#; night blindness ( star wars au )

[avifaunaa]

stars blind [ they fall and leave the sky ]

Authors Note: it was going to happen eventually. The only name READER goes by is Windweaver -- otherwise there is no use of a name or Y/N.

Masterlist

PART TWO |

Pairing: Feyre Archeron x Rhysand x Fem!Reader + Platonic!Inner Circle x Fem!Reader

Summary: Feyre and Rhysand have decided to go out after eight months of being reclusive with Nyx. In their absence, it would seem the Inner Circle had kept a well-kept secret at their favorite bar — a new friend and a third mate Feyre and Rhysand never knew they had. But you — who answers to the name Windweaver — have your own secrets behind your innocent smiles and sweet scent.

Content Warnings: Canon in nature but I take liberties and therefor it’s somewhat of an AU because of what I did, a medium to quick-ish burn, Court politics, protective + possessive inner circle [ platonic ], platonic fae family dynamics that I will eventually go into, TAMLIN MENTIONED, foul language, mentions of: death, torture, war -- not graphically described, this is but a set up for the story so Feysand do not meet R yet.

Word Count: TBA

Rhysand was suspicious.

Granted, he was always suspicious and usually had a right to be when considering what sort of ilk he had to tend to in the Court of Nightmares on a regular basis.

His mate thought he was overthinking it — you’re getting permanent worry lines, she had told him over the mindlink — and had tried to ignore his pattering around and restless fidgeting for days.

Nyx was a welcome distraction, of course, especially when Feyre showed him how easily the babe had begun winnowing in small distances before he was walking on two feet. Rhysand had walked about with his chest puffed out for no less than a week until Azriel beat the shit out of him in training.

In truth, his suspicions lie closer to his own Inner Circle. They were around frequently and Feyre held dinners at their home two times a week that usually ended up with a couple of them spending the night after too many drinks [ Cassian and Nesta, who did not drink much anymore, by default ].

They were less open-mouthed about their drinking exploits when they went out into the Court and dancing. Even Azriel was less chatty about it — and he was not a chatty man by nature.

Dinner was currently underway and Feyre had a babbling Nyx in her lap as she fed him, then herself, then him again. She hummed along to whatever he said to her, because none of it made any sense to one except himself.

Rhysand was nursing a glass of wine and staring at Mor and Amren, and when Amren caught him staring she curled a lip back to reveal her canines. “You better move those eyes before I take them and pin them to my front door.”

Cassian choked on his ham stew, loudly setting down his bowl and wiping his face with the fine napkins.

“Please don’t,” Feyre said, “I like his eyes more than everything else about him.”

“Everything, you say?” Cassian asked wickedly, a feral gleam in his eyes. “That must hurt, Rhysie.”

“Shut up,” Nesta intoned from her spot between him and Azriel as she broke a roll in half and dipped it in her soup, “I don’t want to hear about Rhysand’s cock at dinner.”

“Who said anything about his cock?”

A pause in her dipping, a small reddening of her cheeks, then Nesta continued on with a bored expression as she brought the accurately soaked roll to her lips and bit in, ignoring the bait her mate dangled in front of her.

Rhysand ignored both of them and sipped his wine until Amren returned her gaze back to her High Lord, now irritated in the way he wanted her to be.

“Boy, spit out whatever has ahold of your tongue and your balls before I reach over and take all three for myself,” she warned, setting aside her emptied glass until a bottle floated over lazily to refill it.

Azriel sighed loudly from Nesta’s other end.

“Please don’t,” Feyre repeated as she fed Nyx a spoonful of soup while he reached for the utensil himself. “And also stop threatening one another in front of Nyx. I don’t need him running around next Solstice babbling about Rhysand’s balls.”

Mor was the one to choke on her wine this time, removing the glass and covering her face before anything could spill.

Azriel sighed again while Elaine made it a point to noisily move dishes nearest to her around on the table.

“You’ll forgive me, Feyre, if I’m somewhat irked by your mate’s endless staring,” Amren bit out as she pushed her barely touched food away. Even now she still struggled with eating, even if she had admitted it was fantastic food. Amren was a creature of habit and it was hard when she returned mortal.

“I am concerned my Circle is being tight-lipped about something and I am trying to investigate it,” Rhysand announced to the table before Feyre could stop him.

“So the dramatics were . . .” Nesta waved her fork in his direction, ringed hand glittering in the overhead lighting, “ . . . Just you being you?”

“He’s not normally this awful. He usually just asks us when something is off to him,” Cassian told her, popping an entire roll into his mouth without breaking it apart first.

“I have asked,” Rhysand retorted shortly, tapping his fingertips on the tabletop. “Numerous times. All of you. I have asked if anything of note has been occurring in Court while Feyre and I take our reprieve with Nyx. I’ve gotten no reports other than the usual.”

“That’s because there isn’t anything to report,” Azriel told him slowly, his shadows looking as confused as the Spymaster did. Cassian grunted his agreement around his bread product.

“See?” Feyre gave him one of her reassuring smiles, dimples showing and eyes softening to hide the concern that lay within. “You’re being a hen. Nothing is wrong with our people or our Court. If you’re restless and want to return to your duties entirely, you can just say so.”

Rhysand’s scarred hand dug into the top of the table. His mate couldn’t sense it — and maybe he was being paranoid and he had grown restless in the nesting period he had taken up with Feyre and Nyx.

But his Illyrian hindbrain was nagging at him, warning him that something simply wasn’t entirely in the right place.

“Your father’s ilk haven’t caused ruckus?” he asked Mor carefully as he made an effort to pick at his food.

Mor slowly moved her gaze to Rhysand’s own and he saw an icy fire somewhere in the depths of his cousin’s eyes. “No. The last time they did, I gave him a reminder.”

“They’ve been rather well behaved since then,” Nesta commented lazily, watching her own mate swallow down his third roll and reach to the basket for a fourth.

“Cassian save some for the rest of us,” she scolded, lunging forward to snatch the basket away. “Elaine only made two batches and you’ve nearly had an entire full one by yourself.”

“It’s okay,” her sister said, cheeks pink. “There’s more than enough, I’m sure.”

Cassian held a hand out but Nesta refused to give in, eyes narrowing to slits. “You’re going to regret that much bread tomorrow when we have to be up for training.”

Azriel took the basket and plucked his own roll before passing it down the table out of the Warrior’s reach.

“I hate all of you,” Cassian said as he stared at his soup.

“Duly noted,” the High Lord drawled as he once again cast glances at each of his friends. He decided to do this approach differently, casually asking, “How’s Rita been?”

“Good,” Mor answered immediately. “She’s been busier than normal.”

“Her bar’s picked up even more, has it?”

“That’s wonderful,” Feyre said with a smile as Nyx smashed a tiny chunk of roll on the side of his mouth instead of inside. “I can’t wait to go again. It’s been so long. Soon.”

“Hmm,” Amren simply said, not agreement nor refusal. A very Amren sound but not matching with the too-blank expression she had where normally she held less defenses around the Cricle lately.

Azriel’s attention was suddenly on Elaine, asking about her recipe so that there was truly no way he could be taken from her conversation without being considered rude. Rhysand wanted to strangle him with his own shadows.

You’re being overbearing and I think perhaps it’s time you and I start going back into Court again, Feyre murmured down the bond. He hadn’t even realized she had entered his mind — her being there was like his own thoughts. I’m worried you’re looking for things to be suspicious about so you can have something to do.

Have you seen the paperwork loaded in the office, darling? he returned while he continued inspecting their friends. I have work for months. But this . . . This is different.

Feyre brushed against him internally in an attempt at soothing him -- and perhaps he was a tad more worked up over this perceived secret than he should be. But he did not like it -- not from his Inner Circle, not from his family.

Mor swirled her wine and chewed on her lip. She had one perfectly manicured hand wrapped around her elbow in an effort to make herself seem relaxed and at ease amongst her peers but Rhysand could taste the nervous energy from his cousin.

She was always made up of nervous energy when the time was around for her father and his agreed population to come into the Court -- she could not relax for at least a week after they were gone.

This was different, though.

"There's a new girl at Rita's," More broke out as the wine glass was lifted to her face, unable to cut off her sentence before it spewed out.

Silence fell and Amren simply poured herself more wine. "Here we go."

"So?" Rhysand said, squinting at the blonde. "Rita's employees come and go frequently -- do they not? She offers an easy scheduling system."

Mor did not further elaborate or answer Rhysand's confused question. He sent a look to his mate, who tilted her head in her friend's direction.

"Is this the big secret Rhysand thinks you're keeping from us?" she asked easily, smile rising up to greet their Inner Circle. "If so, please confirm it and put him out of his misery. He doesn't like not being in the know of things."

"Busybody," Amren grumbled, wine now half empty as she closed her eyes as if to go away from this conversation.

"Yes," Azriel said simply. "But she's been around since Nyx's birth. Came out of nowhere."

"Nobody comes out of Nowhere, Az," Rhysand said impatiently, "So I assume she caught interest because she came not from Nowhere but from another Court?"

"Why would that make a stir? We've had many newcomers since we revealed ourselves," Feyre added.

"She's . . . She came from the Spring Court," Azriel confessed. Though his brothers' facial features were unreadable, the tone . . . it failed to hide the sliver of guilt. "I personally looked into her history. She's High Fae and I'm afraid to let you know that she is related to Tamlin through his mother's lineage."

Feyre's eyes shuttered briefly and Rhysand could only feel the shock that struck her. "He never mentioned any family besides . . ." she trailed off, leaving words unsaid but a history known.

Tamlin had only spoken of who he thought brought importance to him directly -- and a girl in which he likely hardly saw growing up? What would have been so important to waste his breath on her to Feyre for?

Even so, Rhysand knew little about Tamlin's mother or her lineage. It does not surprise him he has a cousin or two floating around in the world.

He reached across his bond, grasping the warmth and clutching it so tenderly. Are you okay?

She responded in kind and connected herself to him in order to grant access to her emotions and the ability to comfort her. I am okay, she confirmed, meeting his eyes with stars in the depths, but I want to know more.

He would give her anything she needed -- and if she wanted to know more about the female who shared Tamlin's blood, it would be hers.

"What do you know?" he asked, breaking the silence of his group. He pushed his empty dishes away and prepared to settle in for a long discussion.

Feyre shifted in her seat but only to hand over a squealing Nyx to Elain so that she may take him to play in the gardens before his bath.

"She used political sanctuary to ask for entry," Cassian told him, arms crossed over the table, expression turned serious. "She claims that during the War she was moved from place to place with her mother so that Tamlin couldn't use them to get her father to contribute troops from his house."

Feyre's jaw locked stiff and Rhysand could feel the tight straining in her core. "Where is her family now?" his High Lady questioned calmly.

"Unknown," Azriel answered, "I sought out their location with my Shadows but their House is in shambles -- in name and standing all. There is no sign of Sylinor or his wife and there are no troops bearing their House' crest to be located."

"Sylinor Windweaver?" Rhysand asked, the name drawing familiarity from a time when he was a boy and still shadowed his father, eyes flashing and his wings twitching behind him. "He has not been seen since--"

"A year before Amarantha's fall," Cassian finished. "Believed to have been executed with his family when Tamlin continued to lack . . . obedience."

"So they lived," Feyre said hollowly, eyes drifting toward the windows where the garden was in view. Elain sat with Nyx as he flapped tiny wings and grasped her skirt to draw her attention to him.

"It seems so," the Illyrian general agreed while Nesta scratched her chin, almost bored of this entire thing.

"So they escape, hide, and then . . . just disappear?" Feyre asked with an icy spike in the tone of her voice that Rhysand knew to be bordering dangerous.

"A lot of Houses fell in the War, and it is possible that Tamlin somehow helped free the Windweavers and attempted to call in a favor later," Amren reminded Feyre bluntly. "Hybern let his soldiers play as they would and some families and their titles were entirely wiped out. The Spring Court relies on House loyalties and the people in each section of land owned by a House to contribute its' army. Autumn Court runs in a similar fashion."

"Spring Court had the Tithe," Feyre said, frowning, "and also made prominent families take people on their territories as soldiers? Is that who Tamlin had as guards on his estate?"

"Likely not," Rhysand told her as he kept sending a soothing rush down the bond toward her. Anytime Feyre learned a new aspect about the Spring Court, it devastated her a little bit more. "Those were probably Fae who came from prominent families of those Houses or Fae who had deep loyalties going back to his family."

"I see." Feyre clasped her hands in her lap in an effort to cease the trembling that threatened to reveal itself. Not from despair, no, Rhysand could feel anger there. Rage and shock. "So this Fae woman. She comes from one of the prominent Houses?"

"Yes," Mor confirmed softly, "but her movements have been much the same. She works at Rita's and goes home after her shift. She's quiet and keeps to herself."

"Did she come with anyone else?" Rhysand asked after an uneasy, but thoughtful, silence.

Amren pursed her lips and shot Azriel a sharp look before finishing off the last of her wine.

The Shadowsinger was hesitating even if his usual stillness radiated his confidence and attempt at nonchalance. "Yes, she came with one other. A child."

"A child," Feyre echoed. Her eyes had been ripped away from their son upon hearing this, and now she had her walls stacked as high and as defensed as they could be. Rhysand brushed against them but it would seem this turmoil was his mates' alone. "There weren't . . . the records of refugees . . ."

“Remember how we discussed a way for fleeing Fae to seek asylum and ensuring their tracks would die at our doorstep?” Rhysand asked quietly, eyes focusing on Feyre.

“Yes. It wasn’t really given a solid outline, though,” Feyre murmured, the glittery makeup around her eyes crinkling with her skin as she eyed him. “Unless it did happen and you didn’t tell me.”

The accusation was piercing, but not untrue.

“It was Mor and Nesta’s project. Amren helped. I had little say in it,” Rhysand confessed.

"We do not always mark down on public records the names of our refugees," Mor took over, speaking to Feyre carefully as she leaned forward in the dining chair and intertwining her fingers together. "We put their names on a list only a three others under our Circle can access and then we store that list in the House of Wind. It is still in its’ infancy and has been used only a handful of times with some denied entries, and we have security checks in place to review the applicants. It takes weeks for them to be allowed into the Court with a citizenship if they request a private status in our records."

"It's a fairly new system," Rhysand reiterated to his wife, reaching out to grasp one of her hands. "We implemented it officially near the birth of Nyx -- and I keep intending to inform you of it.”

Feyre could feel his guilt through their mating bond and blew air through her nostrils. She rubbed at her temples and crossed one leg over the other. “No need to keep me out of the loop on account of my maternity situation. From now on, keep me informed on everything.”

“Of course, Lady,” Mor murmured, dipping her chin. Amren followed suit. “It wasn’t kept from you intentionally.”

Feyre offered a small, comforting smile. “I know. But still done nonetheless. I am able to preform my duties just fine these days and welcome it.” Her eyes glanced at Rhysand accusingly, who had the decency to keep his mouth shut.

Rhysand traced the rim of his glass with his fingertip. “It’s so far been a successful operation, darling.”

“Who’s running it right now?”

Nesta held up her chalice. "I am in charge of the refugees for the most part. When I took your old job part of it is included the safety of displaced folk and giving them a voice and resources."

Feyre nodded, satisfied with her sister’s role in this part of their Circle. She opened her shields just a minuscule ule amount, sending Rhysand reassurance but also digging her claws into his wandering mind. We will discuss this later.

Rhysand did not physically react — but it took his entire being not to flinch as she dug in deeper until releasing him.

"So the child is hers?" Feyre questioned, running one of her fingers across the top of Rhysand's palm to self-soothe. He knew her pain from her experience in the Spring Court ran root-deep, before him, before the Cauldron . . . but he wondered why she felt so incensed by the knowledge of this Fae woman.

"We believe so, but she has no record of mating or marriage. The child is no older than three at most and she only provided a name for her," Nesta replied, snatching another roll and ignoring Cassian's outraged yelp.

"Could this child have been apart of why Sylinor moved them around during the War?" Rhysand wondered, still seeking entry into Feyre's mind through the small gap she opened to him. Gentle brushes and wisps of touch against the shields -- but he backed down when no response was given.

"It is possible," Amren said, "but we do not know for sure. We do not ask about her history and she does not offer it. What we have told you is what we know."

"If she is not a threat or in danger of becoming one," Rhysand finally decided after thinking, "then I suggest that we ease off of following her for now. She sought asylum and it was granted. Let us treat her like a guest rather than a suspect."

"As long as Tamlin does not sniff around asking if his missing cousin is hiding here," his Second drawled, leaning her chin on her hand and squinting like a satisfied cat, "then I do not see an issue in that."

"The High Lord has bigger problems internally right now," Azriel said, mostly to himself by the distant musings in the way he spoke. "He has more concerns than one House being lost to him."

"She's blood," Rhysand countered.

"Since when has blood ever mattered to the High Fae until it suited them?" Nesta asked with a twisted, nasty tone -- and she was right.

"Can you send two more Dawning Brightlights to the table in the corner for me, Windy?" Rita asked, breathless and red-cheeked as she spoke loudly over the even louder crowd that took over her bar this night.

It was a typical busy day you supposed -- though you hardly ever found a slow day at Rita's ever since your first shift and she eagerly brought you on when you told her you would take whatever times she wanted you as long as you did not have to do the midnight shifts.

The money was good and the customers were a breed that only an establishment like Rita's could produce. You worried if you went to the bar just a few blocks down, you'd have had your ass grabbed already.

"Of course!" you call back as you crouch under the bar and pull out ingredients for the drinks she needed. A purple sparkly syrup to drizzle into the bottom of the glass, five second pours of the sweet alcohol that had a strange but harmless shimmer to it, and two perfect mint leaves in each glass and you were off. You swept through the packed building, sweeping under extended arms and narrowly avoiding an unwatchful stagger from an unintended shove.

Chairs being pulled out dodged breezily, and echoes of laughter drowning out muffled apologies as you finally reach your destination.

“Here you go, so sorry for the wait!” You flourished the drinks and let them slide across the table to the two patrons. The two fae raised their glasses at you before downing them and going back to their chatting.

You filled ten more drink requests in under thirty minutes while trying to keep up with the food orders. You were tempted to use your abilities to help you carry things — but doing so would cause great ruckus and you were still hiding. Using it would reveal yourself to your old Court.

“Windweaver!” A familiar song like cry echoed as you dropped some fish and chips off at a burly male’s table. “Oh where art thou, Windweaver?”

Your hair was sticky against your scalp and forehead as you ducked under a pair of dancing Fae and popped up to face the source. It was The Morrigan lounging with her feet on a peanut covered table, grinning wickedly while Amren sat across from her and hissed whenever someone nudged her chair when passing.

“Hi, Mor!” you greeted, relieved and anxious at the sight of her. Her and Amren — and Nesta Archeron — had all been vital in getting you settled in Veralis and you were forever in their debt.

But you feared that your connection to them would mean running into the youngest sister of Nesta and the High Lady of Veralis, of the Night Court, Feyre. You heard only from your mother’s maids what your cousin had forced her to go through.

And you did not want to see the look in her eye the way you did Nesta’s when she realizes who you are and what you run from.

It was your ultimate shame and burden to carry being from the Spring Court, but you did not have anywhere else to go that you’d think could truly shield you from your family should they seek you out.

“You stink,” Amren said by way of greeting, narrowing her eyes at you, “of male.”

You spluttered incoherently at her remark, red. “Amren,” Mor crooned, falsely scolding as she smirked in your direction. “Why are you sniffing her way anyway?”

“Can you not tell that the reek is coming from her?” You did not appreciate the way she eyed you distastefully.

“There is no male,” you said, slapping down menus in front of them despite knowing they get the same thing every time. “I have brushed up against many of them while taking care of customers.”

“Did any of them touch you?”

“No?”

Amren arched a brow. “You’re not sure of that, are you, girl?”

Mor also frowned, tapping her fingernails across the menu in an unsettled manner. “If someone touched you, Windy, Rita —“

You sighed. “I don’t think it was intentional, or I would have felt it and known. I always smell when I work these nights, okay? I’m fine.”

Amren did not look ready to release this from her clutches. “It’s not just a brushing of scents that happen like usual. It’s so soaked into you that I’m almost tempted to force Rita to let you off for the night to bathe.”

“Amren.” You imagined yourself rolling your eyes, but feared the consequences of such actions when it came to the Night Court’s feared Second in Command.

Another arch of a sleek brow, eyes cat-like as she drew in on you. Mor stood by and studied the menu as though she planned on changing her meal choice tonight.

“I genuinely,” you began, “have no male in my life — and I believe I would know if one was scenting me.” You rested your hip against the table to try and remove some weight from your ankles and feet. You were sore.

Mor and Amren didn’t seem satisfied despite you speaking the truth, but they did feel content enough to let it go and instead order their usual drink and meals. You swiped their menus under your arm and head back to the bar to put the order in to the kitchen.

The rest of the night slowed down after that odd interaction. You delivered the drinks to Amren and Mor and ignored the way Amren wrinkled her nose at you whenever you approached. You tried not to take it personally, not with Amren.

When it came close to ten in the evening, you started counting your tips as your replacement, Malora, swept in and greeted you cheerfully.

You decided to stop by Amren and Mor’s table one more time and check on them again before you left. You had your apron draped over your arm and your hair pulled up into a high ponytail. “Hey, is there anything else you’d like me to grab you? I’m heading out pretty much now otherwise.”

Amren waves you off as she downs her fifth drink but Mor looked up to give you a response, pauses at something with a flash of alarm in her eye. Her glass slips from her hand and it shatters on the table.

“Morrigan!” Amren snapped, sliding her chair back before the liquid could pour into her lap. “By the Cauldron, usually you don’t get into dropping things until you’re ten drinks in —“

“Amren.”

“What?” she snapped again, eyes shooting up and meeting your confused ones. She then shot a glare at more, followed her eyesight, and she too seemed to freeze briefly.

“Let me get a rag.” You throw your belongings onto the empty chair at the table and quickly walk across the tavern and get behind the bar to dig out a clean rag, maybe three, to help clean the mess.

When you walked back toward them, they were arguing quietly. You strained to listen, but even your Fae ears were weak at hearing after the War.

After everything.

You unfolded one and started laying it across the spilled mess and drifting the glass and alcohol in one direction; away from both of them.

“Girl,” Amren said tightly. You paused and noticed his strained Amren looked, and the way Mor’s body seemed to be alight with nervous energy, “how long has that been there?”

“What?”

A thin, foreboding finger pointed just above your shoulder to the spot where your neck and shoulder met. Concerned by her and Mor’s actions, you reach up to brush your fingers along the skin but find nothing amiss. “What’s there?”

“Do you need a mirror,” Mor asked, but she did not wait for a response as she reached into the small handbag on the back of her chair and pulled one of the fancy little carry on mirror’s you see in boutiques for sale. Too expensive for you to afford.

You lift the mirror until it’s in the line of sight they pointed out, reflecting the offending part of your body. At first you weren’t entirely sure what they were talking about. But then you looked closer and noticed it just creeping out behind your ear. You tilted the mirror up and to the side until it faced the back of your pointed ear and swallowed at what you found.

Outlining the skin that connected your ear to your head was inked and drifted out into swirling mist-like markings until it faded just out of view. Very underwhelming in hindsight, but a shock because you do not remember having this.

“Oh,” you said quietly as you lowered the mirror. Breathed out. Handed the object back to Mor.

The most awkward silence you had ever experienced.

“Oh,” Mor agreed thickly, nails digging into the wood of the table as she met your gaze.

“That’s a mating mark of a High Lord,” Amren said, slow and dark, eyes piercing you as you started backing away, and dug your own nails into your palms. “But which one?”

“I’m not mated,” you spit out, “to anybody.”

“The bond says otherwise.”

You looked at both females, your heart beginning to race in your chest and did the only thing you knew how to do.

You ran.

PART TWO

[draco-dormiens]

FOR ALL THAT IS RIGHT AND JUST - Flashback

auror!draco x auror!fem!slytherin reader / post-war au

warnings: strong language, angst, implied mental struggles, negative self deprecation, alcohol use, mild descriptions of wounds

wc: 2162

tags: @yeolsbubbles @send-me-styles @shinytalent @malfoylover4l

tag list open!!

masterlist

Draco's Story

Late July, 1998

"I've decided, Dray." Your voice is soft but laced with determination. He sits beside you, on the roof of his parents mansion, the window to his room just below your dangling feet, a cool night breeze licking his skin as the July heat still lingers in the air. "I'm going to become an Auror. After everything I've seen, after uncle Travers..." you pause for a long moment, staring up into the dark navy sky, dotted with glimmering white specs where, thousands and thousands of lightyears away, stars burn; big, bright, dazzling orbs, "I can't let it happen again. I can't allow other children to go through what we have, what you have. Even if it just a small change, I want to help make it."

He's silent for while. The bottle of Fire Whiskey you'd both been sipping on rests just between his knees. Bringing it to his lips, he takes a long drink before setting it back down. There are bruises on his knuckles, cuts on his arms, a nice gash to his forehead from where he'd managed to make contact with the floor outside of the Room of Requirement. If not for the boy he'd spent the last seven years envying with a seething jealousy, he would no doubt be dead. He owed Harry and his friends his life, and that, although a cold hard fact, did not settle well in the young Malfoy's stomach. He was bitter, scarred, and lost. Where did he go from here? All he had come to know, everything his parents had made him believe, was nothing but blind faith and complete ignorance.

Once a bully, preying on the weak and snarling insults at those he deemed lesser. Once a boy of great talent and expectations. Once the seeker for his house. Then a Death Eater, a coward and no better than those who tore the school to pieces.

He was no better, and he was no one. Not anymore; but he feels now, despite his prejudice over the years, that he wasn't really anyone to begin with. When the mark, that now is nothing but an ugly scar on his milky skin, was first placed upon his arm, he really had believed he was to be granted power and protection. All he had to do to bring his family glory was follow instructions. He thought he wanted this. He thought he was doing his parents proud. When he realised his misjudgment, it was far too late to change his mind.

Draco tried to murder. He tried to - but as much as he told himself it was his duty, the small flicker of who he really wanted to be started to burn a little brighter, a little hotter, until he smothered the flame and hexed Katie Bell and cast an unforgivable curse on Madame Rosmerta. Until he was face to face with his one mission, just to fail at the very last second and become the laughing stock of a group of rotten-minded wizards.

He can still hear you - sometimes in his sleep, sometimes when he wakes in the night.

"Please, just tell me what's wrong, Dray." You cried in the hallway that night, his wand tight in his grip. The sound of a happy, joyful Slug Club Christmas party was well underway further down the corridor. You, in your stunning emerald dress and diamond earrings he had gifted you the other year for your birthday, had begged him to confide in you multiple times. Daphne had written him off, Blaise and Theo told you he had changed and wasn't coming back. Pansy had a small amount of faith left, but it was fading quickly. Your sixth year was already turning out to be a monstrosity, and now the boy you would have called your very best friend had changed; he wasn't Draco anymore, he was colder, more bitter and worryingly paler. Albeit, his personality wasn't the warmest nore the most endearing to begin with, but since your childhood he had been a constant in your life.

And now he was anything but that.

"I've already told you," he says, lifeless and empty, "I don't want you getting caught up in anything. Just go back to the party, alright?"

"Why are you shutting me out?" You almost whimper, and the white knuckle grip on his wand only gets tighter, threatening to snap the wood in half. He hates this. He hates it.

But he must do it. To protect what he cares for.

"Please," he mutters helplessly, turning his head slightly to look over his shoulder at you. He fears if he looks at you fully, he might crumble into a million little pieces, "I'm trying to protect you. Let me at least do that. Please. Go back inside."

"Draco?" Your voices brings him out of his daze, his eyes landing on yours. A kindness had dwelled within them since you were children; a kindness that, even after all he's done, still shines through and touches his skin like warm sun. He stares back for a long while, not fully understanding why you still came to visit him. More than two months since the war ended, since his family faced trial after trial and escaped with their dignity hanging by a mere thread. He hadn't heard from the others; Blaise, Pansy, Goyle. Not that he particularly cared. It appeared they would have rather saved what reputation they had left than mingle with fellow betrayers like himself.

He can't say he blames them.

"Are you okay?" you ask him, brushing some of his white-blond hair from his face, "you can talk to me, you know. I'm here for you."

"Why?" he simply asks, and you almost look surprised at the question.

"Because you're still you, Dray," you whisper, a ghost of a smile at your lips, "many things have happened. I know now why you couldn't talk to me about... well, everything. But you can now, and I'm here to listen. Please, don't try and battle this on your own."

The warm summer air ruffles the hair around your familiar, comforting face. He thinks that someone up there might not think so bad of him, to keep you coming back even when he's troubled you more than anyone else. A slight smile cracks on his face, something you hadn't seen in many, many months. The sight of it almost brought you to tears.

"You know," he says quietly, "I'd have kicked my sorry ass to the curb if I were you. I haven't exactly been kind to you; or anyone, over the last few months. I've done some really fucked up shit. Yet, here you are, drinking my Dad's Fire Whiskey on the roof with me." He shuffles a little closer to you and wraps an arm around your shoulders, as you willingly accept his embrace, cuddling into his warm and familiar body. You liked to believe he was still in there, the real Draco. The one that sometimes, unknowingly, allowed you to see little glimpses into his life. He's a collector of sorts; not like his father, but in a more sentimental and valuable way. Many a time have you caught him putting a rather nice looking pebble in his pocket, thinking no one had seen him take a shine to such a trivial thing. He enjoys the piano, and although he never plays for anyone, you had caught him mid song one summer during a visit to his home. You can still hear him scold you for sneaking up on him and making you swear not to tell anyone. He reads - not your typical story books or novels, but educational books about Astrology and Alchemy. Sometimes, when you had met in the library, he'd been so invested in a book, his eyebrows pierced together and a look of pure concentration on his face, that he hadn't noticed you standing beside him until you nudged him slightly. Another scolding, but something about the way he grumbled that he was 'just passing the time because you took so long' had you convinced there was no malice in it whatsoever.

Draco never had a heart of gold. He was never a shining example of friendship, or the best at expressing his feelings, or had the best attitude towards things he found unbefitting of him. Throughout the years you had argued about his mean streak, about his nature towards certain students, but as if joined at the hip, you had remained close, and his brashness was ever so slightly tamer with you. His words weren't as sharp, or as jarring, and he often made a point of saying 'if you go, I will' or 'as long as you think so.' Despite his blooming admiration for you, he still remained a little hesitant to treat you completely different.

And he was still in there. You were sure of it. He was in there - the Draco you had come to love.

"I wouldn't be a very good friend if I did that, would I?" you say lightheartedly, and you feel him squeeze you a little tighter, "you will get passed this Draco. You will heal; inside and out, and you will go out into the world and make a good name for yourself. You will make yourself proud - it doesn't matter about anyone else. Just do what's right for you."

He ponders for a moment, stroking your hair gently, calming himself as he leans his chin on the top of your head. The world made no sense; his place in it seemed none existent, but as if a small glimmer of hope had pierced his heart, he starts imagining the future.

"Do you think they'd have me?" He then asks you, and you pull back slightly to look up at him.

"Who?" You say.

"The Aurors," he then responds, matter of fact, "do you think they'd... accept someone like me."

"You want to be an Auror?" You say excitedly, and his heart, for the first time in a very long time, begins to feel lighter at the look on your face. All this time and you're still the prettiest girl he'd ever laid his eyes on. He shrugs and looks away.

"I dunno, I was just thinking out loud," he said, fingers still playing with the ends of your hair. Then he laughs, a shallow and bitter laugh, "like they'd want me. Imagine me showing up to help someone - they'd asked for someone else. It'd be fucking joke."

"It might not be," you say in all seriousness, "why does it have to be like that? As much as you may think things are set in stone, they are not, Draco. You decide how the future goes. You decide what happens from now on. If it starts that way then change their minds. Your past does not define you. It's what you do, how you learn, that does."

"Sure you don't want to be a therapist or something?" He jokes lightly, and you giggle. Draco truly believes that something holy keeps you around a mess like him. Once Voldemort's threat was over, you were the first person at his door. The first and only person to check on him. A ray of light in the deep, dark hole he was falling into.

"I've made up my mind," your giggle comes to a holt, and you look at him with a sheer determination sparkling in your eyes, "it's time for you to do the same, Dray."

The reception he received was nothing short of foul. Minister Shacklebolt treated him the same as any other new recruit, but his fellow Auror's did not feel so welcoming. He mainly stuck by you throughout the training phase, and kept his distance from Potter and Weasley. There were whispers, odd looks and uneasy feelings, but with your guidance, he found himself at the Ministry. After the first year, he had become accustomed to people's shock once they saw him, and even more so from how tolerable he can be when he wanted. Sometimes he even made little jokes about it, and your heart soared at the difference in him. The higher ups soon discovered his talents and willingness, and his career, much like your own, began to blossom.

So, when you barge into Potter's office ten years later, raging about the travesty in the foyer, he thanks Merlin, Salazar and anyone who'll listen when you grace him with that same presence he finds himself missing like a limb when you're not around. An Auror in his own right, a gifted and talented wizard who's knowledge in Occlumency had boded well in his profession, a better man, but still the same whiny, mischievous Malfoy he's always been. He may be a dashingly handsome young man, but his childish ways, short temper and bad attitude never quite left him - and yet he's your heart and solace all the same.

Harry may have saved his life, but without a shadow of a doubt, you saved his soul.

disclaimer: i do not own harry potter or any of the characters or storyline associated with it

[bloatedandalone04]

Screaming Whispers

➪the one where anakin is a musician and you’re his muse.

Warnings: rockstar anakin, modern au, smut, fluff, swearing to the max, pda, unprotected sex, hair pulling, praise kink, small corruption kink, size sink, his bands name is 'screaming whispers' which translates to 'sw' for short...like sw for star wars??? and i didn’t even plan that, it just happened, jealousy (brief), possessive anakin, fingering, oral (f receiving), soft dom anakin, choking kink

Word Count: 6.3k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

The lights were blinding and his ears were ringing, but Anakin wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. 

He couldn’t see much past the flashlights on the phones and the stage lights that flickered in time with the drums his bandmate, Vinny, was currently pounding on. Live shows were always so much better than being stuck in a recording studio all day, because at least out on stage Anakin could let out all his pent up frustration and no one would bat an eye.

Actually, the way he got so into his performance and really gave it his all had his fans absolutely losing their minds as they, too, fell under the control of the music and the lights and the lyrics. 

Anakin had only been in his band, Screaming Whispers, for just over a year now, but that was apparently enough time to get his and his friends’ names out there. One low budget album later and everyone knew about them, and really, Anakin had you to thank. 

You are his high school sweetheart, and have been his biggest supporter since the day he told you he wanted to do something with music and maybe try to make it his career. 

After writing countless drafts of songs that were all about you and his relationship with you, Anakin asked a couple of his friends who played instruments to rent out a recording studio to record one of the drafts he had actually finished. 

Anakin was the lead singer and guitarist, while his friend, Vinny, played the drums, and his other friend, Theo, played bass.  

It came out sounding decent and Anakin ended up editing it himself before uploading it to his burner account on Youtube, choosing some random photo he had taken of your hand holding his as the thumbnail. 

Within a few days, the video only had about thirty views, and he knew most of them were from you.

When he had first let you listen to the song with a nervous expression gracing his features, he was worried when you didn’t say anything during the whole two minutes and forty six seconds it played for. 

It ended and you turned to him, an unreadable look on your face before you were throwing yourself at him. He had never seen you so needy and desperate for him (unless he counted the very first time you and he slept together), and you spent the rest of the night loving on him because he had written you a song. 

Your boyfriend of over three years at that point had actually made a whole song about you. How could you not tear his clothes off right then and there?

A few more weeks had passed when Anakin randomly decided to see how the video was doing. He was bored and you were at class, and he had grown tired of walking around your shared apartment on campus by himself. 

When he clicked on the video, he was sure he had accidentally clicked the wrong one when he saw that it had gone from thirty views to ninety eight thousand views. It had over forty thousand likes and just under a thousand comments, all of which were praising him and the guys for how good the song is. 

You once again jumped his bones a few hours later when he showed you it, muttering something about how you knew people would like the song once it got more exposure. 

A month later, it had nearly a million views and Anakin was left to assume that the song had gone viral on a different platform that resulted in people searching the song up on Youtube. He didn’t go on TikTok or Instagram as he had no desire to, but was informed by Theo that the song actually did become super popular on TikTok and that was how so many people had found the video on his Youtube. 

Since it had gotten way more attention than he had ever expected it to, Anakin quickly changed the channel name from ‘Manakin 246’ to ‘Screaming Whispers’. It was the first thing he thought of and both Vinny and Theo agreed to call themselves that if they were to ever record another song together. 

Well, just a few days after that, the trio was contacted by a record label and a week later, they were signed onto Dynamic Studios as an official band. 

It all happened so fast. Anakin was encouraged to finish and edit his previous drafts, and that was how he found himself recording a whole album with most of the songs being about you. Vinny and Theo helped out a lot with the songs, but insisted Anakin be credited as the lead songwriter, since the whole thing was his idea. 

The album was called ‘Taking Back October’, and it had been streamed over three million times over various music sites. That, of course, resulted in a tour being booked, and that was where he is now. 

A full year after uploading that song and three months of being on tour, Anakin could safely say he was meant to do this. 

But the best part of it all? He had you watching him from your spot backstage, the biggest smile on your lips whenever he looked over at you from his place on the center of the stage. 

From where you stood, he looked to be having the time of his life. He looked so in his element, so confident and comfortable, and not to mention unbelievably attractive. 

You found yourself biting your lip as you hid away from the crowd. Part of you wondered how he did it, how he was so at home in front of thousands of strangers, but you supposed some people were just meant for the spotlight, and Anakin is definitely one of those people. 

You definitely were not, as just the mere thought of stepping out onto the stage would send you into a full blown panic attack. And Anakin knew that, so despite him wanting to show you off to the world and to his fans - he couldn’t believe he actually has fans - he knew better than to shove you into the limelight like that. 

For now, you were comfortable backstage, two lanyards around your neck that told everyone you were a guest on the tour, and that you were allowed backstage. 

As you watched your boyfriend play and sing his heart out to his song Homecoming Queen, one of the stage crew members came waltzing up to you, a kind yet flirtatious smile on his lips. “Hi,” he said over the loud live music. 

“Hi,” you called back, never taking your eyes off Anakin. 

The guy looked down at your tour and backstage passes, a smirk growing on his lips. “You a friend of the bands?”

That made you glance over at him, and you were immediately uncomfortable at the way he was looking at you. “Something like that,” you answer, and it was true - Vinny and Theo had also gone to high school with you, but they were closer to Anakin, obviously - but the crew member didn’t seem too convinced. “I’m dating the lead singer, this song is actually about me.” You try again and watch as his eyes grow wide before he’s looking on stage and at your boyfriend.

He meets Anakin’s blue orbs, and right away you could see a hint of possessiveness in them, similar to the look he’d give other guys when they looked at you for a little too long back in high school. 

The crew guy just backs away and leaves you alone, making you grin over at your boyfriend. Anakin just smirks before he is back to singing the chorus, all while never falling out of tune with the rest of the band. 

Even though you were buzzing with excitement for what’s in store for you once he’s off the stage and you’d have him all to yourself, you couldn’t deny how attractive he looks on stage. 

The show had been going on for just over an hour, and they would be wrapping up soon. Anakin’s skin was coated in a light layer of sweat, and the leather jacket he had been wearing when he had first walked out on stage had long since been discarded. His muscles flexed under the flashing lights as he effortlessly played his electric guitar and sang his heart out. 

You were sure his throat was raw, but he didn’t stop, and the fans were loving it. You also couldn’t take your eyes off the way the muscles in his neck strained as he reached the higher notes of the song, and you had to press your thighs together to feel some sort of relief for the pressure that had been steadily building up. 

After another ten minutes or so, the band wrapped up the performance and left the stage, leaving the fans still screaming in the stands. After Anakina picked up his jacket he tossed near the drum kit, he handed his guitar to the same stage crew member who had been talking to you, before he wrapped his free arm around your waist. 

Your hands were barely touching either side of his face before he was kissing you deeply, the hand that held his jacket moving to grip your waist. Anakin pulled you closer to him, his adrenaline making his body ache for yours in hopes to find some sort of relief for the energy that surged through him. 

“You were amazing out there,” you praised against his mouth, wanting nothing more than to poke your tongue out and run it up the side of his damp neck. “Like always.”

“Thank you, pretty girl,” he murmured, brushing his lips against yours before dipping his head down to kiss your neck. His hands bunched up the thin fabric of your loose sundress, the flowery print making his want for you skyrocket. “You look hot.”

You laugh, glancing down at the simple dress that seemed to turn him on as if it was the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. “You look hot,” you say back and brush his slightly wet hair away from his forehead. You had to crane your neck a bit to be able to gaze up into his blue eyes, due to the sheer size difference between the two of you. The physical evidence of just how different you two are, even down to your height, had you pressing your thighs together again. 

He wore dark clothes, most of which are adorned with chains, and his left arm was showing off a steadily growing sleeve of tattoos of random things - a lightsaber, a  couple quotes, more than a few vulgar images, and most importantly, an outline of a heart with the initial of your first name inside it on his bicep. His wardrobe consisted of jeans, muscle tees, leather and jean jackets, and vintage - though sometimes graphic - shirts. He wore black boots or converse to tie off every outfit, completed with a couple of wristbands, rings and his signature necklace chain with your initials on the small charm. 

You wore light colors, dresses and skirts that allowed you to show off the soft skin of your legs. Your body was bare of tattoos, with the exception of an ‘A’ on the side of your left wrist. Gold and silver jewelry were always on your wrist or around your neck, and you often wore flats or sneakers that went well with the rest of your look.

It was a big difference between the two of you, one that had been there since you were both seventeen, and it was what drew you into one another to begin with. 

He looked intimidating, scary, even, but you found out that he had the sweetest heart, and he had given it to you.

“I am hot,” he grinned down at you, and the double meaning had you shaking your head as he stepped away from you and placed his jacket over your shoulders. He looked you up and down, biting down harshly on his bottom lip as his hands found their home on your waist again. The black leather contrasted against your light dress in such a sinful way, Anakin almost let out a groan at the sight. “Fuck, I can’t wait to take you back to the hotel after this.”

The band was playing two shows in D.C., so their manager went out of her way to book them a hotel for the night. It saved them from sleeping on the tour bus, which was surprisingly difficult to do, and Anakin could usually fall asleep anywhere. 

He once fell asleep sitting down with his back pressed up against a washing machine in the laundry room at your apartment while he was waiting for the load to dry. He probably would’ve been sleeping for at least another half hour, had another resident not woken him up because he was sleeping against the only available washing machine. 

But, for some reason, Anakin found that sleeping on a tour bus was next to impossible, even though he was given the only double bed because he had you with him.

So, in an attempt to get himself tired, he would spend a good hour with you in bed once he and the band got back on the bus after a show. 

He could only imagine how happy Theo and Vinny are at the fact that they won’t have to listen to the two of you going at it for at least one of the two hundred and fifty nights they spent on tour. 

“Yeah? You excited to spend a night with me in an actual room instead of a bus?” You teased, wrapping your arms around his shoulders when his wrapped around your waist and pulled your body right up against his. 

“I’m so fucking excited,” he answered, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips as the stage crew walked around the two of you to begin packing up the equipment. He leaned down so his lips were brushing against your ear as he whispered, “We can be as loud as we want. I can’t wait to make you scream.”

You refrain from moaning in a public place, ignoring how dumb that sounded when you thought about how loud you got on a tour bus that had only a single, thin door that separated yours and Anakin’s room from the other guys. 

This man made you crazy in all the best possible ways. “Well,” you say back, tugging him impossibly closer by the hem of his white tee shirt. “What are you waiting for? An encore?”

Anakin groaned quietly, cursing under his breath when he felt your hand slide up the heated skin of his torso. “Fuck no,” he muttered, taking your hand in his and guiding you towards the exit door that would lead the two of you out to the parking lot. “I think if everyone in that audience could see just how good you look right now, they wouldn’t blame me for not going back out there and taking you to bed.”

You smirked a bit as he pulled you onto the bus with him and towards your room to indulge in a makeout session before he would give you the real thing once you got to the hotel. 

A short ten minute drive later, and Anakin was painfully aware of just how hard he’s gotten since your quick encounter backstage, followed by your intense making out that took place on the bus. 

Once his manager had given him the key to his room, Anakin pulled you along with him as he made his way to the elevator, pushing the button for the twelfth floor when he was in it. 

He leaned back against the wall as the numbers above the doors increased with every passing second. His lips were on yours in messy and noisy kisses, his hands sliding down to lift the bottom of your dress up as if you weren’t still in a public place, and were probably being recorded because every elevator seemed to have cameras nowadays. 

Once it stopped at the twelfth floor, Anakin easily picked you up and threw you over his shoulder, his hand placed firmly on your back to prevent your dress from slipping up and exposing you to anyone who might enter the hall while he carried you to the room.

He inserted the keycard for room 1209 with his free hand, before tossing it onto the table in the entryway. Anakin’s hands grip your waist after he sets you down and he turns your body away from him, his fingers sliding up your back and pushing your hair to the side. He unclasps the gold necklace he had bought you a few nights ago from a cute store you and he stumbled upon while you were out sightseeing. 

Anakin gently sets the chain down onto the table as well and places a few kisses to the back of your neck before he guides you forward and towards the king sized bed. “Look at that, baby,” he murmurs in your ear, wrapping his arms around you from behind. Since you had discarded his jacket back on the bus, his lips had free rein over the skin of your shoulders and neck as he sucked a few light marks onto it. “It’s bigger than our bed we have at home.”

Home. It seemed like so long ago, when in reality, Screaming Whispers had only been on tour for three months now. Anakin planned on using the money he would get from the tour and the shows to officially move in with you, in your own house, not a student apartment that was on the campus of his old college. 

You were still a student there, but had opted to get all your assignments done before the tour so you could save yourself from having to give up the school year. 

Humming, you lean back against his body. “We still need to get our bags from the bus,” 

Anakin sucked on the skin of your jaw as his hands pulled at the thin fabric of your dress. “I’ll get our stuff later,” he promised, sliding his hands up the front of your body, making chills take over you as he gripped your chest. “You look so fucking pretty, baby.” 

You hum again, closing your eyes when you feel one of his hands inch lower and lower until it disappears underneath your dress. “Just for you, Ani,” you whispered as he softly rubbed your clit through the thin lace of your panties. 

He kissed your shoulder in appreciation as his hand slipped past the lace, his ring-clad middle finger dipping into your heat. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he nearly moaned, his free arm wrapping around your middle when he felt your body slump back against his. “So wet for me.”

“Ani,” you gasped quietly, moaning when he began to pump his finger in and out of you. The lace restricted him from going super hard, but he much rather preferred to work you up to that, anyway. “Fuck, it’s all for you. You looked so hot tonight.”

“You look hot, too, pretty girl,” he mumbled and removed his hand from your panties as he spun your body around so your chest was pressed to his. “I saw the way that crew guy was looking at you.”

You moaned quietly when his knee separated your legs, his thigh rubbing against your core through his jeans. “I said I was with you,” you weakly say, gripping his biceps tightly when his hands found your waist and began sliding your body up and down his thigh. “Said I’m yours.”

“You are mine,” he rasped, pressing a searing kiss to your lips before he gently shoved you away. The backs of your knees hit the end of the bed and you fall back onto it, your dress slipping up past your thighs and revealing the pastel pink lace that covered your core. “You’ve been mine since we were seventeen.”

You bite down harshly on your lip when he pulls the lace down your legs and drops it to the floor. “Oh, fuck,” you mumbled when he ran his tongue up your folds, eagerly collecting your wetness. 

Anakin glanced up at you, his eyes narrowing at the way you were refraining from being too loud. “No, Y/n,” he says sternly, bringing a hand up to slide his index and middle fingers into you. “We have this whole room to ourselves. I want you to be as loud as you can fucking get.”

Almost instantly a loud moan escapes you when he sucks on your clit, your back arching slightly when he began to fuck his fingers into you. Those skilled fingers, the same ones that had so effortlessly played the guitar in front of thousands of people just a half hour before. “Fuck, Ani. Fuck,” you whined.

Anakin smirked against you, curling his fingers once they are knuckle deep within you. The calloused tips brush against your walls and make you squeeze your eyes shut, finding it hard to believe that a year before all this, the skin of his fingers was smooth and gentle as he only played guitar in his free time before he made a career out of it.

Over a year of playing it non-stop had hardened his fingers and was a blessing in disguise, as they had never felt better when they were buried deep within you. 

“God, it feels so good,” you whimpered as he traced the letters of his name with his tongue onto your clit. “So fucking good, Ani.”

He hummed, sending vibrations up your core and making your mind go into a frenzy. “Louder, baby,” he softly demanded, moving back up your body and hovering over you while his hand picks up the pace a bit. “I want this whole floor to complain about us tomorrow.”

You were so turned on, you couldn’t even bring yourself to be embarrassed about the sounds your core was making as his fingers plunged into it repeatedly. Not that Anakin ever let you feel embarrassed about it, seeing as he prided himself on how wet he makes you every time he goes out on stage. 

“I know you want it, too,” he continues as he stared down at your fucked out expression. “Admit it.”

“I want it,” you managed to say as his thumb began rubbing circles on your clit in time with his fingers. The coolness from his ring contrasted against your searing heat, making the knot in your abdomen steadily form. 

Anakin smirked down at you, leaning in to run his tongue along the skin under your ear. “Want what?” 

“God,” you groaned as he pumped his fingers in and out of you at a brutal pace. “I want everyone on this floor to know who makes me feel so good, Anakin. I want them all to complain about how loud we are.”

Anakin was satisfied with your answer, “That’s my girl,” and he leaned down to begin sucking various marks onto the skin of your neck, the sounds you were emitting going straight to his dick that throbbed against his jeans. He didn’t think he could ever get tired of hearing all the sweet sounds you made just for him, and had been making for him since you were in high school. 

“Anakin,” you moaned, lifting your hips in time with the movement of his hand. “Please, please, don’t stop.” Your lips brushed against his as you begged him to keep fucking you with his skilled fingers. 

He hummed, kissing you deeply. “You gonna come for me?” He asked, already knowing the answer as he felt the way you clenched around his fingers every time your walls sucked him back in. 

“Yes,” you nearly whispered, a crease forming in your brow as the coil in your stomach was a mere few seconds away from snapping. “Please.”

“Come for me, pretty girl,” he requested, his voice deep and sultry next to your ear. “I want it all over my hand.”

You were unable to deny him his wish as you came hard, your thighs shaking slightly and your mouth opening to let out a long and loud moan. Your head dipped back into the middle of the bed, your fingers twisting tightly in the soft comforter as he slowed down the thrusts of his hand until you were whimpering quietly. 

“Just like that, baby,” he praised, kissing you once before removing his fingers from inside you. He brings his hand up to his mouth and sucks the digits clean as he moves back down your body. Anakin licked a single strip up your slick core before standing up, smirking at the way your whole body shook at the action. 

You weakly propped yourself up on your elbows, watching him pull his belt from his jean loops. He drops it to the floor, the sound of the buckle hitting the hardwood making your head swim with thoughts of what’s in store for you next.  

“Take that pretty dress off, baby,” he said under his breath, reaching behind him to pull off the white tee and leaving it to join the growing pile of clothes on the floor. You quickly lifted yourself up so you were kneeling on the bed, your hands fumbling to tug off your dress. Anakin gives you a soft smirk at how obedient you always are for him as you tossed the dress off the side of the bed, kicking his jeans down his legs and leaving him in his tight boxer briefs. 

You gave him a look that nearly had him falling to the floor as he moved forward and kneeled on the bed in front of you, making you crane your neck to be able to stare up at him. Your hands reach up and tug on the hair on the back of his neck, pulling his head down so his mouth could meet yours. 

Moaning quietly against his lips, you arch your back when you feel his hands slide up to unclasp your matching pink bra. He pulled it from your body, leaving you completely bare to his lust filled eyes. He let out a low growl as his hands slid back down to your hips. “Lay back, pretty girl,”

You oblige quickly, laying further up on the bed and resting against the soft pillows. “Please, Anakin,” you whined as he rubbed his still covered dick against your heat. “Fuck me.”

Anakin groaned as he shoved his boxers down, gripping your thighs and tugging them up until they were draped over his. “I’ll fuck you, baby,” he promised, running his tip over your wetness and coating himself in it. “I’ll fuck you so good, make sure everyone knows who made you come.”

“Fuck, yes,” you gasped just as he thrusted himself into you without warning, making you reach out to grip his forearms. Still on his knees, Anakin began fucking into you at a brutal pace, pouring all his leftover energy from the show into the way his hips hit yours. “God, yes.”

Anakin gripped your waist tightly, his eyes drifting from the way your breasts bounced with each thrust to your face as it twisted up in pleasure. “Say my name,” he demanded, burying himself to the brim and pausing there.

Your body tensed up, your stomach muscles flexing as he kept your hips pressed to his. “Anakin,”

“Louder,” he ordered, repeating the action. 

“Anakin!” You shouted, and it was followed by a string of moans as he resumed rocking his body against your own. “God, Anakin, you’re so deep. So deep in me.”

He grunted at your filthy words, the faint sound of the headboard hitting the wall making the whole scene look like it was straight out of a porno. “Fuck, you’re taking me so well,” he praised, reaching one hand up to pinch at your sensitive nipples. He felt you clench around him as he worked on hardening your peaks, his pace faltering just slightly at the tightness of your walls. “Always take me so well.”

“I love you, Anakin,” you whimpered, arching your back and pushing your chest up against his hand. 

He groaned at your sweet words, placing his hands flat against the comforter on either side of your head from where he knelt above you. “I love you so much,” he said back, speeding up his pace. “I’ve loved you for four years now, baby.”

“Nearly five,” you reminded him with a cry of pleasure. “We’ve been together for almost five years, Ani.”

“I know, princess,” he murmurs, leaning further down to press his lips to yours in a gentle kiss, a big contrast to the way his lower body was currently destroying yours. “How could I ever forget about the day you became mine?” 

“Best day of my life,” you mumbled when he leaned back again, digging his knees into the bed as he all but railed into you. “Fuck, you feel so good, Anakin.”

“You’re so tight,” he responded, making your stomach twist with a need to please him forever. You were vaguely aware of the loud smacking of the headboard now, and the way the picture that hung above the bed was tapping with each thrust of his hips. It only fueled your desire for him as your hands gripped the comforter once again. 

Your previous orgasm rendered you a bit more sensitive than normal, so you weren’t all that surprised to feel that knot begin to tighten once more. “Fuck, you’re going to make me come again,”

“Yeah? You’re going to come all over me again?” He mocked slightly, only making your head swim with dizziness at how dirty the whole event is. “I want it. Come all over me, pretty girl, nice and messy.”

Your eyes rolled back just a bit when he reached one hand up to press his fingers against the base of your neck. A strangled moan escaped you as you clenched helplessly around him.

You didn’t think you would ever get used to how he was in bed, versus how he  was out of it. He was sweet, kind and caring with you outside the bedroom, but inside it he was rough, loud and determined to get you off in any way he possibly could. The difference was almost too much to handle. 

A few more deep thrusts later and your core was flooding around him, noisily sucking him in deeper and alerting him of your second orgasm. “That’s it, baby,” he praised, watching as his dick became even more coated in your wetness. It spurred him to speed up the pace so he could reach his own release. “Good fucking girl.”

“Anakin,” you struggled to say as your body shook with overstimulation. “Ani, come, baby, please.”

It wasn’t the first time he had you begging him to come in you, but it still had his head going fuzzy for a second or two, as well as made him twitch inside you. “You want it?” He asked through a clenched jaw, his neck muscles straining as he tried to hold off for a little bit longer. 

“Yes,” you answered, powerless against his sharp thrusts as you took each one. “I want it so bad.”

“Fuck, princess,” he muttered, his pace slowing down as his own release flooded through him. With a couple slow thrusts into your greedy core, he fucked his seed deep within you. 

He falls onto the bed next to you a few seconds later, his chest heaving and a light layer of sweat adorning his skin, mirroring the way he looked on stage an hour or so prior to this. 

Anakin was a lot more drained now than he was before, and he knew that if he were to stay in bed for much longer he would probably pass out with you wrapped in his arms. 

He lifted himself up and pressed a soft kiss to your mouth, murmuring an “I’ll be right back,” against it before he dressed himself in his shirt and jeans, grabbing the keycard on his way out to retrieve both yours and his bags from the bus. 

-

The next day, after spending most of the morning wrapped up in the sheets together, you and Anakin finally decided to get up. 

Kind of.

He was currently propped against the headboard, eating a piece of toast with you on his lap. His acoustic guitar he brought with him was placed in your lap as you softly ran your fingers against the strings, leaning back against his bare chest. You were nowhere near as talented as he is with the instrument, and you knew it would sound awful if you were to try and play it without his guidance. 

“Mm,” he hummed when you plucked one of the strings at his request, tossing the crust of the toast onto the plate that was next to him on the bed. He would usually be more careful so there wouldn’t be any crumbs in the sheets, but he was checking out of the hotel before tonight’s show, so he decided to leave it to the cleaning staff as he knew they would be washing the sheets anyway. “That’s the B string, baby, not the D string.”

“And I’m supposed to know that…how?” You asked as he wrapped his arms around your middle. 

“Well, I’ve only been playing guitar for the entire length of our relationship,” he teased as he placed his right hand over yours. He guided your thumb to one of the middle strings and gently brushed it against it. Of course, it sounded a lot better because he was the one who controlled how much pressure and the pace of your thumb against the string. “That’s the D string.”

You refrained from rolling your eyes at the cockiness in his voice as you strummed along the string again, this time sounding a bit better than before. 

“There you go,” he praised, pressing a kiss to the side of your head as a reward. “That was good.”

You turn your head to give him a small glare. “You’ve never been a good liar,” you mutter. “Especially when it comes to lying to me, it’s why you could never get away with cheating.”

Anakin scoffed, “I would never,”

You shake your head with a dumb grin on your lips as he guides your fingers to strum the tune he had been going over in his head for the past few days. You let him take full control over the way he moved your fingers, noting the soft humming of an unfamiliar song leaving the back of his throat. “New song, Ani?” 

He shrugged from his spot behind you, leaning down to press a kiss to your bare shoulder, your tank top doing very little to cover your skin from him. “Maybe,” he answers as he begins to kiss up your neck, not even needing to look down at the strings to be able to play them perfectly. 

It made you a bit lightheaded, how hot and talented he truly is. “What’s it going to be about?” You ask, eyes glued to the way he effortlessly helped you play the guitar while also holding a conversation with you. His talent always surprised you, despite knowing early on how skilled he is with the instrument. 

“You, obviously,” he replied and you rolled your eyes. “What else would I write a song about?”

“You’re too much,” you say and he laughs quietly, agreeing with you as he goes back to mumbling potential lyrics in your ear. 

A few hours go by and it’s nearing the time for Anakin and the band to head onto stage. He smoothes out his graphic tee and smirks at the way you cowered behind the large speaker, eyeing him with your lip caught between your teeth. 

“God, Ani, you look good,”

“Me?” He asked and reached his hand out to you, pulling you into his arms once you took it. He played with the end of your pink and white skirt, eye fucking you a mere few minutes before he had to go perform in front of thousands of people. “I bet Vin and Theo are so jealous that it was me who got to take you to bed last night, in an actual room.”

You loosely wrap your arms around his shoulders, gazing up at him. “I bet all your fans are jealous that it’s going to be me who gets you all to herself after the show,”

Anakin hummed lowly, pressing a kiss to the skin under your ear. “I’d be jealous, too, if the hottest girl took me home,” he rasped. “Or in our case, took me back to that stupid bus.”

You laughed, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. Since you had applied a cute pink lip to go with your skirt, a stain was left on his skin when you pulled away. “Oh, sorry,” you say and lift your hand up, but pause when his fingers wrap around your wrist. 

“Don’t you dare try to wipe that off,” he ordered with a smirk. “I think it completes my look.”

And it really did. A black snapback was placed backwards on his head, a vintage shirt covered his chest and exposed his sleeve of tattoos, dark jeans with a few chains connected to the belt loops hugged his legs, and black boots gave him the daunting appearance of someone who was born to be on stage. 

The pink lipstick mark only added to the whole thing.

“Okay,” you swallow harshly, stepping away once Vinny handed him his guitar. “Have a good show.”

“I love you,” he called out as he placed the strap over his shoulder. “I’ll see you soon.”

When he made his grand entrance, the crowd seemed even louder than normal, and you could only hope at least some of them were able to see your mark on his cheek as you hid behind the speaker and watched your boyfriend get lost in his element.

-

Series based off this fic

[azalawa-scroggs]

.... Well, my hand slipped. I saw @rendevok's new royal AU art and talked about it with them a little bit, and two days later there was this sappy little thing :3 Fair warning that this is MUCH mushier than my usual... if you're not into very shippy stuff, stop here. xD Also tagging @anotherfangirlsworld without whom there would be nothing :3

Miles was exhausted. The campaign had been long and harrowing, ending with a merciless siege of several weeks. They'd eventually won the battle thanks to a desperate and risky scheme of Miles's, but they had lost so many people, and those that had survived were so exhausted that Miles nearly wondered if it had been worth it.

It had been, though. That was what all his advisors had said upon his return, congratulating him about his sagacity in his clever victory when Miles had all but begged for them to make sure, though foreign politics or better logistics, that such a painful war would not be be needed again.

Now, at last, after hours spent in that meeting, Miles was free. He dreamed of a good bath, of clean night robes and the luxury of feather pillows and soft bedsheets, but he knew he wouldn't be ready to sleep until a long time yet, too wired by the argument he'd had with his advisors – chiefly, one – and the hardships of the past few months.

So he found himself headed to one of his favourite places in the castle, the library. There was, hidden at the turn of a staircase, a little alcove there which held works by a favourite author of his; evocative poetry, philosophical plays, even a few treatises on art and political memoirs. Those books reminded him of home, of love, of the idealism he had lost in great part at his father's death, and it seemed, a little more every day since. It was where he always sought refuge when he felt too weary or too weighed down by life.

Those books, he often thought privately, for those were not musings fit to be heard by any others, had saved his life on more than one occasion.

He untied the fastening of his ceremonial cape and draped it over his arm, sighing as the weight fell of his shoulders. He would set it down on the back of a chair as he sat down in the quiet peace of the library. Or perhaps he would take the books back with him to his quarters, throw the cape on his desk to be picked up by his manservant, and settle in his favourite armchair to read by the firelight.

It turned out he did neither of those things.

There, in the shadows, standing in front of the hidden shelves, was the last person he expected to see: Phoenix Wright, grand duke of Borschinia and supposedly attending important matters in his own country. He seemed in deep thought, a hand on his chin, pondering the titles. Affection surged in Miles at the familiar mannerisms in the middle of all his questions, and his step hurried nearly despite himself.

Phoenix heard his approach even muffled as it was by the carpet. He turned towards him, gave him a blinding smile, and caught him into an embrace, kissing him deeply.

Miles stumbled backwards under the strength of Phoenix's kiss, one foot up the little step leading to the alcove, one foot down, but he didn't mind. Too welcome was the warm hand in his back, and even the one holding his wrist to prevent Miles from making a clumsy gesture in his haste. That one soon relented its grip when Miles slid his arms behind his neck, slotting himself deeper in his arms. Behind his back, Phoenix's arm tightened its hold, bringing Miles even closer.

“You're here... Goddess, Miles, you're here,” Phoenix whispered in awe between kisses, looking at him with stars in his eyes. His now free hand had climbed behind Miles's neck, untying his ribbon and drawing small circles at the base of his skull, his fingers tangling in his hair, much longer now than it used to be the last time they saw each other. Miles hadn't exactly found the time to get it cut. “I can't believe it.”

Miles laughed, melting into Phoenix's touch, somewhat drunk on tiredness and on the warmth of his lover all around him, the delicious sensation of his fingers at the base of his neck. “I will have you know this is my home,” he replied. “I should be the one in wonder you are here. I thought you had an important council to hold with the Feys in the coming weeks?”

“Yes, but... oh, Miles,” Phoenix replied, his voice thick with emotion. He closed his eyes and swallowed as he leaned his forehead against Miles, clearly fighting back tears. Miles frowned, taken aback. “I thought I was coming to attend your funeral.”

Ice fell into Miles's guts. Only then did he realise the way Phoenix was dressed, his uniform as official as his own. He, either, hadn't even discarded his cape.

“When did you arrive?”

“Only a few hours ago. Imagine my relief when I heard you were alive and in a meeting, for a change,” Phoenix answered with a fond smile. “But I couldn't fully shake my fear until I held you in my arms...”

He leaned down for another kiss. Miles indulged him with delight, his own heart heavy at the thought.

How he'd missed this. How he'd missed him... Despite everything, he couldn't fully regret this turn of events, if it meant Phoenix was here to welcome him home when he most needed it.

“I'm so sorry, my love,” he whispered. “I faked my death as a ploy to lower the enemy's defences, but I never expected the news to leave the battlefield... my officers had firm instructions not to write home about it.”

“Yet someone must have done it,” Phoenix said, frowning. “I imagine Lord von Karma was all too delighted to pound on the opportunity.”

Miles let out a groan.

“Of course. He's the one who would profit the most from my death. But if he was made aware, I cannot imagine he didn't know all of my plot, so why...?”

“Well, had you come back any later than you did, he would have put the full regency in place rather than the limited powers your mere absence allows him, and who knows what edicts you would have had to undo when you took back your place,” Phoenix replied. Miles couldn't help smiling at his judicious observations. Phoenix knew the laws of his country nearly as well as Miles himself did, and Miles knew he'd studied all of it to prove to the court he was the strongest suitor.

Miles sighed, rested his head against Phoenix's chest, which he could do without bending his back too much with the way Phoenix was still standing a full step higher than him.

“You're right, of course,” he said. “My death would be even more advantageous to him than marrying me off to Franziska. I'm starting to wonder if I should start looking out for assassination plots.”

He didn't really mean it, of course. Lord von Karma had all but raised him in the wake of his father's death. It was clear the man disagreed with him on many policies, now that Miles was old enough to have a mind of his own, but Miles didn't think he would truly plot to kill him.

Phoenix brought him closer and kissed him again.

“Enough talk about your death,” he murmured, and Miles, too late, remembered the grief Phoenix had gone through until this moment. “You're here. You're alive. And I want to marry you tomorrow.”

Miles's heart ached. They should have been married years ago. They were betrothed as children, an alliance decided under the blessing of King Gregory and Misty Fey of Kurain. But the death of the former, the disappearance of the latter and the opposition of Lord von Karma to the marriage, seeking to unite Miles with his house instead, had thrown a wrench in those plans.

“Soon now, love,” Miles replied, as he always did when Phoenix expressed both of their yearning, even though neither of them knew when that would be possible.

“Tomorrow,” Phoenix insisted. “We'll storm through the court and cause a scandal, I don't care, elope if we must. I'm sick of waiting, Miles. I'm sick of being afraid to lose you...”

“I know,” Miles said. He felt the same. They both felt this way, and they both knew it. “I know. If I could, I would summon an officiant to these chambers immediately.”

“Immediately?” Phoenix's eyes sparkled in the way they always did when he had a mad idea, or even when he was just indulging Miles, like now. Miles couldn't help his foolish grin.

“Yes,” he went on. “I'd call them here, in this very place, to perform the ceremony. We'd stand here,” he gently pushed Phoenix back to climb the step into the alcove. “Between the bookshelf and the window. It wouldn't take the half of an hour. Wouldn't that be lovely?”

“Very,” Phoenix said, who hadn't let go of Miles throughout this little demonstration, both hands on his hips. “I would improvise my vows, you know I don't mind speaking spontaneously. But what about you? You much prefer to have your speeches planned.”

“I've had my vows ready since I took the throne, Phoenix. I'd merely have to fetch them from my chambers.”

Phoenix let out a wordless little keen, which was extremely satisfying to hear, since Miles was the one usually prone to embarrassing noises. He kissed Miles's lips with ferocity, then his cheeks, his nose, his eyes.

“Tomorrow,” he repeated once more. “I'm serious, Miles. I can't wait any longer.”

“This year,” Miles offered back. “Since I came back before Lord von Karma could consolidate his power, this move looks very poorly on him, like the greedy grab for power it was. Stay with me a while as we keep up our efforts to remind the court of my late father's wishes. It is already apparent you would make an ideal consort, and your rushing here has only proved it further – I doubt Franziska fell for the ploy like you did, and in this instance it plays in our favour. In three months at most, we will be united.”

Phoenix nodded, looking a bit settled. They'd made such promises to each other countless times before, but this time Miles was determined to see it through.

Phoenix was right. They'd waited long enough.

“I cannot wait for the day I no longer have to be parted from you,” Phoenix murmured into Miles's ear, his breath hot and tickling. He punctuated his sentence by lightly biting on Miles's lobe, the caress of his hands in his back growing slower, heavier. “When I can live here, by your side, yours openly...”

Heat started to pool into Miles's guts. His knees weakened, and he stumbled backwards a little, holding on to Phoenix's neck. Phoenix was unrelenting, pushing him until Miles could lean on the clover wall, right next to the bookshelf, then pressing his body against Miles, his hands wandering all over his back and sides, his mouth sucking and kissing into the curves of his neck. Miles's fingers curled into the fabric of Phoenix's uniform jacket, holding on desperately.

“Phoenix...” he breathed. “My quarters – not here –”

“There's no one here,” Phoenix retorted between two kisses. “Only us...”

He pulled the curtain a few inches, hiding them from sight, plunging them more into intimate obscurity, and Miles surrendered to his touch.

[angelicsoka]

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .

GRAY'S MASTERLIST *ೃ༄

GUIDELINES!

PROMPTS

❦ - FLUFF / ☽ - ANGST / ♡ - MISCELLANEOUS / 𖦹 - POPULAR / ♚ - PERSONAL FAVORITES / ✉ - REQUESTED / ✶ - READ TW! / 𐙚 - SMUT

*ೃ༄ HOCKEY

SARA, luke hughes | ☽ ♚ ✶

-> SUMMARY! luke’s girlfriend has suffered in silence for too long, and luke noticed the warning signs too late  

YOU'RE SOMEBODY ELSE, hughes brothers | ☽ 𖦹 ♚ ✶

-> SUMMARY! the youngest hughes sibling is slowly becoming someone she can’t recognize

LITTLE TALKS, trevor zegras | ☽ ❦ ✉ ✶

-> SUMMARY! the youngest hughes sibling begins to amend her relationships

ROMEO & JULIET, luke hughes | ❦ 𖦹 ♚

-> SUMMARY! in which trevor zegras finds out who his sister has been fooling around with, and he isn’t very happy.

EXPOSED, jamie drysdale | ❦ ♡ ♚ 𖦹

-> SUMMARY! in which the hughes brothers walk into their younger sister's apartment to discover something shocking.

IDIOT, luke hughes | ❦ ♡

-> SUMMARY! in which luke’s best friend is left broken hearted and with a family dinner she has no date to, so he decides to step up and help.

POSITIVE, jack hughes | ❦ ♡

-> SUMMARY! in which jack’s girlfriend has the best gift for valentines and jack couldn’t be more happy

BEAUTIFUL THINGS, luke hughes | ♡ ❦

-> SUMMARY! in which luke and his girlfriend announce to the world the secret they’ve been keeping

SEE YOU LATER, quinn hughes | ❦ ☽ ♚

-> SUMMARY! in which quinn and his high school sweetheart break up due to her fear of holding him back, only to meet again five years later.

BLIND DATE, jamie drysdale | ❦ ♡

-> SUMMARY! you were never one for dating, especially when trevor is the one setting them up. but one date can’t hurt, right?

LAZY (SICKLY) MORNINGS AND MARRIAGE PROPOSALS, quinn hughes | ❦ ♡

-> SUMMARY! where a common cold turns to the flu leaving quinn and his girlfriend to cancel their plans, leading to a lazy (sickly) valentines morning and a marriage proposal 

PROM NIGHT, luke hughes | ❦ ♡ ✉

-> SUMMARY! luke’s brothers notice his crush on his best friend

PERFECT, quinn hughes | ♡

-> SUMMARY! quinn realizes his girlfriend doesn't see herself the way he sees her.

THE MOVE, luke hughes | ❦ ♚ ✉

-> SUMMARY! its time for you to leave for college, and time for feelings to be revealed

TWO WORLDS, jamie drysdale | ❦ ♚ ✉

-> SUMMARY! jamie finally meets the reader’s daughter, isla, and he has just the right thing to prove him worthy of her trust

IN BETWEEN AU, luke hughes | ❦ ☽ ♡ ♚

-> SUMMARY! the story of luke hughes and ada "bubba" evans

*ೃ༄ STAR WARS

nothing to see here…

*ೃ༄ NCIS

nothing to see here…

*ೃ༄ SUPERNATURAL

nothing to see here…

*ೃ༄ CRIMINAL MINDS

nothing to see here…

*ೃ༄ TWISTERS

THE HAT RULE, tyler owens | ♚ 𐙚 ♡ 𖦹

-> SUMMARY! where tyler owens decides to show the reader what the hat rule is.

DISAPPROVAL, tyler owens | ☽ ♡

-> SUMMARY! in which javi disapproves of his sister’s relationship.

*ೃ༄ TOP GUN: MAVERICK

REAL GENTLEMAN, bradley bradshaw | ♡ ♚

-> SUMMARY!  in which jake’s sister goes on a bad date, and bradley decides to show her how a real gentleman acts.

LAST UPDATED ON DECEMBER 3RD, 2024

[raisingred]

Eternal Sorrow and Immortal Light

My V8 au story part 1

⚠️Male Astra and bisexual Tromp⚠️

"Our Origins and Beliefs"

- "We Can Define What It Means to Be Human"

This piece may contain elements that could cause discomfort, including but not limited to war, survival, and ethical issues. Style: Cyberpunk, with a touch of post-apocalyptic.

Our goal is not to incite panic, but to let you know that ten thousand years later, human civilization still exists, and our history continues to move forward. Please live on with hope---from an unknown android.

Year... Year 9085.

At that time, Astra had not yet been born. If he had been born the day before the Fracture Day, perhaps this would be a different story. He might have screamed and run away, each step swift and fierce.

But at this moment, he was just watching through a pane of glass.

On a planet in the Aquila Rift, a sandstorm was raging across the vast desert of the uninhabited zone.

The yellow sand held no memory of any conflict, for it had nothing to do with civilization or stories. It only repeated the cycle of stirring up storms and then settling, burning each grain of sand until it was scorching hot. Beneath the dust, a long-collapsed massive structure lay dormant.

The triangular emblem of the United World Council, composed of stars and laurels, was worn and broken by the sand, revealing its former purpose: the United World Parliament. Two thousand years earlier, this place had been filled with people from all over the world, nervously discussing matters of survival. Now, only silence remained.

The sun rose, and the sandstorm ended. The emblem emitted a desolate glow under the pale sunlight. Now we could see the date on it: December 15, a winter day when red snow fell.

Going further back, that was the day humans left Earth. It wasn't due to extreme environmental degradation or any other crisis, but simply because humans, having reached a certain level of development, no longer wanted to be confined to that small patch of blue sky and ocean.

The massive spaceships arrived at the Aquila Rift, and the Rift Pillar, with a one in ten billion probability, gave birth to a habitable planet. Thus, the seeds of human civilization were sown and took root here.

But... something unexpected happened. On that day, flesh-and-blood humans suddenly disappeared, vanishing without a trace, leaving not even a fragment behind in the universe. No one knew what had happened, just like the sudden burst of a festive balloon in a distant, fuzzy memory.

Later, the androids who replaced humans referred to that long-forgotten event as the "Fracture Day." Like a rotten rubber band, with a snap, history was severed from the present.

Thus, those tall beings with golden blood became the new "humans," standing on two feet in the universe. Their civilization was highly advanced, and in the wilderness of space, the new humans, armed with advanced weapons and vehicles, were invincible. To them, the stars were like grazing fields, where they could gallop and collide freely.

Long ago, a writer said that one person was enough to change the world. Not long after, Astra was born into the world, named after the stars. But he disappeared at birth, on a day of high-voltage malfunctions and thunderstorms. Everything about him vanished into the vast sea of data.

Later, a cloaked stranger burst through the outer gates of the city. He leaped into an unregistered aircraft and, amidst a pulse of lightning, flew into the endless night, breaking through the surveillance and plunging into the central pillar of light that forever emitted a blinding glow. Like a moth, he disappeared into the high-temperature energy.

The stranger's eyes, which last saw the blue sky, became his eternal eye color. Like the cold winter when he made his final act of redemption, he gradually grew cold and was embraced by darkness.

In the silence, his ears were pierced by noise, and in the discomfort of pressure differences causing a throbbing pain, he saw distant, blurry figures calling to him in the light. He couldn't feel their presence, as if they were untouchable particles from a higher dimension. His coordinate-based navigation system failed.

He only felt their gazes meeting his, all of them silent. He sensed their great existence, their silent breaths rising and falling evenly in the darkness. A complex mix of emotions surged within him: resentment, pain, sorrow, suppressed anger, and then the pull into a black hole-like silence. He couldn't understand what the particles were saying, but he understood the last sentence.

"Come back, Astra. Come back, Astra."

"We are waiting for you."

He remembered. His name was Astra, a cold yet burning star.

Just before he opened his eyes again, he dreamed of a damned joke. A computer said, "I am God. Let there be light," and there was light. "You must go and shine." As he tried to sit up, he was yanked back onto the operating table by heavy wires, followed by violent vomiting, expelling a mass of black, sticky, disgusting matter.

"...Ugh."

But Astra didn't vomit again. He raised his hand and saw pale skin with faintly visible wires, and small blue and orange lights flickering at his joints. He was tangled in wires, struggling to break free. Astra groaned in discomfort, trying to move more of his body.

"Hey, hey, don't move around!" Suddenly, Astra felt a tap on his forehead, and for some reason, he obediently lay back down.

He looked at the smiling figure before him. For a moment, he lost the concept of "human." The figure's gender was indistinguishable, with a smiling face, black hair loosely braided into two strands hanging on either side, wearing a wide-brimmed hat, and emitting a faint smell of chlorine.

The figure leaned over, seemingly checking Astra's condition, then nodded in satisfaction and giggled. "Perfect, absolutely perfect. I thought I couldn't fix something like you with a nearly shattered core, but it turned out to be a piece of cake!"

The figure tapped Astra's forehead twice, and he felt a rumble in his chest before a faint light appeared. Suddenly, he regained his strength and sat up abruptly, the wires behind him retracting and slithering back into a massive machine.

"Well, let me tell you, normally I'd charge a fortune for this kind of work, but you're as poor as a wild man, so what can I do? What can I do?" The long-haired figure continued to smile. "Oh well, let's get you cleaned up. You stink."

The figure took off a dark green cloak and tossed it onto a chair. Astra thought it must be a woman, as she was wearing a black cheongsam with naturally developed breasts. Humming a tune, she brought a basin of hot water, squeezed in some fragrant substance, and began washing Astra's hair.

"Who are you...?"

"I'm Tromp," the figure laughed. "But everyone calls me a tramp because I wander around all the time. Honestly, what tramp is as clean as me? People are blind. Oh, you were injured, so I brought you back and fixed you up."

"...I was injured..." Astra suddenly felt a sharp headache. "When... no, why can't I remember what I did before?"

"Don't worry about it if you can't remember," Tromp said, wringing out Astra's hair. "There's no point dwelling on the past. Look to the future. You just vomited all over the place, so clean it up yourself. Then you need to eat something. I don't want you to starve to death right after I fixed you."

Tromp left with the basin, tossing Astra a rag before she went. Astra silently took it and cleaned up the mess he had made. A while later, Tromp returned with a few things that looked like chocolate bars.

"Sorry, I forgot to buy food today," Tromp paused. "Make do with this."

Astra took the bars and stuffed them into his mouth. They tasted of cheap industrial sweeteners and compressed dried fruit, not entirely unpleasant. He chewed a few times and swallowed.

"Why are you staring at me?" Tromp suddenly turned around. "You can't stay here. I don't have room for you. Oh, here's your clothes. I washed them. And don't just wear this; you look like a street pervert."

Tromp handed Astra a dark blue cloak and threw him a black turtleneck sweater and simple work pants.

Astra shook his head and walked out the door. Outside was a rooftop. He slowly walked to the glass railing and looked into the distance. The light made it hard for him to keep his eyes open, but once they adjusted, the sharp, towering structures pierced his vision. Black and dark green skyscrapers loomed, with orange fluorescent tubes and neon signs deeply embedded in the darkness. Above, ground-based searchlights scanned the endless void. Below, blurred figures moved silently in the chaotic light.

His gaze traveled further, where the buildings were more angular, with spiraling aerial roads winding around the metal monsters. He could see dense, fast-moving lights, vehicles speeding through the city center. Then his cloak was caught in a strong gust of wind as a massive aircraft flew by. The ring-shaped propulsion system, rapidly flashing indicator lights, and the dull blue fuselage suddenly felt familiar.

In the distance, a glowing pyramid, perhaps the city's energy center, emitted a massive beam of light from its peak into the dark sky, slowly fading into the cold heights.

The hot air from the aircraft quickly dissipated, replaced by a biting cold. This city, where nighttime temperatures dropped to minus twenty degrees, would slowly freeze the noise and chaos of the day. Even in daylight, the sky remained an endless darkness.

He looked down at his reflection on the smooth ground. It seemed like the first time he had seen what he looked like. Backlit by the dim light, his blue eyes shone brightly, his eye sockets deep. He saw his sorrowful expression, thin lips turned downward, his gaunt frame, and his slightly damp black hair twisting wildly in the wind.

The door behind him suddenly opened. Tromp leaned against the doorframe, looking at him and suddenly laughing. "I forgot, the curfew in this area is about to start. Come in. I can't kick you out today. Sleep well."

Astra didn't react immediately. He just stared at Tromp, feeling that this person seemed somewhat familiar. He thought Tromp might not be an ordinary figure, but no one living in this area was doing particularly well. Maybe he was overthinking it.

"What are you doing? Come in, haha."

So Astra followed Tromp inside, and the door automatically closed, shutting out the city's cold gaze.

He actually wanted to sleep too.

[the-cinnamontography-is-amazing]

I'm thrilled to bring my first submission to @blind-dates-fest! Thank you to the wonderful @mercurygray for hosting this event! I've been saying forever we need more women in the OSS around here, so for the Band of Brothers fandom, I'd like to introduce my OC, Charlie Ayres! Here's a little vignette between her and our favorite S-2 officer, Nix, guest starring Harry Welsh. This is my first time diving into fanfic, so what better way to test the waters? I also love any chance to info dump about the OSS. This piece is in 1st POV, and heavily inspired by the song, No Choir by Florence + The Machine. Anyway, I hope everyone enjoys!

REPORT: LONDON STATION, OSS: 02/1945 AYRES, CHARLIE (SO) Agent en route to LONDON via MOURMELON, FR. Waiting on contact:

“Un autre verre, Madame?”

“Non, merci.”

My hand was tingling from the lack of circulation as I peeled my big head away—if my big head was smart, I’d down about three more drinks and continue to pretend I was back New York. Springtime, when the final grasps of winter eased up, and a cool breeze would sweep across our faces—before I let myself spiral into a deeper yearning, I stood up from the bar. Perhaps one day, I’ll yearn for this moment too. That’s what frightened me. Would I be able to stop the idealization of a place that I hardly existed in?

“Combien pour la boisson, Monsieur?” I asked the tired bartender.

“Deux, s’il vous plaît.” 

I dropped a couple of coins on the counter, and lugged on my coat.

“Merci, Madame. Au revoir.”

“Bonne soirée,” I gave a halfhearted smile, and slipped out onto the corner of the street. 

It felt much later than it truly was. The overcast of clouds made the sky darker, illuminating the wet streets in a blue haze, and although it was a bit warmer than yesterday, few people were out enjoying the shitty weather. A few soldiers here and there trying to escape boredom, trying to forget...

I headed down the cobblestone street, around the corner, and up to the hotel I was billeted at. My room was small, and if I was staying for more than two days, I might have gone crazy in the close quarters. I stripped off my coat and uniform jacket, tossing them on the chair in the corner of the room. I wasn’t sure if I should try to sleep, pace around like a caged animal, or stare at the chipped paint on the walls. 

I settled on reading, and pulled out a book from my small suitcase—my only form of ‘off duty’ entertainment in these last few months. Intelligence doesn’t offer a lot of closet space. I threw myself on the creaky bed, noticing the dust fly up around the lamp, and opened where I left off. I only made it through the first page before I couldn’t stomach any more fantasy or adventure. Another thing I will miss about my pre-war life, my attention span. It seemed like the only things I could focus on were the timings of detonations, risk analysis, and the intra-political dealings of resistance groups.  

I considered a second attempt in fixing the small radio propped on the side table, but I wouldn’t have the option to quit in a rage again. It would be considered in poor taste to show up at the bar for a second time in one evening.

I got up and dug through my bag to pull out a cigarette. I thought I had carefully planned out my stash, but only one laid in the silver case. I had promised myself that I would have the last one on the plane back to London. I didn’t smoke much before the war, and didn’t want to continue after. I don’t think I would be able to bare the taste again, taking my mind back to all those nights I’d rather forget—cheap cigarettes and incendiary powder… I started to get restless, irritated even. I wanted to be in London now, but was also disappointed I’d been called back. I had hoped for some closure for my time here, but it’s all ended with a quiet irreverence.

I walked over to the small window overlooking the street and threw it open for some air. Below, there were a two men enjoying a loud conversation. I didn’t like this aggravation that seemed to plague me over innocuous things. I’ve always been good at focusing my anger towards the things that matter. Maybe that was my problem… I haven’t blown anything up in awhile.

In my attempt to slam the window down, hoping that would grant me the catharsis I needed, a piece of the wooden ledge below the window frame came loose and fell two stories down. The two men jumped behind them starting at the splintered wood, then up at me. 

Son of a bitch. I opened up the window again. 

“Sorry.” I yelled down to the inquisitive eyes. 

I quickly raced out of the room, down the stairs and onto the street while wrestling my jacket, all witnessed by a few concerned citizens as I rounded the corner. I slowed my gait and approached them hovering over the two by four, like they were watching bugs under a rock. I caught the edge of their eagle patches. Paratroopers.

“I’m so sorry, the window…got stuck.” I lied. 

The men looked up at me with bright eyes. I braced for impact at the numerous ways this could go. One was shorter than the other, curly blonde hair, a lieutenant. The other man, completely opposite—tall, dark eyes and hair. A captain. 

“It’s fine, windows have the tendency to fall out.” The Captain smirked as I picked up the wood. 

“It’d be swell if they didn’t while I’m around.” I gazed up, "This is going to be fun to fix."

“Just charge it to Uncle Sam.” He smiled. 

“One Sherman, one window…” I muttered. They both seemed to enjoy the joke. I let out a breath and focused back down to the sidewalk. 

“Harry Welsh.” The Lieutenant stuck out his hand, wasting no time. “Or should I salute…Captain?” He gazed at my bars on my epaulets. 

“Handshake is fine.” I smiled, awkwardly moving the wood piece to my other hand. “Charlie Ayres.” 

“Pleasure,” Harry smiled.

“Lewis Nixon.” The Captain extended his hand. 

“Hi.” I nodded, returning the pleasantries.

“So what brings you to Mourmelon? You with the WAC’s?” Harry asked. 

“I’m with Intelligence, actually. Just passing through.” I bit my lip, wondering if they would actually believe me.  

“Boy, you’re in luck,” Harry shook Lewis’ shoulder, “Nix here is our trusty, S-2 officer.”

“Ah,” I glanced towards the Captain, he was looking down, humbled at his friend’s flattery. 

“I’m sure you both have a lot in common,” Harry slyly glanced between the both of us for several uncomfortable seconds.

“Weren’t you on your way to send a letter Kitty?” Lewis teased, breaking the stagnation.

“Yeah, I am.” Harry narrowed his eyes, all too aware of what he was alluding. “I also better go make sure Dick isn’t having a wild night out.”

Lewis laughed, “Yeah right. I’ll catch up with you later.” It seemed like there was a joke between them I was not privy to.

“Captain, pleasure to meet you. Good luck with the window.” He half saluted—almost bowed over for that matter, and turned on his heels.

“Thanks.” I nodded. We awkwardly stood there for a moment, watching Harry fade into the distance. I examined the dumb piece of wood—It’d be a good piece of shrapnel to plant somewhere. 

“So, intelligence huh?” Lewis asked. I shifted my weight, pretending like I just wasn’t planning a detailed method of destruction,

“Uh huh—you don't have to stick around on my account, I think I can manage—” 

“OSS?” he nodded to the pins on my jacket.

“Well, I’m not SOE.” I quipped. 

“Right.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, placing one in between his lips. “I’ve come across a few of you, well not—”

“A woman?”  

“Yeah,” he said after a few painful seconds. I don’t think he knew how to respond to my bluntness. He offered the pack over, as to make up for any possible inconsiderations. 

“Thanks, I was just teasing.” I stuck one between my own lips. “Though I should be offering you some, since I almost killed you with a window.” 

“Wouldn’t be the first time dodging things from the sky, ” he snickered and lit his own, then offered me the light. 

“I’m sure.” I took a full drag. “You guys in the 101st got the hell beat out of you.”

“A few times.” His tone was less playful, but still blasé about the whole thing. 

“I should also apologize for Market Garden on behalf of intelligence.”

“What?” He laughed with an edge of nervousness, furrowing his eyebrows. 

“Actually your grievances should lie more with the British. They didn’t trust the Dutch resistance groups…” I stopped myself from saying anymore out loud. Although the war was pretty much decided at this point, the Germans were still hanging on. I better not test any luck. 

“Can’t disagree with that.” The Captain sighed. 

“Holland is a great place to jump though. All flat.” I smiled.

“You jumped into Holland?” He turned to me with furrowed eyebrows.

“No,” I took another drag. A smug smile crept across his face, one that all men share when they are proven right. 

“I was too busy jumping in and out of France. My Dutch isn’t all that great anyway.” I returned the smug disposition. Outside of bad timing and poor communications, SFHQ sent the Jedburghs in the day of the invasion. No time to mount a true resistance against the Nazis. In France, we spent months coordinating sabotage and resistance after D-Day and beyond. The Netherlands seemed to be the middle child in the invasion of Europe. 

“Anyway, doesn’t really matter now,” I snapped back into reality, forgoing my detailed explanation, “There’s nothing wrong with extending things for six more months.” I shrugged. 

This time he let out a genuine laugh, “Yeah, wouldn’t want to end the fun.” 

He looked ahead, finishing the cigarette while gazing down the street. It seems like we shared the same dark circles under our eyes.

“You wanna get a drink?” He abruptly asked. I quickly looked away to avoid being caught staring, 

“Maybe one. I’ve already reached my limit for the night.” I said.

“It’s only six o’clock?” He looked at his watch. 

“I like an early start, so by the time happy hour hits, I can go straight to regret.” I dryly said. 

“Right, a spy can’t loose their inhibitions.” He teased.  

“I’m not a spy—in the technical sense.” I muttered. “But don’t let me stop you, if you had something else planned.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that.” He smiled.

“What did you have in mind?” 

“How about that small place around the corner?” 

“Would you believe that’s the exact place I reached my limit?” I cocked my head back towards the building. 

“You think the bartender took the night off after you left?” He smiled.

I shrugged, “If he’s a good union bartender.” 

“I suppose we could go back to my side of town?” He suggested.

“I don’t know, I’m not quite used to…standing out.” 

“Why would you? You’re a captain, you jump out of planes?” He reassurance was strangely comforting. 

“Right, nothing else unusual about me.” I pondered my options—a bartender that might judge, or some decent quarters to hang out in with the risk of ogling paratroopers. Lewis caught onto my contemplation, 

“We can sneak you in the back, if you really don’t want to be noticed. Should be easy for a spy.” He smiled. “I think it’d be fun.” 

I rolled my eyes, “I’ll come if you stop calling me a spy.” 

“I didn’t think you were a real spy…in the technical sense?” He quoted me almost perfectly. 

“You should know saying that out loud, has the potential to be very compromising.” I snipped. 

“You think Germans are around?” He stepped closer. “Next to an airbase full of paratroopers?” 

“I see you didn’t watch your training videos.”

“It’s been awhile.” He is charming, I’ll give him that. 

“Let me go up and grab my coat,” I realized the wood was still in my hand,  “And dispose of this.” 

“You need help with the window?” 

“Well, you’re more than welcome to come up to safety.” 

We made our way back around the corner,

“So is Charlie a nickname?” He asked. 

“Yeah, I don’t like Charlotte.” I said. “And it also lets me…blend in more, on paper at least.”  

“Makes sense. How long are you here for?” 

“Uh, until tomorrow night.”

“Then to?”

“Back to London, the states, maybe east, I don’t know.” I had a feeling my field work would be over and I’d be stuck in a lab with Dr. Lovell or at that uppity country club, training men who won’t listen.

“Damn, no jumping into Berlin?”

“Afraid not.” I exhaled. 

“I’ll send a postcard.” 

“I’ll be looking out for it.” I looked down, trying not to smile too much. It felt strange… We got back to the hotel, and I ran into the receptionist on our way up the stairs.

“Ah Madame, je suis désolé pour la fenêtre…” I quickly explained what happened as Lewis lingered a few steps behind me. The woman was very forgiving, even apologetic. She took the wood, and of course, her face was painted with that specific look of judgement, while passing Lewis on the stairs. That would not be happening tonight. Lewis looked a little embarrassed himself.

"You have good accent." he said.

"Thanks. It could be better."

"Better than mine." He confessed.

We continued up the stairs and to my room. The door was locked,

“Shit,” I dug around my trouser pockets. 

“Do you have a key?” He asked. 

“Yeah, in there.” I sighed. “It must’ve latched while I ran out.” 

“Should we call after the woman?” 

“Let me see if I can break in first.” I started to jiggle the door handle. “Oh, so the window falls apart but not the door?” I groveled, as I shoved my shoulder into it.

“Let me try.” Lewis offered, attempting the same move to no avail. 

“You’ve gotta have some sort of spy gadget on you, right?” He smirked. 

I glared at him while I was already pulling out a hairpin. I knelt down and started picking the lock. 

“Did they teach you that, or was that a prerequisite skill?” He continued. Despite many fellow members of the OSS having nefarious backgrounds, the principle of the comment irritated me, 

“No, they taught me, but if you must know, I have a background in engineering. Picking the lock was the easiest option, sans blowing off the door.” 

I got it unlatched and kicked open the door, obnoxiously waving my hand, gesturing for him to enter.  

“Engineering, huh?” He said, while walking in. He seemed to be impressed. 

“Yeah, know any?” I quipped, following him into the room. 

“I may have studied some of it.” 

“Where?” I headed towards the window. 

��Yale. You?” 

I was glad the sound of the window closing covered any physical cringe I may have shown due to my under-assumption, Of course he comes from wealth...I turned back towards him,

“Cornell. Physics and chemistry—on a scholarship.” I didn’t want him to think my parents bought my way in. I was proud of working my way up from nearly nothing. “I was working on my doctoral degree when this all broke out.” 

He whistled, “Impressive.” 

“Cause I’m not a man?” I laughed, grabbing my coat off the chair. 

“No, not at all.” he started to get flustered. “I mean, good for you. That’s great.” 

I was being unfair, he has been nothing but gracious. I’m always primed for a knee-jerk reaction.

“Thanks. Did you like engineering?” I asked. 

“Yeah, it was alright,” He didn’t seem interested in talking about himself. I had no interest either. For once in my life, I was content with inconsequential conversation. 

“But let me guess,” he followed up, “You’re in demolitions?”

“Something like that.” I narrowed my eyes, I don’t enjoy guessing games.

“Don’t worry, I won’t pry. Classified information.” He mocked. 

“Physical sabotage is only a small part of my work, even if could tell you, there isn’t a whole lot of interest to share.” 

“Oh I’m sure there’s at least one crumbled bridge in Europe with your name on it.” He mused. 

There were buildings, modes of transportation, even people, all with my name on them. I shook my head, as if I could erase it all. 

 “Only one bridge, but that was a group effort.” I admitted. 

He enjoyed the comment, “I don’t know, that’s pretty interesting.”

“I appreciate the support.” I let out a quiet, involuntary laugh as I took a seat on the edge of the bed. “I hardly remember doing it.” 

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you will when this is all over.” 

“That’s a frightening thought.” 

“Oh I know.” He took a few steps over and sat in the chair. “It’ll make for a good story.” 

“I’m not going to be in any history book.” I relaxed, fumbling with the buttons on my coat.

“You could write it yourself?” He suggested.

“And do you, Captain Nixon, have a desire to write a book?” I leaned towards him, lifting the corner of my mouth.

“Why would I write about all this? Then I’d have to re-read it.” He scoffed.

“I don’t know, for someone else too? Historical representation?” I agreed with his sentiments, but I’d like to think there could be a greater purpose to it all. 

“Then what’s stopping you?” He retorted. I knew he was trying to get an answer out of me. I sighed, gazing down to my boots, 

“I don’t know. How often do you think the whole story gets told in those books? I’m not good at exaggerating things.” 

“There is always some truth to it somewhere.” His gaze was on the edge of the chair, fidgeting with the old threads.

“I’m not so sure I could do that either.” I furrowed my eyes, forming my lips into a straight line. “I’m too good at censoring my own thoughts.” I attempted to laugh to lighten the mood, but instead it was just a shaky exhale. 

“Yeah, better to forget the details...” His smile slowly faded into a stark indifference, but his eyes gave away something deeper. We said nothing for several moments.

His eyes soften as he caught my gaze. I almost felt like I was standing in front of a mirror; two sets of brown eyes, dark circles...two people so deeply indulged in their own delusions, as if that would protect our sanities. Then again, maybe I'm just projecting myself... He looked away after a moment, I think he was becoming unsettled.

“Well,” I sprung up, breaking the silence, “Here is to forgetting. Shall we start?” 

“Good idea—” Lewis stopped the upright momentum and reached behind his back, “What’s this?” He held up the green, baseball sized device. 

“A beano.” I said matter of factly. It must’ve fallen out of my coat pocket. 

“Looks like a grenade.” He quickly stood up, following me to the door. 

“Cause it is.” I put my coat on. He wasn’t concerned per se, but it looked like he was doing a math problem. Causal concentration to his predicament. 

“It’s a dud, I’m pretty sure.” I smiled, I knew it was safe, but I wondered if I could pull any other emotion or reaction out of him. 

“Pretty sure?” He laughed, eyes still narrowed on the device.

“It’s a prototype, really. You can pull the top off and everything. Supposed to throw it like a baseball.” 

“Model or not, it would get people to listen.” he muttered. 

“I would offer it to you but ya know, classified materials.” 

“I appreciate the gesture.” He carefully set it on the side table. 

“Well, I have been instructed to cooperate with the armed forces.” I smirked, quoting the endless OSS manuals as we stepped out the door.

Notes:

I know first person POV is a little uncommon for fic, but I love getting directly into the heads of characters! I also wanted to make this historically accurate as possible, referencing elements of the OSS and its operations. If anyone wants to learn more about the OSS, especially the role of women in the organization, check out my tag! This is a long piece, so if you make it to the end, thank you so much! 🫶

[shadowdunsparce]

giant oc sheet be upon ye (text under cut)

Arkadiusz Caelum (they/them nb) -Xaela Au Ra from The Azim Steppe -28 -sch/smn -altruistic, charismatic, compassionate -co-wol with Yadokkya until after EW -from the Mol tribe, Temulun's visions of their future started their journey -an accomplished arcanist whose ruby carbuncle is also an emotional support companion (named Cinnamon) -gravely injured at the end of EW, retires

Ophioukhos (they/them agender) -Ancient Ark (Azem) -??? y/o -smn -perfectionist, erratic, imaginative -specialist in reptiles, created lizards and snakes -also studied stars, aetherically tattooed constellations they observed onto their skin -frequented Pandaemonium as their creations were often unfit for the wider world

Yadokkya (they/them trans nb) -Shetona from Shaaloani -40 -mch/smn -cheeky, tactical, reticent -co-wol with Ark until after EW -was primarily a miner, left to collaborate with Ul'Dah's miner guild -collects rocks/ores from places they visit -takes up the primary WoL mantle after Ark retires

B'nyanya Pepper (he/him cis) -Seeker Miqo'te from Southern Thanalan -32 -rdm -flirty, romantic, insecure -terrible at hunting which led him to leave his home, ends up studying conjury -returned to Ul'Dah and learned red magic -a little lost in life, keeps changing jobs

Fjola Sjasaris (she/her cis??) -Viis from Fanow -75 -lnc/gnb -dutiful, curious, cautious -a skilled hunter and lancer -left the woods with the Scions after they returned the night sky, to help them -now travels Norvrandt helping people still in need

Arkja Kisne (she/her cis??) -Veena Viera from Limsa Lominsa -53 -war -bubbly, friendly, stalwart -picked up the axe to protect her friends -worked as a Yellowjacket before branching off to adventuring -loves cute things, especially moogles

Dumplingway (he/him genderqueer) -Rava Viera from Mare Lamentorum -28 -ast/pct -kind, gentle, curious -raised by loporrits, served as an envoy between them and Sharlayan -a gleaner, specializing in strange plants -reincarnation of The Watcher

Astraeus (he/she genderfluid) -Ancient Dumpling -??? -archivist -studious, organized, perceptive -chief archivist at Anamnesis Anyder -close friend to Venat, providing her with whatever knowledge she required -a landscape painter in his free time

Agriópapia (he/him trans) -Ancient Erenville -??? -researcher -inquisitive, pragmatic, diligent -works under Loghrif, observing new creations in Elpis -especially fond of the flying creations -keeps to himself most of the time, often absorbed in his work

Eldgjá (he/him cis??) -Rava Viera from Dravanian Forelands -23 (dead) -hunter -ambitious, foolhardy, eager -traded hunts and stories with the people of Tailfeather -became an adventurer because of their stories (mostly hunting for clients) -joined the Void Ark expedition but was killed

Neit (he/him cis) -Keeper Miqo'te from The Thirteenth -47 (+12000 years since "death") -drk -standoffish, strong-willed, calculating -lived in the forests of the Thirteenth's equivalent of the Shroud -soldier in the Contramemoria, known for his ruthless efficiency -succumbed to the Flood of darkness, became a voidsent

Neit (he/him cis) -Voidsent -~12000??? -drk/vpr -cold, manipulative, cunning -arrived in the Source via a gate opened by the Void Ark -possessing the corpse of Eldgjá -sought to kill Diabolos but Cait Sith beat him to it

Khona'a Relanah (he/him transmasc) -Keeper Miqo'te from North Shroud -35 -mch -kind, bold, impulsive -fond of tinkering with machinery (creates bullets for Zinnia and performs maint on his arm) -can do basic conjury/combat first aid -worked with the Resistance as a scout and mechanic until after Ghimlyt Dark

Zinnia (he/him cis??) -Rava Viera from The Burn -~80 -gnb -stoic, protective, cautious -blind in right eye, prosthetic right arm -struggles to manipulate aether -Garlean conscript but escaped after Ghimlyt Dark -name given to him by Khona'a

Pumpkin Roll (he/they nb) -Rava Viera from around Gelmorra -at least 600 -blm -withdrawn, collected, devoted -can see spirits and ferries them to the aetherial sea (also guides them when the veil is thin around All Saint's Wake) -learned black magic from a Mhachi ghost he met while exploring ruins of Amdapor -took part in the Eureka expedition

[pampanope]

Hello, how are you doing? I’ve come with more questions >:3

1. Since cannonly Graves’ died in MW2, how is he alive? Did some cute girl/boy/enby necromance him or something? Or was it something more reasonable and realistic. Hell, was he even in the area when he was supposedly killed.

2. Is MW3 cannon in the ShadowDadlderverse? I hear it’s really really bad and not many or everyone considers it to be not cannon. This question goes hand in hand with the former

3. How did Graves’ feel when he realized that his dad wasn’t a hero? Did his finding out happen to coincide with Bell? Or is Graves still blind to what Addler did to Bell?

4. Since the Shadows are notably close in their verse, they most likely have game night. What games and movies do they play while together? What games and movies are banned?

5. Since I cannot go five questions without asking about fantasy and dnd, what would Graves character sheet look like? Class, race, backstory, spells, weapons, etc.

6. why is last name Graves? Is it his mother’s last name? Does like 7-11 call him Phillip A. Grave when pissed or something?(i definitely need to dig into the gas station man)

7. What is relationship with Laswell? And maybe if you’re feeling extra extra dangerous, maybe say what you picture Laswell’s wife to look like.

8. Also how old do you think Graves is? He can easily be seen as like 25-41. Or how old you think he is in your Au?

I know I am definitely asking some pretty deepish questions when it comes to your Au, but I like to learn. I especially like to learn about characters. And since your interpretation of Graves’ is currently scratching the itch I am internally inclined to ask these questions.

Stay safe!

Okaay here i gooo

1. I rly believe that tank was an unmanned vehicle that Graves controlled remotely while Soap ran around frantically XD hurling insults and a Shadow thumping him on the shoulder when he got carried away.

2. The only canon a peel off of mw3 and slap onto the Shadowdadler verse is that Makky is at large and Graves flew off into the sunset|

3. It depends on how he found out. If Graves knew what his father did at an early age, it’s be less of a shock. If Adler was honest about why a masked man was lurking somewhere nearby, told his son that he hurt one person for the sake of millions, it’d be better than if he tried to hide his actions. It wouldn’t surprise me if adult Graves grew to have a similar mentality as his father.

4. Game night’s full of multiplayer games (snash bros, mario party, MvC, etc). There’s a DnD session off to a corner. Ruined jenga towers litter the floor. A circle if Shadows play charades. Monopoly is DEFINITELY banned, too many fights break out. Any high shakes gambling on card games is also prohibited (there Shadows who are talented at card counting and sleight of hand). Any and all genres of movies are watches, with the exception of the Star Wars sequels. Those are unanimously banned.

5. I’d die if Graves was still the leader of a mercenary group but classed as a bard XD high charisma definitely. Still human. Idk enough about DnD as a whole to say what spells he’s gonna use but I like ghe idea of him boosting his part members that do the fighting

6. Ok so in one of my Dadler comics, Adler fights off and kills enemy agents that wanna target him and lil Phillip. He buries them in their backyard. Phillip learns one day that there are dead bodies there. Learns that they had to die for him to keep living. He’s looking at graves. The memory would stick with him. Lol 7-11 calls Graves Sir when the commanders being stubborn ir reckless 🤣 (funny, the Lt. can be just as stubborn and reckless)

7. Oh! I like her and the role she plays. I liked the sneaky sneaky part she had~ Her wife? I picture her a bit taller than Laswell. She’d be a brunette, soft featured, a bit tanned, down to earth and honest about her thoughts and feelings, something Laswell appreciates as someone used to subterfuge.

8. I got Graves at a solid 40. A tiny bit seasoned to be out in the field, but still young enough to be effective. He ages gracefully 🥰 hehehe

[lesbianslvt666]

scarlett sun

Demigod!Ellie x Human!reader

The song of Achilles x the first disciple inspired au!

Angst?

cw: major character death, Mentions of gore and war

Ellie never thought about you the way she thought about her path. Obscure thoughts of greatness came like crashing waves on the tormented ocean.

She knew she ought to become more than her mare physical form, she wasn’t like no other human, she was better than them, still, she thought of you as the brightest light in her life.

A light that sent to sleep years of growing pain, years of loneliness. You were the only one for her, greater than the sea, brighter than the sun.

Her only love.

Ever.

But she couldn’t just let it go, the screams of the people, cheering for her after winning the battle, after ending the lives of those who never stood a chance on her presence.

Your heart aching with the same passion her own carried, her fiery veins carried blue blood that came with incredible strength, the fastest state of being, efficient enough for battle.

You loaded the aftermath of those nights. Painful aches all over her, for she had still a human like body, her virtues hurt her bones, teared her flesh and stretched to brake her muscles, there was no way around, everything need a valance and for her, that was pain.

She killed with awareness her mind chased down, crimson mirrors of blood, pools she entered knowing damn well what she was there for.

And damn her for she didn’t wanted to hurt.

Nor them

Nor her.

But mostly not you.

Never the less, the thirst for applause was greater than the torture it meant. Praises of her name rushed to her head, drugging all capabilities of stopping, not turning back.

And so you conform to the agony of seeing her like that, she won't stop.

she can't.

too stubborn to think of herself like the saviour of this people, and even if the tales told her story as the glory of a girl who fought till they win, the end didn’t end with her being praised, the prophecy talked about her clock worked death, chaos and blood would fall heavy and hot upon the ones who spilled crimson tears to each other.

And sorrow would follow her tortured lover.

Her glory would follow after her agonising decay, no human would ever be able to feel that much hurt in such long time, and to purify her for her sins, to sit on the throne above humans, she would endure it.

Her only regret.

She has to lose you, her only, her everything, she was going to give you up.

And you knew.

And she was aware that you did.

But why was you still here with her, mending her wounds, taking her seemingly fragile body in your worked hands, curing her the way only you could.

She hated how much you loved her, how passionately, an intensity that mirrored her own.

But how come a human can feel this deep? This desperately? This immensely?

The intensity of you roaring heart burnt her every time she thought of the end, your blazing love powered by a blinding admiration and understanding, you both lost everyone but yourselves, however, Ellie still found the joy in the blaring people.

And if it wasn't for the fact that you are always there, she would've already choose them.

She would've chosen the earthly glory.

Thankfully you never left, to her dismay, she was horrified for what she would make you go through, but when you hold her like she was all it ever existed, the answer to all unknown, the reality written in the stars she felt real.

She felt human

And when you kiss her like she means more than her future, like she is completely and only ever your lover, her hands can't keep to herself.

She is always eager to return the effort you give her, wondering hands and igniting chests, booming against each other for any ounce of friction.

And in the love filled nights she would only ever think of you, you on her mind, creating only thoughts of you.

It was her favourite moments.

But happiness don’t last forever, and as the sun emerged with her orange colours that tinted all around, so did the ground beneath, red hues crowned the white sand underneath.

When your eyes opened wide in fear for the screams that encountered the heavy scarlet droplets of an unexpected battle.

Ellie was already out.

And so you adorned your body in fabric, no time to protect you with an outside shell.

You ran outside, for something told you this was the end.

And maybe if you could chase her down, scape down the rivers and head to the north.

Hell you might as well scape earth, you would try.

But she won't follow, you thought that the physical scape could free her from a spiritual realm.

And you almost had her, you really did, wide eyes of surprise lightened you with bright desire from the deepest parts of yourself to her.

Like extending her fire to you.

But that fire was choked down, like a wild animal strangled by a boa, your lungs gave in the pain.

A striking force from behind your back revealed a blade as long as an arm.

The sword cut your flesh so easily like a dagger on paper.

And even if she had unhuman abilities, her running to you wasn’t fast enough.

Your life was draining out of you, like a fast poison purring in your veins, it ached your body in ways you had never felt.

But it wasn’t the blade that was tormenting your chest, it was her eyes, her agitated state to get as fast to you as she could.

But she never did.

She almost felt the warm of your skin leaving behind a grey ghost of your body.

But she couldn’t even touch you for the last time.

They took her first, and left you behind by the sea shore.

Salty water claiming your body.

Salty tears exasperating the wrath Ellie had become.

And when she felt you gone.

When the sea took you in peace…

Like you were theirs.

And not hers…

[theatlasenigma]

based on this denholm brothers/pirates smp god au (go check it out before you read this, otherwise my writing will make no sense whatsoever lmao) by @sweetsmalldog, which has had me in an absolute chokehold for the last day or so since i discovered it. so here, have this quick writing dump because i needed to get it out of my system.

imagine the detached and vengeful sun god in the aftermath of the mortal denholm brothers’ deaths. the sun god, furious at the injustice and cruelty, stepping forth to unleash all hell on these vile mortals who so callously slaughtered their children in the hopes of becoming famous themselves. except he falters, because the pair of too-still bodies before him are so agonisingly small, so painfully young, so devoid of life. in a split second decision, he imbues them with a fragment of his own divinity. and so ruby red becomes gold, and so the the sickly sweetness of ichor mixes with the salt of iron in the heavy air.

imagine the regal and proud sun god falling to his knees before the now godly twins, pulling them into an embrace that smells of the warm sea breeze, the hot wood of a ship’s deck under the sun, the sweetness of ripe fruits in the height of summer. whispered i’m sorries, you didn’t deserve this, if i had known i would have saved you, would have stopped the people who did this to you. the stifled hiccupping sobs of two brothers who, even after death and then ascension, are still afraid of what this adult will do if they show too much of their emotions. tears and snot stain his shirt but he finds he does not care. he has a thousand shirts but only this one moment and these two children.

imagine the harsh and distant sun god teaching the brothers the ways of godhood. how to stretch their wings and soar, how to bless without burning themselves up in exchange, how to give and delight and laugh. some day he will have to teach them how to take and how to punish but for now they are two brothers amongst the stars and they play and fly and run and they have never been so free.

imagine the indifferent and brutal sun god learning how to care for these godlings he took under his not-so-metaphorical wings. he finds that gentle words and reassuring warmth do not come so easily to him, a creature of pure blinding light and raw blazing heat, and so as the brothers learn to stretch and grow he learns to listen and love. and on those nights when acho wakes up screaming, or those days where scott can barely stomach leaving the safety of his room, the sun god is there to hold them close and whisper sweet nothings to them until their tears dry up and fear-frozen bodies relax. 

imagine the divine and powerful sun god, watching over the antics of the children he saved. though if what he did really can be considered ‘saving’ is a question he will lie awake for hours racking his brain for the answer to. he and the brothers will be joined by more, a clever daemon with skin like blood and claws of pitch that feigns indifference, a cunning explorer with a silver tongue and eyes like sunsets who strains for freedom, a war-like but steadfast woman who shouts and laughs almost as loudly as the twins. when the orange-eyed adventurer makes a jibe about the star-spattered lines across their necks and the sun god sees both stiffen in discomfort, he sends a flick of fire in the unruly god’s direction to discipline him. when the soot-stained war goddess shouts loudly enough to make acho or scott flinch, the sun god is there to provide reassurance and remind the woman to heed the boys’ fear. when the pitch-robed god of monsters play-fights too roughly and ichor is spilled, the sun god bandages the injuries and gives the daemon a stern warning to take care. 

they may have their occasional clashes, but they are freed from the shackles of mortality now and spread their wings in a palace amongst the stars. and if legend tells of a pair of boys who haunt the town where they were slaughtered like sacrificial lambs, well, they might occasionally pay a visit to remind the residents of those stories and their worth. tell tales of childlike laughter carried on the breeze, a flash of red hair, a flutter of wings and too-sharp teeth, lest you be lost to the depths like the parents of those starshine children so long ago.

[vodika-vibes]

So, because I'm me, I'm thinking of a Star Wars AU. And this is really just going to be a train of thought writing thing.

So, Ahsoka is 14 years old, and she has recently become Anakin's Padawan, and she's not sure.

She's not.

It's nothing against Anakin, it's just that he's very...young. And very male. And very human.

And so very young.

So when she returns from her first mission, and has her first lessong with Skyguy (He had the men shoot at her and her head kinda hurts still and her hands won't stop shaking but that's normal, right?) She makes her way to the archives.

She finds the old mission records and she reads through her Master's missions, missions he took as a padawan...and quickly determined that his mission load was boring.

So she starts reading about Master Obi-Wan's missions.

She reads about Bandomeer. She reads about Melida/Daan. She reads about the two years on Mandalore.

And she's like, "Huh, I guess it could be worse." And then she puts everything away and carries on.

Her first night back at the temple, in a room in an apartment shared with Master Kenobi and Skyguy, was rough.

She never had a hard time sleeping in the temple before, but everything ached, and she had a blinding headache behind her eyes, and she just can't stop shaking now that she's not moving -

So Ahsoka climbs out of bed to curl up on the couch.

It's obvious to her that Skyguy isn't here, but Master Kenobi is awake and sipping tea in the kitchen, so she joins him.

He's nice. Soothing. His presence feels like water rippling over her, and it's enough that she accepts his offer of tea.

And, while they sipped their tea and got to know each other, Ahsoka lets slip the training she had that day and how she feels awful still, and how she can't stop shaking.

And Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi drops his mug and stares at her in abject horror.

She makes a weak joke about how it could be worse, but it doesn't wipe the look off his face, and when he draws her into a tight hug, his force presence washing through her in the way that her old creche master used to do the same thing, she sniffles and she buries her face in his shoulder and starts to cry.

She knows, deep inside, that what happened was wrong, and the fact that he agrees is enough for her to agree to an immediate trip to the halls of healing.

Personally, I think this would have changed everything. But I'm tired and can't quite think it all the way through.

[happyhauntt]

prologue, the burning sky — star wars.

series masterlist | writing masterlist | askbox

─── summary: prologue; the burning sky. some tragedies will always happen, like a story you've always been unable to rewrite. but you still try.

─── warnings: star wars au, canon divergent. character death, vehicle accidents, blood & injury (nondescriptive), child loss, grieving.

─── notes: this is the prologue to a series i'll be posting following my ocs. this is a whole rewrite of the star wars sequel trilogy featuring ocs and focusing largely on family, grief, what you would do / how far you would go for family, haunting the narrative. the whole point of this story is family. are there love interests?? yes. but the core of it is 'what would you for / because of family?' you don't have to like this, but if i receive any rude feedback i'll just block you because the star wars fandom already fuckin terrifies me, let me just post my sad shit.

─── word count: 2.5k.

━━  the beginning.

     The sun rises, as it always does, a burning orb cresting over the horizon, painting streaks of pink across the silvery sky. Dawn leaks in through the windows of a newly-broken home, reaching across the room with long yellow fingers to raise a house full of heartache.

     Dory wakes with itchy, saltwater eyes.

     For a moment, she wonders why the skin around her eyes feels tight and sore, her nostrils stinging. She winces as the sunlight bleeds through the blinds, casting the room in a happy yellow glow. Her stomach twists violently as she remembers what happened the night before, each painful memory crashing back into her mind; bile burns the back of her throat, and she has to choke it back down.

     A sob racks her shoulders, sudden and vicious. She presses a hand to her mouth, trying to keep it in as tears rise in her eyes again, blurring her bedroom into one sun-drenched mess.

     Something heavy lays curled at the foot of her bed. Blinking her tears away, she peers over the edge of the covers, finding her younger cousin Marya sleeping there. She must've crept in in the middle of the night.

     Gently, she nudges Mare, and the younger girl stirs. Dory pulls back the covers and pats the space beside her. Blonde hair stuck to her face, mascara smudged beneath her eyes, Mare pushes herself up onto her elbows and crawls into bed beside her cousin. Dory pulls the blankets back up over their heads, and wraps her arms around Mare, pulling her cousin as close as she can.

     "My room was too quiet," Mare whispers into the fabric of Dory's shirt, fingers curled and clinging tightly to it. "I wanted to stay up to hear any news, but I couldn't stay in there."

     "That's alright." Dory's voice comes out cracked; she runs her fingers through the tangled strands of her cousin's hair, trying not to wince as Mare hugs her, pressing into the bruises that are spread across Dory's torso like a gruesome abstract painting.

     She has never been the most affectionate person, not even to her own sister  ━  but things can change in the blink of an eye, and people get lost when you thought they would live forever, and things bleed when they aren't supposed to, and Dory just wants to hold onto Mare for as long as she can before she has to let go again, no matter the pain it causes.

     "Mum hasn't slept, has she, Mare?" asks Dory.

     Mare shakes her head a little. "Not since I last checked. She was sitting in the kitchen when I left my room earlier... my mum was sitting with her. Uncle Luke went to be with mama in case something happened with Rion, and I don't think they've come back yet..."

     Dory swallows at the mention of her other cousin.

     When she stumbled in last night, stained with blood and reeking of smoke, with Mare hanging onto her arm, her father had folded them both into his arms. He'd sat with her as she screamed and raged for hours, held her when she sobbed until there were no tears left, and never said a word.

     No one else had been there waiting for them; her mother had gone straight to the medical centre with Aunt Ashka and Aunt Leia when she heard what happened, and only returned in the early hours of the morning, pale as a ghost and clinging to Ashka as if she were the only thing keeping her standing.

     Dory had never seen her parents like that before. Yve Cybele was the strongest woman in the galaxy, and Han Solo was always smiling, laughing as if everything were easy.

     Last night, though, Dory watched her mother shatter into a million pieces, and her father had no way of pressing them back together again.

     Last night, her sister died.

     When Dory closes her eyes against the sunlight, it all comes back to her in sharp, jarring flashes.

     She recalls the events leading up to the accident with perfect clarity; she, her parents and her little sister, Clarya, had come to visit their family for a month, as they had done every year for as long as Dory could remember. The visit, at least, had gone reasonably smoothly  ━  she always worried about growing apart from her cousins, when they spent so much of the year on separate ends of the galaxy. She and Rion, especially; Rion had been absent their last few visits, training at their uncle's re-established Jedi temple, and this was the first she and Clarya had seen him in such a long time.

     But it had been fine. Clarya and Marya, both fourteen, had stuck together like glue from the moment they arrived. Dory and Rion, too, had gotten over their initial awkwardness and bonded once more. Rion, one year younger than Dory at seventeen, had delighted in showing off all the things he'd learned at the temple. Clarya had laughed and wished she was Force-sensitive, and Rion had lifted her in the air, saying that flying was far better than being a Jedi, anyways.

     Last night, Clarya had wanted to go racing. Rion had a landspeeder he'd hardly had the opportunity to use since getting back from the temple, and Clarya desperately wanted to try it. She was their father's daughter entirely  ━  with the wind in her hair, she could do anything, be anything.

     And nobody had ever been able to say no to Clarya.

     Memories of the accident are more fractured, flashes of blinding light and sickening noise. Dory and Mare had gone along with their siblings, not wanting them to get into any trouble. Rion had been driving... too fast, Dory had thought, but she'd never been a thrill-seeker like her little sister, so she hadn't been too concerned.

     Until Rion lost control of the speeder.

     Dory woke up on the ground. Mare was screaming, covered in blood that didn't belong to her, clutching Rion to her chest. He'd been unconscious, too, the jagged cut across his head leaking crimson into his hair. The air crackled around them, heat from the speeder rolling over them in waves from where it lay burning nearby.

     Clarya had been lying next to Rion. Her eyes, wide and blue as the dusk sky above them, stared blankly at nothing at all. She'd been impossibly pale, her leg bent at a strange angle, her hair stained pink. Dory had dragged herself over there, an unbearable pain digging claws into her chest, and only after a moment had she realised that her sister was dead.

     Mare holds tighter to her now. It is too warm beneath the blankets, and her lungs ache for fresh air, but salty tears flow silently down her cheeks and Dory cannot bear to face a world without her sister in it.

     "Where's dad?" she asks, careful to hold her voice steady, so she doesn't upset Mare anymore than she has to. Last night, Dory had been a howling beast, pounding fists against her father's chest, a cataclysmic explosion barely-contained within a fragile teenage girl.

     But Mare's brother, her closest and dearest friend, is still unconscious in the medical centre. The doctors fear he may never wake up. While the cruellest, most spiteful parts of Dory pray he never does  ━  he took her sister with his recklessness, and Dory has always seen the world in -black-and-white, and eye for an eye, his life for her sister's  ━  she knows it would destroy her aunts the same way it has destroyed her parents, left them a burnt-out wreck the same as the speeder that crashed.

     It would destroy Mare like it has destroyed her.

     Gently, Mare shrugs, sniffling. "He wasn't with Aunt Yve and mum. I think he left... Maybe to check on mama and Uncle Luke? I hope he comes back with news..."

     Dory has to fight to bite her tongue.

     Later, when the sun is higher in the sky and Dory is done being angry with it  ━  how dare you rise on such a dark day? she wants to spit at it, bloody fingernails grasping for the sky in a bid to tear it down  ━  she peels herself from her bed, showering away all the blood and smoke from the night before, though the pain remains.

     She passes the guest room her aunts had made up for Clarya during their stay. The door is cracked open a little, and peeking inside, she sees the room is exactly the way Clarya left it. Clothes strewn across the floor, a pile of her favourite books on her bedside table, the ones she brought just for this trip, in case Aunt Ashka and Aunt Leia didn't have any she wanted to read.

     Reaching out, she pulls the door closed sharply, as if she can trap her sister's ghost in there forever.

     Her mother and Aunt Ashka aren't in the kitchen, but the living area. Yve looks as if hell descended on her in the night, and left her nothing but a living corpse; her blonde hair, patches of silver creeping in at the roots, is a tangled mess, her eyes bloodshot. Ashka looks little better, her own blonde hair kept in a long braid thrown over her shoulder. She smiles at Dory as she enters the room.

     "Mare is sleeping in my room," says Dory quietly.

     Her aunt nods, hands folded carefully before her, every inch a politician. "I don't think she slept a wink all night, worrying about her brother."

     "I don't think any of us slept, really," Yve says. Dory's eyes dart to her mother, who pats her knee. Soundlessly, Dory pads across the room and curls up in her mother's lap, in a way she hasn't done since she was a little girl. Her mother wraps thin, strong arms around her, stroking her hair back and rocking her like she is a baby again, and Dory doesn't mind.

     Quiet sobs wrack her body as the tears flow once more. Her sister is dead. Sweet Clarya, her little sunshine sister, born in the summertime. She used to weave flowers in her hair and dance on the balcony when she could, and their father would let her stand on his toes even when she grew too old for it, just so he could hear his little girl laugh.

     Her sister wasn't an angel. Clarya could be a brat when she wanted to be, when she didn't get her way, but she was the brightest flame of them all, and in the end, she was only a flickering candle, snuffed out far too easily when she should have been a star, burning forever.

     Her mother is crying, too. Her tears flow into Dory's hair, making it damp, but she doesn't mind at all. There is enough ache here to drown the whole room, if they truly wanted to. Dory wants to open her veins and let it all spill out, let her ocean of hurt drown the world. She wants to take everyone down with her into this agony. She wants everyone is the galaxy to feel as awful as this.

     It was her fault.

     She should've tried harder to stop them going. Clarya wanted to go, and Rion wanted to show off for his cousins and sister, but Dory had known it was a bad idea and she'd let them do it anyway. She was the oldest. She should've stopped them. She should've known better. She should've told Rion to slow down, to stop...

     It's Rion's fault, too.

     "Have we heard anything?" she wonders aloud, her raw throat burning.

     There are a million other questions she'd rather ask. Like why did this happen, or how did this happen, or where has dad gone? All of them feel like ticking bombs, each designed to inflict maximum damage, so she sews them into the lining of her tongue and keeps quiet.

     Asking about Rion is normal, and safe, even if she doesn't care at all.

     Her mother's arms stiffen around her. Aunt Ashka frowns, the gentle lines of her face deepening slightly. When Dory looks properly, she sees her aunt's eyes are bloodshot, too, and there are dry tear tracks staining her cheeks. Her too-thin fingers weave together.

     "We didn't want to wake you," she says quietly, her gaze falling to the ground. Her shoulders droop slightly. "Leia called and told us about an hour ago... Rion woke up in the night."

     Dory swallows her bitterness like poison. It festers in her gut. She wanted him to die instead. If she could trade her life for her sister's, then she would, but she would trade Rion's first. Her cousin is lovely and good, and she hates him still for what he did. For what she let him do.

     It's his fault, and your fault, too.

     "Is he alright?"

     Ashka picks at a loose bit of skin on her thumb. She seems so unlike herself that Dory has to blink, in case she is dreaming. Her politician aunt, a former princess, married to another politician and former princess, has always been the smiling kind. Even so, Dory has always been able to pick out the similarities between Ashka and Yve, aside from their shared blonde hair and shining blue eyes.

     She sees the similarities in the harsh edge to their smiles, the mischievous glint in their eyes, the sadness that settled into their bones over thirty years ago which hasn't ever gone away. Ashka may be a politician, but she has always been easy-going in equal measure, determined to balance her stoic facade with something happier.

     Today, Dory isn't seeing Aunt Ashka. She is seeing Ashka Cybele, the politician, sharp-angled and cool, channelling her emotions into being someone else, to control the situation.

     "He's alive." Ashka offers a small, slightly-relieved smile, but Dory doesn't take the bait.

     "And?" There's something else. Dory can tell.

     Ashka hesitates for a moment, and then sighs. "He doesn't remember what happened. The accident. Or..." Her lower lip trembles. Something inside her breaks free, and a single tear rolls from her eyes and drips from her chin. She doesn't bother swatting it away.

     "Or anything at all."

     For Dory, her fragile world, held up with cracked pillars and broken columns, comes crashing down in that moment. Her damned cousin, Rion, who caused the accident and killed her sister, gets to blissfully forget about what he did. Her lovely cousin, Rion, whom she still loves because that's how awful the world is, gets to forget.

     And she has to remember.     If, in that moment, Dory had known what would come for them all  ━  what the memory of Clarya would make them become, how they would fill the void she left, how they would take the ache and learn to make it feel like home  ━  she would wish to forget, too.

[lyon-amore]

I'm obsessed with this AU, don't let anyone ever get it out of my head

    We had left the blinds down and the curtain drawn so that not a ray of sunlight could come through the window. We want to spend the morning in the room after the wonderful night.

    A night that I remember in detail and that my body has reacted to as if it were the first time. We fit together perfectly and Jake treated me very kindly, but I could tell that he knew what he had to do, just like me. But I didn't care, I didn't get jealous or sad. Especially when he asked me if it was what I wanted. I think I sounded desperate saying yes, because within a second we were already in bed.

    As we kiss, Jake’s fingers work me gently, causing me to let out small moans.     Just as I pull away to tell him I’m ready, there’s a knock at the door. I let out a groan, annoyed.

   “It will be Lian…” I answer, while trying to breathe calmly.

   "Did not you stay at that guy's house last night?" Jake asks me, and I can hear a little annoyance in his voice, also at the interruption.

   “But I told her that she forgot her bag at the bar and she replied that she would come and get it in the morning,” I slowly sit up, and he does the same.

    I get out of bed and the first thing I grab to get dressed is his shirt. It's too big for me, so I don't worry about putting anything else on.

   “I’ll be right back.” I lean in to kiss him and he pulls me closer, making it harder for me to want to leave. She knocks on the door again and I laugh. “She’s going to kill us if I don’t give it back to her.”

   “Pretend we are not here,” he answers, caressing my cheek while continuing to kiss me.

   “I'll open the door, give her the bag and close it,” I move away and slowly let go of his hand, “while... you watch warming up until I get back.”

   "I cannot if it is not with you," he answers me with shining eyes.

    I let out a little lovestruck giggle and walk further away to my bedroom door. I really can't believe how lucky I was to meet him.

    I grab the small bag from the counter in the entryway and open the door. To my surprise, it's not Lian.

   “Hello, honey,” my mother greets me and I see my father next to her.

   “Did you stay up all night?” my father asks me, arching an eyebrow.

    I stare at them, shocked. Great, my parents come over and I have my boyfriend in my room with no pants on.

   <<Oh shit… our pants…>>

    I remember the details of what we did, but not the fact that the pants and underwear were left in the living room.

   “Yes… I fell asleep a lot, a lot,” my brain is not working right now because I was thinking about going back to Jake. I need to get into strategist mode now! If my father finds out, he’ll kill him!

    My mother knows I'm dating a guy, but I haven't told my father yet because I wanted to see how the relationship progressed… And now that I think about it, it's come a long way for it to have been five days.

    “Wow, Star Wars?” My mother touches the shirt and I stop myself from getting nervous by trying to get it completely smooth.

    “I didn’t know you liked Star Wars…” my father puts his hands in his pants, examining me. “And it’s pretty big for you…”

   “I bought it because I needed a new nightgown,” I lean on the door frame, still not letting them in. “What are you doing here? And without warning?”

   “But yesterday we talked about coming to look for you and go see your family, remember?” My father examines me again, not as a father, but as a police officer. Something I don't like.

    I cover my neck a little with my hair, in case there are any marks. 

    In the end I step aside and let them pass.

   “We'll wait for you to get ready.” They come in and I see my father going straight to the couch.

   “No!” I shout nervously and they look at me surprised “Better... better on the chairs, it's just that last night I spilled the milk from dinner and it's disgusting and dirty, I have to clean them.”

    I quickly walk over and pick up the clothes to put them under the couch cushions, pretending to straighten them out. Although I do actually have to wash them after last night.

   "Do you want me to take off the covers and wash them?" my mother asks me.

   “No, I'll do it when I get back,” I stand up and point in the direction of my room. “I'm going to… shower and get dressed… that's it…”

    I run out, holding my shirt. This can't be happening today...

    When I walk in, Jake looks at me worried.

   “What happened?” He gets out of bed and approaches me “Are you okay?”

   "We have a big problem," I whisper, nervously.

   “Lian and that boy had a fight?” he whispers too, imitating my attitude.

   “Worse, my parents are here and your pants are keeping them company!”

    I see how he turns pale. He knows that my father still doesn't know about us because of the issue of taking things slow in our relationship. Because he met my last boyfriend and he didn't like him even though he was Stephan's friend. It is true that perhaps he was too "affectionate" with me in front of him. Making him uncomfortable. So I wanted to prepare him for the moment when he meets Jake and sees that he's not like Klaus, that he behaves in public and the only thing we usually do is hold hands and caress each other. Wanting to have that intimate contact only in public. Not like a certain person who put his hand on my thigh in front of my father. And very high up…

   “Okay, let us think calmly,” he places his hands on my shoulders and caresses me in circles with his thumbs, “What did you tell them?”

   “I was going to take a shower and get dressed…” I answer pointing to the door, the bathroom is next to my room.

   “Well, that's what you'll do,” I nod as he speaks, “don't worry, I won't leave here, so they won't know—”

    The door opens and I turn quickly, luckily blocking Jake's body.

   “By the waAAAAAAH…” my mother screams and brings her hand to her mouth, surprised.

    I feel Jake's hands tense on my shoulders, and I'm still keeping my shirt controlled to make sure it doesn't ride up because of that turn.

   “What's going on?!” my father shouts and comes in.

    I cover my face in shame, and not just because of that. It's just that Jake has stuck to me so much out of fear that I can feel his ENTIRE body against mine and my mind is mixing thoughts of this morning with thoughts of wanting to bury my head in the floor.

   “You…” I look at my father, who points almost accusingly at Jake, “Macie, what are you doing with this guy?”

    Part of me is surprised that I seem to know him, and worse, I don't seem to like him all that much.

   “Dad, I…”

    I see him looking at me with disappointment. It's the second time I've seen that look.

    We keep in silence in the room, and I bring my hand to my mouth to bite my nails, nervous.

   "My name is Jake Miller," I hear Jake finally say, "I would go say hello to you, Mr. Connors, but I cannot—"

   “Oh my God…” my father pinches the bridge of his nose, while my mother brings her hand to her mouth, watching him hide an amused smile, avoiding looking at us too much.

   “Listen, if Macie did not tell you, it was because she wanted us to take our relationship slowly so she could introduce me to her parents properly.”

   “And is there a reason you're not wearing any clothes?” It's clearly not a question that he doesn't know what happened, but rather he wants to know why he's not dressed if he knows they were here.

   “Well… this…”

   “The pants are on the couch…” I answer, closing my eyes tightly.

    I hear my father breathe almost angrily and I open one eye seeing him trying to calm down.

   “Honey, breathe,” my mother tells him, patting him on the chest, “your daughter is already an adult, don't exaggerate and act like a police officer.”

   “I know, I know,” he raises his hand, trying to relax, “I'll go outside and… let… them dress…”

    We nod and when my parents leave, Jake sits up in bed, breathing heavily and putting his hands on his head.

   “I'll go get your clothes and you can take a shower...” I tell him, stroking his hair.

    He nods and surprises me by hugging me, resting his head on my body. I smile and give him a kiss on the top of his head.

   "I will fix it," he says, looking up.

   “You have nothing to fix, he's exaggerating,” I give him a small kiss and separate. “I'll be back with your clothes in a moment.”

   “Alright…”

    I can see him thinking, with that pose of his hand on his chin. What is he up to?

    Once we were showered and dressed —Jake let me first, it wasn't the time to share a shower—, we sat with my parents in the chairs. Jake also knows that going to the couch is not a good idea.

   “How long have you been dating?” My father places his hands on the table, as if he were being questioned.

   “Dad…” I take a breath trying to relax, I don't want to fight with him.

   "Five days, sir," Jake replied calmly, looking at him somewhat nervously.

   “Five…” Dad puts his hand on his chest and I roll my eyes “Days?”

    I glance at Jake discreetly, noticing that his serious expression hasn't changed. Unlike me, who just wants my father to stop exaggerating, I'm not a little girl.

   “Studies? Work? Criminal record?” My father's aggressive way of asking appears and I put my hands on my head, even more embarrassed.

   “Herman! Please!” my mother shouts at him, offended as if he were the one asking her “Leave the boy alone—”

   “Classical language and literature,” I slowly look at Jake as he begins to speak, “I have a job, I am in charge of computer security and you know better than anyone that I have no criminal record,” my gaze moves from one to the other, they look at each other defiantly.

    Oh well, defiantly my father, Jake doesn’t even seem offended or angry by his questions.     I’m going to intervene, but Jake continues.

   “We may have only been together for five days, but I can assure you that your daughter is the most amazing and fascinating woman I have ever met,” My cheeks burn as I listen to him and see that his expression hasn’t changed yet. He doesn't even blush. He means it completely. He dares to speak to my father like that and he doesn't move even a bit.

    I see my mother smile sweetly and then look at my father, so that he understands the situation we are in.     I'm actually surprised, but I could say that I've felt the same way for a long time. Longer than he imagines, but I kept it to myself.     I take Jake's hand and he looks at me, smiling. Only five days, but... It feels like an eternity. I don't want to be apart from him... Ever. I may sound strange, but I want to be able to be with him always. If he allows me.

    My father sighs and taps his fingers on the table. His gaze still doesn't seem entirely convinced.

   “Very nice words, Miller, but knowing who you are, I'll be keeping a close eye on you and if you hurt my daughter, I'll arrest you without a second thought.”

   "I have no plans to harm your daughter," he squeezes my hand affectionately, interlacing our fingers. "You have my word that I will always take care of her."

    I blink, even more surprised than before. Isn't this going faster than it already was?     It's then that I see Jake realize what he said and get nervous, his cheeks also turn red.

   “I mean… As a boyfriend, of course, I am not asking for your daughter's hand, sir.”

   “And would it be so bad if you did? Would it be bad to marry her?” Dad's question makes him open and close his mouth several times.

    Now I'm the one squeezing his hand, to calm him down.

   "It's not that, dad," I answered, trying to save the situation, "we're just dating, and we don't even think about those things with how little time we have."

   "Well, from the way he spoke, he seemed very sure," my mother lets out a small laugh, looking at both of us.

    We both looked at each other shyly, but smiled. I really wanted to know what he must be thinking.

    My parents finally leave my apartment, waiting for me on the street to give us privacy to say goodbye.     I take the covers off the couch and drop them in the laundry bin, while I hear Jake washing the coffee cups. I told him it wasn't necessary, but he insisted. Sometimes I think he’s not real. How can he be so attentive?

    By the time we're done, I've already grabbed my jacket and bag and he's put his jacket on as well, leading us to the door.

   “Jake, I'm sorry about what happened with my father,” I apologize while playing with the keys in my hands, trying to calm myself down, "well, because of him and what happened, I really didn't want this to happen—"

   “Macie, calm down,” he takes my hands, trying to calm me down. He looks me in the eyes and smiles. “At least, since I met you, I am not getting bored,” He caresses the back of my hands with his thumbs. Little by little I relax, “with you every day is always something new and that is what I like about having met you.”

    I sigh and stand on my toes, pulling him towards me. Our lips meet and he places his hands on my back, holding me close to him. I wrap my arms around his neck, still smiling.     I get a text and we laugh, knowing it must be my dad waiting for me.

   "Today was like being in a romantic comedy movie," he laughs, amused.

   "Something we never expect to happen again," I wipe his lips with my thumb, I have painted them with my lipstick.

    He grabs my wrist and kisses my thumb. Should I really go? I'd spend the whole weekend with him.

    I hand Lian's bag to a neighbor and together with Jake, we walk away holding hands.     I notice how he caresses me carefully, I like this type of contact, feeling his skin this way, so delicate.     My parents' car is waiting right at the exit and I look at Jake with an apologetic look on my face. 

   "Try to behave yourself, don't let my father find out what you've done and arrest you," I joked as I fixed his jacket.

   "You know I behave well, I would never do anything that would get me into trouble," he fixes my hair, placing it behind my ears.

    And he does something that surprises me, as I had said, the only contact we have in public is holding hands so as not to make anyone uncomfortable, so his little kiss on my lips leaves me speechless.

   "And this?" I whisper, with a malicious smile. "You didn't do it to make my father angry, did you?" I glance furtively at the car.

   “Actually, it is because I have been thinking about how much I am going to miss you.”

    I laugh and gently brush his bangs aside lovingly.

   “Exaggerated… We can see each other tomorrow.”

   “I do not exaggerate when I like something, Macie Connors.”

   <<Yes, I'm going to tell them off for coming to my house and separating me from this amazing man for a day.>>

    But I may be exaggerating a bit, given that even though my parents live in the same city as me, because of my studies, I hardly see them and I see my friends more —and now, my boyfriend— than them.

   "Well, show me tomorrow, Jake Miller," I tap him on the nose, causing him to sigh.

    I walk away from him and wave goodbye, still smiling. He does the same and stays there watching us drive away, watching how he slowly disappears from my sight.

   "That boy seems to love you a lot," my mother comments, while I continue to look like a lovesick fool.

   "Yes, it seems so," I answer with a sigh.

    I try to think positively and that our future will be perfect. I would be afraid of losing him after having found him.

    Because what I feel is too strong. And I hope he feels the same way.

[guupie]

Welcome to my masterlist…

Minors do not interact, most of my stories are abt Jungkook and they are 18+ and up…

“Shit go down while i hit it from behind.”

Fill Your Void | JJK

After a long day at your yoga classes you feel drained, but no need to worry, as always, Your beloved boyfriend, Jeon Jungkook is here to the rescue.

Genre: Dating au, boyfriend!Jk x Fem! Reader, smut, fluff.

Word count: 2.1k

Status: Completed…

————

“Lies, tell me lies.”

Sweet Lies | JJK

Living a peaceful life without being in a relationship was something you was sure of. That is, until your ex shows up at your door almost at the ass crack of dawn. But it doesn’t matter to you, no matter how much you try. You can’t stop running back to him, you love him, he’s your ex boyfriend after all, right?

Genre: toxic, toxic relationship, ex boyfriend! Jk x fem! Reader, smut, manipulative.

Word count: 2.8k

Status: completed…

————

“The shape of your body is blue.”

Cruel Summer | JJK

This is it, the summer you’ve been waiting for, a time of your life with family and friends. And a long-time crush you could only dream of being with, Jeon Jungkook.

Genre: Summer au, romance, fluff, smut, slice of life, teen drama, college boy x high school girl, childhood friends to lovers.

Word count: 3.1k

Status: ongoing, part two coming soon…

————

“Boom clap, the sound of my heart.”

Our Lucky Stars | JJK

Fate seems to bring you and jungkook together, but it only brings tragedy when your cancer worsens, resulting the worst case scenario.

Genre: fluff, smut, drama, college au, sad romance.

Word count: 9.7k

Status: coming soon…

————

“It’s our paradise, and it’s our war zone.”

Continuum | JJK

A socially awkward college student interviews the world’s most successful and handsome CEO named Jeon Jungkook, what could possibly go wrong?

Genre: smut, CEO! Jk x fem! Reader, erotic romance, agnst, thriller.

Word count: 16.7k

Status: coming soon…

————

“We smoke trees in the back of the tour bus.”

Seoul Drift | JJK

One night, you go on a midnight walk to ease your mind but you stumble across a street race, and a dangerous criminal who’s wanted for murder, Jeon Jungkook. But you being blinded by the neon lights and the drifting cars, you fall right into the palm of his hands. Better hope you can free yourself before it’s to late.

Genre: Thriller, Racer! Jk x fem! Reader, smut, drama.

Word count: 10k

Status: Coming soon…

————

“You look at me different, so I let you see my body.”

Gamers In Love | JJK

In which you move into an apartment next door to your new neighbor, everything turns out fine. That is until you find yourself knocking on his door a 12 pm at night since he’s disturbing your sleep, lucky for you, your neighbor knows what could put you right back to sleep.

Genre: Gamer boy! Jk x Gamer Girl! Fem Reader, smut.

Word count: 4k

Status: coming soon…

[jeonnyrabbit]

AO3 Bangtan Rec List

I decided to put together a list of Bangtan fics I admire. I don't have many, maybe a list up into the twenties, but I hope that you other avid readers will enjoy these works as much as I do. Warning: I'm a big angst fan so PLEASE READ THE TAGS!

Please note that most -- if not all -- of these recommendations are for adult viewing (18+) only!

This list contains jikook, vmin, yoonkook, vminkook, and jihope recs.

JIKOOK / KOOKMIN

first star i see tonight by nimy | explicit, 40k, mentions an eating disorder

a touch of sin (orphaned) | explicit, 102k, shaman jm

in the darkness, your light by Mother of Pearl | mature, 25k, pandemic

the apparition of these faces in the crowd by cartographic | explicit, 28k, face blindness (one of my all-time fav works)

boys just wanna have fun (that's all they really want) by 93779 | mature, 26k

Like Everything Glows by annie_vi | explicit, 180k, merman jm

I Will Follow You Into the Dark by Brewit | explicit, 31k, demon jk

throwing rocks in frozen rivers by busan_brat | explicit, 37k

Damnatio Aeterna by Charmander | explicit, 91k, fwb a/b/o

dare me to by paliampelo | teen, 21k, roommates

Pay the Devil by @ginny-tea | explicit, 28k, rocky relationship

Jingle Hell by carameLIZed_suga | explicit, 30k, chaos at every corner

Park Jimin's Guide to Good Housekeeping by ashlyn17 | explicit, 235k, fae jimin and jungkook, the ending will shock you....

Oh, My Stars! by ashlyn17 | explicit, 181k, space au w/ a hint of magic, jungkook is seven feet tall...

you got that something by paliampelo | teen, 23k, long distance friends turned close. just melts you from the inside out.

the venom in your veins by anoria_bard | explicit, 165k, fantasy, politics and curses and ancient gods!

The Cabinet Maker by rkiveink | explicit, 26k, 1960s South Korea, just a warm story all around.

Request by rkiveink | explicit, 63k, late 1700s, jimin is sick and jungkook is a bit of an oddball witch, surprisingly endearing.

VMIN

we promised the world we'd tame it by nonheather | explicit, 11k, very sad will ruin your life fr

it's time to let go of this endless summer afternoon by afterthedisco | mature, 9k, warning: suicide attempt

just to get a taste by vastlyunknown | explicit, 24k, friends to lovers

my favorite color is you by summerandmazes13 | explicit, 18k, alcoholic jm

something cosmic by mistilteinn | teen, 20k, soulmate au

fly, little bird by mindales | explicit, 40k, hanahaki but with feathers

you get me hot (I'm overheating) by lioslaith | mature, 44k, android th

this pain feels different (it's hard to compute) by lioslaith | mature, 46k, part II of the fic above!

ignite the stars by tendershipping @breathplayed | mature, 122k, star wars au

Lonely Hearts Club by 1995soulmates @1995soulmts | explicit, 76k, i love u cie...

one of my other favorite fics was 'what's on the menu (me & u)' but it looks as if that author has taken it down :( oh well, I'll remember it forever.

YOONKOOK

So Predictable by caildekook | mature, 99k, jk can see the future

the entire lost in the town steeped in twilight series by suisei_honeymoon | various ratings spanning from general to explicit, 35k, supernatural and Korean cultural elements

like real people do by 777335 | teen, 22k, this one is so ㅠㅠ, modern magic

Cuffed by chahans | mature, 44k, idiots to lovers

Fool Me Once by bazooka | teen, 24k, PLEASE read this at least once in your life, stolen blind dates, this is one of the best fics ever written

those nights (when you crave someone to be there at dawn) by bellamees | explicit, 38k, vampire jk

i'm learning how to... by pomegranitemilk @pomegranitemilk | general audiences, 10k, based on greek mythology

and like flowers in his hands, death blooms by bellamees | mature, 6k, get ready to cry

all this longing (that's what the water gave us) by bellamees | teen, 14k, merman jk

and way down we go, down 'til you fall by bellamees | explicit, 17k, serial killer au

honestly, I highly recommend all of bellamees works!

the 9:03AM series by xiajin | ranges from mature to explicit, 46k, bad boy yoongi, murder

JIHOPE

Although this section is only one fic long, I highly recommend Young & Blue by syubology | teen, 5k, a fic so simple yet beautiful that it inspired me to start writing myself.

VMINKOOK

again, this section only has one fic but it kind of ruined my whole life (in a good way). A bit of a darker read but enjoyable for those who dare to dip their toes in.

folie à trois by tendershipping @breathplayed | 78k, hypnotism, circus, detective jungkook on the case! mysterious, dark, feels a little bit like suffocating.

That's it for now! I read tons of other fics but here are the few that really stuck out to me!