#also made me think of like. the full fallen au

[nadvs]

the power play (part one)

pairing hockeyplayer! rafe cameron x tutor! reader

rating mature 18+

summary rafe is your complete opposite. the only thing you have in common with the hockey player you tutor is that he’s also recently had his heart broken. in a last-ditch effort to make the people who hurt you regret it, you agree to pretend to date.

tags college au. fake dating. grumpy athlete/sunshine tutor. reader is bubbly, talkative, and passionate about literature. very slowburn. he falls first. alcohol use. suggestive moments, but no smut.

power play (noun)

an offensive tactic in a team sport; a deliberate attempt to manipulate someone.

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You hoped it wouldn’t feel the way it used to, but as you sit in the stands behind the home bench next to Lyla, it’s all the same.

You’re watching Beck zip across the ice with a painfully familiar sense of longing hammering into your chest. Falling for him always felt inevitable; you just didn’t expect that he wouldn’t be there to catch you.

When you and Lyla became friends in the ninth grade, you quickly grew close to her family, spending more time at their house than your own, tagging along to watch her twin brother’s hockey games.

The more you got to know Beck, the more you fell under his spell, charmed by his warmth, by every part of him that made him the most captivating person you’d ever met.

He stole your heart. Considering the way he treated you, you were sure you’d stolen his, too.

You spent most of last semester helping him with a class, even though you were in the same overwhelming throws of being a college freshman. Every study session in his dorm room drifted by with an undercurrent of certainty that he felt something, too.

It crushed you to realize that it’d all been in your head. A few weeks ago, you’d met him after his final exam, which he said he knew he nailed thanks to you.

You thought he was finally going to make the move that felt like it’d been hanging over you for years. But all he did was pull you into a side-hug and say, “You’re more of a friend to me than my own sister.”

Thinking about it still makes you cringe. You hate how weak you feel ruminating over this, trying to get over someone you were never even with.

It’s a Wednesday night two weeks into the spring semester, and you’re at the first home game you’ve been to in a while. Although you’ve always loved the loud, buzzing atmosphere of a hockey game, you’ve been staying far away from the campus arena and the man who hurt you.

You haven’t spoken to Beck. And he hasn’t reached out. What he did was an indirect rejection, his way of saying, It’s obvious that you like me and I need you to know once and for all that I don’t like you back.

Since then, every time your best friend has asked you to come to games or parties, you’ve told her you’ve been too busy, using your new position in a tutoring program as your excuse.

You prefer a distraction from Beck, and helping other students with a subject you’re passionate about has done the job.

But you can’t blow Lyla off forever, so now, you’re sitting with her in the stands among a small crowd of spectators.

The championship season begins in a month. Every seat will be full then. But you wish more people were around now. You welcome any noise to drown out your thoughts.

Everyone else cheers when Beck smashes the puck against the back of the net, securing the team’s first goal. You find it hard to join the celebration. Even though you’ve always thought of him as kind, you wonder if he could tell how much you liked him. If he consciously led you on.

For years, you’d watched him date other girls, hoping he’d finally realize you were the right one for him all along. You daydreamed far too much about him, imagining that he’d become your first boyfriend and take you on your first date and give you your first kiss.

The alarm blares to signal the end of the second period, pulling you out the haze you’ve fallen into a thousand times since that day in front of his exam room.

“You want to get some snacks?” Lyla asks.

“Sure,” you reply, doing your best impression of a girl with nothing weighing on her.

Once you walk up to the end of one of the arena’s concession stand lines, Lyla recognizes the people standing in front of you, greeting both girls with smiles and hugs.

Through introductions, you learn that Emma and Gabby are friends Lyla made at a party last semester. After some small talk as the line shuffles forward, Lyla points back to the rink.

“The seats next to us are empty if you want to sit with us,” she offers.

Emma and Gabby happily join you as you settle back in your seats soon after. You gaze ahead at the empty rink as they chat, the 3-1 score glaring above the ice in red neon numbers.

“No way the coach isn’t chewing them out right now,” Lyla says with a shake of her head.

“Why do you know on the team again?” Emma asks.

“My brother, Beck,” Lyla says. “You?”

Emma’s mouth twists into a tense smile.

“My ex,” she says, her voice lowering. “I wish he didn’t play, because I actually really love coming to these games.”

“Bad breakup?” you surmise.

“Brutal,” Gabby chimes in. You can tell by her expression that she’d supported her friend through the fallout.

“I just don’t want him to see me here and think it means something,” Emma sighs. “If he thinks that I want to get back together, it’ll be a disaster. We broke up a month ago and he’s still bothering me.”

You hardly know this girl, and you know her ex even less, but your reflex is to feel bad for him. You’re well acquainted with the pain that comes with caring about somebody who doesn’t want you.

“Oh, yeah,” Lyla remembers. “Rafe, right?”

Emma nods.

“Yikes.”

“Yeah,” Emma laughs.

The three girls share a knowing look, something unsaid passing through them.

You don’t know much about Rafe. On the rink, he’s a strong, aggressive defenseman, a sophomore who spends more time in the penalty box than any other player. You’ve seen him at a couple of parties, too, but never exchanged any words.

You don't understand the girls’ tense reactions to the mention of his name.

“What am I missing?” you half-whisper.

“You’d be missing nothing if you actually came to the parties I invite you to,” Lyla teases.

You can count on one hand how many parties you’ve been to since you started college. But it works for you. A party every few weeks is enough.

“I come when I can,” you reply, nudging her playfully. “Fill me in.”

“He’s a trainwreck,” Emma explains to you. “He has a million red flags that I ignored because I thought he was hot. Literally all we ever did was fight.”

“Yeah,” Lyla huffs, raising her brows. She looks at you. “Maybe it’s actually a good thing you don’t come to every party.”

You consider their words. They must have had a penchant for making a scene, shamelessly arguing in front of a crowd.

“I couldn’t take how mean and moody he was anymore. I dumped him and he won’t let it go.” Emma breathes a laugh. “It’s pathetic. He even called me crying the other night.”

Again, a confusing pang of sympathy for him hits you. It has to be your own heartbreak influencing you. You can’t imagine you’d normally feel bad for a guy described as having a million red flags.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“I’m over it,” Emma says carelessly.

“He’s not,” Gabby murmurs.

The players storm out on the rink again moments later, blades slicing the ice. They’re all so fast and powerful, and knowing that Rafe, the most forceful one of the group, is going through a version of the pain you are is oddly comforting.

A couple of minutes in, he gets thrown into the penalty box for charging an opponent. He skates to the opposite side of the rink, Cameron stitched across the black polyester of his jersey.

He stares at the floor as he waits out his penalty, tense, still. You think that if someone who looks so big and strong can hurt just like you, maybe you’re not as weak as you think.

════════

Rafe swings open the library entrance door with a scowl, irritated as hell that he has to be here. It’s annoying that the athletic department gives this much of a shit about players’ grades. Rafe knows he’s one of the best on the hockey team. He wishes that were enough.

Freshman year was fine, but he barely made it through last semester. He just failed his first assignment in a half-term literature course that was supposed to be an easy A.

Coach wasn’t pleased, saying it could screw up his GPA and deem him ineligible to play. Rafe tried to convince him that he’d do better on the next one, but Coach set him up with a tutor, unwilling to hear him out.

He’s already hardwired into a constant state of anger. Life has always been a storm, and now more than ever, there's no refuge in sight.

He's dealing with a coach who has no hope in him, on top of a painful breakup, on top of a shitty loss last night, on top of the fact that now he’s being forced to talk to a stranger about some boring book.

He can’t catch a break.

He looks at the email on his phone again. Study Room 205. He eventually finds the open door and taps his knuckles on it to get your attention.

You lock eyes with the person you’ve been waiting on for the last ten minutes. You had no idea who was coming up to meet you – just that the athletic department set it up.

But you know him. Or of him, at least.

A second ago, you were thinking about how you’ll have to ask whoever you’re meeting to be on time for future sessions. Now, your mind is consumed by the harsh words you heard about him last night.

“Hi,” you say politely. “Are you here for Lit Arts?”

He nods tersely in confirmation, stepping in. He drops his bag onto one of the empty chairs surrounding the square desk in the middle of the small room. You introduce yourself and when he sits down diagonally opposite to you, he murmurs, “Rafe.”

Discomfort swirls in your stomach. You’d heard something so personal about him at the rink, gazed at him in the penalty box from a distance, feeling like he’s a kindred spirit, and now you have to pretend like none of it happened.

“You’re on the hockey team, right?” you ask.

He realizes he’s seen you before. He can’t figure out where.

“Yeah.”

“I was at the game last night. Tough loss.”

Rafe doesn’t say anything. The clock ticks rhythmically. You clear your throat, figuring it’s best to skip the small talk.

“I took this class last semester. I know exactly how the prof grades, so you’re lucky to have me in your corner.”

Rafe is many things right now. Lucky isn’t one of them.

“Do you have your laptop?” you ask.

He unzips his bag and pulls out his computer.

“You can go to the course portal,” you tell him. He lets out an exhale as he navigates to the webpage. You lean closer to make sure that the class is currently on the book you brought with you.

You pull out your copy of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, page edges littered with different colored sticky tabs.

“Did you get a chance to start the book?” you ask.

He shakes his head. He’s not hiding that he really doesn’t want to be here. Nonetheless, you’re determined to crack him.

“Do you have a copy of it?”

“No.”

You nod slowly, picking up that he planned to coast through the class, not even bothering to buy and read any of the books.

“Do you like reading?” you ask.

“Nah,” he says with a grimace, as if he’s offended you’d assume that.

“You might like some of the books on the syllabus. This class is a lot of fun.”

“Fun,” he echoes with a stare that makes him look like he wants to bolt out of the door he just came through.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you reply with a smile. “Your idea of fun is skating around and getting slammed into walls. I should be the one judging you.”

He gazes at you like you’re from another planet, blue eyes hard on you. It’s nothing short of amusing.

You pull his laptop closer, hovering the cursor over the ‘My Grades’ tab, and ask, “Do you mind if I check how you did on your last assignment?”

“I bombed it,” he says.

As you gaze at the screen, Rafe clues in on where he’s seen you before. With one of the team’s freshmen.

Varsity athletes who live on campus are lumped together in the same dormitory block, and he’s seen you hanging around with Beck, going in and out of his room.

He wouldn’t consider Beck a friend. He’s a teammate and at best, an acquaintance. The guy’s a kiss-ass to Coach, and does everything by the book, skipping most parties and never drinking.

It makes complete sense that a rule-follower like Beck would date a good girl like you. Who the fuck calls a class fun?

You click to see his failing grade percentage for the first assignment of the semester in bolded red.

“Did you get any feedback on where you went wrong?” you ask. You know he’s going to shake his head before he does it. He doesn’t seem to care at all. “You have a whole semester to get your grade up. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not,” he replies stiffly.

“Well… maybe you should worry a little bit,” you say lightheartedly. “I know your coach is serious about grades.”

Rafe figures you must have heard that from your boyfriend. Maybe Beck took this class, too. It’s popular among busy student athletes because it’s supposed to be an easy way to fulfill a humanities credit.

He could just convince Beck to give him copies of his assignments. He’d have to change stuff around, but at least he’d get out of tutoring.

“Did you help Beck with this class?” he asks.

You’re taken aback by the sudden reminder of him, brows knitting together, a shift in your breezy demeanor.

“You’re his girl, right?” he says, as if it’s obvious.

“No. We’re– we’re friends.” You chew on your bottom lip. Tutoring is supposed to be a distraction from Beck, not the topic of conversation. But your curiosity burns in you and there’s no chance of putting it out. “Did he talk about me or something?”

“No,” he says, a bit too harshly for your liking. “I just figured ‘cause you’re with him all the time.”

“Right,” you say. All the time. Like a lost puppy, no doubt. Embarrassment pricks at your skin. “I helped him with another class. We’re friends.”

Rafe cracks his first smirk since he walked into this stuffy little room. You said friends twice, both times with uncertainty.

“You sure?” he chides.

“What?” you say stiffly. “Yes. I am.”

You crack open the book.

“So, A Portrait is about a man named Stephen who navigates the idea of identity,” you say quickly, trying to shake off your nerves. “We should look at the discussion question.”

You shut the book abruptly, then turn your attention to the laptop.

“You need to write a 1,500-word reflection for each book,” you ramble. “You’ll do better if you find a personal connection to the text. Maybe we start there.”

Rafe watches the nervous way your eyes dart around the screen as you scroll. His joke threw you into a tense, awkward panic that he has no interest in being around.

“You can relax,” he says. “I don’t care if you like him.”

You don’t look at him. You thought you were relaxed.

“Well, I don’t.”

You scroll to the question, one word in particular striking you.

What role does Emma play in Stephen’s growth and how he defines himself?

Of course. As if you needed another reason for this to be even more awkward.

Seeing Rafe’s ex’s name makes what she’d told you about him echo through your head again. Despite his teasing, the sympathy you felt for him comes back tenfold.

You know things about him that you shouldn’t. You feel a responsibility to balance the scales, but the air is too tense, the unfamiliarity too uncomfortable.

“Did you take a look at the question?” you ask.

He shakes his head, still slouched back. At this point, his apathy is starting to get to you.

“Listen, I can tell you don’t want to be here, but could you please try to meet me in the middle?” you say.

Rafe’s lips pull into a firm line, but he relents and leans closer to look at the screen. His body goes cold when he sees her name. He’d rather not be reminded of the girl who broke his heart right now.

“Emma is Stephen’s love interest,” you begin, trying to act like you don’t know a thing about his past relationship. “He sees her as something she’s not.”

You leaf through the book, finding a note you’d written in the margin.

“She represents idealization,” you read. You look up at him again. “Stephen sees by the end that she’s just a normal person, not this perfect girl he thought she was for so many years.”

You open a blank document on his laptop.

“We can write up some notes to start us off,” you say. “This prof grades high when you relate to the text. He likes the sentimental stuff, so until you read the book, that’s what we’ll have to work on.”

You chew on your lip again, unsure if you should bring up what you heard in the stands. It feels unethical either way.

“It doesn’t have to be a person,” you say. “It could be a place or an experience. Have you ever thought something was great and then realized it wasn’t?”

Rafe’s stomach is in a knot. The thought of being tutored and having his hand held through a class was bad enough. Now he has to get into his feelings with you?

“I don’t know,” he says.

You look at the blinking cursor, your head cocked in thought.

“Maybe relating it to a person would be easier, then?” you ask.

Nothing can make this easier. Rafe rakes his hair back, gazing down at your hands stalled over his keyboard.

“I get that this is awkward,” you say. “But it doesn’t have to be anything super personal. You could even make something up if you want.”

He only purses his lips, eyes fixed on your hands, as if he hopes you’ll give in and just do his work for him.

You take a deep breath and interlace your fingers on the desk. You figure that if you’re a little vulnerable, he might be, too.

He’s unknowingly feeling the same pain you are and saying the truth out loud to someone who gets it might even be a relief. There’s a risk of it getting back to Beck, but something tells you Rafe’s not much of a gossiper anyway.

“To be honest, yes, I like Beck. I thought he felt the same, but he doesn’t. Between you and me, sometimes I think he took me for granted and led me on. I idealized a friendship and it ended up hurting me. If this were my assignment, I’d relate to the book with that.”

Rafe is thrown off by your sudden honesty. It’s actually refreshing, considering all the bullshit he’s been dealing with lately.

He looks at you wordlessly.

“It’s just an example,” you say with a soft chuckle. “I did well in this class because I found pieces of myself in every book. All you need to do is read the material, find something you can relate to, write a decent report, and you’ll get a good grade. Well, that and prepare for the midterm and the final.”

“This class was supposed to be easy,” he finally says under his breath.

“Can you let me know when you’re going to be done complaining?” you ask playfully, looking up at the clock. “It’s been five minutes and you’re still going.”

Rafe huffs an almost-laugh. He adjusts his posture again, pulling at the collar of his hoodie.

“You really don’t have to be specific,” you reassure him. You tap your fingers over the keyboard again, just light enough to not press any buttons. “If you can relate the character of Emma to someone, you don’t have to say their name.”

Your eyes stay glued to the screen, your shoulders stiff as you wait. You’re acting weird again. The way you said Emma’s name looked like it pained you.

And it dawns on him.

“Should’ve known she’d talk shit,” he realizes. “What’d she tell you?”

“What?” you say, meeting his gaze.

“What did Emma say about me?” Rafe drawls, his deep voice reverberating through you.

Your lips part, but words refuse to form. For a guy that doesn’t like to read, he’s very good at doing it to you.

Rafe leans forward and rests his elbows on the desk. You can now see what makes him so intimidating on the ice. Every edge of his face is sharp now, apathy replaced with intensity.

“Nothing,” you reply. “It’s not my business.”

How did he not clue in before? If you run in the hockey team’s social circle, of course you heard about their breakup.

Emma never cared to keep things private. And you’re so willing to share your own personal stuff because you know more about him than you’re letting on. Because you pity him.

“Come on,” he scoffs, frustrated.

“I met her at the rink last night. She just mentioned you used to date.”

He shrugs impatiently, a silent request that you keep talking. You sigh.

“She said she likes coming to games, but it’s hard to because her ex is on the team.” You grimace. There’s no way you’d actually tell him all of it, all of the insults she muttered. “It’s not worth repeating, but… basically, she told me she broke things off and you won’t move on.”

Rafe nods, lips twisting. The way she’s been ignoring his texts and his calls to try to fix things stung enough. Talking to strangers to embarrass him hurts on an entirely different level.

He didn’t know Emma could be this cruel. This is mortifying. He’s done trying to make things work with her. No matter how hard the loneliness is hitting him.

You slide the book across the desk towards him, desperate to move past the tension.

“You can start reading,” you say. “And you don’t have to buy any of the books. I’ll just lend you mine. I’ll get some notes down for you to work from and you can do the personal connection part on your own.”

You start to type and immediately wonder if he’ll drop the class. You’ve never had that happen with someone you tutored before, but you wouldn’t blame him.

It must feel crappy to hear from a girl you don’t even know that your ex is saying bad things about you. A girl that you have to see every Thursday afternoon for the next three months.

Rafe cracks open the book in the middle to fan through the pages, a weight sitting on his chest. The pages are worn, words underlined, notes scribbled in the margins.

“You put this through the washing machine or something?” he murmurs.

“I’ve read it a few times,” you say simply. You keep typing.

Emma said he’d called her crying. It’s hard to imagine the man sitting next to you crying. It’s weird knowing something about someone that they wouldn't want you to know.

Rafe’s already bored with the first sentence. It’s long and confusing and completely uninteresting. His eyes drift up, absorbing the way your face softly creases in concentration as you type.

Now that you’re not talking at a thousand words a second, he can actually take you in.

You’re the type of girl he’d approach at a party. There’s no doubt about that. But once you’d start yapping about reading like you just did, about finding pieces of yourself in a book, he’d find a way out of the conversation.

Playing hockey at the college level is demanding; he likes the other things in his life to be fun and easy. Keeping up with a girl like you and pretending he’s interested in whatever you’re rambling about would be neither.

As he studies you, he doesn’t get why Beck friendzoned you. You’re pretty. And you’re the same type of person as Beck: straight-edge and so cheerful it’s annoying.

Rafe is typically one to outright say what he’s thinking, but he has the restraint to keep the idea he just had to himself. He needs to sleep on it. He’s done some crazy shit since Emma broke his heart and he’d rather not add to the tally.

You notice him looking at you in your peripheral vision.

“You’re not thinking of dropping the class, are you?” you ask.

“No,” he says. His eyes stay on you for another beat, then find the words on the page again.

════════

You thought Rafe came to your first session in a bad mood. Compared to how you feel right now, he was peachy.

Lyla called you on your way to the library and mentioned in passing that her brother asked about you last night. She said Beck seemed like he missed you, all sympathetic when he asked, is she doing okay?

She’s oblivious to the real reason he brought it up. And it’s irritating. Because he doesn’t even ask you himself. Because he’s right. He knows that his passive rejection left a wound.

“You’re on time,” you say in surprise when Rafe saunters into the study room.

“You talk a lot,” he mumbles. “I’m not interested in a lecture after you told me not to be late.”

Despite your bad mood, you crack an amused smile. You’d ended last week’s session telling him that tardiness was not only disrespectful to you, but to his own academic success. He rolled his eyes, but he clearly listened.

Rafe settles in the same chair as last time, holding your copy of the book he was supposed to read.

“Did you read it?”

“Mostly.”

“What’d you think?” you say with hope.

“Boring.”

“Fair,” you say. You gesture for his laptop. “Let’s see how far you got on the report.”

Your brows drop in disappointment when you see how much he added to the file. It’s a bunch of pasted summaries and disorganized thoughts, taking up only half the page.

You eventually reach the end of your hour-long session and have him read over the assignment one last time before submitting it. You check the syllabus to confirm what the next book is, then shut his computer.

“Try to have more for us to work with next time,” you tell him. “And you should have the next book totally read by then, too, okay?”

You hand him your copy of Pride and Prejudice and push your seat back, ignoring his frustrated sigh.

“You talk to Beck lately?” he asks after a beat.

“What?” you say, face screwing up. You’re reminded all over again of what Lyla said. “No. Why?”

“You’re still pissed at him,” he says. He’s confident, coming to the conclusion himself instead of waiting for you to admit it.

“Why are you talking about this? We had a perfectly nice hour together,” you try to joke.

Rafe finally gives a voice to what’s been swirling in his mind since last week. He’s used to being mad, to feeling spiteful, but the way his ex broke his heart has never made him want revenge more. He wants to hurt her as badly as she hurt him. He wants to make her regret leaving him.

“We should get back at them,” he says.

“I’m sorry?” you say, your chin dipping as you stare at him.

“Hear me out,” he tells you. “We’re going to keep seeing Beck and Emma around, right? We could make it look like we’re better off without them. Make them jealous.”

You squint, waiting for the details. Rafe draws in a sharp inhale.

“She said I’m not over her, right? And you said he took you for granted. If they think we moved on, I bet at least one of ‘em will realize they fucked up.”

You consider it. Admittedly, making Beck think you’re perfectly fine – no, thriving – after his rejection is enticing.

“Okay, how do we get back at them exactly?” you ask.

Rafe scratches the back of his neck. It’s the first time he seems kind of nervous to you.

“We pretend we’re together,” he says.

“You and…” You look over your shoulder, because he must be talking to somebody else who snuck into the room at some point. “You and me? Together together?”

“I know. It wouldn’t ever happen.”

You can’t even be offended. He’s right. He’s a skilled hockey player and undeniably good-looking, but that’s where the compliments end.

Two afternoons of working together and making small talk have shown you that you have nothing in common. And frankly, while you do laugh off his bad attitude, it gets on your nerves.

A relationship would never work, let alone even begin.

“But they don’t know that,” he continues. “All they’ll see is that someone they lost is happy without them.”

Your mind starts racing. The years of pining over Beck, the pain of his rejection, the frustration over him asking his sister how you’re holding up. They’ve all left cracks in your heart.

The more Rafe thinks about rubbing his happiness into Emma’s face, even if it’s bullshit, the more he hopes you’ll be on board. But you’re not saying a word.

“If you’re not in, fine,” he sighs, pushing his chair back to start to leave. He should have figured you’d be too uptight to do it. “I’m just saying I bet you wouldn’t hate making Beck sweat.”

He stands up, but you hear yourself say, “Wait.”

Then you hold out your hand.

Rafe breathes an amused chuckle, flashing the first sincere smile you’ve seen on his face, when he realizes what you’re doing.

Your hand slips into his, touching for the first time to seal the deal and shake on it.

“This is insane,” you say. “Count me in.”

next >

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[keferon]

Something I came up with for mecha pilot Jazz Au:

____________________

The battlefield was in chaos, mechs and the invaders could be seen everywhere, yet Prowl's focus was else were.

Jazz, the strangest mech he ever seen, was fighting with all his might against one of the invaders while he had way too many lost parts to even be doing half of whatever that stupidity was.

Yet, there he was, fighting like that didn't matter, like it didn't hurt.

Like he could survive whatever came his way.

"Is that all you've got you fucker!"

Prowl did not know what that least part meant, like he didn't know many other things that the mech would say, by he knew it should be an insult.

But now there was no time to keep staring, he had his own fight to think of.

-------

"Fuck!"

Prowl had just finished his own enemy when he heard that.

It was Jazz's voice, and using a not so comforting tone

He immediately turned, knowing full well that when Jazz screamed like that, it meant trouble.

But nothing prepared Prowl for what he saw.

One of the invaders had stabbed him in the chest, a deep wound that was obviously fatal.

He watched in horror as the lights on Jazz's bisor started to go out as the invader pulled back its weapon and left.

Prowl ran, arriving in time to catch him before Jazz hit the ground.

"Jazz!" He called out as the lights became weaker and weaker.

He got no response other then the low buzz he sometimes heard the mech do when going to recharge before the lights died.

But Prowl knew, Jazz wasn't recharging.

Jazz was not there with them anymore.

He felt his spark skip a beat as he stared at his fallen friend, the one with no concept of personal space or when to or not to flirt with someone, and the one to seemed to always have something to say.

That same Jazz was now silent in front of him, still and cold.

Prowl was sad by the loss.

But he was also enraged.

Enraged by Jazz's recklessness, by the invaders presence, by his inability to do something to save his friend.

That brought a surge of rage to him.

He wanted to fight and bring down the ones that liked Jazz, and he was about to.

But something made him stop.

A quiet and nearly impossible to hear voice.

A voice that came from Jazz's body.

He looked at his friend as his chest suddenly started to open and a something that he never seen appeared sitting where his spark should be.

A small creature, with an armor way too similar with Jazz's design to be a coincidence, its side had a nasty cut that was leaking a strange red liquid.

Its face painted with obvious pain, yet it was still showing a smile that Prowl might not know, but that seemed right as it spoke with the same, yet too small for confort, voice he thought he would never hear again.

"Hey Prowler, could you give me a hand here?"

OH I LOVE IT SO MUCH HELPP YOU MAKE ME WANNA WRITE

[creating--memories]

╭─────────────.★..─╮

Doubling Back to You: A Pazzi Series

╰─..★.─────────────╯

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Wc: 2.5k

Themes: au, troubled ex-WNBA!p, basketball coach!a

Authors note: hi loves. This is my first attempt at an au fic and I actually had a lot of fun writing it. I think it made me excited to write again. If y’all like it plz lmk and I love feedback so feel free to send. thanks for reading 💞 also should I make a tag list?

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

5:30 am. Azzi was used to early mornings, but for some reason today, the sound of her alarm felt like a sharp knife splitting through her eardrums. She sighed as she fumbled around with her phone alarm frantically smacking the screen hoping to hit snooze. She groaned as she pushed her brushed linen comforter off of her and sat up in bed. Stewie, who had been sleeping peacefully beside her stirred lightly in the spot he nested in her bed.

“Why did I choose this profession, Stewie?” She pondered as she patted the small dog's head.

Her work at the university wasn’t exactly riveting, but it was stable. Something grounding in her life that often felt meaningless. Which is why she took up coaching basketball at Central High. The kids weren’t the nation’s top recruits, but damn they sure had heart. Azzi began coaching a few years ago, she had heard about the job from a family friend who worked at the school. Her resume was chock full of basketball accolades from her high school and college career, 20 years of her life neatly wrapped up into a one-page laminated piece of paper. She had told the recruiter about her desire to inspire local youth in their basketball dreams and to give back to her community, which was true, but was also a cover-up for her desperate grasp on the one constant in her life that had been slowly slipping away from her.

The job was supposed to be temporary, just a way to make money and occupy her time post-grad. She thought maybe she would move to New York, or LA, get into sports journalism or fashion, she always had an interest in that sort of stuff. But as the years passed by, she fell into a routine and those dreams faded away into the background of the mundanity of her life. She would work mornings in the admissions office at UMD and then spend her afternoon coaching girls’ high school basketball. It wasn’t the job of her dreams, but it had purpose, and it brought consistency, something Azzi had always tethered herself to.

The brunette sauntered over to her en suite bathroom, wincing slightly as she flipped on the recess lighting. She brushed her teeth and washed her face slowly, always waking up earlier than she had to so she could take her time with her morning routine.

She threw on a cropped long sleeve and an old pair of UMD sweatpants from her college days, tossing a matching zip-up hoodie in her bag, a more school appropriate outfit for later.

She quickly brewed herself a cup of coffee in her to-go tumbler, leaving room to add ice from the machine at work. Her freezer had broken about a month ago, and she had meant to call her landlord to get it fixed, but she had fallen into a habit of making her iced coffee at work and stealing ice from the teacher’s lounge on her way out, and her broken freezer got pushed to the end of incomplete tasks on her to-do list. for time’s sake, she dismissed her broken freezer qualms, and gave a quick kiss to Stewie's head, her coffee in hand, and whisked out of the door of her apartment.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Paige sat idly in the Laguardia airport lounge, her Amy’s drive-thru veggie burger and fries barely touched on the table in front of her. She clicked the side of her phone on, checking the time.

11:31 AM

Her flight had started boarding 15 minutes ago, but she was still sitting in the lounge, thinking that maybe if she was the last person on the plane, she could put some distance between herself and the reality of what was waiting for her in Maryland.

She sighed softly as she shoved the remnants of her food back into the paper bag that laid on the table and checked her boarding pass once more before heading to her gate.

SEAT ASSIGNMENT: 27B

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me she muttered. With how quickly everything had happened since she’d gotten the call from CPS, notifying her that her cousin’s daughter had been taken from her custody and that Paige was the closest relative of age, she had booked a last-minute flight to DC, the only thing left basic economy, landing her in a middle seat. Taking care of a teenager wasn’t exactly on Paige’s list of list of New Year’s resolutions, for Christ's sake the last time she took care of a living thing was her ex’s cat, that she almost fed dog food, something (she didn’t realize was indeed lethal to cats) which she didn’t hear the end of for the rest of their relationship. Despite this, Paige couldn’t leave family, not when she was more than capable of providing (financially, at least) for her cousin’s daughter. And after all, it would probably only be a couple of weeks.

She settled into her middle seat, politely slipping between the older couple sharing her aisle. She opened up her phone to send a quick text to Charisse, the social worker handling her cousin's case: About to take off, be there by 3. And switched her phone into airplane mode.

Paige took a deep breath and started praying. Something to calm her usual flight anxiety mixed with the anticipation of her return to the DMV. Since she left the WNBA, she had made it a point to live the most predictable life she could. The uncertainty and expectations of her life in the league had hurt her in more ways than she could count, and when she left, she vowed she would never lose control of herself again. But for the first time in a long time, sitting on this plane waiting to take off, she felt the familiar feeling of fear brewing in her stomach. For the first time in a long time Paige Buecker’s didn’t know what was next.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

“Alright girls, one more set of sprints and you can get the hell out of here”

Azzi’s voice echoed through the gym, cutting through the sound of sneakers squeaking on the laminated wood, and the hip hop music blasting from her XL JBL speaker.

A corral of groans erupted from her team at her commands.

“Any more of that and I’ll add another set”

Begrudgingly her players began their laps across the gym.

Azzi wouldn’t call herself a tough love kind of coach, but she sure as hell pushed her kids. Just because they didn’t necessarily have as much funding as some of the prep schools in the area, and they weren’t being constantly scouted for AAU teams, she wanted her girls to reach their full potential, or at least as much as she could provide them.

After a while, Azzi decided she’d tortured them enough and she blew into the tin whistle between her lips and motioned for the girls to stop their running.

“Alright good work girls, now go upstairs and change, you all stink”

The players let out cheers of relief, and made their way to the locker room, each one pausing to high five Azzi as they ran up the stairs. As the last of the girls trickled out of the gym she made her way across the room to start picking up the practice jerseys her players had discarded into a pile. *Ugh you guys really do stink*, she laughed to herself as she began throwing them into the mesh bag she held. She had placed the last practice Jersey in the bag when she was startled by a low voice calling her name over the music still playing from her speaker.

“Excuse me, um, Coach. Fudd?”

Azzi turned around, coming face to face with a tall blonde woman, her hair slicked back into a low bun, a pair of black trousers and simple cross necklace shimmering and isolated against her crisp white tee.

Wait, she thought to herself.

“Holy shit, you’re Paige Bueckers” She blurted out.

Before her sudden and mysterious departure, Paige wasn’t just a great player, she was sensational. Paige was widely known both in the basketball and non-basketball world. And as someone involved in the sport, of course Azzi knew who she was. She had only played against her once, back in their AAU days, when they were still kids, but even then, she was amazed by Paige’s abilities. Azzi had followed her career all throughout UConn and then to the league, the wings, then the Valkyries, and last but not least, the liberty. She even still had a few of her #5 jerseys stored away somewhere in her closet. But just like everyone else, when Paige had mysteriously quit the WNBA and basically disappeared off of the face of the earth 3 years ago, she hadn’t heard about her whereabouts since. So now, seeing the blonde superstar standing in the dingy high school gym in the middle of her hometown, she couldn’t help but feel a little bit starstruck.

“Shit- I mean sorry, I don’t usually cuss this much. I mean, yes coach Fudd that’s me, but um you can call me Azzi, just coach Fudd to my players.” Azzi stumbled over her words, trying to do some damage control to the start of this awkward encounter.

Paige chuckled lightly. Usually, any mention of her previous career felt like a dagger in the chest, a painful reminder of one of the lowest points she had been at, as well as the disappointment of leaving the longest constant in her life behind. But something about the curly haired woman in front of her, in a UMD sweatsuit, holding a sweaty bag of yellow practice jerseys, she found endearing. It didn’t hurt that the woman standing in front of her was absolutely gorgeous, her brown eyes looking up and her and dimples peeking out of the curve of her smile.

“Nice to meet you Azzi, I’m Paige, but I guess you already knew that” she flashed a cheeky smile and extended her hand.

Azzi reached for the blonde’s extended hand and shook it nervously, hoping her hands weren’t too sweaty. She chuckled at the blonde, still ever as charming at 32 as she was at 16. She cursed herself for not putting in a little more effort into her appearance this morning.

“Um, what can I do for you Paige?”

“I just wanted to introduce myself, I’m Elena’s temporary guardian, she’s been having a tough time with all this, and basketball is one of the places she can forget about all of it you know”

Azzi had been notified about Elena’s change in guardianship, but she didn’t know the details of her situation, but she did notice that Elena had been pushing herself extra hard the past week, staying hours after practice, getting shots up, running plays by herself. Azzi never pried, just left the door of her office open while she practiced, a silent *I’m here if you need to talk*. She couldn’t fully relate to Elena’s situation, but she understood the feeling of pouring yourself into basketball when it felt like the rest of your life was falling apart.

“Yeah, she seems extra focused on basketball lately, I remember being that age, pushing yourself into basketball when life got too hard”

Paige’s face hardened for a moment, a reminder of a previous time in her life where basketball was her escape instead of her kryptonite. Even after three years of scrubbing anything basketball related from the soundtrack of her life, the reminder of her old passion opened a floodgate of memories, but imagining Azzi, as a teenager just like she was at one time, not giving a care about anything in the world but basketball, unexpectedly filled her with a sense of nostalgia.

“Yeah, I remember those days” she said quietly.

A slight awkwardness fell over the both of them, Azzi, just like the rest of the world was aware of Paige’s sudden departure from the WNBA, but didn’t know many of the details, but from their interaction it seemed like it was painful.

Paige began to turn towards the doors to leave, but before she could turn Azzi reached for her.

“Hey, any chance you would want to come watch practice tomorrow?”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she wasn’t quite sure she said them. Maybe it was because she wanted her to get the opportunity be involved in Elena’s extra curricular, or maybe she didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to hang out with her childhood idol (and crush for that matter), or maybe it was because as much as she could tell that Paige’s journey had been painful, she wouldn’t forgive herself if she didn’t at least try to show her there can still be joy in basketball.

“You know, for Elena” Azzi quickly added.

In any other circumstance, Paige would have immediately shut this down. Being involved with basketball was too painful, she swore she would never step foot on a court again, but since she already broke that promise, for Elena’s sake, and maybe her own, she finds herself saying yes.

“Yeah, I think I could make that work.”

“You know, for Elena” she adds teasingly.

Azzi’s smile immediately spread across her face. Her dimples even more prominent than they had been before. This will be good for Elena, she thought to herself. She didn’t mind the opportunity to see more of Paige either. It had been a while since anyone has gotten her all hot and bothered.

“Cool, well, see you tomorrow then.” Azzi said matter of factly.

“See you tomorrow, Azzi” responded the cheeky blonde, and turned on her heel out the door and to the parking lot.

[jinusajas]

01/16/25; 08:08pm

vi(olet) x fem.reader | modern au

notes: no joke, i’ve been having dreams of writing for vi, with @shouyuus as my hype woman 😭 so i might as well make my dreams come true.

warnings: unedited; drunk men being men; potentially ooc since i’ve never written for vi before 🙂‍↕️ vi and reader are both in their early twenties.

also, just in case if my more… intrusive thoughts win…

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

what does a girl need to do to get some peace and quiet at her favorite bar? you think to yourself while tending to your rum and coke, feeling those men’s eyes leering at you.

their hushed whispers about how fine your ass looked beneath that dress and how you needed a man like him to show you a good time made a shudder of disgust run down your spine.

your mood already ruined by the tense atmosphere, you down the rest of your drink in a few gulps, smoothing out the skirt of your dress while slamming a few bills down as payment for your lone drink. ignoring the footsteps that linger from behind you, your hands were outreached toward the door when a harsh whistle pierces through your ear.

“now hold on a minute, babygirl. what’s the rush?” the powerful scent of vodka fills your nostrils, making you nearly gag as the asshole seemed to wear the hard liquor as his signature cologne. “the night’s still young, and i’ve been eyeing your ass since the moment you walked in.”

grimy hands grip at your waist, making you face forward as your gaze burned with hatred for the bastard settled before you. his hair was slicked back with copious amounts of gel, as his chapped lips were cracked wide open in a shit-eating grin. “now, you’re not gonna leave me hanging, are you?”

red hot fury blossoms across your veins as you lift a hand, ready to slap the drunkard when the sensation of your wrist being tugged backwards makes you gasp in response. your eyes go wide, seeing what had to be the fucker’s lackey restrain you. “let go of me!”

“and why should we, princess?” with you now restrained, he leans forward while inhaling your scent, pressing the tip of his nose against your neck as you could feel the bile rising up against your throat.

“she’s not interested.” a low, feminine voice was heard speaking from just a mere few feet away from you. your eyes land on the owner of that voice, seeing an attractive woman with layered, magenta hair and clear blue eyes looking down at her glass of whiskey. you swallow thickly, wondering what she was planning as you tried to pull your arm away from the man’s grip.

“what’s this? ah, i see. maybe you were needing to get some good dick as well.” he removes himself from you, sauntering toward the strangely alluring woman while pulling up his pants, “would you like to ride this as well?”

the woman finishes her whiskey in one swift gulp-

and the next moment she was on him. before he could even lay a hand on her, she had him pinned beneath the sole of her boots. annoyance was seen in her gaze as she brought down a hard punch against his face, busting his lip open as a painful crunching sound was heard, making you wince at the sight.

“boss!”

finally, the asshole relinquished his hold on you, letting you go to help the fallen man only to receive the same type of treatment from your savior. her combat boots met with his abdomen, making him keel over in pain as she tossed him aside and into one of the tables, making him crash unceremoniously into it.

“goddamnit vi! you just wrecked another table!” the bartender scolds the pink haired woman (vi, her name was vi), yet she ignored him. “just put it on my tab, jake!”

ignoring the men and the bartender, vi steps closer to you, giving you a better view of her face. her layered hair fell across her face, and you saw that it had subtle hues of pink from beneath the lighting. full lips were tilted up in a smile, and you felt warmth against your skin upon realizing that she had freckles dotted across her cheeks along with a tattoo that had vi settled just below her eyelid, “you alright sweetie?”

for some reason, when she called you sweetie, it didn’t sound condescending, but rather filled with concern as she knew just how uncomfortable it was for women to be in such a position. after taking a moment to gather your thoughts, you manage to give her smile and nod, “yes, but it was all thanks to you, really.”

vi’s eyes widen momentarily before pressing herself against you, running a hand down the expanse of your legs, “what’s your name?” your breathing hitches at the sensation of her hand traveling down your thighs, yet you manage to tell her the syllables that make up your name.

she repeats it, (as if tasting it on her tongue), before leaning in to whisper in your ear, “would you like to come home with me?”

and who were you to deny such a delectable request?

{ … }

the ride back to vi’s apartment was a blur, yet you could feel the tension. she expertly weaves through the road driving her stick-shift car (looking hot as hell each time she changed gears) with you clinging to her throughout it all.

you were barely aware of how she quickly parked her car in the lot, with you tossing open the door while allowing vi to interlock her fingertips with yours. they felt calloused against yours, and you briefly wondered if she was a mechanic or engineer of some sort, your mind painting you fantasies of vi working beneath a car with grease staining at the palm of her hands.

the sound of a door unlocking breaks you out of your reveries, with vi practically pulling you inside of her apartment before slamming the door shut. she pins you against her now locked door, hands pushing up the skirt of your dress as her eyes darkened at the sight. “you have now idea how pissed i was when those assholes dared to touch you.”

she presses herself against your front, easily picking you up by the back of your thighs before hoisting you up against her. she captures your lips in a searing kiss, forcing your legs to wrap around her waist. you moan against her lips, allowing her tongue to delve inside of your awaiting mouth. you could taste the lingering whiskey along with something slightly sweeter (was it cherries?) against vi’s lips, making you crave her even more.

while vi takes you to what you assumed was her bedroom, you remained tight in a lip lock with her, letting out a soft gasp when you felt your back meet the plushness of her mattress. pulling away from the kiss first, vi looks down at you, tracing at your lips made swollen by her kisses as she smirks in response. a wave of heat was felt shooting throughout your veins as a familiar ache was settled between your legs. you swallow thickly while clamping your knees together in hopes of assuaging the ache-

and your movements did not go unnoticed by vi.

“do you want it, princess?” her once true blue eyes were eclipsed by darkness, evidence of her pure desire for you when you felt her hands slowly gripping at the straps of your dress. with a hum of her name, you slowly wrap your arms around her neck, “of course i want it… i want you, vi.”

that was all the urging vi needed to continue, with her hands swiftly removing your dress as she left you in your undergarments. admiring the pretty lace that covers your breasts and keeps your center hidden, she traces along the fabric in a reverent manner before moving her hand toward your back, “as much as i enjoy seeing you in such pretty lace, these need to come off.”

expert hands remove your bra in one swift motion, making you gasp as vi tosses it to the side. when you were only left in your panties, you felt your throat turn dry as vi crawls down your form, settling herself between your legs as she grips at the underside of your panties with her teeth, sliding it off of your body in a far too sinful manner while allowing the flimsy fabric to hang precariously on your ankle.

with you utterly bare for the powerful woman settled above you, vi admires the sight of your aching cunt for a few moments, dipping a slender finger inside of you as she collects at your honeyed arousal. “you smell so sweet for me, princess. you won’t mind if i have a little taste, right?”

you shake your head, practically begging for her lips on your slick heat as your hands automatically delve themselves into her hair. she presses her full lips against your cunt, pumping a finger in and out of your heat while using her tongue to fully taste you. despite only meeting her a mere few hours ago, she played your body like an instrument, drawing out breathy moans and sighs with each lingering touch. and when you felt her gently pinch at your swollen clit-

you let out a broken sob, back arched against the bed as you spilled yourself into vi’s awaiting mouth. she swallows everything you had to offer with a shudder, letting out a string of curses in the process, “you taste so fucking good, princess.”

with your mind in a pleasured daze, you felt the pinpricks of pleasure still coursing through you even when vi removes herself from between your legs. vi places a hand on your knee, keeping your legs spread open for her as she rummages through her drawer for something.

“hang tight for me, princess.” vi quickly sheds her tank top and shorts while tossing them to the side, stepping out of her combat boots as they fell haphazardly against the hardwood floor of her bedroom. her back was facing you, and that was when you realized the true extent of her gorgeous physique as you admired the muscles that ran down her back. you didn’t know what she was doing until she faces you once more, making your mouth water at the sight of her beautifully sculpted body with a strap-on settled between her legs.

“i’m going to treat you well tonight.” she adds the needed lubrication down the shaft of her strap-on before rejoining you on the bed. anticipation courses through your veins the moment you felt vi tracing the tip of it against your slick folds while teasing your swollen clit with it, “after tonight, i don’t think i’m letting you go anytime soon, princess.”

and when she fully sheathes her toy cock within your soaked walls, you lost all of your senses while eagerly bouncing yourself on her strap-on, not minding the thought of solely belonging to vi one bit.

end notes: i’ve been referencing a little bit of rain’s own fics in this story, and im sorry if it’s bad 😭 if this is awful and no one likes it, then i promise i won’t write for vi anymore !!

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[ivysangel]

crying and starving..need jayroy..threesome..!!! save me!!!

(the way a jayroy threesome would actually fix me like hmmm let's take a little visit to the roommates!au !! also thank u for this ask lumi my beloved. a study needs to be done on how you keep curing my writers block)

you hadn't known them as long as they had known each other, and when you initially moved in, you'd felt like an outsider, wondering if it was too late to find another set of roommates with less history between them. somehow, you ended up being the missing piece in their friendship, and so the three of you evidently found a home in one another. in the apartment you shared, the couch you'd fallen asleep on many times waiting up for them, the kitchen jason’s banned you two from after you almost set the house on fire when he was out town, the bottle of shampoo you bought for one that was now shared between three. articles of clothing that no longer had one owner, the surplus of snacks in the cabinet that never seemed to run out or even run low. it's in the stolen bites of food, the hamper that never gets too full, the tv show you know you could've finished ages ago if it hadn't been for the promise that you wouldn't watch if all three of you weren't together; and you kept your promise. even when they were gone for weeks, radio silent, leaving you with a godawful cliffhanger to think about until they returned bruised and blooded, but eager to find out which character was getting killed off next. and return they did, tired and in pain; so you waited even longer until the night they both joined you on the couch, roy taking the remote and finding where you left off while jason made some popcorn in the kitchen.

it was in the way those tv show catch ups often ended with you naked, purple marks littered across your body, legs shaking, and tears streaming down your face. people talking on the tv still playing in the background, but you could barely hear it over the lewd sounds of the two men fucking you. starting with roy in your mouth and jason in your pussy until he got his fill, or as much as he could before roy started complaining that he was being a hog, and then switching places. now you lay on the couch, back flat against the soft cushions as roy holds himself above you, palms leaving indents in the sofa while he fucks you deep, and jason's got your head turned, cheek pressed flat against the plush cushion, as he rocks his hips into your mouth back and forth; the sensations of both overwhelming you as you start to approach your third orgasm. it was always a game between them to see which one could put you over the edge first; which nipple pinch or brush against your clit made you start shedding tears and beg for a break. they'd argue about it for days after too, even going as far as to ask you who the victor was, and each time, you'd tell them it was both. the way they'd fold you like a pretzel, the feeling of them alternating between fucking and teasing you, the lockjaw you got after giving them head, their muscles underneath your fingernails as you dug into their skin, searching for something to ground you, and the tickle of their hair when they got really close to your neck. the way jason's cum was thicker and roy's load was heavier, but they both ended up inside you almost every night before you were cleaned off and showered with praise. you may not have known it a few months ago but you definitely knew it now; it would always be the both of them for you, and it would always be you for both of them.

[ahhhwomen]

The calm before the storm.

Vampire Empire

Part 7.1

Pairing: DarkVamp!Wanda Maximoff x DarkVamp!Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

A/N: Well... here it is. I changed the graphic parts, but it's still violent. This was supposed to be a hurt/comfort chapter, but it just turned into hurt, so I divided the chapter into two, this is the hurt part... and I will try my very best to make the next one a comfort... Writer block hit me like a truck with this one so please excuse bad writing...

AU Warnings: Human pets, abuse, violence, possessiveness, probably incorrect vampire lore, angst, panic attacks, hurt/comfort, kitten play (?), also this is not a Carol positive fic (I have nothing against her, but I needed a villain), death  Minors DNI 18+

Word Count: 3k

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Extreme violence, slightly explicit violence, talk of torture, scars, violence against a child

Taglist

(26 hours before the slaughter)

“Come on pretty girl, I know you can do it, keep your head above the water baby.” Gentle hands try to coax you, pushing against the back of your neck in an attempt to force your muscles into action.

It’s strange, the only other times you have been in the bath is when they were drowning you, perhaps you enjoy this more. It’s hard to tell, you can’t feel much of anything anymore.

Her grip loosens for a moment and your head lolls to the side, foamy bubbles collide with your left ear, the earlobe barely having made contact with the hot water before soft hands return with full force to catch you.

“Hmph.” A frustrated sigh gets drowned out by the insistent buzzing inside your mind. The sound consumes you from the inside, eating away any emotion that slipped past the initial reaping.

A creak slices through the still air as Natasha grits her teeth together, white bone clumsily gliding against itself, barely missing the inside of her cheek. She has been hunched over for the better part of half an hour, but she can do nothing but uncomfortably shift the pressure from one knee to the other, her hands occupied with you.

Wanda had insisted they set you into a routine. So, every night Natasha was tasked with bathing you, though you weren’t making it easy for her.

As her rolled-up sleeve dips into the water for the fourth time while she adjusts, Natasha debates yet again if she should call on Wanda for help, but as her eyes drift over your empty ones, she thinks better of it.

Guilt eats her alive as she works on finishing up your bath and tucking you in.

Three days ago (96 hours before the slaughter):

A wet washcloth is continuously dragged across your forehead as Wanda wipes the sweat away, her fingers follow the path of the moist trail as she feels your temperature and sighs in relief.

After two intense nights, your fever finally broke, but you had yet to wake up. She is just about to tuck you back in when her wife’s voice rings through the spacious room.

“How is she doing?”

Natasha leans against the doorframe while she watches her wife care for you. The wood digs into her shoulder blade, but she ignores it in favor of keeping her distance. As much as the younger redhead craved to be near you, she was cautious to interact with you when Wanda was there.

After the fever gave them quite a scare the day before, Natasha came just as close to losing her life as you. Wanda had fallen asleep with you clutched in her grip after an hour of settling your shaking frame from a nightmare. After a while, Natasha attempted to remove you from Wanda’s possession.

She was merely concerned about Wanda’s heated body irritating your flushed skin, but after almost losing an eye to a sleep-deprived redhead, she left the primal care to her other half.

Wanda hums, her fingers stroking your hair delicately as she kneels beside the plush guestroom bed. As she rakes through them, your hair strands lay clumped together, loosening them strand by strand she soothes herself.

“She needs a bath,” her fingers move from your hair to your face, gently tracing your features. When the pad of her pointer hits a sensitive spot beneath your jaw, you let out a breathy giggle in your sleep, and Wanda can’t help the lift of her lips into a pleased grin.

However, her smile is quickly wiped away as a familiar jingle of metal rattles against your throat as you shift in your slumber.

Natasha hummed her agreement, unaware of her wife’s fleeting attention.

The layers of filth that covered you had to be weeks, if not months, in the making. She was aware that you got a weekly hose down by the shelter, but depending on when Carol loaned you out, you could very easily have missed it.

“Should I get one started?”

With a huff, Wanda nods slowly. Her irritation radiates off of her as she looks you over.

Natasha tilts her head, at her wife’s strange reaction, her shirt gliding against her cheek. “Is there an issue?”

The older redhead looks down for a moment. The sheer uncomfortableness that settles within her very bones is not without reason. Her skin is cold with prickles and goosebumps. Perhaps it’s a ridiculous reaction, but the significance of what she is about to do is crucial to you, she knows that.

However, as the filth and stench of a certain blondie coats itself around the stark leather surrounding your neck, she knows it needs to be done.

She needs to remove your collar.

“Her collar. It needs to be removed.” The words are sneered, almost growled, as Wanda wills the uncertain into existence.

Natasha stiffens, her clothes which were perfectly fine a moment ago now feel disgusting against her soft skin, every stitch piecing it all together feel wrong and patchy.

A collar is a safety net in the power dynamic between a vampire and a pet. It’s always been a part of vampire tradition that the collar is a reminder of good faith. Removing the collar, without the owner’s specific request, means punishment.

If you wake up without your collar, you will never forgive them.

“I will do it.” With her head hung low, Natasha closes the distance between herself and you, crouching down beside her wife. Her knees creak as she sinks into position, her hands reaching toward you.

The sorrow that builds and sinks within her is laughable. They barley know you, and you definitely don’t know them, yet the pull between yourself and them is undeniable. In a lifetime of grief, Natasha was hoping it could symbolize a new beginning, a lifeline of sorts.

Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be.

Just as her fingers struggle against the metal clasp, smaller, softer hands glide over her own and hold them gently.

“No.” The clan leader sighs out calmly.  

Natasha furrows her brows in confusion.

“But-“

“No. I need to do this.” With a sad smile, Wanda removes her wife’s hands and holds them to her lips, “She likes you.” It was the simplified truth.

To be frank, Wanda scares you, she can tell by the way you never find peace around her, even while you are asleep. You wouldn’t trust either of them when you wake, but at the very least she could lessen the burden that will lay on her wife’s shoulders.

With her tail tucked between her legs, the younger girl nods silently and raises herself into a standing position. The loose thread beside her zipper takes over all of Natasha’s attention, she refuses to watch.

Wanda removes your collar in an almost medical procedure, leaning slightly over your tiny frame surrounded by plush pillows and warm blankets, she finds the point of no return and she places her fingers lightly against your skin as her fingers work on opening the clasp.

She knows immediately.

As soon as the back of her ring finger touches your neck.

She knows she will beat Carol Danvers until she is unrecognizable.

“Oh.”

The leather feels rough and scratchy as she clutches it in her grip while looking you over.

“So that’s why she is leased,” Wanda mumbles in a monotone voice.

That finally catches Natasha’s attention again. With a curious glance over Wanda’s shoulder, Natasha falls void of any emotion but one. Pure, unfiltered, hatred.

Back in the day, rouge vampires had a specific way of marking their property.

They called it The Noose of Misery. A name bound in irony, a mockery, as they scarcely felt sorry for this sort of thing.

It was deemed a form of entertainment.

The noose of misery; was to slit your victim’s throat repeatedly, leaving gruesome slashes through thin skin. The first slice was always the same, they would cut the vocal cords. It wasn’t precise, nor pretty, it was merely a rouge slash against vulnerable anatomy.

Due to this, they would often miss their target.

Which would prompt them to hold down their victims until they were satisfied, it wasn’t hard to tell when they succeeded as their victims would fall silent. Or a form of silence as they attempt to refrain from drowning in their own bodily fluids.

The vampires found it most entertaining when their prey ran around like headless chickens, choking and gurgling on their blood, trying their best to scream for help.

Despite the intensity of this game, their food would rarely pass away from it.

A vampire’s blood has a certain healing ability, and contrary to popular belief, drinking the blood of a vampire does not turn you into one. Only a clan leader could sire a new vamp.

So, the youngsters would often find new and innovative ways to watch their victim suffer, and only when the life seeped out of their eyes like the blood did their body, then and only then would the vampires slash their wrists and force it down their preys partially slit throats.

However, even with its healing ability, the blood of a vampire is considered poison. The pain that would sear through you after consumption has often been compared to being burned alive.

That never stopped them.

The ritual would be repeated until the owner was satisfied. Then the last round of slashes would be healed with a singular drop of blood, enough to keep them hanging on by a thread, but no more than that.

When the nasty gashes healed to raised scars, it would be proof of ownership.

In 1898, The Noose of Misery was banned across all clans.

Wanda Maximoff made sure of it.

Yet, there were always those select few that never listened.

Given the scarring, you couldn’t have been older than nine.

Nine?

Nine…

Nine.

There is an audible *click* as two sets of sharpened canines force themselves present as the two redheads look down at the horror.

There was a difference with yours; the first slash was precise and professional, cut right through the vocal cords. It was a given who ordered it to be done, but it was clear she was not the one to do it.

Or rather, she was not the one to do the first slice.

That also explained why you were a less permanent commitment to the shelter. It must have taken place during the trial.

There is a trial period when it comes to buying pets. Some test them for a week, others for a year, it all depends on the customer and how much money they are willing to pay. If they deem the pet unfit, they can return them for half price.

However, shelters and kennels alike have a strict policy against marking their brand. If the pet is marked before being sold, the responsible party is banned from buying said pet, and they have to pay a heavy compensation.

That whore must have paid half a fortune to make up for what she did to you.

Leased pets are damaged goods.

They will never be bought.

Anger crawls like ants within the older redhead.

“And so, the war begins.”

Her expression is blank as she speaks clearly. The anger within her digs in deeper until it mends with her very being. She means every word of it.

Just as the last syllable was worded out, Wanda looked down to see your scared eyes staring right back at her.

There is no telling how long you have been awake while Wanda was preoccupied with staring down at the scars, willing them to dissipate before her very eyes.

With a sigh, Wanda pats your head one last time before you cower away from her touch.

It hurt, but she knew what would happen once your only line of defense was taken away from you. The redhead stares down at the collar held firmly within her hands. She wished she was stronger, that she could return it to you and pretend as if she never knew.

But as you both glue your eyes to leather almost as old as you, the ants turn into giants, a soundly crack can be heard as the dirty material is ripped into pieces right before you.

And with it, you too fall into a disarray of pieces that will never fit back together.

That collar was all you had.

It was all you were.

Without it…

You are nothing.

Nothing but hers.

“Romanoff.” A chill runs down Natasha’s spine at the tone of her wife’s calling.

“Contact the Thor clan and inform them that they have 96 hours to give over Carol Danvers or I will kill them all.”

The command was said so bluntly Natasha could hardly believe her ears. But as she looks over to Wanda’s hunched frame, her nose snarled and her eyes a dangerous glowing red, she breaks out of her trance and excuses herself.

She can comfort you later, but there won’t be a later if she does not obey her wife.

Current time (24 hours before the slaughter):

Wanda has woken up screaming in terror many times in her lifetime. It’s not easy to live as long as she has, to see what she has seen. The same horror burdens Natasha.

So, the older redhead has lost count of the timeless times her slowly beating heart has broken at the sight of her wife crying and screaming in her sleep.

There was nothing more painful.

Or so she thought.

What she could never imagine was how it would make her feel to watch someone attempt to sob their long overdue sorrows, only for them to flail and choke against their own vocal cords silently. Nothing but weak gasps and hoars coughs, the sound itself making her wince in pity.

Breathing through her nose slowly, Wanda has to close her eyes to collect herself before turning toward her wife, who carries an expression not far from her own. With her lip peeled back and her eyes narrowed, Natasha cringes at the sound of your tiny frame fighting the bedsheets.

As her eyes glue themselves to the nanny cam, she set up on their bedside table, Wanda thinks of what limb to start with.

Carol seems awfully attached to those claws of hers…

She is quickly brought back to the present time when a loud gasp emits from the speakers, followed by a heavy thud as you fall off the king-sized bed.

Wanda is on her feet and halfway down the hallway before Natasha can get a word out.

You saw more of the ceiling that night than you did the floor.

Your hands swipe against empty air. The sounds around you are like a cold hollow inside an unexplored cave. Nothing but echoes of lies surround you as you desperately try to grasp the situation in a literal sense. Like a zombie, you growl and groan as your hands seek the source of your misery.

You can’t see her. With your neck split in half, you would have to use both hands to hold your head up.

However, it doesn’t hurt.

Not yet.

So, you fight.

You are far shorter than them, Master is almost double your height, and the other lady isn’t much shorter. If you could just get closer, your hardened hands may be able to grasp them and beg for forgiveness. You can’t really talk though…

The side of your vision darkens as the blood gushes and pools beneath your feet. You can’t see it, but you feel it, it’s like ice pouring down your body.

Streams like rivers, split and thicken into canals, as they cascade down your stomach and glide down your thighs.

Like a switch-

A sneaking wave hits you, suddenly the adrenaline is gone, and the crash is horrendous.

Your knees crash into the floor, your body following behind shortly. The weight of your own body fights against you as you attempt to push yourself upward. With your hands grasping and slipping against amber liquid, your elbows give out under the pressure, and you fall into a heap.

Cracks of a weak child’s bones bounce off the wall as you lay defeated.

Soon, your mind and body become self-aware of your soon-to-be decapitated head, and you can do nothing but gasp and flop like a fish out of water.

It’s really scary.

The small hands of a nine-year-old child claw and paw at the cold floor as two adult women watch for the fourth time that night as a young pet watches Death seek her out.

They break your jaw open, then a wrist is forced into your mouth.

You are scared.

The blood hurts.

It hurts a lot.

“Again.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

“Aga-“

*GASP*

On the other side of town (96 hours before the slaughter):

Carol learned at a very young age that vampires like Wanda Maximoff and Natasha Romanoff think they are invisible. And they were, not a single creature, human, vampire, or otherwise, ever came close to breaking them.

Weren’t you just full of surprises.

A puff of smoke surrounds the blond woman as she leans against the truck. With one leg crossed over the other, her pants rustle against each other as she swishes lightly to one side.

Men and women alike continue to shout and argue in the back as they finish loading up their gear.

Just as she flicks the cigarette to the ground and her boot crunches it against the pavement, her phone chimes.

BabyBoss:

You have 96 hours to give yourself over to the Maximoff clan or I will personally slaughter your entire hometown. Including your fucking childhood dog.

Read 2:13 am

Rolling her eyes, a chuckle builds up within her.

God, you really are full of surprises.

“You ready boss?” A gruff man in his late thirties asks her as she walks over to the back of the truck.

Throwing in her own bag she nods. “Lead the way.”

21 hours. 54 near deaths. 198 slashes. 32 scars.

Nine years old.

(This chapter really wasn't written well, I'm sorry.)

Taglist:

@thinking1bee, @tobiaslut, @esmeseasle, @skittlebum, @tia-thesimp, @maximilfsworld, @leenasayeed, @scarlethexelove, @itsalwaysskorpioszn, @observeowl, @tekanparadiae, @adelareys, @anqyuicka, @ichala, @thalia-is-not-ok, @lovelyy-moonlight, @wandamaximoff-simp, @opossumking03, @confidant-thoughts, @delivery-bird, @esouliie, @geydumbbetch, @dorabledewdroop, @mousetheorist, @herwagonempathkid, @mommysfavouritegirl, @auroraromaximoff, @roman0ffsheart, @morganna-la-faye, @kaosrsing, @marvelwomenarehot0, @lizzieswife101, @og-kxsh-420, @chibilauren, @sgm616, @cyber-juipter, @falloutboy-lover, @xxxtwilightaxelxxx, @likefirenrain, @cole2907, @rahhhha, @taliiiaasteria, @dehydratedcoffeeaddict, @viktoriaromanovaa, @julz2000, @ahintofchaos, @consti-ss, @broimjustadepressedlesbian, @rowiebear, @crispychaosmaker, @mary-20, @romanoff101, @alexawynters, @dinno-nuggets, @riddlesknot

(Does it work when I tag yall like this?)

[hivemuthur]

The Game of Teaching Body - Ch. 9.

viktorxfemale!reader explict! (we got there)

AU university, AU modern era, slow burn, frenemies to lovers, teasing, pinning, banter, eventual romance and therefore smut, Viktor is simultaneously a menace and needs a hug, TA Viktor

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6. | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.10. | Ch.11. | Ch.12.

word count: 7,2K!

tag: #the game of teaching body

summary: spoiler: In the timeline of my writing, this is the first sex scene I've ever written on my own. So, what can I say? This is an imperfect story about imperfect people, but I can assure you it has an eventual happy ending.

Cross-posted on AO3 + POV3rd Person Version

—

The absolute chaos of Christmas looming spread across the campus like an infectious frenzy. The corridors were decked with the most absurd ornaments the students could scavenge—Santa Claus figurines strung up and dangling upside down from the ceiling of the canteen, Christmas trees adorned with laboratory glassware and angel hair, and a mockery of carols blaring on repeat from the school radio. It was a bizarre fusion of science and art, a perfect encapsulation of the university’s peculiar spirit.

Every student seemed to be racing against time, scrambling to finish their projects and papers before the holidays, determined to return prepared for the looming finals. The labs and library remained open around the clock for anyone desperate enough to study or practise at odd hours.

You and Sue spent every spare moment in the lab classroom, tinkering with projects that needed to be submitted by the semester’s end. Meanwhile, Jayce and Viktor made themselves available to assist and guide anyone who might need their expertise, and the group crossed paths periodically, exchanging polite gestures and jokes to keep up the holiday spirit. Viktor had made a few attempts to talk to you after his mortifying text message, but you did your best to ignore him.

Which made your current situation, to say the least, far from ideal. Sue was rushing you to jot down all the points before she had to dash off and tend to a project for another class. The two of you huffed at each other, frustration starting to take its toll, until you sighed and said, “Sue, how about I finish this, and you go do your thing? I really don’t mind.” You offered your friend a reassuring smile.

Sue hesitated, narrowing her eyes. “Are you sick of me or something?”

“I’m never sick of you,” you said, placing your hand on Sue’s knee and giving it an affectionate squeeze. “I just think this needs a bit more work, and I can see you’re in a hurry. Honestly, I really don’t mind if you don’t.”

“Okay, I admit my mind is elsewhere. Fine,” Sue sighed in mock defeat. “I’ll do something for you in return, I promise.” She started packing up her things and leaned over to place a hand on your shoulder.

“Just get me a cookie or something,” you replied with a tired smile, gently brushing Sue’s hand away. You figured you’d probably finish the work faster on your own, and you were running out of time anyway. The lab was already emptying, darkness had fallen outside, your eyes burned from staring at the chemicals for so long, and you’d had more than enough for one day.

After Sue left, you resumed your work, determined to finish everything in one evening. The promise of rest and the satisfaction of completion fuelled you. You were so focused on jotting down your thoughts that you didn’t notice when Viktor sat beside you and leaned over your notes.

“Do you... need help?” His voice was unsure, as if he were asking about something else as well.

You hesitated. Help would certainly be welcome, but Viktor’s presence would also make it harder for you to focus. The final equation seemed to balance out the odds. You looked at him—he looked tired yet sharp. He wore the same green jumper he’d had on that night, with a crisp white shirt collar peeking out from underneath it. His scent was fresh and comforting, and his eyes, full of quiet anticipation, were fixed on you as you calculated your decision. You sighed. Yes, you needed help.

“Alright. Shoot me.”

For a split second, Viktor’s face lit up before he leaned in closer. “You’re pretty far along,” he said, his expression thoughtful, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “You can dictate, and I’ll translate it into Heimerdinger’s language?”

“That would honestly be perfect,” you admitted, letting out a huff of relief as you turned your attention back to the chaotic scrawl of notes Sue had left behind. Terrible handwriting.

The two of you worked together in near silence, the hum of the lab equipment and the faint scratching of Viktor’s pen the only sounds between you. You found yourself occasionally distracted by the way Viktor’s long fingers moved as he pointed to your results, his low voice guiding you through adjustments. You tried to stay focused, but every now and then, you’d catch yourself glancing at him, his concentration a tether pulling your attention away from your notes.

Viktor, for his part, couldn’t help but steal glances at you. The faint scent of your perfume mixed with the sterile air of the lab, and it made something in his chest feel warm, almost achingly so. He bit his lip nervously whenever he realised he’d been staring too long, forcing his attention back to writing.

It took the two of you longer than either of you had expected, but when you finally wrapped up, the lab was completely empty. You stretched your arms over your head, letting out a soft groan of relief.

“That’s it, then,” you said, your voice tired but satisfied. “Thank you, Viktor. Honestly, I’d still be drowning in that mess if you hadn’t—”

“It’s nothing,” he cut you off gently, placing the pen down and leaning back slightly. He watched as you began gathering your things, clearly ready to leave. But before you could stand, he cleared his throat, his voice softer now. “Hey.”

You paused, looking at him.

“Did you…” He hesitated, the words suddenly harder to push out. He fidgeted with the edge of his notebook. “Did you get my text message?”

Of course, you did. You’d seen his stupid, childish message. The ‘I like you,’ had screamed at you from your phone screen for two weeks now, and you’d both loved it and hated it. Who writes ‘I like you’ like a five-year-old? And not only that, who needs to down an entire bottle of whisky to muster the courage to write ‘I like you’?

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably. You hadn’t expected this. You shifted awkwardly in your chair, avoiding his gaze. “I did,” you said finally, your voice measured, careful.

Viktor’s expression remained unreadable, but his hands tightened around the notebook in front of him. “And?”

You let out a breath, your lips pressing into a thin line. “And… if I’m to rely on you saying or doing something from the heart only when you get yourself blind drunk, that wouldn’t be the best choice for your health, Viktor,” your voice was quiet, your eyes fixed on the workbench in front of you. “And I don’t want to be bad for your health.” You offered him a faint smile and looked down again. “If it was from the heart, in the first place.”

His brow furrowed slightly, but he nodded, his gaze dropping to the table. “It was.” It was. And it shamed him deeply that, indeed, he’d needed liquid courage to admit it. Only now did it strike him how awful it must have made you feel. “But I have a… rabbit heart.”

“Am I so terrifying?” you felt mockery twisting itself inside you with anger. Why were you so angry, though? You also had a rabbit heart. You often caught yourself knowing exactly what Viktor was going to say because you used the same words in your history of backing out. Was this the universe having a go at you?

“Yes, you scare the living shit out of me,” he huffed out a shaky laugh, lowering his voice. It was probably the biggest truth he’d told you in all this time.

“Well, this can’t be good for your health either, then, no?” Deflect, deflect, deflect, hide yourself behind that joke. Very well done, you.

“I—” Viktor paused, his hands gripping the edge of the table. “Look, I lied. I’m not good with any setup—casual or not. I—” He stopped himself, his eyes flicking briefly to yours before looking away again. He was torn, visibly at war with his own feelings.

You didn’t want to hear him stumble over words again. “Viktor, I get it. It’s fine. We can still be friends?” You tried to search your mind for what you’d want to hear all those times when you told someone politely the relationship wasn’t working for you.

You thought this was it—an offer of friendship. Most people got hurt or annoyed with you, and it made you feel guilty. So, you tried to say something that wouldn’t make him feel guilty. As soon as you said it, you realised that what you actually wanted was for someone not to let you retreat—but it was too late for that.

Viktor took in a shaky breath, his gaze returning to yours, but he still looked uncertain. “I can’t do that,” he said quietly, his voice thick with something you couldn’t quite place. “I can’t be just your friend.” His hands clenched into fists on the table. “I... I’ve tried to be fine with it, but I’m not. I can’t pretend.”

“But I don’t know how to be anything else,” he added after a beat, his mind flicking back to all the times he’d snuck out of someone’s bedroom or when he found himself alone in the morning, in his own cold, sweaty bed. After some time, it became a habit, a quiet indulgence that carried no consequences, and it aligned very well with his main goal: to make his life more than it was meant to be. No distractions, only his goal. Some distractions, but not too many. Only friendships, and here as well, only the stimulating ones. To keep his brain fed, so his soul could starve.

“I have worked… so hard,” he brushed his hand through his hair. “To get where I am. I was meant to fail, and I haven’t failed once. I haven’t failed a single time, aside from some tiny, insignificant stumbles that eventually lead me to answers anyway. So many times I haven’t failed that I don’t think I know how to,” his voice was quiet, as if admitting something shameful. He said it as though any slip-up could cost him everything he’s worked for.

“I… understand,” you said slowly, piecing together the crumbs of information. Viktor didn’t come from a place of love, like you did. He didn’t come from a place of opportunity. He probably had to claw his way through pompous academics who didn’t take him seriously. You understood that part. But what was your part in turning it all to dust—that eluded you. So you didn’t understand, not entirely.

“Do you?” he looked at you longingly, expectantly, and it made your heart ache. What was it that you were supposed to give him now? A promise you would never hurt him? That you would never distract him or drag his mind away from what’s important?

“Viktor, this shouldn’t be so hard, I’m not some mythical creature,” you said, trying to inject a touch of humour into your voice, but it came out thin, brittle.

Viktor’s gaze softened, but the intensity in his eyes remained. He leaned forward slightly, his voice low and steady. “No, you’re not,” he murmured, as if trying to reconcile something inside himself. “But you’re not like anyone else either.”

Your chest tightened at the words, but you quickly pushed it aside, unwilling to let yourself feel vulnerable. You folded your arms across your chest, as if protecting yourself from something you couldn’t name. “I don’t want to be a puzzle for you to solve, Viktor. I don’t want to be some challenge you feel like you need to conquer. That’s not what I’m here for.”

He hesitated, his brow furrowing as he processed your words. He wanted to argue, to convince you that it wasn’t about conquest, that it was about something deeper, but he could tell it wasn’t the right time. Not yet. “I don’t… I don’t think of you like that,” he said, his voice almost too soft, as if afraid to break the fragile moment between you. “I think of you as someone I want to understand, someone who...” He trailed off, unsure of how to finish that sentence, the words feeling too heavy in the air.

You shifted in your seat, your eyes narrowing slightly as you considered his words. There was a vulnerability in his voice, a quiet sincerity that you weren’t used to hearing. You almost wanted to reach out, to ease the tension that hung between you, but you held yourself back.

There was a long, aching pause between you before Viktor cleared his throat and leaned back, trying to break the silence. “So,” he said, the words coming out in a lighter tone, “how many do-overs do you think we can have?”

You rolled your eyes at him, a small, rueful smile tugging at your lips. “I find myself hoping that each one is the last one,” you replied dryly, though your heart wasn’t fully in the jest. “Thank you for all the help.”

Viktor smiled, a faint, almost self-deprecating chuckle escaping him. “Oh, no worries. I’ll see you at the Christmas party?” he asked, his voice a little uncertain, as if he wasn’t sure how you’d respond.

You nodded, your expression softening just slightly. “Yeah, I’ll be there,” you said, your tone neutral, but not dismissive. “Take care, Viktor.”

With that, you parted ways, the lingering tension still hanging between you, neither fully satisfied with the conversation, but both with the understanding that you were somehow still connected—however uncertain that connection was.

You found an unbearable thought gnawing at you—that in this state, the only ‘do-over’ you could count on was friendship, and Viktor couldn’t afford that. Inevitably, it would end with nothing.

***

It wasn’t exactly a party, but the pub was completely packed with people—students, assistants, and random individuals who wandered around campus, their roles in it a complete mystery. Everything was bathed in the warm glow of Christmas decorations, making the space feel even more cramped.

You sat at a small round table with Sue, some familiar faces scattered around, including Jayce and Viktor, who had joined after their TA duties. Sue was mid-sentence when you leaned back in your chair, your eyes wandering. You weren’t in the mood for all the noise tonight. The words blurred around you as you half-listened, your fingers tapping rhythmically on the edge of your glass—a quiet distraction. Viktor was talking to Jayce, his sharp voice cutting through the noise every now and then. His dry wit was always on full display, the kind that kept people around him in that odd mix of awe and wariness.

“You okay?” Sue’s voice brought you back. You blinked, nodding slowly.

“Yeah, just... tired, I guess,” you said, forcing a polite smile as you took a sip of your drink.

The room was hazy with cigarette smoke, the heat becoming unbearable. The whole scene was so unbearably sweet and cozy that it made you flinch. Your eyes kept glancing over to Viktor, who would immediately look away as soon as your gazes met. You kept thinking about what another do-over could look like and felt yourself growing more and more frustrated with the space between you, even though you were sitting so close to each other. You could feel Sue's eyes on you but couldn’t quite explain why you felt this way.

Sue raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. “Well, if you need to bail early, I totally get it.”

You hesitated, then gave a half shrug. “I think I’ll head out. Just... not feeling it, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Sue replied, offering a quick nod. “See you later?”

“Yeah.” You stood, grabbing your coat from the back of your chair. As you made your way through the maze of tables, you could hear Viktor's voice in the background—just enough to make you pause. You could feel his gaze on you, but you ignored it, focusing instead on the exit.

Viktor watched as you stood and walked away, a wave of frustration rising within him, forming itself into a long sigh. He had tried, hadn’t he? He had said things—things he never said to anyone—but now you were leaving, retreating like always. His jaw tightened, and he felt his fingers curl into fists on the table. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, not after everything. He should’ve known better, but still, your departure stung.

He couldn’t place why, but it felt like you were slipping away just as he was beginning to reach out. You were both so fucking terrible at talking, at letting yourselves feel anything real. Why did it have to be so difficult?

The cold air hit you as soon as you stepped outside, and for a moment, it felt like a relief. The street was quiet, the only sound the crunch of snow beneath your boots. You slid your headphones on and started walking toward the dorms, matching your steps to the rhythm of the song.

You awaited rest and home and being far away from here with utter impatience. Just one more evening of this. Just one more evening of thinking and biting at your own lips, glancing at your phone, and then it would only be your parents, and Hale, and the quiet evenings at Sheffield, for a week.

Against reason, Viktor followed you, his footsteps soft but steady as he stepped out of the pub moments later. His eyes caught sight of your retreating figure, and a small, amused smile played at the corner of his lips. He’d almost not been surprised—almost expected it.

He called out your name, his voice lost to the wind and muffled by the sounds of the night. But you didn’t hear him. Quickening his pace, his breath misted in the cold air. He called again, louder this time, but still, you didn’t turn.

A small part of him considered letting you go, letting you stew in your thoughts, just leaving it for after the break. But the rest of him felt pulled, like a dog on a leash in front of a vet’s door.

You were nearing the entrance to the dorms when you finally paused, taking a deep breath, and tugging your headphones off with a slight wince. The moment you heard your name, you froze, your heart skipping in your chest.

“Hey you!” Viktor’s voice was closer now, cutting through the night. When you turned, you saw him standing at the edge of the walkway, just outside the dorm. His breath came in visible puffs, his chest heaving as if he’d run after you.

“You walk... so fucking fast,” he said, still catching his breath. “I never figured you for the type to run off so bluntly. But I suppose that’s part of the fun, isn’t it?” Yes, just laugh it out. Viktor took a few steps forward, leaning heavily on his cane.

“Are you fucking drunk again?” you blinked, your mind racing. You had to admit to yourself that Viktor drunkenly following you from the bar was a coin toss you wouldn’t have bet on. Especially after your last talk. Funny.

“Are you not?” he countered, his words smoother than you expected.

“No. Go back to your pub, Viktor.” Your voice was flat now, each word carefully measured. You exhaled sharply, your shoulders sinking as if the weight of the evening had finally caught up with you. You were so tired of this.

Viktor tilted his head, his smile barely visible in the shadows as he took a step closer. “Eh, make me,” he said softly, though it wasn’t a challenge—not really.

Another step.

“I am so not in the mood for you now,” you muttered, your hands dropping limply by your sides as you turned away, dragging yourself down the corridor toward the elevators. Your voice lacked its usual bite, tinged instead with exhaustion.

“Alright, alright, I’m not drunk, just had one pint. Oh, come on,” Viktor mock-pleaded, his cane tapping lightly against the floor as he quickened his pace to catch up with you. “You won’t see me the entire holiday break.”

“And I will savour every single day of this glorious relief from your constant nagging, poking, your sweet side and your dick side, and having fun at my expense,” you snapped, jabbing the elevator button with increasing impatience, your words punctuated by each press.

You were expecting another joke, but Viktor’s hands gripped your waist firmly, twisting you around. Your breath caught as he pulled you flush against him, the heat of his body sharp against the cold you’d carried in from outside.

“Shut up,” he breathed, his voice raw and ragged as his lips found yours. The kiss was unsteady, heated, and messy, tasting faintly of sweet beer and a frustration that mirrored your own. He panted into your mouth, his lips parting just enough to nip at yours.

“Just… shut up, for once,” he murmured, crowding you against the elevator door. It slid open behind you with a soft chime, and you stumbled inside, Viktor’s cane clattering to the floor as he steadied you against the wall. He pulled your turtleneck down to lick your neck greedily over the bite mark he had left there. His hands quickly found their way under your sweater, and he gasped, bemused by your lack of underwear. “No bra?” Again. A low chuckle rumbled against your skin. “Is that your idea of a Christmas present?”

“Fuck off,” you scoffed, your voice still sharp with lingering anger. Your hands pressed against his chest in an attempt to push him away, but the lack of real force and your hands still gripping his coat tightly betrayed you.

“Are you sure?” Viktor smirked, his grip firm as he tilted your chin up, pressing a lingering, deceptively sweet kiss to your lips. “This is your floor,” he said, his voice agonizingly calm as he stepped back, gesturing toward the elevator doors sliding open.

“Or…” His tone shifted, almost teasing, as he pressed the button to close the doors and send them up to his floor instead. “You could come with me. For real, this time.”

You pulled him wordlessly toward you, offering no resistance—nothing more, nothing less. Words had failed you, but your actions were clear. It was enough. Viktor wanted to say, That’s what I thought, the words teasing the edge of his tongue, but he held them back. Instead, he captured your lips again, kissing frantically. He explored your mouth, swallowing the small sounds you made, the elevator a blur as it carried you upward.

By the time you reached his room, Viktor managed to open the door without breaking the kiss, his cane hanging hooked over his arm. You stumbled inside together, the heat between you growing unbearable, and he pressed you firmly against the door, his hands bracing your hips as his lips moved over yours with unrelenting zeal. You pulled him closer, your breath catching as you managed to rasp, “Bed?”

Viktor chuckled softly against your lips; his tone laced with teasing. “Impatient, are we?” But there was no mistaking the heat in his gaze, the way his hands tightened on your hips as he broke the kiss just long enough to guide you further into the room.

“Fuck you,” you muttered, your voice raw as your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him with you.

“Yes. Please, fuck me,” Viktor murmured, sweeping you into another fervent kiss as you stumbled toward the bed. “I’m so tired of you not fucking me.”

You scoffed into his mouth. And who is to blame for that? You sunk into the mattress, pulling Viktor with you by his belt, the cane poking your leg.

“Why are you wearing so many clothes?” he whined, his voice laced with frustration as his clumsy hands fumbled with your coat. His hasty movements betrayed him, and in the rush, his knee accidentally pressed against your arm.

“Ow!” you winced, your sharp tone softening as you glanced at his face. The irritation melted away when you saw the unabashed eagerness in his expression, the way his brow furrowed in determination despite his lack of grace. “Is this going to be painful?” you asked, your lips quirking in a faint, teasing smile, though your voice still held a trace of genuine concern.

Viktor froze, blinking down at you like a scolded child. “Only if you want it to be,” he muttered, a sheepish grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he leaned back to regroup. His fingers moved more carefully now, peeling the coat off from underneath you with exaggerated precision. “Better?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

Viktor granted you a low chuckle, his lips quirking in that familiar, lopsided smirk. “Ridiculous, perhaps, but effective,” he murmured as he continued with his careful work, peeling away the layers of your clothing like unwrapping a particularly stubborn present.

His own clothes, however, didn’t receive the same treatment. He shed them with reckless abandon, tossing each piece into an ever-growing messy pile near the bed, his leg brace a crown on top of it. His cane clattered softly to the floor as he leaned back for balance, the faintest flush spreading across his cheeks.

Once you were both were bare, he ran his palms gently along your sides and pressed his face to your hip, your belly, your neck, inhaling your skin. “God, you are so infuriating,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your body.

He glued himself to you, his hands roaming wherever they could reach, as if this were the moment he’d been waiting to happen for the longest time. And it was, of course. The decision to toss everything aside and just jump in might have been reckless, but he had no capacity to decide otherwise.

“Infuriating?” you laughed, feigning offense. “Is that the way you treat all of your conquests? Make them follow you around by the nose for months, until your resolve finally breaks after one pint?”

“No, only you,” he replied smoothly, his lips brushing against your collarbone. He added with a sly smirk, “It’s my love language with you.”

“Love?” you repeated, voice laced with teasing incredulity, but the hesitation in your tone betrayed how the word caught you off guard.

“Shut up,” Viktor muttered, his hand gliding up your side as he kissed you, silencing your laughter before you could push further. “Attraction,” he murmured against your neck, his lips pressing a lingering kiss there. “Want,” he added, his teeth grazing your breast, earning a sharp gasp from your mouth. “Admiration,” he said, coming back up to meet your eyes and give you a slow, steady kiss. He took your fingers into his mouth and watched your eyes flutter shut, your lips parting.

His voice dipped lower, teasing, and dangerous. “Anyway, is that not what we have been doing?” His hands explored the meat of your ass with a firm grip, his touch both intoxicating and commanding as he pressed himself flush against your core. He shifted against you with a kind of intimacy that had your breath hitching.

“Have you not been loving me all this time?” His words, soft and taunting, carried a heat that matched the tension thrumming between you. His hand moved down between your thighs to scoop your wetness and lick it off his fingers, as he made sure you were watching. “Ah, it seems,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear, “you’ve been loving me back all along.”

You trembled under him, your breath catching as your hands gripped his shoulders. A quiet plea escaped your lips, barely audible but filled with vulnerability. “Don’t be mean, Viktor.”

For a moment, he stilled, his expression softening as he pulled back to look at you. His golden eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, held a flicker of something warmer, deeper. “Mean?” he murmured, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek. “No. Not with you.”

The teasing edge in his voice melted away as he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your lips, slow and deliberate, as though trying to convey what words couldn’t. He was so bad at talking if you thought he was being mean. His hands cradled your face, and his next words came as a low promise against your skin. “I could never be mean to you.”

You huffed softly, a half-laugh escaping you as memories of all the times he’d actually been mean flitted through your mind. “Liar,” you muttered against his lips, though there was no venom in your tone. Instead, you kissed him back longingly, your fingers threading into his hair as your thighs wrapped around his hips, pulling him closer.

Viktor exhaled a shaky breath, his control fraying under your touch. “Perhaps,” he admitted with a faint, self-deprecating smile, his forehead resting against yours for a moment. “But you give as good as you get, don’t you?” he said playfully, reaching over to pull a condom out of his bedside drawer and put it on swiftly. Then, he grabbed a spare pillow to prop his leg. His belly was tied into a knot, teetering on the edge between pain and pleasure, as he placed one hand between where your bodies were going to meet to align himself at the entrance.

He studied your face, as if to check if there was any resistance left. But you only looked at him with wide eyes, your hands fisting the bed sheet. He swept through his body in a final calculation of what could go wrong—he wasn’t drunk, that was a good start. His leg, eh, not perfect, but he should be able to pull this off. Did he want to love you or tease you? He had forgotten which one it was. A shuddery breath escaped him when your bodies finally connected—he entered you slowly, holding back to lay on top of you.

The first thrust was so deliberate, so slow, so overwhelming that you both moaned into each other's mouths. Your brows tied themselves together, your palms stiff in hesitation over his shoulders, as the feeling of relief surged through you. A relief of finally not being empty.

The only movement Viktor allowed himself was the roll of his hips as he sunk inside you, beat after beat. His arms caged you in, one of his hands gripping your shoulder, the other cradling the base of your skull, as he kept your faces close so he could study you, watch you. He stared at you obscenely, taking in your expressions, disbelief wrenching breath out of his lungs. You really wanted him. You were holding him in a vacuous trap, making it hard to pull out and push back in.

And this wasn’t new. People wanted him, he knew that. They wanted him for this—for a fun fuck—and when they continued to want him afterward, it felt like a fluke. So he shut it down. And it made him feel powerful. No, it made him feel weak. It made his weakness powerful. It gave him the power to disappear from it, from himself, to not be present.

The fact that he was present now, attentive, was rather new for him. Not entirely—he’d had a glimpse of what it could be that night when you were high together, but he hadn’t dared breach the boundary of clothing then. This, though, was entirely different. He watched you so carefully, studying every reaction to his touch. He pushed where you gasped and retreated where you winced. Your kisses were as hungry as his, and it made him feel so full. The fuck was more than fun. It made him feel powerful in a way that didn’t make him feel weak.

He tightened his grip, his forehead resting on yours as he buried himself deep inside, thrust after thrust. His mouth open against you, breathing in every gasp, every whimper you were willing to give him. His pace was even, unwavering, as he murmured against your lips, “You’ve been giving me so much grief.”

He locked eyes with you, a hint of vulnerability in his gaze as he added, “But it really feels like you’ve been loving me back. Haven’t you?” His voice was soft, as though waiting for you to answer not just with words, but with the quiet truth in your eyes.

You slid your fingers into his hair, pulling him in for another desperate kiss, and Viktor caught a faint, barely audible ‘yes,’ offered to drown deep in his throat, traveling straight to his heart, as if you were offering him a secret you hadn’t meant to give away. The sound stirred something deep within him, and as you arched against him, your breath catching, he deepened the kiss and quickened his pace. He buried his nose in the crook of your neck, murmuring quiet praises, each word filled with reverence as you moved together toward completion.

He slid one hand to the nape of your neck, another snaked itself between your bodies, his fingers parting you as he whispered softly, “Oh, my girl.” Your eyes fluttered shut, arms wrapping around his shoulders and you muffled your own moan against his mouth, lips and noses brushing against each other. He rubbed lazy circles on your clit, a smile blooming on his face when he felt your back arching beneath him, hips pressing upward to meet his, your cunt clenching around his cock in a tight, needy hug.

He felt your thighs squeezing his hips, your walls fluttering, pulling him deeper inside you, with you. You dug your nails into his shoulders, lips parted pressed against his, foreheads pressed together mingling droplets of sweat into one.

You felt a sudden urge to say, “Thank you,” distorted by a loud moan as you came on his cock, on his fingers, your body tensing up and bending to the sound of his name falling from her lips. It took a long time, and you thought it would never stop, your climax blinding, contorting your body around him with a force to bend and crush.

Viktor’s mind got invaded by a thought of how great it felt to make a girl such as yourself lose control over her own muscles. How it had made him grow taller and bigger, his heart swollen with your grace, his lips bruised from your teeth. Slowly, he worked you through each spasm, and when you were ready, he retreated his hand to wrap both arms around you and buried his face in your neck. His breathing jagged, teeth sinking into your shoulder to not say too much at the sudden tightness around his cock.

His rhythm began to stutter, movements growing urgent by the minute as he buried himself within you up to the hilt. His breath was uneven, his muscles flexing and twisting. He felt your core hugging his cock so tight, he couldn’t hold back his own panting, as if he were a teenager all over again. He moved his face to brush against yours, whispered your name again, voice trembling, and he came with one thick, everlasting pang, whimpering weakly into your mouth.

His body melted into yours with a long, contented sigh, his arms wrapped tightly around you, stomachs and chests pressed, rising and falling together. You stayed like that in silence for a few moments, not moving, just touching, just breathing, just being.

Finally, Viktor rolled you both to the side, his leg hooked over your hip, fingers threading through your hair, and gave you an almost solemn look.

“What is this face?” you asked softly, cupping his cheek and brushing your thumb across his lip.

He sucked on it slowly, not breaking eye contact. “I never thought you would be so…” His voice trailed off for a moment, and just as you braced yourself for another joke, he finished, “wonderful.”

You managed only to whisper a quiet “Viktor—,” your grip tightening around him as the weight of this little praise crushed you. As his eyes crushed you, his warmth crushed you, as you crushed yourself with everything you wanted to say but couldn’t.

Viktor pulled back just a few inches, his gaze searching yours. “Are you going away for Christmas tomorrow?” he asked, his voice soft, almost tentative. Normal.

You nodded slowly, your fingers still tangled in his hair as you answered, “Yeah.”

“Will you stay?” Please, stay. Please don’t have me wake up alone tomorrow. A weakness crept back in.

You nodded against his neck. A quiet breath escaped Viktor’s lips as he leaned in to kiss your forehead, pulling you back against him. He sighed softly, the sound almost like a weight lifting. He didn’t speak for a few moments, just holding you as if afraid you might disappear if he let go.

Finally, you broke the silence, your voice quieter now. “I have no idea how I’m going to explain my absence to Sue though.”

Viktor’s lips curled into a playful smirk, and he raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take care of it,” he said, his voice teasing. “I’ll just tell her you got really into the holiday spirit and had to spend the night with your favourite TA.”

You chuckled softly, the tension between you easing just a little. “I’m sure she’ll believe that,” you replied, though the words felt lighter now, softer.

Viktor’s expression shifted to one of mock seriousness as he pulled you a little closer. “But tomorrow, when the morning comes,” he said, his voice lowering slightly, “I’ll have to call it in. You caught me drunk, used me for your advantage,” he paused, his eyes glinting with mischief, “and I’ll make sure everyone knows it.”

You let out a small laugh, your face flushing slightly at the absurdity of the situation. “Selling me out already, I see how this will go,” you said, teasing him back. “I’m sure you won’t mind telling them how you practically begged me to stay the night and cuddle you.”

Viktor smiled, but his eyes softened. “I won’t,” he murmured, pressing his lips to your temple again, holding you in the quiet aftermath. The moment felt almost unreal—so intimate, so fragile—and yet, there you were. He wouldn’t dare break it by asking for more. And even though Viktor’s chest was still swollen with fear, his mind drifted to sleep in your arms.

Your own mind, however, was restless. As the high of your connection faded, you woke up early, your thoughts gnawing at you. Viktor was fast asleep, his expression so peaceful that you couldn’t believe he had a bad bone in his body. Yet, you had been stabbed so many times. It wasn’t real, was it? It couldn’t be over, just like that. What if he was right, and you weren’t meant to share the awkwardness of the morning? What if he tried to shrug it off once he woke up? Would you survive if he did?

No. You wouldn’t.

Cursing yourself, you slid out of bed, put your clothes back on, and gave Viktor, who was sleeping soundly, one last glance that tore through your soul. And left.

***

The morning light crept through the gaps in the blinds, painting pale stripes across the sheets. Viktor stirred, his body heavy and warm, though there was an odd hollowness in the bed. He reached out instinctively, the fog of sleep not yet cleared, his fingers brushing against nothing but the cold fabric of the mattress. His eyes blinked open.

The room was silent.

He sat up slowly, scanning the space, the sense of emptiness clawing at him as the realisation began to take shape. You were gone.

The sheets beside him were rumpled, but the space was cold, long abandoned. For a moment, he stared at the spot you’d occupied, trying to convince himself you might still be here. Perhaps you were in the bathroom, or in his tiny kitchen searching for tea—but no sound of movement met his ears.

A chill crept through his chest, spreading outwards, a tight knot forming in his stomach. You left.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his movements clumsy, hurried, his leg straining without the brace. There had to be something—a note, a message, anything that might explain. The bedside table was empty. The dresser? Nothing. Viktor opened a drawer, then another, rifling through with increasing desperation, though he knew even as he searched how ridiculous it was. You wouldn’t leave a note in a drawer.

His gaze snapped to his phone. He lunged for it, unlocking the screen with trembling fingers. Nothing. No missed calls. No texts.

He stood there in the middle of the room, staring at the empty screen. His chest tightened, his breaths coming faster, each one shallower than the last. Of course.

What had he been thinking? That after all his fumbling, after all his glaring flaws, you would stay? That someone like you, bright and untamed, would want someone like him—a man who could barely navigate his own feelings without tripping over them?

Right. His fingers clenched around the phone, the pressure digging into his palm. How stupid. How painfully, pathetically stupid. How weak.

He sank back onto the bed, his head in his hands. The weight of the silence pressed down on him. Every echo in the room seemed to mock him. The bed felt too big now, the walls closing in too fast. His mind replayed your smile, your laugh, the warmth in your eyes last night, and it made his chest ache. How could you think you’d earned something like this?

And yet, beneath the sinking despair, anger simmered. At himself. At you. At the cruel absurdity of it all. You’d kissed him, held him, and for a brief moment, he’d thought you were standing on equal ground. But the truth was stark now, laid bare in her absence: you’d left. Or maybe that was an equal ground, after all. Now, you were truly even.

A sharp knock at the door jolted him from his spiralling thoughts. He didn’t answer immediately, hoping whoever it was would go away, but the knock came again, louder this time.

“Viktor?” Jayce’s familiar voice called from the other side. “You ready? We’ve got to leave in half an hour, mate.”

Viktor swallowed hard; his throat dry. His hands slowly dropped from his face as he stared at the door. Jayce’s voice was too cheerful, too ordinary, too far removed from the storm brewing inside him. He wanted to shout at him, to tell him to go away, but the words wouldn’t come.

“I’ll be ready,” he croaked after a pause, his voice hoarse and thin.

There was silence on the other side of the door for a moment, then the sound of Jayce’s footsteps retreating down the hall. Viktor exhaled shakily, his gaze drifting back to the rumpled sheets beside him. Forcing himself to move, he stood and began to gather his things. Each motion felt mechanical, hollow. The knot in his chest didn’t loosen, but he pushed it down, swallowing it whole. It was almost Christmas. He had to pretend. At least for a little while longer.

[emp00]

Waiting for the Stars: A Quillock Rapunzel AU Fanfiction: Chapter 1

Summary:

Peter and his Guardians protect the small town of Knowhere at all costs. When the Universal Church of Truth threatens the peace and Peter's concealed past, Peter chooses to follow their request: to bring a powerful being back to the Church.

Meanwhile, Adam believes his duty is to stay hidden from the world, never allowing his powers to be used by anyone. Adam's solitary life is disrupted when he finds a man hiding in his pantry. Of course, as any reasonable person would, Adam hits the man with his pan.

Notes:

This is a collaboration with my amazing friend, Jwiqt, and myself. Jwiqt provides the art while I provide the words. I have a lot to say, but I'll save that for after chapter notes. For now, I'll say that Jwiqt is a cracked artist, and I'm so grateful to be working with them on this AU! I want to share an animatic they made, which is essentially a Chapter 1 trailer. Please enjoy!

The AO3 link. You can also check this out if you want to see what tags are associated with this fic.

Link to Chapter 2!

Now on to the fic!

Chapter 1

His birth home was not a topic Peter allowed himself to think about too often. Encircling cool air tucked strands of dark, blond hair behind his ears, and clear skies revealed shining stars flickering like candlelight. Unfortunately, these types of nights made it hard not to think about days long gone. Peter’s mood only worsened as he spotted a woman in red waiting below, contrasting harshly with the lonely, dark streets of Knowhere. He turned around to check on Mantis; she was currently standing in the middle of his bedroom, fingers nervously tapping on her palm. In an effort to reassure her, Peter gave a thumbs-up and brought a closed-eye smile to his face. Mantis’ fidgeting did not stop. 

While the circumstances weren’t ideal, Peter trusted Mantis to lead the rescue if anything went wrong. Breathing in the slightly musty air of the town, Peter leapt off his bedroom balcony and onto the streets below, wanting to avoid the possibility of running into other members of his team/family. He kept a hand on the hilt of his sword as he approached the women. In an unspoken agreement, they began walking to the outskirts of Knowhere with Peter leading the way, careful to avoid populated areas. They passed by familiar alleyways where Peter won fights (and suffered losses that no one had to know about) and passed familiar bars with memories of passed-out Guardians and wild conversations. Good times.      

Once they entered the wooded area around Knowhere, the women turned toward Peter and broke the tense silence with a steady voice. “We are elated that you have accepted our invitation tonight, Peter Jason Quill.” The crimson woman bowed slightly, her brown hair enclosing her face like a lion’s mane. Dangerous. “It is a true honor to meet you, Your Highness.”

Peter internally winced at the use of his title and full name — a name that he had not spoken aloud in over a decade. The hand on the hilt gripped tighter. “There’s no need for the fanfare, ma’am. Call me Star-lord in public and Peter in private.” 

The woman glanced briefly at Peter’s sword. “Of course, of course,” she replied, sickly sweet, “You may call me Matriarch.” She smiled and held her hands in front of her, as if she were a teacher chiding an unruly child. 

That certainly irritated Peter a little. He did not need reminders of his school days. “Well, Matriarch, I say let’s get right to the point. What do you want?”

Matriarch brought a hand up to her mouth, looking almost askance. “How blunt, Peter. We simply seek retribution for a wrong done by your team. Surely you understand the value of secrets best left unearthed. At the moment, we both have information we would rather the other not have; therefore, I propose a mutually beneficial agreement.” 

Oh goodie, Peter thought as he crunched random fallen leaves in his path. Matriarch continued, “We want you to retrieve something for us. In return, Spartax will remain unaware of the location of their missing prince.” 

Peter frowned and fiddled with his belt. He knew that this would be their blackmail, yet he was unable to suppress the shivers that crawled up his back. How did they even find out who he was, and so quickly, too? It was only a few days ago that Gamora and he stumbled upon the Church’s city. The only conclusion he could come up with was that they already knew his business. Bastards. They were probably just waiting for their chance to use this information. Luckily, Peter’s dirty laundry wasn’t the only one exposed tonight.

“As for the Guardians, we want the Church’s manpower. There’s a lot of strife going on between Xandar and Deneb, and Knowhere is getting hit hard. Help protect the areas around here and no one has to know where your Church is really hiding. Most importantly, though, stay out of Knowhere itself. The Guardians can handle the town alone.” This was usually true, but, for the most part, Peter just wanted the Church loonies to stay out of his turf.

“We are not hiding,” Matriarch plainly replied, still smiling.

Peter wanted to roll his eyes. 

She cleared her throat. “The Church values all life, even those of the non-believers. We would be delighted to help protect these lands.” She held her hands in front of her again — this time as if in prayer — and stared at Peter with wide, unsettling eyes. “What say you to my offer?” 

Peter noted that she didn’t promise to stay out of Knowhere. “That depends, what’d ya need me to get?” 

Matriarch walked silently for a minute, red dress flowing behind her, hands still held in prayer. Peter wasn’t sure if he should patiently wait for her to finish talking to who knows what, or if he should interrupt. He chose to wait. After a minute, Matriarch began speaking again, “Do you know the legend of the infinity gems?” 

Peter thought back to his childhood, of a room filled with storybooks, candles, and warmth. His mother might have told him at one point. He played with his necklace — the sharp, top point poking into his thumb.

“They’re real,” Matriarch said, a little breathless. “They are gems of extreme power, destined to bring enlightenment to this world.” She looked up to the sky, as if the enlightenment she sought could be found in the stars. “We found one a few years ago.”

She stopped walking and so did Peter. She leaned closer. He wanted to pull away. 

Matriarch whispered, “We made a mistake. Now the gem is with an individual who refuses to work with us.” 

“Damn, I wonder why,” Peter said while doing nothing to hide even an iota of his sarcasm. The floral fragrance of Matriarch’s perfume wafted to his nose and disquieted him further. It reminded him of the older, noble ladies who would fuss over him as a child. Condescending and fake. He guessed those were the qualities you needed to smell like that. 

She ignored him. “Bring this man back to us. That is what we want.” 

Tapping his boot on the ground, Peter gave the women a slight glare. “Maybe you realize this but I’m a little sympathetic to runaways. Can’t I just retrieve the gem itself and call it a day? That’s really what you want, right?”  

“You lack understanding, Peter Quill,” Matriarch said with a sigh, “The gem is attached to the individual. If they are brought to us, we can remove it without causing harm.”

Peter had so many questions about this. “Can’t a regular, not-weird-Church doctor remove it?”

Matriarch frowned, the artificial smile finally gone. 

Peter kept tapping his boot. He really wished he had a comforting cup of coffee with him. So what if it was close to 1 AM? Sue him. “Is this guy keeping the gem really so bad?”

Matriarch brought a hand up and rubbed her temple, a small sign of exasperation. It brought Peter some satisfaction to see that she was also struggling with this conversation. “Your ignorance astounds,” Matriarch said. 

Rude, Peter thought.

“Peter Quill, if a gem with god-like power is in the hands of a man with no desire to wield or direction to follow, what do you think happens?” Matriarch asked with dripping condescension.  

“They don’t use the power at all.”

“Or they misuse the power, putting the entire world in danger. 

Peter huffed a laugh while crossing his arms. “That’s extreme, lady. Are you seriously telling me there’s a magic stone out there that can destroy the world?” 

“Or bring enlightenment. Only if the Church has it back.”

Peter seriously doubted that.

It seemed Matriarch could see the doubt on Peter’s face, because she sighed and turned away from Peter with a conclusive wave. “Sleep on it, Peter Quill. Know that the fate of the world stands over you.” She looked at Peter again with a final, sweetly fake smile. “You don’t truly have much choice anyway.”

★ ★ ★ 

They really didn’t mean to find the Church’s furtive situation. Peter and Gamora were away on a completely unrelated mission: helping merchants travel from Asterion Port to the capital of Deneb, and fighting any bandits who dared get too close. Once they were done and on the way back to Knowhere, Peter pointed out an alternative route that he thought might be a shortcut. 

“We really should have known better than to follow Peter’s ideas,” Gamora later lamented. 

What awaited them was a dilapidated city on the edge of Deneb. Destroyed homes with shattered windows; burned, limestone walls; rotten, wooden support beams; toppled over stone slates; and caved in roofs greeted the pair as they traveled farther into town. Peter remembered looking at an abandoned, ornate teacup on the table of a storefront. It still had liquid, neither moldy, nor evaporated, as if momentarily forgotten during the day. That probably should have been their first sign of something being amiss. 

Together, Peter and Gamora explored the city in search of any forgotten treasures, taking advantage of this unexpected find. A stone church stood proud and mostly intact in the center of town. Inside, Light shone through the stained-glass windows, painting the broken floor tiles and dirty pews with a kaleidoscope of shining colors. The windows especially fascinated Peter. Organized religion wasn’t this thing, but he had to admit the architecture went hard. To the left, the stained glass depicted 6 colorful gems scattered throughout the world. To the right, the stained glass depicted a young man with a green gem on his forehead. Peter found himself gravitating to this side of the church while Gamora investigated the basement. 

In one glass window, a young, blond man was nailed to a cross and many people stood around him with hands together in prayer. The green gem on his forehead shined brightly. In the next window, the man — now older — stood before his followers as they bowed before him. Hues of blues, greens, yellows, and white surrounded the man. The final window had the man cradling a globe with a rainbow halo around his head. The globe itself glowed violet and red. This series of stained glass seemed more vibrant than the other on the opposite side, as if it were newer. 

The vibrant colors reminded Peter of his first sunset while out at sea. The bright reds, oranges, and pinks had captured Peter so much that he hadn’t realized he was crying until a stranger asked him if he was okay. It was just a sunset, yet as his ship sailed toward a destination he had never heard of, he thought of it as the most beautiful view of his life. 

Before Peter could examine the rest of the church nave, Gamora came out of the basement, exclaiming that she had found something. Carefully, she led Peter to a small, hidden room in the basement. The inside looked like a small storage room with some empty shelves, but hidden underneath a tile was a trap door leading somewhere below them. Gamora immediately began descending. Peter sputtered nervously above her as he called her insane, but he ultimately followed behind.

Eventually, they reached another storage room containing bookcases and a single door out. From the other side, they could hear faint sounds of congregations: children playing, parents shushing them, adults gossiping, and merchants yelling about their wares. It unnerved both of them to hear such familiar sounds far below the dirt. Peter, with as much bravery as he could muster, slowly opened the door. When he saw what was on the other side, his jaw dropped. 

It was an entire, golden village. What had to have been thousands of lanterns filled the streets, buildings, and people in a golden glow. There were even lights hanging from the cavern ceiling (how did they do that?!). The residents of this city went about their day, as if they all weren’t who-knows-how deep below the surface. All around them, in banners, windows, ceilings, and floors, were depictions of those gems Peter saw earlier. Peter and Gamora stood in a temple-like building with large, glassless windows overlooking the area.   

“Holy shit,” Gamora said. 

They stopped and stared for a minute before they heard a loud “Hey!”. Turning toward the voice, Peter saw a figure wearing a religious cloak running toward them.

“Time to skedaddle,” Peter said before ushering Gamora up the ladder ahead of him. He threw a bookcase down in the room they were in, blocking the door.   

As fast as they could, they climbed up the ladder, ran outside the ruined city, mounted their horses, and raced off. Only when he felt the whipping of the wind around him did Peter allow himself a relieved exhale. 

“Do you think they got a good look at us?" Gamora asked after a few minutes of riding.

Peter dismissed her concern. “Nah, we were like riptides running out of there. I’m sure we’ll be fine.” 

They were not fine. 

A few days later, early in the morning, Mantis brought a letter to him addressed to Star-lord. It read: Peter Jason Quill, Your knack for getting into places you don’t belong is inspiring. Meet us outside tonight as the clock strikes 12. We have much to discuss. With grace, peace, love, and mercy, the Universal Church of Truth. 

Peter burned the letter as soon as he was done reading it. 

★ ★ ★

“Peter, you’ve come back unharmed!” Mantis said as soon as Peter climbed onto the balcony of his room. Two cowlicks at the top of her head that Peter liked to call her “antenna” bobbed happily.  

He let out a confident huff. “Of course I did. Those evangelical weirdos don’t scare me.” 

Mantis let her face fall. A more serious tone taking over. “Peter, what did they want? How did they know about… You.”

Peter hunched over and sighed. “I think this situation is something the whole team should know at this point, aside from my identity, of course. I’ll tell you the details along with them tomorrow morning. When I do, please act like it’s the first time you’re hearing about any of this.” He looked at Mantis with pleading eyes. 

Mantis hung her head slightly but quickly recovered and brought her eyes back up to meet Peter’s. “Of course!”

“You’re the best, Mantis.” Peter held out his arms — a silent question. Mantis gladly answered by walking into him, accepting the hug. “I’m sorry for keeping you up so late worrying about me.” Peter whispered in Mantis’ hair, “You should go get some sleep.” 

Mantis let go of Peter. “No need for an apology. You get some sleep as well. I imagine you have a lot to think about.” 

Peter let his shoulders sag. “Oh boy, don’t I ever.” He walked Mantis back to her room — which was just next door. “Sleep tight.” 

“And if bed bugs come, they will get squashed!” Mantis said with a pump of her fist. 

“That’s my girl!” Peter said as he waved goodbye and reentered his room. 

He closed the door, took off his boots and belt, threw his sword on the floor, and crashed into bed with a soft grunt. In no time at all, he fell asleep. Green gems and glass faces were his last thoughts as he fell unconscious. 

Gamora nearly punched his right arm off the next morning. 

“Ow! Please, Gamora, that’s my most charming arm!” Peter said while rubbing his hurt limb. 

Gamora glared unsympathetically at Peter. “It’s what you get for doing something so incredibly dangerous by yourself. You should have told us the moment you got that letter.” 

After waking up and fueling himself with some coffee, Peter called an all-hands Guardians meeting. Most of the team was already in the common room; they just had to wait for Drax to wake up. Heather, always impatient, decided to barge into Drax’s room, yelling at him to get up before she started kicking things. All that while Phyla-Vell laughed at their antics. Afterwards, they all gathered around their old, wooden kitchen table — lovingly decorated with ringed water stains and mysterious scratches — and enjoyed the morning. To Peter’s dismay, he broke the jovial atmosphere with a summary of his conversation with Matriarch. He excluded any mention of his past identity and instead told his team that the Church was threatening to take over Knowhere if they did not retrieve a man of interest. 

Phyla-Vell clenched her fists. “That’s an awful deal, Peter! We can’t let them blackmail us. I say let them come, we can take them!” 

“You’re underestimating the Church’s power, dear. It’s practically an open secret that they control much of Deneb’s government,” Heather refuted, laying a calming hand on her partner’s back. Phyla-Vell leaned in and exhaled. 

Drax chimed in with a mouth half full of eggs. “Then can’t we let Xandar know where the hideout is? We are more friendly with them, and they’ll take care of the Church all quick-like.” 

Some murmurs of agreement floated around the room. After all, Xandar had been looking for an excuse to ruffle some Denebian feathers. Xandarians paying a visit to an area the Universal Church of Truth never wanted found? Anything could happen there. 

Nevertheless, Peter made a pained face. “You guys aren’t thinking. If Deneb and Xandar go to war, guess which poor sap gets caught in the crossfire?” 

The small, independent territory in between them: Knowhere. 

Gamora sighed. “So, no going to Xandar.” 

“I still think we could take them,” Phyla-Vell pouted. 

Peter slid over to Phyla-Vell and gave her head a quick and fond shake. “Let’s avoid any unnecessary battles, Phyla. Knowhere only has us to protect it.”

In any other situation, Peter might have considered going to Xandar or even Titan to get some help taking on a hostile Church. He might have even considered an espionage mission to take down the leaders of the Church, letting the group fall apart without guidance. However, involving too many people could get his past blown wide open, and that would make this situation astronomically bigger and more dangerous for everyone. He decided they couldn’t go to anyone else — the Guardians would handle everything. 

Peter looked toward Mantis, who had stayed mostly quiet throughout the conversation. He told her to pretend she didn’t know as much as she actually did, and her apparent solution was to limit her speech altogether. 

Mantis finding out that Peter was a prince of Spartax was a full mistake. He was drunk. Really drunk. Mantis pulled the shortest straw and had to be the one to drag him back home while the others partied at Starlin’s after a successful mission. As they walked back, Mantis asked him where he got his necklace. He should have just said he forgot. No, instead he started talking about home, which got him talking about his mom, which got him talking about his dad. Unwittingly, he let a name slip out: J’son. 

Mantis nearly dropped him on the pavement. Meanwhile, Peter felt the sudden urge to throw up, so he did. He held himself up by his arm on a wall and threw up on a random corner in Knowhere. Mantis held a comforting hand on Peter’s back, and that made more remorse climb his throat. A minute later, when he was done, he was shaking and close to tears; the vomit had little to do with it. 

“Please,” Peter begged, voice hoarse and barely above a whisper, “forget you heard that.” 

Mantis, of course, did not forget that conversation, but she never brought it up again. The only indication that she remembered was whenever she would throw Peter a quick glance anytime Spartax was mentioned. Since that night, Peter avoided getting near blackout drunk. 

When he got the letter from the Universe Church of Truth, he knew he wanted someone looking out for him in case he didn’t come back. Mantis, by default, was the only option. He had learned to accept Mantis as an accidental accomplice, even growing to appreciate her role in his life now. While he still hesitated on opening up about his time as royalty, Mantis and he would have occasional nights of fragile reminiscing — their similar mindsets made conversation flow easily.

Out of anyone to know his true identity, he was glad it ended up being kind, compassionate, and kick-ass Mantis.

Peter looked to her; he was pretty sure he knew her answer but he still wanted to ask. “Any thoughts?”

Mantis thought for a few seconds before answering; her face contorted in a slight grimace. “I agree that we should avoid any fighting. If getting this man is all they request, then that seems like the easier option.” 

“Is it, though?” Gamora replied, “According to them, this is a guy that can destroy the world with a gem up his ass or whatever.” 

Drax snorted. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

“I don’t care how powerful this individual might be,” Heather said as she walked to the sink to begin washing their breakfast dishes. “If all of us work together to take him down, it should be as easy as blinking.” 

Drax emphatically nodded — Mantis following his head as it bobbed up and down, and Gamora following Mantis’ head. Phyla gave a loud “Yeah!” 

“No,” Peter put his coffee cup down. “It’s safer to treat this man being god-like as fact. And if that’s the case, then I propose that I go check him out alone. 

“What?!” The Guardians all yelled in unison. 

Peter had a few reasons for wanting to go alone. First, at the end of the day, this was his fight — even if the majority of the team didn’t know it. It was his secret possibly being revealed; therefore, it should be him doing the dirty work and getting them all out of this mess. He could already hear the Guardians’ protests at this line of thinking, but his plan also had some logic to it. He did truly believe it would be safer to treat this unknown man as god-like, as unbelievable as it sounded. In cases where all you know of your target is that they are more powerful than you, you need more information. A weakness to exploit. Emotion to manipulate. Sending people to investigate is the best practice, but you can’t let the target feel outnumbered. The situation could get dangerous. 

These are tactics Peter learned from Gamora, so it was no surprise when she recovered first. “It’s stupid, Peter. It’s so stupid.” She shook her head. “You can approach this guy alone and work whatever 'Star-lord charm' you can, but at least one of us needs to be close by. I won’t budge on that.” 

“I’ll have you know my 'Star-lord charm' has gotten me at least three free drinks at Starlin’s and countless invitations for nighttime 'activities'.” 

“Gross,” Phyla said. 

“It’s countless because it’s zero,” Gamora replied.

Peter blew raspberries in their direction before replying, “I’m fine with you guys close by. Any volunteers?”

“Drax and I will go,” Gamora said.

Drax looked wide-eyed at Gamora, as if she had just revealed that breakfast was poisoned. “Me?” 

“You can beat any bad guys we meet on the way,” Gamora reasoned. 

Drax smiled. “I’d like that.” 

“Great!” Peter exclaimed with a clap. “Us three will check out our guy while the rest stay in Knowhere and keep the peace. Any other comments?”  

The room grew silent, the conversation officially over. Some unease still lingered, so Peter “accidentally” threw a spoonful of jam at Drax’s face. That got Drax yelling and the rest of the team giggling. Peter felt his shoulders relax as he laughed with his family.

Matriarch returned that night. This time, all the Guardians were stationed at various locations near them. Peter couldn’t help the grin that grew on his face, feeling protected and loved.

“Your answer?” Matriarch asked as soon as Peter was within earshot. 

Peter crossed his arms as he approached. “I’ll get your man, but I also want to be there when you extract the gem.” Matriarch raised an eyebrow. “I don’t want you hurting this guy. That’s all.” 

A third reason why Peter wanted to meet this man alone was because this predicament felt familiar. A runway who didn’t want anything to do with his past? Peter and this guy should start a club. The possibility of this man being dangerous was high, but Peter found his empathy growing more and more throughout the day. What if this man hated the powers he was gifted? Maybe he would give up the gem easily if it wasn’t the Church that was asking for it. What if this man had no desire to hurt people? What if he just wanted to be left alone?

Peter could relate to that. When he first arrived at Asterion Port, he thought he would live the rest of his life as a loner, maybe becoming a bard. Fortunately, a pickpocket saved him from that future. Overall, Peter concluded that this man did not deserve harsh treatment until proven otherwise. In fact, this guy might be in need of a hero, and isn’t that what Star-lord was always meant to be? 

“Your presence can be arranged,” Matriarch replied, her voice low.

Peter held out his hand. “Then it looks like we have a deal.”  

★ ★ ★ 

Three days and two nights later, Drax, Gamora, and Peter were near their target. The journey took them close to the southern mountains by Xandar, the area mostly being an untouched wonderland of waterfalls, diverse flora, cute animals, and bears (which Drax would argue are still cute). The team reached the peak of a small mountain and caught their first sight of a castle, standing proud on the top of a cliff. According to Matriarch, this castle was where their target was located. From a distance, all the team could see was that the stonework castle was on the smaller side, having one keep, one round tower, two spires, and curtain walls connecting all the structures. Gamora tried to glean if the castle had any defenses, but she couldn’t see any from their distance.

They continued to hike with occasional, tired complaints from Peter about this guy being in a hard-to-reach region. Drax laughed and claimed that “the more the legs burn the happier the eyes feel”. Peter agreed the sights were pretty, but he wasn’t so sure the jelly legs and sweaty pits were worth it.  

After a bit more walking, they decided to set up a camp near a stream of water and hopefully far enough away from any residents. As they ate a late lunch, Peter and Gamora decided that they would scope out the area surrounding the castle. Peter would check the top of the cliff while Gamora would check the bottom. Drax meanwhile, antsy from the lack of encounters with enemies, went to hunt dinner. 

As Peter got closer to the castle, he noted arrow slits on the walls, the lack of a mote, and a dirt path leading to the entrance, indicating that at least one person frequently comes and goes. Peter tried to avoid thorn bushes as he let his thoughts stray to the Church. They’ve always been, frankly, creepy. But to be fair they haven't actually done anything bad (that Peter knows about). They’ve mostly been annoying, demanding to be allowed into various nations in search of something. Peter surmised he now knows what they were searching for. 

Magic gems were still mind-boggling concepts to Peter. He always loved magic and fairy tales, exhibiting excitement and wonder at the stories his mother would tell him. He used to imagine being a fairytale hero, Star-lord. Star-lord would get his magic from the sun and use his powers for the good of the universe. He’d be brave and have lots of friends and always do the right thing. He’d have magic boots that enabled him to fly, and a small, cannon-like weapon that fired light. His mother would giggle at his overactive imagination, but she never inhibited his big personality. She was the first to ask all sorts of questions about who Star-lord was, his motivation, his personality, his likes, his dislikes. She was even the one who inspired the name. 

“If you’re going to be a big shot hero, you need a cool name,” she said to Peter while he sat on her lap. 

Peter pouted and looked all around the reading room, desperate for inspiration. His blue eyes landed on the night sky outside. 

Peter’s mother followed his gaze. “Did you know stars are just suns that are really far away?”

Peter snapped his head to face hers. “No way! That can't be real!”

“It’s true,” she said while raking her fingers in Peter’s hair. “They may be small compared to the majesty of our sun, but they are just as mighty if you get close enough.” 

“So, they are all royalty, like me!”

“Yes,” his mother paused, looking toward the door of the room with solemn eyes. “like you.” 

“I got it!” Peter said with a jump, “My superhero name will be Star-lord, and the world will see that he’s just as cool as any other hero or king!”

Peter wondered if little Pete would think being the leader of a band of misfits in a grungy city, an ocean away from home, was “cool”.

The snap of a twig brought Peter’s mind back to the present. Ducking behind the nearest tree for cover, he braced his back to the trunk and quieted his breathing. He briefly thought of Gamora and wondered if she was doing better than the cowering Peter was currently engaging in. Quiet footsteps followed the loud cracks of sticks and leaves. As they grew close to Peter’s hiding spot, his fingers tensed on the hilt of his sword. The languid march of the stranger continued, and Peter’s heart raced while he became increasingly aware of the bark dragging into his back. Eventually, the footsteps retreated, likely following the desire path Peter noticed earlier. When the steps grew more distant, Peter chanced a look at his surprise visitor.

They were like a fallen sun, fires trailblazing on the Earth. So much gold assaulted his vision that, for a brief moment, Peter felt like he was back at the Spartax treasury room. When his eyes adjusted to the new abundance of color, he realized just what he was staring at — a barber’s wet dream. No way was that amount of hair possible! 

The figure slowly and wistfully strutted away from Peter, their head tilted up as if contemplating the very cosmos. A few butterflies performed a fluttering dance around their head, as if recognizing this person as one of their own. Behind them, a veil of hair cascaded down their body and overflowed into the ground below, picking up leaves and twigs, yet the locks of hair flowed easily. Upon more staring, Peter noticed how the hair was more a pale yellow than gold, the shining god rays making the strands shine with a golden hue. The stranger’s skin on the other hand was a golden tan, leaving Peter to question if that was even natural. The figure turned slightly, revealing a gleaming green gem on their forehead. 

Peter’s focus locked onto the gem. So, this was the man wanted by the Church. Peter frowned, the wonder and serenity of the moment now gone. 

Turning away from the retreating figure, Peter brought his attention to the castle ahead. If the man was out here, then the castle was open to explore. While Peter wasn’t sure if anyone else lived there, he figured his chance of winning a one-on-one fight with a not-potential-god to be pretty high. 

The rest of his team would probably call him reckless, but right now all Peter could see was opportunity. Opportunity for information, and opportunity to get the job done by himself. Determined, Peter began quietly ascending to the castle, following the dirt path all the way to the entrance. 

On the way up, he reviewed his options. Option A: break in, hope no one else is there, and gather any meaningful information. This was the safest option, but it required him to be fast since he had no idea when the man would come back home. Also, Peter wasn’t really sure what he was looking for. The man of interest and his gem were outside, and it wasn’t like the inside would have a big sign explicitly stating the man was allergic to roses or something.

Option B: break in, hide inside, and watch how the man lived. This was a way riskier play. Maybe Gamora could pull this off, but Peter wasn’t so sure of himself. Besides, when seeing the man Peter realized something; the guy is human. Yeah, he may look like some sun god walking on Earth, but in that forest, he did what any person would do: enjoy the day. 

Therefore, Peter was leaning toward option C: approach the guy. This may be the riskiest option of them all if Mr. God Man ended up being Mr. Evil God Man, but this approach will potentially get Peter closest to his goal of getting the man back to the Church, willingly or not. It wasn’t a goal Peter was particularly happy about, but for the safety of his friends, home, and himself, he had to do whatever it took. 

Besides, Peter was essentially the walking personification of charm. No matter what kind of person this man was, Peter was confident in his ability to get out mostly unscathed. 

His mind made up, Peter trekked the rest of the way to the castle by purposefully running into bushes, stepping into mud, getting dirt all over himself, and letting a branch or two rip his clothes. The intention was to look pathetic, and according to the rest of his team, Peter happened to be very good at this. 

The castle, despite the fortifications it featured, was easy to get into. The front door was unlocked — clearly because someone breaking in would be insane. With a blithe scamper, Peter went inside and stood in the middle of the foyer to take in the atmosphere. While the outside looked impressive, the inside clearly was not made to entertain guests. Don’t get him wrong, the architecture was beautiful, but the area was so big, dark, and barren that he could be convinced the entire building was abandoned. A staircase led to a tempting second floor, but Peter decided to check out the kitchen to his immediate right.

Unlike the foyer, the kitchen felt lived in. Windows adorned two walls, flooding the area with sunlight. A small breakfast nook took over a corner of the room. Some cabinet doors were wide open. Bowls, cutting boards, and cutlery were strewn about. One specific bowl harbored rising dough. Despite the misplaced items, the room was generally clean and spacious. A pantry door innocently stood at one end of the kitchen. As expected, a variety of random dry and canned food was found inside. On one shelf was a small basket of white bread loaves. 

Genius plan forming in his mind, Peter closed the pantry door behind him, grabbed a bread loaf, and waited in the dark. After around 30 minutes of twiddling his thumbs, Peter heard the opening and closing of the front door. He stayed painfully quiet as the newcomer moved around the first floor of the castle. Eventually, he heard the kitchen door open. The sounds of matches being struck, rattling of utensils, and splashes of water filled the room. Someone was beginning to cook, just as Peter hoped. 

With a deep, stabilizing breath, Peter purposely knocked over a broom in the closet. Immediately, the rustling from the kitchen stopped. Peter watched the crack under the door as a shadow grew closer and closer to the pantry. The doorknob moved slightly but did not turn all the way. 

“Rats?” a deep, harmonious voice asked. 

Alright, Quill, time to show the world your acting chops. Mama didn’t call you her bestest little actor for nothing. Breathing in, Peter answered, “Um, squeak?” Perfect. 

In a flash, the pantry door was thrown open and Peter came face to face with the man he wished to see. The light of the setting sun from the windows and the light from the lanterns around the room bathed the man in a golden aura. The force of the door opening blew his hair to the side, where Peter noticed a few leaves were still stuck. Now being so close, Peter could see that the man sported a prominent nose and a killer jawline. A literal storybook dreamboat come to life. Is this what the Church is into? As much as Peter hated to admit it, he understood. 

The man’s eyes were a strange, otherworldly iris-less and pupil-less white. Matriarch’s insistence of a god-man walking among them was questionable at best, but actually seeing the guy, Peter suddenly found the conclusion hard to argue. 

Peter didn’t get to stare at the man for much longer because pain abruptly exploded in his head. He dropped his bread loaf and fell to the ground with a loud thud. Before losing consciousness, he noticed the man holding a frying pan in his right hand. Killed by a pan, huh? Not the worst way to go.

Notes:

it has been an absolute joy to work on this AU with Jwiqt. They've already made so much content it's actually insane. In these after chapter notes, I want to share any other pieces/sketches she's done that don't make it into the story. Starting off, we have character designs for both Adam and Peter, and then an early first sketch of them together.

But that's not all. In perhaps the most insane move imaginable Jwiqt made a whole colored animatic of the entire story of this AU. Be warned, this video technically contains spoilers for future story beats, but things are still vague enough that it's not easy to tell exactly what will happen.

Watch via this YouTube link.

Finally, I don't want to promise anything about the frequency of updates, but I will say I hope to not go more than a month without updating.

Thanks for reading, Happy Pride Month (this coming out during pride was totally planned, trust me), and it's still June 3rd where I am, so I can say DELTARUNE TOMORROW WOOOO!

[strawberries-and-summer-days]

WE'RE... WHAT?? ‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅

| percy jackson x popstar au

| au masterlist ☽

summary:

warnings: swearing and i think thats just about it!

a/n: part two of the series is out! im procrastinating the shit out of all my other requests so im not ignoring any of you btw!! lets all collectively ignore the fact that gracie like a post that has a lyric from her song (also damn im really just smashing out these fics)

"y/n has officially flitted off to boston!" clarisse announces suddenly from chris's lap.

"huh?" grover's head snaps up. "what do you mean?"

"y/n l/n, she's come to boston for her concerts," clarisse says showing her phone screen.

"you have got to be shitting me," chris says. "this is going to end terribly. seriously? here? boston? percy's gonna shit himself."

"oh really why would you think that?" clarisse drawls. "it's not like they don't like each other, they're like besties!"

"and y'know to make things worse y/n's setlist has been posted for months so we legit could've avoided her," chris sighs.

"yeah well, next time you see percy and he comes home grumbling about a business meeting in boston you deal with it then," grover argues.

"okay all of you shut it, percy's coming inside with luke so shhh," clarisse snaps.

"shh about what?" luke asks settling down on the couch next to grover.

"you'll never believe who's in boston!" grover sing songs. it doesn't take luke very long to work out who and his eyes widen in realisation

"no."

"yes."

"well shit."

"yep."

"we're in for a show."

☾. ⋅

percyjackson

liked by underovergrover, chris.rodriguez, lukecastellan, clarisse.la.rue, the.annabethchase and 1, 402, 385 others

percyjackson hello boston! one non-reschedulable meeting later and here we are...

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underovergrover i expect full compensation for making those pizzas WHICH YOU TOOK CREDIT FOR

percyjackson YOU DID NOT! I MADE HALF OF THOSE - MINE WERE BETTER

clarisse.la.rue no they weren't

percyjackson 🖕🏼

user1 ugh im in love

user2 omggg he's in boston!! so is y/n l/n!! are they following each other around?

user3 PLS I WOULD DIE MAKE THIS A THING

user4 i wonder if he's going to a concert here?? 😏

user5 does anyone else find it weird how his entire friend group follows him around?? no just me? they're just a huge freak show

user6 booooo we dont like haters here

user7 y/n l/n and percy neeeeed to happen rnnnn

user8 YES YES YES

lukecastellan im so ready to be done with this shit and go home

theannabethchase aww is someone feeling homesick?

lukecastellan yes obviously

user8 i. love. him.

☾. ⋅

"see i told you this would happen!" grover screeches, running away from percy who is threatening to castrate him if he doesn't get his phone back.

"i don't care! just give me the damn thing back!"

percy had groaned for two straight minutes when he found out that y/n was in boston this weekend - he had also face planted onto the couch and used some extremely obscene words.

"if it helps at least you'll be leaving on sunday," chris had offered in the midst of his crisis. it didn't help.

so now when grover trips over a fallen pillow - which may or may not be from percy's tantrum but we don't talk about that - and percy wrenches the phone from him a loud - and might grover add overtly girly - scream.

"WHAT THE FUCK? NO! NO NO NO NO!"

his screen is on the article grover had opened with really poorly photoshopped images of percy and y/n walking together. every gossip site/blog has swarmed the photos and circulated them sending the internet into a spiral.

"im fucking done with this grover," percy groans flopping onto the couch. "its a good thing we're leaving tomorrow - we'll be back in new york thats a huge ass city i wont see y/n there again and i can just go into hibernation, let all the rumours die down and be done with this whole shit show."

if only right....

☾. ⋅

☾. ⋅

yn.official

liked by sabrinacarpenter, lia.mandel, gracieabrams and 932, 841 others

yn.official feel like maybe i might go to boston! you were the best audience and im honoured to have performed for you these past two nights! heading home now to rest and recharge for the final shows in new york

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lia.mandel yayy you're finally coming home i missed you 🥺

yn.official bitch please its been like a week

lia.mandel and every second of it has been torture

user1 MOTHERRRR

user2 i think i nearly fainted when she came up on stage i was so happy i coulda died right then-

user3 the lyric makes me so happyyy

user4 ikrr y/n is like the queen of lyrics and the way she sneakily adds them into her posts 🤭

user5 WERE YOU WITH PERCY JACKSON THIS WEEKEND?? 🤨 I NEED TO KNOW

user6 y/n and percy are my dream celebrity ship

user7 they'd be the biggest power couple in history

user8 can you hard launch with percy plss?? i dont care if its fake i just need content to feed my delusions!

☾. ⋅

lia's soft snores fill the plane aggravating the hell out of you. usually you'd find the way she curled up in a ball underneath a blanket and snored quietly to be adorable. but since you're tired, just finished performing a concert and there's a problem with the jet, its grating on your nerves.

you had also been scrolling on twitter, instagram and pinterest, curled up underneath a matching blanket urging something to catch your attention while whatever work was being done on the plane happened.

unfortunately for you the thing that did catch your attention was the dozens of very clearly photoshopped pictures of you and percy walking together on a quiet street in boston.

no way in hell thats real. for one; ew and two; percy was only here for the weekend you were here for the week and you would've had no time to go out in between concerts.

eventually you doze off not realising you're in the air until you're ears pop waking you up to lia grinning mischievously.

"what asshole?"

"you're adorable when you wake up, you know that right?"

"yes i know."

"seriously the cutest human on the planet."

"what do you want lia?"

"a gossip podcast has picked up the subject of you and percy jackson. and the host is saying shit about you."

your eyes widen for a moment. "oh my god what? wow its almost as if i don't care!" ypu give lia a blank look. "this happens every three months lia, i do something and people either love it or hate it. thats the way it goes."

"yeah but this is PERCY JACKSON Y/N! he's gorgeousness personified."

"ugh can i go back to sleep? you can fangirl to me tomorrow when im in bed and pretending to listen."

"im offended." she leans over to place a kiss on your head. "but sleep tight babes, we land in like forty minutes."

shutting your eyes again you drift back to sleep.

only when you wake up do you realise you dreamed of percy...

TAGLIST‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅ [if you're name is white it mean i couldn't tag you] @lauptimist, @itzmeme, @mariaaaaaahhhh, @paankhaleyaar, @maybxlle, @lara20aral, @cxp1d, @user-3113s-blog, @pleasingregulus, @avihashearts4lix, @inlovewithmorales, @brokecollegebitch, [if you want to be added just let me know!]

[beardedjoel]

butt dial | a pretty little wife mini chapter

joel x f!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 | ✨kofi ✨

summary: 2.3k words; you're home alone while joel is out with his brother. he butt dials you, and you hear some very interesting things. warnings: 18+ MDNI, no apocalypse au, pre-established sub/dom relationship/dynamic, dirty talk, pet names for reader, joel says some dirty ass shit about pretty wife, allusions to smut at the end a/n: just a short little ditty inspired by this ask - you're an absolute saint for putting this idea in my head it had me kicking and giggling my feet to think about and write. enjoy!!!

You sigh, leaning back on the couch and curling up a bit more. The blanket draped over you has fallen, so you tug it up a bit and snuggle your arms underneath the plush fabric. It still carries a lingering scent of Joel and you happily breathe it in as you train your eyes on the screen. You’ve put on a mushy romance film, the type Joel doesn’t typically jump at watching with you. It’s not that he won’t, because one look from your desperate eyes will have him rolling his and turning the movie you’ve requested on, anyways. But a man has his limits, and he’s said no more than one of that genre every few months.

Joel is out tonight with Tommy, grabbing drinks to fulfill their monthly tradition. They often have a beer at yours and Joel’s place, or go out for just one after work, maybe, but once a month they have a full-on night out. You encourage it, wanting Joel to stay close with his brother. You never had such a close relationship with your family like he does with his brother, and you know their tough upbringing drew them together. 

You also don’t mind having the house to yourself for the evening, you think with a wry smile, basking in the quiet comfort and being able to pick whatever form of entertainment without your well meaning husband griping about it. You’ve got on one of the newest rom-coms you’d noticed on Netflix the other day, and have a lazy smile as you watch, feeling fully content. You’d made a hearty batch of fried rice for dinner, leaving a plate made up in case Joel came home drunk and starving (he always did). 

A sudden trilling tone interrupts your daze, and you pause the movie and sit up to see your phone lit up and ringing. Joel’s name flashes on the screen, along with a photo of the two of you together, taken on a sunny day when you went hiking. It makes you smile briefly before worry settles in, wondering why he’s calling right now. It makes your stomach sink a bit, hoping he’s not gotten into trouble, or worse, hurt. You scramble to answer, your fingers fumbling with the buttons until you pull it to your ear, your breath hitching as you try to swallow and get the words out.

“H-hello?” you say quickly into the receiver, clutching it close to your ear. You hear a staticky sound, loud and grating as the call finally comes in. You yank it back from your ear, your brows knitting together in confusion. The sounds become a little clearer as you listen closer, and you can hear the buzz of multiple, overlapping conversations and music. You breathe out in relief as you realize Joel is okay, and nearly laugh at how worked up you got in the first place. Your mind just goes to that terrified place, wondering how the hell you’d ever live if something happened to him.

You almost hang up, smiling with the burst of relief when you catch the tail end of something Joel is saying. You know this was an accidental butt dial, and you really should hang up, but after your scare, you want to hear your husbands safe, comforting voice… just for a second. Just  a second, and then you’ll hang up, give him his privacy. 

You press the phone close to your ear, trying to make it out. You hear the distinct sound of both of the boys’ laughter, Joel and Tommy, and you can tell just from that noise that they’re well into their drinking for the night. It’s a lighthearted, deep laugh, one that he doesn’t do very often. It makes you smile and you sigh a little, putting your chin in your hand.

“-and then I fell right down, right there on the damn street… Theresa was pissed, lemme tell you…” you hear Tommy’s voice slurring out, a little distant but still clear enough to make out. Joel howls with laughter and you can picture him, trying not to choke on his sip of beer, clapping Tommy on the shoulder.

“Fuckinhellbrother,” Joel slurs, like it’s one full word.

“I know, I know. Your missus is lucky she ain’t out with us right now,” Tommy replies.

“She’d sure as hell be laughin’ at our asses, if ‘m honest.”

Your eyes widen at the mention of you. You feel a twinge of guilt press on you but you can’t find it in yourself to hang up just yet. You just want to hear a little bit more… you think devilishly to yourself.

“What’s she up to tonight? Probably sittin’ at home missin’ you,” Tommy teases his brother.

Joel chuckles. “Guarantee she loves it, probably got one of her sappy little movies on. Silly fuckin’ girl...” You smile at how well he knows you and press the phone a little closer.

“C’mon, know you watch ‘em with her, too,” Tommy slurs a bit.

“Can’t say no to a face like that… and a mouth like that…” Joel says boldly. You feel your eyes go wide and you hold back a gasp. You feel your cheeks starting to burn a little to hear the way Joel’s being so open with his brother, the implication behind his words heavy with innuendo.

“Chriiiiist, here wegoagain,” Tommy says quickly, slurring. You furrow your brow, picking up on the fact that Tommy has heard Joel talking like this before, like it’s completely normal for them. You start to feel a pleasant little swirl deep in your gut at the fact that Joel brags about those particular abilities of yours.

You think you hear them both chuckle a little bit. “Know I can’t help m’self Tommy. Fuckin’ body of an angel, mouth of a fuckin’ devil, lord. Could go on about it f’days.”

Tommy seems quiet for a moment, just listening. “You always brag too much, brother. ‘Sides, she says nothin’ but sweet things and you know it. Nicest little gal around.”

“Who said anything about the things she’s saying?” Joel quips back. 

“Fuckin’ hell. Yeah, I get it, your wife gives good head, yeah?” Tommy snips, but it sounds more playful than angry to you. 

You can picture your husband, face flushed from the alcohol and hair a little messy, leaning forward and grinning in that devilish way. “Suckin cocks’s not the only thing she’s good at. Practically everything, really, but lord does that woman know how to do just what I want. She’s a real good listener, my girl.” Your thighs clench together and you feel your breathing hitch. Just Joel basically calling you a good girl from afar has you feeling like an animal in heat all of a sudden. You throw the blanket off as you feel your body starting to warm up and a soft smile comes to your face. 

You hear silence from Tommy’s end, maybe too stunned to speak, clearly giving Joel permission to keep going.

“Y’know the best part? I got her listenin’ so good, she’ll do just about anythin’. Let me fuck her whenver I needta, you get me?”

“Christ Jesus, Joel, whatever the hell was in this fuckin’ beer got you too open tonight…”

“Can’t a man brag about his wife without gettin’ hounded? Jus’ wanted to share a lil love for my sweet gal.”

“Alright, alright, but shut the hell up now,” Tommy says with a howl of laughter, and the phone goes a little quieter, assuming Joel adjusted in his seat. 

“Jealous, jealous…” Joel taunts. 

“Shut. It. Or we’re gonna have a real bar fight on our hands here,” Tommy threatens teasingly. Their words continue to jumble a bit, and you can tell they’re both reaching close to their limit on beer and liquor for the evening. 

“Oh, fine,” Joel finally says, vowing to get off the topic. 

You feel a surge of pride that you witnessed something so special, so pure, despite the filthy things he was saying about the two of you. It just felt like pure love and adoration, even when you weren’t in the room to hear it. It makes your heart skip a little bit to know that Joel talks so highly of you even when he isn’t around you, going so far as to brag about such intimate things with his brother. You know it was lewd, but it made you feel that warm feeling you get whenever Joel shows you off in any way.

Lost deep in thought, you’ve already started to tune out their next batch of teasing and laughter as they move on to a new topic, so you decide to hang up the phone and let them get on with their night. 

You feel a lingering pride to be Joel’s wife sticking with you as you when you go back to watching the movie. Your heart feels so light and free right now, and you find yourself yearning for him to come home just so you can unload some of this love onto him as it bubbles up inside of you. 

Another hour and a half later, you hear keys jingling outside the door before the lock clicks and the front door swings open clumsily. Joel spots you instantly, curled up on the couch with a wide smile as soon as your eyes flick over to him. You sit up and stretch a little, taking in the full, broad form of him fumbling about as he walks in.

“Oh, hello there,” he says in a low, goofy voice. He stumbles in a little, a goofy smile on his face as he tries to take off his shoes. 

“Feelin’ good, handsome?” you tease him, trying not to laugh at how absolutely adorable your husband is when he’s a little drunk.

“Better ‘n good, now. Home with my pretty girl…” he coos. You stand up, bounding over to him and wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling yourself close as quickly as you can. 

“Oh,” he puffs out as you practically slam into his chest. One hand immediately wraps around your waist, drawing you closer, the heat of his hand burning through your thin tee shirt, and the other splays across the back of your head, pulling you in for a long, deep kiss. You moan quietly, a little desperate mewl climbing its way out of your throat as his lips devour you. You can taste his evening - beers and liquor and… a cigar? You should chastise him for that one, you think, but you know Tommy can be a bad influence so you let it slide in lieu of some more kisses from him. You deepen it and slide your tongue into his mouth, and he happily returns it, tongues skimming each other for a few moments before you pull back, gently biting his bottom lip on the way.

“Hell, what’d a guy do to deserve a kiss like that, hm?” Joel muses, a little tipsy sounding. His hand comes around your head to stroke your cheek, thumb lingering as he traces down the soft skin there.

“Just wanted to show you all the things I’m good at, since that’s what you said, right?” you tease him, knowing he likely won’t even be able to piece in together in his current state.

Joel’s face scrunches up a bit, his brows drawing together as he tries to wrack his hazy brain for any clue of what you’re referring to.

“Not just good for ‘suckin’ cock’?” you say, your voice low, a furtive little whisper right near his ear. You peel back a bit to see his eyes widen a little, more confused than ever.

“Wh-”

“Butt dial, darling,” you tell him, pecking his cheek.

Joel laughs, a nervous yet comfortable laugh, able to read you well enough to know you aren’t upset about what he said, just amused. His laugh turns to a low chuckle, a little mischievous glint in his eye. His hand slides down from the small of your back to you ass, giving it a gentle, swift pat.

 “And aren’t you a naughty girl for listenin’ in on my private conversation, hm?” he teases, bringing his lips within an inch of yours.

“Couldn’t help myself, had to hear what my husband really thinks of me.” You move your lips the slightest bit, brushing against his in a soft touch. “Good thing it’s not anything I didn’t already know…” You pull back suddenly, giving him a wink and putting a little space between the two of you.

“In that kind of mood tonight, are we, doll? Little bit bratty?” Joel asks with raised brows. “Gonna have to make you prove to me everything I told Tommy is true then, aren’t I?” Joel’s eyes go hungrier, a deep, feral need growing in his core and showing up right in his dark irises.

You shrug and turn to walk away, but Joel grabs onto your wrist, spinning you back against him. “Nuh uh, not so fast. You’re comin’ with me, darlin’” he spits out. In a split second his arms are on either side of your waist, hoisting you up and then tossing you over his shoulder so that your head is hanging down his back.

“H-hey!” You giggle, swinging your feet to try and get down, knowing it’s no use, and if you’re honest with yourself, you don’t want to escape, of course. Not from a hold this good.

Joel’s hand reaches up and smacks your ass hard as he carries you towards the stairs. “Now let’s go and you can tell me all about everything you heard me sayin’ tonight.”

You smile wide, feeling your mind and body already buzzing for your husband and all the things he seemed to have in store for you. It was going to be a fun night, indeed.

plw taglist: @aphterthoughtt @bbyanarchist @amy172 @hazzaismyreligion @ohheypedrito @msmorningstaarr @kamcrazy123 @madhere @paleidiot @saverockandroll54 @daddy-din

[saythatuwill]

now playing: say that you will // sleep token

ok gang let's be transparent... i wrote this because i was really going through it, and it was going to just be a bunch of shitty bad hurt no comfort thoughts/hcs that's it. i'm still going through it but this did help me a lot actually. still mainly sad stuff about our favorite fish boy though.

on the bright side, i did want to elaborate on siren!noah's backstory and other personality deets so we're getting that at least. i fear this is in fact canon. obviously this is not a fic, just one of my long rambles/thought posts, but... siren au lovers are on the phone... i answer the phone.

also because i feel like someone's gotta say it: WHOA, SHERRY SAYTHATUWILL USES THE SLEEP TOKEN SONG "SAY THAT YOU WILL" FOR A WORK THIS IS CRAAAAAAAZYYYYYY-

au: merfolk/sirens

content warnings: abuse, mentions of murder/eating people, self esteem issues, idk if this is a content warning but noah is HEAVILY bpd coded.

tags: @fadingangelwisp, @concretejunglefm, @chey-h, @xmads-omensx

noah knows he's fallen in love with you, and he is terrified.

on one hand, he's always so happy to see you, and he makes sure you know it. he'll splash around when he sees you, he'll bring you gifts, but he doesn't know what's actually going to happen when he has to address the feelings themselves.

because he's been here before. love is... awful. it hurts, it takes everything. love is pain, love is feeling like nothing unless that person is there.

he's seen nights where he's told to sing. and sing. and sing. his throat is hoarse but his lover told him that if he loved them, he'd keep singing.

he's seen nights where he felt nothing at all. staring blankly back at friends who kept asking what was wrong. he even watched some of them leave and never come back because of it.

or maybe, the nights where they just wouldn't give him anything. no words, no affection, not even a glance. sending him into a downward spiral, wondering what it was that he did wrong. convincing himself that everything he ever did was wrong. he was wrong.

before them, he used to be able to look at his reflection more often. sirens pride themselves in physical appearance, you know! he even carried a mirror with him. that was when he had long hair, it was beautiful.

but they said to cut it off, so he did. ever since you, he's thought about letting it grow out again. but noah can't bear the thought of not being liked by you if he did. he only looks at himself in the mirror if he feels he must. which isn't often. he's only just started to again, because you called him pretty one time.

he's afraid of what he is, too. because there's always the possibility that one night he'll mess it up. come out on a full moon, and all you would be is blood in the water. you would be nothing more than a meal to satiate his cravings for flesh.

then he would never see you, hold you, have you again. how would he go on after that? and yes, realistically he is careful. he's made sure of it, he never goes to your beach on full moons. but what if-

he gets caught up in the what ifs a lot, though. constantly, even. what if he kills you, what if you decide you don't like him anymore and never come back, and he wouldn't even know? what if something happens to you, and he's not there to help you?

he thinks that if you wanted, he would choose to be nothing, feel nothing, unless you were there. he'd be anything, anyone, if only for you. and it confuses him when you don't seem to ask anything of him.

you don't ask him to sing until he physically can't. you don't tell him you hate him, or that he's worthless. you don't hurt him, you're not even afraid of him anymore. he cannot fathom for the life of him why you're not giving him the treatment he deserves.

because he deserves it, right? that's what they used to tell him. he'd become grateful for the treatment even if it was painful, or upsetting, or left him feeling like a million shards of glass.

and if you knew what he did to that lover, you'd surely run away. it wasn't like he wanted to, he just got scared. he bites when he's nervous, like a bad dog. he was protecting himself, even if it meant killing them to keep himself safe.

however, he's a siren. and when sirens kill, they are bad, so he's bad. he's always bad. if anyone else did that though, like jolly, he wouldn't be bad, it would be justified. not for noah, though. he doesn't deserve that same grace and compassion, at least he doesn't think so.

he could never truly be enough for you, he believes that wholeheartedly. he's willing to burn for you, but for you to love him would be out of pity, wouldn't it?

... but.

tonight, you've brought along a few picture books. you're sitting there on the rocks, and you're as beautiful as ever. you're teaching him some new words, and at the end of the night you kiss his cheek before you go home.

it's not violent. it doesn't hurt. it's good, it's pure. and he doesn't know if he deserves that.

but when he lays in his grotto to sleep that night, he's smiling. he does that a lot when he's with you, he finds. you make him feel at home, like he belongs. like he is enough, just as he is. that he's worthy of love that doesn't hurt.

noah knows he's fallen in love with you, and he thinks he's willing to face his fear for you.

[bloodtypeonmysleeve]

Donnie Darko AU Cal is Donnie

(I’m gonna write for certain scenes in the movie cause writing the whole thing will take a while, also in this scenario Zero Day isn’t a thing.)

Situation 1: Andre and Cal go to the movies!

Cal was standing in line with Andre waiting for their time to buy tickets to "Jackass: the movie" . Even though Andre thought it was childish he couldn’t say no to Cal after forcing him to see every war movie under the sun. The cold breeze and loud chatter in line made Cal feel uneasy, he didn’t really like people. "You’ve seemed weird lately" Andre blurted out as they moved closer to the entrance. "I mean you always are" he laughed a bit "but, seriously dude I’ve been kinda..I don’t know worried?" Cal dug his nails into his palm at that. "I’m fine" he smiled reassuringly "oh god. don’t do that ever again" Andre winced. "Do what?" Cal eased his hands, the marks of his nails stinging a bit, "you look like you’re gonna fucking kill me or something when you smile like that" he laughed. Cal nudged him in return, laughing "shut upp". Before they knew it they were in the theater and sitting in seats that were far too stiff. Andre crossed his arms around his chest when he sat down. Cal just crossed his legs and took out a bag of chips he’d snuck in. He scanned the room to find they were the only people in the theater. "Fuck yes" he said under his breath, grabbing a hand full of chips that made the marks in his hands sting more from the salt. A few minutes in he looked at Andre just to find he had fallen asleep, probably due to the fact he pulled an all nighter the day before with him because he was too scared to sleep alone…he didn’t tell him that of course just said he wanted to level up his character in the game they were playing. He sat the chips down, whipped off his hands and sat back in his seat. It only took a couple of seconds before Cal felt a cold breeze wash over him, and he smiled. His eyes darted to the side of Andre and it was Frank. "Didn’t know you liked these movies" Cal joked, "You don’t know anything I like." Frank replied, deadpan tone in his voice as he did. Cal glanced at Frank again before laughing a bit "why are you still wearing that stupid bunny suit?" He looked back at the screen. "Why are you still wearing that stupid man suit?" He stopped laughing, instead opting to clearing his throat. Just then he remembered he had skin and bones. He wanted to rip it all off because the cold sweat was getting harder and harder to ignore. "What do you look like under all that?" Cal tried to change the subject. Frank reached his hands to the ear of his mask, painfully slow, he lifted it up and turned to Cal after it was fully off. He didn’t look how Cal expect black shoulder length hair, sculpted face, and…bloody gash where his other eye should be.

Situation 2: at Andre’s cousins party

Andre’s cousin was obnoxious and loud…The two things Cal hated in people the most. He only agreed to come to this party because he had nothing better to do. He also figured it would be tolerable since he was there with Andre. But, they found themselves sitting out on the porch starting at the sky. Sometimes Cal wishes he could stay in these moments of silence with Andre forever. The only person he actually felt comfortable being around and the only noise he enjoyed other than music. He took a sip of his drink, Andre had snuck some alcohol for him earlier that day when his cousin wasn’t looking. It tasted bitter. Cal felt sick after his last sip "I think I’m gonna puke" he barely managed to get out before covering his mouth. Andre weaved his head around to him so fast he was surprised it didn’t snap off. "Oh shit" he said as he quickly brought Cal to the bathroom, grabbing his hand to drag him there. As soon as he did Cal fell to his knees over the toilet, Andre turned his head the opposite direction, covering his nose "I can’t fucking stay here or I’ll puke" he gagged "I’ll be outside". The door closed and Cal felt like shit. He has debated becoming an alcoholic before because sometimes the thought of not knowing what you’re doing seemed fun to him, but now. In this moment he never wanted to touch alcohol ever again. He flushed the toilet and washed his face in the sink, he looked in the mirror, after a few seconds of staring at his face for so long he forgot he was real he saw Frank. He smiled and tapped on the mirror "how are you doing that?" He felt as if his hand was going through the glass like rubber. "Doing what" Frank mirrored Cal’s movements, "that" Cal continued, he assumed Frank was a hallucination, but in moments like this he felt real. The world around began to vibrate and his ears rang. He jolted after hearing the door open "who the fuck are you talking to?" Andre said, still covering his nose with his shirt. Cal looked at the mirror only to find himself, he sighed "no one".

(Don’t yell at me I know it’s shitty I’m just doing this for fun🙏)

[yerimacoustic]

𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 ♡ 𝙨 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙥𝙨 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

❝𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙘𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙙𝙤𝙣’𝙩 𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙠 𝙖𝙨 𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙙 𝙖𝙨 𝙢𝙮 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩 ❞🕰️ 🍂

summary: when you and your ex husband receive a mysterious letter, the two of you are forced to confront confusing emotions and learn how to move forward.

content warnings: supernatural au, nonidol au, ghost hunter!seungcheol and reader, 90s au, seungcheol and reader are divorced, angst, cursing, horror themes, eventual fluff, lots of arguments, scary stuff, NO GORE. teaser: 800 wc. full fic: TBD.

notes: this is a TEASER for an upcoming s coups fic!! usually putting out little snippets first gives me motivation to write the damn thing lol but please interact if you like it! feedback is always appreciated

as you approached the front door of your small apartment, the wind assisted you in slamming it shut. the air stayed just as cold even once you found yourself sheltered within the thin walls, but you’d grown accustomed to it. you’d made a habit of sorting through your mail and listening to your voicemails without planning to respond to any of them, hoping that it would distract you from the cold.  

you plopped down at the kitchen table, pressing the speaker button and letting your chin rest in the palm of your hand once the receiver lay across the tablecloth.   

“you have twelve new messages. first message: 

“‘hey, y/n, it’s jeonghan. call me back. or else. okay love you, bye!’

“second message:

“‘jeonghan again! if you deleted the first mess-”

click.

“message marked for deletion. new message:

‘listen, we would all really appreciate it if you could come to bingo night. i know you’ve bailed on us the last…four or five times. or ten times, but who’s counting? anyways, call me back, or else. love you!’ 

you sighed heavily as you listened through the rest of jeonghan’s pleadings and eventually seungkwan’s rants. somehow jeonghan had convinced seungkwan to spam your landline with messages too, hoping that he would help persuade you to join them on their traditional outing. once again, you wondered why you had fallen into the habit of listening to messages without any intention of returning them. 

surprisingly, seungkwan and jeonghan weren’t the only ones lingering in your inbox. there was also a message from your boss, the pharmacy, and..

“‘hey… it’s seungcheol. please don’t hang up. i know you specifically told me not to use this phone number but.. okay, i won’t bore you with anymore excuses.’”

much to your own surprise, you chose to humor your ex husband. you continued to let the message play out. as you sat down at the table, you let the stack of mail fall to your lap while staring at the receiver in silence.  

“‘listen, i’ve been thinking lately and..i have a lot of regrets.’”

you snickered bitterly. 

“‘i know there’s not much i can say to make things better or.. change things that happened between us. hell, you’ve probably already deleted this message by now and i can’t really blame you for that. i don’t have a lot of time, i’ve ran out of change but.. i’d love to talk to you at some point. in person. if you’re up for that then.. you know where to reach me. bye.’

“to replay this mess-”

click. 

“message marked for deletion. your inbox is empty. you have no new mes-”

you slammed the receiver down and let out a heavy sigh. ever since the divorce, you felt like seungcheol had taken a part of you with him. you turned to isolation, ignoring family members and friends constantly in favor of drowning yourself in your work. you were able to keep up with the deadlines, but at a heavy cost.

it’s for the best, you kept telling yourself.

you digressed, flipping through the large stack of envelopes instead of dwelling on your own sadness. you were met with the all too familiar sight of bills, bills, and more bills until a thick brown envelope seemingly materialized from the bottom of the pile. you had no memory of picking it up or even seeing it in your mailbox. 

there was a wax seal in the center of the envelope, a dark red skull. a little on the nose, but alright. you ripped it open, taking note of the gorgeous stationery before focusing on the words written in cursive and immediately cringing at the foreign use of your maiden name:

miss l/n, 

i hope you don’t find this letter to be invasive or frightening by any means, but i’ve heard a great deal about your work. i’ve read a number of articles concerning your cases and i must say i am impressed. i’ve always admired believers of the supernatural, especially in a world filled with skeptics. 

i know you’re probably out of experience, given it's been a year or two since your last job and circumstances have changed, but i would love a chance to talk with you about an ongoing issue in my home. there’s voices, objects moving, frigid winds.. you name it. 

my home address is attached to this letter. please give it some thought and keep in mind i’m willing to pay you handsomely for your troubles.

best wishes to you. 

it wasn’t surprising to know that your mysterious client knew about your divorce, considering it was in most of the papers. at least the stupid journalists were considerate enough to leave most of the details out of their articles. 

but you were almost certain no one knew about your new home address except for your inner circle.

[faireyhouses]

— princess and the frog (reg!mel + reg!mari)

Summary: While hunting frogs, Mel stumbles upon a surprising sight: Mari alone, crying (like a baby, which she is not.)

Contents: frogs if that bothers anyone 𓈒 shauna being mean 𓈒 past teasing 𓈒 crying 𓈒 it's not serious & just a silly fic, kids being kids, etc!!

WC: 1600+

A/N: Okay, full disclosure, I have only fully seen s1 of YJ and have only seen clips of these two, but they both fascinate me and through reading others works I have decided I love them and want them to have a weird little friendship so here you go!! Please enjoy :3 — also apart of my au ig

Mel crouches in the grass, intently staring at the small frog just a few feet away in the dirt.

She'd been following him for a bit, shuffling after his small hops from the patio all the way to the bushes at the edge of the yard.

And although she knows the rules about not going into the woods alone (and personally the idea of going in them alone seemed very bad to her), the frog hadn't yet made it far enough for her to pause her hunt.

And so she inches forward, trying her very best to be quiet as she nears the amphibian resting between the leaves.

Once she's close enough she lunges, her hands gently wrapping around its body as she beams, lifting him from the ground.

She isn't sure what kind of frog he is, but that doesn't matter as she stumbles up, ready to present him to Nat and Van.

They were gonna think she was so cool for catching him on her own, however, she pauses her trek towards the house when she hears a soft noise, lightly tilting her head towards the sound.

At first she gets hopeful it's another frog, but as she turns and takes a few steps towards the bushes she realizes it's in fact not a frog, but a person.

And not just a person. It's Mari.

She's hunched over, precariously balancing on the balls of her feet as she slowly drags a stick through the soft dirt in front of her.

Mel stares at her, even though she knows staring is bad, because why of all people would Mari be out at the back of the yard, especially with a very serious sounding game of princesses and castles unfolding up by the patio?

But before she can voice her confusion, Mari glances up, her shoulders jumping slightly in shock when her eyes graze the muddy kneed blond staring at her.

“Go away.” She dully commands, and Mel almost immediately listens, but she pauses and before she can stop herself she blurts out, “Are you crying?”

Because Mari doesn't cry. She has made this fact clear on many, many occasions. How crying is for babies and how she is not a baby, in fact she has made a point multiple times to say this to Mel's face as tears had fallen down her own cheeks.

So it's no surprise when she quickly snaps back, “What? No, leave me alone.” as her hand comes up to quickly brush at her face.

Now, in any other situation Mel would have happily turned her heel and left Mari alone when asked, but there's something that makes her feet stay planted in the dirt.

It's the very real and present tears slowly making their way down her cheeks and dripping from her chin, and to Mel the sight feels wrong, uncanny even.

And despite the lie and repeated command, she stays.

Because Mel has always been someone who likes to observe the weird and unbelievable, and if anything is unbelievable it's Mari Ibarra crouched in the back of the yard sniffling all alone.

So she doesn't leave, instead she shuffles her faded converse through the dirt and plops herself down in front of the other girl, forgoing any attempt to keep herself clean due to her already dirt stained knees and hands.

Mari briefly glares at her, but after a moment she gives up, looking away as she continues her pointless scribbles with her stick.

But she does speak after a moment, her eyes casually bouncing between the stick and Mel. “Is that a frog?” she asks with little genuine curiosity in her voice.

“Yeah!” Mel responds with a little too much excitement, extending her hands slightly as the amphibian lightly wiggles its legs hanging from her clasped palms.

“Ew.” She frowns as Mari makes a face, shifting back slightly. “And you're just holding it? With your hands?”

Mel thinks that's a stupid question (what else would she be holding him with?) but the tone Mari uses tells her that it's one of those questions you're not actually supposed to answer that Shauna loves to use.

So instead she shrugs. “I'm gonna go show Van and Nat. I caught him all by myself.”

She tacks on the last comment with a little pride in her voice, shifting her grip on the surprisingly calm frog.

Catching frogs is hard, but she had done it all by herself, and maybe deep down Mari is impressed because she doesn't make another mean comment, instead she continues to drag her stick around in the dirt in large circles.

“Why were you crying?” Mel finally asks after a good few moments of watching her in silence, and Mari's eyes flick back up to her.

The glare present in them makes Mel fear she'll be shooed away again and this weird moment between the two of them will be ruined, but after a second they soften and Mari's shoulders sag slightly.

“Shauna was being mean to me.” She murmurs.

Ah.

Shauna had a habit of saying or doing things without really thinking, especially when she got caught up in a game or activity.

For the most part she didn't mean to come off as hurtful, and Tai had mentioned that she needed to work on her tone once, but it made sense that in a game taken so seriously amongst most of the girls, she would make a remark that stung a little more than needed.

Especially with Mari, the two of them were similar in that way, not nice tones and full of snarky remarks. And they often butted heads, but enough to bring Mari to tears? It had to be bad, and now Mel was really curious.

“What'd she say?” Mel prompts as casually as she can, her fingers gently brushing over the frog's green back, and after a moment Mari mumbles a response.

“I wanted to be the princess. But stupid Shauna insisted she had to be it even though I was already holding the crown.”

This didn't seem like much of a problem to Mel, who had run off as soon as the others had decided to play princesses, much less something to cry over, but she also knows that sometimes when people are having bad days, small things can feel really big.

Like last week when she had gone to bed late, so the next day she had been extra pouty, to the point of crying when her usual cereal bowl was in use.

Which Mari had promptly told her was baby behavior, but that doesn't matter as she studies the girl in front of her, the dried tears on her cheeks and the slight pout of her lips.

She's surprised to realize that she wants to make it better. She wants to be nice to Mari even though she can't recall her doing the same to her.

It's weird, but Melissa has always identified closely with that word anyways.

“Well,” she eventually says, drawing Mari's eyes upwards in curiosity, “don't princesses have to kiss frogs or something?”

Mel had never been a fan of princesses like some of the other girls, tuning out the movies and story books over the far superior (in her opinion at least) dinosaur and superhero related things.

But she could've sworn kissing frogs was a weird detail she recalled from something, most definitely followed by squeals of disgust.

Mari studies her for a moment before she gets a look on her face, almost like a smile but not quite there. “Yeah, sometimes they do.”

“Maybe,” Mel offers, “Shauna needs to kiss them to turn them back into a person.”

The Princess and The Frog, she remembered now. In that story it was about a prince, but Mel wasn't too interested in all that romance-y stuff so she settles for the frog being a generic person in need of aid.

But this change doesn't deter Mari, and her face brightens into a rarely seen, genuine smile, and Mel feels a little proud of herself for being the cause.

And so after some brief plans sketched into the dirt, the two stand from their spots and start back towards the front of the house.

Mari insists Mel continues to hold the frog as they walk, which she isn't bothered by at all, following the other girls lead as she stalks with confidence towards the giggles of the others.

Once in view Mari beelines for Shauna, and in a swift movement she pulls her shoulder to get her attention, pointing to the still unnoticed frog in Mel's hands.

“You gotta kiss it.” She blunty, yet slyly, states. “They need to be a person and only princess kisses can do it.”

There's a beat, and then Jackie who is sitting closest to Mel looks up, seemingly just noticing the slimy frog cupped in her hands.

She squeals loudly, hopping up in a movement that makes everyone else turn to look in confusion.

“Shauna’s gotta kiss the frog!” Mel isn't sure who says it as multiple others jump up, squealing and running around as if she's offering Shauna a poisoned apple or something, but Shauna reacts immediately, pulling away from Mari with a disgusted face.

“Nuh uh!” And look, Mel wasn't actually gonna make her kiss the frog, even she knows that's gross.

But the moment of joy she gets from the brief look of horror on the usually smug, jerky Shauna's face is worth whatever comes next, and the look she shares with Mari confirms it, even as Misty runs inside screaming for Tai.

And so even though Tai makes them take the frog back to the woods and monitors them as they scrub their hands before sending them to time-out, Mel is happy to catch Mari's eyes again and share a small smile from their chairs placed in a corner, hopeful in the back of her mind that there will be more to come from their new, kinda friendship.

[skeletonh0e]

A lot more people seemed interested in my interpretation of Underlust than I thought so fuck it, LORE POST

I'm putting this under read more because of length, but also while this is not a NSFW post there is talk of NSFW subjects and a slight tw for talk of non-con (it's not GRAPHIC or the main topic but it's talked about)

Also pls keep in mind none of this is meant to bash the og creator despite how problematic they are, this is simply my take on it

Without further adieu

UNDERLUST BUT I WRITE IT

I'll keep the basic premise, less in the sense that the underground was struggling with extreme fertility issues and more so that after falling into the underground it had entered a massive depression. Monsters were losing hope faster than ever, relationships weren't being formed and underpopulation quickly became a problem

Toriel and Asgore quickly realized that if something wasn't done they would be on the verge of extinction. So both to encourage monsters to have children AND to hopefully bring monsters out of this depressive funk they decided to push for a very sex positive culture

The two publicly opened their own marriage as example, they both started their own royal harems, they hired celebrities to put a focus on fun and sex appeal and even made so being a sex worker was a government job thus having a lot of benefits as well as a certain level of natural respect that professions such as military ranks or post workers get

The end result did actually help, monsters started having relationships and the environment became a lot less somber. It wasn't their intention to start an otherwise very hedonistic culture but that did come the end result. Do a lot of monsters do dress provocatively, there is a lot of brothels, clubs and there's a much heavier focus on drugs, drinking, etc, than there ever was in the vanilla undertale

So this is less "Undertale but everyone is OUTRAGEOUSLY HORNY all the time" and more Undertale if everyone was raised in an environment where it was just natural to be open about your sexuality. Think basically if you were trapped in Vegas 24/7

So some important things to note in general

Toriel and Asgore not only have kids, but a lot more than they did canonically. All of them are alive and as a result both of them are noticeably a lot older. Both silver foxes who can still get it tho, they're also still together technically but as said before open poly marriage with their own harems

Asriel is around and a full ground adult in this AU, his design is very similar to his hyper death god form and in this AU he's the one you meet in the ruins not Tori. He's not trapped there he's just a hermit (he flirts with the player but it's clear he's joking I headcanon Az as aroace lmao)

As those last two things imply Flowey is not around either

The amalgamations aren't around either, the monsters that created of them have simply fallen and passed. Alphys is still the royal scientist yes but we'll expand more on that later

No other humans have fallen into the underground therefore there are no human souls in Asgores possession and therefore there are no orders to kill any humans to gather said souls

The royal guard still exists, there is no "royal sluts" like in the original AU as funny as it would be. But it's noticeably more lax and even then like typical military bros they frequent strip shows, brothels, etc.

This also very importantly leads me to the next big thing that's very different about my interpretation of Underlust

Mettaton

This is not a post made to critique the og AU, but I will say I simply never cared for how he was handled in the original. In my interpretation Mettaton isn't hypersexualized either, though not afraid to use sex appeal here or there but his main role is basically the head honcho of the sex worker industry

The MTT Resort is a lot more expansive in this universe, covering nearly all of hot land, the capital, a decent chunk of water fall, and even has a smaller location in Snowdin. It is basically Vegas for lack of a better comparison, with a lot of strip shows, nsfw areas, bars, and even places where you can gamble

Mettaton is still a performer and not a sex worker himself, he still has family friendly segments but also late talk night shows for his older audience (it's not sexual not counting the ha ha funny raunchy jokes), he is strictly in his Mettaton EX form from the start not his boxy one and I can't draw for shit but if I could his aesthetic would he very pimp inspired dw it's just an aesthetic though he's a good boss

Further more when a lot of monsters being employed under him as show girls and/or sex workers this where I have to mention in this AU both Sans and Papyrus work for Mettaton. The former as an entertainer and escort, the latter as security (but Mettaton does give Pap a somewhat suggestive outfit so make of that what you will), various other characters are also employed under him but not all as prostitutes, Muffet for example has her own area dedicated to selling baked goods as well as managing the rooms of the guests.

Which leads us to the next talking point

Sans

I like to nickname Lust Sans as simply "Ace" for context, but what's different about him here aside from the obvious parts of being a sex worker, being very flirty and dressing different? Well first things first

This Sans is not aware of resets nor does he have ANY memory of them

Doesn't make sense for him too, no other humans, no determination experiments, flowey isn't around, etc, etc. The only time anyone gets the ability to reset is when the player falls into the underground and the most he'll be aware is having similar moments of deja vu that other characters get, but for the most part? Man isn't even aware that's a thing people can do

Adding onto that he's a lot less....depressed in this AU, ppl tend to forget that the knowledge of resets has upset Sans greatly. Man is DEPRESSED and it's at least part of the reason for his extreme laziness, literally takes the end of the world for him to get off his ass and do something (genocide route)

Ace as a result is a lot more proactive and noticeably less pessimistic, not to say he doesn't have any issues, the thing about this underground is the hedonistic culture is in a way to cope with the general depressing situation of the underground with Sans being no exception

I also like to think he doesn't have 1 HP as a result too, it's still low but not determentally low

For the most part he is still Sans, he's a lot more flirtatious and a low more show boaty that his Undertale counterpart but he's also still a silly little guy who loves to joke around and make puns. There's definitely a comedic twist to any of his performances, can you do a comedy routine during a live sex show or something akin to that? Idk but it's Sans he probably finds a way

And it's also worth noting that you don't encounter this Sans in Snowdin, you probably won't even officially meet him until you hit the MTT Resort. But you do see posters in Snowdin and hear talk about him at Grillby's (yes Grillby's is more of a nightclub here and Sans does frequent it just not as often)

Next question though

Frisk and Chara?

If you haven't figured it out, Chara never fell into the underground and was never adopted by the Dreemurrs, never died, etc. Chara is not in this AU in any form and adding onto that Frisk is not the character that we play as in this hypothetical Underlust Game

It does not make sense to include them and I cannot think of a way to include them that doesn't feel...weird somehow. Obviously it would be inappropriate to include them as children, but even if you aged them up you have to deal with characters possibly making advances on them and I uh- don't like that

So simply put they are just not here. So who do we play as in Underlust?

You play as whoever you want!

In my interpretation the protagonist is strictly 100% customizable so it can be your own OC or just a self insert, the only things that are for certain about the protagonist are:

They're human They're an adult The have the soul trait of "Lust"

Next question? What does it mean to have the "Lust" trait?

First off, your soul is pink in this AU!

Due to monsters not being as willing to attack humans (not all of them are super friendly mind you but you aren't entering battles left and right), having the Lust trait doesn't allow for a unique battle mode. Instead it allows you to enter "conversation battles" for lack of a better word

Think of it as being similar to the "Back talk challenges" in Life is Strange before the Storm, your ability comes to be able to charm, convince, befriend or even possibly manipulate others to progress through the underground. And yes hypothetically use seduction to get your way

How you use this ability is up to you, you can be as sweet as a peach only using the most moral method to progress or you can be a two faced bitch playing mind games. And just to clarify the option to sleep with characters is not treated as being either bad or good (unless you use it as a form of manipulation), you can go through the entire underground not being even a little sexually active or you can progress through it sleeping with nearly everyone you get a chance with

Neither option will reflect on your characters morality, the only thing that does is how you choose to treat others

Now....

Genocide Route? Pacifist Route? What's the end goal here?

This is where I confess that this is the one aspect I haven't 100% figured out so I'm down to hear some thoughts as I think ideally there would be multiple endings so far all I have is

-> Lustbound Ending (You choose to just stay in the underground) -> Bloodlust Ending (The genocide route) -> Lust Freed Ending (Neutral Route, you killed a boss monster then escaped the underground)

A genocide and neutral routes are possible in this AU, but its different as you 100% have to be the aggressor in this situation, I would like for there to be something akin to a trust pacifist ending where the underground is freed but I haven't 100% figured out how that would happen given that there aren't any human souls or Flowey in this AU

Other Stuff that I want to bring up but didn't fit into the other categories

Asriel does give you a phone and you can call him through out the underground, unlike Toriel he definitely answers though he takes on a similar role to Papyrus in this AU since you don't befriend the skelebros until later in the story

As mentioned before the amalgamations never happened, Alphys didn't experiment with determination in this AU. When Asgore and Toriel were pushing for a more sex positive culture, they requested her help (thus why Mettaton has his glam body from the start) but also to help the under population problem Alphys worked on drugs that basically functioned as aphrodisiacs / viagara to help monsters further populate

This....helped but backfired a bit as monsters started to use these substances for less than savory purposes (you can figure out the rest), but it made her guilty enough to disband ever working on them again, but the damage was still done and it is a part of the reason why there's a noticeable drug culture in the underground now that just wasn't there before

While I lean hardcore into the underground is just Vegas with the focus on booze, sex, etc, there are areas that are just normal. Mainly the Ruins, most of Snowdin, and of course Asgore's castle

Another thing I want to clarify is that the hedonistic life style isn't entirely bad, it did help the underground and pulled monsterkind as a whole out of a great depression. It is simply a different way of coping with a bad situation that a lot of monsters have taken to. That being said, it's not entirely good either as mentioned above there are problems and risks with life styles like this

Is it the right way to handle it? The wrong way to handle it? Does it matter because some monsters are finally happy now? Who's to say, a fun debate to be had for sure but the entire point is that there's a lot of room for debate to be had about it

But also like I said I haven't 100% figured out everything about my Underlust interpetation so I'm down to hear some thoughts and you are always welcomed to ask some questions

[sheeple]

More CoD thoughts!! This time medieval!au with concubine!König Warning(s): fem!reader (idk if that is a warning but good to know) / I canon (this) König as blond FIGHT ME pls don't / a mention of brushing hair (do I have to mention is? idk)

So imagine you are an empress

And König is this colonel who has fallen from grace. He lost a battle or something which resulted in many men dead

And now he's on his knees in front of you, face downcast and awaiting your judgement

You're sitting up on your throne and watching the man, thinking deeply about what to do with him

Yes, he made a mistake and your people expect him to be punished for it. But you can't deny that he has been a great strategist

"Leave us", you order

Once everybody has left the throne room, you stand up and saunter down the stairs, dragging your skirts behind you

Circling the crouching man, you trace his shoulders

"Remove your helmet, colonel."

His hands falter for a moment before he reaches up and reveals his scared face

Light blue eyes look up at you as blond hair falls into them

Finding him way too handsome to kill, you give him a proposition

Be your war advisor disguised as a concubine

Because he needs to be 'punished' in the eyes of your subjects, but also all your war and army advisors haven't been on a battlefield for decades and are idiots

Your advisor of royal customs has also been pestering you about finding a husband or starting a harem (as you dismissed your father's concubines the moment you took over the throne)

Two birds with one stone

König hates the idea at first, but he knows it's better than being executed

But he realises once he is led to his chambers that maybe this isn't soooo bad

It's the first time in years that he sleeps on a decent bed and has quality food in his belly so he's not complaining

The first time König joins you in your strategy meetings, he scares the crap out of your advisors

I mean... the man is two metres tall, bulky and has scars all over his body

It also doesn't help that he is shirtless, so his battle scars are on full display

Every time one of your advisors says something stupid or something he doesn't agree with, König grunts/scoffs

It makes you turn your head towards him and he bows down to whisper in your ear what he has to say

10/10 times he's right

And your advisors quickly realise that the man knows what he's talking about, that he's not just a concubine that you keep bringing with you

They hate him

One thing that König has been dreading is being called to your chambers. He knows it is the job of a concubine to please his empress, but he was forced into this position

So, when he is called to your chambers one evening, he mentally prepares for the worst

Except, it's not like that

When he's let into your room by the royal guards, he finds you seated at a table set for two people with a beaming smile

You raise to your feet as König bows deeply

"Come, join me for supper."

He's sceptical at first, expecting a catch

But you reassure him with a laugh that you won't force him to do anything he's opposed and that it's just a dinner

You ask questions about his life in the army and where he grew up, about how his youth was

It becomes a daily ritual for the both of you

In the beginning, you have to invite him. But after a while, he makes his way to your chambers on his own. It evolves to you finding him already lounging around when you come back from your duties of the day

One day, he helps you undo your miraculously crafted hairdo and since then it has become something that he just does as you wait for the servants to set the table and bring the food out

You close your eyes content as König rakes a comb through your hair, working out the knots

Eventually, you and König feel the need to spend more time together

It goes from you reading in your private gardens and him swinging a sword around

To him joining you for your day whenever he can and acting like an unofficial bodyguard

He scares off any and everyone who he deems too close to his empress

I personally would be spooked if this two-metre-tall, scantly clad man loomed over the shoulder of the person I try to talk to

It's not long before König starts to develop feelings for you

He knows that it's wrong

But it's the way you're looking at him, treating him like an equal and laughing at his stupid jokes that make his heart flutter every time you do so

He snaps one day when you and him are in your gardens

You have your head resting on his thigh as you read out loud your book, your body fully relaxed in the warmth of the sun and the shade of the trees

König watches how the sun makes your eyes look magical

It makes the butterflies in his belly go on a rampage

Deciding he can't handle you being so close to him anymore, he excuses himself and flees to the safety of his room

It confuses you

But it breaks your heart when he doesn't join you for dinner anymore

You go over your interactions with him in your head, in search of anything that warrants this behaviour

The only time that you see him is when there is a war council, but he keeps quiet and doesn't interject any of your advisors and generals

Your mood sours the longer it goes on, genuinely scaring your servants and the lords

Their usually happy and chatty empress has transformed into a shell and slowly dulls in colour

You don't notice it until your lady-in-waiting suggests you take a break to your summer home for a couple of weeks

So, arrangements are made and your more breathable clothes are packed into trunks and placed on the carriages

You hesitate in front of König's door, not sure if you should ask him if he wants to come with

He has been ignoring you for a while now

So, decide against it and just leave

You sunbath and swim in the ocean all wearing thin, white summer dresses that turn see-through when wet

Your lady-in-waiting sits on the side, her feet in the water as she watches you

"Empress, may I speak freely?"

And after you nod her question makes you choke

"Does the imperial concubine not please you anymore?"

Meanwhile, back at the castle...

König is driving himself mad

He has to be close to you, even if it means to be an actual concubine

So imagine his surprise when he can't find you anywhere and a servant tells him you're at your summer palace

He immediately goes to grab a horse and hurries towards you

You're quite shocked to see a panicked könig arrive and stumble over his feet to get to you

He drops to his knees as you sit in the dining room, his head hanging in shame and chest rising rapidly

"Please...", he begs, "my foolish heart has been stolen by you and I can't live like this anymore. Please, my empress, I would do anything for just a smidge of affection from you. Just say it and it's yours. I'll steal the moon and stars for you. I'll... I'll be naked and ready for you every night to do with me as you please. Be an obedient concubine. Just please..."

You lay a hand on his cheek and the man whimpers as he looks up at you with tears in his eyes

"You foolish man."

You kiss him with all your might, stealing his breath away

"You were always more than just my concubine."