#Had no clever title ideas

[lorephobic]

literally nobody asked for it, but here's my list of saltburn essays that i've slowly been drafting over the course of the last week which WILL be required reading for anybody trying to engage with me about this movie. my very personal saltburn 101 syllabus just dropped

A Wolf in Deer's Clothing: Saltburn's Attempt at Innocence

an examination of party costumes and our character's last attempts to masquerade as something they're not: felix—an angel, all-forgiving and all-knowing, something to be worshiped; and oliver—a prey animal, prey to class-divide, prey to saltburn, prey to felix.

thoughts about oliver specifically are loosely organized in my #bambi tag

A Midsummer Night's Mare: Farleigh Start as the Ultimate Victim of Saltburn

a farleigh character study, about the ways he was mistreated and manipulated at saltburn, about fighting to stay alive and the scars left behind by knowing when to give in

alternatively titled "QuickStart", may be adapted into a conclusive essay specifically focusing on oliver and farleigh's relationship

The Eye of the Beholder: On Saltburn's Voyeurism & Violence [working title]

how wealth and class pushes the catton's toward the volatile reality of being able to look, but not touch. on desire and the lack thereof, and portraying yourself as an object to be desired

may end up as two separate essays on wealth and aestheticism but i'm pushing toward a conclusive essay about the intersection of the two, which i feel is at the heart of saltburn

alternatively titled "Poor Man's Pudding: A Melvillian Approach to Saltburn's Class", again, may be adapted into it's own essay

Gender-Fluid: A Study in Sexuality and Saltburn's Desire to be Dry

a deep dive into the bodily fluids of saltburn and how oliver upsets the standard of men who are just so lovely and dry. on the creative choice to lean into the messy wetness of sex and desire and the audience's instinct toward repulsion

a celebration of the grotesque and an examination of why we would label it as such

least developed of the four, heavily inspired by @charnelpit's lovely post about the fluids in saltburn

if anybody is actually interested in any of these, i can work toward something closer to a finished piece instead of just bullet points and quotes in a google doc, but mostly this is so i can share my very brief takes on a multitude of themes in saltburn that have been haunting me

edit for people seeing this in the future: all posts about my essays are being organized into my #saltburn 101 tag if you’re interested in following these through to development!

[imtrashraccoon]

If it's ok can you do a bad sanses x child reader oneshot where the reader is part of the Bad sanses but as a healer but when it's morning and one of the boys goes to her room she was a child with no memory of them. So now they have to look after her while figuring out how to fix her. When looking after her she acts kind, chill and well behaved after being scared of them since she doesn't remember them but cross acts protective and horror acts like a teddy bear towards them and you can decide how the others act towards them and to avoid confusion the reader was an orphan back in their dead au and you can include Dr Baggs in it if you want (I'm sorry for the long read I hope your ok woth this and I thought you would like the idea)

My sincerest apologies for the wait! I was in the middle of the Don't Imagine event when you sent this, then I got burnt out not long afterwards, and then I rewrote the plot for this... Phew! I hope you don't mind, but I decided to set this in the same multiverse as Have Some Empathy, Dear because it's been on my mind a lot lately.

Confused and Afraid

Word Count: 6,152

The room was too hot, but when you kicked off the heavy blankets, you were suddenly too cold. Your head hurt really bad and when you sat up, you were hit with a sudden dizzy spell that all but forced you to lay back down. It felt like an eternity before your head stopped spinning. You made sure to sit up more carefully this time round, so as to not agitate your sensitive head further.

It was still dark. You weren't sure what time it was and you couldn't see much beyond your bed. Where was your nightlight? Had Mom forgotten to plug it in when she tucked you into bed? Where was Teddy? You wouldn't have gone to bed without him, so could the stuffed bear have fallen onto the floor?

Your throat felt as dry as a desert. You debated calling out for one of your parents, but you were a big girl now. You could find your way to the kitchen on your own. However, getting out of bed was harder than you remembered and the floor felt like ice to your bare feet. Maybe you should put on a pair of socks before getting that drink.

You went to take a step when all of the sudden, a pervading sense of wrongness flooded through you. You weren't wearing your favourite pair of pajamas, but a massive t-shirt that was more like a dress on your small frame. The bed seemed too large for you and none of the dark shapes against the walls resembled any of your bedroom furniture.

You struggled to piece together anything that could explain why you were in this strange room, but the more you tried to think, the worse your headache seemed to become. Plopping down on the ground, you rubbed at your head in a vain attempt to ease the pain. On a whim, you even tried using your healing magic and, while it helped, a dull ache still lingered despite your best efforts.

Interestingly, the glow from your magic provided enough light to navigate the room. With renewed confidence, you resumed your earlier mission now that you could see where you were going. Unfortunately, the doorknob was juuust out of reach and you had to stand on your tiptoes to turn it. With some difficulty, you managed to get the door open and peeked outside.

The hallway beyond was just as dark as the room had been, but it was larger and your magic wasn't bright enough to illuminate it. For a moment, you hesitated, wondering if you should just forget all this. It would be morning soon and then you could navigate this place without fear. However, before you could come to a decision, you heard a shuffling sound as if something was slowly approaching.

You turned slowly, only to come face to face with a very large shadow. It was so tall that you had to crane your neck to even see its face and when you did so, you let out a gasp.

A single glowing red eye was staring down at you.

You darted back into the bedroom and in your panic, slammed the door shut behind you. Where could you hide?! That...thing had seen you and who knew if the door would keep it out.

There was only one place that could possibly hide you. With no time to think, you dove under the bed as far as you could manage, clutching at your knees in an attempt to make yourself as small as possible.

There was a soft tap on the door and you quickly covered your mouth to muffle your fearful sob. Your heart was pounding so hard that it felt like it would burst and you could hardly seem to get enough air with each shuddering breath you took.

"...button?"

The monster's voice was somewhat subdued thanks to the door, but it sounded a lot deeper than you had thought possible. You didn't know what they wanted, but you certainly weren't about to find out. Maybe they would lose interest and move on?

"...are ya there?"

You remained as still as a mouse, wishing this was all just a nightmare and that you would wake up soon. Your mother had always told you that monsters weren't real, but now you weren't so sure. They didn't look like a person wearing a costume, but you were too scared to find out.

You heard the doorknob jiggle, but then it stopped and you heard someone else outside the bedroom.

"axe? what's wrong?" a concerned but even toned voice asked.

"...i don't know? she's...very small?"

There was a beat of silence.

"hey, you okay in there?" the second voice called out. "can i come in? you don't have to be afraid, we just want to make sure everything is alright."

You bit your lower lip. This person didn't sound scary, but what if they were just pretending so you'd let them in? You clutched your knees tighter, curling up even further into yourself. There was no way you were taking that chance.

To your horror, your lack of response did nothing to dissuade them and your heart skipped a beat as the door opened with a soft click. The darkness was suddenly chased away as one of them turned on the light, although your little hiding spot remained shrouded in shadows. You could hear them moving about the room and you knew it was only a matter of time before you were discovered.

A pair of white boots stepped up to the bed before their owner gingerly knelt down and peeked underneath. You let out a whimper when their white eyelights locked onto you.

"oh. she really is...small." For a moment, the new monster looked uncertain, but his expression soon morphed into one of concern. "hey juniper, it's okay... do you think you can come out?" he asked softly. "we don't want to hurt you, okay?"

You vehemently shook your head.

"c'mon, it's okay-"

Before he could finish his sentence, you felt a hand grab onto your shoulder and unceremoniously drag you out from under the bed. Apparently, the first monster had decided to circle around to the other side while the second served as a distraction, intentionally or not. Despite his size, you hadn't even heard him moving around after they'd both entered the room. You struggled and cried, but he wasn't about to let go, choosing instead to pin you against his own body and hold you there.

"dude! that's the exact opposite of what i was trying to do!" the second monster scolded as he stood up. "you've just made her even more scared."

The hulking monster let out a huff. "...too slow," he rumbled.

With a sigh, the second monster moved around the bed. He studied you for a moment but didn't try to touch you. Neither said anything, but the first monster shifted you into a more comfortable position and began sort of petting your head, as if he was trying to calm you down. When your sobbing began to ease and you weren't trembling as badly, you were able to determine that they were actually skeleton monsters.

The second one was wearing a black tank top and black shorts with white X's instead of stripes along the sides. The tips of his phalanges were slightly rounded and he didn't appear to have sharp teeth either. He had a red scar underneath his right eye socket and a few scratches along his arms, but otherwise didn't seem too scary.

The first skeleton was another story. The lack of shadows helped, but now that you could see him properly, he still had a lot of scary features. His phalanges seemed to be tipped with sharp claws and his slightly too wide smile was filled with sharp teeth. His singular red eyelight was shaped differently than his companion's, almost like a cat's, and the left side of his skull had a massive crack that meant you could see clear inside his head if there was anything to see. At least the plain t-shirt and basketball shorts he was wearing seemed normal enough.

"do...do you remember us?" the monochromatic skeleton asked quietly.

You frowned and shook your head. As far as you were aware, you had never seen these two in your life. They looked pretty distinct, almost like they had stepped out of a tv show, but none that you had watched. If you had met them before, you were pretty sure you would remember something like that.

Both skeletons seemed upset by this, but the second managed to quickly compose himself. "okay then... this is fine," he muttered before turning back to you. "how about we start with introductions? then, we won't seem like strangers anymore."

You half nodded and half shook your head, but he seemed slightly encouraged that you'd even tried to answer in the first place.

The monochromatic skeleton smiled. "my name is cross, and this, " he motioned to your captor, "is axe."

You glanced up nervously at the skeleton in question. With a name like that, the hulk of a monster couldn't sound less scary if he tried. While Cross had a bit of a formal air about him, Axe seemed much more wild and rough around the edges. It didn't help that he was intensely staring at you either.

You swallowed nervously and decided to just look at Cross instead. With some difficulty, you managed to give them your name, but neither seemed at all surprised, as if they really had met you before. It felt kind of weird and you didn't know why.

"would you like something drink? we could make hot chocolate if you want?" Cross suggested.

Axe nodded in agreement. "...good idea. somethin' warm an' sweet should help ya feel better."

You had almost forgotten how thirsty you were, but before you could answer, someone lightly rapped on the bedroom door. Both Cross and Axe visibly tensed up and slowly turned around. Now, there were two other skeletons standing in the doorway; one wearing a pink cat onesie while the other had on a blue hoodie with black basketball shorts.

The skeleton in the onesie must have been the one to knock and as soon as he had the other's attention, he pushed off the wall and grinned. "hey~ don't think you could leave me out of the fun!" he exclaimed with a slight chuckle.

The first things that you noticed about him were the glowing red target above his chest and his lack of eyelights. There were also black lines running down his cheekbones, starting at his eye sockets, but otherwise, he sported no visible scars.

The other skeleton remained silent and while you couldn't really see his facial expression thanks to the shadow from his hood, you could see his glowing eyelights. Both were red, although the left one had a small ring of blue towards the center, and while he appeared disinterested, he was still staring right at you. Notably, he was also wearing white gloves and a red scarf.

"we're not having fun," Cross started to say. "this is actually rather serious-"

"yeah, yeah, don't get your uniform in a twist, crossy~"

Having been rudely interrupted, Cross glared at the new skeleton and clenched his fists. The skeleton in question sort of pranced over, although the hooded one stayed near the door for now, seemingly content to watch.

"how'd you get a kid?" the new skeleton asked, pushing Cross out of the way to get closer to you.

Axe only let out a low growl and lifted you out of reach, which had you scrambling to hold onto him for fear of falling.

"as i was trying to say," Cross huffed. He grabbed onto the annoying skeleton's onesie and walked him back a few feet, much to his chagrin. "juniper seems to have shrunk and we aren't sure why yet."

"...she also doesn't remember anythin'," Axe added helpfully as he shifted you into his shoulder.

"that may not be a bad thing tho-"

The new skeleton was abruptly silenced by harsh glares from your protectors.

With a sigh, Cross turned back to you. "this is killer. he's unfortunately always like this..."

"hey, i resent that!" the aforementioned skeleton grumbled.

"...and that's dust. i should warn you that he likes being left alone most of the time," Cross continued and gestured towards the hooded skeleton.

Dust tilted his head slightly, but other than that brief acknowledgement, said nothing.

You nearly jumped when Killer appeared next to you, even though he couldn't really reach you. Apparently, he didn't enjoy being ignored even for a moment, but other than looking slightly miffed, he seemed curious.

"soooo," he started to say. "is it true that you really don't remember me?"

You studied him carefully for a moment before slowly shaking your head.

He chuckled, although you thought it sounded rather hollow. "i see... memory issues are always fun," he hummed. "don't worry, cupcake. we'll figure this out, won't we?"

Axe hummed in agreement and Cross gave you a small smile. You weren't sure how they intended to help you with remembering, but they certainly seemed confident enough. Maybe you had misjudged them? They were still scary of course, but they seemed to like you well enough, so maybe everything would be alright.

You weren't sure about Dust though. He hadn't said anything since entering the room, instead choosing to just watch. He almost seemed disinterested in the whole situation. However, when you turned to look at him, he gave you a thumbs up, as if he knew what you had been thinking.

"O-okay, I'll... I'll trust you guys," you said quietly.

While they all seemed pleased by this revelation, Killer managed to be the most enthusiastic, to the point where it felt weird. However, you were only half paying attention because you noticed Dust suddenly shift and glance out into the hall. Whatever or whoever he'd seen was apparently a big deal, since he immediately straightened up and moved out of the way.

Another Monster stepped into the bedroom, and while he kind of looked similar to the others, you weren't sure if he was actually a skeleton. He was covered in a black inky substance and four tendrils emerged from his back. His right eye socket was obscured, but his left held a cyan eyelight that looked sort of similar to Axe's. Even the bathrobe he was wearing was black, although you weren't sure if it was also covered in the strange substance or not.

"What is going...? Oh, I see..."

The moment his eyelight landed on you, his permanent smile sharpened and you felt a chill run down your spine. Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around Axe's cervical vertebrae and tried to make yourself as small as possible. You didn't have to ask to know that this new person was much more dangerous than the others.

To his credit, Axe took almost being throttled rather well and carefully pulled your arms away, simultaneously shifting you into a better position. " 's all right, button," he murmured while carefully stroking your hair. "just our boss, nightmare."

What a fitting name for someone who looked like something your brain would inadvertently conjure up to scare you. Unfortunately, Axe's attempts to soothe your anxiety were ineffective and you only clung tighter to him.

Nightmare let out a soft chuckle as he crossed the room, apparently finding your fear amusing. It didn't help that no one stopped him, although you felt Axe tense up ever so slightly when he drew closer. Even Cross silently stepped aside, but by the way he clenched his fists by his sides, you didn't think he had wanted to.

"You aren't wrong to be afraid," Nightmare said to you quietly. "But I'm not going to hurt you, dear." You didn't miss the fact that he also had sharp claws and shied away when he gently moved some of your hair out of your face, although there wasn't really anywhere to go. He scrutinized you for a moment before glancing up at Axe. "May I see her?"

The giant of a skeleton let out a small huff and narrowed his eye sockets. Rather than immediately obey, he turned his attention to you. "think you can be brave for me?" he asked. "you can trust him, alright?"

You didn't believe him at all, but it didn't seem like you had much of a choice. So, you took a deep breath and nodded. "I-I'll try..."

"i know ya can," Axe murmured. He managed to ruffle your hair one more time before gingerly passing you over to his boss.

Nightmare was a lot more gentle than you had expected. While at first he held you with both arms, he soon added one of his tendrils to free up one of his hands. The interesting part was that the inky substance covering him didn't come off onto your skin or clothing. It was cool to the touch and sort of squishy, but you could still feel his bones underneath. His tendrils were even more spongy than his body, and while they weren't immediately obvious, there were rows of little suction cups along the underside. They struck you as being similar to an octopus' tentacles, which was somehow oddly amusing to you.

"This is all rather confusing, isn't it?"

"Y-yeah," you murmured, ducking your head against his sternum.

Nightmare hummed softly and lifted your chin with a phalanx. For a moment, he stared at you intently, which only served to make you more uncomfortable, but you felt like you couldn't look away. It wasn't like he was forcing you to maintain eye contact, but he had a sort of commanding presence that was almost enthralling.

His eye socket widened slightly and then he broke eye contact. You were left feeling more confused. What had he seen? Was there something wrong with you? By the other's earlier reactions, you knew that they knew something had happened, but you just didn't know what.

"I'm going to take her to Dr. Baggs," he stated firmly. "He should be able to figure out what happened."

Cross looked a little uncertain but didn't protest. "that's probably a good idea."

Axe nodded in agreement.

Even Killer seemed to think it was a good idea. "don't worry, sweetie, the doc knows his stuff." He winked and shot you a pair of finger guns.

"I'll need to talk with each of you later," Nightmare said as he turned to leave. "The sooner we get to the bottom of this the better."

You chewed at your bottom lip. "I-is there something w-wrong with me?"

Nightmare ran his claws through your hair in what was likely an attempt to be comforting, but his movements were stiffer than Axe's had been. "That is why I want to get an expert's opinion," he answered in a softer tone. "I wouldn't say there's anything wrong in particular, but something has certainly affected your physical form."

Dust gave a slight nod as you were carried out of the bedroom. If you weren't suddenly so anxious about your current situation, you might've waved goodbye or done anything to acknowledge him in return. As it stood though, you barely glanced at him before Nightmare whisked you away and down the still very dark hallway.

"Close your eyes, dear."

Nightmare was back to his earlier stern tone. You thought about mentioning that you couldn't even see where he was taking you, but then he stopped walking and looked down at you. Thanks to the glow of his cyan eyelight, you could tell that he wore an expectant expression and that he wasn't giving you the option to say no.

So, you gave in. You closed your eyes, but only after snuggling further into his hold.

"Good girl, now keep them closed until I say." With that, you felt his tentacles coil around you, sort of like a cocoon, so that there was no chance of somehow becoming separated from him.

You nodded against his collarbone.

The ambient sounds of the castle suddenly faded and were replaced with dead silence. The temperature also turned cooler than it already was, but only for a moment. Then, everything shifted again. You began to notice the sound of air conditioning and the occasional beeping noise.

"It's alright, you may open your eyes now," Nightmare murmured softly.

To your surprise, you were somewhere entirely different. The vast ceiling and gray stonework had been replaced by a narrow corridor and sterile tiles. Instead of torch sconces on the walls, there was now fluorescent tube lighting along the ceiling. Unfortunately, the air was still just as chilly as the castle had been and you huddled closer to Nightmare in an attempt to conserve what body heat you had.

The aforementioned skeleton seemed to notice your shivering. He wrapped another of his tendrils around your small form, but it didn't help much since he wasn't exactly warm blooded like you were. Still, you appreciated his attempt and the added support was comforting.

There were a lot of closed doors in this hallway, but at the end there was one that looked like it had been heavily reinforced. Nightmare stopped in front of this door and knocked before stepping back to wait. You looked up at him curiously, but when he didn't say anything, you turned your attention back to the door.

There wasn't any visible knobs nor an obvious way to open the door, although you did notice a keypad set into a nearby wall. Instead of numbers, the buttons had strange symbols in a seemingly random order. Could they be from another language or maybe a code? Just above the keypad, there was a small screen and next to that, a small blue light. Or maybe it was a sensor? You weren't sure, but every now and then, it would pulse before returning to normal.

Just then, the screen flickered to life and a skeleton appeared, although he was rendered in varying shades of blue.

"you should know i'm very- oh. it's you."

The speakers didn't seem to be very good quality, but you could still tell this skeleton had a deep voice. He also sounded irritated, especially when he recognized Nightmare. With the camera's quality, you couldn't make out much, but he seemed to wearing an unusual high collared coat? Was he really a doctor?

"I'm sure you're absolutely swamped with work, like usual," Nightmare responded. His tone sounded almost snarky and you noticed the corners of his permanent smile stretch into more of a sneer. It faded almost immediately and you felt his grip on you tighten ever so slightly. "However, I need your expertise, doctor."

Baggs' eyelights flicked to you and he narrowed his eye sockets suspiciously. After a moment, he sighed, "fine, but you'll owe me for this..."

After a moment, you heard five distinct thunks as each of the bolt locks retracted. With a hiss, the heavy metal paneling parted to reveal the room beyond. The whole process felt like you were about to enter a bank vault, but you weren't sure why a simple doctor would need so much security.

The room was filled with large tanks, gray filing cabinets, and various other instruments that you couldn't name. A beefy computer with multiple monitors was set up on a large desk that took up the bulk of one wall. There were also a few more normal pieces of furniture like a couch, a small table and chairs, and two hospital beds shoved into one corner. It was definitely more of a lab than an office, having been built with function in mind rather than comfort.

"you better have a very good reason for bringing me a child."

Dr. Baggs had his arms crossed when the two of you entered the laboratory. He was nearly a foot shorter than Nightmare, and while he bore some similarities to the other skeletons you'd met previously, he was also very different. For one, his eyelights were different colours; his left being a soft magenta while the other was a pale white. He was wearing a lab coat, but it had a cape with magenta highlights in the lining. Combined with the long black rubber gloves he was wearing, you thought he looked more like a mad scientist from a cartoon than a doctor.

"Oh c'mon, Baggs. I'm sure it's not as bad as you think," a feminine voice called out.

You hadn't noticed the small desk in the far corner, nor the woman who'd been previously organizing several stacks of papers behind it. She had dark medium length hair that was slightly wavy, greenish blue eyes, and a pale complexion. She was wearing a thick green turtleneck sweater and black pants.

She smiled and walked around the desk to join the rest of you. "It's nice to see you again, Nightmare, but who is this?" she asked, looking at you.

"This is the human Horror and Cross found a year ago after her AU collapsed, remember?" He gave you an affectionate squeeze with his tentacles before glancing down at you. "This is Minty. You've met her a few times actually, but she's not in the castle as often as she used to be."

Minty cocked her head, giving you a curious look as she studied your face. "Oh! Yes, you were training to be a healer, if I'm not mistaken."

Well now you had even more questions. What was an AU? How come everyone seemed to remember things that you couldn't? What had happened to you?

Baggs' expression softened slightly and he uncrossed his arms. "let's just get this over with so you can go back to your fancy castle," he grumbled.

While he still sounded a little annoyed, he did seem relieved that you weren't some random kid that Nightmare had decided to kidnap. You didn't blame him though. Neither Baggs nor Nightmare seemed to like the other and you had a feeling the doctor didn't enjoy being roped into unsavoury business.

~ ~ ~ <3

"Here."

You looked over at Minty, noticing that she was offering you a piece of candy.

"Thanks," you murmured, carefully unwrapping the sweet.

She smoothed out your hair a little and smiled. "You did good by the way. I don't think Baggs is used to having such a...cooperative patient."

You let out a quiet hum, glancing over at the other side of the room where Nightmare and the doctor in question were going over the results of the tests. Their expressions were indecipherable and they were speaking to each other quietly, so you couldn't tell what they were saying.

Towards the end of the check up, Baggs had attached a few wires to your chest, which apparently allowed him to see a scan of your soul on his tablet. If you hadn't felt so nervous, you might have thought it was amazing that he could do that, but you were just glad he hadn't had to summon your soul in the first place.

Unfortunately, if the slightly concerned look he got when he read over the results was anything to go by, then there was something seriously wrong with your soul. The other adults also seemed to notice, and while Nightmare was quick to try and understand the situation, Minty had elected to distract and comfort you instead.

It was nerve wracking to say the least. You didn't know what was going on and no one was explaining anything. How bad was it? Were you going to die?

Minty's fingers moved from your head to your back, tracing slow patterns across your shirt. Every now and then, she would apply a bit more pressure, almost like a gentle massage, before returning to a more mindless rhythm.

You couldn't focus on anything. The room felt like it was spinning and the only sound you could hear was the pounding of your own heart. Just as the panic was beginning to overwhelm you, a warm feeling seemed to blossom from your chest, spreading out until your entire body felt wrapped up in a blanket of hope. It was disorientating; this feeling wasn't yours and you didn't know where it had come from.

Minty's hands tightened on your shoulders, jolting you back to reality. "It's going to be alright, sweetie," she whispered in your ear.

The realization that she had somehow been able to manipulate your emotions sent a chill down your spine. You whipped your head around and stared at her in shock. Did she also have magic like you did?

Seemingly reading your mind, Minty gave you a wry smile and patted your shoulder. "Sorry if my Intent startled you. I thought you seemed a bit on edge and I wanted to help."

You opened your mouth to ask what she meant, when Nightmare suddenly let out a growl of frustration.

"I don't care what you think, I'm not leaving her here!" His body was rigid, save for the occasional twitch from his tentacles, as if he was doing everything in his being to keep from lashing out at the doctor.

To your surprise, Baggs didn't even flinch, instead giving the angry god an almost bored look. His mismatched eyelights briefly flicked to his tablet before looking over at Minty, who silently shrugged.

Apparently, Nightmare wasn't happy with his protests being ignored and he moved closer, effectively pinning Baggs against a nearby desk. "Listen and listen well," he hissed, prodding the doctor's sternum with a clawed finger. "She deserves to stay with people who care about her. I made a mistake and I'm going to fix it, understand?"

Baggs said nothing, continuing to passively stare at Nightmare. Finally, he let out a sigh and looked away, running a gloved hand over his face. "fine, do what you think is best. this whole mess is outside my expertise anyways," he muttered.

"Nightmare?" At the sound of Minty's quiet question, both skeletons turned to look at her. "What did you do?" She sounded concerned and a little suspicious at the same time.

The god's good eye socket widened and you thought he looked almost...guilty? He started to walk towards both of you, but stopped himself a few paces away.

"Nothing, I did nothing," he finally answered.

Minty closed the distance, fixing him with an unimpressed look and crossing her arms. "Really? You're telling me you aren't the reason our friend is like this now? I thought you prided yourself on always telling the truth?"

Her accusations seemed to hit a nerve. "I have never lied," Nightmare hissed. He took a step forward, so that he was all but leering over the smaller woman, his tendrils flicking with irritation. "No, I am the reason." His cyan eyelight flicked lower, briefly focusing on her chest before refocusing on her face. "She's like you, and I did nothing..."

Minty let out an audible gasp, her hand quickly covering her mouth as she stepped back. The tension in her body seemed to evaporate all at once and her shoulders slumped. She glanced at you, concern written all over her face, before turning back to the god.

"Why?" she murmured. "Did you forget she was an...incode?"

"No. I just... I didn't think my men would bond with another human. I didn't think she would stick around this long. I thought your relationship with them was the exception, not the rule."

Minty clenched her fists at her sides, as if she was barely restraining her anger. "Get out," she growled. "If you're serious about this, you have a lot of fixing to do."

Nightmare nodded stiffly, "I'm sorry." He held eye contact with her for a few seconds, his eyelight flickering with an unknown emotion. Slowly, he tore himself away and walked over to the bed, carefully gathering you into his arms.

You didn't protest in the slightest, simply allowing him to tuck you against his ribcage. His tentacles coiled securely around your torso, both supporting and comforting you.

Neither Minty nor Baggs said anything, although the former refused to look at Nightmare as he left with you. Baggs briefly caught your eye, but he soon turned his attention to Minty, placing his hand on her arm. He looked concerned, almost like he was going to say something, but the heavy doors slid shut before you could hear anything.

This time, Nightmare didn't need to tell you to close your eyes. You buried your face into his robe, letting out a quiet sob and clutching the dark fabric so tightly that your knuckles turned white.

Rather than immediately teleport back to the castle, Nightmare hesitated. "I know, dear," he murmured, tracing slow lines up and down your back with his claws. "I won't judge you for being afraid or upset."

You cried softly for a few minutes as he continued trying to soothe you. "I'm...going to die..." you finally whispered.

His grip on you tightened and he let out a quiet hiss under his breath. "No. I won't let that happen." His tone was firm, leaving no room for doubt in your mind, and so, you nodded silently rather than protest.

Before you knew it, the constant drone of air conditioning faded away, replaced by the familiar sound of a crackling fire. When you opened your eyes, you realized that you were in a surprisingly modern living room.

There was a large tv surrounded by a plush couch and a couple beanbags. You noticed a large stone fireplace on another wall that was providing most of the light in the room, other than the glow from the tv and some light seeping in from an adjoining room of course.

Killer was lounging on the couch, playing what looked like a beat 'em up game on the tv. You didn't see Dust or Horror anywhere, but Cross had just finished adding fresh fuel to the fireplace across the room.

Nightmare cleared his non-existent throat, drawing the attention of the two skeletons. "We're back."

Two skulls whipped in your direction and the video game was quickly paused. Cross immediately appeared at your side, his eyelights scanning your face to see if you were alright. His bonebrows furrowed when he noticed that you had been crying and he glanced up at Nightmare.

"i'm guessing it's not good news?" he asked quietly.

Nightmare said nothing, but his expression must have been confirmation enough for the monochromatic skeleton. His tendrils loosened before letting go of you entirely.

"She will be fine for the time being," he started to say. "I have to locate Error and convince him to help. I trust the rest of you can look after her until then?"

Cross looked puzzled for a second, but quickly recovered and nodded. "yes, of course!" he exclaimed, holding out his arms for you.

Rather than immediately hand you over, Nightmare let out a quiet hum. His good eyelight flicked to Killer, who was now leaning over the back of the couch with a surprisingly serious look on his face, then to Cross again before turning his attention to you. He shifted your weight to one arm, gently tracing your face with his now free hand. He seemed to be examining you, committing your facial features to memory. While he said nothing, you noticed that beneath the look of determination, his gaze held a sort of tenderness as well.

He broke the unofficial staring contest to finally place you in Cross' waiting arms. The skeleton shifted you into a position where you were almost perching on his shoulder, but where you had the option to rest your head against his own skull if you wished, which you did.

Killer grinned and winked at you. "don't worry, we'll take good care of her, boss."

Nightmare nodded, "Depending if he is in a good mood, I might be back quickly, but I'm not counting on it." He glanced at you and Cross. "I am sure the others will be glad for the chance to dote on our precious human. I would like to have a word with Killer, so why don't you two go find them?" he asked in a gentle tone of voice that seemed to be more directed at you than the skeleton.

Cross smiled and lightly squeezed you. "c'mon juniper, i think horror was planning to make your favourite kind of cookies earlier." He started to carry you into the adjoining room you had spotted earlier.

You couldn't help but wonder what Nightmare was planning. What had he meant by you being similar to Minty? Why was he blaming himself? Why had you forgotten everything?

"what can error do that the doctor can't?" Killer asked quietly.

Nightmare hesitated for a moment and you strained to hear what he might say next.

"Fix corrupted code..."

[laambfuzz]

—- cat and mouse. ft schlatt. ᝰ

summary: after schlatt's audio, you had to make it known you had discovered it. all goes well and you think you finally have the upper hand, until you log back onto soundgasm to see a surprise waiting for you.

— tags: smut, lunch club!schlatt, mutual masturbation.. technically?, schlatt does porn (duh), dirty talk, degradation and light praise, open ending.. again

authors note: happy valentines my loves!! wanted to treat you with a longer post and hoped to get this out for the 14th for you all (it's still the 14th for me, so!) whether you celebrated it with someone or not, you've got some pornstar!schlatt to help you with the day. once again, credit to @fanficfox who started this lovely idea.♡

schlatt had finally came back to streaming, after a few days off

and you were going to take tonight as your chance to get him back in this game of cat and mouse you had been playing

you lurked in chat for a while, letting the stream run by as normal. you wanted to wait a little, before inevitably pouncing your prey

and so when he had mentioned a bathroom break, you decided it was your time to strike

you got your donation amount and message ready for him returning, your index finger hovering over your mouse. you wanted to get the donation in as soon as possible, before others started to do the same

you heard the clambering of schlatt almost falling into his room, drawing your attention back to the screen as he sat back on his chair, announcing his return

your finger hit the donation button instantly, and now you just had to wait for the payment to confirm, and for tts to pick up your message

it took a minute, but finally the tts bot spoke up and announced your message

"i can't believe i was soaked a few nights ago, and it was all your fault. tsk tsk, big guy."

schlatts face contorts into one of shock, face turning to his other monitor as he tried to catch who sent the donation

as soon as he saw your name he felt a shiver go through his spine

but he changed his facial expression to one of disgust, shaking his head and murmuring a "what the fuck?" to act like it was just a random thirst comment

but he knew it was more than that, and so did you

chat was on schlatt's side of course, calling out the weirdness of the donation and noticing how uncomfy schlatt had gotten

then another donation pinged through, schlatt's eyes darting to the screen to see if it was from you

and it was

"you made a bet that it was going to rain last stream, and it did."

chat is suddenly spamming OMEGALUL's and KEKW's, laughing at the misconception but still shocked at how the last donation was worded

schlatt swallowed thickly, letting out a heavy sigh as he felt relief. relief from what? he didn't know, but somehow chat not caring made him feel hidden, still

"what, were you thinking of something else? fucking pervs."

the last donation comes through, and chat just continues to laugh. they assume it's at them, and that's what you wanted

but once again, you and schlatt knew it was more than that

schlatt sent somewhat of a glare to the camera, and you felt his dark eyes peering right through you

but you felt a thrill of excitement at the same time, happy to have one-upped him after a few nights ago

however, you really weren't expecting him to get you back so soon

you got into bed later that night and had your phone already loaded onto schlatt's soundgasm page, and that's when you seen it

a new video had been uploaded tonight— desperate little thing

a heat suddenly started to pool in your belly as you read the title, and you clicked on it instantly

your free hand trailed under the covers, nudging your underwear to the side as your middle and index fingers grazed your clit

you press the start button and you're instantly greeted with a dark, low chuckle

"bet you thought you were real clever, huh sweetheart? thought you could try tease me like that and get away with it?"

a whine leaves your throat at his voice, the fact it's condescending and so much lower than you usually hear on stream

you hear a scoff, a creak of the chair before his breath is suddenly hitting the mic

he breathes deeply into the mic for a few moments, his breath hitching occasionally so you can only imagine he's once again stroking himself on the other end

"pathetic fuckin' donation messages, is what they were," he starts, inhaling through his nose before heavily exhaling. "could tell how needy you were. wanted me to see so bad you had to give me your fuckin' cash?"

your fingers toyed with your clit before you rubbed slow circles, moaning softly at his low voice, and how he was insulting you

"bet you're already touching yourself, huh? like a filthy fuckin' slut, all because im talkin' down on you," he chuckles dryly, before groaning lowly. "just pathetic. can't keep your hands off yourself when you see me. so- fuck.. so desperate."

and he was right. you were touching yourself, getting even wetter as he spoke down on you, as if you were nothing

if his words were so wrong and mean, why was it making you feel so good?

a sweet moan drops from his lips, and you can hear the wet sounds as he jerks himself off. "but don't you worry, sweetheart. i like my sluts desperate."

and something about that line drove you wild. you felt your face grow hot at the embarrassing whine you let out as he said it, but it's not as if he was here to hear it anyways

your fingers sped up, stroking the circles faster against your clit as you bucked your hips up into your fingers

anything for the extra friction

the audio continued with schlatt talking you through touching yourself, talking about how he's stroking himself and all the lovely groans, pants and grunts that comes with it

suddenly he stops all movement though, and nothing can be heard

"should i finish, hmm? should i let you hear me cum? beg for me slut, c'mon."

and it's so fucking stupid, and you shouldn't beg for an audio file

and yet..

your fingers are slipping downwards, allowing your thumb to take over the role for rubbing your clit, as the other two fingers now slide inside you

"fuck! please— please schlatt, let me— let me hear it. need to hear you— please."

the words fall from your lips without command, pouring right from your heart as you ache to hear him in return, needing to hear as he hits his climax

you hear a long, slow grunt from the audio causing you to gasp and perk up, fingers continuing their work

"i know you're a good slut f'me, letting everyone know how much you need me. and you love it, don't you? love me putting you in your place, over a fuckin' audio file? pathetic."

schlatt lets out a whine as he pants, a shuddering moan escaping him and you can tell he's cumming, judging by the higher moans and faster movements

"come on, fuckin' listen to me. you better cum now sweetheart, i'm telling you."

and as if his words had some control over you, suddenly your whole body was shaking as the orgasm overtook it, and your slick began to soak your fingers

you worked yourself through the orgasm, slowly but surely working down the pace of your fingers and thumb before you slumped into the bed, chest heaving as you closed your eyes, revelling in schlatt's own heavy breathing

"next time— next time you come to play, remember who owns you sweetheart. i'll see you next time, because i'm hoping you'll come back for more," he starts, before he cuts himself off with a chuckle

"who am i kiddin'? of course you'll come crawling back to me, you always do."

[spider-stark]

JEALOUSY

Aegon II Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Summary - Dealing with the consequences of making Aegon jealous

Warnings - MINORS DNI, abusive/toxic relationship, definite masochism, choking, brief mentions of blood, brief mentions of blades, targcest

Word Count - 1.6k

// masterlist // send me your thoughts //

Stars cloud your vision when he shoves you against the wall, your temple slamming into the rough stone. 

You hiss at the pain splintering through your skull, throbbing so much that you hardly even acknowledge the accompanying ache in your shoulder, your arm contorted awkwardly as his fingers wrap tightly around your wrist, pinning it in-between your shoulder blades. 

He leans in close, pressing his weight against your spine and knocking the air from your lungs. His other hand comes up to tangle itself in your hair, keeping your cheek pressed firmly against the stone.

You try to use your free hand to push back against the wall, desperate to give your chest enough space to expand, to allow oxygen to fill your needy lungs. 

A dry laugh rattles his chest at the sight, amused as he watches you shove helplessly. Then, after listening to your pathetic pants for a few heartbeats, his grip slackens enough to let you catch a full breath—but not enough to give you an opportunity to escape his hold. 

Though, even if you could free yourself, you would’ve had no intention of actually doing so. 

“I bet you think you’re a clever girl,” his lips are nearly grazing against your earlobe as he speaks, the warmth of his breath fanning down your neck. “Don’t you?” 

Aegon’s tone is sickeningly sweet, and the saccharine taunt offers a distinct contrast to the violent grip he still has on you. You can still feel the sharp sting of his nails clawing around your wrist, digging into the flesh so deeply that you wonder if he will draw blood. 

It wouldn’t be the first time that Aegon had made you bleed—and you hoped that it wouldn’t be the last. 

Panting, still trying to catch your breath, you say, “I haven’t the slightest idea as to what you’re on about, brother.” 

Brother—the title elicits a guttural sound from him, a low and heavenly sound that has your body acting of its own volition, your thighs squeezing together in search of friction. 

Aegon knew that, in this particular instance, your choice of wording had been a deliberate move. A reminder of what you were to him; his youngest and sweetest sibling, a girl that he was supposed to want to protect from evil men like himself, the kind that wished to ruin you in ways the Seven would never forgive. 

But you enjoy feeding into his sinful and insatiable desire to defile his sweet sister. And, in spite of the pain—from your head, from your shoulder, from your wrist—there’s a sly smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. A sudden sense of power rushes your veins, dulling the pain you’re feeling and replacing it with immeasurable satisfaction. 

You had control over Aegon—always. 

Even now, with a hand pinned behind your back and stone scraping your cheek, you held the most power, because you were the one that had worked to painstakingly orchestrate this entire situation; using today’s tourney as an opportunity to entertain a few pathetic men from House Greyjoy, going so far as to offer one of them your favor during the joust, and giving up a dance to another after the banquet. 

You had taken advantage of your brother’s innate jealousy, as well his own deep-seated insecurity that eventually you would find another body to warm your bed, another man to satiate your desires. Cruelly, you had taken advantage of him in hopes of eliciting this very response. 

You wanted him like this—frustrated and enraged, so irate and possessive that the only way he could possibly relieve the tension was like this; shoving you against a wall, hellbent on forcefully reminding you that your body had been made for him. 

“You’re insufferable,” his moan is laced with such animosity, such raw ferocity, “you think that you can do whatever you wish,” his head dips lower, nuzzling his nose against the side of your neck, “that you can flirt what whoever you wish,” your breath catches in your throat as you feel his tongue quickly swipe along your pulse point before growling, “without consequences.” 

His finger’s knot themselves further into your hair, keeping you from thrashing away from him as he sinks his teeth into you. A wave of pleasure and pain ripples through you at the sensation of his sharp cuspids pricking at the sensitive flesh. 

“Aeg-” 

More calculation, more deliberation—you knew how much Aegon loved to hear you whine for him, knew that it would cause another moan to slip from his lips, effectively loosening his jaw and relieving the pain of teeth prodding into your throat. 

He doesn’t stop, though, continuing to nibble and suck until there’s a bruise blossoming beneath his lips, always refusing to pass up on an opportunity to mark you. You writhe against him, further feeding into his fantasy of sullying his little sister by trying to squirm from his grasp. 

But, with his body still pressed so firmly against yours, caging you to the wall, you find yourself grinding against the firm imprint of his cock straining against his trousers. The subsequent whimpers that fall from your lips are not purposeful, instincts taking over once again as you try and shift your hips, rising on your toes and attempting to poke your ass out, doing everything you can to feel him against you. 

A thin bridge of saliva trails from your marred neck to his lips as he tuts softly, “So needy,” he presses a kiss to the growing bruise he’s left behind, the action so tender and doting. The hand he had raveled in your hair falls to rest in the curve of your waist, squeezing slightly as he asks you, “Tell me—do you truly think that those Greyjoy boy’s could have gotten you like this?” 

“Perhaps,” you tease him, intending to see just how far you could push him, “I’ve heard rumors about the Iron Islanders. Baela tells me that the Grejoy men are well-known for their fat cocks-” 

The crude claim has just hardly left your mouth before Aegon whirls you around, sending your back crashing into the stone this time, his hand enclosed around your throat. It’s nearly impossible to tell whether the sounds slipping from you are from pleasure or pain, but Aegon doesn’t particularly care. 

“Speak one more word about their cocks,” he snarls, his lilac eyes turning predatory as they narrow at you, “and I will carve your tongue out.” 

Your own gaze travels to his waist, settling on the dagger sheathed at his hip. Indolent as he was, you knew that your brother was capable of making true on his threat. For all the discipline he lacked, he still had the sort of temperament that makes a man deadly—with or without a weapon. 

But you trust him—more than you should—and you immediately recognize his threat as being an empty one. Aegon had no intention of ever pulling a blade on you; though he had certainly succeeding in implanting the thought in your head, your mind suddenly running wild with all of the ways that you might encourage him to use it on you later, wondering how it might feel to have him fuck you with the hilt. 

Aegon shakes you from these fantasies, though, squeezing your throat tight enough that your vision is going hazy again, leaving you blinking stupidly at him. “With only a few chaste kisses I’ve succeeded in turning you into a writhing whore,” he spats at you, the harshness of his tone making you flinch, “could the Greyjoy’s have done that?” 

There’s a wobble in his voice as he speaks the same, giving away his need for reassurance. You almost consider giving it to him, nearly finding yourself the victim of his soft, pouty lips, your body urging you to lean in and taste them—but it seems that your silence has a more desired effect, earning an entitled huff before his other hand is gliding down your abdomen, bunching up the silky fabric of your dress. 

“No,” he mutters, perhaps to himself more than you. “They could not satisfy you! No—they could not possibly know all of the right ways to touch you, to kiss you, to fuck you!” 

You’re biting your tongue as his hand finally slips beneath your dress, his fingers swiftly diving between your thighs, curving so that he can make quick work of removing the smallclothes beneath—only to realize that you’re wearing none. 

He stops—his chest rising and falling in a series of many short, shallow breaths. His rage grows exponentially, his intrinsic insecurity leading him to believe that you had abstained for their benefit and not his. There’s a muscle feathering in his jaw and, for the first time in this encounter, you nearly consider searching for a means of escape, your eyes beginning to grow wide with fear. 

But then his lip trembles, lilac eyes growing glossy as he growls, “You are mine–” his palm is flat against your throat, squeezing tight enough to make you wheeze, “only mine.” 

His mouth is on yours before the declaration has even fully rolled off of his tongue, uttering the final word against your lips as he kisses you harshly, fervently, desperately—trying to prove himself to you, prove that he’s capable of making you feel a type of euphoria that the Greyjoy boy’s never could. 

Later—you would soothe his pitiful little mind, promising him that you had never actually taken an interest in the Greyjoy’s. Later, once you had been thoroughly bruised, bitten, and fucked, you would tell him the truth; that you had only ever wanted him. 

But, for now at least, you would take all the pleasure you could get from the dangerous, predatory touch of your jealous boy.

a/n - idk, i was bored at work and just ended up with this. not sure if i even like it, but i'm trying to get better at just posting the things i write instead of letting them die in my drafts

also if anyone wants to talk about hotd (writing about it or just watching it lol) please message me, i'm desperate for hotd friends before season 2 <3 <3

[oliffee]

Princess OC: The Bottled Ship

This is just my thought process on my stp oc, bottled ship! Long ramble under the cut for those who are interested.

Bottled ship initially came from an idea of another concept titled 'The Beacon' in which the princess acted as a way point luring the player towards her.

A beacon similar to a lighthouse. Earlier concepts for the cabin was that it was placed in a desert, but with the lighthouse idea I thought a lake or sea would be more fitting. So, the cabin was placed on top of a small island within a vast lake instead of an empty desert.

So, you got a big expanse of water, surely the princess has to relate to that right? What if princess but fish leviathan? Something so big yet confined to some place so small. Like a ship in a bottle, the bottled ship.

Initially drew most of the concept based solely on vibes hahah. So how bottled ship would fit wasn't really a priority.

But! after doing some thinking, i think i have a rough outline on what the route might look like in chapter one.

I would say you get her after fighting her with the knife but fleeing at the last second. As usual she bangs the door and threatens you to let her out. TLQ falls asleep and awakes with the door still closed.

You and the voices aren't quite sure if the princess is still alive, so the narrator urges you to finish your job and slay her.

You see her slumped on the wall, from the base of the stairs you cant really see her clearly. So you are prompted a choice, either get closer to investigate or leave her.

Leaving would get you to the nightmare as she creeps behind you and freezes your insides.

Investigating closer would lead you to an ambush attack as the princess attempts to wrangle the knife away from you.

As you plunge the knife into her heart, in a moment of sheer defiance she takes the blade out and stabs you too.

Essentially she had lured you into a trap and somehow the ambush had worked for her, albeit ending badly.

There's 2 ways this chapter would end; either you fight her and she swallows you or you could throw the knife into the water to earn her trust.

Bottle wants to be free and knows the cabin is far too small for her. She will then guide you to a plug at the bottom of the basement floor, where both of you will drain all the water from the room.

After all the water is gone, you are left with the faceless princess holding onto a very small and fragile bottle. Both of you exit the cabin.

This one has hidden a part of herself, seeming approachable to you, a clever creature with a trap lying in wait. She no longer needs to hide. She will make for a cunning heart.

[ms-snape]

young!sevrus snape w/ a reader who is a very affectionate person? gives him hugs, peppers his face with kisses, holds his hand, plays with his hair whenever his head is in her lap…

Title: Affection

Warning: none, just pure fluff

Words Count: 1500+

Masterlist

---

The dungeons of Hogwarts were always cold, but tonight, the chill of the stone walls seemed to seep into the bones of the students gathered in the Slytherin common room. It was a typical Friday evening, the flickering flames of the fire casting long shadows across the room as most of the house’s occupants gathered in their usual places. But for once, Severus Snape wasn’t by himself.

He had, against every instinct, allowed himself to settle into a corner of the common room with Y/N, another member of Slytherin. At first, she had been nothing more than an occasional study partner—sharp, clever, and slightly aloof in her own right. But over the course of months, something had changed between them. The terse exchanges had turned into quieter moments, and the shared glances had deepened into something far more meaningful, something that neither of them had been prepared for.

Severus’s head rested in Y/N’s lap, her fingers idly threading through his messy, dark hair as she absently read a book about potion theory. He was still tense under her touch, as he always had been, but tonight there was a subtle difference—a vulnerability that hadn’t been there before.

Y/N had never been shy about her affections. She was a Slytherin, after all. She understood the value of power, of control. But she also knew that there were moments when something more than ambition was required: moments where the heart could soften, where people needed warmth to survive the cold of the world around them. And Severus—Severus was someone who needed warmth. A warmth that, at first, had been too much for him to accept.

At first, she had hesitated. She wasn’t used to being tender with anyone, especially not someone like Severus. He had always been the quiet, brooding Slytherin who sat at the back of the classroom, his black robes swirling as he walked, his gaze sharp and unyielding. He wasn’t like the other boys she had dated. He was different. But there was something in his eyes—something broken and raw—that drew her to him in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

It had started with small gestures: a nudge of his shoulder in the library, a casual touch on his arm when she helped him with a potion assignment, the accidental brush of her hand against his as they passed in the hallway. Each time, Severus had stiffened, and his eyes had darted around to make sure no one else was watching. He was not the kind of person who let others in, and he certainly wasn’t used to the soft touches she gave him. But she had been patient, slowly making him realize that maybe, just maybe, he deserved tenderness too.

Tonight, however, was a new step in their relationship. As Y/N’s fingers worked through the dark strands of his hair, she could feel his body gradually relaxing beneath her. His breath had slowed, the hard line of his jaw softening, though his eyes were still closed, his face unreadable. She smiled softly to herself, savoring the quiet moment.

"Sev," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackling fire. "You’re so tense."

He let out a low grunt, a barely audible sound that she had learned to recognize as an attempt to deflect. But this time, he didn’t pull away. Instead, his head tilted slightly, pressing a bit more into her lap.

Y/N’s fingers danced across the back of his neck, smoothing out the tension she found there. She could tell it wasn’t just his body that was tense—there was a quiet war inside of him, one that never seemed to let up. She had learned over time that Severus wasn’t used to kindness, especially not the kind she was offering. He had always expected the worst from people, and she suspected that the idea of someone being affectionate with him, expecting nothing in return, was as foreign to him as sunlight in the dungeons.

"I don’t know how you do it," Severus muttered, his voice muffled against her lap. "How you’re so... patient with me. People like me don’t deserve that."

Y/N stopped, her fingers stilling in his hair as she gazed down at him. Her heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice, at the way he saw himself. She bent down and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, just above his dark hair, before looking back at him.

"You do deserve it, Severus," she said softly, her thumb brushing across his cheek, her gaze sincere. "You deserve kindness. You deserve everything."

Severus’s eyes flickered open, a rare crack in his stoic demeanor, and Y/N felt her chest tighten at the rawness she saw in his gaze. For the briefest moment, it almost felt as though he was going to argue, to pull away and retreat behind his familiar armor of sarcasm and bitterness. But instead, his lips parted in a half-hearted sigh, and he allowed himself to relax once again, his hand reaching out and briefly touching hers.

Days turned into weeks, and the relationship between Severus and Y/N deepened, though not without its complications. They were both Slytherins, and in many ways, that made them more alike than different. Ambition, power, and cunning ran through their veins like blood, and neither of them had ever been the type to show vulnerability in front of others. But in the quiet moments, when the rest of the world was out of view, their bond became something entirely different.

They were never overt in public, never flaunting their affection like some of the couples who seemed to crave attention. They were more subtle, quieter. Y/N’s fingers would graze his during class, or she would pass him a quiet smile from across the room. They spoke in private whispers in dark corners of the library or in the shadows of the dungeons, where no one could overhear their conversations.

One afternoon, after a particularly brutal double Potions class with the Gryffindors, Y/N had found Severus sitting alone on a bench near the black lake, his brow furrowed in concentration as he stared out at the rippling water. She had approached him slowly, her footsteps light on the damp grass, and when she sat beside him, he had glanced at her but didn’t say anything.

She tilted her head to the side and studied him for a moment. His posture was stiff, his eyes narrowed, as if he were deep in thought—or perhaps deep in frustration.

"Sev," she said, her voice breaking the silence, "you’re brooding again."

Severus snorted quietly, though his lips twitched in the faintest of smiles. "You’re one to talk," he muttered, though there was no malice in his voice.

She raised an eyebrow at him, the corner of her mouth curling upward. "I’m not the one staring into the abyss of my soul, am I?"

Severus glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, but this time, there was no bitterness in his expression—just something soft, something almost amused.

For a brief moment, they sat there in silence, the cool breeze sweeping through the air, ruffling the trees and the edges of their robes. Y/N reached out, gently taking his hand in hers, her thumb tracing the lines of his palm. It was an intimate gesture, but it was something they had done often over the past few weeks.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Severus murmured again, his voice quieter this time. He looked at her, his dark eyes searching hers with a depth that made her heart skip a beat. “How do you make it look so easy? This... this affection. I’ve never had it before.”

Y/N’s heart swelled at his words, and she leaned in closer, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, just beneath his ear. His skin was warm, and for a moment, she could feel the tension that had once been so ingrained in him begin to dissolve.

“You deserve it, Sev,” she whispered, her voice soft but firm. “All of it. You deserve all the affection I have to give.”

Severus didn’t respond at first. His gaze dropped to their joined hands, and for a moment, Y/N thought he might withdraw, retreat into the shadows as he had done so many times before. But then, slowly, his hand tightened around hers, his fingers brushing across her skin in the most gentle of ways.

"Then… maybe I’ll let you give it to me," he said quietly, his voice almost shy.

It was a small step. But it was the beginning of something new—a slow unraveling of the walls Severus had built around himself, piece by piece, kiss by kiss. And Y/N, for all her cunning and ambition, found herself willing to take it slow. Because for once, she wasn’t after power or success. She just wanted him.

And somehow, somewhere along the way, Severus had started to want her too.

Weeks later, as winter settled over Hogwarts, the two of them had fallen into a familiar rhythm. The touches had become more frequent, the kisses more tender. Even though they were both Slytherins—carefully calculating and often ruthless in their own ways—there was an unspoken understanding between them: in this space, away from the world, they could let their guards down. They didn’t have to be the cold, calculating snakes everyone else expected them to be.

In the quiet moments by the fire or beneath the shadow of the castle walls, when no one else was watching, Severus and Y/N had created their own world. And in that world, there was no need for masks. There was only warmth, affection, and the growing sense that they had found something rare and precious—something that didn’t need to be dissected or justified. It just was.

And that was enough.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Daniel Park with Unhinged F! Reader

You, the peak of the verse with a list of supposedly strong and powerful men to kill meet.

Gun Park | Goo Kim | Samuel Seo | Samuel Seo Part 2 | James Lee/DG | Jinyoung Park | Eli Jang | Tom Lee | Ryuhei Kuroda | Eugene | Vin Jin | Charles Choi | Daniel Park

I had a request sometime last year on Unhinged F!Reader helping out Allied. Soooo- this is my response to it...

'Why are you following me?"

You turn around in the alleyway to see a guy approximately the same height as you. Unremarkable if not for the way he has managed to pick you out from the shadows and keep up with your steps.

"Please, I need your help."

Help? Does this person have any idea who you are?

You arch an eyebrow at his request as he continues to stare at you with wide eyes.

Honestly. Did he think this puppy dog look was going to work on you? Of all people? You don't say anything, letting the silence add pressure until he spills out his guts.

Something about the Four Crews and HNH, which vaguely rings a bell.

You start to examine your nails as he rambles, quickly losing interest. Damn, is that dried blood underneath? You really must clean them better post fight.

And tch! Another chipped nail too. Ugh.

Oh. He's still talking, huh.

You've already tuned him out but the sound of his voice grows irritating and you cut him off, just as he starts to mention the Ten Geniuses or whatever.

You thrust a palm out at him, inches from his face and clever boy, he shuts up immediately. "Why should I help you?"

"Um." He hesitates. "I can pay you?"

"Not interested."

"I.. I can copy moves? You can teach me to be your masterpiece-"

"Cool," you say, stifling a yawn. Wasn't that crazy old doctor also a copy user? You dispatched him without difficulty.

"Let me guess-" You start ticking off each point on your fingers.

"One. You don’t move like you’re a natural, so you do have a master but they're not cutting it anymore- " He nods.

"Two. You've somehow found out about me and managed to seek me out-"  You don't tell him you're reluctantly impressed at that part.

"Three. Then hoped that I would help you because I have such a good moral compass-" You roll your eyes at this. What is it with pathetic men expecting women to clean up their mess?

"Four. So you've come here to ask me to help and promise me riches as a sweetener but sorry to break your heart, I don't give a shit-" He recoils, taken aback by your bluntness.

"Anyway, which mediocre fool has been teaching you?"

"One of the Ten Geniuses I mentioned. The Learning Genius."

What a lame title. "Who?"

"Gun Park."

You have a vague recollection of this person and gesture for him to tell you more as you pull out your small slip of paper. The one with the list of crossed out names, that you hunted down and defeated one by one until only a few remain. 

Oh wait... the name Gun Park is here-

"Um. Black eyes, half naked all the time, tattoos on his arms, smokes-"

"Right!" You click your fingers. "That loser! The Learning Genius, did you say?"

He widens his eyes at you insulting his master but nods anyway.

"Pfffft-" you stifle a laugh unsuccessfully. Goddamn that is funny.

"Learning Genius!" You squeal, letting out a cackle that leaves his hairs standing on end. The more you think about it, the funnier it gets. On what planet is that guy qualified, good enough, to teach anyone? You laugh and laugh, clutching your stomach as he backs away awkwardly.

Wiping away tears from your eyes, you make up your mind and ask, "What did you say your name was?"

"I... I didn't. It's Daniel Park,"

You dig out the pen in your pocket and add his name to your list.

He's undercooked. Maybe fun in a few more years but now Daniel is nothing but a baby. It'll be fun to crush him eventually.

"Listen," You fold your note carefully, slipping it back into your pocket. "I have zero inclination to help you. None."

He opens his mouth to argue-

And you cut him off again with a shrug. "Mainly 'cause I don't want to. Anyway, I'll find you once you're ready to fight. It'll be a shame to kill you any sooner, but-"

You lunge at him, slamming Daniel into the wall with a hand on his neck before he has had a chance to react.

"- Follow me again and I won't hesitate." You smile sweetly, like butter wouldn't melt. Smile stretching further, turning monstrous and unhinged when you feel him attempt to free himself from your grasp but to no avail.

You give his throat one more squeeze for good measure as he chokes and claws at your hand before releasing him. “See ya!”

Daniel drops to the floor, gasping desperately for air and rubbing at his neck. Thinks that this has been a grave mistake and now he has a target on his back.

He watches you, humming to yourself and sashaying away into the night, melting into the shadows once more.

[cuteandhughesy]

hiii!!! i love your writing, like the angst and the fluff is amazing. i actually had a request for arturs silovs (canucks) or jeremy swayman (bruins obv, for now at least) where they go on reader's popular hockey podcast, which kinda goes viral in the hockey community with many ppl shipping the two, and they kind of get pushed into doing more media stuff together as it brings views for the teams and stuff? im sorry thats all i got, feel free to add or change this if you do choose to write it. thanks

The Alchemy | Jeremy Swayman

summary: having your own sports podcasts was one of the most enjoyable and rewarding jobs you could ever have. when a particular episode with bruins goaltender blows up - you are jermey are pushed together to film more videos. it doesn't help that everybody is shipping you two together - making your growing crush on him become harder to mask.

[word count] 9.6K

warnings: SFW! friends to lovers | mention of covid -19 | fishing | suggestive dialogue | kissing

a/n: thank you for the request! your idea was so cute that I just had to write! I chose sway obviously so I hope yall love <3 happy halloween 🎃

🎵 the alchemy by taylor swift

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when you were a little girl you'd often find yourself huddled on the cozy material of the living room couch, watching your dads tv shows until way past your bedtime. you'd always stay quiet, eyes focused only on the tv, too scared that if you'd move you'd be put into bed.

that's when you first fell in love with hockey. having no choice but to watch the tv and seeing professional athletes zip around the stark ice at high speeds, shooting dangerously, and throwing hits - you were immediately drawn into the crazy world of hockey.

but when you're a girl and you express your love for any kind of professional sport, you become immediately labeled; gold digger, clout chaser, a bunny. whether it is football, baseball, basketball, or hockey, nobody believes girls when they say they're into the sport simply because they like the sport.

that's what made you want to start pursuing a hockey related career. you wanted to show everybody that girls, just as well as men, could watch and enjoy a sport without any ulterior motives.

in 2020, with covid-19 at its peak, you started to create hockey related content and post it on tiktok. it was simple videos with just you and your mini microphone - discussing game play, trending and popular news, and nhl players.

it blew up, and after a year of tiktok content, you were approached by barstool sports with the opportunity of a lifetime.

starting a professional sports podcast was intimidating, especially under such a well known company like barstool. you'd be competing with pardon my take, bussin' with the boys, and most famously, spittin' chiclets.

you started with high hopes and a nervous belly, recording a solo episode in your small podcast room. thankfully because of your large following on tiktok, your podcast was a successful one, and you continued to grow into your space and talk all things hockey.

what set you apart from other sports podcasts was your style of content. you were good at remembering these athletes for who they were: human. of course, you'd analyze and discuss their game, but at the end of the day, these men aren't machines and you were always reminding your audience of so.

fans of the podcast described you as 'an amazing sports analysts who perfectly represents how it feels to be a woman in sports. y/n is respectful but honest. funny but kind. clever but not a know it all. pucks in deeper with y/n is the best sports cast for everyone."

it wasn't long before your podcast, titled pucks in deeper, was gaining traction outside of your tiktok fans, and you started getting occasional sponsorships and guests on the show. starting smaller with paul bisosnette and ryan whitney (who graciously had you featured in an episode of their podcast), then landing your first active nhl athlete, only 9 months after starting at barstool.

ryan reaves was the perfect guest for your podcast and perfectly matched your vibe and the vibe of content you wanted to put out into the world. the episode with reaves birthed your first viral clip, and from there you had other professional hockey players wanting to come on your podcast and chat.

at 25 years old, and almost 5 years deep into your podcast, you were thriving. often getting compared to a mixture of bobbi althoff, alex cooper and brittany broski - your content was very personalized to your interviewee, and you specialized in humour and lighthearted conversation that the players were very intrigued by.

obviously, you got hate comments, mostly from people who had nothing better to do. you'd get called a puck bunny, and were told that ‘you knew nothing’, and ‘should quit while you're ahead.’ but that didn't phase you, and you thrived off the negatively. it pushed you to prove them wrong, and continue to have a viral and successful podcast despite the criticism.

——

email from: barstool sports inc

to: y/n y/l/n @pucksindeeperpodcast

y/n,

as usual, your podcast remains a positive and successful experience for our company. we continue to be absolutely blown away by the outpouring support and love for pucks in deeper, and are excited for you to continue at the pace you are still gaining.

due to the incredible virality of your podcast episode with jeremy swayman, we have reached out to both you and swayman with a proposal. the fans and viewers have loved your shared dynamic, and we are wanting to feed off that outpouring obsession by having you and jeremy film some content for our barstool channels.

that includes an expenses paid trip from new jersey out to boston, where you'll be staying for a few days for filming - as well as transportation and hotels in boston.

we are certain this will benefit you and the continuing growth of your podcast.

jeremy swayman's team has already agreed to the terms of the proposal and he is willing to spend time and participate in planned content recordings.

let us know what you're thinking and if you'd be so kind to consider this opportunity.

thank you,

barstool sports inc.

you re-read the email again, knawing on your thumb nail gently. a few weeks ago, the boston bruins goaltender, jeremy swayman, had graciously made an appearance on pucks in deeper. instantly, jeremy became one of your favourite guests. his calm exterior and humor had bounced off your style of interviewing perfectly, and you found yourself feeling very much intrigued by the goalie.

even though the interview was over a zoom, the entire podcast went smoothly. jeremy was kind and a willing participant in all the quizzes, games and questions you'd thrown his way.

there was a clipped video from the podcast your team had uploaded to your channel's tiktok page that had gone viral, and the traction on the swayman episode after that was mind blowing.

PODCAST CLIP

"okay," you start, a gentle and anticipating grin on your face. "this is near the end of our episode - sad, I understand," jeremy laughs at your humor, his eyes squinting. you continue, "and like usual i've hand selected a question from a fan and i've found the perfect one for you."

jeremy's brows raise, "should I feel scared right now?"

you dismiss his question, a gentle grin still softening your expression. "a little birdy told me that you're a big rom-com guy."

"is this little birdy in question named brandon carlo?" jeremy questions knowingly. you'd had the bruins defence man on the podcast the week before, and he'd immediately spilled the embarrassing and memorable tea on his teammates.

"answer the question."

jeremy laughs once, and through the slightly grainy zoom video, you watch him run a hand through his hair. he nods quickly, still smiling with amusement. "i'd say yeah - fuck it, im a self proclaimed rom com enthusiast."

"well I have the most fun question that i've kind of turned into a mini game," you clear your throat, and your eyes briefly flicker down towards your desk top, scanning over your podcast notes. "the question is from @swaymansbae - damn it they stole the username I wanted." you slip in the joke quickly, just a subtle end to your sentence.

it works, and jeremy laughs again. "oh god - you should fight them for it."

you nod, "i'm going to - anyways. @swaymansbae asks what are you favourite rom coms."

jeremy hums appreciatively, already thinking of movies he'd share his love to the hockey world with.

"but I've added my own little twist. okay, so you've all seen how blind ranking things has become just like, this crazy phenomenon online. and i feel left out...so, jeremy i've got a list of 5 of my favourite romantic comedies, and you'll have to blindly rank them - 1 being the best, and 5 being the worst. ready?"

"oh fuck," jeremy huffs a laugh, and you watch him adjust into a more relaxed posture on the camera. he rubs his jawline, eyes bouncing around the computer screen. "i'm feeling nervous now - they're your favourites?"

"yeah," you nod, pushing your blue light glasses higher up the bridge of your nose - your makeup always has them slipping down. "so there is definitely a right and wrong answer."

jeremy curses again, a quiet chuckle coming alongside the swear.

you begin, "10 things I hate about you." you look away from your notebook and back at your computer screen, eyeing jeremy with faux caution.

he hisses through his teeth, teetering his head in quick thought. "i'm going to have to go 5."

"what?!!"

he laughs again, "I don't know…i'm not big on the whole enemies first storyline."

"enemies to lovers, jeremey, get it right."

another chuckle is heard before he starts to defend his rank. "I don't know it's something about that storyline I find so unbelievable. I think if you truly loved one another, you wouldn’t treat each other like that."

you sigh loudly, "okay, I guess that makes sense."

"is that your favourite?" jeremy questions, a teasing glimmer in his eyes.

"no comment." you clear your throat, reading your next movie from your notes. "next: to all the boys i've loved before."

"i've never seen that one - 4."

"jeremy...oh my god."

he raises his hands in surrender, teeth sparkling where they are just becoming visible under his growing smirk. "it's too new!"

"it came out in like 2018 -"

"- okay and i'm more into the classics. that's not one i've seen, but maybe i'll have to check it out."

"no, yeah you absolutely need to watch it." you tell him, eyeing him over the rim of your tortoise shell lenses.

"it's not enemies to lovers is it?" he gets the name of the trope correct this time around, and it has your lips quirking up pleasantly.

you shrug a shoulder, "no, not really."

his brows furrow, "not really?"

"moving on - how to loose a guy in 10 days."

he claps his hands, rubbing them together. "okay now I can get down with this - amazing movie."

"amazing." you echo, nodding. "and like hello matthew mcConaughey is this movie is like perfect, as well as kate hudson."

"way better than him in the wedding planner." the bruins goalie agrees, leaning forward in his kitchen chair as he gets more engaged with the conversation.

your eyes widen in suprise, "100%. and you wanna know why?"

"he's a cheater in that movie."

you make a noise - a combination of joy and shock escaping your throat. "no exactly! you get me."

"I get you." jeremey nods his head in a jerk like motion, acknowledging you like a flirty teenage boy. "i'm going to have to put that at...damn - gotta go 2."

ever so slightly, your cheeks tinge pink. regardless of your online persona of lighthearted, flirty, and funny, you're easily flustered. it sometimes made your job a bit difficult - but you're also good at your job, so repressing that initial haze from his compliment is quick and easy.

"not 1?"

he kisses his teeth, "something could always be better."

"very optimistic of you - the proposal."

his gentle laughter comes to a soft end, and he eyes you through the camera. "y/n…that's that stupid enemies shit again."

"okay, yeah but this one is different."

"how?" jeremy chuckles.

you splutter for a moment, thinking of some sort of answer. "he's all like scared of her and it's just, I don't know, well executed! and it's not like she's horrible to only him, it's just her personality."

jeremy scrunches his noise, clearly not vibing with the proposal even with your explanation. "what do I have left open?"

you glance at your notes, where you've taken the time to make sure you'd been tracking the places of each of jermey's ranking on the movies. "1 and 3."

he curses. "it's gotta be 3 - I can't put it at 1."

"oh my god, better hope you like this next movie. god forbid if the characters are mean." you tease him, eyeing him playfully through the screen. jeremy's lip tugs up, a grin forming. you continue, "and your number one....the last movie is...she's the man with the lovely amanda bynes and channing tatum."

"okay I'm actually really happy with that. I'm obsessed with that movie." he beams, "that is the kind of rom com that you just can't argue its greatness. not only is it funny and unique, but it's a sports movie - c'mon."

you echo him, "c'mon, what's not to like?!"

"sports romance for the win."

"very fitting," you chime warmly. "are you saying if a girl wants your attention she should disguise herself as brad marchand and zip around the ice."

he barks out a laugh, nodding reluctantly. "something like that."

comments

user1: wait this is everything

user2: OBSSESED

user3: sway + his love for rom coms = my new obsession

user 4: no because they way he's looking at her !

user 5: justice for 10 things I hate about you

user 6: why do I ship them together

user3: no because I was going to say that

user 7: they vibe so well together I need this is be like a weekly thing honestly

user 8: he's got rizz

user 9: MORE pls i love you both

user 10: okay but you two would be the most stunning, perfect couple. the humor matches, the banter, the way they look at each other

user4: just watched this again and omg the way sway says he hates enemies to lovers bc he doesn't believe you could treat somebody you love that badly - CERTIFIED LOVER BOY

the fans were always amazing, but as they loved on the episode, the comments about you and jeremey being cute together and shipping you were coming in at a lightning pace. it had you feeling weary of filming more content with him - despite knowing it would be a professional working environment.

the comments made me you feel like you were falling into the stereotyped female hockey fan category - labeled as a puck bunny or clout chaser. and although you found yourself always growing stronger from those false accusations, it doesn't make you the happiest to see those types of comments.

you sigh gently, pressing the respond tab on the barstool email. through your doubts, you know that barstool is right, and filming more content with jeremy while your podcast episode was still gaining traction was smart. and it's not like jeremy was a bad guest - quite the opposite. so you'll learn to work around the fans who want the two of you to date, and the allegations that you're already in jeremy's pants.

spending time with him would be good, you think. without any idea of what you'd have to participate in, you say yes - looking forward to meeting jeremy and continuing to get to know a potential returning podcast guest - getting shipped together be damned.

no harm, no foul.

boston, here you come.

— youtube: JEREMY SWAYMAN TEACHES Y/N Y/L/N HOW TO FISH

"okay and here we have - camera man, come closer." you gesture for daniel, the younger camera guy to come closer. once he's in your space, you direct his attention towards the portable flat table filled with fishing rods along other fishing things. you continue, "and this right here will be my rod. the fisherman's dream 2000."

beside you, jeremy laughs. he's fiddling with his own fishing pole, attaching the fake shrimp lure on his hook. he's laughing because there's no fishing rod on the table called the fisherman's dream 2000, and you are simply just fooling around.

regardless, your face is very serious, and you continue. "I mean, even though this is my first time fishing, jeremy told me - he actually said this - he said: I can tell you're going to be the best fisherman already so you deserve the nimbus of fishing rods. to which I responded, 'jeremy I'm a fisherwoman not a fisherman.'"

"yeah, you're right I totally said that." gently with his hip, jeremy shuffles you slightly off to the side, making more space. you don't mind, and allow him to move you around with his gentle push. immediately, he reaches for the fishing rod you'd been talking about, picking it up off the table to start attaching bait.

before he hooks the mini lure on, he looks at you. he's already grinning, and one of his brows is raised questioningly. "you sure you don't want to hook it on? you're supposed to be learning."

you cross your arms over your dark green plastic overalls, and the fabric puffs around you awkwardly. "I can watch and learn."

he eyes you slowly, gaze dragging down your body, assessing your fishing attire of rubber boots, overalls and a long sleeve - and back up to your face. jeremy is dressed the same, keeping him dry from the drizzly, cooler june day. "you definitely like to watch, huh?"

your mouth drops slightly, and in an instant you're getting into his space, taking the bait from jermey's calloused fingers. "okay, fine." he's laughing at you gently, watching as you try and attempt to attach the rubber fish to the sharp hook. you curse, merely missing pricking your finger. "this is rigged - there's no way it's supposed to be hard."

gently, jeremy takes over once again, hooking your lure correctly so it's secure on the end of fishing rod. you look back up towards the camera again, "okay and as you can see we've attached the fake bass fishy to the rode - hopefully to catch some big fish." you fist bump in and early celebratory gesture.

chuckling, jeremy shakes his head in amusement. it wasn't a bass lure, and they're aren't even bass on the lake you're at. regardless, he lets you take control and entertain- what you're best at.

"if I was a fish, i'd fall for that fake food -  zoom in on that masterpiece, my god!" daniel the camera man does what you ask, expertly changing the framing on the camera to capture the neon oranges and pinks of the lure.

shrugging, you dig into the tackle box, pulling out some more fishing necessities. things like rolls of fishing line, pliers, scissors and anything in between. you pull out a small pocket knife, holding it wearily as you eye the camera - a frightened expression on your face. "what's this for? are we gutting them?"

jeremey laughs once, shooting you a look as he fiddles with the rod. you had no idea what he was actually doing with the fishing rod, because you've never held a pole in your lifetime. "we're not gutting them." he tugs one of the levers, and the clear fishing line tightens before your eyes.

"then what's the knife for?" you question, swinging it back and forth between two pinched fingers.

he shrugs, testing the retention of his fishing line. "don't worry about it." your eyes widen comically, and the swinging knife comes to a dramatic stop. it has jeremy laughing again, his shoulders shaking as he does. "okay, are you ready to head over to the lake?"

the lake in question was only 10 feet away - the water looking awfully calm through the misty weather.

you turn your body to face jeremy fully, an amused frown tugging at your lips. your brows raise playfully, "am I ready?" you echo, sarcasm lacing your tone. you pull the straps of your rubberized overalls, letting them smack back against your shirt. "i'm ready to catch some fish."

with that, you grab the orange rod from jeremy, bringing it against your chest. jeremy cringes slightly, watching the way your fingers merely miss the hook on the end of your line. on instinct, he reaches out to you, moving your hand gently so that you're out of harms way. "do you remember what I told you?"

you think back to the beginning of filming, after you'd mentioned to everyone that you had absolutely zero clue how to fish. jeremy had nicely said there was nothing to it, and as long as you remembered a few rules, you'd be fine. you sigh in thought, eyes looking into jermey's - his gaze encouraging. "stay calm and speak gently - to not scare the fish."

you're praised immediately, jeremy smiling warmly as he gathers the fishing necessitates to bring down to the water. on the way down, you almost wipe out, practically shrieking as your foot slips down the wet, grassy hill. it would've had you feeling embarrassed, but thankfully jeremy's reflex's were superior (those nhl goalies are on a different level), and he grabs the crook of your elbow to stabilize you.

he smiles slightly, eyeing you playfully when he asks if you're okay. you blush slightly, brushing off your slip with some teasing remark.

when you had arrived at the filming location this morning, you weren't expecting to end up at a fishing park - you weren't expecting fishing period. you'd been left feeling clueless about what you and jeremy would be filming for barstool, and you definitely weren't prepared for water related activities. thankfully, the crew had provided both you and jeremy with proper waterproof attire - your tights and long sleeve align top wouldn't cut it.

right before getting changed, jeremey had shown up and....he was much better looking in person. you hate yourself for even thinking that, and you almost feel guilty for daring to even have those thoughts about an nhl athlete. anytime you think an athlete is cute, you have that guilty feeling - you hate that it plays into that bunny stereotype, even though you'd never get on your podcast and solely discuss an athletes look.

regardless, you're not blind. jeremy swayman was taller than he looks, and broader than expected. he also smelt really good, and his smile had you feeling flustered. it had your online persona feeling more real, and your borderline flirty comments had you getting hot and bothered - especially when jeremy flirts and teases back.

off camera, you and jeremy (mostly jeremy) set up the fishing equipment on the dock; poles, extra bait, and even adorable little camping chairs - you really felt like you were getting the premium fisherman experience. he runs over simple fishing techniques and hacks, showing you how to keep ahold of the rod, how to reel your line and casting. the camera catches all your poor attempts, as well as jeremy covering his snicker behind his hand - his amusement at your poor cast very evident.

5 minutes into fishing

you jerk the rod slightly, trying the movements jeremy had showed you just two minutes prior - trying to snag any fish nibbling around your bait.

you sigh gently, pursing your glossy lips outwards. eyeing jermey, you ask, "so like what kind of fish are we exactly trying to catch?"

jeremy hums, "some perch would be nice. or possibly cod, or halibut..." he trails off, eyeing your confused face, and the look you're giving him has a subtle smirk tugging at his upper lip. he breathes a laugh, "you have no idea what I just said, do you?"

you bark an unattractive laugh, and that has jermey's smile deepening. "not a clue."

"that's okay," he assures you immediately, and his leg moves towards you like he was planning to knock your thighs together reassuringly. but your bodies don't touch, and it has you feeling a little disappointed. "everyone has their own interests. besides sports, what else do you like?" he looks towards you quickly, but looks back at the water when he feels his line tug slightly - nothing has bitten unfortunately.

you swing your fishing pole back and forth tiredly, enjoying the way the water ripples from your line moving on the surface. "oh god - honestly i'm into a lot of stuff; movies, books, fashion, food. you name it and i'm into it." you pause, eyeing him playfully. "you must not watch my podcast - I tend to talk about myself a lot."

jeremy looks back at you quickly, but once he sees that you're clearly being playful, his once tight shoulders relax, and he smiles gently. "maybe I get distracted when I watch your podcast and don't catch everything you say."

he was insinuating that he's distracted by your face - his teasing gaze and laughing smirk has you clueing into jermey's underlying undertones.

you clear your throat. you can feel heat rise to your makeup covered cheeks, and you advert your gaze back to the lake - trying to distract yourself from the whirling fluster caused by jermey's flirting. "well guess you'll just have to hear me talk about it all over again."

11 minutes into fishing

"what's your opinion on one direction, jeremy?"

he pauses from reeling his fishing line in momentarily, and a very small, breathy laugh falls from his tinted lips. jeremy looks at you, scratching his stubble in thought. "love them." he admits.

you smile automatically at jeremy's willingness to answer you absurd, random questions - just like he's been doing since you first meet through a zoom meeting for your podcast. your brows raise questionably though, not truly believing that a 25 year old man would vibe to a british teen boy group.

"okay," you hum questionably, "but who's your favourite?"

jeremy doesn't back down, keeping eye contact with you - reeling in his fishing line long forgotten. "who do you think it is?"

now you're invested. you squint at him, deep in thought. you look jermey once over, "probably zayn. yeah, you give big zayn vibes."

he smiles, brows pulled tightly. jeremy jerks his head at you, expression full of curiosity. "who's your favourite?"

"louis." you tell him.

jeremy laughs triumphantly, "i knew you'd be a louis girl."

you click your tongue, and adjust your seating position. without thinking, you let go of the fishing rod so you can push yourself upwards in the chair. before the most likely expensive rod takes a tumble into the misty water, jermey catches it, jolting across your thighs so he can grab it before it plunges.

you don't notice the chaotic series of events, and you smile, still thinking of the one direction conversation. "what can I say," you hum, " I like them a little wild."

jeremy eyes the camera - a mixture of amusement and fear on his face.

19 minutes into fishing

jeremy watches you intently, observing the way you change your bait. there'd been nothing caught yet, and honestly you were playing up the impatient act pretty well.

so, jermey suggested to change the bait on your hook. that way you'd not only be able to have a new opportunity to attract fish, but also learn how to change your lure.

he sighs gently, "okay, you're still not hooking it right." he leans closer to you, the arm rest digging into his muscled side.

"oh, shut up." you grumble, making sure your playful flare is very prevalent in your tone.

jeremy takes the pink bait from your fumbling fingers, properly demonstrating the correct way to attach it to the sharp hook. "you shut up." he echos you, nudging your side with his elbow - his hands not once leaving your fishing rod.

"make me." the underlying suggestiveness that can be taken from your remark doesn't dawn on you at first - but as soon as jeremy pauses, and gives the camera a knowing glance, brow quirked playfully, you realize your mistake.

you blush, and without really knowing what else to do, once jeremy fixes your lure and pulls away, you throw the extra fake fish at him, hitting his bicep.

25 minutes into fishing

"holy shit," you beam, eyeing jeremy beside you. when his posture suddenly changed, as well as his body position- muttering a curse under his breath, you knew something was happening. you watch him reel the line expertly, "do you have a fish right now?"

"yup," jeremy's tongue darts out, tucking against the corner of his mouth as he concentrates on reeling in his catch. it's not much labour for him to bring in the fish, effortlessly lifting it out of the water. it's a pretty big fish, you think, considering you've never seen a living fish this close.

he holds it expertly, detaching the hook lodged in the fishes throat. ones it's free, he switches hands so he's pinching the lip between two fingers, holding it out.

"oh my god, you're like really good at this." you compliment, tilting your head to get a better look at the side of the fish, eyeing its reflective, slippery scales.

"you like that, huh?" he spins the fish in between his fingers, allowing you to get a proper look at all angles. jeremy grins, eyes watching your wondrous face. "want to hold it?"

you frown unpleasantly, eyes darting between jermey's reassuring face and the scaly fish gripped in between his fingers. "I don't know?" it comes out like a question, your weariness about holding the fish clear.

"you got it," he assures you, "come here." he holds his free arm out, silently gesturing you to come towards him.

almost reluctantly, you take the few steps left between you, and stand beside him. the camera catches it all; jeremy practically gentle parenting you as he shows you how to properly hold the fish, the uncertain expression pulling at your face, and the shriek you let out when the fish starts to squirm around - its tail flapping up against your wrist.

"oh it's slimy," you state the obvious, holding it as far away from your body as human possible. it squirms again, and you can feel your fingers slipping away from their grip. you look at a smiling jeremy, who's clearly having fun watching you struggle. "jer, yup."

you gesture the fish at him, eyes darting between the aquatic animal and jeremy.

"he's fine." he smiles through gentle laughter.

"no, no, take the fish."

32 minutes into fishing

you reel in one last time, watching the fish come up from the waters surface, dangling off your hook. it's squirming around, water spraying all over.

jeremy comes up beside you, helping you bring your fishing pole upwards to properly display and hold the fish. "yes, y/n," he smiles praisingly. his arms come around you from behind, adjusting your positioning.

you're too distracted by the fish frolicking around at the end of your clear line to feel flustered by jeremy's closeness - paying no mind to the gentle way he helps you. "oh my god," you beam, "I just caught a fish." 

"yeah you did!" jeremy nods encouragingly, slipping his body around to your side. he looks between the fish and your bright eyes, and he squeezes your bicep warmly - oh, he's still got an arm around you. "you gotta try and take it off the hook."

"no. jer, i'm scared!" you tell him immediately, "I can't do that."

"you can," he assures you, "just try once, and if you really feel uncomfortable after that, ill do it, okay?" his warm eyes stare into yours softly, providing a comforting vibe towards your clear uncertainty.

that combined with his sweet smile and the heat of his body, which, yes, his arm was still wrapped assuringly around your body, has you sighing shakily and you nod. "okay, i'll do it. i'll try just for you."

— tiktok video:

when you'd finished up filming, one of the producers who'd been off working in some white, pop-up tent while you'd be with jeremy, informed you that before leaving, they need you and jeremy to make a tiktok.

but surprisingly, they gave you and jeremy a lot of creative freedom with the direction of the video. meaning, you'd get to choose the audio and your positions and presentation of the tiktok.

"twin" the audio starts through the phone, and you mouth the beginning of the song. the camera catches you stepping out of one of the trucks, mimicking you as if you'd just got to the filming sight. you've still got your fishing gear on - rubber overalls and boots included.

the next shot is on jeremy, who you both decided would be at the picnic bench, looking like he was waiting for you. as the audio starts, he whips around towards the camera, lip syncing to the next line of the audio. "where have you been?" he points off camera at you, and his overalls squeak at the friction of movement.

you laugh at him behind the camera, stifling your laugh into a clenched fist. jermey finishes that part of the audio with a large wink in your direction, and you shake your head with amusement- a giant blush covering your cheeks.

"nobody knows me like you do." you're at the picnic table for the next part, and you previously decided to pretend one of the fishing rods was a microphone, singing into it sarcastically.

the audio continues, and jeremy comes into screen behind you, taking the fishing pole turned microphone to sing the next line. "nobody can't love me quite like you can."

the last remaining seconds of the audio, you wanted to capture you and jeremy from a distance. as an ode to your famous podcast episode clip, you and jeremy previously decided on recreating the dirty dancing lift for the video. right before beginning to film the last part, jeremy checks in on you to make sure that you're still feeling okay with being lifted, which sends your heart running rampant in your chest.

the camera is set to slow-mo, but in real life it feels like you're running a million miles an hour. the way jeremy easily lifts you into the air and over his head - his hands splay over the entirety of your hip bones, holding you steady.

you're glad for the ridiculous overalls in this moment, because you think if you'd be able to feel the warmth from his hands too close to your skin, you'd die.

10 minutes later, when you and jeremy are watching the video back, you get all those fluttering, nervous butterflies once again. he laughs against you, body just grazing your backside as he watches the tiktok over your shoulder.

as the lift plays out on the phone, he leans in closer, his chin gently brushing against your shoulder. out of the corner of your eye, you look at him. jeremy is smiling, eyes bright as he watches the end of the tiktok. his woodsy scent is intoxicating, and you can count every freckle sprinkled across his nose with him being so close.

suddenly, he looks at you. his smile doesn't falter, and if anything it changes into a more smirky, excited one. "that's a good one, don't you think?" briefly, you watch his eyes flicker away, landing farther down your flushed face before meeting your gaze again.

you nod once, blinking gently. "yes....really good."

— 9 months later: NHL ALL-STAR GAME

there's not a day that's gone by since the videos of you and jermey had been posted to the barstool media accounts, that you haven't been tagged, sent or mentioned in a clip of the two of you. fans loved you and jeremy, and still continued to blow up not only the fishing video and tiktok, but your podcast as well.

there's also not a day that's gone by since leaving jeremy in his rubberized overalls that you haven't thought of him. in the few conversations you've had face to face with him, you've been left feeling rather smitten and flustered with jeremy swayman. it doesn't help that before you left boston 9 months ago, jeremy had asked for your contact - all smooth and smirky. it obviously had you swooning and giving him your number.

so in all these months, you and jermey had been in contact. it started simple, with sweet check ins every couple days, you congratulating him on wins, and teasing him for his game day suits - but that soon turned into more flirtatious, and playful conversations. on a few occasions, you'd even sent him tiktok edits of himself, accompanied by a sequence of heart eye emojis from you.

jeremy would like and shamelessly comment on all your photos on instagram, and vice versa. which obviously has the shipping edits and comments spiralling to an unfathomable level. at first, you were worried that jeremy would feel uncomfortable with the fans wanting you two together, showing their support through comments and videos - but no, jeremy loved it all.

him having enjoyment in the relationship shipping between you both has you feeling even more into him - your feelings for jeremy growing stronger and stronger. that combined with fun text threads, edits and occasional facetimes from jeremy, has you crushing hard on the bruins goal tender.

two months ago, you had the nhl social administration and event team reached out to your team and ask if you'd been interested in interviewing nhl players on the red carpet for the nhl all star game. it was such a surreal moment and immediately you took the offer.

for the entire two months since accepting the opportunity to be an interviewer for the nhl social team, you'd been looking forward to the february, toronto bound event. the nhl administration has taken care of the expenses, as well as wardrobe and makeup for you - which is wild.

now here you are, standing on the red carpet while interviewing amazingly good nhl superstars. thankfully, you've meet and interviewed a lot of these guys on pucks in deeper, which leaves no room for awkwardness. the players know you and your style of interviewing, and that visibly has them lightning up from their previous over professional exteriors.

you're mid conversation with tom wilson, listening intently as he answers one of your more serious interview questions, when you feel your heart speed up.

it's weird - at first as you're not sure why exactly you've become nervous. you swallow, adjusting the mini-microphone by your painted lips - your gold bracelets clinking against each other. as subtly as you can manage, you let your eyes wander down the carpet, and it doesn't take you long to see and understand the sudden change in your hearts pace.

kids near the entrance of the arena are all calling for jeremy, their hands tightly holding out bruins memorabilia for him to sign.

the light catches the silver chain on jeremy's neck,  complimenting his shining smile to make his grin look even brighter. you clear your throat, tearing your eyes away from jeremy and back towards your interviewee. thankfully, tom is clueless to your shift of mood, and is still happily answering into his own tiny microphone.

you've only got one more interview before you get to talk to jeremy. it's with mat barzal, who if you weren't so infatuated by the bruins goalie , you'd been shamelessly flirting with. you'd never had barzal on your podcast before, but that didn't matter - talking with him was anything but akward. it was nice, and (if you aren't going insane) you're pretty sure the islanders forward was flirting with you.

but you're too blinded by jeremy to entertain any of those thoughts. soon enough, he's next in queue, chatting to his assistant without realizing what exactly he's in line for.

you lock eyes as he is directed towards you, and immediately you feel yourself relax. your once tense shoulders fall back into a comfortable position, and your cheeks heat pleasantly as a smile automatically grows on your face. instinctively, you're falling into your interview shoes (currently very glamorous shoes). "you just can't stay away from me for too long, huh?" you tease him as your social director passes him the mini mic.

jermey's smile is matching yours, his gaze not leaving you as he takes the microphone, holding it tightly between two fingers. "what can I say? you look great!"

you drag your free hand down the front of your red dress, the soft material tickling the pads of your tanned fingers. "why thank you, jer. i've got to say i'm digging this look on you - much better than the boring suits you usually wear."

jeremy smiles at your lighthearted jab to his fashion choices. his last game, you'd given him slack on his boring suit choice and had followed with a text thread of insane, over the top suits you'd considered better options. "I was taking inspiration from the ones you'd sent me."

you hope fans don't piece together any insinuations from jermey's comment  referencing your texts. although it has you blushing, you recover from your fluster relatively quickly, and you reach towards him, poking one of the black, shiny buttons on jeremy’s jacket. "and tell us what you're wearing mister fancy jacket."

he looks down at the material of his suit jacket, "i've got a custom todd snyder on - very comfortable and stylish. it's just what I was looking for when I was trying to find a jacket for this event."

you nod understandably, "yes, like cute and professional but also cozy."

your chipper tone has jeremy's smile growing. his warm tinted eyes go hazy, and they rather slowly watch you - tracing down your dress covered neck, down your bare arms, and all the way down to your painted toes peeking out your heels. his tongue wets his plump, bottom lip, and his eyes find yours again. "you look cute and cozy."

even if he's meaning it innocently, you can't help but think otherwise. what feels like the 20th time since the start of the interview, you blush. "were twins then." you shrug sweetly, as if to show the audience that the way you were speaking to one another was no big deal - hopefully they buy it …because you certainly don't.

jeremy’s smitten grin grows wider. he bites the skin of his bottom lip, tucking it between his teeth seductively. it's like he's in a trance, which usually would have you feeling creeped out or weird, but because it's jeremy and not some random guy, you feel your skin prickle pleasantly, and your knees begin to feel weak.

the camera man clears his throat - a subtle and gentle reminder that you're supposed to be interviewing jeremy, not eye fucking him.

you blink. "unfortunately, I have to get a little boring, jer. can you tell me and the viewers what you're looking forward to the most at all star weekend. sorry I know, boring and repetitive." you stick your tongue out, blowing a raspberry.

your noise mimicks a fart if anything, and jermey laughs a real laugh - all teeth and squinted eyes. he rubs his chin in thought, but comes up with an answer pretty quickly. for the first time tonight, his media training is kicking in. "i'm really looking forward to just spending time with all these amazing guys and having fun on the ice."

teasingly, you purse your painted lips, cocking your head to the left. "so not me?"

through his constant grin, jeremy clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth - nodding at your correction. "okay, maybe you too."

you give the camera lenses an unimpressed look, as if to say - is this guy being for real? you shake your head, playing into your annoyed persona. "since our fishing video together, which thank you to the fans for blowing that up -"

"- oh my good, yes, thank you." jeremy adds on, nodding thoughtfully.

you continue, "fans want to know...what is your favourite one direction song?"

jeremy exhales loudly, eyes bouncing between you and the camera lens - a whisper of a curse heard from under his breathe.

you nod understandably, "we've really got the hard hitting questions, so I can understand if you need to take a second to think-"

"kiss you." jermey interrupts with a triumphant tone, and he looks very proud of his answer.

"that was pretty fast - why kiss you?"

his slinky smile is back, and it has your stomach falling all the way down to your feet. "why not?" jeremy shrugs one suit covered shoulder nonchalantly, and the sleeve of his jacket brushes against your bare arm at the same time.

you smile, "what's been your favourite part of toronto so far?"

this time, jermey's answer is instant. "you."

you laugh proudly, nodding in approval. "that's a better answer."

behind the camera, one of the social directors holds up a pamphlet, one that she'd change throughout the night. it only ever said a last name - the last name of whichever nhl player was next and approaching your interview area. it was essentially a one minute warning, and she was trying to tell you to start wrapping up your conversation with jeremy.

disappointment pangs deep into your chest, the thought of having to part ways from jeremy is not one you enjoy.

reluctantly, you look away from the director holding william nylander's name up over the camera man, and set your gaze back on jeremy. "okay, i've got a two part question. firstly, are you up for a little challenge?"

he nods, "right now I think you could probably talk me into anything. so yes."

your heart flutters but you stay composed. "good. secondly, which celebrity team do you hope picks you? because personally i'm hoping you get team tate, so you can sneak me in for a picture with her."

jermey laughs again, his head rolling backwards. "obviously id be happy with any team, but if I get tate...I got you."

you smile brightly, "thanks jer."

"anytime."

"we appreciate you taking time out of your busy day to chat with us, we always love catching up with you."

"thank you for having me, y/n/n." the sudden nickname has your heart beat coming to a dramatic halt, and from now on all you ever want to hear is jeremy swayman's voice, saying your name over and over again.

there's a brief moment before nylander gets to your portion of the carpet - he is currently too caught up with screaming fans and paparazzi. the camera lens isn't focused on you as the camera man fiddles with some of the dials, affectively blocking the two of you from its view.

jeremy passes the tiny microphone back to you, and his fingers graze yours softly on the way back. you swallow nervously, meeting his gaze once more.

he clears his throat and suddenly he seems almost...nervous. he rubs his hand against his jawline scruff once, a nervous habit he’s always had. "hey, after the stuff going on tonight, a couple guys and their girlfriends were planning on getting dinner. I was wondering if you'd like to tag along?"

your eyes widen in suprise, "guys and their girlfriends?"

he breathes laugh, "yeah. I want you to come with me."

"okay," you nod bashfully, "i'll come."

you watch william nylander enter your queue behind jermey's broad shoulder, chatting happily with your director as she goes over the process. you've interviewed nylander before, so it will be another breezy and entertaining interview- especially with the swedes personality.

jeremy's grin is blinding, bringing you back into reality. "great," he sighs, "i'll text you after."

"i'll be looking forward to it."

-- DINNER

you take another hearty gulp of your spiced red wine, letting the clash of flavours sit on your tongue briefly before swallowing fully.

you're on your third - maybe fourth? - glass of your preferred wine, and sure, maybe you were using the buzz as a way to calm your erratic, exited heart. since jeremy had texted you after the events of the all star celebrity draft, you've been filled with happy butterflies - and only a part of that was because of the picture he sent you of him with tate mcrae.

jeremy had walked to your hotel room -he didn't want to just meet outside or just meet at the restaurant, he picked you up on the 10th floor of the expensive toronto hotel. he had complimented your new, dinner appropriate outfit - a shiny maroon top with sleek pants and jacket and you had shared the compliment back at him.

you had to clench your thighs together to calm yourself when you were right outside the extravagant glass entryway of the restaurant, pastrnak just seeing and waving you both over, when jeremy leaned down, lips brushing your ear and admitted he hadn't stopped thinking about you and your sexy little dress.

so, yeah, the wine was definitely needed. you stab one of the only remaining potatoes onto your expensive silverware, bringing it up and past your lips. you chew lazily, listening quietly to the conversations around you. after all, it had been a few hours of meaningless conversations since you and jeremy arrived - your borderline drunk brain needed a minute.

the potato was cold now, and the gravy coated it had that slimey film coating. you pull a face to yourself, chewing the mushy food quicker than before, trying to get to swallowing it faster.

fingers tickle your arm over the sheer material of your blouse - jacket long abandoned over the back of your chair. you look over to jeremy, who's got his arm rested loosely on top your jacket - the culprit of your bicep tickles.

he looks amused, "you okay?"

with no regards to the food in your mouth, you turn towards him and begin to speak. "my potato is cold."

jeremy chuckles lowly, continuing the leisure up and down motion with the pads of his fingers against your covered skin. "want to spit it out?" he can tell you're teetering on drunk, and he doesn't mind at all. you're at the perfect level of buzzed - still controlled and conscious, but also having no care in the world. jeremy feels pleased that you feel comfortable enough to let go with him, and he finds amusement with your usual laid back, humorous behaviour.

you shake your head, finally swallowing the food in your mouth. you turn your body into his, and push your body against the side of your chair, trying to get closer to the man beside you. jeremy raises his brows questionably, the start of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I don't spit."

the suggestive undertones to your words don't go unnoticed, and jeremy is spluttering. his cheeks tint pink, and he takes a harsh swallow. you bite down onto your lip to contain the flurry of giggles that want to pass, and you lean further into jermey's bicep behind you.

finally, he collects himself. behind you, you can feel his elbow bend, and with the new position he can come around to the side of your head - his fingers taking some of your hair between them, gently running through your strands. "no?"

you shake your head. "nuh uh."

"so, y/n." the sound of a fork hitting someone's plate combined with them calling your name, has you pulling away and out of jermey's personal bubble. you're back to the reality of who you are and what you're doing here - not just at dinner tonight, but in toronto this week. you're supposed to be a professional. your cheeks flush with the guilt of feeling caught - even though you're not actually doing anything wrong.

kenna, mat barzal's girlfriend, is looking at you expectantly, her pointed chin resting on her tanned palm. you resist the urge to huff at the sight of her sour face. since the start of the evening, kenna has been very passive aggressive towards you - no compliment was given without a condescending remark. not only that, but mat had been very flirty and friendly with you since the red carpet, and although you've been unresponsive to him, it only fuelled kenna's fire.

she hums in faux interest, eyeing you and jeremy. "so like, it must be nice with your podcast and having the pick of like any and every nhl player you want, huh?"

a couple of people sitting at the lengthy table hear, and they look down at you quickly. you laugh awkwardly, eyes briefly meeting the crisp, white table cloth below you. you shrug, "I suppose? everyone is really nice, and i'm very grateful for their support."

she laughs, "I mean, like, do you just like, fuck any of them?"

her words are like a stab to your chest. all those derogatory hate comments and misogynistic remarks come rushing back to you. you don't know what to say, even though no, you've never hooked up or dated any nhl player, especially while you're working with them. but you can also understand why kenna would think that - the way you're cuddling up and talking with jeremy is very much telling.

that guilty feeling is back, and all you can do is just stare at kenna's smug face - mouth open wordlessly.

"I don't think it's any of your business, honestly." jeremy’s voice is firm, but not unkind, as he responds for you. "it's nobody business but hers. y/n is ridiculously good at her job, and she is way past the point of having to prove that she's serious about her work."

kenna laughs it off, mentioning something about just playing around as she takes another sip of her mixed drink. the conversation slowly starts up around you again, and without the attention focused on you and the awkward exchange, you feel like you can finally exhale.

you look at over at jeremy, your eyes glossy and wide. his expression is hard, and his brows are pulled tightly together in irritation.

"you didn't need to say anything...I'm used to those kind of comments." you try and dismiss your feelings - trying to lighten the mood, but jeremy doesn't buy it.

he shakes his head, "you shouldn't have to deal with that - especially from some douche bags girlfriend."

the end of his sentence has you cracking into a smile, a breathy laugh following. "thank you." you take a quick inhale, stopping your quiet laughter. your face turns serious again, "but I don't do that - i'm not some crazed, horny, puck bunny in disguise. that's not what this is." you gesture between the two of you without thinking, and you feel your lips falling into a frown - your emotions catching up to you.

jeremy mimics your frown, and before he can stop himself, he reaches out and takes ahold of your hand. he gently keeps ahold of you, bringing your hand down to rest on his lap. jeremy runs his thumb along the wrinkles of your palm, soothing you. "you don't need to justify anything to me."

you nod silently.

"ready to head out?" jeremy questions gently. you answer yes quickly, letting jeremy help you out of your seat and into your winter jacket. he gives david some money - enough to cover both of your meals before he guides you out of the restaurant, hand in yours.

the walk back to the hotel is pleasant, the once lingering awkward feeling from the restaurant vanishing once you and jeremy were alone. like earlier in the night, jeremy comes to your hotel door - he doesn't suggest that you'll go your separate ways once in the elevators, or part ways in the lobby, he doesn't even hesitate to walk you back.

before you swipe your key card in the holder, you torn to face jeremy. you smile, leaning your bodies weight onto the closed hotel door. "I had a nice time tonight, jer - although I think it's only because you were there."

he laughs gently, "i'm glad you came."

you cringe at yourself and your rather rude insinuation about everyone else at the restaurant tonight - even if it was true. "sorry, when I drink wine I have a hard time controlling my mouth."

jeremy shuffles closer to you, so subtle that you don't even register him moving. he shrugs, "I don't mind. they deserve it."

you giggle. "and you also look really good - like, all the time. I haven't stopped thinking about you in fucking, like, 9 months." you shake your head, "sorry - the wine." you remind him.

"don't apologize, if wine makes you say things like that, I never want you to stop drinking it." jeremy reaches out to you, resting his large hand on the side of your jaw. his thumb strokes your ear lobe softly, running over your studded earring.

your stomach swoops, silently looking up at him. jeremy is so much taller than you, standing over you like a damn giant. the position of you two has you feeling small - sexy. your tongue darts out, wetting your lips. your lipstick has faded throughout the night, and your spit adds more colour to them - more appeal.

but jeremy thinks you've never not looked like the most beautiful, amazing, appealing woman he's ever seen. he smirks slowly, a warm, syrupy feeling in the air around you. "I really like you, y/n - so much that it's kind of embarrassing."

you smile, "I don't think it's embarrassing, especially because I feel the same way....but I think my wine mouth gave that away."

"it sort of did." he teases.

you huff gently, eyes twinkling with amusement. before you can say anything back, jeremy leans down and kisses you. the wine flavours mix between you, and the exchange of quick kisses combined with slow, tongue chasing kisses making your knees buckle.

jeremy presses you further against the door, his thigh slotting between yours to provide an extra form of stimulation. you sigh into his mouth, holding onto his shoulders warmly as you continue to make out in the hotel hallway.

reluctantly, you pull away. you're breathing heavy, heart pumping loudly through your ears from the adrenaline high. "maybe we should clam down - we're in public."

"shhh," kiss. "just a little bit more." his words are mumbled, his lips brushing against yours. jeremy’s lips find yours again, and all your worries float away.

you blindly grab ahold of your key card, and it takes a couple of attempts of trying to slide it through without the use of your vision - but you get it. jeremy’s lips don't leave yours, and you don't want them too. he uses his body to push you both through the door and into the hotel room, kicking the door shut with his dress shoe behind him.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

[junoberrii]

So what are your interpretations of Lamb and Narinder? Do you have an AU or something I'm really curious.

Been thinking about this a lot,

I think for the most part I go off of the main narrative in the game as much as I can, but I have a few AU ideas I think about every once in a while that I might explore in a few sketches here and there

As for interpretations of Lamb and Narinder:

super simplified lmao

But I think before Lamb refused to give up the crown that they had a mutual interest in each other. I think as much as he acted stoic and detached, he needed this and their company. Lamb being a shining light in what was hopelessness for so long. I think they both viewed each other as salvation. A chance at something better.

So after all the lamb had gained, they couldn’t give everything up when the time came. The betrayal obviously tore him up, but there was really no good choice to be made by them in that situation as both would result in life long grief and guilt.

Freedom of a lower station is better than death or eternal containment right? Anyway boy was peeved, but time does crazy things and it can be so hard to hate someone when they’re the only one to ever really know you

Lamb never stops doting on him like he’s still the god he was and eventually the vulnerable moments they showed each other before the usurping resurface

It’s pretty a standard progression story in the fandom I think, but it’s what I find myself attached to the most. I think it hits all the best points

I’m working on some references for Lamb and Narinder (I’ll likely post for Lamb today)

But for personality, Lamb is playful, determined, cocky, and sympathetic. They care for each cult member and want them all to feel a safety and security they didn’t have for most of their life and especially childhood. Think found family.

Narinder I’d say is stubborn, repressed, clever, and observant. Patient where it matters and impatient where it doesn’t. This guy tried so hard to be a loner but will undeniably find himself following anyone he’s attached to (and denies the attachment of course). The loss of his godhood made him feel like a shell as his title was how he defined himself. I think over the course of his time in the cult he finds a new self. Finding contentment in things he couldn’t in his godhood.

Ajdhshakzk sorry for rambling!! Hope this communicates the vibes! I’m still working on fleshing it all out in my head

[defectivevillain]

give you all my poison

pairing: Peter Hale/Reader

reader's pronouns are he/him; race is ambiguous.

Derek shakes his head in disbelief. Then he falls silent and squints at you. “Peter’s right, you do smell a bit weird.” He frowns, his eyebrows furrowed. “Should I be concerned that everyone’s smelling me?” you ask. “We’re werewolves,” Derek says flatly. Yes, you suppose that is a suitable excuse.

You’re not quite sure what Peter Hale’s obsession with your scent is about. You just know that he doesn’t seem to care what you think, because he’s constantly breaking the distance between you and sniffing at your neck with a confused and irritated expression.

word count: 4.8k | ao3 version

Warnings: mentions of skin-peeling/shedding (molting); canon-typical blood, injury, violence, and supernatural stuff

author's notes: The reader is male/transmasculine. His race is ambiguous.

This is canon divergent, maybe even canon non-compliant. This fic’s pacing is pretty quick and it’s dialogue heavy. But I thought of the idea yesterday and just had to share it. I’m obsessed.

I'm bad at creating my own titles—this one is an edited lyric from Thank You for the Venom by MCR. Because duh.

“You smell very strange,” a familiar voice says in lieu of a greeting. You look up from the couch to find Peter standing in the opposite doorway, his nose scrunched and a pinched expression on his face. He looks effortlessly casual in his cardigan and jeans, and his gaze flits about your form before settling on your face. 

“Thanks,” you say wryly. You’ve long grown used to Peter’s somewhat blunt, borderline rude personality. He’s clever and has a sharp wit, making him rather entertaining to speak to. You thought you had grown used to his sardonic nature, but that remark hurts a bit. 

“You know what I mean,” Peter says, appearing moments away from rolling his eyes. 

“I really don’t,” you admit. You know werewolves have a particularly strong sense of smell, but you’re not sure why he’s pointing it out to you. 

“You smell—” Peter breaks off, annoyed. He takes a step into the room and freezes, falling quiet for a moment. “—strange. You don’t smell like a human.”

“What?” you ask, growing a bit worried. What’s that supposed to mean, exactly?! Are you not human? “Wait, what do I smell like, then?”

Peter takes that statement as permission to break the distance between you and start sniffing your neck, to which you try to push him away. He chases you for a moment before leaning back with a focused expression on his face. “You smell acidic,” he concludes. 

“Maybe my pH levels are off,” you mutter dryly, ignoring how your heart had jumped at his sudden proximity. 

Peter hears the remark (damn his werewolf hearing). And damn it, that means he can probably hear your heart racing. Ugh. “No,” Peter responds, breaking you away from your thoughts. “You don’t smell like any human I’ve met.” 

“Do you go around smelling humans a lot?” you ask, attempting to alleviate some of the tension in the air. 

“You could take this seriously, for once in your life,” Peter says, entirely unimpressed by your jab. 

“That’s ironic, coming from you.” You smile. “And take what seriously? You just said I smell weird. And then you proceeded to smell me without warning.” 

Peter looks at you for a moment and growls, walking off into the nearby hall. You stare after him in confusion, before making peace with the fact that he’s not going to explain himself. 

Several minutes pass before another presence enters the room. You’re about to ask Peter what the whole smelling debacle was about when you realize the new arrival isn’t Peter, but instead his nephew, Derek. He gives you a stiff nod from his spot in the doorway. You raise your brow expectantly, sensing he wants to speak with you. 

“You seem to be…” Derek then says, trailing off for a moment as he evidently struggles to find the words. “...Particularly good at annoying my uncle.” He then notes, taking a step to the side and leaning against the wall. 

“I try my best,” you say.

Derek shakes his head in disbelief. Then he falls silent and squints at you. “He’s right, you do smell a bit weird.” He frowns, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Should I be concerned that everyone’s smelling me?” you ask. 

“We’re werewolves,” Derek says flatly. Yes, you suppose that is a suitable excuse. 

“Okay then,” you relent. That still doesn’t give you an explanation, though. “Why is it such a big deal?”

“Werewolves use their sense of smell to distinguish between friends—or pack members—and enemies,” Derek explains. 

“Well, can’t you just look at me to do that?” you ask. Derek scoffs, as if it’s an incredibly dumb question. “What?” you say defensively. 

“It’s not that simple,” Derek says, vague as always. 

“So… what’s the problem with me smelling weird?” you eventually prompt him. 

“It’s not a problem, necessarily,” he remarks. “But all humans have a somewhat similar smell: blood and sweat. Either you have strange genetics, or…” You stare at him expectantly. Derek just exhales. “Or you’re not human,” he finishes. 

“Oh,” you remark, not quite sure what else to say. “Fun.” The prospect of you being supernatural is definitely overwhelming. But maybe it’ll just be a fluke. Maybe you just have some undiagnosed health issues. Surely there’s a logical explanation for this. 

“Yes,” Derek says, a hint of a smile on his face at your sarcasm. It quickly fades as he considers the statement. “So you could be some sort of supernatural creature.”

“Wouldn’t I have known that by now, though?” You frown. 

“It depends,” Derek murmurs. “Not all creatures have to undergo a bite or formative event to trigger their powers. Some are born that way, others are created through science.”

“Huh,” you remark. “You know a lot about this stuff.”

“Thanks to me,” Stiles chimes in, popping up in the opposite hallway. Derek’s eyes immediately shoot over to Stiles and you resist the urge to laugh, instead following his eyes and looking at your friend. 

“Hey, Stiles,” You greet him. 

“Hey!” he says brightly. He’s tapping his fingers against the wall. “So, I heard you’re joining the supernatural gang?” You know him well enough to know that the smile on his face is a devious one. You may be in trouble.  

“Not yet,” Derek interjects, before he can get too excited. 

“Well, you can be an honorary member,” Stiles says with a nod. You feel yourself start to relax at the remark. “And don’t let Peter get to you. He’s kind of a dick.”

“Stiles,” Derek warns him. “Okay, so he’s definitely a huge dick,” Stiles corrects himself. Derek groans in annoyance and walks off, leaving Stiles and you in the living room. “Mind if I sit?”

“Go for it; I could use some human company. Or semi-human, I guess.” You move over to give him more room. 

“I fit the bill,” Stiles hums in agreement, stretching his legs to let his feet rest on the coffee table. Derek always hates when he does that, you note with amusement. You get the feeling Stiles has started doing it on purpose now. “So, you think you’re supernatural?” he asks. 

“I don’t think so,” you frown. “I mean, if Peter hadn’t said anything about me smelling weird, then I wouldn’t have even considered it.”

“Peter said you smell weird?” Stiles blinks, before face-palming. “Idiot.” You get the weirdest feeling there’s something you’re missing. But you can’t focus on it for long before Stiles is continuing to speak. “Don’t worry. He’s probably trying to make something out of nothing.”

“I hope so,” you sigh. 

“Hey, don’t panic,” Stiles remarks. “Even if you are somehow supernatural, then we’ll be able to help. You’re definitely in the right place.” 

“Thanks, Stiles.” You smile, appreciating your friend’s support. 

“Don’t mention it,” he says casually, reaching for the TV remote. “Now, wanna watch shitty reality TV? How about 90 Day Fiance?”

“Hell yeah,” you respond affirmatively. 

As days pass and bleed into weeks, you slowly start to forget your unusual interaction with Peter. You continue studying and focusing on school, occasionally meeting up with the pack when they need another set of eyes on things. Ultimately, your spring semester is shaping up to be a normal one. 

But then some strange things start happening. Beacon Hills is a strange place—you’ve grown to accept that. It’s home to all sorts of supernatural creatures. Hell, you’re friends with werewolves: you can handle a bit of weirdness.  Usually, you’re not directly involved, though. You’re always a bystander, which you’re more than fine with. Things don’t necessarily happen to you, which is why it throws you when you wake up one morning to find your skin peeling—and not just a normal amount. It’s… Well, you don’t even want to think about it anymore. You just feel like a snake shedding its skin. The thought makes you shudder. 

And then there’s your strange tolerance for heat. You’ve never quite loved the summer months in Beacon Hills, since it can get very warm outside. You’re usually okay if you stay inside. But this summer, for whatever reason, you’re not only comfortable in the heat—you find yourself actively seeking it out, moving to sit in the sun instead of the shade and going outside more often. You also find yourself feeling less fatigued, as if you’re expending less energy. It’s all so weird. You would try speaking to Stiles about it, but the pack has been pretty busy lately with the appearance of a few hostile Darachs. Besides, you don’t even know how you’d begin to breach the topic. 

It all comes to a head on one particularly sweltering summer afternoon, when you find yourself seeking out the sun’s warmth instead of resting in the air conditioning like the rest of the pack. You had gotten some incredulous looks, but you couldn’t quite focus on that. You can’t rationalize this behavior of yours—you just know that it feels right, somehow. 

“What are you doing out here?” Peter scoffs, clearly trying to sound disinterested. You squint and look over to find Peter standing next to you in a tank top and sweatpants. There’s a note of something close to concern in his voice. You pretend not to notice, instead considering the question. 

“Relaxing.” You just shrug, crossing your legs and taking a slow breath. 

“It’s practically a desert out here,” Peter points out. “You’re crazy.”

“I’m fine,” you reassure him, noticing the worry hidden behind the insult. “It feels nice.”

Peter leans forward and brings a hand to your forehead, frowning. “You don’t feel warm,” he notes. 

“I told you,” you say quietly, without venom. Peter just mutters something under his breath about stubbornness before walking away. You glance around and find him retreating into the cool, air-conditioned house. You hum and turn your attention back to soaking up the sun’s warmth. It feels quite nice—almost rejuvenating. 

Then a sudden sharp pain bleeds through your ribs. You gasp and bring a hand to your abdomen, feeling as if it’s tearing itself apart. Your back is aching persistently too, adding insult to injury. You’re leaning down to the ground now, a hand on the grass as you try to breathe past the stabbing sensation in your chest. What is happening? One moment you’re fine; the next, you feel as if your entire body is stretching and ripping at the seams. 

You blink and submerge yourself in darkness. When you open your eyes, you realize you’re on your feet again. Except… you’re taller than normal. And your lower half comprises eight inky black legs. There’s something weighing your back down; you manage to turn around enough to see a giant stinger. Are you… a scorpion? You stare down at your form in disbelief. Everything from your waist up is human; from the waist down, you look like a scorpion. 

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Peter’s voice breaks through the silence and you look over to find him staring at you in complete disbelief. He’s standing just past the stairs to the house, regarding you with an unreadable expression. 

“...Hey,” you manage to say awkwardly, your heart racing in your chest. 

“That’s all you have to say for yourself?” he exclaims incredulously. "Hey?” 

“I didn’t know this would happen!” you quickly defend yourself.

Between the likely indicators of your distress—your accelerated heart rate and pained breathing—and the commotion from your argument with Peter, you’ve successfully drawn Stiles and Derek out of the house. Derek doesn’t look super surprised, only a bit wary; and Stiles looks excited. His eyes are practically glittering. “I knew it, dude!” he exclaims, sending you a thumbs-up. You feel some of your nerves fade at the friendly gesture. “Supernatural gang! Hell yeah. You look so fucking cool!” You fight off a smile. 

“Stiles,” Derek admonishes him. But he’s hiding a smile. 

“I knew you smelled too weird to be a human,” Peter says triumphantly, a victorious grin on his face. He seems to have gotten over the whole scorpion transformation thing pretty quickly. 

You just huff in annoyance. You have more important things to worry about at the moment, like returning to your human form. “Any advice on how to…?”

“Go back to normal?” Peter supplies. He’s studying your tail with particular interest, hunger flickering across his face. You hope he doesn’t want to eat you. “No idea.” He shrugs. 

You look at Derek helplessly. He sighs. “I’m not sure either,” he admits, before glancing at Stiles. “Any ideas?”

“Finally someone asked,” Stiles huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Thought I’d be standing here twiddling my thumbs the whole time.”

“Stiles,” Derek says exasperatedly. 

“Right, right, not the time,” Stiles sighs, before taking a step closer to you and looking up at you. “Okay, so I’ve done some reading. Because, well, emissary stuff. I guess. Anyways! I remember the process being similar to werewolves—having something anchor you to your humanity.” 

“How am I supposed to do that?” you ask helplessly, starting to feel a bit scared. 

“It’s okay, you’ll be okay,” Stiles says, evidently sensing your distress. “We’ll get you out of this soon, don’t worry.” He placates you. Damn it, Stiles always knows just what to say. You want to be embarrassed, but hell, you just turned into a half-scorpion! This is far from normal. 

“Your anchor can be a person, a relationship, an object,” Derek adds. “Anything that reminds you of your human form.”

You take a slow breath, attempting to calm yourself down. You can do this. You don’t need to rush it, either. You’re not in danger right now—Peter, Derek, and Stiles are here. They’re not scared by you, and they didn’t shun you. You’re going to be fine. You’re safe. You repeat that notion like a mantra in your head. You’re safe. You’re okay. You’ll be just fine. And slowly but surely, you start to believe it. The stiffness and discomfort slowly bleed out of you and you feel a sudden pressure in your knees before you crumple to the ground. 

“Not bad,” Peter says, the words sounding garbled through your ringing ears. He’s standing far closer than you thought he was—if you were to stand up, you’d probably crash into him. 

“Ugh,” you just groan, attempting to peel yourself off the ground. Your limbs are aching and there’s some sort of liquid dripping from your fingers. But otherwise, you’re back to your human form! Small mercies. 

Peter doesn’t even offer you a hand, instead just bending down and hauling you to your feet like a stray kitten. You blink and wobble a bit, set right by his rather tight grip on your upper arm. “Thanks,” you say to him, before looking down at your dripping hands. “This is probably venom.” 

“Probably, yes,” Peter says with a smile. 

Stiles and Derek approach you, vastly different expressions on their faces (intrigue and skepticism, respectively). Stiles leans in to scrutinize the liquid for a moment. “It won’t hurt you, because you have resistance, I’m sure,” he reassures you. “But it’ll be poisonous to us. Maybe even corrosive,” Stiles analyzes. 

“Corrosive?” you echo. 

“Look.” Stiles inclines his head down to your feet. You follow his gaze to where you had first fallen after your transformation. There’s a sizable chunk of ground caving in on itself, evidently from where the venom had fallen to the ground and eroded it. “Hey, you should try shooting it.” He proceeds to shoot his wrist out like Spider-Man shoots his webs.

“I’m not Spider-Man,” you huff. Peter lets out an amused noise; you decide to follow Stiles’s instruction, if only out of curiosity. Unsurprisingly, the venom just drips off of your hands. You smile knowingly. 

“Hey, it was worth a try,” Stiles defends himself. He seems eager to change the subject. “Anyways, now we have a shit ton of werewolves, a Kitsune, a spark, a Kanima—Jackson’s lucky he’s even being included—and you. Nice. Sounds like the start to a really bad joke.”

Derek just rolls his eyes. He probably doesn’t realize it, but his eyes are gleaming with fondness as he looks at your friend. You catch Stiles’s eye and smile, which he returns with a smile of his own. Maybe one day he’ll notice Derek’s pining. Maybe one day. 

“Let’s head back,” Derek suggests. “You should probably be in our company for a few days, to ensure you don’t transform accidentally.” 

“Yeah, that wouldn’t be good…” you hesitantly agree, thinking about transforming into a half-scorpion in the middle of your lecture hall. That’s one easy way to fail your classes. You stare down at your hands, relieved to find that the venom has been absorbed into your skin once more. Where exactly that venom goes is a mystery you don’t particularly care to solve. 

“I can do some research,” Stiles offers, practically bouncing on his heels at the thought. “Some light reading.”

“You call those thick ass books ‘light reading’?” Derek mutters disbelievingly as he heads back towards the house. 

“Yes.” Stiles frowns, walking behind Derek. “And that’s not how you say ‘you’re welcome,’ sourwolf.” 

You don’t really have the wherewithal to comprehend what they’re talking about, so you instead just focus on not tripping over your own feet as you head back to the house. Peter still has a hand on your arm, which you’re secretly grateful for. You sort of feel like you’re walking through a thick sludge. Evidently, the transformation will take some getting used to. 

You can’t be more than a minute’s walk from the house, but you’re still tired by the time you get up the steps. You pause in the entryway, bracing yourself with a hand against the wall. You can feel Peter’s inquisitive gaze burning into the side of your face. “You’re about to pass out,” he reminds you. 

“Thanks, I hadn’t noticed,” you say dryly. The remark lacks your usual bite, instead sounding a bit pathetic. 

“You’re welcome.” Peter smiles sweetly. You roll your eyes. Despite his acerbic remark, his grip on you tightens as he leads you to the living room. You pretty much collapse on the sofa, feeling all of your adrenaline promptly seep out of your bones. 

“Get some rest,” Derek practically orders. Stiles lets out a pointed cough and he lets out a strangled breath. “You’ll need it,” he says a bit more kindly. 

You don’t have the time or energy to contemplate the weird expression on Peter’s face as he stares at you; or notice the meaningful look Stiles gives you, his eyes flitting between Peter and you pointedly. Within moments, you’re succumbing to exhaustion and falling asleep to the ever-familiar sound of Stiles and Derek’s bickering. 

You would think, in the time since you learned you’re a Girtablilu—which is the official word for a creature like you, according to Stiles—that Peter would abandon the whole scenting issue. You’re pretty surprised, then, when he walks into the room and freezes again, a frown rising on his face. 

“You smell different,” Peter says. 

“Not this again,” you protest. But it’s too late—Peter’s already getting up in your space and sniffing you. You remain still this time, if only because you know resistance is futile. 

“You smell like the banshee,” he concludes after his impromptu inspection. 

“Lydia?” you ask. Peter knows her name—he shouldn’t be calling her ‘the banshee.’ You sigh, knowing that’s an argument you’re not going to win. “Yeah, we’re roommates. I’m surprised you’re just now noticing.” Indeed, you’ve been rooming with Lydia for the entire year. 

“Co-ed dorms?” Peter questions. 

“Yeah, our residence hall is all-gender,” you reply, confused by this particular line of questioning. 

“Interesting,” Peter says. The irritated expression on his face suggests that it’s nothing of the sort. “And she’s your girlfriend?” he clarifies. 

You stare at him in complete disbelief. He stares back unflinchingly. “What—? No,” you choke out. Where in the hell did he get that idea?

“You’re sure?” Peter asks, a smile on his face as if he’s amused at your expense. It looks a little strained. “You smell like her.” Okay, now he definitely sounds annoyed. 

“Positive,” you respond firmly. “Lydia likes women; she’s dating Allison.” And the two of you live together—it’s only natural that her scent will carry over to you, if that’s how the whole scent thing works. You’re still very confused by it. Thankfully, that’s not really your problem—since you don’t have an enhanced sense of smell like the werewolves. 

“Oh,” Peter remarks.  

“Yes, oh,” you say, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “And I’m gay too. So we’re just friends.” Peter doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “We get that question a lot.” You then explain, needing a reprieve from the awkward silence. 

Peter just hums. “I didn’t realize you like men.” 

A pause. “Well, I do,” you say somewhat helplessly. You have an idea of why he’s so interested in that particular tidbit, but you don’t want to get your hopes up or read into it too much. 

“I do, too,” Peter says. 

Your eyes snap to him so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash. For a moment, you’re struck silent as you just stare at him incredulously. Fortunately, you’re saved from stammering out a response when Derek storms through the door, looking furious. “I’m going to kill Stiles,” he hisses, surging through the room and heading to one of the adjacent hallways. The tension that had been settling between Peter and you is promptly broken, leaving you both standing in the living room somewhat awkwardly. 

Unfortunately, it seems Peter hasn’t lost his creepy fixation with your scent. The first and second time, you weren’t expecting it. This time, you manage to see it coming. 

“You smell like Stiles,” Peter says as he enters the room, studying you intently. 

“Okay, no need to test it,” you say quickly with a shake of your head, leaning away from him before he can start sniffing you again. You’ve since learned from your mistakes. “What’s with you and this scent thing?” you demand. 

Peter just smiles, entirely unashamed of the stunt he just tried to pull. “Why were you with Stiles?” he asks instead, proceeding to entirely ignore your question. 

“You know him,” you answer exasperatedly. “He’s a ‘slut for research,’ in his own words. He wanted to see what kind of scorpion I am.”

“And?” Peter prompts you.

“Well, we’re not quite sure,” you begin. The research process was pretty entertaining. Stiles was fanboying half of the time, which was a bit flattering, honestly. “We couldn’t test if my tail grows back without cutting it off, which we didn’t want to do, obviously. But I am fluorescent, supposedly. So that’s fun. And then my venom’s toxic too.”

“I guess I was molting last week,” you recall. Peter’s entirely silent, which convinces you to keep talking. “Scorpions can live up to a year without food, but we can’t test that either. They also have low metabolic rates. That’s about it, I think.” Some of that information is from Wikipedia, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

“I’d never met a Girtablilu before,” Peter admits. That statement feels more impactful than you can comprehend, for some reason. There’s a certain weight to it. 

“Me neither,” you then huff. Peter’s expression cracks into a slight smile. 

“You’re something of a rare breed,” he teases. 

“Don’t say it like that,” you argue insistently. “I’m not a pet.”

“You’d be a cute one,” Peter continues, uncaring of your objections. “Just put you in a tank, throw you crickets every few days.” 

“Perish the thought,” you say with a shake of your head.  

“Take you out for walks,” Peter continues, if only to irritate you more. 

“I’ll sting you,” you threaten him. 

“You won’t,” Peter says. 

You both know it’s an empty threat. “I won’t,” you agree. 

“I have diplomatic immunity, it seems,” Peter notes. He looks smug now. 

“For now,” you emphasize, wanting to wipe that damn smirk off his face. “Don’t get comfortable.”

“Oh, I won’t,” he says. The sharpened teeth in his grin send a bolt of something down your spine. “I’ll be watching you very closely, sweetheart.” And, in typical dramatic fashion, Peter’s gone before you can respond. That’s probably good for you, because otherwise, he would’ve noticed the flustered expression you’re sure is written all over your face. 

You’re starting to think something’s wrong with Peter. Maybe he’s sick or something. He’s just been acting a little… strange. For one, he keeps on touching you—casual gestures like a hand on your shoulder, the nape of your neck, or your back. He doesn’t behave like that with anyone else. Next, he’s being weirdly evasive. Every time you try to speak with him, Peter almost seems distracted. 

In hindsight, maybe you should’ve expected this behavior to manifest in other ways. Because surely that’s the only explanation for why he thought that pursuing multiple Chimeras on his own would be a good idea. Peter’s strong, sure, but not that foolish. At least, that’s what you thought. 

Safe to say, once you all learn of Peter’s absence, you’re the first to volunteer yourself to go after him. Stiles had tracked down the location of the Chimeras the previous day, so it won’t be hard to find. Furthermore, your venom will prove useful—since the creatures have very few weaknesses otherwise. Derek doesn’t seem happy about it, necessarily, but Stiles manages to distract him long enough for you to make your daring escape and go after Peter. 

You find him in the same clearing Stiles had labeled as the Chimeras’ hideout. He’s fending them off, but you can tell his balance is slightly lopsided and he’s slowly losing ground. You sigh, resigning yourself to a messy evening before transforming into your Girtablilu form and fighting off the creatures at Peter’s back. 

After what feels like far too long, you’ve successfully defeated all of the Chimeras. You take a slow breath and calm down, embracing your human form once more. As you return, you stumble and shoot an arm out, bracing yourself with a hand on the tree Peter’s leaning against. The transformation still isn’t as smooth as you want it to be, but you know it’ll improve with time. 

“Maybe don’t go off on your own again,” you say breathlessly, looking down at him with a tired smirk on your face. “Also, you’re welcome.” 

Peter’s staring at you with wide eyes, his gaze roaming your face as if drinking in the sight of you. You stare back at him, a bit curious about his sudden intense scrutiny. He doesn’t explain himself, instead keeping quiet and just looking at you eerily. 

Eventually, you extend a hand to him; he takes it and allows you to tug him to his feet. You move to release your grip, but Peter’s grasp is steadfast and unrelenting. The two of you stand there for several moments, far closer than what is socially appropriate. 

“You’re difficult to impress,” Peter eventually murmurs. 

You blink. “You were trying to impress me? Why?” The thought is almost ludicrous. 

“Because I… care about you,” Peter says, his voice almost dripping with condescension and revulsion. You recognize the bravado in the gesture—knowing he’s masking his uncertainty and nerves. Then you process the statement and everything finally makes sense: the scenting; the physical contact; the look on his face when you first transformed, and the look he gave you just now; the concern disguised with sarcasm. 

“Oh,” you breathe. 

“Yes, oh,” he repeats, clearly taking delight in calling back to the last time you said those same words. Suddenly that conversation about sexuality makes a lot more sense. 

“Well,” you drawl, sounding a lot more confident than you feel, “are you going to do anything about it?”

“Does that mean what I think it means?” Peter’s eyes are glittering. 

“Yes,” you confirm, your voice wavering ever so slightly. Peter’s expectant gaze is only making you more nervous. “I care about you too.” 

“Good,” Peter states, before surging forward and kissing you. You’re quick to embrace him in return, your arms looping around his shoulders. It’s far from a sweet or harmless gesture—Peter doesn’t do sweet, and you think his claws are digging into your waist somewhere. But… you wouldn’t want him any other way. 

“Well,” a familiar voice says far too soon. Peter and you break apart, both of you turning to investigate. “I guess you guys had it handled after all.” 

“...Hey, Stiles,” you sigh, recognizing your friend at the edge of the woods. Stiles sends you a wave. 

“Derek thought I should check on you,” he explains, shoving his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “He’s gonna kill me, though: I bet him that you guys would get your shit together by the end of the week.” 

“So, thanks,” Stiles says with a smirk. “I can’t wait to rub it in Derek’s face.” 

Peter and you exchange a look before sighing in exasperated defeat.

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[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request Gerhard (Delico's Nursery) with a beautiful lover who is constantly getting hit on despite being in relationship?

The life of a noble was filled with its privileges, but also its duties.

Ceremonies. Titles. The proper way to hold a fork. All of it was for the aggrandizement and the preservation of the nobility. Gerhard was glad to be a part of it. Usually.

Public functions like this, the balls & the parties, were not his favorite sort. He did not find small talk pleasant, but could hold his conversation (and more importantly his tongue) when chatting with his other nobles. In recent events, however, he found it harder and harder to hold his tongue.

“Your lady wife certainly looks particularly enchanting this evening, Ser Gerhard. Whoever made such a beautiful gown?”

“I do not know. You will have to ask her.” He replied sternly at the man who was so obviously not interested in fashion.

He was recently married to another member of the noble class. A beautiful woman with an old family name much like Dali’s. Oddly enough they also got along well. Most only saw her beauty, but she was also quite clever. Angelico also seemed to like her, although that was irrelevant, as he looked at her often with big doe eyes of enamorment.

For most, it would be fine enough just to have a beautiful wife. And for Gerhard originally that had been enough as well. However, the constant reminder of how beautiful his wife was from men, colleagues, and strangers, was getting on his nerves.

Gerhard looked up from the conversation with the man, as he was not paying attention, and caught site of Dino leaving early with his new wife. ‘Lucky’ He thought. As Dino did not care much for his social standing, but had an old name to stand on, he could leave early without question. Leaving him here without his…well…not ‘friend’ per say but someone at least on his side. Or would not hit on his wife.

“You seem rather glum.”

Gerhard and his partner turned towards his wife, who had just appeared beside him. Indeed, looking radiant in her new gown. “Something the matter my dearest?”

“Oh, I’m afraid that is my fault, my lady.” The man apologized quickly. Blushing and bashful as a schoolboy. Making Gerhard grit his teeth. “I fear I may be boring Ser Gerhard.”

“I’m sure it’s not that.” His wife replied charitably. All civility. All gentility. Yet somehow further pulling this man into her spell. “Is your headache still bothering you, my love?”

Gerhard and the man both seem surprised, but the other man is the only one who commented. “Headache?”

“Yes. Gerhard was commenting on a headache earlier today. But he insisted that we come to the party to make an appearance as it was our duty to come.” His wife lied so easily. She then stepped close to place his hand on his chest. “You should not push yourself so hard my love.” Her eyes glittered with adoring fervor. To which Gerhard just scrunched his lips and sat his champagne down.

“Yes. Perhaps we should go home.” He said his goodbyes to the man, who would make his excuses for others, and took his wife’s hand before leading her out. Once in the open air waiting for the carriage he told her, “that was uncalled for.”

His wife just smirked at him. Her real face coming out now that they were alone. “What? You seemed in pain talking to that man. I assumed you had a headache.”

Gerhard growled. “To tell people that is a sign of weakness. What will people think?”

“That you are a mere man, which I guess is the cruelest insult for a Fra indeed. My mistake.”

The carriage arrived and a footman let them in before closing the door. “Look, I apologize.” Gerhard said after a sigh. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to stand at these things and have someone tell you how attractive your spouse is?”

“Yes. I do.”

Gerhard turned from his sulking to look at his wife. Seeing that she was being completely serious, before she slid forward; or as much as her gown would allow her. “You do know how lovely you are too, Gerhard? With these long golden curls. That pale skin.”

“Stop it.” He batted her hand away while he blushed. Gerhard usually hated people commenting on his appearance. Looking rather ‘feminine’ from a young age, he had to overcome such preconceived notions about him to gain his standing. But when his wife did it, Gerhard felt a little flustered.

“You are a very handsome, beautiful man Gerhard. The only difference is that ladies tend to be more discreet. Unless they are with other ladies.” Her coy smile sent a shiver through him, before she lifted his hand to kiss it. “You needn’t worry though. Let them compliment me like they would any piece of art. It is what I was born to do. But just know, the only one who can admire me fully, is you.”

Gerhard gulped as he felt the carriage starting to slow. Signaling that they were home. “Perhaps…I could admire you fully tonight.”

His wife grinned as the door opened and let herself be helped out. “Of course. But, we’ll need to have some help getting me out of this thing. Art, though beautiful to admire, can be tedious sometimes. Especially with all these buttons.”

[morbidology]

The Cottingley Fairies story is one of the most fascinating tales of deception in the 20th century, capturing the imagination of the public and even fooling some of the greatest minds of the time. What began as an innocent prank by two young girls in Yorkshire, England, grew into a phenomenon that blurred the lines between fantasy and reality, challenging people's willingness to believe in the extraordinary.

In the summer of 1917, 16-year-old Elsie Wright and her 9-year-old cousin Frances Griffiths lived in the village of Cottingley, near Bradford. Like many children, they were enchanted by the idea of fairies, inspired by the lush surroundings of the Cottingley Beck, a small stream near their home. Using Elsie's father's camera, the girls took a series of photographs that appeared to show them interacting with delicate, winged fairies. The first photograph depicted Frances with several small fairies dancing in front of her, while another showed Elsie sitting with a gnome.

The photographs were meant to be a playful trick, a way to amuse themselves and their families. Elsie had drawn the fairies on paper, cut them out, and used hatpins to secure them in the ground before posing with them. To the girls' surprise, the images turned out convincingly lifelike, and their parents, especially Elsie's father, were skeptical but intrigued.

The Cottingley Fairies might have remained a private family joke if not for the involvement of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the famous author of the Sherlock Holmes stories. Conan Doyle was a devout Spiritualist, deeply interested in the supernatural and the possibility of life beyond the physical world. In 1920, when the photographs came to his attention through a mutual friend of the Wright family, he was immediately captivated.

Conan Doyle saw the photographs as possible evidence of the existence of fairies, which aligned with his belief in the spiritual world. He wrote an article for The Strand Magazine, enthusiastically presenting the photos as proof of supernatural beings. The article, published in December 1920, included two of the fairy photographs and generated widespread interest and debate. Many people were fascinated by the idea that fairies might be real, while others remained skeptical, questioning the authenticity of the images.

The public's reaction to the Cottingley Fairies was mixed. Some embraced the photographs as genuine evidence of a hidden world, taking comfort in the idea of magical beings inhabiting the natural environment. Others were more critical, pointing out the suspiciously paper-like appearance of the fairies and the potential for trickery. Despite the skepticism, the fairies captivated the popular imagination, particularly in a post-World War I society that yearned for wonder and escapism.

The controversy over the photographs persisted for decades, with many debates centered on whether the images were authentic or a clever hoax. Despite advances in photographic analysis, the fairies' true nature remained elusive, partly because of the credibility that figures like Conan Doyle lent to the story.

It wasn't until the 1980s, more than 60 years after the photographs were taken, that Elsie and Frances finally admitted the truth. In interviews with The Unexplained magazine and in a book titled The Secret of the Cottingley Fairies, the elderly women confessed that the fairies were indeed cardboard cutouts, inspired by illustrations from a children's book. However, they maintained that they really had seen fairies in Cottingley Beck and claimed that one of the five photographs, the final one, was genuine.

Even with this admission, the allure of the Cottingley Fairies story persisted. The photographs had become iconic, not just as a historical curiosity but as a testament to the power of belief and the human desire for magic in the mundane.

[mentime]

✿ cum undone ✿

title: cum undone

summary: when Billy Butcher isn't coming up with new reasons to hate Supes, he works as a phone sex operator.

w.c: 2.5k

warnings: phone sex, cursing, fingering, slight hint at pain play but only very very slightly, solo masturbation, nothing graphic at all tbh

note: hi first work!! hope everyone is doing well, sorry if there's any typos, kind of rushed it but hope you enjoy thanks for reading <3

What in the actual fuck were you doing?

Your thoughts begin spiralling, and you grasped at your bedsheets to try and ground yourself, but despite your efforts, your breaths were becoming faster and shallower.

And you still couldn't bring yourself to hang up the phone.

See, you had found yourself in a bit of a predicament. It had been building up all week, you've been feeling hot and bothered over small things, it was getting to be too much for you. Which is what lead you to now, watching helplessly with bated breath as your phone dialed the number for a phone sex hotline that you had discovered on the internet in your haste to solve your... problem.

The phone rings once...

This was a bad idea.

Then twice...

This was a really, really bad idea.

Then three times...

This is getting pathetic now, you should really just hang up-

"Hello, love, Butcher here, ready to satisfy every desire you could possibly come up with in that pretty little head of yours", a gruff, gravelly British accent answers on the other side of the phone, reciting what seems to be the company's slogan. You could feel blood flowing to your cheeks and an abundance of heat pooling in your abdomen at the sound of the man's voice alone. "Are ya in need of some…service?"

You scramble to get closer to the phone, flushed and out of breath already. You try to think of something clever to say, something that doesn't give you away as just a total inexperienced loser, but you don't come up with anything special.

"Hi", you manage to will your voice to speak at a somewhat normal volume and pace. "Um, yes please?"

The man, Butcher, on the other side of the phone chuckles at the questioning lilt of your tone, and you feel yourself flush even deeper, although you didn't know that could be possible. When he speaks next, you can hear the smug grin in his voice.

"And what sort of service do ya have in mind, love?", the man continues, and his voice lowers, even deeper, as he speaks again. "I’d be more than happy to accommodate ya."

Your mind comes to a complete halt, both at how fucking attractive this man sounds, and because you actually have no clue what you want from this phone call. Of course, you know the end goal, you're not that oblivious, but you hadn't really thought of how exactly to get... there.

"Oh, um, I don't know", you whisper, shyly. "I've never really done this before..."

"That’s completely fine, darlin’, s'what I'm here for, ain't it?", and even though his words are kind, you could swear you can hear a smirk in his voice. Maybe you're just paranoid. "We’ll take it nice and slow. Why dontcha tell me what you’ve been thinkin’ about?"

You hear some shuffling around and a grunt on the other side of the line, presumably the man getting more comfortable, and even that noise evokes something within you.

"Well,", you start nervously, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. "Um, it's just that lately, I've been getting kind of... riled up over small things, and I haven't been able to really, uh, fix this problem."

You internally cringe at that absolute word vomit that you had just spewed, and you grip at your sheets and screw your eyes shut, nearly hanging up until you hear the man chuckling softly.

"So, what you're tellin' me is that ya need some help masturbating", and you're definitely sure you can hear the smirk in his voice now. "Do I have it right, lovie?"

You nod, unable to command yourself to speak, until you cop onto the fact that Butcher can't actually see you. You manage a quiet little "yes".

"Well, of course I'll help ya, love", Butcher says softly, and you nearly melt as your fingers loosen their death grip on the sheets. "It's me bloody job and I'm fuckin' amazing at it, so we'll have your little problem sorted and you'll be right as rain."

If you weren't so nervous, you'd be full on beaming, and you can feel yourself nodding along to the man's words.

"And 'cause I'm so damn good at what I do, I can already tell you're not much of a talker", and thank god for sexy, intelligent men. "That ain't no big deal to me, love. I'll just tell ya what to do, and your only job is to enjoy yourself and let me know if ya want to stop at anytime."

You nod, and you chide yourself for being so silly, but it doesn't matter because it's almost as if Butcher could sense it through the phone, and he proceeds anyway.

"First, I want ya to get comfy. Do whatever you gotta do, darlin', I'm in no rush."

You hurry to lie back, limbs splayed out over your plush duvet. You try your best to calm yourself down with a few deep breaths, but you struggle to keep your excitement at bay.

"Now, just listen to the sound of me voice", his gravely voice softens, and you focus all of your attention solely on him. "Let me guide ya. I want ya to start by slowly and gently brushing your skin with your nails."

You do just that. You rake your nails softly on the exposed parts of your body, enjoying how it stimulates you and makes your skin tingle.

His voice gets low and soft as he continues.

"Follow the lines of your body, love. Across your stomach, down your sides, wherever it feels nice. If it helps ya, picture me touchin’ you, my hands moving across your skin."

Oh god, why did he have to go and do that. You can just imagine it now, with your eyes shut, breaths deepening as your hands roam your body, an impeccably handsome man, big hands exploring every inch of your skin, leaving a burning trail in their path.

"Good girl, you’re doing very well", his voice still low and seductive. "I want ya to keep moving your hands. Slide them up, higher, towards your tits."

Your face burns at his language, but you comply regardless, shivering at the sensitive touch.

"Imagine it’s my hands that are on your skin, touchin' ya", his voice is as soft as velvet, and even though you can hear the teasing smirk in his tone, you can't bring yourself to care as you get lost in your fantasies of a faceless British man caressing you with all of the care in the world. "My hands moving just as yours are. Do ya like it, lovie?"

You manage to utter a breathless "yes" as you continue your ministrations. You can hear the grin as he continues speaking.

"I’m glad, love. Now, I want ya to close your hands as you reach your chest, let your nails dig into your skin. Not hard enough to hurt, just…enough to feel good, yeah?

You startle a bit at that, but you do as you're told anyway, and find that it actually feels kind of nice, in contrast with the barely there touches from earlier.

"You’re doin' really good. Relax into the feeling f'me, love", Butcher's voice dips into a whisper, and you can hear some movement on the other side of the line as he readjusts himself, but you pay no mind. "Slide your hands higher, higher, until ya reach your neck. Wrap your hand around your throat, darlin'. Not too hard now, don't want ya dyin' on my watch."

"Feels good", you surprise yourself when you huff out a response that wasn't even required, and you curl in on yourself in embarrassment.

He gives another soft laugh as your words. He’s enjoying this.

"Really good, lovie, well done", he cooes slightly, and you can still hear his smile. "'Want ya to imagine I’m in the room with ya, my fingers exploring whatever part of your body I want to."

And oh god, how you want that. One hand leaves your throat to wander down further south, and your body quivers in anticipation.

"Move your hands from your neck now, love", he goes on, almost as if he had sensed that you wanted to speed things up a little bit. "Move them down. Slowly. Across your chest. Down your sides again. Down to your hips. Keep 'em there."

Your fingers venture down further, slowly, and as the heat spreads across your whole body, you can feel a certain wetness building up in your panties too.

"Imagine me lips against your skin. Against your neck, your shoulders, your tits", Butcher continues, his voice still below a whisper, soft and sensual, and it's amazing how just a man's voice could make your body react so much. "Me hands running across your body, down your hips. Across the insides of your thighs, would ya like that lovie?"

You nod and bite down on your lip to refrain from letting out any embarrassing noises.

"Slide your hands lower, darlin’", he pauses for a second, and you can hear his heavy breathing and some rustling on his end. "Run 'em over your thighs, your legs."

"Does it make ya feel good, love?", his words slur together almost, and it turns into a smooth purr, his smirk still audible. "Imagining me there, me hands on your skin, me lips against your neck. Pressin' against ya, and makin' ya shudder. Makin' ya squirm beneath me. You'd probably make the cutest noises too if ya weren't so damn shy."

He lets his words hang in the air for a second, and your brain is still trying to comprehend everything that he'd just said to you. His voice goes even lower when he speaks again, continuing his gentle guidance.

"Slide your hand between your legs, darlin'. Use your other hand to touch the inside of your thigh. Move it up, slowly. Imagine it’s my touch that you’re feelin'. My hands that are makin' ya feel so good."

You reach your fingers slowly down towards the heat, and press against the wet patches on your panties. They're nearly soaked, and otherwise you'd be embarrassed by how undone you've become by just the voice of a stranger, but you can't find it in yourself as you plunge your hand into your panties.

Your fingers circle your lips, and you let your other hand trail into the wetness, rubbing gently as you focus your attention on Butcher's voice.

"Imagine my lips against your skin, tracing a line down your stomach. Where do ya want 'em t'go, lovie?", he makes a soft sound, a mixture between a moan and a grunt, as he continues to speak. He lets out a low laugh. "I'm only fuckin' with ya, I know exactly where you want them to go."

You hear his smirk widening, and you flush even more as you trace little circles around your clit as he speaks.

"Mmm, yes, love, right between your legs, I know. I'd love for ya t'know the things I’m thinking about you, the things I’d be doing to ya if I was in the room with ya right now."

You can't contain the whimper of want you emit when he says that last bit, and you're so stimulated, what with your fingers teasing your clit and his seductive voice on the phone that you can't even muster up any shame.

He chuckles, his voice almost as thick as honey as he speaks.

"Oh, ya like the sound of that, love? Imagining me in your room, on top of ya. Do you want to know what I’m thinkin' about ya right now, darlin’?"

"Mmhm", you just about manage to make out, because even though you were dead set on not uttering a single word unless you absolutely had to to prevent yourself from making a fool of yourself, you just have to know what he's on about.

Your hand works faster and faster, and you slip a finger into the warmth, pumping faster and faster as he speaks.

"I’m imaginin' ya lying on your back, darlin’. I’m on top of ya, me arms pressed against the bed, my body against yours", He lowers his voice to almost a whisper, the smirk on his face audible in his words.

"Imagine I’m on my knees, love, right in front of you, between your legs, me face in front of your hips", your breath stutters as your hand continues to work, maintaining speed and you can feel yourself nearing climax. "Ya want to know some of the things I’m thinkin', darlin’?"

You whimper again, and Butcher takes that as an affirmative.

He laughs again, moving the receiver away as he lets out a chuckle before returning to the low, soft voice. He’s getting much more into this now, his own excitement starting to show in his words. The words are so low that they almost melt together like the sofy purr of an engine.

"I want to taste ya, love. The image of your body, of being so close to ya, it’s driving me bloody mental", he grins, you can hear it in the way he speaks. "I’m thinkin' about how good you’d taste, lovie, how bad I want to taste ya all over. How badly I want to run my tongue over your body, how much I want to make ya moan."

The heat becomes unbearable as you continue to rub your clit in erratic circular motions, and finger yourself.

Nearly there.

"Christ, the things I'd do to ya if I was there", a low laugh escapes his mouth, "you know what my hand is doing right now, love?"

So close, so close.

"And y'know what? If I had ya, pliant and obedient underneath me, I'd lick a fat stripe up your cunt and eat you out like a starving man"

Oh my fucking god.

You let out a moan as you climax, and you hear Butcher grunt in unison. Your vision is a mixture of hot white and blurriness. Your chest heaves as you pant, trying to catch your breath, and your fingers cramp up as you pull them away from the warm, sticky mess that once were your panties.

You hear Butcher moving on the other side of the phone.

"Well, thanks for the wank, lovie, pleasure doin' business with you", Butcher's voice is low, a bit more hoarse now than when the phone call had started, but the smug undertone is still there. "Don't worry 'bout payin', it's on the house since it was so enjoyable for me too."

Your cheeks heat up again as you hear his deep voice chuckle. You can't help but feel a twinge of bittersweetness now that the moment is over, but it's overcome by relief and a warm tiredness that makes your eyelids heavy.

"I hope your little problem is fixed now, darlin'. Call back again sometime, and ask for Butcher."

He hangs up, and you're stuck in your bed wondering how many times is deemed acceptable to ring a phone sex hotline in a week.

[bugs1nmybrain]

sleeping beauty - L Lawliet x Fem!Reader Voyeur + Somnophilia Smut 🩵💤

Writer's Notes: Well. Yea

Word Count: 2839

18+ Minors Do Not Interact!

Warnings: Cringe title cuz I couldn't think of anything more clever, smut, female reader (she/her pronouns), voyeurism, masturbation (L), somnophilia, dub-con, dom L, ooc L?, L uses "my love" and "darling" and "lovely" (new one!) as pet names, unreciprocated kissing, PRAISE, established relationship, unprotected sex, not proofread yet

Dub-con explanation to avoid triggering: L watches reader sleep on surveillance cameras and jacks off to her, L touches and penetrates the reader in her sleep/while she is sleepy. She's not scared or feels violated, she knows it's L and wants him, but the lack of alertness and being drowsy makes the consent dubious.

L was bored.

There really wasn't much happening in his current case, at least not at the present moment. There were many things to do but with it being sleeping hours for the countries he was in contact with, getting any of his plans into fruition was going to have to wait until the morning. After all, it was 2 a.m. The only thing L could do was research. He had been keeping his alerts on all night, impending a new lead, but nothing turned up yet. He had been waiting for several hours. Still nothing.

So he sat at his monitors with a blueberry yogurt. He played with his food, swishing the spoon in and out of the yogurt for many seconds before finally taking a bite. He was getting tired of this boredom; it was killing him.

With nothing better to do, he figured it would be a good idea to check on you. He flicked around his computer screen and opened the tab to the camera in your room. You were often invited to L's room when you wanted, even if he didn't join you for bed. You chose your room tonight though.

When L saw your sleeping form, a strange calmness washed over him. What was it that caused this reaction he pondered? Was it as simple as that he loved you? Or maybe it was knowing that you were safe and secure under his supervision. You were lying there with only a snug tank top and panties, a poor excuse for pajamas L thought. It was easy to see how the shirt hugged your breasts and tummy even from the distance the camera was from you. And your panties were cute, frilly white and pink. The ones he bought for you.

He watched as you snuggled your pillow tight. You seemed lonely. Did you miss him? The thought of you craving his embrace and presence caused a peak of possessiveness in L. Or was it arousal? It was likely both, but L was more so distracted by the way you nuzzled your face in the pillow and grinded your groin on it, with your thighs wrapping around it. Oh, how cute you were.

You looked gorgeous. You always did, but you looked especially alluring tonight. So peaceful. He was grateful that he had more than one camera installed because he could see your drifting form from many angles like this.

L sat there and ate his yogurt while he watched you shamelessly. Your continued grinding and snuggling into the pillow was endearing, but then you let out that noise. Yes, he had wiretaps in there as well. You knew about the cameras and bugs; it was an agreed-upon condition.

L turned the volume down quicker than the speed of lightning to avoid anyone in the other rooms hearing his speakers, and just as quickly grabbed his headphones so that he could hear you much more clearly. Now he had full access to your voice. He was disappointed, though, because you weren't making any more sounds.

You turned to lay on your back, which was odd. L knew you didn't typically sleep that way, but he chalked it up to random occurrence. Though, the way your tits were shaping out into your tank top made him almost want to believe that you were doing this on purpose. Your shirt was raised over your stomach from ruffling around, showing the lower area of your stomach.

Uh-oh

L's attention averted only a little when he realized that his pants were becoming a bit tighter in the crotch. He looked down for a second to see his bulge in his pants. Instinctively, his thumb met his lip, but his gaze went back on you. You were now turned on your side, your round ass facing the camera. Fuck.

Without much thinking about it, L began to unbutton his pants. His cock wasn't fully erect yet, but it was starting to pulse, and was begging for some external stimulation. He pulled his slender, pale dick out from his underwear and stroked the entire length as he watched you in your slumber.

Yes! The noises came back. You whined and mewled in your sleep, hips squirming. L had a good hunch you were having a rather impure dream, which worked well for him. Your sounds were so beautiful. You were being so good for him.

His cock quickly grew to its full length as he stroked it in a timely rhythm. He played with himself as he watched you return to cuddling the pillow, and paid attention to your ass and crotch riving against it. Fuck.

It wasn't enough. You looked beautiful and he loved it. He loved you and seeing you like this. However, simply watching you toss and turn wasn't going to satisfy him. He needed to see you in person, to touch you, to fuck you.

L tucked his cock back in his jeans, though it still created a bulge from his erection. Why did you have to be many flights up the stairs? So inconvenient for him right now. He stood up, hunched as always, and made his way to the elevator. He waited impatiently as the elevator transported him up to your floor, yet when it reached it, he took his time walking toward your door.

L slowly turned the doorknob, making as little noise as humanly possible. When he shut the door, he turned his face to look at you. The sight of you made his heart leap in spike and his cock ache in agony. He stepped very slowly toward your bed, raising his head to see the entirety of your body. The curve between your waist and your hips was lovely and your skin looked glowing under the light of the moon from the window. He wanted to touch you instantly, but he held out for a moment.

He decided to just watch for a moment, but you weren't as antsy as you were before. Perhaps your dirty dream had been over by now. Just seeing you sleep, though, was enough to provide L with all the love hormones he needed. The rise and fall of your peaceful breath was soothing, and you even produced little sleepy sounds that didn't exactly snore, but they were cute regardless.

It was time to take action, he reasoned. L quietly made his way to prop himself beside you on the bed, and began running his delicate hands along your waist.

"Hmm.."

Your response made his cock twitch violently. Just from brief contact, you reacted beautifully to him. He raised his hand to stroke your messy hair out of your face. Your sleeping face was so adorable.

Impulse struck L and he acted on instinct. His face descended down to yours. He planted a very gentle kiss on your lips, relishing in their soft texture. Of course, you didn't kiss him back. Your lips curved into a lovely smile, but your eyes didn't open. Interesting, L thought. You have been exerting yourself in your responsibilities lately, so you were absolutely dozed off.

L made a bold move and gently moved your form from its side position to lie on your back. Your body instinctively tried to snuggle back into the fetal position, but L took your hands in his, circling your palm with his thumb. As he lied your hands down at your side, he trailed his hands up your thighs, relishing in their softness.

He knew that maybe this wasn't morally correct. You were asleep. But you responded so invitingly to his touch. You were so pretty like this. L lightly grazed his fingers along your panties and felt a dampness. He knew it! You must've been having a wet dream and were aroused yourself, though unconscious.

L stopped for a moment, calculating his next step. He didn't want to exactly fuck you while you had no knowledge of it. ..Or? Well, in more specific terms, he didn't want to hurt you, quite the contrary. Maybe it would make your dreams more pleasant. Would it make you sleep better? He didn't want to scare you though, and somnophilia wasn't something you two had really talked about before.

Conceding from his moral inhibitions, L trailed his fingers up your arms, hooking them around your spaghetti straps. He paused for a moment to observe your breathing, still heavy from sleeping. He begins to drag the straps down your arms, taking your top along with them. When the skin-tight fabric was removed from your breasts, L insisted that he could feel his heart pumping through his cock. You were always so pretty, so gorgeous, and all for him.

Your tits were so pretty and your nipples seemed flushed. Was it from your arousal?, L pondered. He slowly latched his lips on one of your nipples, tending to it gently before releasing and going to the other. Your body reacts to the stimulation and your hips drive forward while you give out a pleasured moan. L moves his head back quickly, startled by your reaction.

However, instead of being scared out of his next move, L recognizes that perhaps he could make you feel just as safe and cared about even while you were asleep like this. You shouldn't have to fear him, right? L takes the risk and begins trailing kisses along your chest and up your neck. He actually hoped it would wake you up, even for just a moment, so he could get some clearance from you. As if he hadn't already been kissing you unconsciously, undressing you, and sucking your tits.

With a heavy breath and a groan, you begin stretching your arms upwards. Your eyes open only slightly, and you're hit with confusion at first. Your vision was very blurry, and you could only make out blobs of color and shape. After halfway registering the texture of the lips that were kissing you and how their hair felt against your skin, your tension eased. You could tell it was only your lover by the way he was touching and kissing you; gentle, meticulous, and romantic.

"Mmmrr.." is all you could manage to say. You were very tired and groggy and could feel yourself already falling back to sleep. "..L?"

"What is it, my love?"

"I'm wet."

"I already know that. Do you need me to help you?"

"I'm.." you begin drifting but fight it. "I'm very..tired...but I..."

"Shhh...I know, lovely. I'll take care of you, alright? You just relax and look pretty for me, hm?"

You giggle sleepily and relax your head back as L continued to kiss your neck, "Mm..ye..yes..please.."

"Mm..of course, darling..."

L kissed your cheek tenderly, and then to your lips. You did what you could to kiss back, though it was very sloppy because of your drowsiness. You felt your pussy grow wetter as L stroked the side of your face while he kissed you, but soon his hand moved away from your face and down to a more intimate area.

Slowly, he removed your panties from your body. His brows (that weren't there) furrowed in arousal when he witnessed the slick fluid that strung out from the panties as he took them off your pussy. So wet already, and if that wasn't enough for him to tell, the clear, slick substance that glowed on your panties definitely was. "Silly girl, you're not supposed to sleep with underwear on", he thought.

L's fingers met your pussy, stroking up from your labia up to your achingly sensitive clitoris. Your juices were already coating his fingers. L firmly began to rub two pads of his fingers on your clitoris, wasting no time to circle around in perfect motion. Your body was already completely submitting to his touch. Your hips bucked against his hand, and thank god L knew how to adapt to your sudden movements because he kept fingering your clitoris as you squirmed for him. It felt so incredible with your body feeling intoxicated by all those feel-good emotions he was producing from you. As great as his fingers felt physically, the knowledge of his care and love for you without expecting anything in return made you infinitely more aroused.

Your clit was starting to feel the rolling sensation you were familiar with. "Already?" L snickered in his head. He couldn't feel what you were, but he noticed how your pussy was contracting and moving on his fingers. He knew these movements of the onset of your submission to pleasure.

"There we go..."

"Mmm!" The feeling was almost unbearable. Somehow being halfway asleep made this pleasure better. Perhaps it was the lack of autonomy over yourself in this moment? L kept rolling his fingers along your clit and you felt your orgasm on the verge of exploding.

"A-a-ah!"

"That's it. Don't hold back.." L cooed at you for comfort, though you weren't registering anything he said; they only sounded muffled.

Your clitoris erupts in pleasure and you begin thrusting your hips as your orgasm overtook you. L made sure to stimulate your clitoris for every moment of your orgasm, and you made the prettiest noises for him while he did so.

"Awhhhh~ hmm.."

"You're doing so well for me, lovely. Could I maybe feel how wet and warm you are for me? Would that be ok?"

"So wordy", you thought in your drowsy mind. You hummed in approval for him, much to his delight. L had been wanting to feel you for so long, but he had to make sure you were taken care of, too. Besides, you feel the best when you're properly ready for him.

L took off his pants and underwear, both attached as he did so. His cock was painfully hard and he winced when his fingers grazed it. He himself wasn't immune to overwhelming sensitivity. He adjusted into a position where he could see you as you moved to his thrusts, though it was still very much a branch of missionary.

He pulled your thighs closer and lifted your legs to wrap around him. He placed the tip of his cock before your vagina without inserting it and already felt the heat of your pussy at the touch. Finally, he pushed his cock inside of you, already sighing from only halfway in. L slowly began penetrating you in and out, rolling his hips to meet your G-spot inside.

((fun fact: the g-spot isn't an individual gland or part of the anatomy, it's actually an extension of the clitoris! I'm using the term "g-spot" for easier comprehension because I'm not teaching a sex education class; this is smut))

His long cock rubbed your sensitive sleeve so perfectly, and you somehow produce even sexier sounds than you did when he was focusing on you alone.

"Aawhh~"

"Mmm...you feel so incredible.."

His thrusts were deep and gentle. Not slow, per se, but calculated. It was as if he was trying to savor your pussy, which was true. His penis made slick sounds when it would enter and exited your wet, slobbery cunt. His dick and hands were the only sensations you could process right now, and they felt so good.

"Ah..L.."

"You're doing so good, baby."

L couldn't help his male instincts as his cock grew hungrier by the visual sensations in front of him. The way your lips parted slightly and how your tits would move to his thrusts made him leak. His thrusts become more eager and less restrained, desperate.

"Ah...you're such a pretty girl..so perfect..."

You whined adorably, making him begin to feel his own orgasm approaching. He holds your waist firmly to be able to control his thrusts better, pumping you full as you squealed for him.

"F-*sigh*-fuck. Y/N...I'm so close.."

His hips bucked against you as his eyes rolled back in pleasure. His cock throbbed inside of you for a few split seconds as he finally came inside of you, his own body losing its rigidity as he slumped forward. He rested his forehead on yours, panting with you in unison. You looked like you were on the verge of passing out. He almost felt bad, but he could tell by your pleasant face and relaxation that you enjoyed him making love to you, even if you weren't properly engaged for it.

He pulled out of you, needing to shake the extra seminal residue off of himself before he rested next to you. Messes like this typically bother L's need for cleanliness, but you were exhausted and he was sort of as well. So instead he wrapped his arms around you from behind and pulled you in to snuggle him. He hadn't slept for many days, he thought that maybe he could afford some slumber with you. He slept the soundest when you were with him, after all.

But as he started drifting off, he contemplated how the situation before would have been if the roles were reversed...

Requested tag: @graceful-disaster

[directdogman]

Dogman, how do you write SO WELL!?!? I love all your characters and I need to know what/where you find inspo from...

Ha. Every writer is just someone who apes the creative processes of their inspirations. For video game writing specifically, there's two answers for me.

Toby Fox is always gonna be a huge inspiration for me. I've written plots and characters before and had to abandon ideas after realizing I'd accidentally written part of UT again. Even some of the ideas I used were undeniably inspired by UT in a subconscious way and ofc, I included several explicit references to UT in my last series. Toby's a very clever guy who likely pays very close attention to the art he consumes and tries to figure out how to maximize how much his work connects with his audience. Whatever his process is, it works.

The other answer is a lil funnier: Scott Cawthon, but specifically the legend, not the man. For context: Back in the earlier days of the FNaF fandom, people had a hyper-inflated view of Scott Cawthon's writing skills that largely came from how little of a presence he had back in those days. In the vacuum of Scott actually explaining his own process in detail, people got caught up in his genuinely creative way of hiding exposition in his games using cryptid and (then) unexpected methods, and a narrative formed (one that he's since refuted.)

While he never implied it tmk, fans broadly believed that he constructed these sweeping and complex narratives with tons of cohesive moving parts, with the games essentially acting like the mere tip of his lore iceberg. People even thought he wrote so much that he had whole games worth of lore outlined from the beginning! In the first Dawko interview he gave, he clarified that this wasn't the case and explained roughly what his process was (basically just outlining rough theme ideas + aesthetics for future titles.)

However, that legend made younger-me's mind run wild and any time I wrote a story, it became very difficult for me to not keep writing down ideas while completing the grunt work that followed me finishing my scripts. When I finished DSaF 1, I already had DSaF 2's draft written and by the time 2 was done, I had enough lore for a 3rd game on paper (and a lot more stuff that I didn't use.) By the time three was out, I had pages upon pages of unused concepts/story ideas and more or less just had to decide to call it quits or else I'd be pumping out entries forever!

That's why if you go back to those older games, there's references that directly refer to future plot-points in pretty casual/easy to miss ways. (Like Henry's mention in DSaF 1, Dave being heartless in DSaF 2, Jack being soulless in 1, and even Blackjack being Jack's soul in 2. Most of 3's major plotpoints are implied somewhere in 2 and some of 2's in 1.)

DT is much the same. By the time I finished writing it, I had fairly detailed drafts for arcs for each of the characters, some early material ended up getting completely recontextualized (and even modified in small ways to not conflict with the wider ideas I came up with.)

I get really into writing my stories/characters and I always wonder exactly how things ended up where they are, what characters think about but don't say, etc etc. This is why I have an obscene amount of Crown lore that I have very little to do with rn (since he impacted the whole world so deeply.)

This extra stuff also includes plenty of sequel material ideas, though I didn't think I'd even get a chance to use them since DT performed pretty meagerly before the big release and I was expecting to have to move onto something new. Though it turned out that Scott didn't actually write his games this way (by his own admission), it's the correct answer for what my core writing inspiration for writing game narratives is.

Hope this helps!

[floralcyanide]

⊱ 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑦 𝐺𝑜𝑙𝑑 ― 𝐶𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑢𝑠 𝑆𝑛𝑜𝑤 ⊰

[ ᴀ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ ɢᴀᴍᴇs ᴀʟᴛᴇʀɴᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀsᴇ ғᴀɴғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ]

1960s ᴜs ᴘʀᴇsɪᴅᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴄᴀɴᴅɪᴅᴀᴛᴇ!ᴄᴏʀɪᴏʟᴀɴᴜs sɴᴏᴡ x ғᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𝑃𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒.

౨ৎ 18+ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀs ᴏɴʟʏ !

⊹ summary: You are studying the one and only US President John F. Kennedy for your dual-title doctorate at Harvard University in 1963. Upon growing closer to the president, you happen to meet one of his Harvard friends, Coriolanus Snow, who is campaigning for the 1964 Election. You're both brought closer as time passes, and your life changes forever. As the 1964 Election continues and political tensions escalate, you come together. With the help of you, the Kennedys, and his charming wit and cleverness, Coriolanus Snow ends up with all he's ever wanted. However, the ever-growing Women's Revolution puts everything and everyone at risk. What Coriolanus doesn't know is that politics is all a game-

But there are worse games to play.

⊹ pairing: young!coriolanus snow / fem!reader ⊹ warnings: none. ⊹ word count: 269 (not including quote.) ⊹ author’s note: eeeee here's the prologue! I'm so excited to share this idea with you all. it was just a random fic idea I had and I didn't think it would snowball in my imagination the way it did, yet here we are lol. please be sure to check out the soundtrack and if you want to be tagged with every chapter, please fill out the form. I have both the soundtrack and taglist form below for you to click. much love!! ♡

౨ৎ divider credit: @cafekitsune

౨ৎ sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ | sᴇʀɪᴇs sᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ | sᴇʀɪᴇs ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

౨ৎ this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

❝And I remember when I met him, it was so clear that he was the only one for me. We both knew it, right away. And as the years went on, things got more difficult – we were faced with more challenges. I begged him to stay. Try to remember what we had at the beginning. He was charismatic, magnetic, electric, and everybody knew it. When he walked in, every woman's head turned, everyone stood up to talk to him. He was like this hybrid, this mix of a man who couldn't contain himself. I always got the sense that he became torn between being a good person and missing out on all of the opportunities that life could offer a man as magnificent as him. And in that way, I understood him, and I loved him. I loved him, I loved him, I loved him. And I still love him. I love him.❞ — Lana Del Rey, Spoken Monologue, National Anthem

“Go on, sweetheart,” Coriolanus mumbles, his lips tickling the shell of your ear, “Wave to the people. They love it, they love you.”

You stare at Coriolanus for a moment in absolute awe as he basks in the glow of attention from the crowd. At this moment, he’s electric and powerful. You couldn’t be more proud of him for it. The two of you are in a brightly colored motorcade, slowly cruising through downtown Boston in celebration. Your husband effortlessly smiles in glory, his eyes twinkling in unbridled emotion- a rare sight to see from him. Coriolanus has his moments, but not like this. His blue eyes are usually cold, distant, and emotionless unless looking directly at you. Despite the lack of obvious light, you can still see it. It’s one thing Coriolanus admires about you; that you can see past his demeanor. The last time you remember him looking so full of pride, though, was the day you married one another.

It’s hard to wrap your head around the fact that he succeeded at this- and you succeeded at this, too. Perhaps even harder to grasp that millions of people around the world now know your name and care about what you have to say. As Coriolanus said himself, the people love you. Sure, having the people on your side just as they are his matters to you. But at the end of the day, the only thing that matters for certain is if he truly loves you like he loves power. Sometimes you aren’t so sure. Sometimes, he looks at you, and you can’t see a thing.

౨ৎ taglist:

@nilletellsstories @noyatv @moonlightstuffs @slytherinholland @dominqueeekk @allcheesemelts @coconut-dreamz @rosewine-5 @hsfallingsky @imasimptoowth @tatumrileyslover @murdocksdaughter @fauxraven @throughgoeshxmilton @thesullengrrrl @fanfictionismyromanempire @americanprometheuss @prettycove