. I really hope you enjoyed reading this chapter!

— © 2024 Yoonia, all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any kind is not allowed. unsolicited translations are not allowed.

[emyluwinter]

What will happen to a teenager who finds himself in a completely strange world, without support, without knowledge, without elders or guardians, without friends or help? What happens if this kind heart gives resonance to the hungry other hearts around? Without the editorial office, I feel very exhausted, and the pain began to bother me again. Therefore, I allow myself to write imperfectly.

These are the little headcannons that came to my mind by accident.

For the first few weeks after Riddle's Overblot, Cater and Trey secretly took two more students outside their dorm under their invisible wings. After all, with their appearance there have been very big changes, certainly not in the most pleasant way. But it has moved for the better.

Ace and Deuce talked about their living conditions, and they themselves witnessed being in hidden horror at the very sight of this piece of territory in college. To put it mildly, Trey and Сater decided that let these two be often in front of their eyes, to look after their younger students. than breathing dust and mold, blown by all the draughts and winds in your dorm.

Ace mentioned several times that Grimm has an endless battery of energy, but their Prefect looks like an exhausted zombie in the morning. They just couldn't rest physically or mentally. The time for rest was ruthlessly devoured by studies, repairs, attempts at adaptation and rehabilitation. Add to this endless ridiculous and insane rumors, disrespectful or disdainful behavior on the part of other students. The list could be continued until the end of the shining of the stars in the sky. Or Yuu was tormented by insomnia, which was quite a logical consequence and reaction of their psyche and body to so much stress and frayed nerves Or they couldn't afford the luxury of a "good sleep"

Trey has noticed many times how Yuu takes a quiet, inconspicuous place in the garden or in the maze of corridors of their dorm just to sleep. A quiet, clean place, even without a bed, even sitting on the floor. One Seven knows how they sleep in such an uncomfortable place, but compared to their accommodation it was a five-star hotel.

Cater went the other way, gently woke up the "mouse dormouse" if it found them in the most unsuitable place to sleep, and carefully laid them somewhere on a sofa or in an armchair away from other people's eyes and faces. Covering them with a warm blanket so that they can finally get warm, give them a pillow and see with emotion how they hug her. It's like they're someone's protective shell and the pillow is their secret treasure. In truth, he was visited by the thought that this was dozing with this "exhausted" younger of his….Was it comforting?Was it soothing? It was as if he wanted to heal his wounds in his heart when he was not given a place for himself and his thoughts. As if he wanted to hide that little boy inside himself. A quiet sniffling at their side, the slow movement of their chest when breathing. A slight tugging of their eyelashes or fingertips. What are they dreaming about? Of course, it's not good to stare, but Cater caught itself thinking that for the first time in a long time, it also wants to just take a nap in silence. Without acting, roles, smiles, masks. A serene, quiet slumber.

Yes, that's what he suddenly wanted to do for himself for the first time in a long time. And not someone else chose for him. A little sleep was a really good solution. For some reason, Diamond felt much better. Maybe it was the fact that there was some trust in the lost child. Or maybe he really just wanted to sleep in the company. During these moments, he did not touch his phone, neither before nor after.

Riddle once caught the two of them having such a sleep session. And didn't dare to wake them up. After all that had happened, an unpleasant voice in his head kept saying that this was the least his dorm could offer to atone for all the guilt towards Yuu and Grimm.

[heavenlyhischier]

idiots in love - dick grayson

summary: two people who are madly in love with each other but they're both idiots.

word count: 5.8k (lmao sorry)

warnings: lil angsty, cursing, steamy lil makeout sesh, unedited, cursing??

notes: hi hello hi! here is something that has been sitting, more like marinating, in the drafts for a hot minute. btw its not explicitly titans!verse dick, but he's hot so sue me

Saying that befriending Jason Todd changed your life would be a complete understatement. You had gone from being invisible and living under the radar in Gotham to earning an unwanted spotlight from being seen alongside Bruce Wayne’s son nearly every day. To make that matter worse, Jason had once conned you into attending a gala that Bruce was holding because “it is the only way he could manage to survive another one of these things”. That drew a lot of rumors and suspicions from the media in Gotham as they speculated the true nature of your relationship with Jason. That was also the start of a complex and hidden relationship with his older brother.

Dick Grayson remembered the first time that he saw you like it was happening right in front of him all over again. You were standing next to Jason in a floor length black dress that shimmered blue when the light hit it just the right way. You were, albeit unknowingly, wearing his colors next to his brother and it instantly attracted him to you. He could tell you felt out of place by the way your body was turned towards Jason and your eyes kept darting around you. Trying to get you away from Jason was a much harder task than he had anticipated, but what ensued once he had made it all worth it.

Meeting Dick was something Jason had tried to keep you from for as long as he could. He knew that Dick had a less than honorable reputation when it came to women, and you getting tangled in that web was the last thing he wanted for you. Despite his efforts, your attraction to the detective was stronger than he would have guessed and you managed to fall into the hole anyway. Jason, the ever so protective friend he was, tried to keep out of it, but his brother made that increasingly harder the more often you showed up at his apartment defeated and confused.

You had initially tried to keep your relationship with Dick a secret. You really did. But being friends with someone like Jason made that impossible. He was able to find out anything and everything he wanted. When he tried, and miserably failed, to subtly ask you if you were seeing someone he knew, you came clean about everything. You told him about how the night you met Dick, he had taken you back to his apartment and you two talked for hours and hours. Jason had been slightly thrown off that he didn’t try to sleep with you, but you assured him that that didn’t happen until nearly two weeks after you had met.

You also divulged the true nature of your feelings for Dick that night, and Jason had suggested that you tell him or it was going to ultimately cause you pain and heartache. “I tried to bring it up once,” You had said, “But he kind of shut it down pretty quick. Said that we’re just friends who hook up sometimes. He just- he acts like it’s more than that when we’re in bed and it’s so confusing, but I don't want to give it up. If that’s all I can have of him, I’ll deal.”

That was nearly four months ago, and nothing had changed. Dick would call you at random times day or night and you would go running every single time. It was pathetic how desperate you were to have a piece of him, but you were too scared to ask for more. He was too closed off with his feelings to ever let you get even an inkling of how he felt about you outside of physical attraction. Jason had been right about this bringing you nothing but despair. Nonetheless, you stayed at his mercy.

Your body was hot and sticky with sweat as you lay on Dick’s chest, fingers tracing along the scars that littered his skin. You often asked how he managed to obtain so many, but he, much like Jason, said the same thing every time. “Job’s just dangerous”. You’re not quite sure how being a detective and security guard would get one in situations to earn such wounds, though you never pressed too hard. His arm was tight around you, making sure that you stayed tucked into his side as his fingers delicately grazed your waist, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind in their wake. Moments like these you both despised and cherished. They made your heart swell with hope and want, but they also made your stomach turn with uncertainty.

“You going to the gala tomorrow,” Dick’s asked, his grip slightly tightening.

You peered up at him through your eyelashes, “Yeah. Jay always makes me go with him since he ‘can’t handle it alone’. Are you, or do you have to work?”

Dick’s not sure why hearing that you would be attending the event with his brother hit him the way it did. It made his throat close up and his chest burn with jealousy. You had always attended Bruce’s events with Jason, and he knew that. He knows that it was purely platonic, but a part of himself couldn’t help but think there was something else there. He knows his brother is an attractive guy, and God you are the most beautiful woman to walk the earth. It only made sense for you two to be attracted to each other, and that’s what he has been running with.

“Yeah, I’m bringing a girl from work actually,” His voice was flat as he loosened his grip on you so that he was barely touching you now. It was a total lie, but he couldn’t stop himself from saying it. 

It was as if Dick punched a hole into your chest and ripped your heart out with his own two hands. Your movements froze as you blinked back the tears that instantly pricked your eyes, not wanting to give away the effect his words had on you. He was always good at reminding you that you were a disposable secret to him, but it hurt all the same every time.

Composing yourself, you flattened your hand on his chest and used it to push yourself up into a sitting position. You avoided looking at Dick as you slipped out of his bed and began putting your clothes back on. He watched you, trying to piece together what was going through your brain. He shamelessly wanted to believe it to be jealousy; that you detested the idea of another woman on Dick’s arm, but he knew better than that. He assumed you were in a hurry to get to Jason’s apartment, which is where he knew you went every time after you left his place. He had followed you one night to make sure you stayed safe, but he wasn’t prepared for his own heart to be put into danger.

That was the night he realized just how deep his feelings for you were, and it scared him to no end. He thought he was doing good at guarding his heart, but then he met you. You had effortlessly and entirely captured him. Dick craved everything about you. He craved your touch. Your smile. Your laughter. You. He would do whatever it took to have a part of you no matter how much it hurt him to know your heart would never belong to him. 

“I can’t wait to meet her,” You spoke through the awkward tension in the air, “I should probably go home to sleep before tomorrow. Don’t want to look like a walking zombie, you know.”

Your idiotic attempt at a joke hung in the air as you slipped your socks on, and you mentally slapped yourself for saying that. Wanting to get away from the now uncomfortable situation, you rushed out of his apartment without another word to the man who held your heart in his hands. Typically, you would walk to Jason’s and mope about your unfortunate situation, but you opted to go to your own apartment instead. You made sure to let Jason know of your plans so that he didn’t quite literally break into your house to make sure that you were alive. His “u ok?” text went ignored as you fell into your bed and begged your thoughts to quiet themselves so you could sleep in peace.

You woke the next morning with a new sense of determination, and a little bit of retaliation on your mind. You quickly sent Cass and Steph a text asking them to come do some last minute shopping with you, which they were more than happy to agree to. They both met you outside of your apartment an hour later, questions tumbling out of their mouth as soon as they saw you. You brushed off their interrogations with a laugh and started towards the nicer part of Gotham.

“I thought you already had a dress,” Cass pointed as you walked into one of your favorite dress shops in the fashion district.

“I do, but I always wear some variation of black and blue and I wanted to switch it up,” You shrugged as you filtered through some of the dresses on the rack.

Truthfully, you knew that the colors you always wore matched the colors that Dick wore as well. It was something that he mentioned drove him crazy whenever he managed to pull you away to have his way with you. You started wearing those colors for him specifically, but something inside you switched this morning. Today, you were going to wear something else and prayed to anyone that would listen that it would get underneath his skin. You knew it was childish, but if he was going to bring someone else, you didn’t care.

The two of them shared a knowing look with each other before diving in to help you search. They were aware of your situation with Dick and how you felt about him, but unlike you, they could see the way he felt about you. They knew that if you showed up wearing something other than the colors he wore to protect the city, he was going to be absolutely furious. However, they secretly hoped it got under his skin enough to ignite the fire he needed to tell you how he truly felt.

You had gathered a decent amount of options, so you decided to move over to the dressing room area and try what you had on. You had tried on a variation of styles and colors; none of which you liked. The girls of course gave their honest opinions, and you got rid of the ones they made faces at almost immediately. Your last pick was a long-sleeved red dress with a slit on the right side and a plunged neckline. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you couldn’t help but notice the way the color looked slightly off, but it still made you look damn hot.

You opened the curtain and slowly stepped out, catching the girl's attention. “Now that’s sure going to piss Dick off,” Cass laughed, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were missing something.

“You look absolutely breathtaking, but she’s right. If your goal is to make him mad, that dress will sure make that happen,” Steph agreed as she nudged Cass to calm down, “Is that what you want?”

“Honestly, I don’t really know. At first, yes, but now I just- I’m not sure. I don’t think he’ll even notice,” You sighed, casting your eyes to the ground as you lightly pinched at the satin.

“Oh he’ll notice alright. He might beat the shit out of Jay, too.”

Your eyes darted back towards them, wide and alert. The last thing you wanted to cause any sort of fight between your best friend and man you were in love with. “Why would he do that over a dress,” You rushed out, hands nervously gripping the fabric.

“It’s not the dr- He won’t, hon. It was just a joke,” Cass recovered as she glared at Steph, “I’m sure he won’t do that. You’re just going to look really good and he’ll probably be a little jealous is all.”

You ignored Steph’s quiet snort and went back to change, making the decision to go ahead and get the dress. It was as if it was tailored specifically for your body, and not getting it would almost be criminal. You knew you were going to have to dip into your savings a little to afford the dress, but the way it looked on you was worth it. Once you had changed and went to go pay, but there was a woman standing outside the dressing room with a dress bag.

“We paid for it,” Steph peeked her head around the woman, a smile beaming on her face, “And no you can not pay us back!”

After a failed attempt at trying to get the girls to at least take some of your money, they took you back to the manor to get ready with them. Cassandra called Bruce who had Alfred ready one of the larger rooms for the three of you to get ready in. Steph put on some music as you took turns showering in the biggest shower you had seen in your entire life. You had stayed in there a little longer than you intended, getting lost in your thoughts about Dick Grayson.

You could tell that the girls were itching to ask you about why your sudden change in outfit happened, but were keeping quiet in case it was too sensitive of a topic. It was clear to them that you were trying to get back at Dick, but they couldn’t figure out why. They were both capable of asking the right questions in order to gain the information they wanted; it was a practice they put into use nearly every day. However, they felt guilty using that skill on you.

The closer the time for the event to start came, the harder it became to breathe. Knowing that Dick was bringing someone else made your entire body ache as you wondered why you weren’t good enough. He had told you before that he never liked to bring dates because people would speculate, and he only wanted them to speculate if it were true. Now, he would mingle and flirt all he wanted, but he had never kept it to one person the entire night. This girl had to be someone special if he was okay with rumors flying around.

Nearly an hour later, the sound of someone knocking broke through the intense concentration you had from doing your makeup. Steph, who was already done getting ready, pulled the door open and Jason came barreling in. He was dressed in an all black suit, but the tie he was sporting was the same color as the dress you had bought today. You internally smacked yourself for not remembering that red was Jason’s color, and that’s why the girls said what they did about Dick.

“What do you want,” Steph huffed, quickly closing the door in case anyone passed by.

“I’m bored,” Jason groaned as he fell backwards onto the untouched bed.

“So go bother someone else,” Cass spoke over her shoulder, giving Jason an annoyed glare. If you hadn’t known anny better, you would have thought she was being serious.

“Y/N’s in here and she’s my friend so why don't you go bother someone else. Anyways, we need to be down there in like twenty minutes so you two better hurry.”

“I just need to get my dress on and I’m done,” You called out as you let the setting spray settle on your face.

You heard Steph whisper something to Jason, but you were too far away for it to be understood. You went back into the bathroom where your dress was hanging on the back of the door, leaving their whispers behind.  Nerves spread through every inch of your body as you slipped the dress on,  the urge to throw up growing with each second. A large part of you wanted to back out and just not go, but you knew that Jason would physically drag you if he had to.

Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you pulled the bathroom door open and walked back out into the room. Initially, Jason cast you a passing glance, but he nearly broke his neck swiveling back to you, sitting up so quickly the momentum almost threw him off the bed. The girls had the biggest smiles on their faces and you couldn’t help but blush at the attention.

“You’re right. He might kill me,” Jason laughed as he stood and strided over to you, “You look beautiful, but if you’re trying to get under Dick’s skin. I think you’re going to accomplish that.”

“Yeah, I didn’t realize we’d be matching. I wanted to make him mad, but I don’t want to make him think this is happening,” You gestured between you and Jason as you grimaced. The thought of ever being involved with Jason like that made you uncomfortable.

“You wish it was, sweetheart,” Jason rolled his eyes, “Why do you wanna make him mad anyways?”

“Uh, he uh- Fuck,” You groaned, throwing your head back in frustration as you let the truth out, “He told me he was bringing someone else and I know it shouldn’t be a big deal but it’s just- you know why it bothers me..”

The girls looked both confused and shocked, but Jason. Jason was absolutely fuming. He already hated the way his brother treated you, but knowing that he would do something that childish made his blood boil. He knew that Dick never brought a woman to any events because he hated the rumors that accompanied that, and if Dick was willing to put up with that just to spite you? That was enough to make him see red.

“Jason,” Steph tried, sensing that he was about to boil over.

You watched as the two girls shared a look with each other as Jason tightly clenched his fists. You felt guilty for making Jason so angry, but you knew it wasn’t you that made him mad. It was his brother and his idiotic behavior, but a part of you wished that you had just kept that to yourself. You knew that he hated the way Dick was treating you and this only added fuel to that already blazing fire.

“I’m fine,” He let out through strangled breaths, “I’m good. Let’s just go downstairs.”

Dick had been downstairs for the last thirty minutes, his heart beating harder and faster the longer he waited for your arrival. Bruce could tell that he wasn’t all the way there, but chose to not ask his son what was on his mind. In fact, he already knew the answer to his own question. Dick paced the floor, eyes glancing to the door every few seconds in case you chose to make your entrance then.

He was nervous to see you after what he had said to you last night. He had no intentions of making that lie a truth, but he still felt the guilt eating away at him ever since you had left. You hadn’t texted him when you got home, and you also hadn’t texted him all day. That was how he knew that he had struck a nerve, but he was still naive as to why. He had convinced himself that there was no way you felt the same way, so why were you suddenly so distant?

You had attempted to soothe Jason’s anger by telling him it wasn’t a big deal and that you didn’t care if Dick brought someone else, but he saw right through your lies. He curtly brushed your comments off as his eyes stayed set on the path in front of him; one thing staying at the forefront of his mind.

Your heart was bound to beat out of your chest the closer you got to the party, you’re sure of that. The combination of having to see Dick and Jason’s anger towards him was not helping ease any of your already bubbling anxiety. You wrung your fingers together as you tried to calm yourself down, but it wasn’t doing much. You wanted nothing more than to turn around and leave and pretend like nothing ever happened.

Steph and Cass kept glancing at you, passing you sympathetic gazes as they walked ahead. They could practically feel the nerves radiating off of you mixed with the pure rage off of Jason. It put them on high alert, and they knew they were going to have to keep a close eye on their brothers in order to maintain some sort of peace. A silent agreement was made to keep the two of them apart until Jason got his emotions in check.

“Jason,” You tried again as you entered the party, hand instinctively gripping Jason’s bicep “Please don’t do anything stupid. It’s fine.”

Several eyes watched as you descended the stairs on Jason’s arm and you knew whispers were being thrown around thanks to the accidental matching outfits. You had, of course, been seen with Jason countless times before, but now the public had all the proof that they needed to confirm the relationship they had created in their heads.

“I never do anything stupid, sweetheart. Everything I do is calculated and on purpose,” He teased, his anger fading for a fleeting moment.

Dick found you as soon as you stepped foot into the room, but he immediately wished that he hadn’t. Your dress was a deep red color that not only matched Jason’s tie, but the helmet that adorned his head as he prowled the streets of Gotham. Dick could feel any hope that he had shatter with each step that you took, and he hated himself for it. It was his own fault.

“Dick,” Bruce’s gruff voice pulled his gaze away from you, “If there’s going to be a problem-”

“There won’t be,” He interrupted before turning on his heels and heading straight for the bar.

Cass made a beeline straight for Dick while Steph stayed relatively close to the two of you. Jason had taken a glass of champagne from the first waitress that passed by, not even letting the poor woman get four steps away before he needed another one. Your hand stayed glued to his bicep as an attempt for comfort while also keeping him near you. Just when you thought you had grown accustomed to the scrutinizing stares of Gotham’s most elite, it was ten times worse now.

“Good evening Mister Todd,” A man you recognized from The Gotham Globe approached, his annoyingly bright smile plastered on, “I see we have made the relationship official?”

“Piss off,” Jason grumbled, dragging you away from the obnoxious reporter.

Stares lingered longer than usual and whispers were present anywhere the two of you went. You tried to tune everything out, but the ache in your heart remained. You had only seen the back of Dick as he spoke with a woman; you assumed she was his date. You barely managed to fight back tears, but the thought of Jason seeing them made it a little easier to control. Despite your current suffering, you didn’t wish him any harm.

Dick didn’t mean to find you every chance that he could. He really didn’t, but it was like his own subconscious was trying to torment him. Forcing him to watch you throw your head back with laughter as you clung to his younger brother. It lit the sort of rage within him that was different from the one he got when he was dealing with the scum of Gotham. This rage was based out of fear. He needed to get out of there, at least for a moment.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom, Jay,” You had leaned up to whisper in his ear, “I might be a while, though. I just need to breathe for a little bit.”

You slipped your arm out of his own before making way towards the stairs. You had spent enough time at these events to know where and how to escape unnoticed. You were essentially being guided by pure muscle memory as you snuck into one of the rooms that was in an area off limits to guests. Your eyes were squeezed shut as you turned and leaned your head against the dark wooden door, letting out a deep sigh.

“Are you okay,” A voice you would recognize anywhere cut through the silence. You let out a startled yelp, opening your eyes to see Dick sitting on his old bed. You had, unintentionally, guided yourself to the one room you were trying to stay away from.

His eyes dragged over your body for the thousandth time tonight, but now he was able to really admire you. You looked breathtaking. Though to him, you always did. To him, you were the most beautiful woman to exist in any world, but he couldn’t help but feel annoyed. He had come here to escape the aching in his chest for a moment, but it seemed the universe wanted him to suffer.

“I’m sorry,” You finally managed to speak, albeit quietly, “I didn’t mean to come in here.”

“It’s fine. I was just leaving,” He avoided eye contact with you as he stood.

“No, don’t,” You rushed out, taking a few steps towards him, “This is your room. I’ll leave.”

The sound of your heels clicking against the hardwood floors made Dick look up and meet your gaze. Dick had spent countless hours observing you and getting to know each and every part of your body that he could tell you were nervous. He could sense the apprehension from the way you struggled to maintain eye contact to the way your fingers pinched at the fabric of your dress. He wanted nothing more than to kiss away any anxiety you had, but he knew he couldn't do that. Not anymore.

Dick’s hair was untamed in a way that looked as if he had been pulling at it, something you knew he does when he’s frustrated. His cheeks were tinged red and eyes slightly bloodshot and tired. Every nerve in your body was screaming at you to reach out to him. To let him know that you were there, but you couldn’t let him back in again. You had endured enough pain from him.

“You look beautiful,” He quietly spoke, gaze unwavering.

Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes darted across the room, “Thank you. It was a last minute change and I accidentally ended up matching with Jason, which is only fueling those stupid rumors. I should have just worn the dress I originally bought, but I-”

“Y/N,” Dick cut off your rambling, knowing you would keep going until you couldn’t breathe, “You mean that you and Jason aren’t…”

Your gaze snapped to his own at the implication, and you could see the desperation and defeat swimming in his eyes. “No, Dick. No,” You squeezed your eyes shut as you shook your head, “Nothing has changed on that front, and it never will. But even if it did, why do you care? You brought a date.”

Your voice was thick with emotion as you mentioned his alleged date, and you couldn’t stop your eyes from brimming with tears. You hated that the simple thought of him with someone else made you break, but there was no stopping that now. He took a few steps towards you and took your face in his hands as you attempted to blink back tears.

“I lied,” He whispered, thumbs wiping away at the tears that managed to break free, “I never had a date. I only said I did because I was hurt and confused. I was hurt because I’ve convinced myself that Jason is the one that you want. That he’s the guy you want to be with; not me. I know that you spend a lot of time with him so I just thought...”

Your breath caught in your throat as his words settled; your skin burning in the places his fingers pressed against. You wanted to cling onto the hope that he meant that the same way that you wanted him to, but you’re scared. You’re scared to let yourself believe the one thing he had convinced you wasn’t true. Your eyes were a tell all for Dick, and he hated the painful look in them now. He could tell you were holding back, and he knew he was the cause of that.

“I don’t want to be with Jason,” You began, voice wavering, “I spend a lot of time with him because he’s my friend and he’s there for me. He listens to me and he comforts me because I’m an idiot in love with someone who doesn’t love me back.”

Every nerve in Dicks body was telling him to let you go. He would never forgive himself if someone were to find out who he was and used you to hurt him. Jason would never forgive him. Bruce taught him that keeping someone you love far away is what will keep them the safest, but what good has that done him? He’s a gloomy man who hides his feelings with a veil of indifference. A veil any person could see through if they looked hard enough.

His silence was unnerving, so you were quick to add, “Dick, it’s okay that you don't feel the same. I’ve known that for a long time.”

“I do,” He hurried as his fingers pressed slightly harder, “I love you, and that scares me in more ways than you could ever know. I thought I knew what it was like to be in love, but then I met you and I realized that nothing has ever compared to the way I feel about you. I look at you and see the rest of my life in front of my eyes. I can’t let that go.”

The tears you were desperately trying to keep at bay flowed down your cheeks as he confessed. You had been waiting to hear him say he loved you for so long that even now, it doesn’t feel real. If it weren’t for the pressure on your cheeks from his fingers, you would have convinced yourself that you were hallucinating. That he wasn’t truly there and the few glasses of champagne you had got to your head.

You lunged forward, quickly capturing his lips with your own. He let out a low groan as he dropped his hands to your waist, pulling you into his grasp. You knotted your fists in his undoubtedly expensive button up as the two of you kissed each other like your lives depend on it. Obviously, you’ve done this particular dance with Dick before, but this was different. This was the kind of kiss that splits the sky in two and opens it up to the heavens.

You can taste the alcohol on his lips as he gently turns and guides you backwards until the backs of your thighs come in contact with the obnoxiously large desk. One of his hands moves to fumble around with the various objects scattered across the desk. His struggles cause you to lightly break away and let out an airy giggle as he works to clear the top.

“I haven’t touched this thing in years I don’t know why there’s so much shit on it,” He mumbled against your lips, “Oh fuck it.”

He shoved everything onto the ground and hoisted you up onto the now empty desk, and you couldn’t help but throw your head back in laughter at how cliché that was. “Calm down, hotshot. You’re going to attract an audience with that noise.”

He gripped your chin, forcing you to meet his dark, lustful gaze, “Let them watch then.”

The pool between your legs grew, aching for any sort of friction to ease the desire that had blossomed inside of you. You were desperate for a release, so you pulled him in by the back of his neck and met his lips in a blinding kiss. Dick gripped the underside of your thigh, pulling you flush against his body. Your fingers pulled and tugged at his hair and suddenly he's kissing you harder with a fervent desire that left you utterly breathless.

“Dick,” You pulled away, “If you don’t stop kissing me like that, you’re going to have to fuck me.”

Dick was slightly stunned at your bluntness, but it just made him even more attracted to you; something he did not think was possible. “Not that I don’t want to, but I don’t want you to think that was all I wanted from you,” He whispered, his eyes dancing all across your face as if he was memorizing every inch of it, “Trust me, I really really want to. I also want to do things right with you and I know I’ve been fucking it up for the last few months.”

“Who knew you were such a softie,” You teased, “But now is not the ti-”

You were cut off by Jason’s voice bouncing off the hallway walls as he called your name. You instantly shoved yourself off of the desk and began to straighten your dress. Dick let you push him away from you, his heart constricting as he let himself go back to what he thought previously. You looked behind you and you could tell that he was upset.

“Hey,” You started, cupping his cheek in your hand, “Don’t do that. It isn’t like that at all, okay? I just know that he is extremely pissed off at you right now and I want to do a little damage control first. I promise you I will come over later and we can do whatever you want.”

“Can you stay with me tonight,” He pleaded, taking your other hand in his own, “Stay with me as my girlfriend.”

He felt cheesy saying that, but he didn’t care. Not when it came to you, and especially not when he got to see the most beautiful smile that came after it. You heard Jason’s footsteps getting closer, so you have Dick one last kiss before quickly leaving his room. 

“Y/N,” Jason called out, “Were you in Dick’s room?”

“Can we go talk somewhere? I need to tell you something and I don’t think doing it in public is wise.”

let me know what you guys think! if you want, you can also send in some requests ;)

[enjoythesilentworld]

💜💜

X Me    (“Simon, my back really hurts after rowing practice. You think you can give me a massage?”)

hello anon <3 so, at this point we've learned that i'm incapable of drabbles. i hope this little 1.5k ficlet lives up to your expectations with that beautiful quote you've provided xx

also, i wondered how i was going to do this prompt without making it very horny. and, well, it's definitely horny, but also has some fluff sprinkled in! (very fade-to-black M-rating)

A not-so-short, but straight to the finally-falling-into-each-other, friends to lovers AU.

~

“Simon, my back really hurts after rowing practice. You think you can give me a massage?”

Simon lifted his gaze from where he’d been hunched over his laptop and found Wille standing in the entryway to their apartment. He was slightly sweaty and frowning, uncomfortably rolling his shoulders, but Simon could see the slight smirk hidden in his features, the challenge.

Things had begun to shift between them lately. Simon first met Wille in the freshman dorms on the first day he’d arrived at university. Nearly four years later, after many late night study sessions and trips to coffee shops and video game competitions, they were best friends and still lived together. The thing that had shifted was the fact that, since one month ago, both of them were finally single at the same time.

Either one or both of them had been in some kind of relationship for the past few years, and about a week after Wille ended his last fling, things began to change. He and Wille had always been more touchy than a typical friendship, but it was never weird for them. There was a certain blurry, invisible line they never crossed, but Simon never saw it as anything other than platonic. That was, until they were both single and suddenly the way Wille brushed past him in the kitchen with a hand to the small of Simon’s back or the way Simon sometimes curled up into Wille’s side on the couch had a very different undertone. Then, there was the time two weeks ago when they’d both gotten a little drunk at a party and danced together, a little too close to be casual. Or that other time one week ago when they’d gone out to dinner with friends and sat pressed up against each other in a booth and Wille put a hand on Simon’s thigh, a little too high to be friendly.

It was like they were playing a game, amping up the tension that had been building between them for— Honestly, for the last four years. If, on that first night in their shared dorm room, Wille hadn’t disappeared to go to some party with a cousin of his and hadn’t come back in the morning covered in hickies, things probably would’ve started between them much earlier.

Simon already felt like he was going to burst at the seams, and so it was really very cruel of Wille to return from rowing practice looking like that, asking Simon to do that, and doing a real terrible job of hiding the fact that he knew exactly what he was doing.

“What?” Simon asked, feigning cluelessness.

Wille took a few steps forward and dropped his bag on the floor. With a dry mouth, Simon watched him interlace his fingers behind his back, the damp, almost see-through material of his T-shirt stretching as he did.

“I think I might’ve pulled something,” Wille said, voice strained as he lifted his clasped hands, traps and upper biceps flexing with the movement. He pouted at Simon. “Please?”

Simon swallowed and kept his eyes locked on Wille’s, even as the man reached down and picked up the hem of his shirt, using it to wipe his sweaty brow. In his peripheral, Simon could still see the revealed expanse of skin.

He managed to keep his tone relatively casual, eyes flitting back down to his laptop, as he said, “Yeah, sure. But only if you take a shower first. I can smell you from here.”

“You’re the best,” Wille grinned and saluted Simon before heading to the bathroom.

The moment he heard the shower turn on, Simon stopped pretending to click away on his laptop and dropped his head into his hands, exhaling a long, suffering sigh.

It would be fine. Simon would pull himself together and give his roommate, who he was maybe-not-just-friends with, a massage and it would all be fine. He would not lose this game they’d started.

Because he needed to do something with his hands, and because he’d abandoned all hope of focusing on his essay any longer, Simon went to the kitchen and quickly made a smoothie for Wille. He knew that, after a rough practice, Wille was always too tired to make real food and would just end up having chips, which was not a very good post-workout meal.

The shower shut off just as Simon was cleaning out the blender. He whirled around when he heard the bathroom door swing open.

“Where do you want me?” Wille asked from the doorway, still damp, hair dripping, and nothing but a towel around his waist. His smirk softened to an adoring smile when he saw Simon approaching him, holding out the smoothie. “Oh— You made that for me?”  

“Yes. You need real nutrients, Wille. That’s probably why you hurt yourself.”

Wille snorted and took the smoothie, giving Simon a quick peck on the cheek. His smell, fresh and soapy but still so Wille, overwhelmed Simon’s senses.

“God,” Wille moaned, licking his lips. “This is delicious. Maybe I should start neglecting my health more often. I swear your smoothies are better than mine.”

He would not lose this game.

Simon rolled his eyes and knocked his shoulder into Wille’s as he brushed past. It left a damp mark on his shirt.

“Come on. It’ll be easiest if you lie down,” Simon said, letting himself into Wille’s room. “Do you have—”

“I’ve got this?”

Wille had followed after him and was holding out a half-empty bottle of massage oil.

“Right. Perfect,” Simon murmured, taking the bottle from him.

Wille took another big sip of his smoothie, then deposited the cup on the nightstand and lay down across the bed. His feet dangled off the edge. He sighed happily and shifted a bit, back muscles flexing, and half buried his face in the pillows.

Tentatively, Simon knelt on the edge of the bed. “Where?”

“Between my shoulder blades,” Wille said, voice muffled. Simon’s eyes tracked the bulging of his triceps, the rippling of his obliques, as he bent an arm at an awkward angle to gesture at the area.

He nodded then, realizing Wille had shut his eyes and couldn’t see him, stuttered, “O— Okay.”

With slow, careful hands, he pumped out a bit of the oil onto his hands and lathered it together between them to warm it up, then leaned forward and spread it gently across the expanse of Wille’s broad back.

He would not lose this game.

To keep his head, Simon focused on the feeling of the knots under his fingertips. There were a few along the bottom edges of his shoulder blades, and he also noticed that one side of the muscles along his spine were slightly more raised than the other. He ran a firm thumb over a spot of tightness and Wille punched out an exhalation.

Simon froze. “Did that hurt?”

“Yes,” Wille chuckled tightly. “But it’s nice.”

When Simon didn’t move, Wille added, “It’s okay, Simon. You can press harder. It feels really good. Honestly, a bit of pain makes it better.”

So he wouldn’t have to think about the double meaning of those words, about a very different context in which Wille could be saying them, Simon started again.

He would not lose this game.

He worked the heel of his hand over the tighter spots, pausing occasionally to add more oil. Starting near the base of his spine, then smoothing it up, up, up to right below his neck, then out across the top of his shoulder.

“Thank you for doing this.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I am,” Wille said softly, “really grateful for you. I’m really glad you’re in my life.”

Simon smiled down at the side of Wille’s head, the way his face smushed into the pillows, the way his eyebrows drew together and he bit his lip as Simon worked over a particularly tight spot.

Voice tight, he mumbled, “I just love you, Simon.”

“I love you, Wille.” His hands slipped slightly, and he felt his cheeks flame with the words. It felt different than all the other times they’d said it. To hide how much his heart had soared at the exchange, he sassed, “Except you owe me after this,” then dug his thumb deep into a knot.

“Whatever you—fuck.” Wille’s fond words broke off into a heated moan and he arched slightly into Simon’s touch. “Fuck that feels so good, Simon.”

The tender moment was definitely lost, and the sounds shot straight to Simon’s groin. His resolve was crumbling.

“There?” Simon asked quietly, rubbing his thumb over the same spot.

“Th—yes. Right there. Shit.”

Wille stopped biting his lip, stopped muffling his groans, as Simon worked over the taut muscles. Right where Wille had indicated, then slowly moving down his back, over smooth, oiled, beautiful skin.

His fingers hesitated at the edge of the bath towel that still covered Wille’s lower half.

“Simon,” Wille breathed, tone almost pleading.

“Can I take this off?” he asked quietly, thumbing across the fluffy fabric.

“Please.”

Simon was plenty happy to lose this game.