#day 7 free au

[kaszymanny]

Stuff I posted on twitter

[starfall-spirit]

Read on Ao3 // Fic Masterlist // SJM Omegaverse Masterlist // Dark Feysand Masterlist

@acotar-omegaverse-week Day 7: Free Day

Summary: If there was one thing Rhys was well aware of, it was that his life expectancy as a kingpin was a short one. Unless he wanted his uncle seizing power the moment he bled out, he was in need of an heir. An Alpha heir at that.

The only way he could guarantee such a thing was by breeding an omega, a designation nearly extinct in the world they lived in. Regardless, he would acquire one—no matter how unconventional his means may be.

OR;

The Mafia Omega Auction Fic

CW: Dark!Rhys, mafia AU, very much in the “omegas are property” type of omegaverse here. Non-con in future chapters.

Chapter I

Rhysand

She was a hell cat.

Despite the impression he’d been given upon making his bid, Rhys was delighted to see it.

He hadn’t quite expected to see that fire in her after she’d look so despondent on the stage, eyes on the ground, so dissociated from the world around her that he was willing to bet she was clueless as to how high her bid had run.

It was a drop in the bucket for Rhys, true, but a pretty penny all the same.

And she was worth every bit of it.

He had only attended tonight because he’d caught word of an omega being presented at the auction. Considering her designation had all but died out, it had been a packed house this evening, alphas from all over attending an event they’d have no interest in if there were only the usual betas on that stage.

And they’d tried their hardest to win her, showing their deep pockets with every volley to raise the price. Rhys’ pockets had been deeper. And now she was his. Wild or demure, he was glad for it.“Hello, Feyre darling.”

“Leave me alone. I want nothing to do with you.”

The auctioneer sneered behind her. “Show some respect when you speak to your alpha, girl.” She flinched when the man pushed her to her knees, but didn’t make a sound—wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Good girl.

Rhys didn’t let that bit of praise roll off his tongue, instead bringing his focus back to the beta holding her. A strong one, but a beta all the same. “The payment has been made. I suggest you get your hands off of my property before I decide to break them myself.”

“O-of course, Mr. Sterling,” he stuttered, scrambling away from the girl.

Feyre’s jaw ticked, but she was smart enough to keep quiet about what he’d deemed her. At least in present company. Sighing, Rhys crouched down in front of her, running one finger under the single strap of the gauzy dress she wore. It resembled tissue paper more than true fabric and something revolted in him at the thought the male standing before them had handled her in this state.

He ground his teeth, stripping his jacket and draping it over her too-bony shoulders. Where had they found the girl, for her to be all skin and bones? He’d remedy that. Feed her, then train her to his liking. A few months under a firm hand would do her good. “Know that if I find a single mark on her tonight, the price will come out of your skin.”

“I understand, sir. That won’t be necessary.”

Done with all of it, Rhys helped his prize to her feet before hooking an arm behind her knees and lifting her in a bridal hold. “Put me down!” she shrieked. “I’m a grown woman! I can walk on my own two feet!”

“Outdoors without shoes? I think not, darling girl. Unless that extremely generous auctioneer offered you a pair in your time here that I don’t know about?” She huffed, dead weight in his arms. He frowned. And still light as a feather. “I thought not.”

His driver was stepping out of the car the moment Rhys reached the bottom of the drive, trying his hardest not to laugh as his new pet did her best to turn away from his neck. He didn’t imagine she was content, being drawn to the scent of an alpha who had purchased her. He didn’t intend on giving her the space to avoid that instinct either. Whether they had to do things the easy way or the hard way, Feyre would learn to respect and trust him as her alpha.

~~~~~

Feyre

He was in her head. She didn’t know how, but he had to be, smirking every time she even thought to see if the door was truly child-locked, as he claimed. Not that she’d be fast enough to escape, regardless. “Feyre darling.” She frowned at the bottle of water he cracked open. “Drink something. I don’t imagine you’ve had much to eat or drink today. I don’t have any food with me, but dinner will be prepared by the time we board.”

“Board?”

“I spend most of my time overseas, Feyre. Anything in the States is a… special pursuit.”

“Like an omega?” She fisted her hands in her lap, trying to ignore the air conditioning that chilled her bare legs. “You’re as greedy as any man I’ve met here.”

He hummed, a dismissal if she’d ever heard one. “Here,” Rhys continued as the car slowed. Turning to look out the window, she could make out the silhouette of a jet plane against the pitch black night.

“Get out on this side, darling.”

Not like she had a choice, given her own door was meant to keep her locked in. His lips quirked up when she stayed in place. “I think we’ve established it’s no hardship for me to drag you out, pet, but you should know that if that’s necessary you’ll be spending part of the evening over my knee.”

Feyre blanched, pulling the jacket close around her to ward off the early autumn chill. Her full body shutter was only partly to do with the cold when his scent once again wafted up to her nose. Lifting her in his arms to spare her feet from the asphalt once again, he brought his mouth down to her ear. “Come on, little one. We’ll get you settled with a blanket in a moment.”

“I don’t want anything from you.” Kindness always had a price. Especially from people like him—too damn rich to know a hardship, always searching for the next leg up.

He chuckled setting her down in one of the oversized plane seats, too comfortable for her to be anywhere near. “In that case, I’d like my jacket back.”

She shook off the pang of sadness that struck her as she let the fabric fall from her shoulders. Stupid, to be attached to something belonging to a man she hated. But it had soothed something in her all the same. Rhys took it back without a word, draping it over the chair adjacent to hers and walking towards the back of the plane.

Say something, she thought. Make me rage until it’s all I feel.

But curled up in that chair in nothing but scraps of silk all Feyre wanted to do was cry.

~~~~~

Rhysand

Feyre was asleep by the time he returned from the cockpit. He couldn’t say he was surprised. She had likely gone from a rough night to an early morning. And an auction was its own sort of hellscape when you were seen as nothing more than an object to pass off. That’s not to say he felt guilty for verbally claiming her as his property. It was their new reality. The sooner she accepted it, the sooner she would find contentment. Rhys doubted his little omega would follow his every command, but he also had several favored methods of putting a brat in her place.

She would be a good pet, or he would make her one.

Sighing when he saw her shiver, Rhys grabbed a blanket from the next room, draping it over her slender shoulders and pulling the end down to cover her bare feet.

Remaining asleep, she curled up tighter. “Oh, my pet. Whatever hurt you’ve known, you’ll be better off now. Just let me show you.”

~~~~~

Taglist: @littlest-w01f // @whatishowedyouinthedark // @ninthcircleofprythian // @sajirah // @acourtofladydeath // @lulling-night-sky // @edgyellie // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @darling-archeron // @goddess-aelin // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @elentiya-whitethorn // @acotar-fanns // @jealousveronya // @acourtofwips // @reverie-tales // @gwynkyrie // @corcracrow // @thelovelymadone // @rosanna-writer // @toporecall //@popjunkie42-blog

[thecrimsonknight]

[moliathh]

Inspired by this LOVELY fic that everyone should check out: THIS

[akito-shinonome-daily]

🎤 day 169 🎵

➥ today’s akito is a card redraw by me of akito’s “well-known big shot” 1☆!

➥ i apologize…for creating this….

➥ when i realised a My Art Monday™ would be coinciding with day 169, i figured i would do a redraw as a nod back to day 69. i’m going to be real with you guys. i know at least one of you is a drawfee fan and will understand when i say that i had this one in me. it has an Energy that i’m not entirely sure the origin of. but it sure happened.

➥ including the sketch on this one cause I think that’s truly where the Energy was

[macolethings]

Witch’s Chimney

Lexa is living a quiet life in the woods away from her past. Clarke and Madi are seeking a new life on the other side of the mountains. Truths will be revealed, lessons learned, and hearts captured, as the Darkness haunting Lexa returns.

Collaboration with @mozz14 - Now on AO3

[noceurkoi]

you made this song who i am

Fleurmione Week 2023

Day 7: Free Day

Battle of the Bands AU

(Inspired by LOONA's 2022 season's greetings photoshoot. Title taken from the lyrics of ‘Rock with you’ by SEVENTEEN.)

[rgbyshipper101]

Happy Palletshipping Week!

Day 7: AU Free Day

AU is instead of being rivals and at each other’s throats, they’re still best friends and are crushing on each other.

This is a redraw of this:

[artistocrazy]

@hetalia-aushun-week

Day 7 - Free Day

She is literally wearing a sheer dress - how else is he supposed to react to that?

[officialrhysandweek]

A Long Night by Anonymous

Acotar AU where Rhysand's sister survived. Anonymously submitted to @officialrhysandweek on AO3 for Rhysand week day 7

CWs: mild gore, violence, angst

Read Here

[talktomeinclexa]

Days of Crisis

By: Talktomeinclexa

Rating: Mature

Warnings: None

Status: Complete (11/11)

Summary: Sheriff Lexa Woods’s life is turned upside down when a hurricane hits her small Californian town, bringing in its midst Clarke Griffin, a beautiful geologist as smart as she’s brave. But when Clarke returns a few months later to study Polis’s geographical situation and assess the risks in case more natural disasters occur, neither can deny the attraction anymore. Will they manage to open up before a series of catastrophes puts their lives at risk?

***

Chapter 11: A New Start

Clarke checked her reflection in the car’s rearview mirror and adjusted the rebellious lock that refused to stay behind her ear. Would Lexa be partial to her new haircut? The shoulder-length bob had sounded like a good idea at the time, but maybe she shouldn’t have been so impulsive. Her makeup was too obvious. Lexa had seen her without any during most of their time together. Although feminine when the occasion called for it, she was more of a practical girl. Would she find this version of Clarke strange? It was rather new for Clarke herself, and…

“You look as beautiful as you did five minutes ago, honey,” her mother chimed in. “Lexa would have to be blind not to appreciate the sight.”

Abby stared at her daughter with fond amusement as she waited for her to get over her silly panic, perhaps slightly twitchy herself. It was unfamiliar territory for them both. Clarke had never introduced any significant other to her parents, her brief encounters over the years not worth mentioning. And there they were, parked at the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport, awaiting Clarke’s girlfriend and her two children after a three-week separation.

The morning following the rescue had been overwhelming in many ways. More journalists had heard about their daring escape and requested interviews, and the authorities didn’t know what to do with thousands of people suddenly left with nothing. They set up camps in gymnasiums to host them until a better solution could be found, but it quickly became clear that they hoped the survivors’ families would step in and welcome them. As for those who couldn’t rely on the family, like Anya and Lexa, well…

Keep reading on Ao3

[commanderlexaofthegrounders]

𝕀𝕥'𝕤 𝕒 ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘

@clexmas23 Day 7 Free Day

Sometimes life has a very strange way of bringing two people together. For Lexa Woods and Clarke Griffin, this holiday season is going to be one they won't easily forget. When their worlds collide, they will find themselves wondering if this was a play from destiny or just a Christmas thing.

Read on AO3

Happy holidays and a Happy New Year!

[queercodedvillains]

Wake up babes, new chapter of mallrats just dropped <3

Mallrats (23114 words) by QueerCodedVillains Chapters: 3/9 Fandom: Naruto, Naruto (Anime & Manga) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Deidara/Sasori (Naruto), background kakuzu/hidan Characters: Sasori (Naruto), Deidara (Naruto), Hidan (Naruto), Kakuzu (Naruto) Additional Tags: SasoDei Week 2023 (Naruto), 90'S, Akatsuki - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Claire's AU, Mafia AU, If You Squint - Freeform, we are taking liberties translating the akatsuki into a modern setting here, Drug Use, Drug Dealing, Blood and Violence, POV Alternating, Bottom Deidara (Naruto), Top Sasori, BDSM, Impact Play, Praise Kink, Edging, Orgasm Control, Overstimulation, Sasori is still a puppet master but only in the loosest terms, if you catch my drift, Shibari, Suspension, Fucking Machines, Porn With Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Bratting, brat taming, Dom/sub Series: Part 1 of Mallrats Cinematic Universe Summary: In which the Akatsuki are 90's mallrats by day, crime syndicate by night. All the best criminals have a day job to launder their rent money, but the real fun only starts once they're off the clock.

[thecrimsonknight]

"You realize of course that we could never be just friends."

"Why not?"

Clexaweek23: Day 7 - Free day- When Harry met Sally AU

(This was supposed to be for Clexmas but ran out of time so here it is for Clexaweek23.)

[linksthoughtbrambles]

Nearly Free

A 3-sentence-fic collab with @bellecream for @zelinkcommunity Zelink Week 2023 day 7 prompt: free day. (Plus epilogue).

----

“Where will we go?” Zelda asked, her palm upturned, her face down, a concession to the knowledge she’d held a golden power within it once—before consequence settled, ashen, on every layer of life, palette acrid, eyes smog, her every sense a window on the world of soot-smeared volcanic glass; no one but Link had managed to reach her in that mean hovel of mind, closeted, forsaken even to herself.

She swore she saw it again—the grass paling at her feet, vining up her legs, the light of an impossibly red sky staining her skin as she shook, but Link’s palm joined hers, warm, his fingers wrapping her hand in the embrace he’d always offered her even when she couldn’t name her love for him; the vision ebbed with her heart’s flutters, her gaze shifting to the man who had endured those horrors with her—and finding the face of the boy in the catacombs with a lantern, his mouth wavering between speech and a smiled attempt to reassure.

A bolt of clarity cracked the tomb of her self-remembrance—Link had always followed her, and she’d already asked too much of him; she offered silent apology in a gentle smile, by squeezing his hand and caressing his cheek, her voice low and steady—“Where matters little, so long as we go together,” she said, that smile of his blooming into something nearly happy, nearly free, though the shadow, once cast, could never be forgotten.

-----

Epilogue below the cut.

They laid atop their combined bedrolls, the night air perfect as always in this sacred place, with no need of huddling beneath covers for warmth.

Link smiled at Zelda, at her colors washed by the moon’s glow—she could’ve been wearing the borrowed clothing from Kakariko from all those years ago; it would’ve gleamed no less silver than the threads of the finer shirt she wore now, and he could imagine away the slight shine of tonight’s leather riding pants, a detail whispering time’s passage.

Her face had changed more than anything else: those persistent hollows beneath her cheekbones—the ever-present symptoms of remembrance in her irises’ contractions: deepwater waves submerged.

Her eyes had shone as clear pools once. She’d been so different then.

So had he.

And there had never been a night quite like this.

Not quite.

Not warm, close, and comfortable.

Close—that they’d been. So close. Close while frozen, wet, seeking rest on jagged moss, on sliming masses of decaying matter, hunted, starved, exhausted, and utterly homeless except for each other, sleeping seated, shoulder-to-shoulder more often than not. They’d only shared a bedroll once, and it had been anything but comfortable—he hadn’t dared to look at her then.

He wished he’d seen her like this, then—warm—safe—relaxed—with her eyes only as haunted as when they reached Sanctuary: frightened, yes, but clear.

Link shifted his head on his bent arm beneath it, seeking that girl in the sum of Zelda’s face. The slight dip of her temple. The way her hair rose slightly from her forehead before bowing to gravity. The precise line of her nose’s bridge.

“Do you remember that night-“

“Yes,” Zelda said.

The softest puff of air left Link’s nose, tickling the tip of Zelda’s. “I didn’t tell you which.”

“You didn’t have to.” She reached up to push the one stray strand of hair on his cheek back behind his ear. “There was only one like this.”

“…Yeah,” he said, his breath suddenly deepening.

She’d been seeking his younger self, too.

[ae-neon]

The House of Mirrors

Chapter 7

The boutique on Helena Avenue was bigger than Nesta had imagined it would be. The building, like most in the silver quarter, was chic; new; metal and glass. A part of the city that shined as well as the metal from which it got its name.

While she was glad Rhysand had gotten them the invitations – certain it was the first step in the right direction to ensure Feyre’s happiness – they had come at such short notice that it would be almost impossible to find anything suitable to wear.

On the slimmest chance, Nesta had followed a link from her favourite designer to see they were partnered with a store in the city which boasted a small circle of designers all being sold under the same label: Astra Ardour.

She’d emailed the designer, banking on some favour as a long-time client and received a reply that while they themselves were out of the country, they had made a special arrangement with the store managers.

It was even more luck that on arrival Elain was somewhat familiar with the twin managers, Nuala and Cerridwen.

After some back and forth it became clear the Astra Ardour and Elain’s florist shared a large pool of clients with respect to weddings. Elain charmed them with stories of designing bouquets to match their beautiful dresses, recounting some in detail that had the women grinning.

In turn, the consultation and fittings seemed to breeze by with Nuala and Cerridwen showing off not only their fashion expertise and diverse selection but their ability to mediate between Estanna who insisted on more modest, traditional clothing and Feyre whose personality could only be captured in the bold and modern.

In the end, it was their mother forced to give in to a sleek, high waisted suit on which the pair offered to print one of Feyre’s own artworks.

Elain was matched with a fitted pink dress with a heart shaped neckline, subverted by an almost scandalous thigh slit, hemmed in soft pink ruffles that drew even more attention to the skin it showed.

Nesta opted for something simple she could buy on the spot, citing time constraints and wanting to pay the designer back for the favour.

Modest. Black. Repentant. Widow.

Her mother approved, at least; mouth less tensed once she saw Nesta wave off a white dress with daring cutouts along the side.

Nesta had noted the difference before, most recently in the way Feyre threw herself onto the couch between their parents to show off the Gala tickets and the names of the artists attending.

At that age Nesta had been well behaved, academically outstanding and ready to marry a man she did not know without question.

She did not resent Feyre. But it was difficult to not feel some envy.

Feyre had prodigious art talent that set a clear purpose early in life; a pursuit their parents encouraged, pleased when they received just as much praise for her achievements as she did.

And later, when puberty hit, Feyre had Nesta and Elain to fix what they could and cover what they could not – fearful they might shoulder the blame of not setting good enough examples.

Feyre moved through life with open heart – unafraid to express as freely and as fully as it felt.

And even now – violet eyes and an easy grin, art on the wall and the best cheesecake she had ever tasted...

Nesta caught the thought before it fully formed. She would not allow herself to envy that.

~

He had not heard from her in a week.

In truth he had no reason to, was sure she was busy preparing for the Gala if Mor’s to and fro from fittings was any indication of how much more women had to endure simply out of expectation, and he would be reunited with all three Archerons at the Gala anyways.

But he had sworn to himself he would uncover the mystery of Nesta, that it was a necessary precaution and having her go dark was not a good start.

He knew, at least, that she had not made any further contact with Amren and made no attempt to contact Azriel either.

So how had she been spending her days?

His distraction had cost him when it meant Cassian caught him off guard during their early morning sparring.

“You’re distracted,” Cassian had warned.

“I’m thinking.”

“About something more important than my fist flying into your face?” his cousin, hair up in a small bun and tribal tattoos inked across his chest, took a step back and relaxed his stance, “Whatever it is, get it out of your system somewhere else.”

From anyone else, the words might have been a jab meant to rile but Cassian knew enough about the damage humans could inflict on one another to respect it.

They were both better at fighting than they should have been, had been raised by hard men who sought to instill iron into their sons. And had been honed into weapons under the heat of their mandatory military service in Illyria.

Cassian’s steel had at least been born out of some sense of love and pride in tradition, one that grew a ferocious passion in him.

Rhysand’s had come with a crueler sense of purpose. “Hit them so they don’t get back up. Hit them so they get scared to ever question their existence below you. Hit them so that you never question it either.”

When Azriel began joining them, he sensed a similar cold brutality behind the mercenary's eyes.

Only someone as deranged as Cassian, who somehow grew more deadly with each hit, could match them in a fight.

In the ring at least.

Cassian swore as Mor won again.

They sat on the sofa, console controllers in hand, as Azriel and Rhys watched them duel from the dining table.

Mor had almost torn Rhys’ head off when she spotted the bruised swelling of his right cheek. She’d also challenged Cassian in retribution and whoever lost would be in charge of meals for the week.

“She cheats.” Cas said, shoving his controller towards Azriel who met the blonde's bloodthirsty grin with a worried frown.

“He’s just saying that because he’s the worst one here.” Mor said, picking her fighter.

“She definitely cheats.” Rhys warned in Illyrian before he turned back to his laptop and the financial report on Veritas Industries that let him know Keir couldn’t afford to play too close to the edge.

The current financial situation would slow his uncle down enough to give Rhys time to focus on pulling the strings that would secure his foothold in the inner city.

At the gala, Mor would let it slip to some chatterbox socialite that Rhys had his eye on someone there. Then at the New Year’s Starfall ball, Feyre would appear at his side with a ring on her finger.

By the beginning of Spring, they’d be married in a lavish ceremony and all the while he would have gained everything he needed to drive the Hybernians out of the city.

Everything was going according to plan…and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still missing some piece of the puzzle.