#it takes some years but shit eventually gets sorted (more or less)
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So I write all sorts of things (fiction, fanfic, screenplays) and my mind is cluttered garden of flowers and weeds and shiny ideas, and I'm wondering how to form a writing practice to clear it into tidy rows? Is it possible to shepherd untamed ideas into order?
How do you manage all your wonderful worlds, characters and inspiration and not feel haunted by the story bits and pieces in your head? Any practical tips beyond dark magic?
Thank you, you are such a constant inspiration for me, both prose and just your presence. <3
*laugh* Oh god, Nonny, if I ever find out, I’ll tell you! When you read books, you’re getting the Instagram-filtered view of a writer’s brain, all the flowers that grew out of the compost heap, carefully composed and shot in optimal lighting. The real inside of my skull is a magpie nest of Neat Shit I Read/Saw/Thought Up While Lying Awake At 2 AM. There are characters and ideas in there that I’ve been trying to get into a manuscript since I was twelve and typing on an Amiga 500.
But, that said…really, I think it’s okay. Creativity is inherently untidy. The compost heap can be corralled into a very pretty box made of sustainably harvested materials, hand-stained by traditional artisans being paid a living wage by an employee-owned company, but as soon as you lift the lid, it’s all worms and coffee grounds and old potting soil and cow shit and the vegetables you swore you were gonna eat this time before they went bad. That’s what compost is.
Nevertheless, having been in the business for…uh…fifteen years now? (@dduane is snickering at me, I can feel it) and having written nearly forty books, I can offer three bits of something less than advice. It’s what I do. It may not work for anyone else, but it’s what I do.
Un-Advice The First: If you get a shiny idea and you are super excited by it? Go ahead and chase it. Pull up a new page in Word or whatever and slap down a couple thousand words while it’s exciting. I know that this absolutely flies in the face of common wisdom, but quite frankly, my enthusiasm is a much rarer commodity than my time, so if I’m excited about something, I write it down until I’ve taken the edge off.
Then I usually save it into a big folder called “Fragments” and go back to work on whatever I’ve got a deadline on. (Usually. Sometimes the edge doesn’t wear off, and I wind up with another book. Which, y’know, darn.)
There are vast numbers of people who will tell you that a shiny idea is a sign that something is wrong with your current project and the solution is to knuckle down and work! through! it! And those people are probably right for them, and I trust they know how their own brains work. Me, though, I got ADHD like a bat has wings. My hard drive is a vast swamp of story beginnings, neat ideas, random scenes. And that’s okay because I still get books finished.
In fact, it’s better than okay. Not that long ago, my agent sent a novella to a publisher and they said “We’ll take that novella and three more novels. What’ve you got?” And I ended up plundering my hard drive and sending the editor a good dozen random beginnings until we found one that we both liked, and then I wrote the rest of that book. And then another one. If I hadn’t had all those fragments lying around, though, it would have been a miserable experience of writing book pitches and trying to think of stuff I could get excited about. (This may not be how some editors work, but it’s how my editor and I work, anyhow.)
Un-Advice The Second: Trust that everything will find a home eventually.
This one is easy to say and hard to do because sometimes you get that overload that if you’re writing the book about, say, werebear nuns, you aren’t writing the one about the alien crustaceans. Or worse, you feel guilty. If you don’t use that one cool thing, was all that time you spent on it wasted?
Breathe. Be easy. Every single cool thing does not need to go into a single book. There is no sell-by date on the neat character. You will probably write many books in your life and all those random characters will find a home. (Seriously, the werebear nuns were lurking for like a decade.)
For me, at least, when I find the spot where something fits, it often snaps into place like a Lego. Easton’s backstory as a soldier from a society where soldiers were a third sex had been kicking around in my head for a few years, derived from about three different sources, and then I wrote the opening to What Moves The Dead and all of a sudden Easton was there and alive and they had strong opinions about everything and I had ten thousand words practically before I turned around.
You can also stave off guilt by writing some of your ideas in as highly personal Easter Eggs. A couple of my books have references to a white deer woman, a heroic deed done by a saint and the ghost of a bird, and a woman with dozens of hummingbirds on tiny jeweled leashes. Those are all characters and stories I’ve had vague notions about, but haven’t managed to work in anywhere or learn much more about. Still, the passing reference is enough to make me feel like I haven’t abandoned them.
(The advantage to this is that once you DO write those in, the readers are all “oh my god, she foreshadowed this a decade ago, she must have planned this all out in advance!” Then you look really clever and well-organized and no one has to know that you have no idea what you’re doing.)
Un-Advice The Third: Write the kitchen sink book.
At one point, I had so many stray ideas that hadn’t gotten into a book yet—the tree of frogs, the dog-soldiers, the stained glass saint, the albatross and the shadow of the sun, and also I wanted to write something with Baba Yaga—that I hauled off and wrote a book where I just put in everything and the kitchen sink. It’s called Summer in Orcus. There are bits in there that I had been cooking in the mental compost heap for decades, but that weren’t enough on their own to sustain a whole book. The phrase “antelope women are not to be trusted” showed up in my head some time in college. It’s a fun little book and I’m proud of it, but it’s very much a patchwork quilt of weirdness. But it’s also written so that if later on, an antelope woman shows up in another book in another context, that just adds to their mythology, it doesn’t break canon or whatever.
(Pretty sure I’m not the only one who has done this, either. China Mieville has said that he wrote Perdido Street Station because what he really enjoyed was writing all the weird monsters.)
So yeah, that’s my advice, for what it’s worth. Some days I just tell all the fragments and ideas that I promise that I’ll get them a home eventually but I need to write this thing here now. Sometimes I throw down enough words to get the story stabilized and then I’m okay to move on. Sometimes I write multiple books simultaneously.
Any method you use to write the book, so long as it doesn’t hurt you or anyone else, is a perfectly valid method. If anyone tells you different, you send them to me.
(…god, I hope that was the question you were actually asking, Nonny, and that I didn’t go off on a completely different tangent when you just wanted to know how I keep track of a plot or something.)
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☄. *. ⋆ ┄ We Fight to Make Up
summary: after a run-in with your ex, steve's anger gets the best of him. sometimes you think he picks a fight just for the make up sex.
pairing: steve harrington / f!reader
word count: 7.6k
warnings: smut, steve calls himself daddy once, briefly mentioned breeding kink, a touch of angst, insecure!steve, also steve with scruff because that needs a warning too, 18+ mdni
a/n: ok i'm not the happiest with this but it's been sitting in my drafts for so long and she needs to see the world now so.. enjoy? <3
You don’t go out anymore. None of the party does, really.
Fighting through the end of the world and somehow surviving for three years straight made bars and clubs and getting drunk seem a little less important. It gets too easy to stay within the inner circle that’s seen the same sort of hell you’ve seen.
Eventually, time goes on and you don’t realize that you’ve only been around the same ten people until the thought of going to the grocery store alone sounds scary.
Fighting monsters, weathering alternate dimensions, beating up Russians soldiers — that’s cake. It’s the getting back to normal that’s so hard.
That's a bitter pill to swallow. None of you got to have too much of a childhood before the knowledge of a sentient darkness swirling beneath your feet turned everything upside down (no pun intended). A life with a regular routine unbound by the impending doom of an armageddon is hard to go back to, when fighting to stay alive is all you’ve ever done.
You try really hard, though. All of you do.
The kids try to find a nostalgic amusement in the arcade they used to frequent while grappling with the fact that they’ll never been those kids again. The older group of you dabbles in the simple pleasure of growing up and discovering what adulthood really means — getting drunk and going dancing just because you can, but facing the inevitable consequences of those actions all on your own.
The six of you find a certain solace at the Limelight. For Steve and Jonathan, they serve good beer — obviously cheap and unusually tangy on the tongue, but nice and cold nonetheless. For Eddie and Robin, there’s a karaoke machine and a stage across the bar, complete with every rock ballad imaginable. You and Nancy take special interest in the dance floor — a platform with light-up rainbow squares for all your drunken twirling needs.
It’s a nice place. More than that, it’s a familiar one. Eventually, going there every friday night is like comfort food in the belly, pleasant and warm. Steve feels safe there when he’s with all of you and tonight he’s especially fuzzy with a quiet sort of happiness that’s got his cheeks all pink.
Maybe the beer is partly to blame.
Or maybe it’s because you’ve got your hand tucked into the back pocket of his jeans, anchoring yourself to him and simultaneously fending off any unwanted attention from the scantily clad women around you who can't seem to take their eyes away from your Steve.
But he only watches you as you smile into your glass while Eddie Munson, all sweaty after his Madison Square Garden worthy rendition of Total Eclipse of the Heart, tells some stupidly unfunny joke. You’re pressed contently into his side, like you would melt into him if you could, and he’s buzzing with the comfort of your warmth and the chemically induced mellow from the drink in his cup.
It was a good night. An easy one. A fun one.
And then it just… wasn’t.
When your ex waltzes into the bar, he brings the cold air in with him and an unusual sophisticated energy that’s typically foreign to this side of town. He’s got on a gray corduroy blazer and slacks to match. The black turtle neck he wears beneath it clings to his lean torso and broad chest, like he wants people to marvel at how muscular he is.
You don’t even realize it’s him at first. You turn to Nancy to talk shit about the douchebag at your eight o’clock that just walked in while the guy settles at the far end of the bar, around the corner that faces the group of you. He removes the dark Ray-Bans from the straight bridge of his nose and uses them to push back his cinnamon-colored curls.
Steve feels you tense at his side then. You duck inside yourself and force him and Robin to form a makeshift shield around you.
It’s a tad too dramatic for two people who ended on pretty decent terms. It was about as amicable as a breakup can be — you were both seventeen and thankfully already mature enough to know that the relationship wasn’t bound to make it outside of high school. So you split up in search of more fulfilling things.
You found yours, in Steve and in the rest of the party. And by the looks of it — the obviously expensive suit and the silver Rolex glittering under the dim yellow bar light — he found his.
You aren’t exactly sure how, but he sees you.
Probably because Robin couldn’t stop ogling at him from over her shoulder, obviously not getting the hint to act casual and inevitably dragging his attention over to the group of you.
He’s confused by the attention at first and then beaming when he notices you. The man flashes a set of pearly whites beneath a plump pink grin, all but shoving through the crowded bar to come and meet you.
Steve is able to get a better look at him when he’s no more than a couple inches away. The guy wrenches you away from him to wrap you in a friendly embrace, smiling like a ray of a thousands suns while he laughs with a hearty mirth.
A childlike and terribly jealous scowl settles upon Steve's features as his stomach wrenches something fierce. This stranger is touching you, and he hates that he’s touching you, but it’s more than that.
Steve’s almost certain this is what he would look like if he hadn’t been through the end of the world. The ornate suit and sunglasses worth more than most people’s salaries could’ve been his. In another life, he could’ve been this pretty and perfect and pure.
But, instead, here he is — dressed in an aged Hawkins Tigers sweatshirt and hand-me-down jeans that are frayed at the hems. There are bits of dried blood on the knee that he can’t get out. He isn’t quite sure if it’s his or if it belongs to one of the three varying monsters he’s been face-to-face with over the years.
His hair is pushed back and visibly un-styled, fluffier than usual because it hasn’t been washed in a while. And only now does he notice the prickly layer of scruff itching at his jaw and above his lip because the effort to shave is just too much sometimes.
He wishes he had, though. Now, he wants to completely perfect his appearance and change his life entirely — all at the sight of some stranger he didn't know existed before now.
The man introduces himself to the rest of the group when he parts from you — Todd.
Because of coursehis name is Todd.
No one says that out loud, of course, but you do share pairs of knowing looks. Eddie’s the only one brave enough, or rather drunk enough, to take the piss out of the guy.
“Aren’t you a little overdressed for Limelight?” he asks before laughing into his beer.
The rhetorical question leads to the man, Todd, to start complaining about work — how he’s making more than he knows what to do with, that the lifestyle isn’t as lavish as everyone made it out to be, that work is his best friend most days because he doesn’t have time for real relationships anymore.
And it doesn’t sound braggy. This isn't some rich guy complaining about all the money he has. He’s genuine, and that’s somehow even worse.
Steve can tell he’s working for some big four accounting firm without him having to say it. He can practically smell it all over the guy. Todd’s just got that air about him, that he’s got an office on the fiftieth story with large glass windows that span from the floor to the ceiling. He’s making well into the six-figures if that’s the case. Just like his goddamn dad.
Just like he would be if the endless cycling of fighting hadn’t stripped him flesh from bone.
Steve forces himself to shove that thought to the back of his mind.
“You know I’ve actually been thinking about, you know, just dropping everything. Putting in my two weeks and fucking off to France,” Todd admits. His eyes sparkle like a pair of fucking diamonds when they lock in on you. “Like we always used to talk about.”
That was your dream. The kind of reverie that wasn’t at all practical or the least bit tangible, but the kind you fantasized about nonetheless.
And here this asshole goes, living it for the both of you.
You’re grinning at him anyway, patting him on the shoulder while you congratulate him. You tell him he should do it. That he deserves it.
Steve, meanwhile, is so angry he can feel the prickle of the red-hot rage on his skin, like so many little needles. It’s a simmering heat for now, all slow and lazy. The longer he holds it in, the more likely he is to pop into a full boil. He knows that. But he keeps the fire in his chest and wallows in that high-pitched ache.
Todd leaves not too long after. Makes it a point not to overstay his welcome. He’s polite when he goes, making sure to talk to all your friends even though he didn’t exactly come for them — he compliments Eddie’s leather jacket and Robin’s taste in style, Jonathan and Nancy are both blushing pink when he praises their work with the local paper. He says something to Steve he can’t quite register because he’s too busy fuming.
The brunette girl beside him is practically swooning, and he has to remind her — “Robin, you’re gay.”
The man was kind, terribly so, the sort of politeness you can’t help but notice and marvel at, like a pretty pebble you’ve found on the ground. He didn’t overstep any boundaries with you either, like he respected that you two were practically strangers now — fucking asshole — and whether or not he knew you were with Steve, he kept a chivalrous distance anyway.
He must’ve known, though, he did have eyes after all. There’s no way he missed the way Steve had been looming over you the whole time. Or the possessive arm he had around your shoulder. Or the stern chocolate gaze that had ping-ponged between you and him the entire conversation.
When he leaves, there’s nothing to talk shit about or make fun of him for. Not only is that really fucking annoying, but it’s boring, and it leaves you and Steve as the punching bags for all their stupid jokes.
“You certainly have a type, don’t ya, doll?” Eddie teases you as he reaches behind Nancy to shove at your shoulder. “Steve’s practically a carbon copy of that douchebag.”
“Holy shit, I can see it now,” Robin marvels breathlessly. Her deep ocean gaze is still locked on Todd across the bar. He’s minding his own business now, ordering another drink, while the rest of you can’t seem to stop talking about him. She turns back to Steve, her eyes flitting over his features like it’s the first time she’s seeing them while she puts the pieces of a puzzle together.
“But, Steve’s like the dollar store version of him, though, right?” she wonders rhetorically and then feels the need to explain herself when Steve furrows his brows at her. “—Because, you know… he’s a lot richer than you are…”
The boy rolls his and brings the beer back to his lips. The clarification makes it sting more.
“Thanks, Rob.”
Steve isn’t quite sure what’s got him seething. He’s the personification of a forest fire now — scorching, raging, and deadly — without a reason to be. It’s entirely likely you’ll never see Todd ever again. He lives in the city these days and he just told you that he was planning on moving to fucking France.
But these facts don’t mean as much to him when he knows that the guy isn’t totally over you.
Steve knows Todd would be more than happy to take you out for coffee tomorrow morning to tie up any left-behind loose ends. He’s a rich guy going through a quarter-life crisis (Steve knows a little about what that’s like, too), he’d be more than happy to sweep an old ex-girlfriend off her feet and take her all the way to France with him. She’d need only to ask him to.
Maybe that’s what angers him. There’s a man, all rich and pretty and unscathed by war, that might love you like he does.
The wildfire in his chest grows. It’s a wonder it hasn't seared a hole in the fabric of his sweatshirt. And it burns. It leaves aching blisters on his skin like it’s the real damn thing. It’s like punches to the face, worse than every time he’s ever been beaten up combined.
He manages to keep the ashes of himself together. It's the least he can do for the rest of you, who obviously aren’t as bothered by Todd’s lingering presence and have since moved on to things more meaningful.
It wouldn’t be fair to project his ache onto you.
You guys don’t get too many nights like this, with work and school and lingering bouts of PTSD — who’s he to ruin this night for everyone else when he’s the problem?
But if any of you notice his simmering anger, you don’t show it.
He isn’t sure if that makes him feel better or not.
Nancy and Jonathan stay no longer than fifteen minutes after the fact. “We’ve got an early day tomorrow,” the say with a shrug, though everyone knows what that’s code for. Robin makes kissing noises at them as they make their exit.
Now, the brunette girl stands in front of the stage that Eddie parades on. He belts “If you only hold me tight, we’ll be holding on forever!” into the microphone for the hundredth time. She cheers for the boy like it’s the first time she’s ever heard the stupid song.
The bartender hands you two drinks, a couple of Sex on the Beach’s for you and Robin to try.
She hadn’t stopped talking about it since she spotted it on the menu even though she hates peach schnapps. You tell Steve you’re going to run it to her and that you bet she won’t make it through one sip without gagging. You also promise that you’ll try and pull Eddie away from the stage when the Bonnie Tyler song fades and then inevitably loops again.
He only nods and mumbles a vague affirmative under his breath. He doesn’t even look at you. Just stares down at his empty glass of beer and draws patterns on the cloudy cup with his finger.
It’s hard not to notice his uncharacteristically long silence.
He hasn’t been King Steve for quite some time, but that version of him always manages to peek out after a couple of drinks. He gets loud and brash and smiley and stupid. It makes the quiet demeanor he possesses now that much more daunting. Like a flag he’s waving to make sure everyone else knows that he’s upset about something or other.
Eventually, it makes you burst.
“Is something wrong?” you blurt.
He finally glances at you then. And has the gall to look confused. “What?”
“I don’t know,” you shrug. You shift your weight on your feet and try to ignore the distant stinging of the ice glasses in your hand, how the cold of them shoots pins and needles into your palms. “You’re just… being really quiet.”
“I’m fine,” he dismisses with a shrug of his own. A hint of a smile flashes at the very corner of his mouth before he brings his drink to his lips. He swallows down the rest of it in one quick gulp. You watch anxiously as he waves to the bartender for another.
“We can go home if you want—”
“Jesus, I’m fine,” he interjects. The laugh that spills from his throat borders on annoyance. “Just go get the freak before he drives me crazy.”
With that, the two of you part ways. You, with the knowledge that something’s wrong with your boyfriend but having no way to make it better because he won’t tell you anything. And Steve, with another irrational reason to be angry at the world because how do you not get it?
If his ex-girlfriend showed up to a bar, looking like an airbrushed model with more money than all of you combined who’s got brains and wit and humility, he’d want you to get a little fucking jealous too.
It’s stupid. He knows it’s stupid. But he chooses to wallow in his anger than reflect on it, anyway. He takes pity on himself and makes everyone else out to be the enemy. Like he does best.
Even hours later, when he’s sobering up with room temperature water and a bowl of pretzels — and you’re calling a cab for a significantly drunker Eddie and Robin — he still feels the sting.
He makes sure you know it too.
The drive back home is uncomfortably quiet, which wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if he at least had the radio on. But when he stuck the key into the ignition and music started blaring from the speakers (because he forget to turn it down beforehand), he turns it off completely. You feel to awkward to touch it.
“Do you, uh… Do you wanna talk about it now?” you ask him.
You’re unfamiliarly timid with him as you peer at him through your lashes. It’s like you’re looking at the sun, the way you have to glance at him from the corner of your eye so he won’t blind you. And it isn’t because of his usually sunny disposition because, somewhere along the course of the night, his shine got snuffed out. It’s because he’s practically lit himself on fire with his anger where he sits next to you.
And he still has the nerve to shake his head. “Talk about what? I told you, there’s nothing wrong,” he dismisses with one hand in a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel and the other resting its elbow against the driver’s side door while his fingers pick anxiously at his lower lip. Nothing wrong, my ass.
“Are we seriously gonna play that game tonight?”
“What game?” he scoffs out a laugh.
“The game here you’re upset about something, but refuse to tell me why, so I have to guess what’s wrong with you until I get it right and you let me make it better.”
Steve glances at you and then back to the road. “I… I don’t do that.”
Oh, fuck, he totally does, he thinks to himself. Fuck, he hates that you know him so well.
“You’re literally doing it right now.”
“Well, I can’t be. Because I’m not upset about anything,” he argues with a shrug. “That’s, like, a mathematical impossibility. Or whatever.”
“Considering this is the most you’ve said to me all night, I know that isn’t true— And it’s not even a conversation! You’re just being passive aggressive!”
“Passive aggressive, huh?” he repeats sardonically.
“Yes!” you seethe. “You’re mad at me and I can tell that you’re mad, so just tell me why—”
“I’m not mad at you,” Steve grumbles. He feels even more like shit for making you think he was acting all pissy because of something you had done. You hadn’t done anything. You were perfect. You’re always perfect. And here he goes, making you think otherwise.
He slows to a stop at the last red-light before home. The neon scarlet matches that anger sweltering in his belly. He still refuses to look at you.
“Then what happened between when we got to Limelight and right now that’s got you so fucked up?” you ask him with a furrowed brow and inquisitive eyes.
The boy only huffs. His chest deflates with a heavy breath. He almost forgets to answer you because he’s too busy praying for the light to turn green so he can get the fuck home.
He just needs a little food in his system, he concludes, and a nice hot shower and a bed to rest his tired bones. Maybe then he’ll be able to function like he’s meant to.
He feels a sense of relief for the first time in hours when the light bathes the two of you in a neon emerald glow.
You let out a sharp exhale through your nose at his silence. You shake your head at him like an annoyed parent and cross your arms over your chest. Your knees turn away from him and towards the door in time with your gaze that flits to the window. Now you’re the one that’s pissed.
Steve mumbles lowly when he finally answers you. It’s nearly inaudible.
“Your douchebag ex.”
“What?” you reply, sparing a glance over at him. It isn’t a question of whether you heard him or not, but of why that’s what he’s being so mean to you about.
“Your douchebag ex,” he repeats louder and picks chapped skin from his bottom lip. He rubs his tongue over the irritated skin to soothe the burn. “That’s what I’m upset about.”
Your brows furrow as you rack your head for the conversation you had with Todd that you’d already forgotten about. He’d said hello, and that you looked nice, and then asked you what you’d been up to before making conversation with your friends. He’d wished you luck and walked back to his seat not too long after. You wonder if there was some code in his words that you’d missed.
“…I don’t get it. What did he do?”
“Really?” Steve wonders with an emotionless laugh. “You don’t have a single clue why that might’ve pissed me off?”
He barely slows at the sign of the four-way stop. The block is practically a ghost town now. No one’s out so late into the night. Any other time you might’ve said something about it, but you’re just as eager to get home as the simmering boy next to you.
“No! He stopped by to talk for, like, five minutes! Are you really upset because another man talked to me?” you shout and it burns him because, yeah, that is kind of what he’s mad about — but it’s more than that and you don’t seem to get it. It’s not your job to either. He’ll just burn for the both of you.
The car jerks to a stop when he parks in the driveway.
“Yeah, you’re right—” Steve mutters to himself as he snatches the keys from the ignition. “You don’t get it.”
You feel the impact of the slammed of the car door as he exits. The headlights illuminate the boy as he uses his key ring to unlock the front entrance of your shared home. The dim orange overhead light slowly dims above you and then shuts off completely, bathing you in darkness.
With a sigh and a fleeting thought of oh, it’s gonna be that kinda night, huh? you follow less unenthusiastically behind him.
“Then just explain it to me,” you plead, your voice coated with exhaustion. The warmth of the living room seeps into your bones and makes you that much more tired. “I really, really don’t wanna do this tonight.”
“That asshole was all over you,” Steve finally chooses to air his grievances while he toes off his sneakers.
“He hugged me once! What was I supposed to do? Push him off?”
“That’d be a start.”
“I would’ve done it!” you promise.
He plops onto the couch with a rather dramatic huff as you struggle to take off your boots, what with the zipper getting caught in the slider and being distracted by the storm cloud across the room.
“I don’t care about him! I literally haven’t seen him since I was eighteen! I basically forgot he existed in the first place.”
Steve doesn’t let himself take any solace in your words.
“I don’t know,” he murmurs with the shake of his head. He rests his elbows on his knees, runs his palms over his face once before dragging his fingers through his mussed hair. “Sometimes… I don’t know, I guess, sometimes it feels like maybe you deserve someone better than me.”
His confession feels like a stab in your heart.
You can only imagine how many daggers are piercing him now.
“Steve…”
“No. Don’t give me that bullshit spiel, alright?” he spurns with a shake of his stubborn head. When he laughs, it lacks any and all emotion; it’s gut-wrenchingly bitter and coated with venom. “We both know he could take way better care of you than I ever could. He’s practically a fucking millionaire, babe! And he’s, what, twenty-five? He has the money to drop everything and fly across the world— to France.”
“Steve—” you try again, to stop the spiral before it starts.
He doesn’t let you.
“I mean, fuck, I know how bad you wanna go there. You’ve been talking about it since we were eight,” he laments with wide, glassy eyes and an hand splayed out towards you. He brings it, then, to his chest and clutches at his heart, “But I can’t take you. Because I’m so broke, it fucking hurts. You deserve someone to do that shit for you, alright? And it’s not me. It’s never gonna be me.”
“…You really think he can take better care of me than you do?” you ask him so quietly that it sounds like a whimper. Your face is twisted in anguish, like his sadness pains you too.
“Well, yeah,” he chuckles like the answer’s obvious. He sniffles. “Considering we’re working our asses off just to make it through the week and you’d never have to work a day in your life if you were with that asshole.”
“It’s not about the money, Steve,” you agonize with the shake of your head. “I don’t love him. I would be so unhappy if I were with him because he’s not you. I don’t give a single fuck about France if you’re not gonna be there with me.”
You close the distance between you as you walk from the entrance to where he sits in the living room. He can hardly look at you as you round the couch to stand ahead of him, sparing only meek glances your way.
The small smile on your lips only half puts out the fire raging in his chest. It’s one of those natural wildfires now. The kind that you’ve just got to let burn.
“What do I have to do, Steve? What do you want me to do to prove that I just want you?” you ask him softly, nudging your sock-clad foot with his own. “I’ll fucking— I’ll find his number in the phone book right now and invite him over if you want—”
Yeah, because seeing him again is gonna make any of this shit better, he thinks bitterly to himself, though he’s pleasantly surprised by your following promise.
“I’ll make him come over here, act like I wanna catch up or whatever, and then make him watch while I suck your cock,” you paint the picture for him in a suddenly low, sultry tone.
Steve can almost see it — the look on Todd’s face as he stands in the foyer, his hands balled into fists at his side, wearing an angry amber tint upon his perfect face while he watches the girl that got away take a mouthful of another man’s dick. “I’ll get all nice and pretty on my knees for you and make him watch.”
Steve tenses at your words. His fingers twitch where they rests on his knees, itching to get a hold of you. His eyes go heavy as he gazes up at you, his stern stare looking much darker than before — hungrier.
Your eyes carry a similar sort of desire. They swim with innocence and yearning and knowing.
Because both of you understand how your fights usually end. You’ve been together long enough to know. The anger grows and grows in the belly of a dragon until it’s all you can do to keep your hands off of each other. You make Steve come so hard he forgets all the reasons he was raging in the first place and then he apologizes with his tongue deep inside you, touching you in all the tender ways he knows how.
“Yeah,” he breathes with a nod, the word heavy on his tongue. “That’s what I want.”
“You wanna own me, don’t you, Stevie?” you purr.
Your movements are calculated and cat-like as you mount him. Your hands caress him from his knees to his thighs, then rise up to his chest when you straddle his lap. “You wanna fuck me and make me forget about every guy that’s ever had me before you. Is that it?”
He nods, too dumb to speak for now. Your voice is all silk and heat. It reminds him of your wet, hot pussy sitting just over his lap. Only the thin layers of your clothes separate you from him.
“You wanna ruin everyone else for me, huh?”
“Fuck, yes,” he breathes, both in an answer and a moan as your hand reaches between you to grab his cock through his jeans.
“You already have,” you assure with a sincere twinkle in your eyes. “But feel free to remind me.”
When your mouths collide, it’s all tongue and teeth and spit. It’s not passionate, it’s dirty.
His tongue forces its way between your lips and into your mouth, rubbing every part of you he can reach with the muscle, like he wants you to feel all of him there — a lingering touch that you can’t get rid of.
Your mouths caress each other and then break apart again in acute, wet, and filthy clicks that fill the silence in the house.
His stubble softly scratches you as it rubs against your skin. The feeling of it sends chills down your spine. Fuck, you curse to yourself. It’d feel even better between your legs.
Steve separates from you suddenly, his teeth digging into your bottom lip. A whimper leaves your throat as he mouths at it. With hooded eyes, he lets it go and watches it fall back into place. Then he grabs your cheeks with two large palms and drags you back to him, sucking on the bitten skin and then on your tongue.
The sensation’s got you moaning, your eyes rolling back in your head, and he hasn’t even touched you yet.
Your obedient hands worm between your bodies to unbuckle his belt.
“You gonna be good for me?” Steve asks you while your fingers undo that button on his pants. His lips are pinker and more swollen, coated with a fine sheen of spit that matches what's smeared on his chin.
“I’ll be so good for you, Stevie,” you promise before reaching through the band of his underwear to wrap your fingers around his warm, half-hard cock.
A grunt escapes his throat as he slides your panties to the side. He’s suddenly grateful for the easy access granted by your dress — the one that makes your tits look like heaven, the one he was cursing just hours because it had Todd drooling all over himself when he saw you.
The thought of the man no longer angers him. He’s not the one with his finger between the lips of your pussy, already drenched and coated with you.
“Yeah? You want daddy to fill your hungry little cunt?” Steve asks you, almost taunting you. He only uses that nickname when he’s in a certain mood — the mood to ruin you.
The tip of his finger catches the peak of your swollen clit and you keen.
His touch makes you so stupid that you’ve already forgotten to answer his question. He makes sure to remind you, though, when his hand rears back and smacks against the bare flesh of your cunt.
You hear the wet slap before you feel it.
It makes you clench around nothing and moan louder for him, pressing yourself closer to him.
“Words,”he demands softly.
“Please,” you moan helplessly into his shoulder. You love when he gets like this, assertive and showy with the power you let him have over you. He gets mean with you, but never too much that you forget how much he loves you, and that’s when you like him best.
His finger slips so effortlessly into you. You could easily take more than that with the way your pussy is so eager to suck him inside. He knows it, too. He just wants to tease you.
He wants to leave you empty and yearning before he fucks you silly. For now, he’s taunting you with his slow and clinical touch, observing everything he’s doing to you and how it has you twitching and begging for more.
He wants to commit it all to memory.
He’s barely got the tip of his pointer and middle finger prodding at your clenching entrance; it’s your pussy that drags them further in, opening for him and then tightening around the appendages so they’ll never leave. The obscenity of it makes both of you moan.
“God, you’re so fucking pretty like this,” Steve mutters to himself. “And so fucking wet— enough for me to slip right in, don’t ya think?”
You’re not so sure but you nod into his shoulder anyway. Even after all this time together, you can’t quite get used to how big he is. He still has to work you up to take his cock, with three or more fingers shoved inside of you until you’re ready. Even then, it still burns for the first couple of seconds. There’s always a grace period that you have to wait for before he can move.
And you feel the ache of him in your belly after, every damn time. Like he’s still there.
But you’re so wet now, impossibly so, you don’t think you could feel a thing other than pure bliss when he nestles his cock deep inside of you.
You whine quietly when he pulls his fingers from you, though it turns into a breathy moan when you see them glisten with your wetness. He slides them over his length, jerking himself to lube himself up for you. Just for good measure, he grabs hold of his cock and rubs the rounded tip between your velvet lips, coating it further with your slick.
“Think there’s enough for me to take your ass tonight, baby?” he asks over your low moan. He has to hold back his own, grit his teeth to keep it from leaving his mouth. God, you feel exactly like silk. “You want me to fuck that tight little hole, huh? You’ve only let me in there, right?”
“Uh-huh,” you answer tightly.
He doesn’t know which question you’re answering. Probably all three. Or maybe you’re just moaning because he’s got you all stupid with his cock and it’s not even inside of you yet. Both seems most likely.
Steve positions himself against you. When you feel the bulbous tip of his head, you hardly wait to slide down, down, down upon his cock.
It doesn’t take long for you to feel full. It takes less time before he reaches the apparent end of you. The feeling makes you jolt against him, like your body’s trying to move back up and away from the sensation on instinct. He’s quick to grab your hips to keep himself inside you.
“Uh-uh,” he hums. “Don’t run away from me.”
“Fuck,” you moan into his shoulder and then whine. The pleasure and the accompanying ache has your head spinning. “You’re already so deep.”
“I know, baby. You gotta take all of me, though, okay? Said you were gonna me by good girl, remember?”
His coo is enough to comfort you. You nod against his neck and let him guide you further and further down his cock.
You grit your teeth when you think he can’t possibly fill you anymore. The burn peaks all at once and ebbs so quickly, letting the rest of his inches slide in you with ease. And, god, if you don’t feel him in your fucking throat.
He stills, thankfully, and lets you get used to the feeling of him all over again.
“There you go,” Steve praises like he always does and then laughs at how rigid you’ve gone. “Breathe, baby.”
The exhale comes out as a sob and a small “fuck”, but you force yourself to relax against him nonetheless. His warm hands rub soothingly against the buzzing skin of your thighs beneath the skirt of your dress. “Doing so good for me, baby.”
“I can feel you in my fucking guts right now,” you slur, voice fragile like glass.
Your words are almost enough to make him burst and you haven’t even moved yet. A deep, hearty groan climbs from his throat. He tips his heavy head to the back of the couch and clenches his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut to stave off the feeling.
He makes himself climb down from the peak of pleasure and quickly gain his bearings all over again.
“Ride me, honey,” he whispers you.
Immediately, you start rocking your hips against him. His sigh is blissful, almost dreamy, as he watches you work yourself on top of him.
You’re always so patient with your pleasure, so calculated and attentive. You slide your hips back over his thighs and then up again, moaning every time the material of his sweatshirt rubs against your clit. You’re not chasing the feeling, you’re letting it come slowly and ease its way up to you. You know you’ve got all the time in the world.
Steve has always admired your patience, but it’s never one he could hope to possess. He rides toward an orgasm on a white mare. He claims it, he hunts it, he snatches it. Because, you’re right, you’ve got all the time in the world — he wants you to come as many times as the night (or, rather, your pussy) will allow.
So it isn’t at all surprising when gets impatient with your slow movements. And when one hand falls to your ass and the other slides up your back and clutches the opposite shoulder, you know what you’re in for.
Even though you’re expecting it, a high-pitched moan spills from your mouth when he starts fucking up into you. He’s doing a whole lot more than just hitting the right spot. The rubbing of the fabric is unrelenting against your clit.
You’re always done for when he takes you like this. Both of you know it.
“You already close, aren’t you?” he manages through heavy pants over the lewd slapping of his thighs against your own. “This is all it takes, huh?”
“’S because of you,” you slur into the sticky skin of his neck.
“Yeah?”
“Yes,” you moan.
He can feel himself getting closer and he groans through gritted teeth. The hand on your shoulder ascends to the back of your head. His fingers tangle in your hair and pull you from the refuge you’d found in the book of his shoulder. It allows him to see you for the first time since you’d mounted his cock.
Your cheeks are blotchy and glowing cherry. Your eyes are glassy and glazed over with pleasure. Your lips swollen from where you’d been biting at them.
Perfect, he thinks to himself.
He drags that hand to your chest, wrenching at the plunging neck and pushing it down to reveal your tits. They bound out of the fabric with ease, a small red and raw line at the tops of them from where the dress had kept them so tightly contained.
He palms at your left breast, digs his fingers into the fat of it and lets your hard and pebbled nipple rub against his palm.
“Fuck, baby,” he almost whines. It takes all of his willpower to keep his eyes open to look at them. “You’ve got the prettiest fucking tits I’ve ever seen.”
“That’s why I wore this— wanted your attention—” you confess through each of his thrusts.
“Yeah, you got my fucking attention, sweetheart,” he manages a breathy laugh.
His heart swells at the thought of you picking this dress because you thought he might like it. That you’d think of him doing something as mundane as picking what you wore out to the bar you went to every Friday night.
It gets too easy to want to slip into that softness. But he knows that you’re already close. So, so fucking close.
“Now come all over my cock for me, yeah?” he demands softly. “Cream on this dick and show me how good you are.”
And, like the good girl you are, don’t need to be told twice.
You shudder against him and then go rigid. He watches with a proud, lazy grin as you tip your head back, squeeze your eyes shut, and let your mouth fall agape. The feeling in your stomach builds and builds and builds, the pleasure disappearing for a moment, before coming back in an explosion that makes you gush.
As though your moans weren’t enough of a confirmation of your orgasm, you go so unmistakably tight around him that it makes his legs twitch beneath you. He angles his hips so he can peek between the two of you to watch the sheen of your cum glisten on his hard cock.
“God, you’re so fucking sensitive like this— holy shit.”
“Steve!” you whine when your high starts to fade and his thrusts only quicken.
He's chasing his own pleasure now, you know that, but the feeling against your abused pussy is growing into a nearly unbearable one.
You bite your lip so hard it’s a wonder you don’t draw any blood. You grip his shoulders and ball his sweatshirt in your fist, tethering yourself to him and to reality.
“Who’s making you feel this good, huh?” he asks with his chin jutted out to look up at you. “Who else can fuck you like this?”
You can tell by his glassy eyes and erratic thrusts that he’s close to his own orgasm. He always wants you to talk him through it, to praise him and to tell him how good he makes you feel. For obvious reason, the whole thing comes terribly natural to you.
“Only you,” you promise tiredly. “’S just you, Stevie—”
“Fuck,” he spits and tilts his head to the back of the couch. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and brings his bottom lip between his teeth, never easing his impossibly swift thrusts.
“Want you to come in me,” you whisper to him. You rest your arms on his shoulders and drag your fingers through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp and pulling every time he lets a moan slip. “Want you to come so deep inside me— I’m dripping for days—”
“Shit, baby.”
“And then, when I’m all round and full with your baby— everyone’s gonna know who I belong to, right?”
“Fuck yes,” he groans. “Gonna come so— fuck— so nice and deep in this pussy. My pussy.”
“Please,” you beg, like you aren’t half-delirious with your own pleasure. “Come in your pussy, Stevie.”
“Holy shit—” His cock pulses and twitches and then spits inside you. He grabs onto your hips more roughly than he intended and keeps you tightly pressed against him while he comes, giving you several long and warm ropes against your velvet walls. He whimpers when your pussy flutters around him.
You collapse against him when his orgasm comes and goes, rocking against his lap to get him through his high until he stops you with a firm squeeze to your thigh. You both sink further into the couch, swimming in the peaceful void that pleasure always pushes you into.
He rubs his hands beneath the skirt of your dress, petting your warm and sticky skin as the after-sex bliss rest heavily upon the both of you.
“Here,” he breaks the satin silence and taps at your hip. “Get off, baby. Let me get you some water or something—”
He feels you shake your head from where you’ve tucked it in his shoulder again. “Don’t wanna move. Want you to stay inside me.”
“Yeah?”
You’ve never done this before — cockwarming. He’s not sure if you have before, but he definitely hasn’t, and certainly not with you.
Before you, he was the kind of asshole that went to sleep right after sex. The thought of staying inside his partner never crossed his mind. But to his defense, none of his partners thought to do it either. Being King Steve and all meant there wasn’t a lot of cuddling going on after sex. It was usually one-and-done affairs, but he never did this with any of his girlfriends before either.
And now that he’s matured into a somewhat respectable adult, he takes great pride in taking care of you after, in cleaning you up and making sure you’re alright. And when you’re either falling asleep or wanting to shower, there’s no room to be kept inside you. Not until now.
“Wanna fall asleep like this,” you confess. The way you’re halfway slurring and settling more heavily against him tells him you’re not too far off.
“That’s not gonna be comfortable for you, baby,” he scolds softly. Because him — he’s perfect like this. He’s slouched in the plush cushion of the couch and you’re wrapped so tightly around him (in every possible way) you've become his own personal blanket.
But your back is hunched from where your neck is snug and pressed into his shoulder. You’ll likely wake up aching tomorrow, in more ways than one.
“Don’t care,” you mumble and sprinkle kisses to his neck, just because you can. “Wanna stay like this forever.”
“Forever?” he laughs tiredly.
“Uh-huh,” you nod. You shift on his lap to look at him, exhaling a moan through your nose when you feel him twitch inside of you, even though he’s going steadily soft. Your gaze is innocent and yearning and knowing — hungry again. “Think you can take that, Harrington?”
“Yeah, sweetheart,” he promises with a sincere twinkle in his cinnamon colored eyes. “I can take it.”
#steve harrington x reader#stranger things x reader#steve harrington smut#steve harrington imagine#stranger things imagine#steve harrington angst#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington#stranger things#stevie oneshot#published by bug#st oneshots
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still bejeweled
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
word count: ~4.4k
summary: after breaking up with your boyfriend, your self-esteem is crushed. your best friend takes you to your favorite bar to take your mind off of things. there's a band is playing there tonight and the singer immediately catches your eye. inspired by taylor swift's bejeweled – and when i meet the band, they ask, 'do you have a man?', i could still say, 'i don't remember'
tags/warnings: explicit smut, only 18+, no/pre-outbreak au, no sarah, musician!joel, small age gap (reader is in her late 20s, joel's in his mid 30s), alcohol consumption, joel pulls her hair, able-bodied reader, a bit of angst, fluff, making out, fingering, dirty talk (joel talks you through it, i just know it), praise kink, unprotected p in v (i just didn't feel like mentioning it, this is my fantasy world where pregnancies & sti's don't exist, but they very much exist in the real world, don't do this), joel has a big dick (it's canon), consent king joel, rough sex, ass-slapping, hair-pulling, please let me know if i missed anything!
a/n: this came to me while making breakfast and listening to taylor, and didn't want to leave my head again. pretty self indulgent, i'm fairly certain that a musician!joel in my life would fix me. also, to boyfriends everywhere: fuck you <3
• dividers by the lovely @saradika!
• find my full masterlist here!
You storm out of the apartment, fighting back the tears that are threatening to spill over. This is it for good, you tell yourself. It's not the first fight of the sort that you and your boyfriend Max – now ex-boyfriend, you guess – have gotten into, with you usually backing down eventually, to keep the peace between the two of you. You've been together for more than three years, and you had hoped that this might be the one – the guy that you can settle down with, the one that you've been waiting for.
But over the past few months, Max has gotten more distant, less involved in the relationship, less interested in you, making you feel like you're burdening him, like you're always asking for too much. Like you are too much. You had asked several times if something was bothering him, something that you could work through together. Everything's fine babe, I don't know why you're even asking. Stop getting on my nerves with this.
You scoff to yourself. Usually, this was the point where you would step back from the argument, not willing to invest energy in a fight that wouldn't lead to anything anyway. Maybe things weren't perfect with Max, but they were what you knew. Familiar, comfortable. Better than being alone. Maybe not the big love that books and movies told you about, but who knows if that sort of thing even exists.
But today, when he just wouldn't give a shit about anything you said, something inside of you had snapped. “I feel like you don't even love me anymore. Do you?!” you had demanded, and the look on his face had told you everything that you needed to know.
That's how you find yourself on the street in front of your best friend's place, the short walk having somewhat cleared your head. Who does Max even think he is? It's not too much to ask to care about your partner, to show interest in them, to support them, is it? And he hasn't done any of that in quite some time.
All things considered, he just wasn't that great of a boyfriend. Still, you can't help feeling sad about it. Another relationship failed, another guy that just didn't deem you as good enough to pay attention to you. Maybe you're just not that interesting, a voice in your head whispers. You sniffle and shake your head, willing the thought out of your mind.
Your best friend Amanda greets you at her door, immediately clocking your slumped shoulders and reddened eyes, and hugs you tightly while leading you into her living room. Her concern for you elicits another wave of tears and you shakily recap today's events to her. She listens patiently, thankfully not telling you that you're better off without him or something like that, because even though you know that yourself, you don't think you could bear someone else saying it.
“I just can't believe that I'm single again and need to start over once more and I just-,” you bite your lip, willing away the tears that are pooling in your eyes, “I just feel like I'm not enough, like I can't keep a guy or I'm too picky, I don't know. It's just so frustrating, I don't wanna end up alone.”
Amanda's expression softens and she pulls you into her arms again. “You're not gonna end up alone, I promise you. You're funny and smart and,” she looks you up and down, “fucking hot. But you can't settle for less just because you're scared of ending up alone, okay? You're gonna find the guy that's right for you and then it will all make sense. Promise.”
You sigh, not sure if you believe her but also not in the mood to argue. After more talking, during which she eventually slips a glass of wine into your hand, Amanda decides that the two of you should go out tonight. Blow off some steam, show the world and yourself that you've still got it, as she puts it. You're honestly not sure if you've ever had it to begin with, but you let her enthusiasm wash over you, playing along as she insists that you wear one of her skimpiest dresses and starts doing your make up. You feel a little self-conscious with the tiny black dress that she has put you in and the dramatic red lipstick that she's currently applying to your lips.
“Don't look at me like that. You look so good and you'd know that if that fucker hadn't made you feel like you didn't for the past few months. But you've been too good of a girl for far too long now, and we're gonna change that tonight. Deal?” She expectantly holds her hand out for you to shake and you feel the excitement starting to bubble up in you. Maybe she's right and you do need to let go of your insecurities tonight. You shake her hand and she laughs delightedly, causing you to giggle as well.
Amanda finally declares that you're good to go, digging a sparkly handbag that's covered in tiny silvery jewels out of her closet. That one's actually yours, but you had left it at her place a few weeks ago after Max had told you how it was just too much and how you looked ridiculous with it. You had let it slide, thinking that it wasn't worth it to ruin the evening by fighting over a stupid handbag. What was wrong with you, you think to yourself now.
You look at yourself in her full-length mirror and you have to agree, you do look good. The short dress leaves most of your thighs bare, hugging your curves in all the right ways and the lipstick looks amazing, drawing the focus to the shape of your mouth. You do polish up real nice.
Amanda's boyfriend Patricks whistles appreciatively when you both exit from the bedroom and wishes you loads of fun. That's what a boyfriend should be like, you think to yourself. Supportive, loving, and just... kind?
Amanda drags you to one of your favorite bars. You've been here countless times together; usually it's a good crowd and the drinks are cheap. It's live music night, you realize as you walk in and notice the small stage at the far end of the room, which also explains why it's more crowded than usual. You push through a few people and manage to find two seats at the bar, from where you can watch the stage and hear the music, but it isn't too loud to talk.
The bartender comes up to you and Amanda orders tequila shots before you can even open your mouth. “I would've stuck to wine,” you complain to her and she shrugs, a big grin on her our face.
“That wouldn't be half as fun. We're going all out tonight, remember?”
You roll your eyes and nod, but when you down the first shot and bite down on the lime, you can't help the laugh that bubbles up in your throat. “That's my girl!” Amanda giggles and promptly orders another round. After two more shots and feeling the tingling warmth that's spreading through your body, you let your eyes wander around the room until they find the stage.
It's mostly local bands that play here, some better than others, and tonight's isn't half bad. It's four guys, a little older than you, mid-thirties if you had to guess, and their music has an acoustic, country-ish vibe to it. Your eyes linger on the man in the front, who is softly singing into the microphone while strumming along on his guitar.
He's kinda hot, you muse to yourself, gaze trained on the way his muscles are softly flexing while he's plucking on the guitar strings with his large hands, the sleeves of his dark t-shirt straining against his arms. His deep voice is washing over you, reminding you of whiskey and honey, and you squint a little to take a closer look at his face. He has a strong jaw and pouty lips, and dark, expressive eyes that gaze into the room while he's singing. You can't explain it, but something about him just feels... warm. Like he's safe. Kind.
He has a scruffy beard and messy curls, giving him a sort of rugged look, that, combined with his incredibly broad shoulders, has you biting your lip subconsciously. How easily he could cage you in, how big and warm his hands would feel on your body...
Damn, he's really hot. And you really feel the tequila talking right now.
Amanda's fingers appear in your field of vision, snapping impatiently and you turn back to her, heat crawling up your cheeks. You might have been staring a bit too obviously. “Which one?” she grins.
“Huh?” you ask, rather poorly feigning innocence.
“Oh, come on! Okay, I'll guess,” she continues on, not giving you a chance to even try to deny anything, “it's the singer, right?”
“I-,” you start, but the look on her face tells you that it's already a lost cause, “yeah.”
She laughs delightedly and gestures to the bartender for another round of shots. “Oh, I don't think-,” you try to object, but she shushes you.
“I won't rest until you've made a move on that guy, good choice dare I say, and live a little. So drink up!” She toasts to you and you can't help laughing yourself before you tip your head back and swallow the burning alcohol in one go.
You steal another glance towards the stage – maybe a rather extended glance in all honesty – and catch the singer's eye. He holds your gaze for a few seconds, then he lets his eyes wander around the room, before returning to you, his lips curling into a knowing smirk when you're still looking at him.
You hastily tear yourself away, leaning into Amanda in an attempt of hiding how flustered you're suddenly feeling. “That was fucking hot,” she breathes into your ear.
“I know,” you whisper back urgently. Then the insecurity kicks back in. “Do you think he really meant me? I mean, we're all the way in the back here, I bet he can barely see-”
Amanda swats at your arm, shaking her head. “Please, he totally meant you. You're gonna talk to him later, you hear me?”
You groan, “Oh my god,” and lean into her further. “I'm not cut out for all this, I wouldn't even know what to say.” She tsks at you and orders another round of drinks, not taking No for an answer.
You loosen up a little over time, throwing a few more glances towards the stage and delight in the way he always seems to just wait for you to look at him. When you've made eye contact several times, he winks at you and you can't help but giggle, a kind of warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the alcohol. A wide grin stretches across his face as he announces the last song for the night. You give up all pretenses, your eyes basically glued to him until he strums his guitar one last time, then thanks the audience and joins his bandmates as they wander off the stage.
The bands usually pack up, then join the bar's patrons for a few beers. You try not to appear totally desperate and refrain from staring at the door that leads backstage, instead busying yourself with your drink and listening to Amanda, when you feel someone sliding to the bar counter behind you and a hand lands to rest on your shoulder. A very big, very warm hand, you come to notice, before a deep, honeyed voice floats into your ear, causing you to turn around.
“Hi. Can I buy you a drink?”
He seems even bigger up close, and even more handsome, and your lips part slightly, taking him in. You take a beat too long to answer, just sinking into his deep brown eyes, and a grin slowly spreads across his face. “I'm Joel, by the way.” He extends a hand for you to shake and you blink, shaking yourself out of your staring, quickly taking his hand and offering your own name.
His hand dwarfs yours, enveloping it in his warmth and you feel yourself blush. This is the moment, you tell yourself. “I'd love a drink,” you smile at him and he flags down the bartender to take your order. You steal a glance at Amanda, who's nodding enthusiastically.
“So...” Joel drawls when you have your drink, still standing so close to you that you're almost touching, with a smirk playing around the corner of his mouth, “do you have a man, or-?”
Your thoughts briefly flicker to Max, but you find that you can barely remember how devastated you felt mere hours ago, that you can hardly recall his face right now. “No... no, I don't.”
“She most certainly does not, she's all yours,” Amanda chimes in, leaning around you and beaming at Joel.
You can't help but giggle at the entire situation, pleasantly buzzing with both the alcohol in your system and the feeling of having Joel in your direct proximity, and finding him more attractive with every minute that you look at him.
“I really liked your performance,” you tell him and his grin widens.
“Yeah? I could tell, sweetheart.” You laugh; the pet name has your heart soaring in your chest, but you feel completely relaxed with him, not awkward, not desperate to please him or keep his interest. You just feel... good. Really, really good.
Talking to him is easy. He makes you laugh, makes you feel comfortable, and your cheeks almost hurt from smiling so much, but you can't stop. He's constantly touching you, his hand lingering on your shoulder, your arm, sliding down to your waist, and leaving goosebumps in its wake.
When he pulls at your hips to pull you off your bar stool, you quickly follow his lead, letting him sway you around to the music that's now playing from the juke box, giggling the entire time. You feel like a teenager, but you couldn't care less. You're tipsy, you're happy, the easily most attractive man that you've ever met seems to be more than interested in you – you feel amazing.
Joel's hand comes up to cup your face, his calloused fingertips brushing over your cheek and you lean into his touch. His eyes flick down to your lips and your breath stutters in your chest. Your arms wrap around his neck at the same time that he leans in until his mouth meets yours, your lips eagerly opening against his.
A pleased hum is rumbling up in his chest and both of his hands grab at your hips, pulling your body flush against him as his tongue licks into your mouth. Your hands burrow into the messy curls at his neck and you all but whimper against his lips. You feel his mouth curl into a smile before he pulls away, the look in his eyes a little dazed, mirroring your own.
“You you wanna come home with me?” he asks quietly, “I live right around the corner.”
There's no need to even think about it, you want this man desperately. You quickly check on Amanda, who waves you off with a shit-eating grin and some rather crude words of encouragement.
You swing your glittery purse over your shoulder and Joel whistles lowly. “That's fancy. I like it.”
Your eyes widen slightly. “You do?”
“Yeah. Suits you.” A wide smile is spreading across your face and, without a second thought, you grab his hand to pull him out of the bar.
He really lives close nearby and you're stumbling through a dark hallway barely five minutes later. Joel has his hands on your hips and his lips on your mouth, kissing you roughly as he leads you into what you presume is the direction of his bedroom. He kicks the bedroom door shut behind you and crowds you up against the wood, his hands grabbing at your sides, pulling at the dress, revealing more skin to his touch.
The room is dimly lit, yellow light from the street below filtering in through the windows, and his eyes roam over you. “Fuck, you're so hot,” he growls and captures your mouth in another searing kiss, his hand coming up to palm at your breasts, roughly squeezing the flesh and running his thumb over your nipple through the fabric. You mewl into his mouth and he pulls back breathlessly. “You're an eager little thing, aren't you?” he murmurs and you arch your back, trying to press yourself back into his touch.
“Please, Joel,” you whimper and he chuckles before diving back in, his tongue hot in your mouth and his fingers creeping under your dress, toying with the hem of your underwear.
He pulls it aside, his fingers grazing your already soaked folds and you buck your hips into his touch. He slides your dress up higher until his hand comes to rest on your bare hip and he searches your face.
“You're feeling good? You want this?”
You nod eagerly and he tuts softly. “Gotta let me hear it, sweetheart.”
You bite your lip, his respectfulness paired with the dark look in his eyes spurring your arousal on even further. “I want it, please.”
“Good girl, so polite too,” he murmurs and your legs almost buckle underneath you. His hand travels back between your legs, grabbing at your underwear and quickly pulling it off of you, before his fingers are back, sliding through your wetness and circling your clit slowly.
“Fuck, you're dripping. So good for me, all eager and ready, huh?”
The whine that comes out of you sounds faintly like a “yes” and he presses another kiss to your lips, before he thrusts two fingers into you, stretching you deliciously.
“Fucking tight,” he murmurs against your mouth, his voice sounding wrecked already. He sets a languid pace, pausing every so often to curl his fingers deep within you, hitting that spongy spot that has your legs shaking and your hands grabbing at his shoulders as high-pitched whines fall out of your mouth.
You can see the pleased smirk on his face as you're falling apart on just his fingers. His other hand travels up to the straps of your dress, pulling them down and revealing your breasts to him.
His lips suck on the newly exposed flesh and you hear him mutter, “so fucking pretty” against your skin. His mouth travels to your nipple, flicking his tongue over the hardened bud, while his fingers keep thrusting and curling inside of you.
Heat is boiling in your abdomen, licking at your spine and you can almost taste your orgasm already. “Joel, I'm gonna- please don't stop, please,” you manage to breathe out.
“You're gonna come on my fingers, pretty girl?” he asks, before sucking your nipple back into his mouth. “Go ahead, let me feel it.” His thumb starts to toy with your clit in quick, precise circles, and you gasp. The heat spreads through your entire body as your orgasm takes hold of you, your toes curling and your legs shaking while you pulse wildly around his fingers.
“Good girl, you look so pretty when you come,” Joel whispers, trailing kisses from your breasts up to your neck as you slowly come down from your high.
Joel maneuvers you to his bed, supporting your weight and gently setting you down until you're sprawled out on the covers. You can still feel the aftershocks from your orgasm, but your want for him is coursing through you like a wildfire and you eagerly stretch your arms out for him.
He chuckles, mumbling something about you being insatiable and quickly pulls his shirt over his head, revealing golden skin and a body that's obviously strong and muscular, but he still has a softness to him.
You sit back up and scoot closer, your hands flying to his beltbuckle as you press kisses against his belly, reveling in the way his breath hitches and his muscles are twitching under your mouth.
You tilt your head up, silently asking for permission as you tug on his pants and he nods, smiling down at you. You pull his pants and underwear down in one go, desperate to see all of him, and you can't help the soft gasp that escapes your mouth at the sight before you.
He's fucking big, and you should probably worry about fitting all of him inside of you, but instead the fire in your abdomen is flaring up again and you subconsciously press your thighs together.
Joel leans down to you, pulling your already bunched up dress over your head and leaving you just as bare as he is.
“Like what you see, sweetheart?” he smirks.
“I- yeah,” you nod, shyly smiling up at him and he pecks your lips.
“Me too.”
He crowds you in, his broad body looming over yours as you lay back down on the bed and his fingers find their way in between your legs again. He grazes your clit, then swirls a finger through your wetness, spreading it on your inner thighs, and your hips buck up into his touch, causing him to chuckle.
“Impatient little thing.”
You can barely form a coherent thought, you're desperate to feel his cock inside of you and you eagerly part your legs when he situates his body between them. He grabs at your thigh, spreading you open even wider, before landing a playful slap against the backside. An almost embarrassingly loud moan escapes you and Joel's smirk turns downright feral.
“You liked that, sweetheart? You like it when I'm a little rough with you?”
He's grinding his hips against you, sliding his cock through your wetness, the tip almost catching at your entrance. You're past the point of caring, nodding mindlessly, you just want him inside of you.
“Fuck, yes, please Joel, please.”
“Should've known,” he mumbles, “it's always the quiet ones. Actin' all shy, but you need it bad, don't you? Gonna fuck you so good, take such good care of you, don't you worry.”
You whimper, your breath catching in your throat when he lines his cock up with your center, his tip already parting your walls, but he stops himself again. “Tell me once more, sweetheart. You still good, still want this?”
“Yes Joel, fuck, I want it,” you whine. The words have barely left your mouth when he slams into you, filling you to the brim. You cry out at the sudden intrusion, your walls fluttering around his length, trying to accommodate him as he's splitting you open. The stretch is intense, bordering on painful, but you still feel yourself getting wetter around him, pain turning into pleasure as he stills inside of you for a few moments to let you adjust.
“Goddamn it, you're tight, you're taking me so good, such a good fuckin' girl.”
His mouth is close to your ear, muttering filth to you with his hot breath fanning against the sensitive skin on your neck. Another loud moan falls from your mouth at his words and you clench around his cock that's still buried deep inside of you, causing him to groan.
“Yeah you like that, wanna be a good girl for me, don't you?”
You nod breathlessly and he pulls out almost entirely before slamming back into you, setting a brutal rhythm that's forcing moans from your throat and has you wildly clenching around him. One of his hands is playing with your nipples again, pinching and pulling at your delicate flesh and sending delicious sparks of pleasure straight to your core while he's still fucking you deeply. It's incredible, already easily the best you've ever had, but you still want more, want him deeper.
“Oh my god, p-please Joel,” you stutter.
“Please what?”
“H-harder, please.” He growls at that, pulling himself out of you and flipping you around until you're on your knees, presenting your ass to him. He presses his cock back into you, knocking the air out of your lungs, and his hand connects with the skin on your ass cheek in a harsh slap.
“Knew you were a filthy little thing, fuck, just waitin' around for someone to give it to you hard, huh?” he growls. The way he's talking to you is going straight to your core and you feel a second high approaching rapidly.
His hand tangles in your hair, making a fist and pulling until you're arching your back, slightly changing the angle and letting him hit a spot inside of you that absolutely devastates you. There's stars dancing across your eyes, your thighs are quivering and your walls are pulsing rhythmically.
“Not someone, just- just for you,” you moan out, shuddering around him as another orgasm washes over you, your vision swimming and you're clamping down on him.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” Joel mutters, his hands grabbing your hips roughly and holding onto you with strong hands as he stills his movements and spills himself deep inside of you.
You feel almost delirious as Joel hugs you tightly to his body, kissing you deeply before he gently lays you down on the bed. He cleans you up, gets you a glass of water and covers you with a thick blanket before he slides into bed beside you.
His arm wraps around your middle and he pulls you closer against his chest, engulfing you in his warmth and peppering your bare neck and shoulders with kisses. You nuzzle into him, your eyes falling shut as you relax under his soft touches. You can't remember the last time you felt this good. Protected, cared for, happy.
“Sweetheart?” Joel's voice sounds from behind you and you give a little hum. “I know this started out like a one night thing, but-” he pauses, almost sounding a little shy, “promise me that you won't just vanish in the morning, okay?” You smile and crane your head to press your lips against his once more.
“I promise.”
a/n #2: ...yeah, this would definitely fix me. shout out to the real life amanda for being an amazing friend and the best hype woman, thank you for yelling about pedro with me 24/7. also shout out to the real life patrick for being an amazing boyfriend and providing us with insights about the male sexual experience lol. thank you guys for being the best adoptive parents to my third-wheeling single ass. <3
thank you so much for reading! if you liked this, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment!
#janaispunk#janas fics#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller smut#the last of us hbo#the last of us#the last of us fanfiction#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters#the last of us fic#pedro pascal characters fanfiction#pedrostories
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Wing Man Part 1
Fic Summary: Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington is your best friend, and is constantly striking out. Sick of this, you two make a deal; you’ll wing man for each other. Hooking Steve up with dates is easy, but he finds himself struggling to find you a date. At least, until Dustin starts talking about his new cool friend Eddie.
Chapter Summary: You are sick of seeing Steve striking out, so you come up with a solution that could work for both of you.
5.5k words
Tags: Eddie Muson x reader, weirdo!reader, bestfriend!Steve
You hadn’t planned on becoming friends with Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington. In your mind, he was still that cocky freshman who happened to be good at playing Basketball during your senior year of high school. You’d never paid much attention to sports or the popular crowd back at Hawkins High, but word had quickly spread about the new kid.
When Steve and Robin approached you to help hook them up with a job at Family Video you were skeptical at first. Robin was a no-brainer when it came to hiring. She had the experience and clearly knew her stuff when it came to movies. Steve you were more on the fence about, as he seemed less cinematically inclined but Robin had vouched for him, and you were tired of having to cover so many of Keith’s shifts. Even when he was here, Keith was basically useless, always hiding in the back.
At this point, you were desperate for any sort of help, so you hired them both.
You quickly took a liking to them- they were easy to hang out with and were able to quickly pick up on what needed to be done. Robin always knew what movies to show on the preview televisions, and Steve was quick to pick up on any busy work that needed to get done.
“I’m always willing to go the extra mile to slack off.” he’d said once, which had earned your approval. As long as shit got done, they could slack off all they wanted. You hated that ‘if you have time to lean, you have time to clean’ bullshit. It’s not like the job was especially hard either.
Eventually you and Steve started talking on the nights where the two of you would close together alone. Tuesday and Wednesday nights were good for that sort of thing, they were your slowest days. You learned that he was floundering a bit after high school, struggling to find a place in the world now that he was no longer King Steve. It was also clear by the way he talked that he was still hung up on his ex Nancy, even if he wouldn’t admit it.
That was probably the reason why he kept striking out when flirting with customers. It was actually kind of sad.
“You know, I really should probably tell you to stop hitting on every cute girl that walks through that door.” you said, taking out some tapes from the VHS re-winder and putting in new ones. “People come here for movies, not to be hit on.”
It was a speech you’d given at least a dozen times over the past four months. You’d said it so many times that Steve was mouthing along the words as you said them, and you gave his arm a smack. Your heart wasn’t in it though, in truth you knew that at least half of the young women who came to Family Video were here to see Steve and flirt, which is why you were so baffled that he was striking out so hard.
He was good with customers, great even. When he first started working here he would get several numbers slipped to him between returned VHS tapes. But as the Summer months shifted into Autumn, he seemed to be running out of steam.
“I can’t help it if I’m naturally charming.” Steve said, with over-compensated confidence. “I don’t even need to think, I’m just that good at flirting.”
“Yeah, I think your charisma stat has taken a hit over these past few weeks dude.” you snorted.
“I still don’t know what that means.” Steve said. “But I have plenty of charisma!”
“You know, if you actually paid attention to what me or your children said every once in a while you’d understand us better.” You couldn’t help but laugh. Over the past few months, so many freshman had come in just to bother Steve while he was working. “How is the single mom life by the way? Am I giving you enough hours to pay the bills? Do the kids need new shoes for school?”
“I’m not the mom, I’m the babysitter.” Steve shot back, before realizing how lame that actually was then he sighed. “I think they’re doing okay. Henderson’s the only one who actively keeps up with me.”
You didn’t miss the hint of disappointment in his voice. “It’s hard when they grow up.” you said, putting your hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’m sure they won’t put you in a home.”
Steve snorted and brushed your hand off. “Says the one older than me.” he rolled his eyes.
“See, I don’t have six kids to raise, so I’m going to stay young and fun forever, Harrington.” you teased. “You’ve got a full brood to look after. Oh look, I think I see a gray hair right there!”
You reached over to touch his hair and he swatted you away again. “Like hell there is!” he said, mild panic in his voice. You didn’t let up and kept reaching for his hair and he kept pushing you off.
“Yup, that’s a gray one, you’re about to go full Doc Brown on me before the end of the year!” You declare as he attempted to push you off.
Despite him trying to push you off, there was a smile on his face. A lot of nights ended like this with you annoying him and teasing him for his relationship with so many kids. It was endearing really.
The door to the front of the store rang and you two immediately jumped apart as a girl came in, looking to be about Steve’s age. She was pretty, and you slipped out from behind the desk to put away some movies. He really shouldn’t be flirting with the customers, you know this. But... well it was Tuesday night and you were bored and this was far more entertaining than reorganizing the movies in the back room. Less sticky too.
“Action!” You heard Steve call from up front and you moved casually between the aisles and cringed. Oh, no. He was doing the bit again. How many times have you told him that it wouldn’t work? “Oh, I’m sorry you’re so beautiful I thought you were an actress.”
You had to bite your hand to stop yourself from laughing. You couldn’t handle this, this didn’t work the first dozen times, why the hell would it work now? Steve’s voice carried easily, projecting around the video store and allowing you to hear every single word that came out of his mouth.
You listened as Steve threw everything at this poor girl. Talking himself up as some sort of cinema aficionado when you knew the last movie he rented was Star Wars for the third time to watch with Dustin. And he called you the nerd.
“So yeah, I was thinking, beautiful girl like yourself might enjoy watching this movie with some company.” Steve said, handing over the movie. The girl in question gave a polite smile and declined the movie, renting the two that she had actually came for and left.
“That... was sad, Steve.” you said, as she disappeared into the parking lot. You walked over to the counter and picked up the movie that Steve had tried to offer her. “‘The Karate Kid?’ Really? That was your big plan?”
Steve’s was leaning over the desk, bracing his hands against the side of the counter looking down. “I panicked ok?” he admitted. “I don’t know what’s going on with me. I used to be so good at getting any girl I wanted and now I keep blowing it.”
You felt for the guy, you really did. He’d gone from the top of the world to treading water in just a few short months. Steve had told you that he had been at Starcourt Mall the day of the fire, and you had a feeling that it affected him more than he let on. You’d seen him get rejected so many times, but he was always able to brush it off. This time it looked personal.
Well, he was your friend now, and as your friend it was up to you to help him out.
“I think you need to learn how to talk to women now that you’re not in high school anymore, Steve.” you said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “The tactics you used before just aren’t going to cut it now. Welcome to “life after high school” where everything you learned over the past twelve years is socially useless.”
“Yeah? And what would you know about social skills?” Steve said. “I haven’t exactly seen you going on any dates lately either.”
“Rude, but fair.” you admitted. He didn’t mean anything mean by it, but the two of you were very much opposites when it came to how you both approached things such as your social and dating life.
Steve was interested in taking any pretty face he saw out on a date. You had not been on a date in months, and had barely tried. Steve had countless tales about his time dating in high school, you went to Homecoming stag with your friends once. Steve talked about a time where he was almost having too much sex. You shamelessly rented porn from the back room and made Steve ring you up as he rolled his eyes.
He’d asked you on a date once and you almost laughed in his face. He was good looking, in a traditional sense but not your type.After thinking about it, you decided that kissing Steve sounded too much like kissing your favorite cousin. You had politely declined and he seemed relieved.
It’s not that you didn’t have an interest in dating, you did. You had tried to explain it to Steve one night, that so many people were into being popular and caring about things that you just couldn’t. You’d tried to fit in, but your interests were just weird. You could have fun at a football game if you were with friends, but that came from the excitement of being in an excited crowd and being with people you liked. You didn’t blame anyone for it, you were glad that people could care about these things. You just wished someone could get excited about the same things that you did.
You and Steve were both fish out of water, you’d just grown used to not being able to breathe.
“Sorry.” said Steve, standing up straight again. “That was below the belt.”
“You’re a dick, but it’s fine.” you shrugged. You’d been called worse for less. “You know, I may not be the pinnacle of normalcy but I do happen to be a woman.”
“I thought you said you were the Creature from the Black Lagoon.” Steve laughed under his breath.
“Only on special occasions.” you replied. “But that’s not the point. Look, you need help getting your groove back. I’m tired of renting movies from the back. I think we could help each other.”
Steve turned to you, brows furrowed. “What did you have in mind?”
“I’m thinking we could try wing-manning for each other.” you said. “I’ll talk you up and help you not make a jackass out of yourself, and you can help me get a date too.”
Steve opened his mouth to say something smart, but he closed it quickly with a tilt of his head. He looked to the side, thinking about the proposal.
“You can’t do any worse with my help.” you said. “I mean, that ‘actress’ line was bad. Really bad. Like, horrible. I don’t know why you keep using it.”
“It worked with Linda Mendelli.” Steve said defensively.
“Yeah, I have no idea who that is.” you said.
“She got the lead in the spring musical two years ago.”
“So your actress line worked on a high school actress once.” you laughed. “That explains everything.”
“Like you could come up with a better line!” Steve pouted.
“I can think of a million different lines that would work better than that. And I’ll share them with you, if we have a deal.” you said.
“So you want me to get you a date?” he clarified. “That’s what you want out of this?”
“That’s what I get out of this. Well, that and I can stop nearly puking when I have to listen to you come up with some weird line when a cute girl walks in. It would save me a lot of money on nausea medication.” You smirked.
Steve thought about it for a moment before looking you up and down. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say you’re already not interested in changing anything about yourself to make this easier on me.”
“Again, that’s really rude. That is correct though, you get me a date as I am. No make-over montage, no pretending I’m something I’m not. I spent all of high school trying to be something else, and I’m done with that.” you said firmly.
Steve turned away from you, ran his fingers through his hair, and then turned back, offering his hand. “Fine, you have a deal.”
With a smile, you spat in your hand and grabbed his in a firm shake. “Deal.”
“Ew!” he jerked his hand back as you laughed. Steve wiped his hand on his pants looking disgusted. “That’s so gross, you really are giving me a run for my money.”
“Right then,” you said with an amused grin. “Let’s start with lesson one, and stop with any stupid pick-up lines to get attention.”
Over the next few weeks, in the slow times during work where there was nothing to do but dust the shelves and rewind tapes, you coached Steve on how to talk to women.
“It’s really not that hard.” you explained one night. “It really does come down to just two things; be sincere and be confident. You already have probably too much confidence coming out your ass, but the sincerity isn’t there. You keep throwing these random lines out and hoping something sticks. Fine, that works in high school but not anymore.”
“I’m always sincere about asking them on a date!” he protests. “I’m not just asking every girl I see out on a date!”
“That’s statistically incorrect but I’ll humor you.” you said, as you organized the candy shelf, restocking the skittles. “I believe it when you ask a girl out, but you’re so oblivious about them as people. Newsflash, not all girls are the same Harrington.”
“Yeah, some of them are you.” he said, leaning against the counter, having already given up on pretending to work for the night. “How many times have you seen that Rocky Horror movie now?”
“I see it once a month with my friends at the old Cenimaplex right outside town. Been doing that since I was eighteen.” you confirmed. “I’m hoping to get to be part of the shadow cast at some point.”
“See? That’s weird. Most people maybe go see it once in October.” Steve points out.
“We aren’t talking about me, Harrington. We’re talking about the type of girls you’re into. Also, don’t knock it. I plan on dragging you along this month. It’s about time you lose your virginity.” you smirked as you ripped open a box of snickers and handed him one. “Don’t tell Keith.”
He took the candy bar. “You know I’m not a virgin. I have had sex before you know.”
You shook your head, that’d be a conversation for another day. “Let’s get back to the point. You keep asking girls out but you don’t know them.”
“I get to know them when I’m on a date.” he said.
“That’s all well and good, but you need to be able to see what kind of person they are before you go on the date. Not everyone is like me and wears their personality on their sleeves.” you explained, taking your own candy of choice off the rack. “Okay so today for example. Remember the girl that came in with the brown hair and rented out Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure?” Steve nodded. “So, she also rented out The Breakfast Club.”
“Okay? And what does that have to do with anything?” Steve asked.
“It means she has a kid sibling, and is probably a burnt out older sibling.” you said. “Loves her baby brother or sister but is also very introspective and trying to figure herself out. You came on too strong with her, asking her to a high school basketball game was too high energy.”
Steve gawked at you for a moment. “I hate that you just made sense.” He rubbed his cheeks with his hands. “Shit.”
“Dude, just pay attention to whoever you’re interested in and all the pieces will fall in place.” you said. “Pay attention to the movies, what she’s saying, and if she’s giggling at you then that’s a good sign.”
“Pay attention. Right. I can do this.” he said.
Two weeks after this conversation, Steve nabbed his first date in two months. It had taken a little bit of coaching and some hyping on your end but he got a girls number and had set up a date.
Three days after that he had another date set up.
Two days after that, another three dates.
It was the start of October now, and you were decorating the store for the season. You were standing on a ladder putting up a strand of black garland while Steve held the ladder.
“So I’m taking Shannon out on Tuesday to get ice cream at the new place down the street.” Steve explained.
“We work Tuesday.” you said.
“Tuesday morning.” Steve clarified. “Then Thursday I have two dates with Amy and Marissa since it’s my day off.”
He’d been going on about this for an hour. Steve had been going on dates steadily again for at least three weeks now. It had only been a little over a month that the two of you had agreed to the deal. Now King Steve was back, and you were now subject to every detail of his romantic escapades again. You were happy for your friend, really, but sometimes you’d sneak into the back room and organize the porn just to give you a moment away from hearing about your friends new-found sex life.
It didn’t need to make sense, it just needed to work.
“Do you ever stop to sleep?” you asked, taping up the final end of garland and coming back down the ladder.
“Sometimes I sleep before I have to sneak out a window after I’ve-”
“Nope. No more words, Harrington.” you said, holding up a hand as he laughed. “I get it, I’ll give you more hours so that you can expand your condom budget. Your poor kids must feel neglected while you find them a new mom.”
“I thought you said that I was the single mom?” Steve asked as you both moved the ladder to a new spot. He handed you a bat from the box that held the Halloween decorations.
“Oh, you are. Your kids can have two moms, I’ll allow it.” you said, hopping up on the ladder again. “Hey look, I’m Ozzie Osbourn!”
Jokingly you bit at the head of the bat as Steve looked up at you as if you were insane. “...What?”
You frowned and looked down at him. “Black Sabbath?” you asked. “The guy bit a bats head off on stage?” Now he was looking at you like you were a total psychopath. “Oh come on, you didn’t hear about that? The first time it was a fake bat but then he somehow managed to grab a real bat?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, as usual.” Steve said, shaking his head. “What movie is Black Sabbath again?”
It was your turn to stare at him now. “How are we even friends?” you asked. “You and I don’t have a single thing in common. ‘What movie is Black Sabbath’ be so for real right now.”
“You asked me last week if the Pacers was a marathon I was going to race!” Steve shot back.
“And I stand by that, because that does NOT sound like the name of a basketball team.” You climbed higher on the ladder to hang the bat.
“You’re thinking of the Fitness Gram Pacer Test.”
“Sports!” you cried out, giving the bat a small bap to make it swing. “Movement like that means nothing to me!” you gave a pause. “Unless you’re actually going to compete. I’ll care for your sake if you’re playing. Otherwise I’m just gonna smile and nod. Give me another bat.”
Steve dug into the box again to pull out another bat for you. “So what’s Black Sabbath then?” he finally asked.
“Look at you taking my lessons to heart and asking questions about a girls interest!” You reached down and pat his hair, causing him to swat you away again with a comment about not touching his hair. “It’s a metal band.”
“I didn’t think you were into metal.” Steve said as you came back down the ladder.
“I’m into anything I like.” you said simply. “Why limit yourself, you know? If I like something I need to learn everything about it or I feel like my brain will explode.”
“You’re kind of weird.”
“I know.”
The two of you continued to decorate the store between taking care of customers. You were going a bit overboard, if you were honest. Keith had handed you a pathetic box of a few paper decorations to use, and you had gone out with your own money to buy more. If you were expected to be here to earn a paycheck you may as well get something out of it, even if it was the feeling of being surrounded by cheesy holiday memorabilia.
“So how are the kids, Harrington?” you asked, untangling a fake spiders web.
Steve sighed, messing with the candy counter. “Dustin’s doing good. He’s made a friend at school.”
“You seem tense about that.” you looked over at him. “Care to share with the class how that makes you feel?”
“I don’t feel anything about it.” Steve said, clearly defensive. “Henderson has a new cool older friend who’s into the same nerdy shit he’s into.”
Steve was so jealous, it was written all over his face. How long had he been the cool older figure in that kid's life?
“Should have taken him up on playing D&D with him.” you said with a grin. “Now your child is going to divorce you for a new dad.”
“You really need to sort out whatever metaphor you’re going to use with me and these kids.”
“Nah, gotta keep you on your toes.”
Steve shook his head with a laugh. “It’s funny you know? One minute I’m the coolest guy in the room to everyone. I was king of Hawkins High, had these kids that annoyed the shit out of me but looked up to me, and the best girlfriend I could have asked for. Then I graduated, the kids took over school, and now I’m single even after going on all these dates.”
“Yeah, life’s funny like that.” you agreed. “If it makes you feel any better I don’t think you’re super lame. You’re actually kind of an alright dude.”
“Thanks.”
“Any time.”
“...So speaking of you going on dates.” you started slowly, unsure how to bring this up.
“Right, yeah, so I said I was going out with Amy and Marissa on Thursday-” Steve started.
“No not that,” you interrupted. “Well, sort of but not really. So I’ve held up my end of the bargain, Harrington.”
Steve froze for a moment before looking up at you on the ladder. “Oh, right. So about that, I have no idea what you even like in a guy.”
“Fair enough, I have not exactly been as pro-active as you have been.” The past few weeks had been so busy with the changing of seasons and weeding out old movies that you hadn’t really had time to think about dates. You’d been stuck in a perpetual loop of work and school with the occasional odd movie night with Steve and Robin when they were free.
“So what do you like?” he asked. “If you want my help, you’re gonna have to open up about that.”
“Oh but that involves being vulnerable with King Steve of Hawkins High and that’s not exactly my style.” you sighed dramatically.
“Last week when we got together for movie night you got drunk and cried about how you got asked out to prom as a joke. Is that not opening up or being vulnerable?”
You winced and made a face. “I did that? Yikes. I’m never drinking again.” You did remember renting out Carrie with the others and crying because she had been a very relatable character in your early high school years. Things were a lot better now that you left high school, but you supposed that had struck a nerve.
“Come on, just give me something to work with. I know you’re a weirdo who obsesses over the most random things. You like Rocky Horror and anything with music. But what do you like in a guy?” Steve pressed.
You fiddled with the decoration that had been perfectly hung a moment ago, just to give you something to do with your hands. This was a very good question that you had thought about a lot.
“I guess I want someone who’s as weird as I am.” you finally said. “I’d like to at least meet someone who understood the things I cared about, or was at least willing to learn. I know I’m different, and I’m okay with being different. I want a guy who gets being like that, and won’t make me feel less for it.”
“That’s... specifically vague.” Steve said, thinking. “I was thinking more looks wise.”
“I like guys with long hair.” you said immediately.
That he could probably work with. You hopped off the ladder for the last time and he helped you pack it away in the storage closet.
Steve was thinking hard about what to do about his end of the bargain when the door rang and someone walked inside.
“Steve!” A voice called out, and your co-workers face immediately lit up and ran to the front of the store.
“Henderson!”
You watched as the two boys ran to each other, immediately going into a secret handshake that you couldn’t help but find endearing. The kids that Steve was friends with were always fun, but you had to admit that you had a soft spot for Dustin. That was a kid who knew who he was and wasn’t afraid to be it. You admired that a lot about him.
Deciding to give them a bit of space, you made yourself busy with the horror movie section, making sure that everything was in place. Lucky for you though, those two were still very much boys and you could hear every single part of their conversation.
It’s not eavesdropping if they’re that loud. Probably.
“The store looks great!” Dustin said, looking around. “You guys really went all out with the decorations, huh?”
“Yup, we just got finished. She bought most of this stuff herself.” Steve gestured to you and you gave a wave.
“Hey, Dustin!” you called out, and he waved back.
“They’ve started putting up decorations at school too, but people keep stealing them.” Dustin said. “There are at least three skeletons missing from the science labs.”
“Those aren’t decorations, Henderson. I think those are supposed to be educational.” Steve replied.
“Not when they’re wearing witches hats and cat ears.” Dustin countered. Steve shrugged in agreement.
“So is school going alright? How’s Lucas doing on the team? What about Mike?” Steve asked and you couldn’t help but laugh to yourself. Steve could deny it all he wanted, but he was absolutely a single mother to these kids. You wished that you had a way to record him so that he could see the way he was fussing over them.
“Lucas is still a bench-warmer.” Dustin said, grabbing a candy bar from the snack stand. You conveniently were too busy making sure that a copy of Sleepaway Camp was properly rewound to notice the blatant theft. “He still goes to practice every week, but he hasn’t been on the court yet. He’s been making a lot of cool and popular friends.”
There was no hiding the disdain in his voice when he said that.
“Well Basketball is the best way to secure your ranking at Hawkins.” Steve said. “I would know.”
“Yeah but it seems like he never has time to even come to Hellfire Club anymore. We’re lucky if he makes it to one or two sessions a month.” Dustin sighed. “He totally blew off me and Mike last week to go hang out with his cool new friends.”
“You know, you have an in with the popular crowd now Henderson. You could use this as a chance to be popular.” Steve pointed out.
“But I don’t want to be popular, Steve! I’m happy with the friends I have and enjoying what I like.”
“Ignore Steve, he’s stupid. Keep doing what you’re doing, kid!” you called out to them, making Dustin laugh and Steve sigh.
“Thank you.” Dustin said before turning to Steve again. “Anyway, Eddie says that conformity is overrated. He says it’s better to be a freak with a few friends than some weird version of normalcy and be miserable.”
“Right, because ‘the freak’ is so wise.” Steve said, rolling his eyes.
“He is!” Dustin frowned. “You know, he’s the only person who’s been nice to me and Mike since we started school. And last session he had us-”
That was when you started tuning the conversation out. You looked up at the clock and swore, you had some work to do in the back before your shift is over.
“Steve, watch the front for me. I’ll be finishing up in the back.” you called out, and Steve only waived in response.
Once you were out of earshot, Steve held up a hand to Dustin to signal him to stop talking.
“What?” asked Dustin. “You told me that I get at least five uninterrupted minutes to talk about the campaign when we hang out.”
“Yeah, and I’ll let you have seven minutes if you help me out.” Steve said.
“Seven? An extra two minutes? Make it ten.” Dustin crossed his arms,
“Eight.”
“Deal. What do you need?”
Steve stares at Dustin for a second. He doesn’t want to ask this question, as he never had any interest in knowing anything about Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson. Eddie had been a stagnant 2 years ahead of him and somehow still hadn’t graduated. Steve couldn’t comprehend being 20 and still in high school, and he almost felt bad for entertaining this thought. Then again, you had also spent an extra semester at school, so maybe that wouldn’t be a deterrent.
“I need you to tell me more about Eddie.” Steve finally managed to get out. Dustin looked like Christmas had suddenly come early.
“You want to know more about Eddie?” Dustin had a shit-eating grin on his face that Steve hated. “Since when do you have an interest in Dungeons and Dragons?”
“I still don’t.” Steve said firmly. “I never have and never will understand your game. And I’m not asking about him for me, I’m asking about him for her.” He motioned to the door to the back room.
“Her?” Dustin looked at the door, as if he could see you through the flimsy wood. “Is she wanting to play?”
“I don’t know, probably? She’s made enough references to playing before. Listen, no, that’s not what this is about.” Steve sighed. “We have this deal going on. She’d help me get dates if I helped her get a date. And she followed through, and I still have no idea how to get her a date.”
“She wants to date Eddie?” Dustin had a look on his face that was a mix of surprise and confusion. “How does she know him?”
“I don’t think she knows Eddie.” Steve said. “But she wants someone weird and as much as I hate to admit it, your new friend might actually fit her criteria.”
“Fifteen minutes.”
“Dude, come on.”
“Fifteen uninterrupted minutes, and you let me rent an R rated movie.”
“Jesus, Henderson.”
“Deal or no deal?”
Steve turned and looked at the door that you had disappeared behind. You had been a good friend to him over the past four months, a really good friend. You and Robin had been able to keep him grounded and going after the Starcourt Fire. You’d more than held up your end of the bargain.
“Fine, deal.” Steve agreed.
Dustin smiled and seemed content. “So what do you want to know?”
Part 2
Dividers by @strangergraphics
Tag List @k8loo @terrormonster55 @sp1dyb0y1008 @crocwork-clockodile
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silver springs - d. wagner
a/n: hi. welcome back. remember the to do list i had? out the window. danny wagner kiss me on the lips challenge. enjoy, yearning sluts.
warnings: horny, danny practices writing kissing and grumpy ish reader, right person wrong time, sort of slow burn? idk, death of a sibling, grief, angst, cursing, reader smokes until the end of the fic, reader has tattoos as usual, lots of sex refrences as usual, corny shit as usual.
word count: 3.9k (throwing up)
summary: the three times daniel wants you, and the one time he gets you.
paring: daniel wagner x gn!reader
now playing: silver springs - fleetwood mac
"i follow you down/till the sound of my voice will haunt you/you'll never get away from the sound/of the woman that loves you."
It all starts when you’re eighteen, fresh off a breakup with a guy who cheated on you. You found him sleeping with a girl from your psych class after you introduced him to at a party. In hindsight, he wasn’t a loss or anything, but you were eighteen. You were stupid and in love and he was all that mattered to you.
After three months of moping around and being miserable because of him, your friend, Veronica, eventually convinced you to get over yourself and go out with her.
You obliged. It was three quarters of the way through your sophomore year and were determined to not let some guy who couldn’t even make you cum ruin your college experience.
And what was this wild experience your friend wanted to do to get you out of your funk?
Well, she decided it would be a concert. A rock concert.
You had heard of Greta Van Fleet a few times—Veronica was straight up obsessed with them. You mostly listened to music your ex-boyfriend listened to, and never really formed an opinion of your own on the matter. You had other stuff to do, you would defend.
At this point in their career, Greta Van Fleet was only just starting; They were playing a small venue nearby, as an opener.
Veronica convinced you to go super early and get a good view with her. What else were you supposed to do on a Saturday? Your homework?
And even you had to admit, they were pretty good. You enjoyed the passion they had for their shows, and they were all pretty good looking.
The drummer especially.
Veronica decided to stick around after their set, grabbing a drink with some guy she had met, while you went outside to smoke.
Smoking was a horrible habit you had picked up, and you fully intended to quit, it just never struck you as the right time. It was a late spring night, the air muggy and buzzing with the lights of the city. You had been going to school in New York for a little less than a year, and you loved every second of it. Sure, you missed your family, who you had left behind in Nashville, especially your sister, but you knew you needed to leave. Even for just a while.
“Can I borrow your lighter?” A voice asks. You whip your head only to see the drummer. What was his name again?
“Yeah, sure.” You take out your lighter and flick it on, letting him light his cigarette with it.
“Thanks.” There’s a silence that fills the air while you smoke, until he eventually extends a hand. “I’m Danny.”
You smile, shaking his hand and giving him your name before adding, “And I know who you are.”
“Oh, do you?”
“Yeah, you’re the drummer.” You say coolly, although your heart is racing.
“You like our music?”
“Now I do. Tonight, was your first show of mine.” You explain, “My friend is like,” You cough on smoke, “Obsessed with you.”
Feeling bold, Danny asks, “What if I want you to be obsessed with me?” And it makes you scoff, only you’re only doing it because you’re nervous.
“You flirt with all your fans like this, Drummer?”
“Only the pretty ones.” You just smirk. You don’t expect the next words out of his mouth to be, “Come with me to California.”
“What?” You laugh, unable to believe it.
“California. We’re releasing an album later this year, so you should see more of our shows before we become a huge hit.”
“I can’t go to California with you!” You grin, and by the way he’s smiling at you, you know he’s not expecting you to.
“Why not?”
“I have classes, for one!”
“Classes? So pretty and smart?”
“Oh my god, Shut up.”
“What are you majoring in?”
“English. I want to write. Whatever they’ll have me write, articles, books, what the fuck ever, you know what I mean?”
And he does. He gets it because that’s the way he feels about writing music.
“I get it.” He answers.
“So, I can’t come with you to California.”
“No, I guess not. But when you get a job writing, you’ll let me come find you? Ghostwrite my memoir, write a scathing review of us, what the fuck ever, as you so delicately put it?”
“Deal.” You agree.
“Then, I’ll see you, Sugar.” You stop at the name, turning to him. “What?” He asks.
“That’s what my family calls me.” He laughs. “I’m being serious!” You argue.
“No, you’re not—” He realizes you most definitely are. “Why would they call you that?”
“Because my sister is the nice one, and I am an asshole.”
“No fucking way.”
“What, did ‘What the fuck ever’ not give you enough of a hint? She’s Spice, and I’m Sugar, only Sugar stuck.” You say, finishing your cigarette.
“Well, Sugar. At least let me give you my number if I can’t take you to California.”
“Deal.” You agree, but before he can, his friends from the band are calling him, and you know Veronica must be wondering where you are. And he doesn’t have his phone on him or a pen, and your phone is dead.
Fuck.
“Hey—” He pulls you close with one arm, his other hand still with a cigarette. He puts it in his mouth so his hand can reach down and pull your lighter out of your pocket. “I’ll give this back when we meet again, alright?” He asks, his words a little murmured because of the cigarette.
You’re usually cynical. You could’ve told him to fuck off and took the lighter back. But you don’t.
Instead, you kiss his jaw and mutter, “Okay. Later, Drummer.” He pockets the lighter, and starts walking back to his friends, only backwards to face you still.
“See you soon, Sugar!” He calls.
It’s only when you get back to Veronica that your brain clears enough to remember that your full name is on the lighter. You hope he’ll use it to come find you.
• • •
So, the next few years fly by and before you know it, you’ve been out of school for around a year now, and you’re happier than ever. You’re staying in Tennessee, staying with your sister and your niece. You’re apartment hunting, starting a new job as soon as the New Year comes, but you have ulterior motives.
You’re getting ready in her bathroom as she leans against the door frame, watching you. Your niece sits on the edge of the tub. She just turned six and is learning all about the world. You love watching her grow, except for one teensy little thing—
“Why does Sugar get to go see Greta and I don’t?” She asks your sister.
“Because Sugar has big kid money, and you spend your allowance on Barbie.” Your niece just huffs. You grin as you finish fixing your hair. You crouch down to her level, and push hair from her face.
“How ‘bout this? I’ll take lots of photos for you, and get you a shirt, and I’ll take you on their next tour, okay?”
She considers this for a moment.
“And you’ll say hi to Jake for me?” While you are in Danny Lane, Duh, she is strictly obsessed with Jake Kiszka.
“Of course, I will! Duh! He’s gonna love a message from his best girl.” You say it as if it’s obvious. She giggles and stands, giving you a quick hug before you have to leave.
“You’re so good with her. And nice too, I never expected that.” Your sister says as she walks you to the door.
“Don’t expect me to go soft with you, too. She’s the exception.” Your sister just smiles as she stands in the door, watching you walk down the walkway.
“Be safe!” She calls.
“Bye, Mom!” You say dramatically as you get in her car to drive to the venue with.
The show is amazing, as usual. Since their career has taken off, you’re only a more active fan, always keeping tabs.
You keep tabs to see if Danny is taking anyone. He does. You don’t know if that’s true for right now, but you know he has since you saw him. So have you. It’s ridiculous to assume you’d stop your lives for one flirty encounter when you were 18.
After the show, you notice people grouped around, waiting to see if the boys make an appearance. You don’t have anywhere to be. You stick around.
An hour or two passes. You smoke, lending cigarettes to other people waiting, and the number of folks start to dwindle down. But the summer is coming to an end, and you know that this might be one of the last times you can stay out this late without freezing for a while.
And wouldn’t you know it, Sam and Danny come out to say hi. And Sam is lovely, of course he is! He’s sweet and funny, and even more handsome in person.
But Danny makes your heart race. You grin to him, and it takes him a second before he breaks out in a grin, as he approaches you. Before you can say anything he just hugs you, and holds you for a while. He pulls away and looks at you, uttering your full name, as it was written on your lighter.
“Danny...” you say softly, and he just keeps smiling at you. His curls look healthier. He looks healthier.
“Hi, Sugar.” He says gently.
“You remembered that stupid nickname, Oh God...” you groan.
“And you still hate it.”
“Mm... maybe not so much when you say it. Maybe not when my niece says it.” Because it stuck so well, your niece just grew up knowing your name as Sugar, and not much else.
“Your niece?”
“Stevie, she’s an angel, and in love with Jake Kiszka.” You admit.
“I’ll extend the message. Stevie, is that a reference to the true queen of breakup songs?”
“Yes, of course.” You assure. You can’t stop staring at him. His eyes wander down to your arm, to your wrist.
“Cool tattoo.” It’s a lighter. It’s corny, you know that. And part of you didn’t even get it because of him. Half of you just thought it would be cool. But there was a part that hoped he’d see it one day.
“Well, some asshole took my last lighter and hasn’t given it back, so I figured no one can steal this one.” He laughs and shakes his head.
“You’re funny, Sugar.”
“Well...” You shrug softly, “You can keep the lighter by the way.” You assured. “No hard feelings.” He grins, pulling it out of his pocket and waving it at you.
“Thanks. And hey, maybe I could give you something of mine, too?” This confuses you until he pulls off the necklace he’s wearing and drops it in your hands. You look down at it, and your face flushes. It’s a long leather cord, with a milky stone shaped like a moon.
“Does this mean I won’t be getting your number tonight?” You ask, as your hand closes over the necklace. He smiles at you and shakes his head.
“It wouldn’t be fair to either of us. I’m going to be on tour for a while, and you live in New York—”
“I’m moving to Tennessee. Nashville. For work.” You assure. He smiles wider.
“Then when I get back. I’ll come find you.” He speaks. “Are you in the writing business yet?”
“Getting there.” You tell him.
“Then I’ll find you in the future.” He assures, as Sammy calls his name back at the door where he came from. How come it always ends this way? How come you always have to say goodbye to him? Especially when he looks this good? Your heart aches for him already. You want him to kiss you. But instead, you lean up and kiss his jaw, and he smiles down at you when you pull away.
“See you soon, Sugar.” He says gently. It’s quieter this time. You know he means it. He pulls away, and takes one last long look at you, and turns just before you can see tears in his eyes, and just before he can see tears in yours.
• • •
The rest of the year flies, and your new job starts, about twenty minutes from where you live, and only fifteen from your sister and niece. You get a raise three months in, and it’s just in time for you to buy your niece tickets to the Starcatcher World Tour. You’ll be the first show of a long tour, and you know you can’t stay like you did last time. Besides, he won’t come out to see the fans, not after such a long night.
You bring something for him just in case.
But your niece and you have a great time, despite this being your first show without being in the pit. You have first row lower bowl seats.
Ticketmaster is your sworn enemy, and you’ve won every battle with them lately. Fuck ‘em.
Because it’s the first show of the tour, everything is new, and you don’t know what to expect. You especially don’t expect a ten-minute drum solo from Danny.
…It makes you want him desperately.
When they move to the B stage, you’re still a little caught up in him, but that is nothing compared to when they exit the B stage and start handing out flowers. Danny doesn’t really have any flowers, but Jake is walking right in front of him, and right towards you.
Your niece freaks the fuck out. Because she is a Jake girl, and Jake is right there. He sees her small hands and grins, handing her a rose, and clasping her hand with his for a moment before continuing his walk. You’re so caught up in this moment that you don’t register that Danny is quickly approaching.
And then you do, and you’re one of the many calling out to him, as he smiles and clasps his hands with theirs.
Instead of Danny, you call, “Hey, Drummer!” and somehow, during all this chaos, he sees you. And he’s grinning like an idiot.
He stops for a second, pulling you forward, and before you know it, he’s taking about twenty seconds to kiss you.
It’s deep, passionate, and full of the raw need that you’ve felt since seeing his drum solo. Everyone around you is freaking out as you slip what you bought to give him into his hand.
He must leave though, and he slips what you’ve given him in his pocket, pulling away, and whispering quickly,
“See you soon, Sugar.” He leaves, and you’re left to the screaming fans around you, including your niece, who can’t believe anything that just happened.
The show goes on, and there’s a new energy about Danny.
Everyone on twitter goes wild about your interaction.
When he gets off stage that night, he pulls out what you gave him from his pocket, and sees it’s a polaroid picture of you, in your bathing suit and sunglasses, on the beach.
He uses it to get through rough nights on tour.
• • •
The next year or so goes by in a whirlwind—In the worst way possible. Work is going well, you don’t date anymore, delusional about your Drummer, and for a while, everything is fine.
Until your sister slides off the road during a snowstorm and is killed on impact.
You go from taking care of Stevie when your sister needed a break, to being her legal guardian.
It is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do. You balance your work life with your grief, newfound parental duties, and helping Stevie through the loss of her mother. Her father was never in her life, and you find yourself moving into your sister’s house, so Stevie doesn’t have to move schools.
You watch her attempt to process this huge loss at eight years old. She doesn’t listen to music anymore; she doesn’t want to celebrate her birthday and she doesn’t want to sleep without a nightlight.
You hold her while she cries for her mom.
You hold your mom while she cries for her daughter.
No one holds you as you sob, longing for your sister.
You will yourself to be good. To be nice and not let the grief suffocate you, you need to be there for your best girl, she cannot do this without you. But it’s so hard. You’re angry with the world, with yourself, with her, why couldn’t she have just stayed the night at her friends? You will yourself to channel that stupid nickname. You will yourself to be good.
The winter is hard, but as the season thaws, so does your grief. It’s still hard, but the kitchen fills again with the smell of pizza and baked goods, with the sound of Foo Fighters and Guns N Roses, and with your niece’s laughter.
You talk about your sister openly, never hiding your own grief from Stevie, and never being afraid to tell her stories of her mom.
You get a tattoo on what would have been your sister’s birthday. It’s just her birth flower.
Under it, in her handwriting, is “Sugar and Spice.” It’s right beneath your lighter tattoo. It’s the only time you’ve ever cried getting a tattoo.
Summer comes, and your office has no A.C. It’s a critically hot day in Nashville, Stevie is being watched by your mom. You’re editing a new chapter from a high-end client, just finishing it up before you head home for the day. Really, your day ended ten minutes ago, but you’re still working. Until you get a call from your office’s front lobby.
When you answer it, it’s just Jane, the security guard.
“Hey, Jane, what can I do for you?” You ask, rubbing your eyes from finally unfocusing from your computer screen.
“Hey, Kid. Just wanted to see if you were okay with company. Pretty boy says he’s here to see you.” You furrow your brows. Pretty boy? There have been no pretty boys in your life recently.
“What’s his name?” You ask quizzically. You hearJane asking for a name.
“Says his names Danny, and—” You stand, making sure your draft is saved before you turn off your computer, grabbing your things, and remembering she’s waiting for a response.
“Uh—Tell him I’ll be right there!” You say quickly before hanging up, then dash to the elevator, wishing it to go faster. It takes forever.
When the doors open, he stands in front of you, as if he was waiting to take the next elevator up. You just grin and lunge, hugging him tightly. He returns the sentiment. You hold each other there, just embracing each other and taking the other in. You pull away to really look at him.
You haven’t been active on social media since you took guardianship of Stevie, too busy. So, you haven’t seen him in a while. He looks phenomenal. His hair is shorter, but he wears two gold hoop earrings, a grey muscle tee, and has the same smile. His hair has this slight highlight to it, and his skin is tanner, his freckles enunciated.
You want to kiss him.
But you stand back from him for a moment to turn to Jane and thank her, and then you pull him outside, onto the busy streets. You walk for a few minutes in silence, turning here and there. You eventually lead him to duck into a quiet, relatively clean alley way. It’s in a quieter part of town, and you lean against one wall, unbuttoning the first two buttons of your shirt, heart racing in anticipation. He leans against the wall, looking at you.
He can see the leather cord around your neck. It pushes him over the edge.
Suddenly, his hands are on your cheeks as he begins kissing you. His lips are just as soft as you remember, but his hands are rough. They must be calloused, even blistered from guitar and drums. You deepen the kiss. It’s heavy, and hot, much like the day around you.
It makes you want him more.
You pull him closer, by grabbing his shirt and pulling him against you. He tilts his head for better access, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You’ve wanted this for years. Your hands leave his shirt, trailing up to tangle in those locks of his.
You finally pull away when you can’t stand to be without air anymore. But as soon as you do, you find yourself kissing him again. Not as deeply this time, but with just as much need. You kiss him again and again, your skin burning.
When he pulls away for real, panting, he leans his head on the wall behind you, his hot breath on your collar bone.
“Found me, Drummer…”
“Found you, Sugar…” He says softly.
“How? Why?” He pulls back to look at your face.
“How? You’re on your company’s website. Why? What do you mean why? Why? Because for the past six fucking years, I have only had enough of you to keep me wanting you, and every time I’m able to stop dreaming about you and your perfect lips, I am pulled back in by fate, seeing you always. And when I kissed you last year... It snapped something in me. You ruined everyone else for me, and I still had to wait. I don’t want to wait anymore. I’m not on tour, I’m here for a long time. I need you...” He says your name gently when he realizes you have this terrified look on your face.
“I… I can’t just… Danny, I’m my niece’s legal guardian. I will always have an obligation to her first, I can’t run off with you… Can’t go with you to California...” You tell him weakly.
“That’s okay.” In truth, Danny always wanted kids, and sure, he wasn’t planning on a kid just now, but he’s sure you can make this work. “When did this happen?”
“January… When my sister died.” You tell him, your voice barely above a whisper, yet it cracks with emotion. He just kisses you quickly and holds you.
“I still need you. I’d love to meet your niece.” He says once you’ve pulled away. You grin.
“She’s a big fan of yours.”
“More of a Jake girl, I hear.” He smirks. It makes you laugh.
You straighten yourself out, ready to take him to your house, have him meet Stevie, and just jump into it. Fuck it. What have you got to lose after waiting for him for six years?
Before you can make it out of the alley, he grabs your hand and says your name again. He takes out his—your lighter, and places it in your hand. You gave up smoking the night your sister died.
“I don’t need it right now, sugar. I told you, when I saw you again, it would be yours. And now we don’t have to say goodbye in two minutes.” It’s enough to make you lean forward and kiss him again.
You take his hand and begin walking with him. There’s no need to long for him anymore.
#danny wagner x you#daniel wagner x reader#danny gvf#greta van fleet#greta van fleet x reader#greta van fleet x you#sam kiszka x reader#sam kiszka x you#sam kiszka x y/n#daniel wagner x you#josh kiszka x you#josh kiszka x reader#josh kiszka x y/n#jake kiszka x reader#jake kiszka x you#greta van fluff#greta van fic#tags are dumb#tags are hard#tags are a pain#daniel wagner
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Best Kept Secret
chapter five : lunar interlude : just a man (RE-UPLOAD)
ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ✩ main masterlist ✧
pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader
rating : 18+ mdni
word count : 5.0k
summary : a look into din's point of view
warnings, etc. : language, sexual fantasy, masturbation
A/N : i had to change accounts so this is a re-upload of my ongoing fic bks!!
Absurd.
It’s absurd how much the job pays. Din’s not even sure he should take it at this point because it’s too good to be true. But they promised monthly payments up front and he needed a new ship, and with what this gig pays, within the year he could buy a fleet. He could do this for a few years and be set for life.
So he catches a ship to Naboo.
And he meets with a rather obnoxious prince who loves the novelty of having a Mandalorian working for him. It’s a good thing the job’s seemingly so easy because Prince Harand is off putting enough to make him reconsider. It’s simple, act as a personal guard to his wife. In exchange he’ll receive more credits than he’ll know what to do with and a private place to reside in. All he has to do is keep her from harm and make sure she doesn’t get into trouble.
“Is she prone to getting into trouble?” Din doesn’t try to hide the distaste in his voice at how high-and-mighty the man is acting.
“You expect me to know that?”
Pig.
After he accepts he’s given direct permission to disregard any of her orders that would prevent him from doing his job.
He declines the invitation to attend the wedding, to say he’s indifferent to the whole affair would be an understatement. He isn’t in any hurry to meet the woman who agreed to marry that. So Prince Harand gives him a note, he doesn’t bother reading it, he just tosses it on the vanity and he waits alone in what he is told are your chambers.
Weddings take a while.
So he can’t help but be curious, after all did his employer expect him to just stand in the same spot all day? So he snoops, he’s allowed to be nosy, it might help him do a better job if he can get a grasp on who you are. He spends the next two hours inspecting the room from top to bottom and much to his annoyance he learns nothing. There isn’t a single personal item here. All the clothes are seemingly unworn, there’s no clutter, nothing. If anything he feels like he knows even less about you. Shit, does he even know your name? Had the prince mentioned it? Maker, did the prince even know the name of the woman he was marrying? What a clown. Whatever, it doesn’t matter, she’s royalty and he’s the help, she probably won’t even address him. So he waits for several hours. He just stands there, eventually he considers just leaving and reporting for duty tomorrow but he can hear voices in the hall now so he stands up a bit straighter, then the door creaks open and Kodo drunkenly peers in before slamming it shut again.
Idiot.
Is that laughter?
He doesn’t get any time to wonder what that was about because a Twi’lek opens the door and then you walk in. And he’s frozen in place. Your eyes are on him and the room is suddenly dreadfully hot. It’s like you're under some sort of spell that pulls you towards him and he can’t breathe. Why would they put such garish makeup on such a beautiful face?
He should say something. He needs to say something. Introduce yourself you dimwit.
He opens his mouth but before he can utter a sound you touch him. It feels like his heart has stopped. He can see you speaking but he doesn’t hear a thing, captivated by the way your mouth moves when you talk, your tongue poking out slightly to wet your lips as you graze his chest plate with your fingertips.
It’s enough to make a man want to abandon his creed and take you right there.
This must be some kind of punishment for all of the terrible things he’s done. The gods are punishing him with this paragon of a woman that he is doomed to spend his days with but he can never have. The ringing in his ears finally clears up and he hears the first words he can actually get a grasp on that come through your perfect mouth.
“Is this some sort of weird fetish of his?”
Well. The ringing is back in his ears. He thinks he might just have to die in this position at this point cause it’s definitely too late to speak up, he waited too long, what the hell is the matter with him? He’s a fucking bounty hunter for gods sake, he’s fought beasts of all shapes and sizes and suddenly he’s been conquered by some woman he doesn’t even know?
Your small hand grabs the edge of the helmet and he’s finally able to snap out of it when you go to remove it. On instinct he manages to catch both your wrists in one hand.
“Don’t.” Thank the gods the modulator covers up the way his voice cracks. You’re scolding him, you’ve poked a finger into his chest plate but he’s having a hard time paying attention because he can’t seem to take his eyes off of the way your face flushes red, and then your neck, and then your chest.
How low does the crimson tint go?
For Makers sake snap out of it man, you’re one of the most dangerous men in the galaxy not a school boy with a crush.
You’re staring at the Twi’lek, scowling. He has to silence his helmet to hide the laughter that bursts out as you actually manage to get him to leave just by eyeballing him.
He manages to get through the conversation with you without tearing your clothes off, although there is a close call when you hike up your skirt to remove an anklet and like some sort of repressed Victorian woman, he sees just a glimpse of your ankle and can feel blood rushing south.
For god’s sake. At that point he just closes his eyes because this situation cannot get any worse, and then he can hear your dress hit the floor and he has never had to work so hard to keep his eyes shut.
“...I want to hear it from you.”
“My job is to make sure you are not harmed.” Can you hear the strain in his voice as he wills himself not to get hard? Gods he hopes not. He needs to get out of this situation fast, he’s getting ready to dismiss himself and find Kodo and tell him to take the money back, that he can’t do this but you say something that stops him dead in his tracks.
“Actually I’m good.”
He can’t stop the exasperation in his voice.
“Excuse me?”
“Can you not hear through the helmet? I’m good. I’ve already got an ensemble of people trailing me. I don’t need another.”
You can’t be serious.
“You’re dismissed.”
You are.
People don’t typically talk to him like that. They’re always too afraid. But you aren’t, you don’t seem to be frightened by him in the slightest. He was going to leave, he wanted to leave, but it’s been a long time since someone challenged him like this.
“You don’t have the authority to dismiss me.” He snaps back.
He likes arguing with you. He doesn’t get to argue with people. Who wants to argue with a Mandalorian? Most people don’t want to get shot by a trained killer.
You don’t appear to be most people.
He wants to rile you up, wants to see the fire in your eyes, he’d do just about anything to be the target of your anger.
So he teases you, until he leaves, making sure to get the last word in. He sets up a few imperceptible motion sensors just under your door knob so he can make sure he’s alerted if you decide to make a run for it.
And then he’s alone. So he goes to where he was told his lodging would be, it’s about a twenty minute walk but he doesn’t mind, it’s secluded, cozy. The cabin reminds him a bit of the crest, just big enough to be comfortable.
He takes a cold shower and tries not to think about his boss's wife.
✩
The next few weeks aren’t any easier.
You seemingly can’t stand him and he decides it’s for the best. You should hate him, he deserves it since your husband is paying him outrageous amounts of money to follow you around all day and fantasize about all the ways he could make you hate him a little less.
It’s hell.
Having to watch you day in and day out. Watch you wander around aimlessly, like a bird trapped in a cage. His least favorite days are when he has to attend dinners with you and your husband. The man is an ogre. And that’s why he can’t seem to leave. He thinks about it, often. Just packing up and catching the next ship off planet. But if he leaves, who's going to protect you from this creep? So he stays.
Eventually, he watches you less like it’s his job and more like it’s his religion.
Things only get worse when one night he wakes up with a start, sitting up in bed as he hears the beeping from his gauntlet that signifies your door being opened. It’s the middle of the night. What if somebody got in? There’s no way, you have a state of the art locking system that only he and a few staff can get into, unless they have a code. What if it was just your husband? Why does that make him don his armor faster? He has no right to barge in there if it’s simply your spouse coming in to fulfill his marital duty, yet he’s in a dead sprint towards the castle the moment he’s dressed. He had fallen asleep in his flight suit with his helmet on anyway, it didn’t take him long and when he gets to your room he’s tense the moment he sees that the door is closed. Ever so slightly adjusting the audio on his helmet he discerns that the room is empty so he switches his vision so he can trail you and sure enough a set of footprints is going off in the familiar direction of the library.
It was a relief. To know that no one had gotten in and you had simply left on your own accord but why would you be sneaking out to the library? You go to the library everyday, you should be sick of it. So he silently walks until he sees the faint light of a glowrod illuminating your face, a stack of books clutched in your arms. And he’s about to say something, you’re only a few feet ahead of him but when you turn you’re wearing such a thin nightgown, and the robe is hardly doing anything to cover you. Before he can react you’re rushing forward slamming into him.
And now he’s facing the worst torture yet.
Your robe fell off one of your shoulders as you dropped and now you’re sprawled out on the floor below him, your hair is down, messy from sleep, your slip of a nightgown riding up your thighs as you look up into the darkness at him. And then you fucking groaned. And all he can think about is how easy it would be to turn that fabric into confetti.
Help her up jackass.
He reaches down and of course you swat his hands away. You should hate him.
He helps you back to your room and the moment he knows you aren’t going to try anything he rushes back in the direction of the library. He knows you're fuming, the least he can do is go get your books. But then he’s picking them up and looking at the titles he can’t believe how warm it is in the castle suddenly. He’s used to the heat. Wearing this many layers you build up a tolerance.
But now he’s looking at the stack of smutty romance novels you’d wanted so badly you’d snuck out to get them and he’s sweating.
He makes it back to the cabin in half the time it usually takes him. He was in such a hurry he had completely forgotten about returning your books to you. He tosses them to the side and in an instant he’s practically throwing his armor to the ground, he only manages to get half of it off before he sprawls out on his bed, discarding his gloves haphazardly as he frees his cock from his trousers. His helmet bumping against the wall as he leans back and starts stroking himself, his palms are so clammy he doesn’t even bother spitting in his hand.
It’s shameful how close he already is just at the sight of you on the floor like that. His hips stutter upwards into his fist as he imagines you on top of him, your thighs wrapped around his waist, hair disheveled, wearing that pretty little negligee. Maker, your skin always looks so soft, you’d feel so much better than his calloused hands. Were you gonna read those dirty books and touch yourself with those delicate little fingers of yours?
It doesn’t take long after that before he reaches his hasty climax, cumming with a filthy groan of your name, shooting ropes up onto his stomach.
He definitely deserves to have you hate him.
He tries to not even look at you after that. Until one day when you’re in the library once again and it’s obvious to him that you’re pretending to read your book, your eyes dart up to glare at him every few seconds.
You’re looking at him like bounties look at him once they’ve been caught and are plotting to attempt an escape, purely out of habit he chides you.
“Don’t”
And that’s all it takes. He actually manages to talk to you. Of course it’s easier once he imagines you as a particularly unruly bounty, to snap back at you. If you were a real bounty he’d have a hard time turning you in.
You’d look nice in the cuffs.
Don’t. Keep it in your pants you moron.
He even offers to take you to the gardens, you deserve that at the very least, a few hours outside of this sweltering castle.
Then he takes you back to your quarters and you look at him with those heart eyes and he feels like he’s going to pass out when you so eagerly make him promise to show you the gardens.
It’s selfish. But he has to get in one last dig, he has to see that bloom of color on your skin one last time as he tells you that your book had been upside down.
It all becomes so manageable. For a moment he thinks that the two of you might be able to handle this little antagonistic relationship that you’re beginning to build. It would be nice, to have you keeping him in check, to have reminders that you dislike him.
But he had to go and ruin it all.
It all went wrong so fast it made his head spin.
It all started when you were in that damned dress. You’d been the most stunning woman he’d ever seen even in the campy, over the top makeup, and the flashy unattractive dresses. But now here you were in that yellow gown and it was like he was seeing you clearly for the first time. There weren’t any flashy accessories to distract him from your face. That flawless face.
So he was already a little off his game at that point.
And then he slipped up. He couldn’t help it, not when you were standing next to him, dressed like that. He called you little flower. That had been something just for him and like the blundering fool that he was in your presence he blurted it out without thinking. He could feel that familiar paralysis, he hated the effect you had on him. Thank the gods he had done it in Mando’a.
But you’re you so of course you don’t drop it. And then you make it worse because you touch him.
And then he makes things worse because he lashes out.
Then he thinks you’re hurt and he makes an ass of himself.
And lashes out again. He’s not even that mad about the droid comment he’s just overwhelmed, he’s never been this overwhelmed and this stupid fucking planet is so hot.
It keeps getting worse, he can’t shut the fuck up and finally you tell him to leave and he can’t because he wants to stay, he wants to stay and scream at you because he can’t stand how much he needs you it makes him physically ill how you haunt him day and night.
So he says no.
And the look on your face is enough to make him want to swear a new creed to make sure you never look so betrayed ever again.
After that you should hate him. He’s glad you hate him. He’s glad you’re giving him the silent treatment, he deserves much worse.
The first day all he can think about is apologizing. You sit in that little nook, back in your blue dresses, looking furious. He just doesn’t know what to say that won’t make this worse.
The second day all he can think about is how he could make it up to you. He’s got a couple of ideas of things that might wipe that frown off your face. He’s obviously not going to just abandon his creed but you definitely don’t make it easy, there’s a million different things that he wants to do to you that would be rather difficult if he can’t use his mouth.
He doesn’t make any real progress on day two either and later that night ends up with his face buried in his pillow, fucking his fist.
The third day he’s actually kind of pissed. If you two have something in common it’s how stubborn you can be and suddenly he’s mad at you, for no real reason, he supposes he’s just sick of feeling sorry.
And then there’s that dinner.
He wants to kill that ignorant, snooty, little man more than he’s ever wanted to kill a person. He wants to make it last, it’s been a long time since he’s killed something, he would enjoy killing Kodo.
But all that rage goes away when he catches a glimpse of your expression and it’s replaced with fear. He’s never seen you look so small and suddenly he’s terrified that you’ve lost that fire. He’ll go back and massacre Kodo right now if he truly did extinguish your flame.
So he breaks the silence. And asks if you're okay.
And he’s relieved when you ramble on, even though he wishes so desperately he could wipe your tears away. Of course you’d be harder than that to put out. His light is okay, and that's all that matters.
So he leaves you your book.
He had gotten bored and read one of them. The Smitten Paladin. It was racy but it’s what she had gone to get in the first place so why not. But that isn’t enough. Not after what you just went through, so he opens the cover and leaves his favorite color, green, written inside, it’s the least he can do.
✩
He goes into the next day with the intention of apologizing. Not entirely sure what for.
Sorry your husband is a scumbag. You should leave him for me.
Doesn’t exactly have a ring to it.
Before he can think of what to say you come out of your room and he’s thankful for the helmet because his jaw would be on the floor.
Maker, did you wear that just for him?
The green dress clings to the outline of your torso and it feels like he’s been punched in the gut. Actually, he’s been punched in the gut plenty of times and this is worse because your hair is down and it’s all he can do to not tangle his fingers in it and drag you back into your room. What kind of game are you trying to play with him? Dressing in that color, making yourself irresistible, what the hell is your angle? He’s cautious and slow when he greets you. He remains on edge all the way to the library.
And then you take out the fucking book.
You can’t be serious.
This can’t be happening.
You can’t just do this.
You can’t just sit there in that dress. With your hair falling so exquisitely across your face, begging to be brushed behind your ear, reading porn directly in front of him.
If you’re trying to punish him it’s working. This is torture. If you used this method to interrogate him for information he would have folded immediately. He sits there for hours, sweating his ass off as you perch in that little nook of yours, it would be so easy for him to just bend you over it and lift up the skirt of that lovely little gown. Is that what you want? He’s getting dizzy. Why else would you do this and then read a fucking erotic novel in front of him? Is this some kind of test?
Then you look at him. It’s easy to forget since he’s always wearing a helmet that you don’t know when he’s staring right at you. You glance up at him through your eyelashes and you don’t look away. He’s so hard he’s pretty sure he’s about to burst through the front of his pants. What is your goal here? Your face is turning that delicious shade of red and you haven’t so much as looked at the pages in front of you for minutes at this point.
If this is some game of chicken he isn’t going to lose. No matter how badly he wants it, he won’t lay a hand on you unless you ask him for it. Did you just squeeze your thighs together?
For god's sake, ask for it. Ask for anything he’ll fucking do it.
He can’t take it anymore. So he speaks, teases you. It’s innocent enough.
Keep it innocent.
So you go back and forth and it’s safe. For a moment. He manages to adjust himself in the chair so it hopefully isn’t too obvious that he’s pitching a tent severe enough to camp under. And then he can’t stop himself from asking how the book is and before he knows it you’re asking if he had to take a vow of celibacy.
This isn’t okay.
And then you ask if he can take the armor off.
For Makers sake you’re married.
He needs to ask about something else. Anything else.
“The book, what’s it about?”
Yeah, let's talk about the porn again. Dumbass.
And then you say the words that make him want to just abandon his post and quit. Get as far away from this planet as possible.
“I wasn’t really stuck on anything… I suppose I was just trying to figure out how he fits it all in there?”
Fuck. Does she know? Is she trying to be coy?
You can’t know. He hadn’t seen your eyes dart between his legs. This can’t be happening, this is so bad. Kodo would have him killed for this. So he plays his last card, that he read the book. And thankfully it actually works, you’re so distracted by the fact that he read your book that he manages to get you out of the library and back to your chambers.
He can’t get back to his cabin fast enough.
Cold shower. Bed. That’s the order of events. Nothing else.
But he can’t get away from you. It’s worse when he sleeps because in his dreams you are so much less confusing.
In his dreams you join him in that cold shower and you warm him up in several different ways (and several different positions) and he can take off his helmet and look at you unfiltered. You're the leading lady of all of his dreams, since the day he met you he has never had a break from you.
That isn’t always a good thing because he wakes up from those dreams he has to go see the real you. The one that hates him. As you should.
✩
It was already a rough morning, there is nothing as humbling as waking up to find you’ve cum in your pants like some pent up teenager.
The morning only gets rougher when he goes to retrieve you and you aren’t there.
Fuck.
What’s the protocol for this sort of thing? He doesn’t even bother trying to figure that out because his hand is already on his blaster and he’s throwing doors open. This isn’t the time to panic, he needs to pull himself together.
And then he throws open the right door and you’re sitting there in the tub with your hand shoved between your legs, your head tilted back ever so slightly with your eyes shut tight. You’re his dream come to life and simultaneously his worst nightmare. He wants to look away. He needs to look away but he’s a goner the moment he sees your soapy chest.
This has to be a record breakingly bad morning.
And yet by some miracle he fixes it. Or rather, the garden fixes it. You couldn’t pay him to look away from your face. He wants you to look like this all the time, beaming, curious, truly happy. And he can’t help himself, he doesn’t deserve it, but he’s greedy and he wants to know more about you, wants to hear your voice. So he suggests the game and Maker, you play it.
Gods, he’s weak. Why do you make him so weak?
The moment you ask for a question if you win he knows what you’ll ask. He hadn’t planned on letting you win, but you looked so content, he could just tell you but he passes on the last question. He wants you to know what it means.
It’s selfish to ask for anything else, he shouldn’t be rewarded for this kind of behavior, but he does it anyway, and he asks for more. He asks for more days, just the two of you, and you say yes.
And when you ask what sarad'ika means he’s sure this is where he gets what he deserves, this is where you’ll spit in his face, call him a creep, and tell him to leave. But you don’t. Instead you politely say good night to him.
This can’t be real. There’s just no way. But there you are, each morning, in your much simpler gowns that suit you so perfectly, and you ask him to read because you don’t want him to be bored and how could he possibly say no to you. You could ask him for the moons and he’d find a way to give them to you.
But it has to end eventually.
And it does on the fifth cycle as reality crashes in and he has to escort you to dinner with your husband.
She’s married.
✩
It keeps getting worse. He’s asked to leave. He can’t. He can’t just leave you in a room full of drunk men, especially these drunk men. Especially that drunk man. His mind is racing at light speed but he can’t think of a single argument for why he should stay.
And then you look at him with those pleading eyes and his heart starts pounding out of his chest.
Maybe he could take on six battle droids.
But he doesn’t, of course. Because what if you got caught in the crossfire. You hadn’t produced an heir, you were still expendable to Prince Harand. And he has to leave you alone with him.
It’s the longest two hours of his life.
He wants to tune it out, to turn off any exterior sound on the helmet but he can’t because what if something happened to you? So he listens to every word.
He’s never felt so small.
It’s a pitiful feeling. To go through your entire life being used to doing things a certain way to protect the ones you care for. And then when it comes down to the person that means the most to you you can’t do a thing.
For a man who has solved nearly all of his problems in life with a blaster, to suddenly be unable to do so? It’s pathetic.
They could punish her if I intervene.
They could kill her.
They could kill me.
Lock me up.
Who would protect her then?
Maker, he hasn’t felt this crushing sensation in his chest since he had to say goodbye to the kid. He can’t breathe.
He’s supposed to be the strong one.
Yet he has been conquered by a fucking door.
He doesn’t even realize you're out. Or that you’ve kicked him. Or that you’re suddenly sitting between his legs. He’s too far gone. It isn’t until he feels his helmet adjust that he snaps out of it.
Because you’re real. And you’re okay.
No thanks to him.
And he can’t stop the words that pour out of his mouth. Never in his life has he been reduced to this, afraid like this. You should be disgusted. That the Mandalorian sworn to protect you had been diminished to this. Just a man.
But you aren’t. You’re warm, and gentle, and soft, and real.
He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve you.
So he stands. And he helps you up.
He needs you to hate him again. It’s the only thing that keeps him grounded.
So he escorts you to your chambers, and you turn to him and say those five damning words.
“Do you wanna come in?”
He’s weak. And he’s selfish. Don’t do this Mando.
But he isn’t a Mandalorian right now. He’s just a man.
With you he's just Din.
So he nods.
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#lincolndjarin#the mandalorian#best kept secret#bks#din djarin#the mandalorian x reader#the mandalorian fanfiction#the mandalorian x you#din dijarin x reader#din djarin x reader#din djarin x you#din djarin fanfiction#RE UPLOAD
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Pinball, Hair, and Detention Pt. 1 | Vance Hopper x Reader
Part 1 (here) | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
Word Count: 2.9k
Categories: Enemies to Lovers (eventually lol), Rivalry, Angst, Fluff, mentions of past Bruce X Reader
Content Warnings: Swearing, Bullying, Mentions of Blood, Fighting, Female Reader implied
Summary: Reader and Vance have some sort of ongoing rivalry. You accidentally spilled your drink on his hair and he in turn gave you a “fresh cut.” You both end up getting detention together due to fighting. On the walk home one day— where you both live merely a block away, he barely misses your abduction and watches as you helplessly get carried away in a black van.
A/N: let’s pretend the grabber decided to start grabbing like a year or two later or smth cuz high schooler Vance and Bruce seems more plausible to me personally
A/N 2.0: Please excuse weird formatting like spaces behind paragraphs n shit. I wrote this on docs because my personal laptop is broken and my school laptops block tumblr—so all this uploading is done from my phone lol
——————————————
You never figured that walking into the Grab ‘N Go on a hot Denver summer day would have catalyzed as big a domino effect on your life as it did—and yet it did.
It was the middle of a Denver summer in 1977, the year before high school; and everyone was dealing with a week hotter than satan’s armpit. Most kids were either in their houses with the AC on full blast, in stores and the local theater, or away to go to the beach with their family. It explains why the town was just a little more empty this week. Both of your parents worked full-time jobs down in the city around an hour away, so you were confined to either your house or local entertainment attractions—the same ones you had been using since you could open your eyes. It was kind of old by the time you were twelve and stuck in your small town for yet another summer.
You were currently situated on your bed, reading last week’s edition of the Teen Beat magazine, flipping through the pages of celebrity interviews, dating tips, and latest fashion trends—which eventually got old, especially considering this was last week’s magazine. You checked the time. 12:53 PM. Probably the hottest part of the day. You only lived three blocks from the Grab N’ Go though, so if you biked or just walked quickly you probably wouldn’t get heatstroke just from being outside.
“Ugh.” You groaned, peeling yourself from the comforts of your bed. You had to change. “All of this for a magazine and some cola.” You muttered to yourself, sliding on the nearest (and hopefully clean) pair of jean shorts and exchanging your spaghetti strap pajama top for a plain white tee.
Getting out of your room and down the hall, you picked up the shoes you kicked off in the hallway yesterday and slipped them on, grabbing the $5 bill your parents left on the counter for you to order lunch with—which you were deciding to use for snacks. Maybe you’d pick up a small lunch thing on the way home. The money’s use was ‘to be determined,’ you decided.
Leaving your house and out into the Denver summer air, any amount of chill you felt on yourself before was wiped away completely. You needed to make this trip quick. What was a little jog compared to the instant relief of the too-cold Grab N’ Go?
Walking into the small convenience store was instant relief. Not too many people were around—and those that were wouldn’t bother you, the lady at the counter looked less bothered too, which was surprising since Vance Hopper was stationed at the pinball machine as per usual. Maybe it was because no one who would piss him off was there. Then again, anyone who bothers Vance must have a death wish.
Grabbing a soda and the new edition of Teen Beat, you walked over to the counter and slid the money over, opening the drink and quenching your thirst for a cold drink. Taking the return cash the lady gave you, you walked over to the exit, flipping through some pages absentmindedly. It was this exact moment where life seemed to have changed forever. An excited kid—probably an elementary schooler if you had to guess, ran into your arm, causing your soda to splash out of the bottle. You definitely had a death wish now, because your soda got all over Vance Hopper; the sugary drink now in his hair and on his back.
When the losing chime of the pinball sounded around the store and the blonde went still, the air in the mart tensed. Everyone was waiting. Watching. You didn’t bother to wait either, quickly speeding out of the store. Maybe he wouldn’t remember your face. You had never really talked with him before, the most you had done was look at him a few times in classes you had previously shared.
You had drank a little more soda and tossed it in the nearest trash. Sure you were running away from what was probably certain death, but you already bought the soda. Might as well finish what’s left before running away. You rolled up your magazine and tucked it into a pocket before moving into a slight jog to go back home. Or maybe you should go get something from a restaurant. Usually when you commit an unsaid crime hiding in unexpected places could benefit. You barely made it a block away before you heard Vance shout at you, his footsteps getting increasingly louder.
“Hey dumb shit! You just got your soda shit all over me!”
You sped up, breaking into a run and not responding to him. If you made it home in time then maybe he’d leave you alone. But what about school? You’d have to change your name and face and move across the country.
“I’m going to kill you!” Now he was running after you. He wasn’t unused to running after kids who fucked with him, so he was pretty used to this kinda thing. And he was fast at it too. “Gotcha!”
You yelped when you were grabbed and thrown down onto the grass next to the sidewalk. At least you were next to a park. Maybe God would be a little more merciful today, considering you could’ve been thrown onto the pavement. You really hoped that the next thing that would happen would be you getting saved right before he starts beating your head into the ground. You really didn’t feel like going to the ER today, and your mom would be pissed about how you knew you shouldn’t start shit with ‘Vance fucking Hopper.’ Your dad would probably beat you for a second time over the medical bills.
“I swear it wasn’t on purpose!” You pleaded, choosing to explain yourself as he straddled your waist, keeping you in place between his legs as he grabbed at your shirt collar. Maybe he’d punch you softer? “Some kid ran into my arm! I promise I’d never bother you ever, Hopper!”
Vance just started down at you, fist by his side, assessing your words. “Huh.” He said, letting your shirt go as your upper body fell to the ground. Now you were winded. Better than the alternative. “Guess I’ll just get a similar payback then.”
You watched in horror as he pulled out a pocket knife. What was he gonna do? Carve his name into you? Cut up your face? Oh god, he was gonna murder you. With a not-so-gentle hand, the blonde boy pulled your hair, hands threaded firmly in your locks. “What…?”
Vance cut off a good length of your hair, and you watched in horror (as best you could) at the hack job. What previously used to be your clean-cut hair was now resting on the floor or cut in the most uneven way possible. Maybe a bright side would be the fact you had the layers all of your hairstylists could never give you. After he was finished, he stood up and looked at the hair in his fist while you sat there crying. “Now we’re even.” He said, tossing the rest of your hair into the grass next to you.
That was the start of your burning hatred for Vance Hopper.
——————————————
High School had finally started a few weeks after your and Vance’s incident. At least your hair could grow into its new form for a little bit. To say your mom was angry when she came home that night to find your hair hacked up was an understatement. She was livid—ranting about, ‘how could you let this happen?!’ And, ‘We need to schedule you an appointment with Shelly immediately.’ You had to hand it to your mom and Shelly though; cuz they got your hair not looking as horrible as it did. Hell, they even kept the layers, which was actually really nice. As you walked through the halls, you could tell there were a few people talking about your hair. It made sense though, considering you ended school with longer hair.
You walked up to your friend, Bruce Yamada, leaning against his neighboring locker as you let out a quiet groan of exhaustion and annoyance. He just chuckled and closed his locker, slinging his bag over his shoulder and gave you a light punch in the shoulder. “Spur of the moment decision, or did you get caught in something?”
“Does Vance Hopper count?”
“Yikes.”
You quickly socked him in the shoulder, lips turned into a frown as you looked at him. Bruce just gave a light chuckle and apologized for the remark while rubbing his shoulder. You weren’t by any means a crazily strong badass, but you can pack quite a mean punch. Just not against Vance Hopper, or Robin Arellano. Though, after your run-in with Vance this summer, you did practice your swings and basic attacks—just in case, you thought,
“Whatever, let’s just go to class.” You sighed, grabbing Bruce by his backpack strap and pulling on him. You two were lucky to have three out of your six of your classes together, and they were in every other class period, so it wouldn’t be horrible.
Rolling into your first period, which was Biology, you were relieved to not see a certain blonde-headed dickhead anywhere around. Bruce chuckled at you when you let out a sigh of relief and dragged you to the last available seats that were next to each other. You both would be damned if you didn’t sit next to each other. Bruce wanted someone to help keep his ‘crazy fans,’ as you dubbed it, away from him. You? You just didn’t really wanna sit next to someone you didn’t know well. You really hated the awkward silence when the teacher asked you guys to do the ‘get to know your classmate’ activities.
“Class one cleared.” He whispered to you, getting a giggle out of you. That was the nice part of being friends with Bruce, is that he always knew how to keep the mood light. Previously, a few summers ago, you both dated. It wasn’t anything big, and it just felt like being friends. You both decided to just keep up with the friends thing, considering there was no romantic chemistry there. Now you were both the other’s special person. Bruce’s break-ups, your family issues, no secret was kept between you two.
——————
After Biology ended and you started heading toward English, your stomach lurched up your throat. Vance Hopper was right in front of you. Luckily he was walking forward so he didn’t see you, but you almost bumped into him for a second time. You didn’t need to be re-acquainted with his pocket knife again. You saw a small space in the hallway clear out and give you a direct ‘in’ into your English classroom, so you quickly ducked your head and hurried into the classroom, finding a seat in the back of the class next to the windows. Thank god this spot was still open.
You set your bag down on your desk and laid your head on top of it, listening to the buzz of kids talking with their friends as they entered the classroom. What was a short 5-minute power nap gonna do? Just before you could relax fully though, the buzz turned into a quiet hum suddenly. It was weird. Did the teacher walk in? Was it Mr. Manning? He was the worst teacher to have. You lifted your head up to see what the quietness was about, expecting to see a balding middle aged man at the front of the class, but you were met with Vance Hopper.
“Fuck.” You mumbled, watching him walk up to you.
“Hey dipshit, you’re in my seat.”
The kids in the classroom visibly tensed as he spoke to you, watching as you gave him a tired look. You knew the easy path would be to relinquish your seat and move, but you were particularly pissed at him. You didn’t want to give him the right to walk all over you. It was the middle of a school day—what was he gonna do?
“No I’m not. I’m in my seat.”
Vance gave you an angry look, standing right next to you. “Do I need to cut off your tongue next? I’m telling you to–”
“Everyone sit down and be quiet. I’m taking attendance.” Your teacher walked in, and what did you know? Mr. Manning. “Also, these are your seats for the rest of the school year, so enjoy.” Everyone looked up at him, waiting for him to finish with whatever paper he had in his hands. Please look up. Please notice Vance. “Hopper! I know about you. Sit your ass down.” He said, pointing at the seat next to you. Fuck. That wasn’t occupied?
Vance gave you one more angry glare before dropping his stuff and sitting down begrudgingly in the uncomfortable plastic chair. Well, at least Vance wouldn’t be able to torment you too much here. When you looked up though, he slid his finger across his throat. A warning.
You’re dead.
——————
“I’m telling you Bruce, he kept kicking my legs during class! It hurt like a bitch too. Have you seen his boots? I’m gonna die.” You finish telling Bruce, sitting at your table and chewing angrily on your sandwich. It was Friday, the last day of the first week of school, and you were just hours from 48 hours of freedom from Vance Hopper. “And I have to deal with him in history next.” Yes, you had Vance Hopper in two of your classes
“Wow. Good luck.” He says, trading you his apple for your peach. “I mean, good luck with getting through high school. With Vance in your classes and all.”
“Your support speaks volumes.” You say flatly, laughing along with Bruce. You couldn’t ask for a better friend—he just always made things feel so much better.
That was until you felt a cold substance coat your head entirely, slowly dripping in your hair to your clothes. Vance fucking Hopper just poured his milk all over you. Bruce just stared at you for a second, standing up instantly as you took a moment to process what happened and wipe the milk off of your face.
“What’s your problem with (Y/N), man?!” Bruce shouted at Vance, the blonde walking away with a cocky smirk.
“I mistook her for a trash can, my bad.” He chuckled, kids turning to look at the commotion building. “Maybe you shouldn’t hang around her so much, you wouldn’t want me to have to—“
Vance was met with a right hook to the face, not expecting you to fight back ever. The first time you had cried over a simple accident, but now you were swinging at him? Oh were you getting bold. He blinked in shock for a moment, pressing a hand to his face and looking at you. Maybe now would be a good time to back down and accept what you had coming, but you were feeling really stupid today.
He seized you by your collar, holding you close as he growled out, “You’ll regret that when you’re six feet under, you bitch.”
You spat in his face, kicking at his knee to get him to let go—which he did, and you fell back to the ground with all your body weight, watching him wipe the spit from his face as he wound back and gave you a good kick to your legs, a yelp caught in your throat. Now the entire cafeteria had eyes on you both, kids watching in horror, shock, and excitement. You’d love to see these kids go toe-to-toe with Vance Hopper the way you were now.
After a short while of fighting, you and Vance were on the floor. Scratches, bites, punches, hair pulling. Blood, and bruises, and welts. Vance’s arms were for sure fucked to hell and back, but he did a large number to your torso. You would totally believe it if you were told you broke a rib. It wasn’t long before Bruce had run back in with security and staff, watching the two of you get pulled apart.
Vance had a bruise already taking place on his cheek and his arms were visibly harmed—hell, you even got a hold of some of his hair. The previously fluffy but somewhat tamed mop on his head was now a mess of tangles and abuse. You meanwhile had a bloody nose, and you were holding an arm around your stomach, knees wobbly. While you managed to get back at Vance in your own way, you definitely took the brunt of the beating, and not to mention the milk in your hair was still there.
Vance fought against the grip on his arms like an angry restrained dog, while you stared at the floor, walking to the office with the teacher who was next to you. Looking over at Bruce, he mouthed a ‘sorry’ and you just gave him a small smile, shaking your head. You could always count on Bruce to somehow end up a hero in a sense. With a last look back at Vance, he also walked in defeat to the office, refusing to look at you. What a fucking asshole.
#the black phone x you#the black phone x reader#the grabber#the black phone#vance hopper x you#vance hopper#vance hopper x reader#vance the black phone#pinball vance#bruce yamada#bruce yamada x reader#robin arellano#finney blake#robin arellano x reader#finney blake x reader#brady hepner#mason thames#miguel cazarez mora#tristan pravong#blumhouse#fanfic#x reader fic#requests open#asks open#enemies to friends to lovers#fanfiction#ethan hawke
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Once again I have no similarities. They should still fight tho
All propaganda and what each competitor is from under the cut
Trafalgar D. Water Law (Once Piece)
Law is a genocide survivor who saw his parents' dead bodies along with experiencing a whole bunch of other messed up stuff (his sister burning to death, the people of his country being shot for being poisoned by their own government, being terminally ill, escaping the genocide by hiding under a pile of dead bodies, etc etc). After all this shit, he eventually got forcibly adopted by this one guy and dragged around the world looking for a cure for his illness. Right when Law started to trust and love his new caretaker, he is also brutally murdered in front of him. Law's life goal for the next decade is to get revenge on the person who killed his adoptive father. Vote for him bc he needs a goddamn win for once in his life. He is the people's princess and the narrative's favorite punching bag. Also, his depressed, PTSD-ridden autistic swag and scoliosis realness have captivated me body and soul
His biological parents were killed (before his eyes, by the governement) when he was 10(?). He then joined a bunch of pirates, knowing he wouldn't have much time (and will) left to live anyway. There he was sort of adopted by the Big Bad Pirate's brother, who managed to save his life, only for said brother to be killed (more or less before Law's eyes, by the Big Bad Pirate), when he was 13. You could say he was orphaned twice.
He’s literally got the double orphan special (Parents died and then the guy who took him in after them died too) that’s a 50% increase in orphannedness above your standard orphan. He’s also cool as fuck.
Law's parents were already on death row along with him and his younger sister due to a disease that shortens the life span of a person. The disease can only be passed down genetically and has afflicted everyone in the town that he has grown up in. Due to the sudden outbreak and unknown nature of the disease to the rest of the world panicked and the government closed off his city, killing everyone there. That is how his first set of parents died when he was 10, I think.
Still then Law would later join a pirate crew where he would eventually be taken away 2-3 years later by Corazon, marine working undercover as a pirate in order to take down this brother, who is the captain of crew Law joined. Corazon took him in order to cure Law's disease which he still had and to get him away from Doflamingo, his brother. Over the course of 6 months the two became close with Corazon essentially becoming a father figure to Law. I am simplify this but at some point of Doflamingo catches on to Corazon being a double agent and finds him. Doflamingo then proceeds to find Corazon and shoot him in front of a chest that Law was hiding in.
Law has faced many hardships since he was a child, but used his experiences to become an extremely powerful doctor. His pirate crew theme and his Devil Fruit ability are all owed to his adoptive father. Law acts really gruff and serious most of the time, initially seeming like a cool, calculating character and feared swordsman… but one second around the Straw Hats and you quickly see just how silly he really is. He hates bread. He collects coins. He is obsessed with ninjas and superhero comic books. In one arc he just fucked around with his powers and INVENTED harpies and centaurs. Oh, and his First Mate is a polar bear. What could be better than that?
The government ordered to kill everyone in Law's country due to everyone getting "fantasy lead poisoning" disease, which was wrongfully thought to be contagious stroked. Law's family was living at the hospital when they got attacked, his parents (who were doctors) got killed and the hospital got set on fire with his little sister inside. He managed to fled the country hiding in a pile of corpses and ended up joining a pirate crew lead by Doflamingo. Law knew he had the disease and it was going to kill him in three years.
Doflamingo's brother, Rosinante took Law hospital to hospital to find a cure but they always rejected him thinking the disease was contagious. Then they learned that someone had offered Doflamingo a devil fruit that could grant him immortality. The fruit could also cure Law so Rosinante stole it and made Law eat it. He then made sure Law could escape Doflamingo and got killed by his brother.
dude spent his childhood getting thrown out of windows, while dying from a deadly disease (that was eventually cured) but while he was still showing symptoms of the disease no one would go near him out of fear and disgust, save for his father figure.
nothing can ever go right for this man. its fucking hilarious in the series and makes for some wonderful angst content. i want everyone who has not watched or read One Piece to know that, for half of his 'main' arc, he's carried around like a potato sack by MULTIPLE people. he is a damsel in despair. he didn't even need to be carried, he honestly could've walked, but he had to save that energy so he could take the like 17 lead bullets out of him. he's always getting shot or thrown out a window and he's severely injured more often than not. he's also a doctor/surgeon, one that should be able to cure incurable diseases, yet his pathetic loserboy ass is too busy being emo to worry about the several gunshot wounds and internal bleeding. god help this man but also don't because honestly it's really fucking funny
Ok, FIRST, when he was a tiny frog-disecting little kid, him and his family and island contacted a disease equivalent to cancer BUT his fam didn't die from that. No, no, his parents got gunned down by the military and his little sis was burned alive with the rest of his house, so, yeah, very traumatic, horrific in a way that makes you very angry at yourself and life and want to oh I don't know, kill everyone and everything possible until the day you die, which won't be long because you have cancer after all.
Later, after joining a mafia/cult/gang, Law meets Corazon who after like 2 years kidnaps him to try and get him healed and so they spend the next 6 months bonding, WEEEEEE!! Wait, no, NOT weeee because Cora who is now his father-figure DIES having protected and saved him, and thus bruv becomes orphaned not once, not thrice, but TWO very traumatic times! If this isn't an orphan, idk what is……
Adrien Agreste (Miraculous Ladybug)
[Putting on a creepy white mask as I prepare to unleash the most insane lore ever written]
Once upon a time…
Okay so not only is Adrien an orphan, but he's an orphan who unintentionally and unknowingly was partially responsible for their own orphaning.
Adrien was created via the Peacock Miraculous, since his mom was infertile. But since the Peacock Miraculous was broken at the time, using it caused her to slowly become sick, until she "died" (mostly. Probably. She might have been on life support), just afew months before the show began.
Later on, Ladybug had a plan to take down the Big Bad, Monarch (who, unbeknownst to the heroes, is actually Adrien's father), via putting him in a position where Chat Noir (Adrien's superhero alter ego) could threaten him with his Cataclysm, a superpower that destroys everything it touches. Monarch willingly took the Cataclysm, actually forcing Chat's hand onto himself, which infected him with that Cataclysm, meaning that he was slowly dying throughout the rest of the season. When the season 5 finale happened and Gabriel sacrificed his life to heal his assistant, and the closest person Adrien had had to an actual parent since Emilie died, he only had a few hours left to live anyway.
Adrien is still unaware of how his parents died, he has no clue that either death involved him at all.
BIG MIRACULOUS LADYBUG SEASON 5 SPOILERS AHEAD
Sooo first his mom went into a magical coma as the result of him being born through magical means and was considered dead/missing by everyone. They had a funeral for her and everything. Adrien dealt with it pretty well, but his father did not and decided to become a supervillain to get his wish, recreate the world and bring his wife back.
Which he almost does! He ends up trading his life for (I assume) the life of his secretary/former crime partner/Adrien's mother figure and joining his wife in death. (We see wife's comatose body ascend with him so I guess she's dead? Sokka voice You know, it was really unclear)
But anyway, yeah, our babyboy is a full orphan now! Also in an alternate timeline he accidentally created an apocalyptic event and killed everyone so it's not even the first time he was orphaned. So there's that
Adrien is the superhero Chat Noir, who had to fight his father as the supervillain Hawkmoth alongside his superhero partner Ladybug, neither Adrien nor Gabriel had any idea they were fighting each other, and Adrien still doesn't know his father was a supervillain, or how exactly he died, but Marinette does and is keeping it from him. Adrien's father is abusive towards him, having kept him effectively locked inside the house for the first 13 years of his life, and forcing him to model for his company. But still, Adrien is the sweetest boy ever to exist, he's endlessly kind to people, sometimes to his own detriment.
I am no good at infodumping I just love this little guy. However, Harrowhark Nonagesimus is such a close second, but I chose Adrien because he's from my current hyperfixation… ily Harrow.
Listen, Adrien is the most guy and catgirl ever. If anything happens to him I will go nuts. Unfortunately, so much happens to him. I am not normal.
Give my baby some hugs and some real parenting. Did I mention he was not even born as a real human being? Born at the cost of other's life? Oh my god that's actually so Harrow of him and this is so funny I can't do this anymore
#poll#one piece#trafalgar d water law#trafalgar law#trafalgar one piece#trafalgardwaterlaw#miraculous ladybug#adrien agreste#chat noir
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In your modern au who in the gang goes to college/grad school and what subjects do they study? would they end up at schools close to home or go far away? How do there relationships change after highschool and with people moving away?
okay wow that’s a great question but also. a lot.
aang is a year below katara so his top choice school is just. the school katara goes to. it’s small and affordable and he studies philosophy and religion (but also takes any sort of fun elective offered to him) and joins a lot of clubs and makes a lot of friends and generally just has a nice time. he and katara overlap for three years but after she graduates they still live together, so he basically sees her every day anyway. it’s nice :)
katara genuinely considers not going to college but then she gets a sports scholarship she’d be a fool to reject so she’s like “fine, i’ll go, but i’m gonna phone it in the entire time.” she assumes that college will basically just be like high school, yet another prison where she will be forced to do math against her will. but she actually finds that she kind of enjoys some of her classes, and she can devote way more time to sports, and azula isn’t there (a weight has been lifted off her shoulders truly), and she actually meets a whole group of people who don’t find her intimidating and abrasive, but instead share her interests and actually organize with her. also, the fact that sokka isn’t there means that she doesn’t constantly have to compare herself to an impossible standard, and she finds that she actually enjoys learning when she gets to go at her own pace. and in fact…. she’s actually a great writer???? and really enjoys theory and philosophy and criticism and history and sociology and literature????? and she might actually be really fucking smart????? she graduates with honors. but there’s absolutely no way she’s pursuing grad school lmao. everyone knows that shit is a scam.
sokka goes to princeton for undergrad because, and i quote, “it’s nearby.” full ride, obviously. he double majors in physics and engineering, and also accidentally fulfills an art history minor without even noticing. everyone assumes that he’ll get a phd (at least one), but katara keeps insisting that grad school is a scam and so is the ivy league. and it’s not even that sokka necessarily disagrees with her, he just thinks that those are bold words coming from the girl who fell for a pyramid scheme. twice.
zuko goes to a small liberal arts college for undergrad and spends years attempting to justify his choice of going to a smaller, slightly less prestigious school by majoring in something dignified and respectable, like econ or business or engineering. none of which he is any good at. but eventually, after enough time spent beyond ozai’s purview, zuko just goes “fuck it” and double majors in theater and classics. his focus is on ancient greek drama. he then does a poetry mfa wherein he attempts to write on earth we’re briefly gorgeous without just rewriting on earth we’re briefly gorgeous (many such cases). he complains about his program constantly and how fake and pretentious it all is, but anyone who knows him can tell that it’s clearly the most fun he’s ever had.
suki doesn’t go to college. she figures that there’s no point in blowing money she doesn’t have and wasting precious valuable years of her time getting a fancy little bachelor’s degree she’ll never use for a job that doesn’t actually require one. and she doesn’t have any adult figures in her life to convince her that college is necessary (although sokka does spend a full week going “but are you sure…?” before suki realizes that she can just shut him up forever by claiming she can’t afford it). she continues to teach at the dojo, but because she basically already lives in her truck, she’s always driving over to princeton to crash in sokka’s dorm. she spends a lot of time just hanging out in the library while he does work, and finds that she doesn’t even need to go to classes to learn new things by herself. it’s funny how a formal education can make learning seem so much less interesting than it actually is. if she had actually gone to college, she probably would’ve spent the entire time blowing off classes and doing as little work as possible, but since she has no incentive to learn, she actually does. by the time sokka has graduated, suki is basically qualified to practice medicine, could tell you the entire history of the inca empire, and is basically an expert in mycology. and it didn’t cost a cent.
toph considers suki an inspiration, and by the time she graduates, she is already so estranged from her parents that she also has the agency to just blow off that whole thing. she moves in with sokka and mai and just follows them around. she sits in on their lectures whenever she feels like it (they claim she is mai’s little sister who is visiting her), and otherwise just kind of lounges about. occasionally sokka will be like “you know you could’ve just… gone to this school, right??? you’re literally a child prodigy and your parents are crazy rich.” to which toph just shrugs like “yeah……but nah.”
mai goes to princeton with sokka. it wasn’t even her top choice school, but once she realized that it’s where sokka was going, she couldn’t think of anywhere else that she would rather be. they’re roommates since freshman year and are basically inseparable. everyone assumes they’re dating, but sokka’s like “nah she’s gay, she’s just really clingy :)” which mai hates because he’s totally ruining her street cred. she’s a cs major, but she basically accumulates the credits for a math minor, a physics minor, and an english minor because all the cs classes are so easy for her (she first taught herself how to code when she was like six). sokka somehow convinces her to join his physics program for grad school, but after a year she drops out because she finds it so miserable. they continue living together, of course, while mai gets really into making esoteric indie games. zuko doesn’t really understands how video games work, but she still bounces her ideas off him because he’s the most ruthless critic she knows.
ty lee goes to college because it’s the sort of thing a girl from a decently respectable family does, but she’s pretty envious of suki’s lifestyle and wishes she could just blow off the entire thing. she goes to a decent school, one that appears acceptable on resumes but not so elite that it will raise any employer’s standards too high; she enjoys being underestimated. being in an entirely new environment gives her the opportunity to test out new personas free of consequence, and eventually she realizes that she’s kind of wasting her talents by pretending to be dumber than she is, so she actually applies herself and does really well. but then she gets bored of applying herself because now everyone expects too much of her and she misses when a B was considered a good grade. she’s technically a dance major because it’s the only thing she does consistently across three years (she graduates early), but she goes through different phases where she’s really into various fields, including but not limited to: abnormal psych, quantum physics, philosophical ethics, north african literature, microbiology, and women’s rugby. she keeps in touch with azula, mai, and suki, but she also just goes through phases of avoiding contact with all her former friends entirely. it’s fun to be aloof.
and last but certainly not least, azula goes to harvard for undergrad, and then harvard law. in fact, there is no other school azula could ever go to. even if she had lived on the other side of the globe, and not new jersey (or as she likes to call it, “manhattan”), azula would still go to harvard. she truly believes that it is the only school on earth capable of withstanding her towering intellect. anyone who found her insufferable in high school is in for a rude surprise once they realize that within a semester, harvard has somehow made her ten times worse. she’s technically pre-law, but she also studies pre-med and engineering, just in case. which is far too much for any one human to handle, and she ends up suffering a nervous breakdown during junior year where she eats nothing but cheetos for a week straight and tries to cut her own bangs with a pair of kiddie scissors. zuko and sokka go to cambridge to stage an intervention (mai and ty lee were too busy washing their hair that weekend) and help her out. you can tell it’s bad because she actually agrees to go to therapy. eventually she gets through it and decides to take a gap year before law school. she spends her gap year as a paralegal at a highly prestigious firm, and within the first couple years of graduating law school, she makes junior partner there. and they never speak of the cheetos and uneven bangs incident ever again.
in terms of who keeps in touch with whom, obviously mai, sokka, suki, and toph still hang out all the time after high school. mai and sokka are roommates for their entire twenties basically, and toph and suki pretty much also live with them. mai and sokka move to new york after princeton. and after zuko graduates, he also moves in with them. aang and katara sort of resist the idea of living in a big city, and instead decide to travel the world after aang graduates. but then when they go to visit sokka & co. katara realizes that it’s always secretly been her lifelong dream to work at a really cute little overpriced coffeeshop in brooklyn, and so she and aang get an apartment in like. red hook or something. ty lee actually moves to california, so they all assume they won’t see her often, but she flies back every time one of her sisters has a birthday, so they actually run into her pretty frequently. eventually she moves back to the east coast, and pretty soon after that she and mai uhaul together. none of them really hear from azula except for mai and ty lee, who are in a semi-active groupchat with her. but she and zuko reconnect after ozai’s funeral, and she gradually befriends the rest of the gaang, even if she never quite gets along with katara. so yeah, there are a few years where most of them don’t really talk to one another, but eventually they do manage to reconnect and stay in each other’s lives. they do all make other friends though. god could you imagine.
#averyho#asks#the gaang and#modern au#this was a fun one#the inherent comedy of being from new jersey. etc. etc.
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farm sans!!
YIPEE!
farmer sans, he farm. hoohah! he likes to pretend to be a scarecrow, but he works with corn and cattle too, hoorah! his au is right next to the bar, so he likes to go there to drink, him and horror like to drink a lot! yay! farms personality is more laid back then the others, not reacting as cartoonishly to everything, likes eating and doing farm stuff, likes brewing his own beer and cooking some good ol meat on the stove, pretty much like your ol' uncle or grandpa out on the farm. says pardner and pardon a lot
i got bored so, some miscellaneous outcodes and AU's are in the BAR SECTION
this is for general combo au asks as well as miscellaneous outcodes and aus
combo asks? whats combo asks? for example, while you can ask the characters specifically associated with two seperate aus, like fell and swap, they answer the question, together! at the bar. but moving onto the characters specifically only askable in the bar
starting with the focus of the drawing above, geno and paperjam!
geno
geno came from a AU where his brother tragically passed away, he wore his scarf in papyrus honor and became a sort of hitchhiker, one day he got beat up pretty bad when he found a grey, glitchy... block? he tried to lift it up and well suddenly he was in a dark glitchy space, bits and piece of his friends floating above him in pixel form he spent his time there for many, many years, eventually he sent out a signal through a similar glitchy block in an attempt to try to communicate with someone, this failed, but eventually he succeeded at escaping. alone in the multiverse, sans stumbled upon the bar, and decided to live there, never alone again! hes a little depressed, but less in the waa waa way and more in the soft kind of tired way. like for example he doesnt give a "hi!!" but a "hi......"
paperjam
pastel and error got a bit to.... errr, frisky lets say (no error doesnt have a penis nor nipples, but pastel does have the female parts, she can reproduce both sexually and asexually, the latter she can achieve through arousing means, but not necessarily inserting privates into eachother means. which gets her to be errrrr, pregrante) eventually she gives birth in a brutal manner, imagine the movie alien but instead of simple blood and whatnot your stomach slowly bulges until it explodes dropping a baby out. ink survived, but error had no interest in kids, ink didint really care, shes a hulking beast her instinct is to take care of the kid for a few months then leave it out in the wild to live but because paperjam is an interspecies baby hes a hybrid of error and inks anatomy so. he grows faster then a normal monster, but still has a moment as a child so, hes not ready for the big world yet, but ink didint know that, so she just dropped him off somewhere and left, paperjam grew up to be a sad child wishing for validation from his parents by any means, learned french to try to impress his mom. used to be a scam artist to try to impress his dads crime fascination, he only semi-succeeded with ink. sad, ambitious artist
404 and king sans
bio: 404 was born omnipotent, automatically more powerful then all the other simpletons. he would become aware of how through an alternative reality known as the prescratch timeline where that version of him speaks of what he was destined for. nobody believes him however and that bitch error keeps harassing me about talking shit well you werent talking at all when you were sucking me off you fucking whore i thought we would have a fucking future togheter but you just a fucking slut fuck you never talk to me again bitch
likes: chaos, delinquency, anarchy, NOT following the rules, 100 gecs (the one with the stupid horse), being powerful, super transformations, hyperpop, chains, gold, copypastas, big hot strong men that could absolutely penetrate me hard, 100 gecks (literally, i have 100 of them as pets and its awesome!!!), flexing, being totally dripped out, colors associated with errors, busting it down (gay kind not cool kind)
dislinks: order, rules, politics, leaders, having to follow instructions, horror sans from the evil guys fuck you you stole my place on that group which im not that upset about anymore after realising they all suck anyways but i still hate you because you refuse to actually fight and keeps saying random quips everytime youre on screen like actually shut the fuck up, gex, women because im severely femalephobic and extremely homosexual so they terrify me, error (cheater and liar dont ever trust him with anything), ink who stole my man with her fuckin cursed woman parts and apparently in the prescratch timeline everyone calls her mommy????? im bouta yiik out man yeesh
omnipotent brat with a big ego
king sans
a sans who believes himself to be the king of the multiverse, goes around ranting about how hes the greatest and how everyone has to BOW before him, most of the time just gets called slurs and has beer bottles thrown at him wears a comically large crown made of cardboard, plastic, and 5% metal. speaks like an old englishman
paper crane
a bunch of sanses got ripped to shreds like paper! oh no! and then they got glued together again, hoorah! but the pieces were all mixed up so they just glued it into one single entity hoo...rah? cheerful, a little... soulless. means good, wants a soul, wants to feel alive again.
horror
part of errors gang, but since errors gang hasnt been unlocked yet hes gonna be in this category for now.
coming from an au where the core has a malfunction and undyne and alphys asked him to fix it, sans the mechanic errr kind of just slacked off, ate a sandwich took a nap wasnt really paying attention to the subject. eventually after 5 months of sans doing nothing alphys and undyne snap and hit sans in the head with a metal pipe, smashing his skull and sending him flying into the waterfall-snowdin river, after washing up ashore in snowdin, he kind of just forgot his whole interaction with undyne and alphys, and even if he did, he probably doesnt care, same personality as simpletale, but hes slightly more brain damaged so hes a bit more clumsy and endearing. seems menacing at first but hes harmless, beloved by everyone. loves getting wasted at the bar with farmer
#horror#horrortale#paper crane#simpletale#simpleverse#error 404#404 sans#king sans#aftertale#paperjam#farmer sans#bar#pub#alcohol#undertale
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Best Kept Secret
chapter five : lunar interlude : just a man
THIS SERIES HAS BEEN MOVED AND RE-UPLOADED TO ANOTHER ACCOUNT. WHICH CAN BE FOUND HERE. THIS POST STILL EXISTS AS AN ARCHIVE BUT THIS ACCOUNT IS NO LONGER ACTIVE!!
pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader
rating : 18+ mdni
word count : 5.0k
summary : a look into din's point of view
warnings, etc. : language, sexual fantasy, masturbation
Absurd.
It’s absurd how much the job pays. Din’s not even sure he should take it at this point because it’s too good to be true. But they promised monthly payments up front and he needed a new ship, and with what this gig pays, within the year he could buy a fleet. He could do this for a few years and be set for life.
So he catches a ship to Naboo.
And he meets with a rather obnoxious prince who loves the novelty of having a Mandalorian working for him. It’s a good thing the job’s seemingly so easy because Prince Harand is off putting enough to make him reconsider. It’s simple, act as a personal guard to his wife. In exchange he’ll receive more credits than he’ll know what to do with and a private place to reside in. All he has to do is keep her from harm and make sure she doesn’t get into trouble.
“Is she prone to getting into trouble?” Din doesn’t try to hide the distaste in his voice at how high-and-mighty the man is acting.
“You expect me to know that?”
Pig.
After he accepts he’s given direct permission to disregard any of her orders that would prevent him from doing his job.
He declines the invitation to attend the wedding, to say he’s indifferent to the whole affair would be an understatement. He isn’t in any hurry to meet the woman who agreed to marry that. So Prince Harand gives him a note, he doesn’t bother reading it, he just tosses it on the vanity and he waits alone in what he is told are your chambers.
Weddings take a while.
So he can’t help but be curious, after all did his employer expect him to just stand in the same spot all day? So he snoops, he’s allowed to be nosy, it might help him do a better job if he can get a grasp on who you are. He spends the next two hours inspecting the room from top to bottom and much to his annoyance he learns nothing. There isn’t a single personal item here. All the clothes are seemingly unworn, there’s no clutter, nothing. If anything he feels like he knows even less about you. Shit, does he even know your name? Had the prince mentioned it? Maker, did the prince even know the name of the woman he was marrying? What a clown. Whatever, it doesn’t matter, she’s royalty and he’s the help, she probably won’t even address him. So he waits for several hours. He just stands there, eventually he considers just leaving and reporting for duty tomorrow but he can hear voices in the hall now so he stands up a bit straighter, then the door creaks open and Kodo drunkenly peers in before slamming it shut again.
Idiot.
Is that laughter?
He doesn’t get any time to wonder what that was about because a Twi’lek opens the door and then you walk in. And he’s frozen in place. Your eyes are on him and the room is suddenly dreadfully hot. It’s like you're under some sort of spell that pulls you towards him and he can’t breathe. Why would they put such garish makeup on such a beautiful face?
He should say something. He needs to say something. Introduce yourself you dimwit.
He opens his mouth but before he can utter a sound you touch him. It feels like his heart has stopped. He can see you speaking but he doesn’t hear a thing, captivated by the way your mouth moves when you talk, your tongue poking out slightly to wet your lips as you graze his chest plate with your fingertips.
It’s enough to make a man want to abandon his creed and take you right there.
This must be some kind of punishment for all of the terrible things he’s done. The gods are punishing him with this paragon of a woman that he is doomed to spend his days with but he can never have. The ringing in his ears finally clears up and he hears the first words he can actually get a grasp on that come through your perfect mouth.
“Is this some sort of weird fetish of his?”
Well. The ringing is back in his ears. He thinks he might just have to die in this position at this point cause it’s definitely too late to speak up, he waited too long, what the hell is the matter with him? He’s a fucking bounty hunter for gods sake, he’s fought beasts of all shapes and sizes and suddenly he’s been conquered by some woman he doesn’t even know?
Your small hand grabs the edge of the helmet and he’s finally able to snap out of it when you go to remove it. On instinct he manages to catch both your wrists in one hand.
“Don’t.” Thank the gods the modulator covers up the way his voice cracks. You’re scolding him, you’ve poked a finger into his chest plate but he’s having a hard time paying attention because he can’t seem to take his eyes off of the way your face flushes red, and then your neck, and then your chest.
How low does the crimson tint go?
For Makers sake snap out of it man, you’re one of the most dangerous men in the galaxy not a school boy with a crush.
You’re staring at the Twi’lek, scowling. He has to silence his helmet to hide the laughter that bursts out as you actually manage to get him to leave just by eyeballing him.
He manages to get through the conversation with you without tearing your clothes off, although there is a close call when you hike up your skirt to remove an anklet and like some sort of repressed Victorian woman, he sees just a glimpse of your ankle and can feel blood rushing south.
For god’s sake. At that point he just closes his eyes because this situation cannot get any worse, and then he can hear your dress hit the floor and he has never had to work so hard to keep his eyes shut.
“...I want to hear it from you.”
“My job is to make sure you are not harmed.” Can you hear the strain in his voice as he wills himself not to get hard? Gods he hopes not. He needs to get out of this situation fast, he’s getting ready to dismiss himself and find Kodo and tell him to take the money back, that he can’t do this but you say something that stops him dead in his tracks.
“Actually I’m good.”
He can’t stop the exasperation in his voice.
“Excuse me?”
“Can you not hear through the helmet? I’m good. I’ve already got an ensemble of people trailing me. I don’t need another.”
You can’t be serious.
“You’re dismissed.”
You are.
People don’t typically talk to him like that. They’re always too afraid. But you aren’t, you don’t seem to be frightened by him in the slightest. He was going to leave, he wanted to leave, but it’s been a long time since someone challenged him like this.
“You don’t have the authority to dismiss me.” He snaps back.
He likes arguing with you. He doesn’t get to argue with people. Who wants to argue with a Mandalorian? Most people don’t want to get shot by a trained killer.
You don’t appear to be most people.
He wants to rile you up, wants to see the fire in your eyes, he’d do just about anything to be the target of your anger.
So he teases you, until he leaves, making sure to get the last word in. He sets up a few imperceptible motion sensors just under your door knob so he can make sure he’s alerted if you decide to make a run for it.
And then he’s alone. So he goes to where he was told his lodging would be, it’s about a twenty minute walk but he doesn’t mind, it’s secluded, cozy. The cabin reminds him a bit of the crest, just big enough to be comfortable.
He takes a cold shower and tries not to think about his boss's wife.
✩
The next few weeks aren’t any easier.
You seemingly can’t stand him and he decides it’s for the best. You should hate him, he deserves it since your husband is paying him outrageous amounts of money to follow you around all day and fantasize about all the ways he could make you hate him a little less.
It’s hell.
Having to watch you day in and day out. Watch you wander around aimlessly, like a bird trapped in a cage. His least favorite days are when he has to attend dinners with you and your husband. The man is an ogre. And that’s why he can’t seem to leave. He thinks about it, often. Just packing up and catching the next ship off planet. But if he leaves, who's going to protect you from this creep? So he stays.
Eventually, he watches you less like it’s his job and more like it’s his religion.
Things only get worse when one night he wakes up with a start, sitting up in bed as he hears the beeping from his gauntlet that signifies your door being opened. It’s the middle of the night. What if somebody got in? There’s no way, you have a state of the art locking system that only he and a few staff can get into, unless they have a code. What if it was just your husband? Why does that make him don his armor faster? He has no right to barge in there if it’s simply your spouse coming in to fulfill his marital duty, yet he’s in a dead sprint towards the castle the moment he’s dressed. He had fallen asleep in his flight suit with his helmet on anyway, it didn’t take him long and when he gets to your room he’s tense the moment he sees that the door is closed. Ever so slightly adjusting the audio on his helmet he discerns that the room is empty so he switches his vision so he can trail you and sure enough a set of footprints is going off in the familiar direction of the library.
It was a relief. To know that no one had gotten in and you had simply left on your own accord but why would you be sneaking out to the library? You go to the library everyday, you should be sick of it. So he silently walks until he sees the faint light of a glowrod illuminating your face, a stack of books clutched in your arms. And he’s about to say something, you’re only a few feet ahead of him but when you turn you’re wearing such a thin nightgown, and the robe is hardly doing anything to cover you. Before he can react you’re rushing forward slamming into him.
And now he’s facing the worst torture yet.
Your robe fell off one of your shoulders as you dropped and now you’re sprawled out on the floor below him, your hair is down, messy from sleep, your slip of a nightgown riding up your thighs as you look up into the darkness at him. And then you fucking groaned. And all he can think about is how easy it would be to turn that fabric into confetti.
Help her up jackass.
He reaches down and of course you swat his hands away. You should hate him.
He helps you back to your room and the moment he knows you aren’t going to try anything he rushes back in the direction of the library. He knows you're fuming, the least he can do is go get your books. But then he’s picking them up and looking at the titles he can’t believe how warm it is in the castle suddenly. He’s used to the heat. Wearing this many layers you build up a tolerance.
But now he’s looking at the stack of smutty romance novels you’d wanted so badly you’d snuck out to get them and he’s sweating.
He makes it back to the cabin in half the time it usually takes him. He was in such a hurry he had completely forgotten about returning your books to you. He tosses them to the side and in an instant he’s practically throwing his armor to the ground, he only manages to get half of it off before he sprawls out on his bed, discarding his gloves haphazardly as he frees his cock from his trousers. His helmet bumping against the wall as he leans back and starts stroking himself, his palms are so clammy he doesn’t even bother spitting in his hand.
It’s shameful how close he already is just at the sight of you on the floor like that. His hips stutter upwards into his fist as he imagines you on top of him, your thighs wrapped around his waist, hair disheveled, wearing that pretty little negligee. Maker, your skin always looks so soft, you’d feel so much better than his calloused hands. Were you gonna read those dirty books and touch yourself with those delicate little fingers of yours?
It doesn’t take long after that before he reaches his hasty climax, cumming with a filthy groan of your name, shooting ropes up onto his stomach.
He definitely deserves to have you hate him.
He tries to not even look at you after that. Until one day when you’re in the library once again and it’s obvious to him that you’re pretending to read your book, your eyes dart up to glare at him every few seconds.
You’re looking at him like bounties look at him once they’ve been caught and are plotting to attempt an escape, purely out of habit he chides you.
“Don’t”
And that’s all it takes. He actually manages to talk to you. Of course it’s easier once he imagines you as a particularly unruly bounty, to snap back at you. If you were a real bounty he’d have a hard time turning you in.
You’d look nice in the cuffs.
Don’t. Keep it in your pants you moron.
He even offers to take you to the gardens, you deserve that at the very least, a few hours outside of this sweltering castle.
Then he takes you back to your quarters and you look at him with those heart eyes and he feels like he’s going to pass out when you so eagerly make him promise to show you the gardens.
It’s selfish. But he has to get in one last dig, he has to see that bloom of color on your skin one last time as he tells you that your book had been upside down.
It all becomes so manageable. For a moment he thinks that the two of you might be able to handle this little antagonistic relationship that you’re beginning to build. It would be nice, to have you keeping him in check, to have reminders that you dislike him.
But he had to go and ruin it all.
It all went wrong so fast it made his head spin.
It all started when you were in that damned dress. You’d been the most stunning woman he’d ever seen even in the campy, over the top makeup, and the flashy unattractive dresses. But now here you were in that yellow gown and it was like he was seeing you clearly for the first time. There weren’t any flashy accessories to distract him from your face. That flawless face.
So he was already a little off his game at that point.
And then he slipped up. He couldn’t help it, not when you were standing next to him, dressed like that. He called you little flower. That had been something just for him and like the blundering fool that he was in your presence he blurted it out without thinking. He could feel that familiar paralysis, he hated the effect you had on him. Thank the gods he had done it in Mando’a.
But you’re you so of course you don’t drop it. And then you make it worse because you touch him.
And then he makes things worse because he lashes out.
Then he thinks you’re hurt and he makes an ass of himself.
And lashes out again. He’s not even that mad about the droid comment he’s just overwhelmed, he’s never been this overwhelmed and this stupid fucking planet is so hot.
It keeps getting worse, he can’t shut the fuck up and finally you tell him to leave and he can’t because he wants to stay, he wants to stay and scream at you because he can’t stand how much he needs you it makes him physically ill how you haunt him day and night.
So he says no.
And the look on your face is enough to make him want to swear a new creed to make sure you never look so betrayed ever again.
After that you should hate him. He’s glad you hate him. He’s glad you’re giving him the silent treatment, he deserves much worse.
The first day all he can think about is apologizing. You sit in that little nook, back in your blue dresses, looking furious. He just doesn’t know what to say that won’t make this worse.
The second day all he can think about is how he could make it up to you. He’s got a couple of ideas of things that might wipe that frown off your face. He’s obviously not going to just abandon his creed but you definitely don’t make it easy, there’s a million different things that he wants to do to you that would be rather difficult if he can’t use his mouth.
He doesn’t make any real progress on day two either and later that night ends up with his face buried in his pillow, fucking his fist.
The third day he’s actually kind of pissed. If you two have something in common it’s how stubborn you can be and suddenly he’s mad at you, for no real reason, he supposes he’s just sick of feeling sorry.
And then there’s that dinner.
He wants to kill that ignorant, snooty, little man more than he’s ever wanted to kill a person. He wants to make it last, it’s been a long time since he’s killed something, he would enjoy killing Kodo.
But all that rage goes away when he catches a glimpse of your expression and it’s replaced with fear. He’s never seen you look so small and suddenly he’s terrified that you’ve lost that fire. He’ll go back and massacre Kodo right now if he truly did extinguish your flame.
So he breaks the silence. And asks if you're okay.
And he’s relieved when you ramble on, even though he wishes so desperately he could wipe your tears away. Of course you’d be harder than that to put out. His light is okay, and that's all that matters.
So he leaves you your book.
He had gotten bored and read one of them. The Smitten Paladin. It was racy but it’s what she had gone to get in the first place so why not. But that isn’t enough. Not after what you just went through, so he opens the cover and leaves his favorite color, green, written inside, it’s the least he can do.
✩
He goes into the next day with the intention of apologizing. Not entirely sure what for.
Sorry your husband is a scumbag. You should leave him for me.
Doesn’t exactly have a ring to it.
Before he can think of what to say you come out of your room and he’s thankful for the helmet because his jaw would be on the floor.
Maker, did you wear that just for him?
The green dress clings to the outline of your torso and it feels like he’s been punched in the gut. Actually, he’s been punched in the gut plenty of times and this is worse because your hair is down and it’s all he can do to not tangle his fingers in it and drag you back into your room. What kind of game are you trying to play with him? Dressing in that color, making yourself irresistible, what the hell is your angle? He’s cautious and slow when he greets you. He remains on edge all the way to the library.
And then you take out the fucking book.
You can’t be serious.
This can’t be happening.
You can’t just do this.
You can’t just sit there in that dress. With your hair falling so exquisitely across your face, begging to be brushed behind your ear, reading porn directly in front of him.
If you’re trying to punish him it’s working. This is torture. If you used this method to interrogate him for information he would have folded immediately. He sits there for hours, sweating his ass off as you perch in that little nook of yours, it would be so easy for him to just bend you over it and lift up the skirt of that lovely little gown. Is that what you want? He’s getting dizzy. Why else would you do this and then read a fucking erotic novel in front of him? Is this some kind of test?
Then you look at him. It’s easy to forget since he’s always wearing a helmet that you don’t know when he’s staring right at you. You glance up at him through your eyelashes and you don’t look away. He’s so hard he’s pretty sure he’s about to burst through the front of his pants. What is your goal here? Your face is turning that delicious shade of red and you haven’t so much as looked at the pages in front of you for minutes at this point.
If this is some game of chicken he isn’t going to lose. No matter how badly he wants it, he won’t lay a hand on you unless you ask him for it. Did you just squeeze your thighs together?
For god's sake, ask for it. Ask for anything he’ll fucking do it.
He can’t take it anymore. So he speaks, teases you. It’s innocent enough.
Keep it innocent.
So you go back and forth and it’s safe. For a moment. He manages to adjust himself in the chair so it hopefully isn’t too obvious that he’s pitching a tent severe enough to camp under. And then he can’t stop himself from asking how the book is and before he knows it you’re asking if he had to take a vow of celibacy.
This isn’t okay.
And then you ask if he can take the armor off.
For Makers sake you’re married.
He needs to ask about something else. Anything else.
“The book, what’s it about?”
Yeah, let's talk about the porn again. Dumbass.
And then you say the words that make him want to just abandon his post and quit. Get as far away from this planet as possible.
“I wasn’t really stuck on anything… I suppose I was just trying to figure out how he fits it all in there?”
Fuck. Does she know? Is she trying to be coy?
You can’t know. He hadn’t seen your eyes dart between his legs. This can’t be happening, this is so bad. Kodo would have him killed for this. So he plays his last card, that he read the book. And thankfully it actually works, you’re so distracted by the fact that he read your book that he manages to get you out of the library and back to your chambers.
He can’t get back to his cabin fast enough.
Cold shower. Bed. That’s the order of events. Nothing else.
But he can’t get away from you. It’s worse when he sleeps because in his dreams you are so much less confusing.
In his dreams you join him in that cold shower and you warm him up in several different ways (and several different positions) and he can take off his helmet and look at you unfiltered. You're the leading lady of all of his dreams, since the day he met you he has never had a break from you.
That isn’t always a good thing because he wakes up from those dreams he has to go see the real you. The one that hates him. As you should.
✩
It was already a rough morning, there is nothing as humbling as waking up to find you’ve cum in your pants like some pent up teenager.
The morning only gets rougher when he goes to retrieve you and you aren’t there.
Fuck.
What’s the protocol for this sort of thing? He doesn’t even bother trying to figure that out because his hand is already on his blaster and he’s throwing doors open. This isn’t the time to panic, he needs to pull himself together.
And then he throws open the right door and you’re sitting there in the tub with your hand shoved between your legs, your head tilted back ever so slightly with your eyes shut tight. You’re his dream come to life and simultaneously his worst nightmare. He wants to look away. He needs to look away but he’s a goner the moment he sees your soapy chest.
This has to be a record breakingly bad morning.
And yet by some miracle he fixes it. Or rather, the garden fixes it. You couldn’t pay him to look away from your face. He wants you to look like this all the time, beaming, curious, truly happy. And he can’t help himself, he doesn’t deserve it, but he’s greedy and he wants to know more about you, wants to hear your voice. So he suggests the game and Maker, you play it.
Gods, he’s weak. Why do you make him so weak?
The moment you ask for a question if you win he knows what you’ll ask. He hadn’t planned on letting you win, but you looked so content, he could just tell you but he passes on the last question. He wants you to know what it means.
It’s selfish to ask for anything else, he shouldn’t be rewarded for this kind of behavior, but he does it anyway, and he asks for more. He asks for more days, just the two of you, and you say yes.
And when you ask what sarad'ika means he’s sure this is where he gets what he deserves, this is where you’ll spit in his face, call him a creep, and tell him to leave. But you don’t. Instead you politely say good night to him.
This can’t be real. There’s just no way. But there you are, each morning, in your much simpler gowns that suit you so perfectly, and you ask him to read because you don’t want him to be bored and how could he possibly say no to you. You could ask him for the moons and he’d find a way to give them to you.
But it has to end eventually.
And it does on the fifth cycle as reality crashes in and he has to escort you to dinner with your husband.
She’s married.
✩
It keeps getting worse. He’s asked to leave. He can’t. He can’t just leave you in a room full of drunk men, especially these drunk men. Especially that drunk man. His mind is racing at light speed but he can’t think of a single argument for why he should stay.
And then you look at him with those pleading eyes and his heart starts pounding out of his chest.
Maybe he could take on six battle droids.
But he doesn’t, of course. Because what if you got caught in the crossfire. You hadn’t produced an heir, you were still expendable to Prince Harand. And he has to leave you alone with him.
It’s the longest two hours of his life.
He wants to tune it out, to turn off any exterior sound on the helmet but he can’t because what if something happened to you? So he listens to every word.
He’s never felt so small.
It’s a pitiful feeling. To go through your entire life being used to doing things a certain way to protect the ones you care for. And then when it comes down to the person that means the most to you you can’t do a thing.
For a man who has solved nearly all of his problems in life with a blaster, to suddenly be unable to do so? It’s pathetic.
They could punish her if I intervene.
They could kill her.
They could kill me.
Lock me up.
Who would protect her then?
Maker, he hasn’t felt this crushing sensation in his chest since he had to say goodbye to the kid. He can’t breathe.
He’s supposed to be the strong one.
Yet he has been conquered by a fucking door.
He doesn’t even realize you're out. Or that you’ve kicked him. Or that you’re suddenly sitting between his legs. He’s too far gone. It isn’t until he feels his helmet adjust that he snaps out of it.
Because you’re real. And you’re okay.
No thanks to him.
And he can’t stop the words that pour out of his mouth. Never in his life has he been reduced to this, afraid like this. You should be disgusted. That the Mandalorian sworn to protect you had been diminished to this. Just a man.
But you aren’t. You’re warm, and gentle, and soft, and real.
He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve you.
So he stands. And he helps you up.
He needs you to hate him again. It’s the only thing that keeps him grounded.
So he escorts you to your chambers, and you turn to him and say those five damning words.
“Do you wanna come in?”
He’s weak. And he’s selfish. Don’t do this Mando.
But he isn’t a Mandalorian right now. He’s just a man.
With you he's just Din.
So he nods.
#din djarin smut#din djarin fanfiction#din djarin/reader#din djarin x reader#din djarin#mandalorian fanfic#mandalorian x reader#the mandalorian
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Behind the scenes on season four [of Star Trek: Voyager], things continued to evolve. Jeri Taylor, after a long and successful career in television, announced her plans to retire at the end of the year, and Brannon Braga, who had started as an intern on The Next Generation, was now being groomed to take her place as showrunner (the first time he would hold that position). Braga, for his part, wanted to put his own stamp on the series, though it wasn’t always an easy thing to do as Rick Berman remained firmly in charge of the franchise.
BRYAN FULLER: I was coming into Voyager in Jeri Taylor’s last year, and so she was handing the baton over to Brannon, and Brannon was very much a new showrunner. There were things that he really wanted to do and should have been able to do, and which would have made the show even better and bolder and bright, but he was not allowed to. Rick Berman more or less told him, “No, you can’t do that, because I can’t control Ira Behr on Deep Space Nine and I have to control you.”
The influences of Rick on Brannon’s instincts sort of dampened what the show could have been. Brannon was a great showrunner and had great, bold ideas, but he was working for Rick Berman, who was a daughter of the syndication era. And the show had to be very specifically traditional in a certain sense, and he really squashed some of Brannon’s better ideas. I would love to go back in time and see Brannon do the Voyager that was his instinct to do. [...]
You know, my experience with Star Trek consisted primarily of highlights. It was so fantastic to be able to walk onto a Starfleet ship and walk through the corridors. Being in those corridors was surreal and transportive. It was also an interesting time, because I was terrified of screwing it up and yet I was also fascinated with the politics of Rick Berman and Brannon on one show, and Ira on another show. Looking at somebody who had been a showrunner before and had the confidence and the ability to say no with someone who was still reporting to someone and still fulfilling a portion of someone else’s vision.
BRANNON BRAGA: I thought Voyager could be a big, expansive, cinematic show. I wanted to up the ante from the production point of view. I would eventually get that chance. I remember Joe Menosky and I went to Jeri Taylor and said we wanted to start doing a series of two-part episodes that would let Voyager make its own stamp. Every single two-parter we did was fucking great and a barn burner. Real scope, and from a really high concept. I always thought Voyager could be high concept.
BRYAN FULLER: Despite Rick’s determination to have a stronger hold on Voyager than he could on Deep Space Nine, I’d not deny how much Brannon actually did achieve with the series. He very much was eager to get into more high-concept science-fiction storytelling, like harder science-fiction storytelling. The great stuff with Species 8472, the Borg arc, the “Year of Hell,” the Hirogen and “The Killing Game.” There was a lot of iconography brought back into the world of the storytelling, and less sort of diplomacy and navigating new species and more “Holy shit, we’ve got to fight these guys!” And that was really Brannon coming into his own. Actually Brannon and Joe Menosky were really the creative voices of those last few seasons.
From “The Fifty-Year Mission: The Next 25 Years” by Edward Gross and Mark A. Altman (2016)
#i personally don't want to see the brannon braga special version of voyager but#the power plays behind the scenes fascinate me just as much as they fascinate fuller#the way berman pitched voyager against ds9 and braga against moore specifically is... well. sure something. that man was a petty tyrant#voy#the fifty year mission
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love ur baldurs gate 3 oc so much. idk anything about the game but i genuinely likes him. i wish hes a real character bc i would buy the game for him
thank you anon i know this message is weeks old but ily and also im going to use this ask as an excuse to dump information about him now (swagdor lore (swaglore)) for anyone who cares
general stuff;
hes 49 years old as of game time
necromancy wizard, learned scholar, heavy interest in the boundaries between life and death and undeath, researching different types of resurrection unrelated to god worship (just not a big fan of asking for favours yknow)
stoic even keeled personality, reacts neutrally or stone faced to most things (this does not mean hes uncaring, hes got a curious nature). he used to be very showy and loud when he was younger, he finds that now very embarrassing
used to be a leader of an adventuring band in his 20s, fell apart when his group were defeated in battle leaving him lone survivor, wasnt a necromancer back then
has a distinct lack of self regard, half of him believes he'll be more of use untethered to the chain of mortality (undead in some fashion, or just thinking his corpse more functionally useful) the other half is just still struggling with survivors guilt (lol)
wanders around looking for old crypts and tombs to help his arcane pursuits, do-good's alot accidentally while he does, though most people get scared of him when he reveals the necromancy magic so hes got a mixed reputation (has some sort of misnomer like The Specter of so-and-so that wyll probably recognizes and laughs about)
will go along with just about anything if it amuses him, and has a weird sense of humour. hard to catch off guard or fluster, he yes-and's people alot to see how far they'll go with something or out bluff them (sometimes this causes them to try and beat the shit out of him)
truthful about his feelings when asked, but rarely volunteers his thoughts on things of his own accord, this gives him a weirdly mysterious image at first to most people
treats his raised corpses with care befitting living beings outside combat, and used to even raise some for company even if they were functionally just puppets.
he likes skeletons more than zombies (smell…)
his fake in game quest line is called 'The Wandering Necromancer' and involves inquiring about his old adventuring days of times past and learning why he's so into skeletons. He eventually reveals his past and you can bring up his groups old misadventures (oh my god you were the backstreet boys???) and he is very embarrassed by it. He reveals his group was felled by a lich, and he never found their bodies so hes always been curious on a way to speak with them again somehow.
plot continues BLAH BLAH eventually you find out that lich is still around and swagdor's old friends are now in its undead service so you go to kill it <3 but on the way he considers if he should take the lich's place so he can have his old companions around again (even if they're in his undead service) and try to give them some semblance of new twisted life again. You either help him with the preparations (yay phylacterys) or go bro you need to Move On. Man. and instead choose to release their souls when the lich is killed.
swagdor is stronger as a lich but also becomes even more detached from concepts of mortality (his sense of danger is basically nill now regarding others... its okay if u die ill bring u back somehow :) <- unnerving smile) and also all his dead friends are talking to him in his ear so he's constantly got a sense of being away from everything.
unliched swagdor moves on properly and begins The Healing Process (better late than never king) and seems more present in current ongoings, finding a place he can really set his feet. He's also less obsessed with death but sees his necromancy instead as a means to help and speak with wayward souls of the dead.
useless trivia corner: his names swagdor bc i based him off an old div2 oc i made when i was playing that game with aqua, where i used one of the randomly generated names they gave me and put the word swag into it (lol) i now am using his div2 swagdor's adventures as a semi basis for his new bg3 versions background thats why his younger versions outfit is based off that one captain armour set i never took off in that game
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I think, and I mean this in the nicest way possible, that the funniest part about Johnny juuuust missing on scoring Peter is that Johnny would’ve very well been Pete’s healthiest relationship right after Gwen. Don’t get me wrong, I love spideypool, but their relationship has been one of the biggest trainwrecks I’ve ever witnessed in all six+ years I’ve been following the blog, though to their credit they’re getting better but it’s at a snails pace it feels like so, y’know.
In some alternate universe Johnny got to Pete before Wade did and those two are out there living their best life and Wade is cussing up a storm for living in the universe where he didn’t score Pete (and in another another universe, Johnny’s dating Pete and Pete is dating Wade and it’s still a bit of a trainwreck but it’s not as bad as it could’ve been)
gosh... you know, it's a fun little thought experiment, actually. if johnny and peter would've panned out just fine in 9319, if johnny was the shoulder peter wound up crying on after gwen.
i really think if it were to happen, they'd probably be in friends-with-benefits territory for like, a while. johnny and peter they're – they're really touchy-feely. and i totally think that, after gwen, one of those moments where johnny's physically reassuring peter could easily escalate into something more. but neither of them push it into romantic territory quite yet because – peter needs time, i guess. but the fact that johnny is so there, and so understanding, and so safe and comforting – and not at all scary and hostile like harry turned out to be for him – it means that it happens again. and again.
and the thing with johnny is that - even when peter has his inevitable breakdowns where he says the wrong thing, or pushes johnny away inadvertently because of his own insecurities - johnny doesn't bail. he pushes his way in. he'll call peter out, as a friend. "hey. you're acting like a sack of shit right now and i hate to see it. do better."
and it might take peter months about it, and johnny's not pushing, but eventually - eventually it locks in peter's head that maybe him and johnny could make it. and that this is something good. something good that he should grab onto.
i was trying to really think about ways this could fall apart - i think peter would be - different, if he was dating johnny. i think he'd stay very masc-aligned. very macho. i think he wouldn't transform quite as much as he did with wade. and i think he'd lean into spider-man more. he'd lean into spider-man in a healthy sort of a way, because there's kind of - less demand for him as peter. johnny's a hero too, and he's never giving that up. it's the family business. whereas with wade - there's so much more pressure on peter to change in order to make compromises with wade and what wade wants. changes that peter won't actually really have to make or address, if he was with johnny. so - i think peter would greatly stay as he was - very masc, very traditional. it works just fine for johnny - but i think peter would become healthier, by virtue of having a lot of unconditional love in his life. so - yeah. it all works out. happily ever after, i think.
but you won't get peter in cute dresses, so we all lose.
#sci speaks#ask-spiderpool#hmm... peter in a healthy relationship where he is happy . or peter. spiralling in glitter and existential crisis. hmm...
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DISCLAIMER: THIS INFORMATION FOR THE DOAI CD AU IS OUTDATED. I WILL POST AN UPDATED VERSION EVENTUALLY
When I feel like it
& can properly flesh shit out
You’ll see it eventually.
FUCK YEAH!!
WRITING HEADCANONS FOR HORRIFYING MAN-EATING MONSTERS!! LETS GOOOOOO!!
I got this idea cause I knew I’d clutter up the og DOAI CD AU post if I just added all these goofy ahh headcanons into THAT post, so here we are.
Anyway uhhhh
Let’s go.
General shit:
• All six Veldigun go by their canon pronouns that have been confirmed in a recent Pastra stream. Clyde goes by it/its, Winfrey goes by they/them; Klaus goes by he/him, Jack goes by they/them, Simon goes by he/him, & Flock goes by it/its
• Veldiguns CAN eat actual foods, but they don’t gain anything from it. They’re void creatures, so that shit just gets obliterated from reality the moment it gets consumed. They do so just cause they enjoy the taste of whatever they eat… MOSTLY Clyde & Winfrey. The other four don’t really do that nearly as often, if at all.
• Mind consumption works like… reading through a book. You skim through it, you get a general rough idea of the entire thing, shit like that. The Veldigun don’t ever LET the minds of others warp them unless they ALLOW them to, i.e. gaining a certain impression upon skimming through the memories of a person they just consumed.
• All Veldigun actually look SO MUCH more grotesque & animalistic than they appear to humans most of the time. Their more cutesy cartoon appearance is just a result of them causing hallucinations, which is almost always unconsciously done by them.
• A Veldigun’s touch is only lethal if they WISH it to be so. It is a manual tactic that they can control, just as long as they aren’t accidentally spooked or something.
• Veldigun still sleep, just a lil less frequently than humans do. Some Veldigun definitely sleep more than others, but this is more so based on some of them choosing to continue hunting & shit instead of sleeping rather than it being for a specific biological reason.
• Yes. Clyde & Winfrey are canonically a ✨thing✨ in this AU & have been for quite a while by the time Winfrey got captured. They are very much gay & in love & you cannot stop me.
• The overall timeline for the series is a LOT more spread out than it was in the old DOAI lore. For instance…
- Clyde Lankmann, the first human Clyde the Veldigun consumed, was the man who started the Lankmann Foundation & died during the late 1800s. He wasn’t the first to die though as a “good friend” of his, William Winfrey, was tricked into walking right into one of the Veldigun’s clutches by Lankmann himself to be rid of the bothersome musician.
- Simon Lankmann died in the early 1900s after he cut ties with the Lankmann family altogether & started a family on a rather secluded farm (the whole family later being consumed by Simon the Veldigun).
-Klaus Kruger was a young man who died in the mid 1900s. The Krugers & Lankmanns were actually part of the same family tree at this point, with Klaus finding interest in the Lankmann family business. This interest led to them stumbling across Jack Walker, an incredibly impressionable boy who Klaus used as his puppet the second he laid eyes on the poor guy. The two would get up to all sorts of trouble regarding drugs & even murdering a few people, with Klaus in particular genuinely showing a sense of excitement over their wrongdoings.
- “Vincent” Lankmann is the most RECENT Lankmann to date in the timeline. He is around 50 years old when the AU takes place (aka the late 1990s) & is looking to find out how to kill a Veldigun so he can do the one thing his many predecessors before him could not: outsmart them.
Clyde:
• Clyde prefers to munch on fruits or fruit-flavored shit. Lemons are its favorite by far.
• Alternatively, Clyde HATES anything that even REMOTELY smells like garlic & onions, much like actual cats & lizards. Having them on hand won’t save a victim from Clyde, but it’ll at least force it to get crafty with catching you off guard or getting rid of that PUTRID smell first.
• It’s often seen having a rather bouncy & giddy personality, but this is because this is just what the lil goofball’s like around Winfrey or when indulging in its hobbies. Bro’s a lil shit around other people, ESPECIALLY ones that it doesn’t particularly like. It sort of acts rather emotionless or awkward around people it doesn’t know (who are not prey) by default.
• Despite that fact, Clyde has a LIL bit of an ego that tends to show from time to time, especially over its own crafts & actions. Because of this, it is a LOT more susceptible to getting embarrassed or self defensive than its partner, & will often hold quite a few grudges, sometimes for even the smallest of things.
• Clyde uses a lot of its free time to learn certain skills such as sewing & baking. Why? For Winfrey. Clyde was the one to make Winfrey’s outfit after all, & it quite enjoys making outfits for the both of them now that it’s gotten into the habit of doing so. As much as Clyde loves getting into a ton of different hobbies to keep itself doing shit constantly, they’re MOST of the time going to have something to do with Winfrey. Call Clyde a malewife & I will send the horde to fetch your soul for me WIWOWKWOWKDOOSKFKEEKKR
• It may be… not great at singing, but it still loves singing along with Winfrey whenever it can. Winfrey finds it adorable.
• Ever since it stole that one onesie from Grimmso’s & rescued Winfrey, it’s developed quite the interest for dressing up. Sure, not everything fits perfectly, but it enjoys trying on different outfits just for the heck of it.
• Since a lot of human clothes can already fit Clyde already, most of its outfit-making work is focused solely on Winfrey, making them into a bit of a fashion model for the lil guy. Winfrey may not always agree with whatever Clyde makes, but they both enjoy the process of it nonetheless since Clyde finds it really fun & Winfrey finds it incredibly adorable.
• Clyde is a crafty lil genius that often flexes its intelligence via petty means, such as overly elaborate pranks (that are often aimed at Klaus).
• Clyde despises Klaus due to Klaus just overall being a jerk towards everyone & despises Simon due to how much of a doormat it perceives the guy as.
• Despite being on the run from the entire continent, Clyde still likes to find certain cool places for it & Winfrey to hang out & have some fun at, such as abandoned or empty amusement parks, malls, all that jazz.
• There’s just something about collecting tiny lil trinkets & gizmos & other various Doo dads that delights Clyde. If it’s small & pretty, it’s most definitely going to grab the lil guy’s attention. Captain Quackers the rubber duck was one of these things of course, but Clyde has collected SO MANY other colorful & cute lil things in the past, some of which it has to leave behind since its collection will often get too much to move from place to place.
• Clyde is extremely intelligent when it comes to strategy & crafting… but lacks a bit of emotional & social awareness that makes it hard for the poor thing to empathize with anyone it is not super close to (aka if they’re not Winfrey) as well as properly understanding & handling its own emotions, which is one of the few things Winfrey has a leg up on it with.
• It ADORES rambling on about all sorts of topics they have a fascination with, especially regarding their knack for crafting. Even so, it’s only ever comfortable info-dumping to Winfrey.
I feel like giving y’all a cute nugget of info about the CD AU.
Winfrey:
• Winfrey has a HUGE sweet tooth & enjoys sugary things & baked goods. They can’t choose a favorite, but some of their favorite foods & drinks are cookies, chocolate candy bars, toffee, cupcakes, and hot chocolate. Overall, they prefer bite-sized treats rather than full-blown desserts, but they’ll take what they can get.
• Their spice tolerance is… well, horrible. Even smelling it makes them wanna gag. Unlike Clyde, having something spicy on hand will MOST LIKELY actually save you since Winfrey is nowhere near as crafty & clever like Clyde is. You could probably chase the big guy around with a chili pepper if you feel daring, but I personally wouldn’t recommend it… not just cause you’ll most likely die regardless, but also because that’s cruel & you shouldn’t be scaring poor Winnie like that. How fuckin DARE you??
• Despite being a bit of a dimwit, they ADORE music, especially orchestral or classical music. If they hear a famous century old song play in one way or another, you BET your ass Winfrey’s gonna identify that shit INSTANTLY. This stays even after being traumatized by Lankmann, which is something Clyde both finds adorable & is relieved by.
• Winfrey also admires more complex and intricate outfits, & would be THRILLED to wear something quite dapper if it wasn’t for the fact that… well… they’re fuckin HUGE. Clyde still tries its best to make the big guy look as nice as it possibly can though, & that’s good enough for Winfrey. JWOWKSKWKDKEKEO
• Winfrey’s mouth wasn’t ALWAYS closed like that. The only reason it’s currently a blank slate by default is because Winfrey did that to themselves back when Lankmann had JUST captured them & started interrogating them regarding Clyde’s whereabouts. Beeg guy thought they could give Lankmann the permanent silent treatment, but it didn’t turn out so well for them JAOWDKWOFKWOOD
• Even though they no longer have the bouncy personality they used to, they still get excited & bubbly every now & again, particularly when they & Clyde find a fun place to mess around in or when they get to talk about music… just in general KWOWMDOWKDK
• Winfrey is a lot more open to being social than Clyde, particularly due to their old fascination with humans & their culture. Even after what happened at the asylum, they don’t find it hard at all to empathize with others, sometimes even to an excessive degree. Even so, they are definitely more so a listener rather than a speaker & will rarely ever initiate the conversation.
• They can easily tear open their mouth to speak without feeling an ounce of pain. They can do this due to how their skin isn’t ENTIRELY solid & is still very much composed of classic veldigoop. This goopiness is mainly apparent for the skin that covers their mouth while the rest of the body is decently solid & hard to tear. This is also why Winfrey’s face-skin can easily and flawlessly reconnect after Winfrey is done talking: that shit can just mold back together into one solid piece like putting two chunks of slime together.
• Winfrey enjoys hearing Clyde ramble, no matter the topic at hand. Rarely do they ever understand a lick of what Clyde’s talking about, but they just like hearing Clyde so passionate & excited about something. That & its nerdy rambles are just adorable to listen to IWNWOWKWOWNEOWM
Didn’t know which of the two’s lil categories to put this in, so uh…
I’m putting this as it’s own separate point.
Whenever they can, Clyde & Winfrey like to hop on a train to get around.
Something about trains strangely comforts Clyde, & it almost ALWAYS falls asleep as soon as the two can find their way into a fairly empty & unattended train car to crash in.
Winfrey really enjoys the view they get to see on a moving train, especially during sunset.
Klaus:
• He & Jack actually spend a lot of time in America rather than Canada like the rest of the Veldigun.
• Klaus’ methods for murdering his victims (solo) often has to do with them either luring or simply picking children off the streets. He may enjoy using Jack to finish the job, but it doesn’t necessarily mean they ALWAYS have Jack do it.
• Klaus is ALL business, meaning he & Jack don’t do ANY of the cutesy fun shit that Clyde & Winfrey do. Hell, Klaus finds that shit repulsive. All Klaus & Jack do is kill & try not to get hunted down by the entire continent by moving from place to place CONSTANTLY.
• Despite him being all business… come on, that rat bastard’s definitely tried a cigar at least ONCE at some point. LOOK at them.
Jack:
• Jack sees themselves as just Klaus’ sidekick rather than his equal, obviously thanks to Klaus himself. Because of this, they have VERY little self worth & feels that abandoning Klaus for whatever reason would leave Jack with nothing.
• They never openly admit or display their own opinions on ANYTHING, ALWAYS agreeing with what Klaus says, even if they internally don’t agree in the slightest.
• Jack is actually jealous of Clyde & Winfrey with how strong their relationship is. Klaus may hate the two for being mushy & annoying, but Jack hates them because they can’t stand seeing the two doing much better & being far happier than Jack is.
• For killing, they are usually (in their box form) carefully placed in specific situations where Klaus knows there won’t be any unnecessary witnesses that they can’t catch. Once they’re confident their victim(a) are close enough that they can’t get away, Jack springs into action, preferring to chomp down on the victim’s skull or one of their limbs to incapacitate them so Klaus can come in & either watch them slowly pass or finish the job himself.
• Jack is NOT sadistic like Klaus is, but does not mind killing either because they just see it as a norm at this point. Like… yeah, they’re bummed they can’t eat what they hunt half the time, but it’s just how life do be, so they just roll with it.
• Jack can imitate a plethora of noises, particularly more industrial & mechanical sounding noises such as radio static or *metal pipe sound effect* JWOWKDOWKDOEFK
• They do not eat real food too often, but when they do, they prefer pizza. Doesn’t matter what’s on it.
Simon:
• Even though he never really talk when on his own or with the Flock, he CAN talk. He even happily welcomes any visitors that stop by if they ever catch on that he’s alive.
• Since be chooses to stay at the same farm that Simon Lankmann lived, he doesn’t get much word on what’s happening with the other Veldigun or… just anything in general unless he’s directly told shit by someone else.
• He can sympathize with pretty much ALL the other Veldigun (some more than others… Klaus being at the very bottom of that list for good reason) & do not resent them for continuing to consume the minds of people. He’ll still try to persuade them otherwise, but he’s still pretty accepting of all of them (except for Klaus). He definitely feels bad for Jack the most, always encouraging the big guy to come visit more often but Jack rarely ever takes the deal, fearing what Klaus would do if he ever found out about it.
• He enjoys the taste of corn, which he likes to share with the Flock as well… who will just down the whole ear. Overall, Simon loves any kind of edible vegetation.
• Only VERY FEW have seen what he looks like UNDER the cloth… & you, the reader, are not one of em, so I’m not describing what they look like to you. >:))))))))))
The Flock
• It’s not the brightest, but it can recognize a friendly face from a threat & will act accordingly. For instance, if it knows you’re a friend, it is GOING to demand pets. It’s inevitable. If you are an asshole doing asshole things, it’s going to peck at your head until you fuckin beat it.
• It enjoys eating corn, but it untimately prefers slices of bread. Why? Cause in the off chance that it gets spotted & acts cute enough, there’s gonna be some poor saps who feed it bread every now & again & give the big guy attention, & the Flock LOVES that. It loves receiving bread from kind strangers who don’t know any better. Popcorn also suffices.
• It has the ability to mimic noises like Jack can, but instead of anything industrial, it’s particularly animal noises as well as SOME human phrases, even if it doesn’t actually mean the phrases it sometimes says. So yes, you CAN teach the Flock to say “Fuck”, but Simon isn’t going to be too happy about it. NWIWKDOWOKDM
Lankmann
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• Linda didn’t NEED to die. He could’ve just let Clyde be contained & gotten all the information he needed to kill these things for good. But he didn’t. Someone was getting too close to the truth, someone he couldn’t just make “disappear”. He needed a way to cover his tracks & be rid of the evidence. It just so happened that Clyde came at QUITE the opportune time. Linda wasn’t that talented of a doctor anyway. No one was going to miss her.
Zamn.
Anyway, I might update this if I think of more headcanons to add in the future, but this is all for now! Thanks for reading!
:)
#doai#dreams of an insomniac#cd au#doai cd au#pastra#pastraspec#Clyde#doai clyde#Pastra clyde#Winfrey#doai winfrey#Pastra winfrey#Clinfrey#Clyde x winfrey#Klaus#Jack#doai jack#Simon#doai simon#Pastra Simon#the flock#flock#doai flock#lankmann#tw death#tw mention of death
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You know that au you have where Bruce kept Tim in a basement? Can we see Bruce come back and everyone’s reactions? Or a new au with a not brain damaged Tim who Bruce keeps locked up because he’s so paranoid he’ll lose Tim like Jason? .,,, and Tim doesn’t mind Bruce locks him up like a Princess and Bruce is the dragon?
!!!! it's been a while since i thought of this dark au!!!! in the au where the family takes in tim, who they find out has more or less been a captive pet for bruce for years, they'd 100% be much less warm to bruce when he returns.
without tim having been around as robin, he was never there to be this kind of...gel padding for bruce and his kids. it's sort of implied that bruce and dick's relationship never fully recovered because it was tim as robin that facilitated that healing relationship. but tim was never around here. so that means dick really only returned for jason and damian. since there was no robin after him jason was a little more receptive to reconciliation but he also would've had a pretty split dislike for damian. he'd dislike him deeply because he's robin and because talia blindsided him with it but he'd also be more aware of damian's young age so it would kind of even him out.
so in general, all their relationships are a little fucked. but they did all feel pained when bruce died. they were upset that they lost out on the possibility of ever improving their relationship to him and getting closer. but here, since bruce always had tim one on one and used him as a sort of crutch with the fact that he was a son that loved him unconditionally- i think that would've made it so bruce wasn't exactly in the healthiest state of mind and therefore didn't reach out to his children as much as he could've or should've because he had tim there to fill that void of having a child that loved him and that allowed him to love them in return.
despite tim's more childlike state that resulted from brain damage that was bruce's fault, he is still at his core very much tim. so he sees the beginnings of clues that the rest of the family does not. the portrait of 'mordecai wayne' that tim obsesses over is a portrait of bruce and if the rest of the family had given tim more consideration they would've recognized it. but they don't so bruce isn't rescued for several more years.
a combination of different capes all note how something is off in the timeline, that there are...snags in the fabric of time. one report turns to two turns to five turns to ten.
eventually a common factor is found. evidence of...bats.
capes have come back from the dead before and it shouldn't be such a shock but still....superman orders that no one tell any of the bats in gotham until they're certain. but then they have bruce sitting in the medical bay. emaciated and heavily traumatized.
it's like a bomb is dropped on the family when they're told.
mixed emotions, heavy feelings, struggling with feeling relieved and happy while also being furious and upset because they know about tim.
tim who has become a sweet and beloved member of the family.
a lot of capes still don't know about him, the media definitely doesn't because dick was half certain that jason would bomb their offices if a single bad word about tim was published. and also because...dick feels some odd...shame about tim. he feels an urge to hide him away, to not let others know tim is in his care and is....special.
dick knows it's wrong. he knows it's wrong to feel that way about tim while also...taking advantage of him. dick knows he's scum as jason never fails to remind him, harshly whispering to him in the kitchen while tim is in the other room and saying that dick is a piece of shit for being one of those people that are embarrassed about having disabled siblings.
but the shame never leaves him and dick can never shake it off.
it's dick who goes up to the watchtower to watch over bruce while he recovers.
partly because he has the authority to, he's batman afterall, even though dick as batman has pulled away from the league and focused more on gotham. and partly because...he needs to see this man he thought he knew so well. he's spent years trying to figure out what bruce had been thinking, trying to get in his head, and trying to understand what had been going through his mind when he...he took a child.
a perfectly normal and average child. and yet when tim had been rescued from bruce's care he'd had....several healed fractures and bone breaks.
eventually, leslie had been able to conduct a thorough health examination. that's when they'd found the old injuries. injuries that were years old. a spinal injury, broken ribs, a wrist that had split clean through, the head injury that occurred at the same time that leslie said was likely the result of a drop from a big height.
when she said that dick thought back to bruce's common tactic of dangling people by their ankles from fire escapes. dick had never thought of it before but...what if....what if bruce didn't catch one of them in time?
based on tim's early medical file leslie concluded that tim may have suffered a brain bleed as a result of the fall. that would explain his delay in cognition and rendered child-like state.
it's not the first time that bruce had rendered permanent injury on someone but...but this was a kid. what on earth could tim have done to have earned this kind of punishment? and then to keep him?
to keep him from his family who died thinking he was missing? to chain him up and hide him away like he was...like he was an animal?
it was so much crueler than dick had ever thought bruce capable.
tim loved bruce. it was clear in how he referred to him with so much affection and nuzzled pictures of him. but dick couldn't exactly trust tim's words when tim was so susceptible to manipulation.
jason and damian were still having a hard time with news of bruce's return so dick had made the executive decision to go to the watchtower alone and give the rest of the family time to....come to terms with the fact that bruce was back.
dick does his best to monitor and control his emotions as bruce regains strength. as he talks about how happy he is to see dick again.
dick keeps all the emotions in check. the questions, the shouts that want to burst out of him.
bruce is everything he remembered him as but also...not. there's a new side of him dick had never seen before and now he can't ignore it.
dick talks tentatively about alfred and jason and damian, barbara, and cass and gotham.
bruce is still quite weak. confused as well. dick has entire conversations with him but then two minutes later bruce will completely forget about it.
bruce gets cleared to return home. dick receives care instructions and a bunch of medication for bruce.
dick does not mention tim. does not breathe a word of him.
he's not sure what he's expecting bruce's reaction to be when they walk through the front door of the manor and tim, who'd been sitting quietly playing with toys, is suddenly up and squealing and running to bruce with jubilant calls of 'daddy!'.
dick was maybe expecting shame. guilt. shock that his dirty little secret was out and blowing in the open.
he doesn't expect bruce to muster every bit of his strength and lift a giggling tim up like a father greeting their toddler after a long day of work.
tim wraps his arms and legs around bruce, clinging and laughing as bruce spins them around. tim's mouth is stained purple, likely from a popsicle, though bruce doesn't appear to care, leaning into tim's kisses to his cheeks.
dick feels a wad of cotton fill his throat as he tries to ignore the memory of tim's sticky, candy sweet mouth on his, little tongue pressing against dick's while dick is pressing him into the bed and softly fucking him while the rest of the family is out.
it's quite a flip on what dick had been expecting. that bruce is the one basking in a happy reunion while dick stands nearby swimming with guilt and self-hatred.
the rest of the family follows quickly behind tim's bubbly giggles that usually only happen when jason blows rasberries into his tummy.
dick can see the split among them. the tense feelings for bruce knowing about tim. and the affection for tim and seeing him so happy in bruce's arms.
bruce knows that they know about tim. he might be a little slow at the moment but the league doctors said he should be much better in a few months. there's no way that bruce doesn't remember how he'd left tim.
there's no way he's unaware how tim could've died a slow, terrifying death by starving to death in that bunker because what if dick had never found that key? what if he'd just brushed it into a garbage bag? what then?
tim didn't even know how to use the can opener! he'd been so hungry when they found him. he'd eaten two grilled cheese and half a sleeve of oreos. or worse. what if he'd hurt himself all alone in that bunker? dick had gone back down to get some of tim's things and found a dulled paring knife in one of the drawers. none of the knobs on the little countertop stove had been childproofed. what if tim had cut himself? what if he'd turned the gas on? granted tim was very good at following rules and had never once tried to touch the stove but alfred had insisted on proofing it just in case.
so many things could've happened to tim before dick reached him. a million things could've happened to tim if dick had never found that key by chance.
by chance, he always repeated to himself hysterically. it was pure luck that tim was rescued in time and dick thinks he just can't shake that off.
dick thinks about that sometimes. he has nightmares of finding that bunker years too late and only finding a skeleton. he thinks about bruce returning and being disoriented and confusing his family with his strange words and calls for 'tim' and his insistence to visit his bunker and only then do they find about his secret other son.
and even now tim is still a secret. aside from his own internalized struggle, dick couldn't just waltz into a courthouse and adopt a missing child who had been presumed dead. if anyone...if the gcpd or the media ever found out about tim there would be a lot of uncomfortable questions they'd need to answer that bruce's 'eccentric billionaire' persona wouldn't have gotten them out of.
they're tough thoughts made worse by dick's own guilt that had only grown over the years about what he's been doing to tim.
jason hates him for never having accepted tim as a little brother. damian had even tentatively broached the topic about it once.
but how could he? how could dick think of tim as his little brother when dick violates him on a weekly basis?
it used to be nightly. but then dick learned to resist. learned to stop going somewhere alone with tim and fucking his pretty little slit.
sometimes jason would force dick to take tim out for ice cream. some attempt to get them to bond. but dick would inevitably pull over to the side of the road, some patch of woods, and he'd fuck tim in the backseats, watching him squirm on his cock and make little keens and noises of pleasure.
then dick would pick up ice cream for them and it would be so much worse because he felt like a predator buying his victim a treat to keep him quiet.
over the years it became clear that jason had not been participating in these...acts. not like dick was.
and that's when dick figured it out. what bruce had likely done with tim in the bunker (dick was made certain when he made a third trip to the bunker and found the nearly empty box of condoms in tim's little bathroom right next to his toothpaste).
bruce was the reason tim knew how to ride a cock, how he knew a cock in his pussy felt good and why his little hole ached to be full.
it was his fault. it was yet another thing that was bruce's fault. it was his fault that dick had become this...this type of man.
dick wants to hate him. despite him.
but aren't they the same now?
maybe that's why dick isn't as harsh on bruce when he returns. why he isn't as cold as the rest of the family, why he doesn't have a screaming match like jason does asking what the fuck was wrong with bruce.
because if bruce was fucked up then so was dick.
the two of them are two fucked individuals. two people swallowed up by batman and made more twisted for it. the father and the son made in his image.
when dick walks into bruce's room in the middle of the night to find tim naked and on top of bruce, sweet body grinding and whining as bruce's cock pumps in and out of him- dick can't find a single shred of him that is horrified.
the only emotion he feels is relief.
relief that he's no longer alone in the horror that is being himself.
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