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losers-clvb · 2 days ago

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woman of letters pt. 3 // dean winchester

pairing: dean winchester x man of letters!female!reader

summary: sam and dean discover the bunker of the men of letters. expecting it to be empty, they get quite the shock when they meet you.

content: swearing, canon level violence, mutual pining between dean and reader, idiots in love trope, angst, mentions of dean's past love interests, hurt/comfort, smut, dry humping, both reader and dean get off, pet names

word count: 3.9k

taglist: @bettystonewell @kaz-2y5-spn @never-here1992

note: read it on wattpad here. if you would like to join the taglist, either comment down below or send an ask! initially, i intended to update this once a week, but i can't wait that long to share it with you all! so, twice a week it is. every monday and thursday i will update!

masterlist series masterlist previous part

----

Days passed with nothing said between the two of you. You and Dean moved around each other like ghosts. Sam, noticing the tension, tried his best to ignore when you two would get annoyed with the other. It was small, little things that set you off. A plate being left out, a half empty beer abandoned on a table in the library, even just Dean being in the wrong room at the right time. Everything he did pushed you a little closer to blowing up on him. Why couldn’t he learn what a coaster was?

Dean was in a similar situation. He noticed your spouts of anger that seemed to only happen when he did something. A blow of breath out of your nose here, a grumble to yourself there. It all pissed him off. Sam would absentmindedly use the last of your favorite cereal and you would brush it off as nothing. When Dean did the same thing, you acted like he had shot your puppy. He didn’t dare say anything, knowing you would just turn it into his fault. You didn’t understand how he was helping you, that everything he did was to improve your chances of living another day. All you saw was the present moment, where -- in your opinion -- he reminded you of all the reasons you preferred to be alone.

Now, your eyes were trained on the knife that had been deposited on the table. You knew who it belonged to. Dean. He had brought it out from his room to sharpen it earlier that day. Your teeth clenched together in anger. Why was he so disorganized?

You grabbed the handle of it with an urge to find the man who had left it there and make him take care of it. Instead, you did with it what you had begun to do with all his lost items: hide it. It was childish, maybe, but you didn’t care. If he wasn’t responsible enough to give a home to his things, he didn’t deserve them. You searched the bunker in your mind for a place to stash the thing. The bathroom, perhaps? Or maybe the garage under the tools that had never been used?

In the end you found yourself standing on a chair in the library, reaching your hand up to get the knife on top of the bookcase. It would be kept company by Dean's shirt, something you had placed there just a couple days beforehand. You were just about to climb down when you heard a throat clear behind you. It threw you off balance and you caught yourself with your good hand just before you toppled off the chair. Behind you with an eyebrow raised was Sam, an amused expression on his face. You knew you had been caught.

“What're you doing?” He asked, a worn journal in his hand. You huffed out a breath and stepped down to the floor.

“Dusting.” You lied. Sure, Sam wasn't the enemy here, but he was his brother. You didn't know what he would give away to Dean if given the information. Sam laughed at your obvious excuse.

“With a knife?” Sam's eyes twinkled with amusement. You narrowed your own eyes at him.

“If your brother has no care for his things, he doesn't deserve them.” You announced while pulling the chair back to its spot at the table. Sam walked into the room and placed the journal onto the table. You eyed it, curious as to what it was.

“So you're hiding them in the library?” Sam chuckled. He found the whole situation to be very entertaining. Between you and Dean, he would never grow bored again.

“I figured he wouldn't find them seeing how he never wants to be in here.” You pointed out the fact that no matter how long you and Sam were sat in the library, Dean would rather have been in the war room or kitchen. It drove you crazy, just as most of the things he did. You couldn't see how he had survived this long without looking through a book. The bunker had an impressive inventory of knowledge, most of which you were sure he didn't have. It wasn't as if he was dumb. He was smart, in a way that had kept him and Sam alive all these years. In all the time you had spent logging the Winchesters, you had always wondered how they hadn’t gotten themselves killed.

“What is this?” You asked, reaching for the journal Sam had held. Your fingers brushed against the leather cover. You assumed there was a reason why he had it. Maybe a personal diary, but Sam didn’t strike you as the type of person to do that. You looked up at Sam to see him watching you.

“My dad’s journal.” Sam answered. He watched the way your eyes lit up in interest, as he knew they would. He had figured the Men of Letters -- or Woman of Letters, since it was just you -- would want something like this in their records. A first hand account of a variety of monsters. He had waited before offering it up. He wanted to make sure that this place, you, were legit, that you weren’t going to sneak into their rooms at night to kill them. Your little game of hide-and-go-seek with Dean’s belongings only solidified his liking towards you.

“John.” You were slowly undoing the clasp on the journal. The crinkled pages were filled with writing, drawings, newspaper clippings. You were immediately drawn into it all. While not all of the information was new to you, there were things in there that you could have never imagined. Your mind was ablaze with all of this new knowledge. You looked back up at Sam.

“Can I borrow this?” You quirked an eyebrow up with your question.

----

John Winchester’s journal lay spread out before you. You were at your desk in the study, empty pages of a new journal at your ready. You needed to copy this information down, but it was proving difficult with your hand still injured. Your handwriting was shaky, the words being transcribed far too slowly. You had barely gotten through the introduction of where you had gotten the item. After the fifth barely legible sentence, you gave up. You needed help.

Searching the bunker, you were confused to find it empty. Under any other circumstances, you would have been jumping with joy at the opportunity for some time alone. Now, you were hoping to find the younger Winchester again. Sam would be of the most help. He did what you said far easier than Dean ever did.

You rounded the corner to the hall of rooms. All of the doors were closed, save for one. Dean’s room. Okay, maybe he could just tell you where Sam was. You walked quietly towards the door, the soft footfalls of your shoes barely making any noise. An ocean of nerves surfaced in your gut. You hadn’t spoken to him, not directly anyways, since he had tried to kiss you for the second time. Since then, you had done some… research. You were entirely sure that you would now be prepared if the opportunity ever lent itself again. Not that you expected it to after the last time.

“Are you gonna stare at me all day?” Dean broke you from your thoughts with a grumble. You stared at him for a minute longer. Initially, he looked to be annoyed. But when you looked deeper, at the way he angled himself away from you, the twitching of his fingers, you knew he was guarding himself. You were a threat to him. It made your heart sink.

“Where’s Sam?” You asked, finally looking away. The wall was suddenly very interesting. With your question, Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes. For a moment there, he thought you were there for him. Of course not. Why would you be when you hated everything he did?

“Out.” Dean turned back to the television in front of him. You frowned. Theoretically, you could wait to copy the journal. You just preferred not to.

“When will he be back?” Your pushing at him caused a pang of annoyance to shoot through him. It was immediately followed by regret. You didn’t annoy him, you had just hurt him in a way he couldn’t comprehend. There hadn’t been a time when Dean was so affected by a girl before. Sam, maybe. His father, definitely. But never someone like you. This was why he didn’t let anyone in, why he kept all his thoughts and feelings, all the fuzzy emotional things, inside.

“I don’t know. I’m not my brother’s keeper.” Dean kept his eyes on the soap opera that played. He missed the way you blinked in shock. You tensed your jaw in frustration.

“You seemed to be all his life, so I figured you still were.” You crossed your arms, the nerves you had felt before suddenly shifting into something else. Dean’s eyes shot back to you. Your stance made him chuckle sarcastically, shaking his head.

“Again, how do you know so much about us? I don’t remember your answer.” Dean questioned. You scrunched your eyebrows together.

“If you listened to a word I say, you would be able to answer yourself.” You sent him a glare before turning to leave his doorway. He wasn’t of use to you with the way he was acting right now. Hopefully Sam would be back soon and you wouldn’t have to talk to Dean for the rest of the day. The sound of thick boots slapping on stone brought the fact that Dean was following you to your attention. You glanced behind your shoulder, humming in anger when you saw him.

“Oh sweetheart, I would if you ever said anything worth listening to.” Dean continued to follow you as he spoke. You swallowed at the words, wrestling with what you were going to say next. You knew it was wrong, knew it would hit something in him. But you said it anyways.

“Robin Karpluk, Cassie Robinson, Lisa Braeden.” You blurted out. You had whirled around to look right into his eyes. Dean stopped in his tracks at the names. He knew them, of course he knew them. He couldn’t ever forget them. What he didn’t know was how you knew them.

“How--?” Dean began, blinking wildly. You cut him off, fueled by only your need to get him to take you seriously.

“I told you. I know things. I hope those names were worth enough to listen to, seeing how they were the only ones you truly loved.” You spat out. You hadn’t known one hundred percent if he had loved them until you said their names. You had just remembered coming across them in the various emails, newspapers, letters, and text messages you had intercepted. You knew there had to be more, names you just couldn’t get a hold of, but these had been important to him. You watched his drive to push at you fall away with every word you spoke. You were breaking this man down, pulling at everyone he had failed to take care of. It was what you were trained for. Mind over matter, information over fists.

“You can’t… why?” Dean sputtered out, still standing strong in front of you. You held your head up with indignation.

“Maybe you’ll respect me a bit more now.” You turned from him again, stomping away and past Sam, who had arrived home just as Dean was falling apart at the seams. Why were you doing this to him? Why did you want to harm him in this way? As you walked away, you were asking yourself the same questions.

----

As the day grew on, you reflected on your earlier words. You knew it had been childish and wrong and hurtful in so many ways. It wasn't fair to use Dean's tumultuous life against him, at least not in response to what he had said. When looking at the bigger picture, his words only annoyed you, yours practically shot him. You chewed on your inner cheek in regret as you thought of the scene.

Dean had looked similar to the way you had the first day you met him. Scared, helpless. If the situation had a productive ending, it wouldn't have eaten you up inside like this. Instead of bringing on a feeling of achievement, it just reminded you why you weren't compatible with people. You didn't talk to anyone outside of the formal exchanges with your informants and the dismissive small talk at the grocery store. You didn't have to worry about what those people thought of you, how you would keep the relationships with them all alive. You were content with the fact that you didn't care how people characterized you. Or, you were until Dean came waltzing into your life. Lately you had found yourself wanting to hear his thoughts, to have him share his mind with you.

It was everything you could do to not ask him to sit with you while you read. You couldn't stand him, yet simultaneously wanted him around you always. You had tried to be civil with him, but every time you looked at him it was a reminder of all the things you lacked in. You had no prior relationships. You still couldn't punch, even without the broken hand that was slowly healing. You didn't know how to use a gun. You knew your strengths, yet it all seemed to not matter when you thought of your compatibility with Dean. You were more like Sam, who was always happy to help you research a topic, but you didn't feel anything toward him other than a growing friendship.

Still, you couldn’t let what you said go unforgiven. You stood from your chair. You were in the study again. After the blow up, you had tried again to do the copying yourself. It was slow work. You had been in there for over two hours and you only had a handful of pages finished. The words were shaky, but had been improving slowly as you wrote. You left John’s journal and the new journal together on the desk. Your steps were unhurried. You wanted to apologize, you really did, but you were also embarrassed and angry at yourself. You stopped just before the hallway. Deja vu set over you at the sight of only Dean’s door being opened.

Dean was right where he had been the first time you had bothered him. Sitting in front of his television, watching the same dramatic soap opera. This time, he hadn’t noticed you right away. You watched him, contemplating your next actions. Your hand raised to knock softly on the doorframe. Dean glanced up at you. When his face hardened and he looked away, you knew he had been expecting Sam.

“What?” Dean’s voice was gravelly. You balled your hand into a fist to calm your emotions.

“I’m sorry for my earlier actions.” You spoke, voice close to emotionless. Dean scoffed at the so-called apology. In his opinion, you weren’t even trying. He didn’t say anything, but you could feel his irritation. In turn, it made you narrow your eyes.

“What?” It was your turn to say.

“That’s a shit excuse for an apology.” Dean responded. You furrowed your eyebrows, the small amount of anger you had felt dissipating. You stepped into his room, an act that made him look up from the screen in front of him.

“How so?” You asked. Your tone was still flat, like you were talking to someone passing by you rather than the man who had become one of the only constant companions in your life.

“You sound like a robot.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yeah, you do.” And just like that, the annoyance at him was back. You moved to sit next to him on his bed. His eyes followed the curve of your neck, wanting nothing more than to nestle his face there. When he looked back to your face, he was reminded of why you were here. Your words echoed in his mind, your cold expression when you had said them flashing across his eyes.

“What other way was I supposed to say it?” You huffed a breath out, looking at the floor in front of you. Dean rolled his eyes. He didn’t recognize this person. In the time after meeting him, you had been kind to him. Now, you seemed hellbent on pushing yourself away from him.

“I don’t know, maybe, ‘I’m sorry I was a massive asshole’?” Dean offered to you. You blinked at him.

“Okay, fine. I’m sorry I was a massive asshole. Happy?” You repeated his words to him. You understood where you were initially wrong, but all of this just seemed to be taking it too far. Could Dean really not understand that you were sorry?

“No.” Dean returned his attention to the soap opera, where the main character was getting kidnapped by her secret uncle/brother. You rolled your eyes, both at the situation and the man in front of you. You combed through your mind for something to say, something to make everything go back to how it was before all of this arguing.

“What do you want from me?” You whispered, desperation leaking through the shield of irritation. You felt helpless to this feeling. Dean looked back to you and you could see the raw emotion coursing through him. All of the things he wanted to say piled up around him. He was drowning in it all, but he couldn’t bring himself to say any of it.

“Nothing.” Dean answered, still looking at you. You knew he was lying. He had to be, with how he had been acting towards you. You felt your eyes drift to his lips, then back to his eyes, where they flickered with need. You reached out until your hand rested on his thigh, the rough denim the only barrier between you two. Dean immediately wrapped his hand around your wrist. He didn’t move, didn’t pull you away. You watched him as you leaned in.

Your noses brushed against each other when you finally kissed him. Without hesitation, he kissed you back. You had intended to pull back after a few seconds, but your mind clouded over when Dean’s other hand drifted to your waist. The kiss deepened, your mouths moving in sync driven by the desire growing in you both.

You crawled onto him without breaking the connection, Dean helping guide you. It clicked in you then that this was the small kiss you had prepared for. Somehow, though, you didn't care. All you cared about was his hands moving to rest on your bottom. Your chests were flush, and you breathed together. You wrapped your arm around the back of his neck, the other resting on his shoulder.

The slight friction of the seam of Dean's jeans in between your legs had you whimpering into his mouth. Dean pushed his hips into yours skillfully, earning a moan. You could feel him growing harder with each sound. Neither of you wanted to pull away to undress, and the grinding of your bodies was working fine. You may have not known how to kiss, but you did know how to pleasure yourself.

You continued to rock back and forth, applying pressure in all the right places. Dean helped by pulling you closer to him at some points. The noises you were making, God, they were almost enough to make him come right there. When you pushed down in a different way, you heard a moan fall from Dean's mouth. You liked that noise, liked that you were the one making him sound like that.

It only spurred you on. The feeling in your gut, like a knot pulling tight about to break loose, made you quicken your movements. Dean slipped his tongue into your mouth, which wasn't very hard seeing how intensely you two had been making out. You were close, so so close. Dean could feel the heat from your core on his fingertips as he squeezed at your ass. You drove yourself down one last time as you came, mouth falling from Dean’s with a moan. Dean was right behind you and you let him buck up into you while you panted against his cheek. You felt his muscles relax, his chest heaving into yours.

It was a messy scene. You were clinging to each other like the other was going to fall away. No one spoke a while after, no one moved. It was as if you were both trying not to spook each other. Finally, Dean turned his head and placed a kiss at the top of your head, right into your hair. You smiled tiredly at the action, praying it wouldn’t be the last time.

“That was…” You trailed off, breathlessly saying the words. You couldn’t think of how to describe what had happened. A million words hurricaned around your mind, yet none of them accurately fit into how you felt now. You felt the rumble of Dean’s chest as he laughed, the sound coming out raspy. You pulled your head up to look at his face, careful to not let go of him in the process. He was beaming at you and, even before he spoke, you could feel his humor.

“Cat got your tongue, angel?” Dean asked. Sweetheart, angel. Your face heated at the pet name, yet you somehow were able to scrunch your nose in displeasure.

“Don’t mock me, Dean.” You scolded him playfully. Dean placed a peck on the tip of your nose.

“Say it again.” Dean requested, eyes dancing around your face. You were confused.

“Don’t mock me.” Your tone was flat this time.

“No, the other thing.” You knew then what he wanted. You smirked slightly before speaking.

“Dean.” You spoke low, even though you and him were the only ones in the bunker at the moment. Dean kissed you again, still deep and passionate, but it ended when he pulled away.

“My name sounds so damn pretty on your lips when you look like that.” Dean commented, the tip of his tongue darting out to lick his lips. You didn’t have a mirror, but from the way Dean looked, you could only assume you looked similar. His lips were slightly more pink that usual, his hair mussed, clothes wrinkled. You couldn’t help but feel proud of yourself. You had done this to him. You had been the one to make him moan under you.

“I have to go, Dean.” The words weren’t mean, weren’t robotic.

Your next actions were born out of the reminder of the time, not out of want. You shuffled off of him, standing and smoothing your clothes out with your hands. Dean felt his lap grow cold, his body already missed you. He wanted to reach out and take your hands into his. He wanted to pull you back onto him and never let you go. What he wanted didn’t matter as he watched your figure disappear out of his door and down the hall.

#x reader #sam winchester #dean winchester #supernatural x reader #spn #supernatural #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x reader fluff #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader angst #dean winchester x man of letters!reader #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader smut #woman of letters - losers-clvb

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delugyu · 3 days ago

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soooo i had a thought, who do you think best fits an exes au? 🎤

astrology anon btw also i saw that c3 pt2 is coming i’m going to die

AHHHHH!!!!! great question. i’m a lunatic so i am envisioning something for each member

yeonjun - staying as friends after breaking up w him, which works fine at first but eventually he starts missing the way things were. friendship isn’t enough anymore but he doesn’t have the guts to say anything cause he doesn’t want to know that you’re moving on. lots of silent pining until he feels suffocated by unexpressed emotion, then he’s rambling about how breaking up was a mistake that he regrets every day, he loves you and thinks about you more now than ever before, and he needs you to know this even if you don’t feel the same.

soobin - THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY!!! he’s the one i see most fitting for the exes trope… he’s the kind of person who never really leaves you, even when he’s gone he still lingers in your mind as a constant buzz. you see him again by chance and you can’t let the opportunity pass, and u find out he never really wanted to leave in the first place. reconnecting and being able to understand each other better now, more mature than you were back then, able to see now that your future was always him. he would have never dated anyone again, he would have spent a lifetime waiting for you, but he’s glad he didn’t have to wait quite that long.

beomgyu - the break up was mutual, but beomgyu realizes when he sees you dating some other guy that he wasn’t over you as much as he thought he was. the dude’s a prick, what on earth could you possibly see in him!!? beomgyu was literally better in every single way, he’s sure of it. he even texts you to make sure you’re actually you and not some alien clone of yourself, cause he’s so sure you’d never stoop this low. he wasn’t a jealous person in the relationship, but he sees red every time you walk across campus with that asshole on your arm. he should probably do something about this. yeah, fuck it. he’s going up to you.

taehyun - he will become your enemy once u break up… he doesn’t spare you a single glance anymore, refuses to talk to you, drops contact with all your mutual friends who took your side. his friends get the real story though: he’s a mess without you. he’s not sleeping the same, he’s drowning the pain with whatever routes of escapism he has access to. he can’t stand that you’re not miserable without him, but he doesn’t dare talk to u about it, cause that would mean he lost the break up. it gets to the point where one of his friends comes to you like “hey. can u talk to taehyun. he’s kinda going through it.” and you’re confused asf cause you thought he hated you now

kai - the one to try desperately to win u back, coming to your front door with apologies and a tender heart and red eyes from crying all night. you broke up with him yesterday, and you thought it was best for the two of you to go no contact, but clearly he thinks otherwise. there’s no hard feelings, you just wanted different things from the relationship. with him pleading at your door in the middle of the night, ready to do anything to get you back, you’d feel bad to not at least let him sleep here for the night. okay, maybe a part of it is also that you’re missing him too.

#nina answers #astrology anon #txt x reader #yeonjun x reader #soobin x reader #beomgyu x reader #taehyun x reader #huening kai x reader #delugyu drabbles #i love your mind astro anon #and yessss muahahaha i’m excited to hear ur thoughts on p2

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misshoneyimhome · 3 days ago

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What’s up, buttercups! 💕 Welcome back to chapter two of The Benchwarmer! First off—thank you so much for all the love and excitement you’ve shared for this story already. Seeing your reactions has been the absolute best, and I’m beyond excited to keep unfolding this journey with you!

Now, in case you’re wondering—will there ever be any intimate interactions between Reader and Auston? Oh, absolutely ✨ Have I made this a painfully slow burn that’s torturing even me with the suspense? Also yes🔥 Happy reading, my darlings! 💕✨

Tropes & warnings: inexperienced!reader x Auston Matthews, meet cute, strangers to friends, fake relationship, no warnings

Word count: 6.3K Chapter one

➼｡ﾟ

Chapter two: #MysteryQueen

“Dearest Toronto readers, it seems we have a mystery on our hands. Last night’s charity gala gave us glitz, glamour, and a moment that has the internet on fire. Forget the perfectly tailored suits, designer gowns, and champagne flutes—because what truly stole the show was one unexpected stumble and the instant chemistry that followed.

Our beloved Ice King, Auston Matthews, found himself caught in an uncharacteristically warm moment with an unidentified woman whose presence has ignited more conspiracy theories than a Stanley Cup drought. A fleeting touch, a lingering gaze, and now a photo has been seen around the world. Toronto can’t stop talking about it, and #MysteryQueen is trending faster than you can say, ‘Hat trick.’

Could the Ice King’s frosty demeanour finally be thawing?

Now, let’s not forget the timing, dear readers. With Matthews stepping into the captain’s role this season, his every move has been scrutinised. A new relationship would add fuel to the fire, making the stakes higher than ever. But this columnist can’t help but wonder—does the man who keeps everyone at arm’s length finally have someone worth letting in?

Stay tuned, Toronto. This season has just begun, and the story is heating up – so you know I’ll be here to bring you every detail.

Yours always,

The Benchwarmer.”

Monday -

The shrill sound of your alarm cut through the quiet of your bedroom, jolting you awake with a groggy start. You fumbled to silence it, groaning as you buried your face back into the pillow. The events of the gala were already slipping into a hazy blur—clinking glasses, polished speeches, and that awkward but fleeting moment with Auston Matthews. Another long night of work, another day ahead. Same routine, different Monday.

Except… your phone wouldn’t stop vibrating.

The incessant buzzing broke through your grogginess like a second alarm. You squinted at the screen, your vision struggling to adjust to the early morning light filtering through the blinds. Notification after notification lit up your phone, the vibration almost rattling it off your nightstand. You reached for it, dread prickling at the edges of your still-sleepy mind. Why was everyone blowing up your phone?

You swiped it open only to see your group chat with Jess and Maya was on fire.

Jess (7:23 AM): OH MY GOD, HAVE YOU SEEN THIS?

Maya (7:24 AM): You’re all over X! #MysteryQueen is trending, babe!

Your heart skipped a beat, confusion settling in your chest like a lead weight. Trending? That couldn’t be right. With trembling fingers, you tapped the link Jess had sent, a sinking feeling in your gut as the page loaded.

It took a moment—your Wi-Fi felt sluggish, though it was probably just your nerves slowing time to a crawl. When the image finally appeared, your breath caught.

There it was: the photo. The one everyone seemed to be talking about.

Auston Matthews’ hands were firmly wrapped around your torso, his smirk that perfect mix of charm and confidence, while your face betrayed every ounce of surprise and embarrassment you’d felt in that moment. Cheeks flushed, lips parted, eyes wide—you looked like you’d stumbled straight out of a romance novel and into his arms.

The lighting, the angle, the backdrop—it was all too good. Soft, golden hues framed the two of you like the culmination of a carefully planned rom-com climax. Whoever had captured the moment had turned a fleeting accident into what now appeared to be undeniable chemistry.

Above the photo, the headline read: “Has the Ice King finally been dethroned? Who is this stunning Mystery Queen?”

Your stomach churned as you scrolled through the attached comments. They were relentless.

“Who is she???”

“She’s gorgeous! Can we ship this already?”

“Ice King has a Queen! Loving this”

Memes were already circulating: the two of you photoshopped onto movie posters, side-by-side shots of you under headlines like “Toronto’s Hottest Couple?” Theories ranged from harmless to absurd—everything from claims you were his secret girlfriend to guesses about your astrological compatibility.

Your phone buzzed again.

Jess (7:26 AM): You broke the internet, Queen. Do we bow now, or…?

Maya (7:30 AM): You’re literally famous. Like, for real. Can we talk about how hot Auston Matthews looked holding you?

A groan escaped you as you tossed your phone back onto the bed, burying your face in your hands. “This can’t be happening…”

You stayed like that for a moment, letting the panic wash over you. Your mind raced as you replayed the moment in question. It had been nothing. A stumble, a quick save, a polite exchange, and you’d moved on. How had it spiralled into this?

Your laptop sat on your desk, its sleek, black screen staring back at you like it dared you to confirm just how bad things were. Hesitating, you opened it and typed in the dreaded hashtag: #MysteryQueen.

The search results were overwhelming. Page after page of posts, photos, and speculation. Your name hadn’t surfaced yet—thankfully—but that didn’t stop people from trying to piece together every detail about you. Some users had gone so far as to zoom in on your necklace, debating whether it was a gift from Auston.

You groaned again, leaning back in your chair and rubbing your temples. Stress bubbled in your chest, threatening to spill over. Jess and Maya’s texts kept pinging, a mix of teasing and encouragement that you couldn’t bring yourself to answer.

Jess: “So… when are you introducing us to Auston?”

Maya: “Not to be dramatic, but if you don’t milk this for all it’s worth, I’ll be mad.”

You snorted despite yourself, though the laugh was hollow. You opened your email, desperate for a distraction or a sense of normalcy, but the subject line at the top of your inbox snatched that hope away: “We need to talk about last night.”

It was from your boss.

Your stomach sank further as you glanced at the clock. 7:45 AM. Not even time for coffee.

“Perfect,” you muttered, slamming your laptop shut. This wasn’t just damage control anymore—this was survival. You needed to get ready for work, figure out how to salvage your career, and pray the internet had a short attention span.

The soft hum of the city buzzed faintly in the background as Auston Matthews stood in his kitchen, barefoot on the cool tile floor. He scrolled through his phone with one hand while expertly cracking an egg into a sizzling pan with the other. The aroma of coffee brewing filled the space, mingling with the faint sound of the egg frying. It was a typical morning—except for the buzzing chaos of his phone on the counter, vibrating with relentless notifications.

His phone rattled against the marble again. He leaned over, smirking as the latest messages lit up the screen.

Mitchy (7:15 AM): “Nice work, Captain. Saving PR girls in distress now?”

Auston chuckled softly, shaking his head. Mitch’s commentary was always reliable.

A second buzz followed.

Willy (7:20 AM): “Does she have a sister? Asking for a friend.”

He snorted, typing out a quick reply: “You’d have no chance, Willy.”

Sliding the eggs onto a plate, Auston grabbed a bottle of Prime from the fridge. He leaned back against the counter, sipping casually while thumbing through social media. There it was—the photo that had set the internet on fire.

The hashtags were as relentless as the messages from his teammates:

#MysteryQueen

#IceKingAndQueen

#CoupleGoals

Fans were analysing every pixel of the image: the way he leaned slightly toward you, his smirk soft and almost intimate, the subtle tilt of your head that made it seem like the two of you were the only ones in the room. It was absurd, the way a split-second interaction had been turned into a viral sensation.

His phone buzzed again.

Mitchy (7:32 AM): “So? You bringing her to practice? Or is this another ‘one night and done’ thing?”

Auston rolled his eyes and typed back, “Jealous, Marner?”

The reply came instantly.

Mitchy: “Of you? Never. Of her? Maybe.”

Auston let out a low laugh, setting his phone down with a soft clink. The teasing didn’t bother him. If anything, it amused him. Let them speculate. Let the internet obsess over the photo. He had always been good at playing into the media’s games while staying one step ahead.

He finished his breakfast in thoughtful silence, his mind briefly wandering back to the gala. The night had been standard fare: sponsors, schmoozing, and carefully crafted soundbites. But then there had been you—stumbling into his space, equal parts flustered and sharp-witted. You had been anything but predictable, and that, more than anything, had caught his attention.

The photo had turned a fleeting moment into a viral phenomenon. Now, he was caught up in the swirl of speculation, but unlike most, he didn’t mind. It was fun.

For now, though, there was training to get to. Auston grabbed his bag and headed out, smirking at his phone one last time before silencing the endless stream of notifications. The Ice King wasn’t worried—he was just getting started.

Arriving at the office felt like stepping onto a stage where you were the unwitting star of a play you hadn’t auditioned for. The usual hum of activity—clicking keyboards, ringing phones, snippets of muted conversation—was still there, but today, it had a charged edge. Every sound felt sharper, every glance lingered a second too long, and the air seemed to buzz with anticipation, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface.

You pushed through the glass doors, clutching your bag tightly as your heels clicked against the polished tile. The receptionist, a chipper woman named Clara who usually greeted you with a bright smile and a cheerful good morning, faltered for a split second before recovering. Her eyes flicked to her computer screen, her cheeks pink as if you’d caught her mid-gossip. She returned your nod with a stiff smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, her hand nervously adjusting a stack of papers on her desk.

You offered her a polite “Morning” and continued down the hall, the weight of invisible eyes trailing you like static electricity. The whispers started almost immediately, barely muffled by the thin partitions between desks.

“Is that her?” a voice murmured, not even bothering to lower the volume much.

“I told you it was!” another hissed in reply. “She’s the one from the photo. Did you see how close they were?”

You felt your skin prickle, a flush creeping up your neck. It wasn’t just the whispers—it was the sidelong glances, the quick turns of heads as you passed, the way conversations halted the moment you entered a room. They didn’t need to say your name for you to know exactly what they were talking about.

The now-infamous image of you and Auston Matthews—locked in what looked like a moment of intimate connection—had spread through the office like wildfire. It had morphed you from a background player into the unwelcome centre of attention. Each step felt heavier than the last, your confidence sinking further as you imagined the scenarios they must be concocting. Yet, despite the murmurs, no one dared to approach you directly. They simply stared, whispered, and speculated, leaving you to endure the attention in silence.

By the time you reached your desk, your nerves were stretched taut. You dropped your bag next to the chair and slumped into the seat, staring blankly at your computer screen. The open layout of the office, which usually fostered collaboration, now felt stifling. Every glance felt like a spotlight, every quiet chuckle like it was aimed at you. Your chest tightened as if the walls were closing in.

A soft ping from your computer startled you. You opened your inbox with shaky hands, hoping for a mundane email to ground you. Instead, your heart sank as you read the subject line: “Meeting: 9:30 AM – Mr. Manion’s Office.”

Your stomach flipped. Of course. Your boss wasn’t going to let this slide without a formal discussion.

The clock read 9:30 AM sharp when you stood outside your boss’s office, taking a deep breath to steel yourself. The glass door reflected your image back at you—your blazer slightly wrinkled from the walk, your fingers clutching a tablet like a shield. You forced yourself to smooth down your hair, adjust your blouse, and plaster on a neutral expression. You knocked twice, the sound sharp and hollow.

“Come in,” came the brisk reply.

The door swung open almost immediately, revealing the imposing space. Your boss’s office was the epitome of professionalism—sharp lines, muted tones, and a sense of order that bordered on sterile. Framed photos of MLSE milestones lined the walls, alongside neatly mounted jerseys signed by players he'd worked with countless times - hockey, baseball, basketball. The desk was immaculate, save for a single folder that sat directly in the centre. You didn’t need to look closer to know what was inside it.

Mr. Manion, your boss, a no-nonsense man in his late fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and a perpetually stern expression, gestured for you to sit. You perched stiffly on the edge of the leather chair, gripping the armrests like they might keep you grounded. The silence in the room stretched, the tension palpable as he flipped open the folder and scanned its contents.

Finally, he looked up, his brows knitting together in faint disapproval. “You’re aware of the situation, I assume?”

“Yes, sir,” you said, your voice steady despite the unease twisting in your stomach. “I’ve seen the photo.”

He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he studied you. “Good. Then you understand why this is an issue. This photo—and the ridiculous frenzy it’s caused—has overshadowed what was supposed to be a highlight of our season. The charity event. The teams. Not…” He gestured vaguely toward you, his gaze unyielding. “You.”

The words landed like a slap, even though you’d braced yourself for them. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to maintain eye contact. “I understand completely.”

“Do you?” His tone sharpened, his eyes narrowing. “Because right now, this office looks less like a PR department and more like the set of a reality show. And if there’s one thing I don’t tolerate, it’s distractions. Our focus is the client. Always the client.”

You nodded quickly, your cheeks burning. “I’ll fix it.”

He leaned forward, his gaze unrelenting. “Good. I’ve organised that you'll be at the hockey game tonight. You’ll work with the MLSE media team to redirect the narrative. Shift the attention back to the players, the franchise—anything but this viral nonsense. Understood?”

“Yes,” you replied, your voice firm even as the weight of his expectations settled on your shoulders.

“And another thing,” he added, his tone softening but his expression remaining stern. “You’ll be working with Chase.”

Your stomach dropped. Of all people. Chase, the golden boy of the department who had an uncanny ability to make every situation about himself. Smug, self-assured, and relentless in his pursuit of credit for others’ work, he was the last person you wanted to be paired with.

“Chase?” you repeated, unable to keep the dismay out of your voice.

“Yes,” Mr. Manion said with finality. “He’s handled high-pressure situations before, and I expect you two to work together professionally to resolve this. No more distractions. No more headlines.”

You forced a tight smile. “Understood.”

“Good,” he said, closing the folder with a decisive snap. “Don’t let me down.”

The walk back to your desk felt even longer than the one to his office. Chase. Seriously... You could already picture his self-satisfied grin, the condescending tone he’d use to offer “advice.” The idea of spending the evening with him—let alone relying on him—made your skin crawl.

You slumped into your chair, your head spinning. The whispers around the office seemed to grow louder, like static building to a crescendo. You wanted to disappear, to crawl under your desk and wait for the world to forget the photo. But deep down, you knew that wasn’t an option.

Maybe, you thought for a brief moment, this could be an opportunity. Not the one you’d envisioned, but a chance nonetheless. If you could handle the media circus, Chase’s smugness, and the weight of your boss’s expectations, you’d prove you belonged here—not just as a worker, but as a leader.

Straightening your spine, you smoothed invisible wrinkles from your blouse. No more photos. No more moments. No more headlines. Just fix this and move forward.

Easy enough. Right?

The Maple Leafs’ locker room was alive with its usual pre-practice energy. The air buzzed with the familiar sounds of hockey prep—sticks being taped with meticulous precision, skate blades being checked and tightened, and gear bags being unzipped with sharp zings. The smell of sweat, leather, and faint traces of menthol liniment filled the room, but today, the usual pre-game hum carried an extra spark.

All eyes were on Auston Matthews.

“Yo, Tony!” Mitch’s voice broke through the din, instantly commanding attention. He was perched precariously on the bench, one foot up like a man about to deliver the Gettysburg Address. “So, do we call her your soulmate, or was she just your ‘weekend highlight’?”

The room erupted in laughter. Mitch, ever the instigator, milked the moment with exaggerated gestures, holding his heart like he’d been struck by Cupid’s arrow. Auston, unfazed, shrugged off his jacket, hanging it neatly in his stall as though Mitch hadn’t spoken at all.

“Neither,” Auston replied, his tone so smooth and casual it bordered on bored. “But thanks for your concern, Mitchy. Really warms my heart.”

“Oh, I’m concerned,” Mitch shot back, leaping down from the bench with dramatic flair. “It’s not every day our Captain makes romantic headlines off the ice.”

Matthew Knies chimed in next, leaning back lazily in his stall. His grin, wicked and knowing, spread like wildfire across his face. “You gonna share the story, or are you keeping this one all to yourself? Come on, Cappy. Did you at least get her number? Or is this just another no-strings situation?”

Auston finally glanced over, one brow arching in mock amusement. “Don’t you have a mirror to stare at, Kniesy? Go admire yourself somewhere else.”

The laughter doubled, bouncing off the walls like a puck ricocheting off the boards. Even the more reserved players smirked as the banter escalated.

Reaves, stretching out his shoulders, added in his deep baritone, “Bet her phone’s already blowing up. She’s probably sitting there right now, trying to figure out if she’s ready to handle the ‘Ice King.’”

“Or,” Mitch interjected again, holding up a finger like a professor making a critical point, “she’s trying to figure out why she’s trending while he’s already onto the next one.”

Auston rolled his eyes, dropping onto the bench as he reached for his skates. “You guys seriously need better hobbies.”

“Hobbies?” Mitch feigned outrage, clutching his chest theatrically like he’d been mortally wounded. “This is our hobby! Watching you fumble around women like it’s your first time stepping onto the ice.”

Even John Tavares, usually the stoic leader of the group, couldn’t suppress a chuckle as he taped his stick with methodical precision.

“You’re gonna need a new nickname after this,” Conor Timmins called out, grinning as he adjusted his shin guards. “Something like… Loverboy Matthews.”

“Or Prince Charming,” Max Domi suggested, leaning against the wall with a toothless grin. “You swooped in, caught her mid-fall—classic fairy-tale move. You practicing for a movie, or what?”

Auston didn’t miss a beat. “Just trying to remind you guys what grace under pressure looks like.”

The locker room erupted into hoots and cheers, players slapping their thighs or sticks against the floor in exaggerated applause. Even Auston, usually unflappable, couldn’t suppress the small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Let’s not forget the most important question, eh,” Mitch said, raising his voice to cut through the noise. “Did you or did you not close the deal? Because if you didn’t…” He let the sentence hang, his grin turning mischievous as the room erupted again.

Auston shook his head, leaning down to lace his skates with deliberate precision. “You guys are fucking awful. It was nothing. She’s just a PR manager doing her job. That’s it.”

Reaves shook his head, chuckling. “You’re telling me that look she gave you was part of the job? Please. If that’s her work face, I need to hire her immediately.”

“Let me guess,” William said, his grin widening. “You gave her your best smoulder, and she melted, didn’t she? Ice King strikes again.”

“Smoulder?” Mitch nearly doubled over laughing. “He probably just stood there and grunted. That’s his move. ‘I’m Auston Matthews. Be impressed.’”

“Don’t forget the eyebrow raise,” Max chimed in, waggling his own brows for emphasis. “That’s his closer.”

Auston grabbed a towel from his stall and lobbed it at Mitch, who narrowly dodged it with a dramatic yelp. “Keep dreaming, Marner. You’re just mad you’ll never have my moves.”

The room roared with laughter as Mitch held his hands up in mock surrender. “Oh, please. I don’t need your moves, buddy. I’ve got personality.”

“Personality?” Auston repeated, finally looking up with a smirk. “That what you call it now?”

Before Mitch could fire back, a sharp whistle cut through the chaos. Chief’s voice boomed from the hallway. “Alright, enough! Let’s go! Save the soap opera for after practice.”

The laughter died down, though the smirks and knowing glances lingered as the players turned their attention to gearing up.

As soon as Auston stepped onto the ice, the locker room antics faded into the background. The cool air hit his face, sharpening his focus as he took his first powerful strides across the rink. The sound of blades slicing across the ice and sticks snapping against pucks filled the arena, a symphony of precision and power.

“Alright, boys, let’s dial it in!” Auston called, his voice cutting through the hum of activity.

His every movement on the ice was fluid and deliberate, his passes snapping perfectly to his teammates like they were guided by some invisible force. He commanded the flow of drills with the confidence of a seasoned leader, his focus razor-sharp.

Even when Mitch skated past during a drill, leaning in just close enough to whisper, “Hey, Prince Charming—don’t forget to teach us those moves later,” Auston didn’t miss a beat.

“Don’t worry, Mitchy,” he replied, his tone calm and cool. “I’ll save the lessons for when you finally learn how to backcheck.”

The nearby players burst into laughter, and Mitch groaned, throwing his hands up in defeat. Auston smirked as he returned to the drill, his focus unwavering.

Back in the locker room, the banter picked up again as the players peeled off their gear and hit the showers. Auston wiped sweat from his forehead, grabbing his phone from his stall out of habit. The screen lit up with a flood of notifications, but one message stood out.

Mom: “Hola, mijo! Saw the news. You have a girlfriend now? Why didn’t you tell me? Qué sorpresa! Call me later. Besos!”

Auston groaned, leaning back in his stall as he rubbed a hand over his face. Of course, the rumours had made their way all the way to Arizona. His mother never missed a thing.

He quickly typed out a reply:

Auston: “No girlfriend. Just the media blowing things out of proportion. Promise I’ll call later.”

From the stall next to him, Mitch leaned over, his grin as wide as ever. “Let me guess—Mama Matthews wants to meet her future daughter-in-law?”

Auston groaned, tossing another damp towel at him. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be, Marner?”

“Not until I hear how you’re gonna explain this to her,” Mitch quipped, dodging the towel with a laugh.

Auston shook his head, smirking despite himself. It was going to be a long day. The Ice King wasn’t just trending—he was thriving.

“Oh, Auston. A commanding captain on the ice, a knight in shining armour at the galas—tell us, is there anything you can’t do? From blistering wrist shots to a disarming smirk that leaves reporters and fans alike spellbound, you’ve mastered the art of being Toronto’s shining star. Perhaps Mitch Marner should take notes—not just on your hockey technique, but on handling attention with your signature, infuriatingly effortless charm. And William Nylander? He might need a crash course in keeping up with your knack for drawing the spotlight without even trying.

But every kingdom needs balance, doesn’t it? A king isn’t a king without his loyal support. The rookies may watch your every move, but the city is watching, too—an entire court of adoring subjects, dissecting every detail, every headline, every photo. Careful, Matthews. It’s easy to rule the ice, but when the lines between the rink and the spotlight begin to blur, kingdoms can crumble under the weight of their own grandeur.

Your throne is solid for now, but your court is hungry for more. What will you give them next? - The Benchwarmer”

The Scotiabank Arena buzzed with pre-game anticipation, the hum of excited chatter blending with the sharp sounds of skates cutting across the ice during warm-ups. Fans clad in blue-and-white jerseys filled the air with energy, their collective excitement palpable as they streamed through the wide doors. The aroma of buttery popcorn and sizzling pretzels wafted through the concourse, mingling with the chill that radiated from the rink below.

You adjusted your blazer with a sharp tug, clutching your tablet tightly as you made your way to the media section. This was your arena of expertise—coordinating interviews, ensuring the narrative focused on the team, and staying invisible in the process. But tonight, the stakes felt impossibly high. The viral #MysteryQueen photo wasn’t just following you; it was plastered in the eyes and whispers of everyone around you.

As you approached the media room entrance, Chase was already waiting, predictably pristine in his perfectly tailored suit. His signature smirk was firmly in place, the kind that always made you want to roll your eyes. He leaned casually against the wall, looking as though he were preparing to deliver a victory speech rather than assist you in damage control.

“Well, well,” he said as you reached him, his tone dripping with mockery. “If it isn’t Toronto’s newest viral sensation. Tell me, how’s life as #MysteryQueen treating you?”

You shot him a glare, your jaw tightening. “Let’s just focus on the job,” you replied curtly.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Chase said, falling into step beside you as you walked into the room. “I’m here to make sure you don’t turn this into an even bigger mess. You’ve done enough of that already.”

You clenched your teeth, your grip on the tablet tightening. “I don’t need a lecture from you, Chase.”

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Because from where I’m standing, you could use a crash course in PR basics. Like staying invisible and not ending up as the story. Rookie move, don’t you think?”

You stopped in your tracks, turning to face him with an icy glare. “Are you going to help, or are you just here to gloat?”

Chase raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin unrelenting. “Relax. I’m just here to keep you in line. Wouldn’t want you tripping over Matthews again and handing the internet more fuel for their fire.”

Heat rose to your cheeks at the jab, but you forced yourself to take a deep breath, counting silently to three. “Let’s just get through tonight without any incidents,” you said, turning on your heel and walking ahead without waiting for his reply.

The pre-game interviews began in a whirlwind of camera flashes and bustling reporters. Auston Matthews entered the room right on time, his presence commanding immediate attention. Every camera lens turned toward him, capturing his perfectly composed demeanour as he prepared for the barrage of questions.

You stood to the side, tablet in hand, observing quietly as he answered each question with ease. He was a natural—calm, polished, and confident. His responses were precise yet charming, a masterclass in handling media under pressure.

Chase leaned in slightly, his voice low but laced with condescension. “Look at him—perfect posture, perfect answers. You’d think he rehearsed this a hundred times.”

“He has,” you shot back under your breath, not bothering to hide your annoyance.

Auston’s gaze flicked in your direction, his eyes catching yours for a fleeting moment. For a split second, a glimmer of amusement danced across his face, as though he’d overheard your exchange. He smirked slightly, turning back to the reporters, but somehow the gesture felt like it was meant for you.

When the interviews concluded, you stepped aside to check the evening’s schedule, your focus shifting back to logistics. Of course, Chase remained close, ready to offer unsolicited commentary.

“You know,” he began, his voice teasing as he leaned against the wall, “if you’re trying to stay out of the spotlight, you might want to stop looking at him like that.”

Your head snapped up, a frown forming on your face. “Like what?” you demanded, sharper than you intended.

“Like he’s the only person in the room,” Chase replied with a smug grin. “Just saying.”

Before you could respond, the crowd began to disperse, the pre-game atmosphere shifting as fans filed toward their seats for the national anthem. You let out a frustrated breath, forcing yourself to refocus. Chase wasn’t worth your energy. Not tonight.

As the game began, the arena roared to life, the crowd erupting with every rush down the ice and save by the goalie. From the media section, you watched the game unfold, your tablet propped on your lap as you took notes and ensured the schedule ran smoothly. Auston was, as always, in his element, commanding the ice with every stride. He directed plays with a sharpness that reminded everyone why he wore the captain’s “C.”

But even amidst the game’s intensity, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Every time you glanced up, it felt as though the whispers of fans were louder than the cheers. You caught glimpses of people pointing in your direction, their phones raised discreetly—or not so discreetly—to snap photos.

The hashtag wasn’t going anywhere. If anything, the spectacle was growing.

Chase leaned over during a break in play, his smirk firmly in place. “You’re a hit, you know. The internet can’t get enough of you.”

You didn’t dignify him with a response, keeping your eyes on the game. But his words lingered, gnawing at your already frazzled nerves. This wasn’t the kind of attention you wanted—or ever asked for. Worse, you couldn’t tell if Auston was ignoring the attention or quietly revelling in it.

As the final buzzer sounded and the crowd erupted in cheers, you exhaled deeply, the weight of the night still pressing down on you. But this was only the beginning. There was still so much more to face.

The buzz of the post-game crowd echoed faintly through the tunnel, a mix of jubilant cheers and the hum of arena staff preparing to wind down for the night. The air was thick with energy, but you barely noticed, your thoughts consumed by the task ahead. You stood just outside the media room, shifting your weight between your heels as if the motion could steady the whirlwind of nerves building inside you.

Your tablet felt heavy in your arms, not because of its weight but because of what it symbolised—your professional armour in a moment that felt far too personal. The image of the viral photo flashed through your mind for the hundredth time that day. The teasing. The whispers. The relentless #MysteryQueen hashtag that refused to die. You hadn’t asked for this spotlight, but it seemed determined to follow you.

The sound of footsteps drew your attention, and when Auston Matthews stepped out of the media room, your pulse quickened. His shirt was damped, the faint sheen of exertion still clinging to his skin. He exuded a casual confidence, as if he were entirely unfazed by the chaos swirling around him. His gaze swept the hallway before landing on you, and just like that, his professional mask slipped into something more playful.

Raising a brow, he smirked, his tone low and teasing. “Waiting for me?”

You let out a huff, trying to summon the last reserves of your professionalism. “We need to talk,” you said briskly, nodding toward a quieter corner of the hallway.

Intrigued, Auston fell into step beside you, the faint click of his shoes on the concrete floor adding to the tension. Once out of earshot from the lingering media, he leaned against the wall, crossing his arms in a relaxed pose that was the polar opposite of how you felt. His posture was casual, but his eyes were sharp, watching you with open curiosity.

“Alright,” he said, tilting his head slightly, his smirk never wavering. “What’s on your mind, Mystery Queen?”

The heat rushed to your cheeks, and you resisted the childish urge to stomp your foot. “Can you not call me that?”

“Fine,” he replied, clearly humouring you, though the amusement in his voice only grew. “What’s the issue, boss?”

Taking a steadying breath, you tightened your grip on your tablet, the hard edges grounding you. “I need you to address the rumours,” you said firmly. “Publicly. Tell everyone there’s nothing between us.”

Auston tilted his head, his smirk softening into something closer to curiosity. “Why?”

“Because,” you said, struggling to keep your frustration in check, “my boss isn’t thrilled about the attention. I’m supposed to be behind the scenes, not… trending online. I have a career to build, and this whole spectacle is not helping.”

He nodded slowly; his expression thoughtful. For a fleeting moment, you thought he might agree. But then, a different light sparked in his eyes—something calculating, almost mischievous—and his smirk returned, sharper than before.

“You want people to take you seriously, right?” he asked, his tone almost too casual.

“Yes,” you said cautiously, narrowing your eyes. “That’s what I’ve been saying.”

“And you need to stand out? Get noticed by your boss?”

The suspicion prickling at the back of your neck deepened. “What are you getting at?”

Auston straightened slightly, his relaxed stance giving way to something more deliberate. “What if… we don’t deny it?”

Your jaw dropped. “What?”

“Think about it,” he said, stepping closer, his voice dropping into that low, persuasive tone that could probably charm half the city. “The attention isn’t going away anytime soon. If anything, it’s only going to get worse. So why not use it to your advantage?”

“You’re suggesting we… fake it?”

“Exactly,” Auston said, his confidence radiating like heat from a fire. “You want people to notice you? They will. You’ll look like the PR genius who landed me. And I get the media off my back for a while. Everyone thinks I’m ‘taken,’ and they stop asking me about my personal life. Win-win.”

You blinked at him, completely stunned by the audacity of his proposal. “That’s insane.”

“Is it?” he countered, his tone steady, his expression calm. “You said you wanted to build your name. What better way to get people talking? We use this Benchwarmer columnist to our advantage - the gossip she’s writing about me. Us. It’s pure strategy - something you’d know all about. Huh?”

Logic screamed at you to walk away, to tell him he was out of his mind. But another part of you—the part that had endured Chase’s relentless teasing, your boss’s stern lecture, and the whispers of your co-workers—paused. Was this really any more ridiculous than the situation you were already in? And if you played it right, couldn’t this be an opportunity?

You chewed your lip, your gaze darting toward the hallway where the faint buzz of the arena still lingered. “If this has to work,” you said hesitantly, “it has to be believable. No half-measures.”

“Believable,” Auston repeated, his smirk widening into a full grin. “That’s my specialty.”

You let out a resigned sigh, shaking your head. “This is crazy.”

“Crazy works,” he said with a wink, leaning in just enough to make your pulse skip. “Trust me.”

You searched his face for any sign that he wasn’t serious, but all you found was confidence and a glimmer of mischief. Against every ounce of better judgment, you nodded slowly.

“Alright,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s do it.”

The grin that spread across Auston’s face was triumphant, almost wolfish. “You won’t regret it,” he said, his voice low and assured.

As you turned to walk away, your heart pounded in your chest, your thoughts racing faster than the cheers that still echoed faintly through the arena. You couldn’t help but wonder: What have I just gotten myself into?

“Dear Toronto readers, it seems we have yet another moment destined for the record books. The Ice King himself, Auston Matthews, and his so-called Mystery Queen were spotted in an intimate exchange in the depths of Scotiabank Arena, away from the roar of the crowd and the cameras—well, most of them.

Sparks, dear readers, are flying faster than pucks on a power play.

The city is buzzing louder than the boards after a hard check, and why wouldn’t it be? For a team as iconic as the Maple Leafs, even the smallest whisper of a new royal couple in their kingdom is enough to set the fandom ablaze. And this particular pairing? It has all the makings of a modern fairy tale—complete with a little mystery and a lot of chemistry.

But let’s not forget the rest of the court. The rookies may be loyal subjects, and the veteran players ever-watchful advisors, but every kingdom comes with its share of intrigue. Whispers from the locker room suggest a reign of strategy, while murmurs in the stands lean toward romance.

Whatever the truth, one thing is certain: this King and Queen have the entire city watching their every move. Will their story be one of triumph or turmoil? Only time will tell.

So, stay tuned, Toronto. The season is young, and the drama is only just beginning.

Yours always,

The Benchwarmer”

#The Benchwarmer #inexperienced!reader x Auston #auston matthews fanfic #Toronto maple leafs fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl romance #nhl imagines

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miraculouslbcnreactions · 2 days ago

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Do you have any thoughts about the Love square Ship? I just realized that a huge reason why they are happening is because they are 'fated to be together' just cuz they're ladybug and chat noir. Aren't the writers shooting themselves on their feet? 'Cause it just means that Adrienette only love each other because they're LadyNoir.

The love square has fallen into a trope I like to call the Sk8er Boi trap. This is a reference to the opening question of Avril Lavigne's famous song:

He was a boy She was a girl Can I make it any more obvious?

Yes. Yes you can make it more obvious! I'm not going to ship these two based on gender alone! Give them depth! Give them substance! Make me care.

To be fair, Miraculous didn't start this way. The first two seasons of the show did a decent job setting up the crushes. It wasn't amazing, but it was enough to see the potential, especially when you paired it with the fun of identity shenanigans. Those early seasons also felt like a promise that more depth would come with time as is typical in a slow burn.

Instead, as time went on, the crushes became ever more superficial because the show has committed to maintaining a status quo that doesn't allow for a deep, meaningful romance. Without that depth to really sell the ship, Miraculous is relying on the audience shipping the love square because Adrien and Marinette are the endgame couple and that's about it. The quality of the relationship doesn't matter. All that matters is that the show says that they're meant to be. It's disappointing, but annoyingly common.

For reasons beyond my understanding, there is a decent subset of the population who are happy to play this game. If the writing says, "these two are meant to be," then this audience is happy accept that no matter how little substance the couple has. Heck, they'll ship couples that are straight up toxic!

The audience in question seems to be here for the drama and the passion, not the love and depth. Give them twists that come out of no where! Give them ridiculous miscommunication! Give them poor characterization! They'll take it all so long as it's shocking and dramatic. I don't get it, but it's not a fringe preference. It's straight up popular right now. Couples like this dominate mainstream romance, YA, NA, and romantasy. They're all obsessed with drama over depth, but that's the opposite of what I want. I will take depth over drama every day.

My ideal romance is a cute boring couple made interesting by the extraordinary circumstances they're dealing with. I thought that's what the love square was going to be, but I have given up on that hope. It started to really die in season four and season five straight up killed it.

You'd think that a show aimed at kids would be free of unhealthy romances since there are a lot of topics a Y-7 show can't touch, but apparently not! Season five's love square feels like it's an awkward, kiddified version of the kind of trends that have made me avoid mainstream Romance, YA, New Adult, and Romantasy for the past few years. Every book I've tried made me rage (insert reductive "are the allos okay" joke here). So, to answer your question:

Aren't the writers shooting themselves in their feet?

Not really. They're not writing a deep nuanced romance, but they are writing the type of frustrating, drama-laden romance that some people adore. As long as a subset of those people are willing to watch Miraculous, the show will be successful. I don't get it, but Goodreads has shown me that people love this shit, so I'm stuck waiting for the current trends to die off or for a new genre to pop up that leans towards what I like. Such is life. It's not like there's nothing good out there. It's just harder to find since it's not on trend right now. Plus there's always fanfic! That's my main source of romance. I look for other things in original fiction.

#anon ask #ml writing critical #ml writing salt #adrien deserves better #marinette deserves better #SJM has poisoned mainstream romance trends #How that terrible assassin book got popular and spawned an empire is beyond me #But this is why I say you have to let people be wrong #And also enjoy dunking on bad writing with those who agree #It's how you maintain sanity in these troubling times #Yes this was why I had that Steven Universe screenshot post earlier today! How clever of you to notice!

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wisteria-lodge · 3 days ago

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TINY thing. but you know that joke where person A gets person B's name wrong to communicate that they aren't paying attention / don't value them as an individual? Like the way that Miranda Priestly calls all her assistants "Emily" to communicate that they're replaceable, or the recurring joke in 'Very Potter Musical' where Voldemort thinks Lucius Malfoy's name is Lucius Molloy. Cute, love that.

I also like the thing where person A performatively gets person B's wrong in multiple different ways, just to communicate they think B is unimportant and MAKE SURE they understand the slight. I'm thinking of the scene in 'The Sting' where Paul Newman's character has to be enough of an asshole to get the mark acting stupid, and so calls Doyle Lonnegan "Lonneman" "Lonnihan" and "Lemongan" over the course of one conversation.

But like... they're different tropes. If you want to communicate that A just can't be bothered to think about B, they're going to get their name wrong the same way every time (because they got it wrong the first time and were too powerful to correct.) Or maybe they don't even know B's name, that's fun.

But no one accidentally calls someone multiple different things over the course of a scene. That's not a thing. And yet I see it everywhere, as a easy joke.

#um #tropes?#writing stuff

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dramalove247 · 2 days ago

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Favorite Things: Your Sky

First, you had us at fake dating. We are huge suckers for this trope when it is well done and they did it SO well!!! This show felt like the writers sat down and said, "How can we make the most over the top main couple that is sickeningly cute and sweet with every green flag you can imagine?" Then they added the best big sister ever, doting parents with too much love... (for the most part), amazing friends, great side couples, and a freaking puppy. This show gave us serious cuteness aggression! And just when you forgot it was a Domundi series, they start delivering the spice in EPIC proportions until you can no longer remember how shy and cute their relationship started.

Here are some posts we loved (spoilers ahead):

The elevator scene is hilarious! Thanks for posting @hughungrybear

@poetry-protest-pornography post about them launching their relationship with an IG post is HILARIOUS 🤣

@iguessitsjustme pointing out some of the things we have loved about this show ❤

So many of the side characters were GREAT in this show! We loved Babe and Lee and all the friends, but Hia and Real were EPIC! @hughungrybear captured this hilarious Real and Hia moment and named it perfectly:

using sunscreen to flirt: a guide

The confession scenes/episode were so great 🥰 @soujux shared this fun background information about how the scene was changed.

Agree so much with @axibani. We LOVED that Fah is so gentle and reassuring to Rak. He wants Rak to be ready. Not only does Meunfah not pressure him, but he is constantly checking in and watching and stops the second he sees Teerak's hesitation. Absolutely love how caring and respectful Meunfah is. 100% green flag. Plus, consent is so hot.

😳 We had to make a NC 18+ appreciation post. The chemistry in this show was off the charts. The scenes were so spicy and sweet and fluffy that we decided it could only be considered Jalapeño Cotton Candy.

We absolutely loved how the desire between Muenfah and Teerak was mutually intense, like in this scene posted by @kittycaths when Teerak takes the lead. This super sweet series gave us an unexpected amount of spice and the chemistry between Thomas and Kong was wild!

Episode 12 gave us so much cute between Fah and Rak 😍 @tortibomb posted a collection of some of these sweetest moments in this compilation of GIFS.

Episode 11 was nightmare fuel and Teerak's fears were justified. Makes you wonder what made him doubt his father's love would be unconditional when it came to coming out. But as much as this blindsided us, we realize that was the actual point.

Sometimes it's the little details:

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loquaciousquark · 3 days ago

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you have been my #1 favorite fanfic author of all time for like 7-8 years now for your fenhawke and ive always thought "god i would give anything for quark to write solavellan" but i respected that it wasnt your thing. so imagine the pure unbridled euphoria of checking in on your blog this week to see that he finally got to you. i actually screamed. whatever you come up with i know it is going to absolutely change my life and i am so excited <3

i’m so. sad. i'm SO sad. i was so happy for a decade just being mildly annoyed every time he crossed my dash and now i am having feelings and opinions and i don’t WANT THEM and the only way to get rid of them is to write them out of me, this is why i don’t love fenris or astarion at all anymore obviously

and like, I still don’t love Solas! I still think some things he does and some goals he has are really, really stupid! but this character I created to love him really loves him, and I really love her and want her to be happy even though she lives only inside my head, and that means I need to lay down some structure around her romance to get the shape of it, to build something I can make sense of. I may not love him, but I like him much more than I did, and I certainly understand him better than I did the first time around.

And to be honest, there’s a part of me glad I’m coming to it as late as I have. I don’t think I’ve ever read a single Solavellan fic in my life (I actually had to pause here to check the spelling). I have NO idea what tropes are popular with him or what interpretations are the biggest. I have a lot of opinions on how his personality and identity work in a romance with this particular character I’ve created, but because I’ve been so siloed I have no idea if I’m bucking the grain or not, which is fine by me.

Plus, it helps I’m not going to have ten years to build up a lot of personal headcanons and jossable thoughts before playing the new game. I’m not someone who easily ignores canon when it clashes with my imagination for the major things, so I think this will (hopefully) keep me from major disappointments.

It's kinda funny; earlier today I was going back through my DAI tag and reminding myself of all my impressions from the first time I played the game. Some of them I definitely still stand by; others have completely changed. I even said twice that a Lavellan/Solas romance would be my next playthrough, which was true if ten years late.

But it's things like: apparently the first time through I loved Solas and Sera, both of which certainly were not true going into this replay. (I barely even have a memory of Solas and Priory ever being in the party together, though the historical records say I took him to Adamant.) I apparently had a lot of hopes Gideon Emery would be voicing Fenris. I originally thought Priory was going to romance Bull, which is very ?????? after all this time. (I did still, even then, know Here Lies the Abyss completely broke her as a character, and ten years on I never could fix her for good.)

I really did not expect to change my mind on Solas going into this replay, I guess is the point. I replayed because knowing the story of DAI and Solas, I felt it was a story most personalized to elves and specifically a Solas-romancing Lavellan, and that was the worldstate I wanted to take into the new game. I played it out because that's the kind of person I am (I can't just invent characters wholesale in my head) but I really thought it was going to be a perfunctory playthrough as a stepping stone to a different game and a different PC and (presumably) a different romance. I didn't expect to love this character as much as I do, and even if I don't have ten years to write her out the way I did Hawke, I feel like I still owe it to her & her doomed romance to give her a little time in the spotlight. Lucky girl!

#quark replies #Anonymous #solas #solavellan #adahla lavellan #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #quark plays dai #also there are some tortuous mixed metaphors in here that i'm not going to fix #but i am sorry for them

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mossygirl333 · 10 hours ago

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hello! not sure if youre still taking requests but i was wondering if you could write old man logan with a strawberry sweet roll, cream cheese danish, with tea and a cappuccino

AN: holy shit...it's been quite a bit of time since I wrote. Sorry I just haven't had any motivation :< but I'ma start pumping them out lol (sorry it's kinda ass, I haven't written recently.)

Bakery Order: Strawberry Sweet Roll- “Feels so good you’re crying?” + Cream Cheese Danish- "Your daddy would hate to see you here with me" + Tea- Sub reader + Cappuccino - overstimulation

Tw/Cw: Sub!f!reader, reader is the daughter of Cyclops and Jean teehee, overstim, mission gone rouge, one bed in a hotel trope (yay!), sweaty mean rough logan (the best Logan)

SMUT UNDER THE CUT!!

The cuts stung when you pressed the anti-septic soaked rags against his chest, watching the wounds heal in impressive time. Wiping away dirt, blood and sweat from his toasted skin. His eyes fluttered closed as he sat back in the chair, huffing down a cigar like indoor smoking was still allowed.

"Ya know, they're gonna charge us for the smell Logan." You mumble, standing up on aching knees and tossing the rag into the sink. Ignoring how he stared at your ass.

"Thought you loved the way I smelled?" He smirks, tilting his head in an almost wolfish way.

"Never said I didn't." You sit down on the bed but It doesn't stop his staring. Heated eyes boring into every curve and dip, tracing the lines of your waist and hips, where your thighs meet, up to your chest. Like he was imagining what you looked like under your clothes.

"Stop staring." "m'not."

You both knew he was lying. How before you could even blink he was sat next to you. Closer than what he needed to on the bed. His hand slithering across your back and to your waist, whispering against the back of your ear.

"Your thighs keep clenching together, hm? Why's that, bunny?" You shuddered slightly, trying to act aloof. But he was sweaty and shirtless and he looked like he was doused in oil and toasted under the sun and it looked good.

You couldn't help that he aroused you. Logan knew that. Logan knew that you saw a man with beefy biceps and a smart mouth and you got a little dumb. So when he started tugging your knees apart, you didn't fight it.

His knee slotted right up over your clothed cunt, grinding up a tad bit so you could rub your clit a bit better through all those frustrating layers of clothes. His lips push up against your jaw, laying you back against the bed.

You don't fight it. And you sure as hell don't fight when he starts taking off clothes. Thick callous hands pawing and pushing and preening at your body, huffing up what you smell like. Causing a small giggle to come up.

"Is that pussy wet yet?"

Your eyes flutter closed, leaning back and humming a small "mhm!". Spreading your thighs wider to make room for his girth. Had you fucked Logan before? Yes. Did your dad know? Hell no.

Maybe that was the fun part of it all. The secrecy. But your thoughts are interrupted at your hips jerking and his drooly tip nudging up against it. A huff of air escaping Logans mouth as he drops his head into your titties.

Your hands come up weakly, tugging at the strands as you whine, feeling him swirl his thick cockhead around until finally nestling It into your entrance. Pushing in quickly, causing a small hitch and whine from you, he gets comfortable.

Logan was a lot of things but subtle and gentle wasn't one of them. His thrusts were deep and fast, practically using you like a fleshlight. A heavy body pinning you down into the sheets as he drools into your tits.

At this point you lost track of how many orgasms Logan has ripped from you. At this point, you didn't wanna know. He just kept going, his hips snapping with the pace of a driven horse. Hot ropes of cum nestled deep against your cervix and squirting out from your swollen pussy.

"Fuck look at this little mess huh baby? You're a fuckin' dirty girl."

You whimper, laying on the bed limply as he pushes you into another position. Ass-up, slamming down into you now. Causing you to weakly gasp, barely any air to moan.

"Imagine your daddy seein' his little girl gettin' fucked by me. Stupid thought huh?" You dont react. You don't just feel in his cock in your belly, you feel it in your throat. Clit twitching and shiny with slick. Clawing at the sheets weakly as his hand pushes down on your back, arching it.

"God, cant even say anything. Just cryin' and cryin', huh baby bunny?" He leans down, flipping you over again so he can look in your eyes, kissing the tears away. "Just one for me sweet girl?"

You manage a nod, you don't know how. Pussy throbbing and aching, cervix bruised and worn. But he goes again, faster - if that was even possible. Pushing his thumb against your clit and working it raw again.

It twitches and a little squirt of slick travels up his forearm. Finally pulling away with a squelch.

"Good girl"

An: Chat was this ass or was this ass?

#logan howlet smut #the wolverine #james howlett #james logan howlett #wolverine #logan wolverine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett

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itsdafavone · 3 days ago

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❝𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧' 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤?❞

cw: kinda fluff - light cussing, mention of fighting.

tropes: friends-to-lovers (kinda enemies), grumpy x grumpiest.

pairing: best friend!katsuki bakugou x f!reader.

if there was something that for the surprise of both of us never made any truly mad, that was probably how neither of us could've won. Each other, of course.

me, and him that have always "allowed" me to follow him around; we never won from a fight against one another. Always truly infuriating but we never thought about it that deep since our friendship was way more important than this shit, even if none of us would admit it out loud. But here am I, I've stopped to take a brief moment and think about it all, since Mina called me out:

"girl y'know that ain't normal for such talented person such as yourself..."

she took a pause, trying go figure if that was what she was going to say, frustrated because couldn't find her "right" words, kept going

"and your, uh, friend?" giggled "it's not possible that none of you are able to win."

it's frustrating how kats' spends more time in my mind than I would find enjoyable... not that I would find enjoyable thinking of him; but lord it could be way less.

so it all started to descend in ruins in our first spar in a while. I wasn't feeling really good, but denying something to him, mainly when it comes to a fight, it's something that you'll never forget. Why? the spoiled brat will make sure you never forget how weak, self aware and fearful you were; afraid of losing to a god like him, even if he was completely convinced it was obvious you wouldn't. He is a complete fool, a natural.

but how I was delighted to fight with this fool every time. All of our fights were so deep highlighted by not holding back ever. A dance only we could pull up, our momentary show that makes everything worth it, even losing. Letting go all of the social cues, obligations and images of ourselves; only pure and raw anger.

until we are too tired to keep going, to sick of using one another to it's own sake, quirks denying their activation and lungs burning like hell.

a good visit to recovery girl (who couldn't stand our bullshit anymore), a bath in an almost shared dorm; and a nap. Him not insisting, but sleeping in the ground, me in his oh so sweet scented sheets. An ether aroma that never failed into embracing me to sleep, never.

"wake up." he would throw a pillow at me, even if his voice was almost tender when he commanded. I would look annoyed at him taking my deep breath, too sore from the day before to discuss, just like him.

"what time is it?" monotone voice, almost closed eyes, he would smirk. Shit, he made me late on purpose, and I fell for it again.

"shit kats', I fucking hate you!" got up and went all fast to my dorm, luckily the door aside.

"but I love you..." he murmured, before I could get out the door. What the fuck?

I turned to look to him, in total disbelief, a hint of hope in the corner of my eyes, for sure. He fixed his uniform belt.

"Tyler the creator." looked deeply at me, felt like it was through my soul and back. "IFHY." how well I knew him, he was trying act nonchalant.

"sure" even for that tiny brief moment that the stars aligned and time has peaked its final form, stopped and stood completely between us; I've still left for my dorm, looking desperately for my uniform.

the classroom had a weird taste as the day follow its steps, I wasn't in the mood for conversations and my friends respected my boundaries. Just feeling nostalgic for things that wasn't that much time ago, and for others that were way to long.

and feeling melt under his gaze.

all classes finally had their ending, stretching myself close to the door after finishing cleaning, taking my shoe's and being stopped mid-going-away.

"wanna go buy groceries?" he was legit serious, like, drop dead serious. Even if it was out of nowhere; I said a weirdly uneventful: "yeah, why not?".

walking there was awkward, a constant feeling that there's something being unsaid. I didn't dare looking his way, too afraid I would spill what I've been thinking, and how it have been almost all of the time about him. He wasn't particularly comfortable either, not from the way he was constantly itching the nape of his neck.

I stopped, because my body suddenly told me to. Not that it was right, but it felt right and necessary. He made the same, turning to face me.

"what?" he was feeling the nitroglycerin escaping from his palms, his body telling him to fight but not to talk.

"there's something you want to tell me?" he did a micro reaction, his eyes briefly grow bigger and went back to usual as fast. "there's something you need to tell but feel like you can't?".

he laughed not too hard, more in disbelief than anything.

"you're a pain in the ass huh?" unbelievable how you could predict, what himself couldn't say out loud.

"yeah, with the ones that deserves it!" you both giggled, feeling the tension in the air fade away.

he leaned towards you, just enough so he could see all of you. Not only outside but inside too, your eyes telling him exactly what he needed; the weird reassurance of your presence.

"you're makin' me sick." he told you calmly, brows furrowed in concentration.

"makin' you sick?" you said half smiling, almost teasingly. Until it snapped. You knew katsuki, he wouldn't say that in a appropriate way. Your face giving away the fact you've already got everything figured out.

he gave you that shit-eating grin, turning his back and keeping his steps not so steady so you could easily catch up.

he made you sick to your guts too.

✸notes: that was actually so fun to write, even if it's short 😭

#katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha #bnha x reader #mha #mha x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #imagine #drabble

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panncakes · 17 days ago

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the reason i think i need dare you to death to deliver the jade/kamin dynamic exactly as presented in the pilot trailer and they have not left my mind is because i need kamin to be so neat and orderly and organized. he needs to have perfect posture and pristine clothing and organize the pens on his desk. he needs to be punctual and follow the rules to the letter and if his old school mates called him anal thats fine because he's the youngest inspector in decades and he has nothing to prove (except everything of course).

and i need captain jade to be a hurricane. all easy smiles and carefree attitude; messy and unfiltered. he drapes himself over furniture and rides that stupid motorcycle of his way too fast and still manages to show up late everywhere. he needs to break every rule and have the most onorthodox way of going about things and it's infuriating because he's actually really good at his job and has a real way with people that just doesn't make sense to kamin.

and then i need jade to make kamin come completely undone. i need him to mess him up in any way he can and i need all of this to happen against a back drop of an insane murder mystery.

i need gmmtv to give me this

#dare you to death #joongdunk #when i tell you i have never been excited for a gmmtv bl like this im not lying #it just has all the makings of every trope i love #i never put stock in pilot trailers but i cant help myself #it has the potential to be mod fever i fear #anyway i needed to type this out to get it out of my head

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scoriarose · 3 months ago

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Baby that is not an enrichment activity

Baby... Baby no you... Child...

I know you like to play with crinkly things but...

Aaaand into the messenger bag she goes.

#snake #snakes #hognoses #hognose #pets #scoria #scoria rose #there's nothing dangerous in my messenger bag #and the candies are individually wrapped the bag is a stiff plastic she can't suffocate on at least not with me watching her #she really really really likes playing in bags and crinkly things #and has wanted to pay in my messenger bag every day #I had to put my drawing supplies in a zipper up bag in it to make it safe #as when she sees it she will wiggle and point at it and keep asking to go in it so it's just easier to make it safe and let her play in it #“Did you get any new things?”#she loves snooping in it #XD #that may be part of the reason she likes investigating bags #“Something new is in there!”#her sister hasn't learned this yet and is still trying to get over the world outside her enclosure being big and scary #Scoria just needs a moment and so long as I'm there she's ready to explore anywhere #we are the trope of the sweet little innocent girl and huge scary beast who will protect her at all costs #Scoria is the sweet little one

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starry-bi-sky · 4 months ago

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finally giving fem danyal her own au and fulfilling my 'danny is an animal whisperer' agenda at the same time: mother of monsters danyal 2.0

i say "2.0" because TECHNICALLY 'mother of monsters danyal' is an au I made back in June for Dark fem!Danyal (who I promptly named Layal). However, I haven't posted much for her yet, and I like the "mother of monsters" premise too much to leave it only to Layal. Plus Danyal in that au was going to become the mother of monsters anyway, just with significantly less world domination and mass extinction.

'Animal whisperer' Danny has been something I've been thinking about since my latest DP 'wolfpack au' post and it's! So fun to think about, and who no better to assign the idea to than Danyal Al Ghul? Who comes from a family infamously known for their love of animals and nature?

Fem Danyal is just purely self-indulgent. *gestures wildly at her* i just lomvb,,, her,,,, I've only really mentioned her in context of the 'Things in Threes' au/my first Danyal al Ghul au with the facial scar, but she's!!! I love her. She deserves her own au <33

So kill three birds with one stone! Make a post about it.

Anyways, Danny has a large lair. Similar to cult leader danyal, her lair is a giant mountain region resembling nanda parbat with a big temple/palace-like area built into the mountain. It's large, it's overflowing with natural flora, with its own mini-floating islands hovering over some areas, and it's also completely empty.

Danny takes one look at her lair upon first meeting, -- noting that it looked relatively smaller from the outside -- and promptly, with the elegance of an Al Ghul, goes "What the hell??" Because yes, while she does enjoy her own solitude and privacy, this is a bit ridiculous.

For heaven's sake, there's even a massive lake in there! What's she going to do with all this space? Can she make it any smaller? Why is it so big in the first place? This looks borderline like one of the mega-islands!

She finds out later that apparently, the amount of ectoplasm a ghost has can have an effect on the size of their lair. And since she has such a large core, her lair reflects that. Wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff, it's bigger on the inside so it doesn't take up "too much space" on the outside. Don't worry about it too much.

Danyal isn't totally opposed to having such a large lair, she's just... a bit baffled by it. It feels like so much wasted space is all. All this flora and no fauna to enjoy it with. It's practically eerie.

She decorates her temple-palace area, transforming rooms to match her needs as she sees fit. In the center of the inner gardens is a massive tree that she likes to climb, with twisting, winding branches. Sam and Tucker have honorary rooms, even if they can't safely leave the specter speeder for long periods of time, even with proper safety equipment. So does Jazz. Ali (Dani) has one too, but he can actually use that one, and Danny brought him to her lair so he could decorate it himself.

She has a personal garden, but for the most part she lets the flora exist as it is. Too much space to cultivate it en masse anyways.

Skip to a few weeks later, on her next visit to Clockwork. She developed a habit of going to see him semi-regularly just because. She enjoys his wisdom, and he has a lot of stories to tell, and when he's not being the cryptic and esoteric timekeeper, he's a bit goofy.

(pushing my dadwork agenda here,,, i think Danny deserves to go 'hey, Lord Clockwork, do you want me to buy you something' while she's at walmart, only to receive a singular glowing sticky note that says 'cucumber gatorade'.)

(She insists on referring to him with his proper titles even for the most mundane of things because it's proper, but Clockwork sees a future where she eventually calls him "Cee" and by all things in existence is he determined to get there. Anyways,,,)

On her next visit to Clockwork, just as she is about to leave, Clockwork stops her and goes; "Ah, I have something for you. Hold out your hands."

Danny does as such, and Clockwork doesn't give out things often, so her curiosity has spiked to the highest levels. He turns away from her for a moment, using his staff to summon whatever it is he needs, and when he turns around.

He drops a fish into her hands. Granted, a fish in a small glass tank. But a fish nonetheless. A small one, roughly about the size of her finger, with a blue-black, eel-shaped body and four sets of glowing eyes. She can see thin, almost translucent, but spiny fins down its back and the start of bioluminescent markings. It's swimming around in circles in its small container.

"Lord Clockwork." Danyal says all too calmly.

"Yes, Danyal?"

"What is this?"

"That is an adolescent leviathan, Danyal." She’s transfixed onto the tank, but she doesn’t need to see Clockwork’s face to hear the smile he’s stifling.

The myriad of emotions that runs through her all at once threatens to overwhelm her, and she can’t tell if the feelings are negative or positive. So she carefully closes her eyes to breathe in through her nose.

“Clockwork.”

“Ah, I see you’ve dropped formalities.”

She ignores that.

“Why have you given me an adolescent leviathan?”

She's expecting the trickster to look amused when she opens her eyes. Instead, he just looks endeared. "I know you're fond of animals," he says, "and you always look amazed when you come across an animal of the realms. So I thought you might enjoy taking care of the young beast, it's mother is dead so it has no one to care for it."

Oh.

"But, if you don't like it," Clockwork's hands reach out for the tank, "I can simply take it back--"

Danyal shifts the tank out from his reach and hugs it possessively. "I never said that. How do I care for it?"

And so clockwork gives her a list, and when Danyal returns to her lair, she sets up a large tank in her room for the leviathan to swim in -- it's much too small for the lake right now, she thinks. She'll feel better if it's somewhere she can find it. She names him Suhā.

Suhā grows quickly, and by the end of the mortal month she transforms one of the rooms into a large pond for him to swim around in. He's a very loyal beast, recognizing her as it's mother of some kind. Danyal takes great care ensuring that her beastie gets quality care, and Suhā swims to the surface to see her when he senses her in the room.

It spirals from there. Somehow, Pandora catches wind that Clockwork gave her a leviathan, and so the next time Danyal visits the Greater Athens, she gives her a baby chimera. It's eyes are still sealed shut, Danyal can't bring herself to say no. She names the little beastie Firas.

Frostbite hears about it too, and not to be outdone, gives her an animal she's never even heard of. Infinite-realms born, apparently. A fox-like creature with two small horns like an impala, four eyes, and tall legs. The name isn't something she's quite sure how to write down, and she's positive that her friends won't be able to comprehend it. She names her Eira.

Getting the three of them used to each other was... interesting. Suhā tried to eat Firas when Danyal first introduced the two, and they've hated each other ever since. Firas and Eira are seemingly getting along. Her island already feels full enough with the three of them on it.

Of course, that's not the end of it. With her luck, she begins stumbling across other monsters. Realms-borne or otherwise. An injured hydra in the Grecian islands that, through lots of trial and error, Danyal is able to rehabilitate and heal. It routinely comes to visit her afterwards.

A griffin with a broken wing that she moves permanently to the island that likes to keep to itself, but tends to come down when she's near. It gets along best with Firas.

A panther-like monster from the Shades Woods that had six legs and three tails, with ends that reminded her of a venus flytrap. It stuck around the heavy foliage and she can only make out where it was when she saw its golden eyes reflect.

She befriends a young indrik with its leg injured, and much like the hydra it follows her back to her island, and stays there in the mountains. It comes out when she's alone, much like her other beasts.

She receives two more leviathan -- one from clockwork, and one she finds herself while exploring the deeper and darker recesses of the Ghost Zone. It was huddled against the carcass of its mother, and she managed to befriend and get close enough to it to bring it back to her island. Suhā is fully grown by then, with a head bigger than Danyal herself and he still likes to stick her head out of the water for nuzzles when she's near.

He's not very happy with his new siblings, but he's not trying to eat them when she's not looking. So she calls it a win in her book.

And it's not just large beasts either; smaller animals begin popping up when she's not looking. Bird-like creatures and small mammals, and she swears she saw a doe (or something resembling a doe) grazing in the forest while she was walking by.

She takes back with her a lone snake egg once, and it grows so big it wraps around her island and sleeps with its massive head on the mountain beside the temple, like some smaller breed of Jörmungandr.

And on and on it goes. Some of the beasts she comes across never step foot onto her island, some of them follow her back, while others she has to carry back. Not all of the ones that follow her stay, and Danny rehabilitates the injured and releases them when they're fully healed.

It's hectic, and busy, and frankly she loves it. Some of her rehabilitated beasts return to visit her, or to have their children somewhere on the island, or whatever it is they need to do.

She becomes a bit infamous for it. She goes to visit Dorathea once, and as she's walking through the streets she can hear some of the denizens whispering while she walks past.

"Is that her?"

"Her highness' friend? Yes--"

"--that's the one--"

"--Mother of monsters--"

Danny's not sure how to feel about that.

Although, she can't say she's opposed.

Danyal Al Ghul, Mother of monsters, raiser of beasts. It has a nice ring to it.

#danny fenton is not the ghost king #dpxdc #dp x dc #dpxdc crossover #danyal al ghul au #dpxdc prompt #fem danny fenton #fem danyal al ghul #mother of monsters danny #if anyone wants to hear about Layal specifically I'd be HAPPY to tell you about her. she's inspired by the song 'scylla' from epic #you can't leave me with dark danny for too long i give him depth if i do. anyways i gave layal mommy issues. she has a complicated view on #danyal and both loves and hates her in equal measure. she killed her out of mercy. she's her mother her sister her other half.#she despises her. she misses her. she'll never see her again. she sees her every time she looks in the mirror. she's 24. she's 10 years old #can you tell that i made layal during a time where i was thinking about the 'dan is danny's kid' dpdc trope bc that's exactly what happened #*holds dad!clockwork up like potato.* 'i just think he's neat :)'#i am incapable of making things only cracky. i must make it meaningful in some way or another.#MMMM i have to cut it off here before it gets too looooNNGGG.#if this flops i'll be sad :((#i just think the idea that danyal has her own little world on her island is neat. she's got dragons and wyrms and serpents and giant wolves #and griffins and one time there's a sphinx although she doesn't stay permanently. Danyal has a blast answering her riddles though.#that panther is based off the dnd displacer beast. there's little salamanders and gazelles with three eyes. there's more sea monsters than #just suhā and the other two leviathans but i couldnt think of any. im obsessed with the sea serpents if you havent notice LMFAO.#there's pegasi and a manticore and a ton of infinite realms monsters that are just an assortment of animals slapped together #the shades woods are a mega-island idea that i had. they're where a bunch of the “shades ghosts” are from. Its this large forest area with #megaflora trees similar to the redwood forest with canopies so thick and wide that no light can reach the bottom. so all of the native faun #living there have adapted to live in the shadows. there are a few villages that live in tall tree houses like the ewok villages that outsid #ghosts can go visit. the panther that's from there is very fond of danyal honestly. anyways yEAH ANIMAL WHISPERER DANNY.#her beasties are all animals up until she's like. 19. where she promptly steals an infant minotaur from a Legends Islands near Pandora #he wasn't being treated well okay!!! she couldn't stand by and watch. his name is asterion. he's a year old. and she'll kill for him.#i dont have enough tags to talk about Damian or her family >:T. just know that i am leaning into her assassin bg as usual :)

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