#fae au

[hexcii]

Bug kisses <33

[catbayunthestoryteller]

Fair Bargain

Pairing: A Fae x f!reader

a/n: First time writing something like this so I'm unsure. English is not my first language.

You lived alone in a crooked little cottage at the forest’s edge, where the trees leaned close enough to listen and the wind carried too many voices. You knew better than to invite attention. You knew better than most.

An iron horseshoe hung above your door, rusted but solid, nailed in place with care. You refreshed the chalk line at your threshold every month. You never said thank you out loud unless you meant it. And you never, ever, entered the forest.

That, it turned out, was an insult.

The fae who ruled those woods noticed everything. He noticed the way you skirted the treeline as if it might reach out and grab you. He noticed the iron above your door, the wards quietly muttering against his kind. He noticed that you never left bread or milk or honey on the stump near the path.

Worse than fear was indifference.

So he sent messengers.

The first time you saw the rabbits, you smiled despite yourself, three of them, soft and round, darting across the road just ahead of you as you returned from the village. They paused as if waiting. You hesitated. You knew better.

But they hopped down the main forest path, and you followed at a careful distance, reciting rules under your breath. Don’t stray off the trail. Don’t eat. Don’t accept gifts.

You didn’t notice the path narrowing until it vanished entirely.

The trees shifted. Roots rose. Ferns unfurled like green hands, swallowing the way behind you. When you turned, the trail was gone, replaced by unfamiliar bends and a silence that felt like it was listening.

You wandered for hours, heart pounding, clinging to your knowledge like a lifeline. You avoided the rings of mushrooms. You ignored the fruit glowing too brightly on low branches. Hunger and thirst gnawed, but you refused.

That refusal wore down his patience.

He appeared as if he had always been there, leaning against a birch, light caught in his hair like it had chosen him. Beautiful in a way that felt sharpened, intentional. His smile was slow, knowing.

“You’re very careful,” he said. “I admire that.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t give him your name.

That, too, irritated him.

He straightened, gaze darkening. “You want out. I want recompense.”

You crossed your arms. “A bargain requires fairness.”

His lips twitched. “Then negotiate.”

He offered a deal: your freedom in exchange for a favor and the removal of the iron from your door.

You refused. Two prices for one mercy.

His irritation flared, bright and reckless. He chose poorly.

“One favor,” he said. “Now. I will see you safely home afterward.”

You argued the terms until your voice shook. Once only. No lasting harm. No binding claim beyond what was spoken. He agreed with an indulgent smile that told you he planned to enjoy every inch of the line you’d drawn.

The forest closed around you as the bargain sealed.

He touched you like a conqueror studying terrain, stripping away your defenses. He fed you fruit that made the world tilt and soften, your thoughts slipping like silk from your grasp. His voice stayed in your ear, amused, taunting - not so clever now, little ward-maker.

The forest watched.

When he was finally satisfied, when the deal was fulfilled exactly as spoken, you lay dazed beneath the trees, the weight of him gone but his presence still lingering like heat in the air.

True to his word, he brought you home.

You barely remembered the walk, only his hands steadying you, unashamed. At your door, he paused. His fingers traced your thigh, where evidence of him still clung, unmistakable.

He crowned you with flowers grown out of his hands in an instant.

“Human iron doesn’t stop everything,” he murmured. “If you’re worried about what I’ve left behind…you know where to find me.”

He kissed you once, slow, claiming, then vanished into the trees.

You stood alone at your threshold, the iron horseshoe heavy above your head.

For the first time, you wondered how long it would stay there.

You did not go back into the forest.

Instead, you tied your letter carefully to the leg of a blackbird that often watched from your fencepost. You fed it crumbs first (politeness mattered) and only then whispered your intent.

I will meet you at the forest’s edge. No further. If you wish to speak, you will come to me.

The bird vanished between the trees.

He came at dusk.

You waited where grass gave way to roots, where the rules still favored you. The air cooled when he stepped into view, annoyance sharpening his beauty. He looked displeased that you had learned.

“You summon me like a servant now?” he asked lightly.

You lifted your chin. “I summon you like an equal.”

That earned a smile, thin, dangerous.

You did not waste time. You demanded certainty. You demanded that what he had left behind would not grow, would not bind you to him through blood and bone and obligation.

He listened. Then he laughed.

“I could make you barren,” he said. “For a price.”

You stiffened when he named it: your body, whenever he wished, whenever he came. You threatened him back, voice shaking but steady enough: if he did not remove the risk, you would give any child born of it to another of his kind. Trade flesh for safety, as his people so loved to do.

His anger broke sharp and sudden, like ice cracking.

“I do not need your permission to curse you,” he said softly. “Forest or no forest.”

You held his gaze. You did not flinch.

So you compromised.

The horseshoe would come down. Offerings would be left, regularly and properly. In return, your body would be sealed from consequence unless you chose otherwise. No seed would take root without conscious will.

He considered this longer. Too long.

At last, he nodded. “Agreed.”

That was when the nights changed.

Without iron to bar him, he came freely: to your gate, to your windows, never crossing uninvited. Always bearing gifts: berries out of season, carved bone combs, silk that shimmered like moonlight trapped in thread.

You refused them politely.

He asked to be let inside. You declined just as politely and went out to him instead, carrying bread, cheese, wine. You sat together beneath the stars, always at the edge of invitation.

You learned each other slowly.

He called you little mortal, clever thing, thorn-hearted girl. You never gave him your name. He offered you everything in return for it: years without end, magic curling warm in your hands, a crown grown from living gold.

You said no.

Marriage. Power. A firstborn.

No. No. No.

Still, he came. Still, he lingered.

Fondness crept in despite his intent. He learned the way you laughed quietly into your sleeve. The exact distance you kept between you. The way you never forgot your manners.

Then, one night, you made a mistake.

You brought berries out with your bread. You did not see his fingers brush the bowl as he spoke. You did not notice the fruit glowing just a shade too warmly.

You ate.

The world softened. Colors bled. His voice slid closer, gentler, pleased.

“So careful,” he murmured. “And still human.”

You knew better even then, but knowing and resisting were no longer the same thing. His nearness felt inevitable. His touch felt earned. He did not need to force anything; your body leaned toward him on its own.

He took his pleasure slowly, as if savoring victory rather than conquest. And though the bargain held, though no life sparked from it, his satisfaction ran deeper than consequence.

When dawn came, he was gone.

You woke alone, the taste of sweetness still lingering, the forest watching with patient amusement.

That night, he returned with flowers.

And the night after that.

And though you never gave him your name, the forest learned the sound of your breathing, and he learned exactly how long it took before you stopped pretending you were not waiting.

But time did what neither bargains nor forests could stop.

Years gathered around you. Your hands grew surer, your back ached on damp mornings, and the village women began to look at you with that particular softness reserved for those whose seasons were closing.

He noticed before you spoke of it.

Fae always did.

He watched more closely then, less teasing, less hunger in his smiles, more careful attention paid to the way you tired. He still came at night. Still brought gifts. Still never crossed your threshold without leave. But something patient and watchful settled into him, like a hunter realizing winter was near.

It was you who named it aloud.

“You have wanted a child,” you said one evening, seated beside him beneath the eaves, wrapped in a shawl you had woven. “I shall give you one.”

The forest seemed to inhale.

He went utterly still.

For the first time since you had known him, his composure broke completely. Joy lit him from the inside out, bright and reckless, ancient and boyish all at once. He dropped to one knee in the grass, not in supplication, but in disbelief, hands braced as if the earth itself might give way.

“You are certain?” he asked. “Speak carefully.”

“I am certain,” you said. “One child. No more. And only because I choose it.”

He laughed then, unrestrained, radiant, and kissed your hands as though they were sacred things. He promised protection, gentleness, patience. You half-expected him to bend the rules, to make his seed take root at once now that permission had been granted.

You would not have been surprised.

But the magic obeyed you.

Weeks passed. Nothing changed. He tried not to look disappointed, but you saw it, the way his eyes lingered, the way his fingers hovered at your waist as if listening for something not yet there.

Then, a month later, you woke with a strange certainty humming beneath your skin.

The forest knew before you told him.

He appeared before your door at dawn, breathless, eyes alight. When you nodded, he laughed and pressed his forehead to yours, shaking with something that looked very much like relief.

From that moment on, he became vigilant.

Wards bloomed around your cottage under his hands: unseen barriers woven of root and moonlight and old names whispered into the soil. He sealed the windows against wandering spirits. He bent paths away from your home so nothing unfriendly might stumble upon it by chance.

Iron no longer hung above your door but you were safer than you had ever been.

He walked you through the forest now, openly, proudly, one hand always at your back. He chased away lesser fae with a glance. He argued with the old ones on your behalf. He brought you food chosen carefully, nothing that would harm you, nothing that would steal your will.

“Our child will be fierce,” he murmured once. “And stubborn. Like its mother.”

You smiled. “Like the father too.”

He laughed softly and kissed your temple.

The birth did not happen in your cottage.

That, he insisted upon.

You labored beneath an ancient oak, the air thick with old magic and softer hands than you had ever expected. He never left your side, not once, steadying you, murmuring encouragements in a tongue as old as pain itself. When the child finally came, the forest held its breath.

He was unmistakably fae.

Too still at first. Too bright. His eyes opened already knowing, pupils catching light that did not exist. Leaves curled inward toward him. The ground warmed beneath his small body as if recognizing its own.

You loved him instantly. That was the cruelty of it.

You held him for hours, memorizing the weight, the shape of his mouth, the faint hum beneath his skin. The father watched in silence, happy and devastated in equal measure, because he knew what had to be done as surely as you did.

A fae child raised among humans would starve. Not of food but of magic, of language, of the instincts that kept such beings alive. He would wither, grow wrong, draw dangers he could not survive.

You did not argue.

At dawn, you placed your son into his father’s arms.

You did not look away. You did not beg. You only pressed a kiss to his brow and whispered a blessing of your own making: human, stubborn, unbinding. Remember me.

The forest carried them away.

Your cottage felt unbearably quiet after that.

But you were not abandoned.

They visited often. The father came with gifts you could accept now: blankets woven with protective sigils, salves for aching joints, food that would not bind or weaken you. He stayed at the threshold unless invited further.

And your son, your beautiful, impossible child, returned as often as he could.

At first, he was carried. Then he walked. Then he ran.

He grew quickly, but not too quickly, his form always balanced between worlds. He laughed like wind through chimes. He asked questions that made your head ache and your heart swell. He brought you shiny stones, feathers, flowers that never wilted once placed in your hands.

He called you mother without hesitation.

You taught him human things: patience, kindness, the weight of promises, mortal courtesy.

His father taught him the rest.

The villagers whispered, of course. Of the strange child who came and went. Of the man too beautiful to be trusted who lingered near your home. But no harm ever came to you. The wards held. The forest bent away from ill intent.

On quiet evenings, the three of you sat beneath the eaves, watching stars rise one by one.

You never lived together. You never married. You never surrendered your name.

But you were not alone.

And one day your son grew tall enough to look down at you with ageless eyes softened by love, took your hands and said, very solemnly: “I know where I belong.”

You smiled, tears joyous and bright.

[shadzytarts]

Fae boys belong to @hexcii ! Took about a month but happy with them <3 Originally I was gonna make Moon kick his feet but his wings are in the way Bigger and smaller versions under the cut

Without his wings cause his lil fits cute

[rue-x3]

Forest fae Shen Jiu who was tricked into giving his name as a child and getting enslaved by Qiu Jianluo. It’s miserable and he can’t raise his hand to any of the mansion staff in relation because they have his name.

Yue Qi is also a spirit of some kind and when he goes to CQMS he not only soul bonds with the sword but he gets trapped inside of it while his body reforms itself (when his soul was bonded his body was like charred and his magical spirit ways allowed him to heal from that by recuperating in the sword)

So Shen Jiu has like no chance of escaping until one winter while the snow faes are about, a noble family of snow faes are invited to the manor. They are there because the Qiu manor wants to negotiate lower snowfall on their territory to sustain their livelihood through the winter.

While the nobles and the adult snow faes are having their meeting, a young snow fae about 14—one year younger than Shen Jiu—takes the opportunity to wander around the mansion. Each step of his leaves soft trails of snow in the shape of paw prints (Each fae has corresponding animal features to their elements). The snow fae finds his way to the library, peeking inside with the eyes of a critic.

He finds Qiu Haitang there, dragging Shen Jiu along as she insists on showing him her favorite stories. Shen Jiu looks up right as Shen Yuan peeks in, making eye contact with the other. A sort of understanding passes between them. Shen Jiu doesn’t want to be there, and Shen Yuan is in a position where he can probably get Shen Jiu out of there. (In this au Faes have an almost extreme sense of kinship—especially when they’re young. So helping one another out is natural, especially if one or both parties are children… Plus Shen Yuan is strictly anti-child abuse, why wouldn’t he help a child in need?)

So Shen Yuan enters the library and makes small talk. Qiu Haitang is intrigued by his white hair and is very curious about Shen Yuan. She’s been sheltered so this is her first time seeing another fae outside of Shen Jiu. Naturally she’s been taught to be wary of fae and not give out any names to them but she gets a bit excited and forgets that rule because Shen Jiu’s the only one she’s had to keep her guard up around. So when she’s introducing herself and Shen Yuan says “I see, and may I have the name of the boy beside you as well?” she just blurts it out.

She doesn’t realize what she’s done until Shen Yuan’s leaving and he grabs Shen Jiu’s hand to take him with him. She’s like “What are you doing?” And Shen Yuan just looks at her with feigned curiosity and says “You gave me his name, didn’t you?”

Oum tbc one day I forgot what I was plotting, it’ll come back one day

[askreclusesagefae]

A dream within a sea of stars...

---

((OOC: That one scene from Ponyo with the sea goddess and her husband but it's my AU and Sage reveals his true Fount form-Very not canon, this is just a cute sketch))

[metallicpookies]

FINAL PART.

————————

((Dyths? Au by - @/sugarhogxx

Biting the hand that feeds au by - @/xitsensunmoon

The name game/Fae au by -@/hexcii

Cooking with Sun AU by - @/Cursio-neptune))

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Constantine Is Having Fae Problems

Not as in 'problems with the fae', but as in 'the Batfam don't understand shit about fae and it is somehow Constantine's problem'

"Thank you."

Whatever thoughts Constantine had before come to a screeching halt. He slowly turns around, praying he's misheard, but, unfortunately, no. He heard that right.

The black-haired kid - he looks like a kid, but, really, he is not, and he is not even human to begin with - is smiling at Nightwing, who just laughs and ruffles the boy's hair.

"Don't worry about it, it's nothing," the moronic eldest batkid says, like it's not a big deal, and Constantine just... can't. He is not dealing with this right now. He needs a drink.

And then it happens again. Not with the Nightwing, though. This time, it's Black Bat. Now, in all honesty, Constantine is not so sure about her being human either, what with her appearing out of goddamn aether and being silent as a ghost, but the point still stands. The new addition to Bat's menagerie of children, the fae boy, the changeling who insists he is Robin's brother, thanks her.

It's quick and easy, just like a human would say it, and Black Bat just nods back at him, but Constantine knows what it means. He knows the weight of fae gratitude.

The big question is, do the Bats know it?

He promises himself to address this issue later with the Big Bat himself. But every time he encounters the man, he just forgets to bring it up. Constantine strongly suspects it's not his bad memory at fault here, but a certain fae. Not that he is going to outright go and blame the damned creature, of course, Constantine values his life, mind, and consciousness. Also, he is very aware of the consequences of talking to the fae, unlike the furry brigade.

Alas, he can't forget something if he witnesses with his own eyes. So the next time he is in the Batcave, he makes it a point to wait until the same thing eventually happens. And, score for Constantine, it does.

"Thank you," the kid - again, not a kid, not a human, but whatever - tells Red Robin, and Constantine immediately snaps his head to him, pointing a finger at the smiling fae.

"I mean no disrespect, but what are you doing?"

The kid - Danny, as he insists to be called, although Constantine knows better than to call a fae by any name - tilts his head to the side. He looks confused, but there's a sly glint to his blue eyes. Oh, the fucker knows exactly what he means. He just doesn't want to admit to it.

"What do you mean?" It's not him, but Red Robin asking, and Constantine turns to look him in the eyes. Mask. Whatever.

"He is thanking-" a terrible thought crosses Constantine's mind, and he stares at Red Robin with horror, "Oh, don't tell me you were all thanking him and apologizing to him like he is a human being."

"I don't see how this is your business," Red Robin scolds, and his eyes narrow. Constantine can't see his actual eyes through the mask, but he knows the Bats well enough to know the kid looks as deadpan as he can.

"You can't do that!" He reaches down to the pocket where he keeps his cigarettes, but stops halfway. Right, no smoking in the Batcave. Wait, he never obeyed that rule! Constantine turns to glare at the fae boy. Danny appears as innocent as a newborn baby. Little bastard.

"Quit making a scene," comes another voice, and this one John recognizes, turning to look at little Robin. Now that he thinks about it, the demonic child claimed the fae as his brother, and he definitely should know how to talk to fae!

"Why didn't you tell them about the rules?!" He asks Robin, and the kid doesn't even bat an eye at him.

"You will not accuse me of incompetence in front of my brother," Robin huffs, not stepping closer and keeping one hand on his hip, "I did."

"You-"

"Okay, how about you calm down?" Danny interjects, and John is positive this is the first time he's heard the boy say anything other than 'thank you'. He turns to the fae, facing him, and, oh, Jesus, those are not human eyes. Or teeth. Or face. Holy fuck how do Bats live with this, it's like uncanny valley but hundreds times worse.

"If I tell you I use it for easier access, will you leave it be?" The fae tilts his head again, and this time it is not in confusion, but in the eerie manner of how all very much not human beings do it. Constantine swallows, but doesn't back down.

"Access to what, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Transportation," Danny provides. This does not explain shit and he knows it. Red Robin groans and rolls his eyes.

"We use it to summon Danny if we need him. It's faster than calling or texting."

Constantine freezes.

These fucking kids. Are using the fae debts. To summon him. Because they don't like texting.

Do they know that they can literally ask a fae to destroy a small country to fulfill a debt like that? It's not just a small favor, it's a gratitude. Fae take their gratitude very seriously. They value it. A lot.

Actually, you know what, no. John is not going to be explaining that part to them because God knows the batkids are all batshit crazy and this is an opportunity he is not willing to give them.

So he just nods stiffly, turns around, and heads to the zeta tube.

"Thank you for caring about my family," he hears a voice behind him, full of mischief and joy. Constantine feels the weight of the newly acquired debt, or better call it a favor, bind itself to his soul, and, great, he now has the power to part the sea like Moses, but only once.

He needs a drink. No, correction, he needs a whole bar to himself.

Wait, that's an idea.

"Get me a bottle of good bourbon, and we're even," he throws around his shoulder, stepping into a zeta tube.

When he steps out of it, there's an unlabeled bottle in his hand. John sighs and opens it, foregoing the glass or cup and drinking straight from the neck.

...It's good bourbon.

Inspired by @blackfoxsposts

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[dvg-tvgs]

you tossed and turned on the too plush bed. sleep hadn't yet found you, the soft glow from the lanterns outside and the swirling anxiety keeping you up. 

this world was strange and scary. magic you didn't understand, flawless beings with pointed ears towering over you. they sneered down at you, not used to seeing an unfamiliar, imperfect being. 

you didn't know why you were here, why the fae king pulled you into this world. he'd done nothing but look at you, but study you before he sent you away to this room. now that you were in this room, you wanted to burrow under the blankets, where nobody could find you again.

the door opened and the room grew cold. you held your breath and shut your eyes, as if he wouldn't see you if you were still. but the masked fae with the blonde hair and the chunk missing from his pointed ear still walked towards your bed.

he grabbed the blanket and pulled it away from your body. "get up," he said, his voice gruff.

you should have been more scared of the fae, of all of the stories you'd been told when you were a child. especially this one with the skull covering his face.

if they were going to steal your soul, they would have done it by now.

"no," you said, grabbing the blankets and pulling them back over your body.

the fae growled. you couldn't quite see the way his lip curled beneath his mask as he made the inhuman and, frankly, ridiculous noise. he could growl as much as he wanted, it wouldn't get you out of bed.

the blanket was suddenly on the other side of the room and his hand was on your throat cutting off your air supply. "you think i want t' do this?" he spat (thank god for the mask blocking his literal spit). "you think i want t' play babysitter t' a fuckin' 'uman?"

you grabbed his arm as he lifted you from the bed, a choked sound leaving your lips. fuck, he was going to push you up against the wall and tighten his grip until the bones in your neck snapped.

but he set you down and let go of you. you drew in sharp breaths, trying to get your erratic heartbeat under control. "you fucking psycho," you managed, quieter than you wanted it to be.

if he tried that again, you would aim for the balls. would it have the same effect it did on human men? besides, what would you do after that? where would you go?

"get dressed," he said in the same gruff voice from before, as if he hadn't just tried to kill you. "i'll wait outside."

"fuck you, ghost," you spat as he stepped out, slamming the door hard enough that the entire room seemed to shake.

you threw open your wardrobe and began getting dressed.

after a long valentines weekend, i'm alive and cooking