#Daniel really keeps fucking around and finding out huh

[trashmouth-richie]

𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: escaping Hawkins was impossible, but he did it. when a ghost from your past shows up unexpectedly, bringing with him old memories and holding up a mirror to the train wreck life you’re living… you find it hard to trust him again.

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ no minors, depictions of poverty, child neglect/ endangerment, drug use/abuse, alcohol use/abuse, endangerment, 18+ sex working, 18+stripping, violence, smut. no use of y/n reader has a name that’s introduced in the first chapter, and another “nickname” that is lightly used throughout this series. eddie also has a nickname given by reader.

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎: this series switches pov’s between reader and eddie, thank you to @succubusmunson @joejoequinnquinn @choke-me-eddie @sweetsweetjellybean for helping me read through the first chapter, helped me brainstorm etc i love you

there are two easter eggs in this let me know if you catch em! like pokémon only not

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞: here i come, but i ain’t the same

masterlist

Stupid fucking bitch.

One dial tone waned into another, a monotonous wave taunting you from the end of the receiver. Your fingers tap impatiently against the counter. How long could a phone actually ring before it stopped or someone finally answered?

Too damn long apparently. 

Giving up and counting your losses, you slam the receiver back on the wall, muttering more choice words as you skirt your hips behind the wooden bar, thumbing through the blue lined notebook schedule.   

Work was packed. More-so than any other Friday night, but since it was the beginning of graduation weekend for Hawkins High— every Sam, Dick, and Harry had wandered into the bar looking for a cheap escape and a sugary drink. 

Lucky for them, that was exactly what Queen of Hearts had on the menu. And if you talked to the right person, the luck didn’t stop there. 

“No answer?” Jolene called over her shoulder, hands full with a bottle of Jack Daniels. 

Scribbling an angry dark mark through the name Ginger on the schedule, you toss the notebook back into the drawer shutting it with your hip.

“Just rang and rang,”  you say, annoyingly jumping in to help her finish pouring three Jack & Cokes. The soda fizzes under your thumb, “and before you try to cover for her, this is the fourth time she’s done this.” 

She lets out an exaggerated sigh, taking the cans from you and tossing them into the trash.

“Really thought this one would work out,” her long legs cross behind you to slot the liquor bottle back in its designated spot, “she had kids.. poor thing needed the cash.” 

The familiar ache of neglect radiated through you, “I found a babysitter for the nights she was working, told her I’d help pay… that asshole she keeps around probably found out she was working here.” 

Jolene raises her eyebrows. Her slender fingers hold the three drinks with ease, setting them on a tray.

“Can’t believe Jackie skipped town with that rich salesman,” she sighs heavily, leaning an elbow on the sticky bar, “lucky girl, something like that would never happen to me.” 

Jealousy pings in your chest but you shake it off, “he was really dreamy huh? Those beauty marks? His hair? His ass?” You wolf whistle, “cut me a slice.” 

You weren’t jealous that Jackie was now probably driving a BMW, that her life would be nothing but luxurious from here on out, or even that her boyfriend was movie star hot. 

What made your blood boil over was the fact that she got out, and you were still stuck here like hardened gum underneath a table. 

The club was a part of you. Like an unwanted birthmark, this lifestyle was something you couldn’t get away from. Understanding at a young age, when most girls were playing with dolls, just exactly the kind of life you were destined to live, and unfortunately it wasn’t outside of these four walls.

“Your time will come,” Jolene smiled, looking into a compact and wiping a smudge of lipstick from her teeth, “you’re still young, Miss Assistant.” 

You rolled your eyes, placing the tray on her awaiting palm. Since Jackie was gone, her job was now yours.  Tacking on added responsibilities with no pay raise in sight. You found out all too soon what a fucking joke that title of ‘assistant’ actually was. 

“Told him I didn’t want it, but you know how that went.” 

“I do kid,” she sighs, looking down at you, her eyes sweeping over the still pink scar in your eyebrow, “I really… oh honey, you’re gonna be a busy little bee tonight!” 

You breathe heavily through your nose, dragging your hands down your face, “don’t remind me.” 

“I’ll help out wherever, ‘kay?” 

Jolene had taken you under her wing when you first walked into Queen of Hearts. Freshly eighteen almost down to the hour, naive waters brimming your eyes, forced into this life. 

Her motherly ways comforted everyone, only thirty-three but in this industry that was practically ninety. Just like you, Jolene had deep roots in this place. 

Her tall frame slinks over to the waiting guys sitting at the stage, a pleasant smile on her lips. Twirling the ends of her black hair twisted into schoolgirl pigtails, laying the charm on thick. 

Staring over at her in a forlorn gaze, you hated to think of yourself still here ten years from now, a permanent fixture to this place, like Jolene. The lemons of life were squeezed and you had made the lemonade, but it was sour, bitter.. you longed for something sweeter. 

The bubbly fantasy is popped when Mickey Fritz’ oversized hand hits the counter like he’s a toddler in a highchair.

“Hey sugar tits, I’m empty o’er here!”

Your nightmare reality comes back into view. 

The walls at Queen of Hearts were draped in deep shades of red velour, a cozy ambiance to invite strangers and locals alike. The bar was backlit and stocked with a decent selection of polished bottles of whiskey, gin and bourbon. 

His boots clapped along the wood floor as the pair walked further inside, leaving a plume of smoke in their wake, catching on the neon lights and creating a smoked crimson haze across the dark club.

The raised stage was centered, creating an aisle on either side of it, clad with leather backed red chairs surrounding it at every angle. For a night club in the middle of Indiana, it wasn’t half bad compared to the places he was used to out East. 

A row of booths were tucked onto the left side of the club, high top tables stood crowded with drunk college students, yelling loudly and making asses of themselves to impress the working girls. 

The music blaring over the speakers was a little cliche and too “pop” for his liking—fuck, had he really turned into one of those guys, questioning what a strip club was playing for music? 

He rolls his eyes at his own false pretentiousness, turning it into a wink at a cocktail waitress carrying a tray full of plastic flutes filled with a gut rot of pink liqueur. The gold thong she was wearing sat high on her hips, matching the cheap glittery cowboy hat on her blonde curls. 

Dark eyes follow her long legs to a nearby table, a fist to his mouth as he whistles and licks his chomps.

“Damn! Can you believe this used to be the Hideout?” Jeff squawked, not so casually adjusting himself as they slid into an open booth, “that was Gareth Emerson’s twin sister, she really grew up huh, remember him?”

He didn’t.

Much like anyone else Jeff had tried to bring up since he had agreed to meet up for a drink on the occasion that they were both home, he hadn’t given high school a second thought since the night he left. 

“Nah, man,” he said, grabbing for the sticky menu on the black table top, “I don’t.”

It had been years since he had seen Jeff, and he was surprised that he had recognized him at the gas station last night when he was filling up his motorcycle. 

His own appearance hadn’t changed much, dressed a little better, wore cologne now, normal shit that came along with getting out of puberty. 

Back then Jeff still had braces, a small lisp when he got really drunk. Now, he was a grown man. Living in Phoenix with a big important job at some company, home for the weekend to visit his parents, and watch his youngest brother graduate.

There would be no visiting family or old friends for him on this trip back to Hawkins. The thought of running into anyone he knew and having that painfully awkward small talk about the ‘good old days as a Tiger!’ made him cringe, as if that ever were the case for him. 

Having left this shit hole in the middle of the night seven years ago, he took nothing with him but some saved cash, his guitar, a full tank of gas and the clothes on his back. 

The heavy ache in his chest, brim filled with remorse, was an added carry on, something that didn’t go away with the miles he had put between him and Hawkins. 

He had planned to keep this town in the rearview, but life, probably karma, had other plans. 

Back in Hawkins strictly on “business,” that's what he told Jeff when the smiley old friend grabbed him into a bear hug in the checkout line, crushing the chips he was carrying to a powder in its aluminum bag. 

Technically, it was family business. But he hadn’t mentioned that to Jeff. He didn’t want the questions, didn’t want the pity.

He barely even knew his uncle that well anyway, but being the only living relative of the deceased, he didn’t have a choice when the call came through that he had passed. 

A week. That was the timeframe he told his job that he’d be gone for. Leaving just enough time to plan the funeral, and sell the trailer. 

Coming home to the haunting shadows of Hawkins was like playing in a graveyard filled with demons of his past. Sorrow filled every dark corner, looming around him like a fog, making him unable to forget the damage left behind. 

For years it had worked out fine, he had moved on. But every now and then, he had to push his inner demons down, and still to this day, years after the fact, they kept trying to crawl back up. The shame of his past coming to the forefront.

The music changes to another upbeat song that was popular on the radio, Jeff nods along to the beat, strumming his fingers against his belly like he was playing the guitar. 

He looked over at his old highschool friend and smiled for the first time since being back here, “still play?”

Jeff stretched a wide grin across his face, chuckling a little too loud, “only in my dreams… working seventy-hour weeks doesn’t really allow me to have that kinda freedom.” He nodded and smiled a little at the waitress who was coming to take their drink orders, “so what have you been up to man? It’s been years!”

He knew all too well about not having free time to spend the way he had wanted to. He didn’t even own a guitar anymore. The last time he saw his Warlock, it was sitting in a pawn shop in Nashville— the last of his many possessions sold to make ends meet. 

Ordering a beer, he counts his budget for this trip in his head, deciding to buy Jeff’s drink too. Maybe being back wouldn’t be so bad after a drink or two, a little liquid courage to get him through the night at least.

The pleather seat creaks beneath his weight when he leans back further into the booth, stretching his arms out wide. Trying to gain a sliver of comfort since being home. 

Working the pole to Ginger’s song of choice, Once Bitten, Twice Shy, you found it hard to get into music you could care less about. But you didn’t have time to complain. 

Legs crossed and spinning upside down, bare besides a face full of makeup and a red thong, you pretended that you were anywhere else but there. 

How nice it would be to not have to crawl across dirty dollar bills, teasing a faceless man with your body so that he would be eager enough to slip a twenty into your g-string.

Collecting your tips from your set, you tap them against your vanity in the dressing room, counting out loud your mind already knowing how much money will be put away after bills are paid. 

The long jagged crack in your mirror served as the only looking glass you liked to look in. The warped shapes of your face looking back at you made it easier to swallow the life you were living, as if it were a fever dream, a disturbed Alice in Wonderland type reality. 

In the mirror you weren’t a dancer at Queen of Hearts. You could be a nurse, a librarian, a cook in a shitty home town restaurant who went home smelling like grease instead of men’s cologne and wearing suspicious stains. 

It could be easy, simple really. Bus tickets weren’t terribly expensive. Going to any city, a map in your hand and the saved coffee can of cash tucked into your purse. You could almost imagine the taste of the ocean. The thought of even stepping outside of Indiana was enough to power you for the rest of the night. 

As easily as the daydream came it fluttered away when the boss stepped into the dressing room. 

His eyes loomed in a dead stare, sweat pooling on his temples. The ice in his glass shifted as it melted into the whiskey. A Colombian cigar tucked into his fat mouth had an inch long ash waiting to fall. 

He wasn’t much taller than you, barely older, but his attitude and small dick made him seem eight feet tall. 

“The hell are you doing in here? Fucking Christ woman, the girls are drowning out there, those needle dick college fucks are about to swing fists and you’re in here staring at yourself?”

“Just takin’ a little break Tommy, I gotta change.” 

“I don’t need any lip from you, better watch it before I match that other scar y’ hear me?” 

His threats didn’t scare you, it was who he answered to that made you terrified. A bad report to the big boss and you’d be drinking your meals through a straw. You knew because it’s already happened. Turns out you don’t need your mouth to swing around a pole. 

“Loud and clear.” 

This type of life was the only one you had ever known. You quite literally grew up with this environment right under your nose, and everyone at the club knew it. 

The romance novels you kept in your purse were full of knights in shining armor type of men, another fallacy to your looking glass. 

The thought of anything else was only real in your daydreams. Escaping the festering wound of Hawkins was impossible, almost unheard of. No one with your background got out. 

But he did.

Shoulder to shoulder, squeezing in sideways with grimy singles fisted in their hands, the club was stuffed to the hilt with sweaty, drunk, and extremely horny men. 

“… here!” you slam two more drinks onto the heaping tray and shove it into Wendy’s hands, “take this to those asshats and tell them we are out of triple sec, no more Long Island Ice Teas, if they want a drink they can order beer like everyone else.”

Wendy swung her hips with the Long Islands in tow over  to soften the hearts of the college boys. Batting her lashes, sitting topless on their laps and letting them tell her stories of the parties they went to, the classes they skipped and the girls they fucked. Anything to keep them from hollering and starting a fight with the locals. 

Lisa Ann was working over the business men from out of town, their briefcases shining with a matte patent leather, expensive watches adorning their wrists. Her pretty Marilyn Monroe smile on display as she brought over their drinks, tussling their hair between her pink fingernails, putty at her fingertips.  

Between the rest of you rotating between pouring drinks, collecting payments and trying to wiggle past the grabby hands of Donny, the roar of the busy hour had started to lull. 

All of you were tired and crabby, legs cramping and toes pinched in uncomfortable shoes. Jolene wiped her brow and blew out a deep breath. 

“Take fifteen,” you said to her, “I got it from here.” 

She shot you a wink and disappeared into the dressing room. 

Peeling the soles of your boots from the floor you lean your back against the shelf of liquor bottles. Working your hands on the base of your neck behind your head.

The usual crink that ached when you were stressed was flaring up again. Causing your shoulders to tense up and sending a pinched dull ache from your back up to your throbbing temples. Radiating your jaw, with a heat so fierce it could melt glass and it wasn’t even eleven o’ clock yet. 

Your eyes are pressed closed in a tight squeeze, maybe you could shut the pain out by pretending it wasn’t there.

“Tiffs just about done in room D,” Veronica chirped, her bracelets jingling in a metallic tune, “the ‘doctor’ again,” she explains with air quotes chuckling to herself.

“He’s only here on nights she’s workin’” you say exhaustedly,  “she’s his favorite.” 

Being one of the few regulars that wasn’t married, he was somehow the slimiest worm in the dirt. Tall and slender framed with icy white hair, he seemed to stare down his nose at the girls, his voice an eerily calm when he asked for Tiff, handing over the crisp fifties to secure her for the allotted amount of time. 

Beads click together as she stumbles in from the back, adjusting her lipstick and holding the ripped strap of her bra, followed behind her like clockwork was the doctor, tucking his oxford shirt into his slacks. 

Your jaw felt like it was going to ignite, as if it were covered in tension rods and the gears were  cranking it tighter and tighter, sweat beginning to form on your back, “can you hand me my purse?” 

Rustling your bag from underneath the bar, Veronica hands over the canvas tote, her emerald eyes staring at you expectantly like a serpent watching its prey, “care to share those little party favors?” 

Rolling your eyes, you move your hand through the contents inside. Pushing past a checkbook, lipsticks, and the papered corner of a tampon. Finally your fingers close around the smooth unlabeled bottle. 

Two tablets land in your palm when you pop the cap, and you shake it begrudgingly to release another tablet from the bottle for Veronica.

She giggles and grabs two shot glasses, pouring bourbon into them both. 

“Only one,” you instruct, a serious look in your eyes, “I’m not picking you up from the floor later.” 

A coy little smile on her lips, she brings the shot glasses over, handing one to you, “you worry too much.” 

Placing the pill in her free palm, you clink the glasses together in a little cheer. 

“To us,” Veronica grins, “may our titties stay perky, our asses juicy, the boys pockets fat and our kitties not loosey.” 

You roll your eyes and she laughs, her lips close around the glass the same as yours, and you swallow down the liquor, wincing at the taste. 

Within fifteen minutes the temporary high coats your brain like a warm blanket, floating you to a place far away from shiny poles, 6 inch heels, and ass slaps, away from Hawkins. 

Jeff listens intently as he explains a very bland and watered down version of how he left Hawkins and traveled east, working odd jobs. 

Skipping the part about how he lied about his age to find work, and how he spent an entire month getting his ass kicked after dishwashing shifts at some swanky restaurant outside of Raleigh. 

He explained the good stuff, how he worked part time at a tattoo shop for one of his buddies he met in Philly. His full time gig being a lead shift at a factory. 

It wasn’t that impressive, he knew that, but he couldn’t make himself give a shit what anyone thought of him. For only being twenty-three, he was proud of having a paycheck every two weeks from a legit place. 

The click of the waitresses shoes on the floor had Jeff looking up, thanking her for the drinks. She was dressed a little more conservative than the other waitresses had been, wearing a black mini skirt and a see-through red long sleeved top, showing off black sparkly stickers that covered her nipples. 

But that wasn’t what had him taking a second look. At first glance he thought maybe it was just a note written in pen, a reminder of some sort on the top of her hand, lots of people wrote on their hands right? But when she set the drinks down, reaching past them and across the table to grab a napkin, sopping up spilled beer, he almost choked on air.

It wasn’t something written in pen, or a weird unlucky shaped birthmark. The marks on her hand were two small symbols, they had faded with time and were blown out a little on the edges. 

Of course they were, because the identical marks on his hand were blurred the exact same way. Two little symbols, done on the hottest day in July. The smell of his childhood room stung his nose as he thought of that day. 

A day when you were both only thirteen. 

The regulars were bellied up to the bar holding an aluminum can toast to their long gone friend, hollering for you to play some David Allen Coe in a final goodbye. 

Flicking through the jukebox to find “Never Even Called Me By My Name,” you were too busy to pay any attention to the toast of the deceased buddy.

Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t have been completely blindsided. 

“Clovie?” A disgustingly sweet saccharine voice laced between bubble gum pink lips sang out from behind you, tapping you simultaneously on the shoulder, “be a dolly and run the drinks over to table 8, would ya?”

“Why c—”

Tiff was already gone, the door to the dressing room swinging shut in a shower of White Diamond perfume before you could even spin around and tell her where she could shove those aforementioned drinks. 

Outside of collecting her own tips, and pleasuring the doctor, Tiff never lifted a finger to help. 

Wiping your hands on the cleanest towel you could find, your muttering goes unheard as you cross back over to the bar and grab the cracked black plastic tray set with two large overflowing mugs of draft beer. 

The ground was sticky under your boots, like walking in half dried paint, sometimes you wondered if Wendy actually served a full drink to anyone. 

Balancing the heavy tray on your palm and shoulder, you pray that it won’t snap before you’re able to place the drinks down. 

Table 8 was occupied by a guy you had seen before but couldn’t remember from where, and a long dark curly haired woman who was facing away from you. 

The smile on your face was the fakest one you could make, hoping to maybe get a good tip before Tiff could notice and take her claim. 

“Alrighty,” your customer service voice sang with a false sweet sincerity, “looks like we have two Busch Lights?” 

The guy you had greeted smiled eagerly, moving his elbows from the table allowing room for the frosty mugs to be placed. 

Your fingers work gingerly to set the ruby colored drink napkins down first. The beer was placed carefully, his greedy fingers grabbing the handle before you could barely remove your hand from it. 

The second beer started to slide on the tray, and you over corrected causing it to land with a thud on the table, sloshing the pale ale all over the table—luckily not on the woman. 

So much for a tip, huh?

Apologizing quickly, you lean across the table and reach for the paper napkins. Wiping up the mess hastily you toss the wet heap onto your tray. 

Turning to the woman to offer her a look that’ll hopefully get you in her good graces— well enough that maybe her husband would reconsider tipping, “I’ll go fetch a rag and come back with another beer free of charge sweetheart,” you start to smile sheepishly, “I’m so s—”

The eyes you were met with were the deepest shade of brown, struck with astonishment, crowded by a grove of thick lashes, a look of dismay etched into them. 

Blinking once, twice, you couldn’t register if you were truly seeing this or hallucinating. 

You hadn’t seen those eyes in years, a flash of recognition drops on your face and the perky smile fades. Heart falling to the well of your stomach, punching the air from your lungs, heat rising to the surface of your cheeks. 

In an instant, you’re brought back to many years before tonight. When those eyes were younger, full of teenage angst and rebellion. 

Hell must’ve froze over, pigs were without a doubt flying overhead: Eddie Munson had returned to Hawkins. 

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[semperama]

maxiel, hurt/comfort, just a little something I threw together to comfort myself after today.

Somehow, Max ends up following Daniel back to his motorhome. His mouth is still going a mile a minute, but Daniel isn't hearing distinct words anymore, only a low and comforting hum. He's tried to remember to nod every now and then. To smile. Otherwise Max might stop.

"Don't you have a ton of shit to do?" Daniel says when he can find a gap. He digs his phone out of his pocket with his good hand, glances at the absurd number of notifications he has, then tosses it down on the table. He can deal with that later. Or never.

"Huh?" Max says, and when Daniel looks up at him, he seems legitimately perplexed, like he's completely forgotten where--and who--he is.

"It's your home race, mate," Daniel says. "Don't you have a fuckton of press or whatever?"

"Oh." Max looks at his watch, frowns, then shrugs. "I don't really care. They can survive without asking me the exact same questions for the hundredth time, I think."

Daniel snorts. Max is probably right. What are they going to do, fire him? "As long as you don't get me in trouble," he says. He turns and flops down onto the couch, then winces, hisses, when it jostles his hand. "Fuck."

"Careful," Max says, rushing closer, his hands hovering. His voice is so...it's like something he'd use with his nephews, admonishing and gentle, and Daniel feels his throat close up, his eyes burn.

"I'm fine," he says, flapping his free hand at Max. "They have me wrapped up so tight, you could whack me with a hammer and I'd be fine."

Max frowns at him. "Let's not test it, alright?" He sits down next to Daniel, gingerly. It's awkward, sort of. Daniel hates visiting with people in this cramped space--sitting on the miniature sofa, nothing to look at but the kitchenette, the tiny window filled entirely by a rectangle of the wall of the motorhome next door. And now, he's too exhausted and in too much pain to be entertaining.

Still, he doesn't want Max to leave.

"Did they give you good pain meds?" Max asks.

Daniel lets his head tip back, and he closes his eyes. "Yep," he says, "but I'm just on Tylenol right now. The other stuff makes me feel sick." He takes a deep breath in, blows it out slow, focuses on the way his chest rises and falls. He can feel Max next to him, the heat of him. He knows how much he'd have to lean sideways for their bodies to be touching. "I'll take something stronger before bed, maybe." Then, because it's Max and Max is safe, he adds, "I wish I could just go home."

Fingers--warm and gentle--on the side of his face, first, and then on his neck, then gripping his shoulder, squeezing carefully. "I can leave, if you want," Max says.

They aren't like this with each other. They touch each other, sure--fist bumps, shoulder pats, hugs if they haven't seen each other in a while, all carefully platonic--but they don't touch like this. Daniel can feel Max's thumb on the skin just above the collar of his shirt, and it's hard to breathe, suddenly. He keeps his eyes squeezed shut.

"You can stay," he says.

What is this? Pity? He wants to look at Max's face, but he's too fucking scared. Scared he'll burst into tears or--or something even worse than that. Things have been so good. He didn't even realize how much he missed Max until he was seeing him this much again, laughing with him all the time, catching his eyes from across a room or across a table or across Checo's oblivious head and feeling...at home. Feeling like someone understands him and wants him around and--and wants him. Just him. Just as he is.

But Max has his own shit going on. His own life. His own friends. A fame Daniel won't match in his wildest dreams. Sometimes it feels like their roles are reversed from when Max first came to Red Bull. They have a similar rhythm, but Max is slightly out in front.

And now Max is touching him, and Daniel's not sure he can catch up.

"Or you can go," Daniel adds, quieter. "Whatever you want. I might pass out soon anyway."

Max's thumb slides along his collar and dips underneath. Daniel sucks in a sharp breath, anticipating it when Max slides his hand back up to his jaw and tugs it carefully toward him. Daniel's eyes are still shut when Max's mouth presses against his.

It's weird how much it doesn't feel weird. Max's mouth is so familiar against his that, if it weren't for his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest, Daniel could swear they'd done this a hundred times already.

"I don't want to leave you," Max says, his lips soft against Daniel's cheek, then pressing again to the corner of his mouth, like he can't bring himself to put even an inch between them again. And yeah, Daniel gets it. He does.

"Fine by me," he says. If it weren't for his stupid fucking busted hand, he'd have pulled Max closer already. "Just be gentle with me."

It's a joke, kind of. He's not sure why he has to reach up and thumb a tear away from the corner of his own eye.

"Of course," Max says, and kisses him again. Again. "Of course."

[petite-phthora]

Of course he’s a fucking space nerd

[DP x DC fic]

[Love at first... murder? - part 3]

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Part 1

Ao3

---

Something’s wrong with the Pit.

It takes Jason way too long to notice it.

The Pit’s never really been silent, just a haze of anger that’s always simmering in the back of his mind. And while it’s still not entirely gone, Jason already being convinced that it will never truly go away, something is still… off about it.

Instead of the usual all-consuming rage the Pit makes him feel, mainly directed at the Joker, it feels… calmer. More at peace. Almost…

Content.

While the rage itself is still there, it’s more muted. Like it’s being drowned out by something else. Something that feels like… praise? reverence? admiration?

Jason is unsure what exactly it is that the Pit is making him experience. But he does know who it’s aimed at: the mysterious twink whose murder he still has to cover up.

And that brings Jason back to the corpse in front of him.

If the slightly pointed ears and small fangs the guy possessed hadn’t already pointed towards his hero the dude being a meta of some kind, then the decimation of the Joker with a single punch certainly did it.

And damn, that punch was kinda hot.

Jason shakes his head. If he wants to help the meta dude keep people off his back about the murder, however accidental it might have been and despite the corpse’s identity, then he’s gonna have to get rid of the body first.

And he should probably do something about any cam footage there might be of the incident.

With any luck, the Joker’s escape hasn’t been noticed and announced yet. That should make it easier to cover everything up. Before he does anything though, Jason pauses as he realizes the opportunity he has.

He takes off his helmet, takes out his phone, and crouches down by the corpse.

He takes a selfie.

Jason looks at the picture he took, noting that while he’s not really a keepsakes kinda guy, this one’s definitely gonna be framed, before putting his phone away again. Right, it’s time for him to clean up a clown corpse.

After that, he has to find out who his knight in dirty NASA shirt was.

If not for the promised date, that he is so taking the guy on, then at least to figure out what’s happening with the Pit.

---

After getting rid of the body, Jason’s next point on the agenda is research.

All he has on the guy so far is a physical description, a possible meta status, and the information that he has a scholarship at Gotham University.

Jason starts with hacking into the cams in the street where the incident took place. To his surprise, all the cam footage in that area around the time of the incident is corrupted. The visual files are overtaken by static and the audio files aren’t any better.

Huh, convenient.

Well, this is just some more proof for Jason’s meta theory. Though it does mean he can’t use the files to run any facial recognition. Oh, well. He’ll just have to hack into Gotham U’s systems then.

Even though the files are pretty useless, Jason makes sure to wipe them all anyway. Just to be safe.

He also makes sure to wipe his helmet’s footage. Despite how corrupted it is, it’s better to be safe than sorry with the Bats. He’s already lucky Babs hadn’t yet decided to hack into his helmet cam yet that night.

Next, he hacks his way into the Gotham U. systems. He manages to limit his search by only looking for first-year scholarship students and after a while Jason’s pretty sure he found the right guy, judging by the school picture.

Mystery twink’s name is Daniel Fenton. 20 years old, uses he/him pronouns. No registered meta status. His address was recently updated to Gotham City, the old address being a city named Amity Park in Illinois.

He took a gap year after high school and recently won a scholarship at Gotham U. He’s majoring in aerospace engineering and minoring in both astronomy and astrophysics.

Holy shit, he’s a fucking space nerd.

...

Has the Gotham Observatory reopened yet? That might be a good place to take him to while on their date after they’ve had dinner.

Interestingly enough, his ICE contact isn’t a parent or guardian but instead, it’s his older sister. One Jasmine Fenton, who has recently gained a doctorate in psychology, he finds after looking her up as well.

A quick search on Amity Park doesn’t gain him much. Though, after some digging he manages to run into a firewall. A pretty big firewall. That’s protecting anything but the barest of mentions of the city.

Nope, he’s not gonna be dealing with that shit.

Despite not being able to get more on Amity Park itself, Jason does manage to find some social media accounts of some of the city’s residents. One of them being Daniel’s.

But when he tries to take a look at any of the posts, all he gets are errors and endless loading screens. The firewall that’s protecting Amity Park also seems to be protecting all of its residents. Even former residents.

Right. That’s enough of that for today.

One thing Jason does note is that the twink’s preferred name is probably Danny, judging by the account bio.

At this point, Jason’s stuck on whether or not he should try his luck by going to Babs or Tim to see if they can find out more about Danny.

While they might be able to get through his hometown’s firewall, it would be hard to convince either of them to keep any information they find from the Bats if they knew why exactly Jason had taken an interest in the guy in the first place.

Whether that reason was because of the clown murder, the weird happenings with the Pit, or because Jason really wants to take the cute twink out on a date.

Though he could potentially try to bribe Replacement to do it for him, no questions asked, if he brought him some of that ‘Deathwish’ coffee for his services…

But, knowing him, the nosy fucker would probably ask questions anyway, stick his nose into Jason’s business, where it really doesn’t belong, and then proceed to tell the Bats regardless of any threats Jason would have sent his way.

However, on the other hand, Jason’s pretty sure Replacement still owes him a favor.

Hmmm… He’ll keep it in mind as a plan B.

He already managed to gather enough information to take Danny out on that date anyway.

---

While in the line to get some flowers for Danny, Jason decides to text the Bats group chat a vague message on how he won’t be patrolling Crime Alley tonight.

He’d rather not be dealing with panicked Bats crashing his date because they thought something was wrong because he hadn’t been seen patrolling, nor checked in with any of them. Or worse, nosy Bats stalking him and his date to see if he’s ‘worthy’ or some shit.

And if Jason texted them right after the announcement of the Joker being gone from Arkham was finally made?

Well, then that’s their problem, Jason resolutely decides, already reveling in the chaos as he mutes the chat and turns his phone off for good measure.

After paying for the flowers, and trying not to intimidate the shopkeeper because he’s in his Red Hood gear, Jason makes his way back to his motorcycle outside. After double-checking Danny’s address, he takes off.

Time to take the twink out on a date.

[maxcuntstappen]

maxiel + you asked me to join your friends for a game of beach volley but we have very different ideas on how serious it is

Max has to bite down on his lip to stop himself from cussing as he watches Daniel's body fall atop the glittering ground.

Usually, the sight would bring so much fucking joy to Max.

All of Daniel's golden skin on show, grains of sand stuck to his tattoos, the biggest smile on his face, his laughter louder than the waves.

Usually.

But right now?

Right now, Max wants to kick his boyfriend's shin and tell him to get his shit together.

Instead, Max shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath in through his nose, focusing on the smell of summer air and the taste of salt on his lips.

When he opens his eyes, he feels better. Ready to move on and have a jolly good time at a casual, friendly, FUN game of beach volleyball.

His resolve lasts for exactly one more shot. One more shot that Daniel fucking misses because he is trying to pirouette like a goddamn fucking ballerina while reaching for the ball.

"OKAY!" Max says, perhaps a touch too loud based on how Daniel, Oscar and Lando freeze, "We need a time out. I need a drink."

Max, in fact, very much does not need a drink. But he will use the reason to get the others to nod and agree.

They start moving to their little island of towels and water bottles and iPhones.

Max tugs harshly at Daniel's arm, making him come to a stop.

"Ow," Daniel whines, exaggerated and loud (and adorable but that is not on the forefront of Max's find right now).

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Max hisses, trying very, very hard to keep his volume in check.

Daniel looks equal parts taken aback and really confused.

He scrunches up his nose and eloquently replies with a, "Huh?"

It's cuter than it has any business being.

And any other time, Max would've kissed his nose before covering his entire face with many more.

But as he said, not at the forefront.

"We are losing at fucking volleyball to two of the least sporty people on the grid," Max says, hand still gripping Daniel's arm.

Daniel still doesn't catch up, only saying, "Uhhhhh."

Max rolls his eyes, dropping Daniel's arm to pinch his side.

"Ow, Max! What the fuck!" Daniel exclaims, a frown on his face.

Daniel reaches out to poke at Max's belly. But Max saw it coming so he simply steps back, leaving Daniel thrusting his finger through the air.

"Daniel," Max says, voice stern and serious, "I will not lose at fucking beach volleyball to those two twinks, you hear me?"

Daniel's eyes widen, and it seems like he's finally getting with Max's programme.

And then he keels over, body folded in half, arms wrapped around his stomach as he lets out his stupid, stupid, beautiful, gorgeous laugh.

"Max," he pants, before dissolving into a fit of guffaws again.

Max huffs, pissed at being laughed at and pissed that the sight of Daniel's laugh still makes his belly flutter even if he's the one being laughed at.

"Max," Daniel repeats, pushing through his heaving breaths, "Are you seriously pouting because we aren't winning at a fucking game of beach volley against our very dear friends, Oscar and Lando, who also, by the way, are very much not trying hard to even properly play and are only using the game as a way to bump into each other and feel each other up?"

Max's face flushes. It sounds silly when Daniel says it like that.

But it's not silly.

It's serious.

"Daniel," Max frowns, "It's of course very embarrassing if we are losing if they, as you say, are not even trying. I will not lose to them, Daniel. I will not."

Daniel chuckles, much softer this time, his hand coming to brush against Max's cheek, always so gentle.

"Okay, Maxy," he says, "Okay. We won't lose, okay? I promise."

Max nods, finally able to exhale a sigh of relief.

"Okay."

--

Max and Daniel win all the following matches.

Lando and Oscar don't seem to give a single fuck, all caught up in their own bubble of flirting jabs and not-so-quick kisses.

Max does give a fuck though. In fact, he gives several fucks.

And he makes sure to show his gratitude for Daniel's brilliant performance as his teammate by spending a couple hours on his knees that night.

[harley-sunday]

Feels Like Home [02]

Summary: When an unexpected three-week break between Monza and Singapore finds Daniel back on his farm in Perth he’s desperate to use this time to clear his mind, figure out his future in Formula One, and find his way back. He didn’t expect a new neighbour, a sassy two-year old, and three alpacas would make him realise that sometimes, what you’re looking for is right in front of you.

Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x reader (unnamed OFC)

Warnings: Language

Word count: 4.3k

AN: So... The idea was to post a new chapter every week but fuck it. It’s race week, bb’s and all the Daniel content is making me feels all sorts of things so here we are. Hope you like it ♥

Masterlist

It’s after his meeting with Blake and Michael, where they decided to decline the offers Alpine and Haas have made and Blake said he'd try to see if they can schedule another meeting with Red Bull in Singapore, that Daniel finds himself wandering around the house a little restless. He’s supposed to look at race data, promised his engineer he would before their online meeting tonight, the time difference between here and the UK meaning the meetings are always either shit early in the morning or late at night, but he doesn’t think he’ll be able to concentrate enough to take notes. Plus, he’s finished outside of the points the last four races so is there really anything else to say except that they need to improve and up their game?

He decides he’ll look at the data later and instead grabs his car keys from the kitchen island, hoping that maybe a visit to Oscar will help clear his mind. There’s something about the way his elderly neighbour always seems to know exactly what to say, always ready with some solid advice or helping him to put things into perspective, that he’s come to appreciate greatly over the years. 

The drive over doesn’t take more than fifteen minutes and when he parks his truck in front of the house he catches himself looking around, looking for her. She doesn’t seem to be outside and so he makes his way to the front porch instead, where Oscar’s dog Homer greets him with an enthusiastic bark. Daniel pets his head carefully, because even though Oscar has told him time and time again Homer is all bark and no bite he’s still cautious around him. When the dog settles down again, Daniel knocks on the door, three short knocks like he always does, before he opens the door and lets himself in, “Oscar?”

“Hi Danny,” Oscar greets him from somewhere inside the house. “I’m in the living room.” 

“Of course you are,” Daniel teases, toeing his sneakers off before he walks to where he can hear an old rerun of ‘The Price is Right’ playing in the background. Oscar’s sitting in his favourite chair, his right wrist sporting a cast and a nasty looking cut above his eyebrow and to hide his shock at the sight of the old man Daniel plasters a smile on his face and greets him with an enthusiastic, “Jeepers! What have you gotten yourself into, mate?”

“Took a bit of a tumble,” Oscar shoots back with a grin, holding up his wrist. “Doctor said it was one of the finer looking breaks he’s seen in his career.”

“I bet he did,” Daniel says as he sits down on the couch, leaning back and crossing his legs at the ankles. “How you holding up?”

“Good, yeah. I mean, the doctor said I have to wait until the cast comes off before I can start physical therapy and even then it can take a few months before I have full use of my hand again. And don't get me started on the hip replacement-”

Daniel chuckles, knowing exactly what it is Oscar is getting at, “Going batshit crazy already, huh?”

“Like you have no idea,” his neighbour agrees with a grin. “I mean, it’s great to have the girls here, you know, to help out and keep the farm going but if I have to watch Larry Emdur-” Oscar nods towards the TV, “-stumble over his words every day for the next six weeks, I might throw myself off a cliff.”

“There must be something else you can watch?”

“It’s this or Neighbours, Danny, and you know how I feel about Karl Kennedy.” Oscar lets out a dramatic sigh, “Nah, I’ll just have to take it, mate. It’s what you get when you’re an old cunt like me.” 

“Oi,” Daniel sits up and throws Oscar a warning look, “you’re not that old.”

“I’m seventy-eight,” Oscar counters with a grin, “and I ain’t getting any younger. I just hope it won’t be too hard for-”

A cry from upstairs interrupts him and Oscar immediately reaches for his phone, smiling at Daniel apologetically. When the person on the other end picks up his message is short, “I think Ellie’s awake, sweetheart.” He stays silent for a second before he nods, “Yep. Ok. Will do.” When he ends the call he shrugs, “Doctor says I can’t walk up the stairs for a while yet, so-”

“No, yeah, sure,” Daniel says, even though he has no idea what’s going on right now. 

***

You’re in the chicken coop when Granddad calls and so it doesn’t take long to get back to the house, where you kick your boots off at the back door and hurry past the kitchen and living room to the stairs, realising too late that he must have a visitor because you can hear him talking to someone. You’ll see who it is later, you figure, your priorities elsewhere for the moment.

When you walk into what is now your bedroom but used to be your grandmother's painting room you are met with two bright eyes looking up at you from over the edge of the cot you’ve set up in the corner and you can’t help but smile at the way your daughter's hair is sticking up in every direction, “Hey bub.” 

She drops her stuffed Koala and stretches her arms up at you. When you lift her up from her bed she lets out a content sigh, “Momma.”

Carrying her to the changing table on one arm you pat her hair down with your free hand, “Looks like you had a good nap, huh bub?”

Ellie nods and claps her hands together when you lay her down so you can change her nappy, whispering a quiet, “Pop-Pop.”

“Yeah, we’ll go see Pop-Pop in a second, sweetheart,” you tell her as your fingers make quick work of her diaper. “Let’s get you dressed first though.” 

With a clean diaper, her favourite pink sweater and a pair of dungarees that your Granddad gifted Ellie for her second birthday, together with her very own pair of Blundstones, you carry Ellie downstairs and to the living room where- “Daniel. Hi.”

Something passes over his face for just a second or so before he flashes you a big smile, “Hi. It’s good to see you again.”

You want to tell him likewise, really you do, but you think you know the look he so carefully tried to hide because it’s the look every man gives you when they find out you have a daughter, and so you’re cautiously polite, “Nice of you to come visit Granddad.”

"I always keep good on my promises," Daniel says, a sincerity to his voice that makes you relax a little. He nods to Ellie, who's eyeing him suspiciously, no doubt having picked up on your mood, "And who's this lovely lady?"

"This is my great granddaughter, Elisabeth," your granddad offers with a kind smile. "We call her Ellie."

Daniel waits until you've put Ellie in your granddad's lap, whispering a quiet, "Gentle," when you let go of her to remind her Pop-Pop is still injured, before he holds out his hand to your daughter, "Hi Ellie, I'm Daniel."

Ellie studies his face, her little eyebrows knitted together as she tries to decide whether or not she likes him, before she pats his wrist, "Danny."

Daniel lets out a quiet laugh and if you didn't know any better you'd think he sounds relieved to get her approval and maybe, just maybe, you've been too rash in your judgement of him. He scoots forward then and tugs on the pant leg of Ellie's dungarees, "I like your pants, Miss Ellie. Very stylish."

You see Ellie spot the rose tattoo on his hand, her eyes widening in awe as she reaches out and traces her finger over the lines, whispering a quiet, "Flower."

"That's right," Daniel agrees with a nod and a proud grin. "It's a rose." 

"Rose," Ellie repeats back to him, looking extremely pleased with herself and you can't help but smile. 

"I'm going to make Ellie her bottle," you say then, knowing your girl will get grumpy real quick if you don't get on with it. "Granddad, a cup of tea for you?" Your granddad nods and so you look at Daniel, "Daniel? Tea? Coffee?" Then, with a cheeky smile, "A beer?"

He laughs and shakes his head, "Coffee's fine, thank you."

"Coming right up," you tell them as you turn around and head to the kitchen. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the kitchen window as you're filling up the kettle and curse quietly when you see how bewildered you look and is that a leaf stuck in your hair? Great. It takes a few tries but then you finally get it out, letting your fingers run through your hair then in a futile attempt to make yourself look somewhat presentable.

Once the kettle is on and the coffee maker is running, you warm up some milk for Ellie and rummage around the fridge to see if there's any Lamingtons left over from the batch you made earlier this week. You come up empty on your first try and so you open the door of the fridge even wider and stick your head in, sure that the container must be in there somewhere.

A chuckle and a, "Are you trying to get to Narnia, or-" scare the shit out of you and you hit your head on the top shelf as you try to stand up, cursing quietly as you pull out, "Ow. Fuck."

"Oh shit," Daniel holds out his hands to you, eyes wide, "are you ok?"

You pull a face as you rub the top of your head, a little taken aback by how worried and guilty he looks, "I'm fine. I just didn't hear you come in."

"Yeah, shit, sorry," he says and runs a hand through his hair, letting it rest at the base of his neck. "I just wanted to see if you needed any help?"

"Unlike everything else around here, I think I've got this." You're not sure why you said that, don't even realise you did until you see his eyebrows knit together, but it's too late to take it back and so you give him an apologetic smile, "Sorry. That came out- I didn't-" You wave your hand around, hoping he won't push anything, "It's fine."

He doesn't say anything but instead pulls out a kitchen chair and points at it, waiting until you've sat down before he gives you a kind smile, "You just sit there, I got this."

You watch him as he walks around the kitchen with confidence, pulling three mugs from the cabinet and finding everything else he needs with ease and it's then you realise he must have been coming over more than you thought. The microwave beeps then but he seems unsure what to do with the now warm milk and looks at you with his eyebrows raised, and so you point towards the cabinet over the sink, "The bottles are in there. Once you've filled the bottle,you should test-"

"Test it on the inside of my wrist to see if it's not too warm." Daniel laughs at the surprised look you must give him and explains, "My sister has two kids."

"Gotcha," you reply with a smile. "Must be fun to have an uncle who's a world famous racecar driver."

“I hope so,” Daniel says with a sad smile. “I’m gone most of the year so I’ve missed quite a lot already but they seem to enjoy coming to the races every now and then-”

“We do what we can,” you offer with a shrug. “Right?”

He nods but then throws you a look that you’re not sure how to read, “We sure do.” 

***

After about an hour or so Oscar lets out a loud yawn and Daniel takes it as his cue to leave, knowing his neighbour doesn’t let anything or anyone come between him and his afternoon naps. Daniel says goodbye to Ellie by teaching her how to fistbump and then tells Oscar he’ll come around again tomorrow, just for a chat and to save him from having to watch ‘The Price is Right’ all afternoon. When he turns towards her he finds her smiling at him with a kind smile and so he returns it, “See you tomorrow, neighbour.” 

She nods in reply and then tells Ellie they’re going outside for a bit so Granddad can take his nap and they can finish feeding the chickens and clean out the shed.

He’s not sure why he hasn’t noticed it before, maybe it’s the way the light falls on her face, but she looks absolutely exhausted. He doesn’t want to hoover, doesn’t want to make her feel bad about noticing it and so he doesn’t say anything but by the time he gets into his car he thinks he knows a way he might be able to help.

The first person he calls is Michael, “Hi mate.” 

“Mikey, hey,” Daniel greets his best friend as he drives onto the main road. “Listen, you know my neighbour Oscar, right?” He waits until Michael hums in reply before he continues, “Well, he fell down a couple of days ago, broke his hip and wrist, and so he needs some help. I figured maybe you could hook him up with some prepped meals? Make sure at least he’s eating right, you know?”

“Of course,” Michael agrees easily enough. “Anything he doesn’t like?”

“I don’t think so but- Could you have them make two-person portions?” Daniel isn’t sure why he says what he says next, isn’t sure why he doesn’t just tell Michael about her. Maybe it’s because he wants to keep her to himself a little longer even though she definitely isn't his to keep. Still, he adds, “Oscar’s a big eater.” 

Michael chuckles, “Will do, mate. Do you want me to ask if they can deliver it to-”

“Nah, I can pick it up. Just let me know when it’s ready, ok?”

“Yep.”

“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Daniel means it when he says, “Thanks, mate.”

“No worries.”

The next call he makes is to Blake, who sounds a little rushed when he answers on the third ring, “Dan, can I call you back in like five minutes? I’m in the checkout at Woolies.”

“Yep, no worries.” 

He gets the call right as he turns onto his driveway and as always, Blake cuts right to the chase, “Alright, what’s going on, mate? What do you need?”

Daniel laughs, “Can’t I just call you to hear how my best mate’s doing?”

Blake doesn’t say anything and Daniel’s sure he can feel Blake’s eye roll from all the way on the other end of the line.

“Ok, fine,” Daniel says with a grin. “Is there any way we can clear my schedule from like six to nine until we leave for Singapore?”

“I don’t think-” Blake starts but then seems to change his mind. “Why?”

“I-” Daniel hesitates, not sure why he just doesn’t tell Blake about her. In the end he tells him what he told Michael, “You know Oscar from next door?”

“Yeah-”

“Well, he fell down a few days ago, broke his hip and his wrist, so- He needs some help around the house, so I got Michael organising some prepped meals for him and I figured I might as well be there to help out a bit, you know?”

It stays quiet for a second too long and Daniel knows Blake doesn’t quite believe him and is about ready to tell him the entire story but then he hears Blake sigh and can just imagine the way he pushes his glasses up and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Fine. Just for the record, I know you’re not telling me everything here, Dan but- I trust you. So please, don’t fuck it up. I don’t want to have to explain to Zak why you’ve broken a leg dirt biking or something.” 

“I won’t.” 

“Ok. Give me an hour and I’ll send you your new schedule, ok?” Blake clears his throat, “We’re still keeping the morning sessions with Michael, right?”

His morning workouts run from nine until twelve so as far as Daniel’s concerned that’s fine as is, “Yep.”

“Alright, I’ll come up with something to tell the team and I’ll let you know, ok?”

“Thanks, mate.” Then, because it’s true, “I owe you one.” 

Blake chuckles, “Add it to the list, mate.” 

***

Ever since you got here there’s been a certain monotony to your days, where you do chores around the house in the morning, so you can keep an eye on Ellie at the same time, and then move outside after lunch, once you’ve put Ellie down for her nap. Granddad calls you whenever she wakes up, which usually is right in time for afternoon tea, and you’ve come to take her outside with you so she can play for a bit and you can do some smaller chores. After you’ve made dinner Ellie goes to bed, which frees you up to go check on the Alpacas before you’re back in the house for the dishes and whatever else needs to be done. 

Saturdays are no exception and so here you are, ready to head outside with Ellie.

“Out,” Ellie says, clapping her hands in excitement. “Out, out, out.” 

“Yep, let me just-” you say as you try to wriggle her foot into her rainboot, “-get these on, bub. And then we’re ready to go.” Once both feet are in you hold out your hand for her to take and lead her outside, Homer following you without question. The dog’s been retired from his working duties when your granddad sold the fifty or so cows he still had a few years ago, but he still accompanies whoever’s working on the farm whenever he feels like it. 

A quick glance at the sky tells you there’s rain clouds building in the distance but you hope it will stay dry until after dinner, or at least until you’ve finished your work in the vegetable garden.

You give Ellie her own tiny spade and tell her to have at it while you set out to dig some holes for the potato plants you’ve picked up at the agrishop earlier this week. 

You’re almost finished when you hear a car pulling up to the house and when you look up from where you were hunched over, trying to keep Ellie from eating yet another handful of dirt, stretching your back as you stand up straight, you’re a little surprised to see it’s Daniel. When he told you yesterday he’d come by again today you didn’t actually expect him to do so but-

“Danny!” Ellie exclaims when she spots him, pushing herself up from the ground and wobbling over to the fence.

You see Daniel’s smile grow wider when he sees her and he quickly makes his way over, holding out his fist to her once he reaches the fence, laughing then when she bumps hers against his. “Hello Miss Ellie. How are you today?”

“Tatoes!” Ellie says, pointing at the ground with a proud smile.

“We’ve planted potatoes,” you explain, using the back of your wrist to wipe the hair from your face, your hands still covered in dirt. “Well, I did,” you add and laugh when you nod at Ellie, “this little troublemaker was more interested in eating dirt.”

Daniel chuckles and winks at Ellie, “Ain’t nothing wrong with that.” 

Ellie holds out her arms to him then and Daniel looks at you, only picking her up after you’ve nodded to let him know it’s ok.

“Granddad should be done with his nap,” you tell Daniel as you pick up the spade again. “So if you want to head inside-”

“Oh no, that’s ok,” Daniel says and opens the gate that leads into the garden, Ellie resting on his hip. “We can hang out here for a while, huh? Wait until momma’s finished?” 

Ellie pats his cheek with one of her dirty hands, leaving a trace of mud just above his beard, whispering a quiet, “Danny.” 

“Aw,” Daniel coos, a warm smile spreading across his face. He looks at you then, “So I uh- I wanted to run something by you.”

“Ok,” you draw out, not sure what he’s getting at.

“I’ve known Oscar for a long time, right? And well, he’s always helped me out whenever I needed help over at the farm so I wanted to return the favour.” He waits until you’ve stand up before he continues, “I talked to Michael, he’s my personal trainer and he does all my meal prep and-” he waves his free hand around, “Anyway, he knows someone in Perth who can help out with that and I went there today and picked up some prepped meals for you guys. They’ll last you until next Sunday and I can still pick up the next batch because I don’t leave for Singapore until next Tuesday a week from now anyway, but this way you won’t have to worry about dinner so much. You just pop them in the microwave and you have a healthy, balanced meal for you and old Oscar.” 

Your first instinct is to tell him that it’s fine, that it isn’t really necessary, but honestly, not having to worry about dinner would save you so much time and so you tell him, “Thank you.”

“And-” he puts Ellie down then and runs a hand through his hair, almost as if he’s a bit unsure of himself, “-I’ve cleared my schedule in the evenings so if you want I could help you out for a bit after dinner. I know you have the alpacas to take care of and-”

You’re at a loss for words for a moment, a warm feeling spreading somewhere deep inside of you at the kindness he’s showing. If you’re honest, really honest, it’s all been a bit much and while you didn’t necessarily want to ask anyone for help, not even sure who you could ask, Daniel offering to help out for a few hours every day would make all the difference. 

He must take your silence for something else because he quickly adds, “I’ll do whatever you want me to do, if it’s the dishes, or just sitting with Oscar for a bit, or-”

“Daniel,” you say, putting your hand on his arm to let him know it’s ok. “Thank you. That’s really kind of you.”

He shrugs, “It’s the least I can do.” 

“It’s more than you have to,” you reply with a smile. “I really appreciate it.” 

***

“Ok, so this is Barbra,” she says as she pets one of the lighter-coloured alpacas, “but we call her ‘Babs’.”

They’re out in Eagle’s Nest, the paddock bordering his dirt bike track, and she’s taken it upon herself to introduce him to the three alpacas that are huddled together near the feeder. She nods, encouraging him to pet the animal but he’s- Hesitant. Babs looks very innocent, all long eyelashes and fluffy hair but he’s sure a well-aimed kick could take him out in seconds and so he prefers to keep his distance.

She laughs and grabs his wrist, “Come on, you drive fast cars for a living, Ricciardo. Don’t tell me you’re scared of an Alpaca.”

“I’m not scared but there ain’t nothing wrong with being cautious,” he shoots back but his voice is a little too high-pitched to make it sound convincing. He flinches when she guides his hand closer to Babs but when she makes him touch her fur and he feels how soft the wool is he relaxes a little. 

She laughs and lets go of his wrist, “See? That isn’t so bad, is it?”

“Hmm,” he agrees half-heartedly, not wanting to spook the animal. “It’s ok.” 

“It’s Betsy you gotta look out for anyway,” she says with a nod towards a dark-brown alpaca, a mischievous smile tugging on her lips. “She tends to bite when you get too close.”

“Good to know,” he says, still keeping his voice low, still stroking Babs’ back. “And who’s that?”

She holds her hand out to a white alpaca, the animal immediately going in for a head scratch, “This is Blanche. She wouldn’t hurt a fly.” She turns to him then and whispers, “She ain’t the brightest of the bunch, most of the time the light’s on but there’s nobody home, if you know what I mean, but we love her just the same.”

He laughs, “Gotcha.” 

“Ok, so,” she opens the gate and allows him to step inside before she closes it again, telling Homer, who has come along in the back of her ute, to stay. “We’ve got their feeder here but I keep a bucket of grains in the back of my ute to keep the mice out and once every two days or so I bring them a fresh bail of hay.” She motions towards the shed a little bit further down, “They can seek shelter there at night and tend to huddle up whenever it rains, so I make sure to clean it out every day so it’s a nice place for them to be.”

He nods, trying to pay attention but he’s too distracted by the way she keeps touching his arm whenever she shows him something and finds himself wishing she wouldn’t let go. When she’s done with her tour of the alpaca paddock she looks at him expectantly and he can’t help but smile back at her. 

She wiggles her eyebrows at him, “You sure you still want to help out?” 

Daniel has never been more certain of anything in his life, “Yes ma’am.”

[maxybabyy]

Sequel to this maxiel ‘too hot to handle’ au (soft cw for COVID mention and implied unsafe travelling)

Daniel has been living in Max’s London apartment for four months when Max signs on as a Red Bull affiliate sim racer. And Daniel is so happy for him, of course he is. With his newfound celebrity status back in the Netherlands and now this, Max is free to do whatever the hell he wants. But Daniel. Daniel hasn’t really been doing much since ‘too hot to handle’ wrapped up. He does the the odd appearance at events, started up a cameo account, but with Max’s recent breakout, he starts to feel a bit lost, envious that he isn’t getting the same opportunities.

So when he’s offered a spot on the newest season of ‘The Circle’, he accepts.

Max freaks out when he tells him. They’re in the middle of the COVID-19 pandemic, and if Daniel leaves now, he won’t get back into the country, won’t come back. It causes the biggest fight they’ve ever had.

Max doesn’t yell, but it’s a hard conversation to have, and when Max leaves in frustration, Daniel doesn’t know what to do with himself. Because he has to leave, he can’t not go. He’s in his fucking thirties, and for an influencer like him, that’s pretty much ancient.

Max drives him to the airport, kisses him too wet and tearful. He tells Daniel that he loves him, begs him not to go, and when Daniel doesn’t, turns on his heels and leaves.

Quarantining for the show is tough.

Before Max, Daniel lived on his own in LA, but somehow, the last year has made him unable to be alone. Max still texts him, pictures of the cats, his set-up at the Red Bull facilities, his latest attempt at culinary disaster, but they don’t call.

To make matters worse, Daniel doesn’t win the show. His alliances are quick to get picked apart, and while Jesse – a gorgeous model from Austin, Texas – keeps flirting with him, it doesn’t feel right to flirt back even though he and Max aren’t together anymore. In the end, they call him a catfish and vote him out – a shitty end to an even shittier situation.

He’s offered some gigs around LA, nothing huge but enough to get him on the right lists. And then Netflix approaches him again, this time with their latest dating show – ‘Perfect match’.

He doesn’t say yes right away, knows the implications it will have for his and Max’s relationship, how obvious it will become that they’ve broken up. But like, Daniel isn’t looking for love – already knows where it is, where it was – this is just something that he has to do if he wants to stay relevant.

When you've been on one dating show, you’ve been on them all, Daniel reckons. The cast reminds him too much of the people they met on ‘Too Hot to Handle’ with the added bonus of inflated egos. Even the villa looks the same too, nice but bland with all cultural influence stripped away.

At the end of the first night, he matches with Gabby, a marketing lead from Seattle who has three brothers and loves to surf. She’s sweet and very pretty, touches his arm with her tiny hand when he makes her laugh, and Daniel thinks he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of the weeks getting to know her.

They’re hanging out by the pool, day drinking and chatting. It’s freeing in a way Daniel hasn’t felt since ‘too hot to handle’, since before COVID hit. He loved hanging with Max, with the cats in their apartment and late-night Zoom sessions with Blake and Scotty. But it’s different like this, being around people. 

He’s only loosely paying attention when the conversation picks up, “Gabby, you were on ‘Love is blind’, right?” Amy, from a season of ‘The Circle’ before Daniel’s, asks. “So you’re like ready for the real deal, huh? Marriage and all.”

“I mean, that’s why we’re all here, isn’t it?” Gabby says and laughs. “To find our perfect match of course.” Her hand has found its way to Daniel’s leg, slim fingers loose around his ankle, and Daniel doesn’t think, he can’t –

He forces himself to breathe, to laugh along with the crowd and not jerk his leg out of her grip. He waits another few minutes – at least one, it has to be – before he gets up to get another drink. If he lets himself be pulled into a game of beer pong inside, then no one has to know.

With his mind back in the game, Daniel and Gabby win the second challenge of the show and have to send two people off on dates. Daniel is still stuck on the hot peppers he had to eat when Gabby says, “Oh, this guy is cute, in like. An odd sort of way.”

Her nose crinkles when Daniel looks over, laughs at the way it transforms her entire face. “I don’t think that’s a –“ he starts to say when his mouth suddenly slams shut. Because the guy that she’s pointing to, this odd but beautiful creature is Max. His Max. Max Verstappen who is supposed to be back in the UK, test driving fucking Formula One cars.

They don’t pick Max, settles on some guy from a show Daniel hasn’t watched. But it doesn’t matter in the end; Max checks in two challenges later, on the heels of a date with another ‘too hot to handle’ contestant.

They don’t talk.

Max doesn’t approach him, doesn’t even look at him as his date introduces him to the rest of the house. Daniel wouldn’t even know where to start, so he doesn’t. Their season is still new enough that a lot of the people haven’t watched it, don’t know how big of a deal it is that Max isn’t glued to his side.

Gabby kisses his cheek, says, “I’m going to bed, don’t be too late, okay?” and Daniel nods, smiles and takes another sip of his beer, “I’ll be right up, yeah?”

Max isn’t around, but Daniel cannot imagine he’s matched with anyone here, and maybe that’s for the best too. He’ll be sent home, and maybe – maybe then when they’re both back in London, they can talk.

He’s halfway up the stairs when there’s a shout from one of the rooms, the one he’s been living in with Gabby, so he speeds up, takes the stairs two steps of the time until he’s out of breath and leaning against the door frame.

Max is staring at him from the corner of the room, and he looks fucking pissed. Pissed that he had to come all the way over here to get Daniel home, pissed that Daniel agreed to yet another dating show to find his fucking ‘perfect match’ when Max is right here waiting for him.

Daniel doesn’t know what to say. Max still hasn’t said a word to him, staring at him like he’s livid, but a producer is hovering awkwardly around in case it gets violet.

The producer is about to pull Max away when Daniel turns to Gabby and tells her that he chooses Max.

Everyone but Max is stunned. The poor woman, who just wanted to go to sleep, reaches for his hand, tells him softly: “That’s not how this works, Dan. It’s the girls choosing tonight. This is my room, you know this.” Gabby actually genuinely likes him, knows if she doesn’t choose him tonight, they will have to send him home.

But Daniel can’t not choose Max, so he lets himself be pulled from the room, Max’s hand firm on his wrist as they make it down the stairs. The producer doesn’t know what to do with them either, so they point them in the direction of the couch and tell them they’ll figure it out in the morning.

They aren’t sent home.

Max is still pissed, but he is of course Daniel’s perfect match, knows him better than most of these people even know themselves, so they crush all the compatibility challenges. (“This is of course Daniel’s tweet.” “’Tripping balls.’ Always Daniel will say this.” “These emojis are Daniel’s also.”)

They still don’t talk. Daniel is getting increasingly skittish because he doesn’t know where they stand, or how to act around Max.

Then they lose a challenge.

The host tells them they’re playing a version of Seven Minutes in Heaven, that they all have to kiss each other and rate each other’s kisses and the couple with the highest aggregated score will win. Daniel is too distracted to kiss anyone, barely shakes through it when it’s finally his and Max’s turn – their eyes are covered, but Daniel would know him blind, by the way he tastes and the shape of his lips – the worst kiss they’ve ever shared, and it’s still better than any of the other people Daniel’s kissed. Max’s score was equally terrible, reflected only by the fact that he had to be judged by straight guys.

With Maxiel’s streak of winning everything they touch, the couple sees it as their opportunity to split them up, so they send Max off on a date with someone new.

And Daniel’s not. He isn’t worried. Max has made it clear that he is Daniel’s match. He doesn’t watch reality television, and this human centipede of washed-up influencers won’t affect him. Except when Max gets back, it isn’t some ‘Ultimatum’ reject or a celebrity realtor on his arm.

As seen on some Monaco-based dating show, but intimately more known by the two for his presence on ‘Drive to Survive’ because of his brother, Charles looks absolutely enamoured with Max as they walk through the house together.

Max, who’s been starved for any conversation that wasn’t about who could name-drop the biggest celebrity, glues himself to Charles’ side and doesn’t let go.

He still comes back to Daniel’s bed at night, and suddenly Daniel cannot wait any longer. “What are you even doing, Maxy?” He asks, head held in frustrated hands. “Why are you here? Why are you – what are you doing flirting with Charles Leclerc? This has to be the pettiest – “

“This is of course what you want, no?” Max says, too calm for the fucking mood in the room. “Always you want to win, and this I can do.”

“Max, what?” Daniel says, “I don’t just want to win. That’s not –“

“Because if you’re here to find your perfect match, but did not tell me, there is of course no reason I’m here also.”

Daniel is not about to have an emotional breakdown on television (his mum and sister watch everything he does, and they don’t need to see him cry), so he drags Max to a dead spot one of the other matches had found looking for hook-up spots.

Max is still pissed but he listens to Daniel explain how he’d felt back then, lost in their relationship and envious of the offers Max had gotten, how: “I’m getting old, Maxy.”

“You’re not old,” Max says, quick and indignant, natural in his defence of Daniel.

“I am, Maxy.” He says, laughs in a way that’s supposed to be fun and cute, but must drip of self-deprecation. “I’m the oldest one here, and soon they won’t want me anymore. Then what am I supposed to do?”

Max has given little thought to Daniel’s crippling fear of getting older because he of course wants Daniel always, will always think he is handsome. He also doesn’t understand Daniel’s obsession with being famous – an influencer, as the fucking Netflix producer had called him when he contacted him to say Daniel was coming on the show, and would he like to come too? –  but he knows Daniel loves what he does, and feeling like he’s failing at that must be terrible.

“Always you should tell me this,” Max says softly, reaches for him until Daniel falls into him. “If it was this important to you, then of course I will support you.”

Daniel breathes out, lets the last of his tension bleed from his body. “I know, Maxy. I was just, I don’t know. Maybe I was embarrassed? You had all this going for you, and I was just at home playing with the cats.”

“Never you should feel like this, Daniel.” Max says and hugs him tighter. “I am so proud of you, and if this is what you want, then you should have it always.”

“While I was in LA, after I did ‘the circle’, someone told me they might have a job for me. Like a pilot season or some shit,” Daniel tells him softly, rests his head on Max’s chest to listen to his heart beating. “It would be out in Austin, but like, it should only be a month, maybe two. But I thought like, maybe if it made sense with Red Bull, you could come with me?”

“Of course, Daniel.” Max is quick to say. “This long-distance thing, I think, is not for us. Always I want to be with you.”

“Yeah, me too,” Daniel says and kisses Max, long and deep just like that first time. “Love you, Maxy.”

“I love you too, Daniel.” Max says, kisses him again before he stands up. “Now, let’s go so we can win this show also.”

[lilyrizzy]

maybe not the usual but.. daniel/michael

(sorry, i love the drama of a long term relationship break up)

man don't care - JME & Giggs (for the Spotify shuffle prompts)

sorry i'm so maxiel otp i had to make this a friendship break up, i hope thats cool!

Daniel can feel Michael's eyes on him. Insistent even though there's like, at least twenty cameras pointed in their direction. Or, Daniel's direction. Everyone wants a piece of him now he's back.

"Yeah, I'm happy to be driving," he says, for what must be the thirtieth time in just as many minutes. Ignores the prickle the creeps up his spine. "The break was good for me, but now- I'm ready."

He's more than ready. He's going to be fucking triumphant. Just needs Maxy to keep Checo eating his rubber for a few more races, and then he's going to get everything that was promised to him when he was twenty-five. A championship winning car. A real fight.

It feels closer, within just the stretch of his fingertips in a way it never did back then.

"Danny Ric is back, baby," he grins, and lets the clatter of camera clicks wash over him.

Afterwards, in the coridoor Michael corners him. Daniel glances over top of his shoulder, desperate for some sort of escape or excuse, but there's too many prying eyes to brush him off completely. Unless he wants some bullshit, speculative article being written about it.

"Hey," he says with a tight nod when Michael just puts a hand on his shoulder and doesn't say anything. Ignores all the early mornings spent panting into his yoga matt it reminds him of, Michael correcting his form.

He doesn't have time for small talk, or whatever this is. Who'd have thought, that even without being his trainer, Michael would still be able to wind up that tight coil of tension inside him.

"Are you really happy?" Michael asks eventually, when most of the room has cleared out.

And that's some fucking nerve coming from him.

"I don't know, Mikey," he says after a beat of disbelief. He brushes his hand away roughly and steps back. "Maybe if you picked up the phone once in the winter break, you'd know, huh?"

Michael's eyes dip to the floor, like he's ashamed. Good, Daniel thinks, viciously. Where the fuck where you when I needed you?

"Mate, come on," Michael tries anyway, though his voice is hardly louder than a mumble. "You know we were a little toxic by the end of last season."

Toxic. Like Daniel is another client looking for 'mental health coaching,' and not someone who used to ride his bike to the beach with Michael when they were 13. Daniel scoffs.

"Oh you mean when I started being shit and lost my job?" He asks with a hollow laugh. "When my whole life was falling apart? Yeah mate, sorry if I was a little less than gracious to you around that time."

You're being unfair, some traitourous niggle at the back of his brain tells him. Knows that 'less than gracious' doesn't even cover it, but- But fuck Michael. None of it stopped himself getting a cushy new job lined up, coming out on top while Daniel found himself fired at thirty-three.

Michael looks at him again, daring to look only halfway apologetic.

"I wasn't your punching bag," He says firmly, like he's already found his second wind. Like he can read Daniel's mind, and after years spent in each other's pockets, he probably can. Can smell cracks in Daniel's resolve from a mile away, like some blood sniffing shark.

I know you, Daniel finds himself wanting to yell, though it wouldn't even make any sense.

Not today. Daniel isn't that guy anymore.

"No, you were my friend," he says, giving the wall next to him two hard slaps with the palm of his hand. "But fuck me I guess, for needing you. Won't make that mistake again."

[yenforfairytales]

Terry Silver has a lot of enemies, being the type of man he is (also: money)…but his Number One Enemy isn’t Kreese. It’s Bruce Springsteen. How dare this skinny punk bitch dad-rock loser have first place in Danny boy’s heart?! Why does Daniel love him so much? Why does he wear t-shirts with his stupid face on it and him along to his corny lyrics??

Daniel:…You need to calm down.

Terry: 🔥 🔥 🔥

Daniel: Omg

Daniel walking around like this and driving Terry crazy

Really, Danny boy? Why don't you just tattoo his face on your ass? No, wait-- don't do that!!!!!

Terry thinks it's cute in the beginning that Daniel has all of Springsteen's records and knows all the words to his songs - Daniel knows all the words to any song - until Terry helps Daniel unpack from moving into his mansion and uncovers a box full of posters and tshirts.

Daniel: Careful with those. Oh, hey! I used to hang that one over my bed.

Terry: Which one--

Daniel:

Terry: ................Trash. TRASH. INTO THE FIRE.

Daniel: Terry, no! Get back here!!

---

From that day forward, a day that will live in infamy, Bruce is Enemy Number One. Enemy of the State. The Silver Estate to be exact. Top of The Shit List. That's right, Terry has one.

He could've never guessed that his most dangerous rival doesn't even know karate.

He can't escape him. It's the 80's. Springsteen is still... The Boss.

Terry's tempted to use his connections to get this greasy wannabe outta the mainstream, maybe cause an accident, but he's above this. Daniel is his. He has no reason to be insecure ha ha

Unless--

No no no. Ridiculous. He's Terry Fucking Silver. He can live with this.

---

They're on the couch one evening, looking through photo albums. Daniel loves to scrapbook and put them together. Terry never cared for this kind of thing, his memories not so fond and his family not so warm.

But Daniel puts them together so lovingly and sweet who wouldn't want to flip through a few. They do look good together.

Terry picks up an older album from Daniel's childhood

Daniel: Aww, man, look at these. I went through such a Springsteen phase. I wanted to be him so bad.

Terry: *schooling his features to keep from seething*

Terry: Just a phase, huh? You never take photos like that for me.

Daniel: Yeah, I realized I'd never be as cool as him, ya know?

Terry: Ah--

Daniel: He's still the best, though. Nobody wears jeans like him.

Daniel: Terry? Are you okay? Babe! Breathe!!!

---

Terry sits with his arms and legs crossed. Somehow simultaneously pouting and glowering.

His sweet, gentle Danny boy has been pacing and ranting for over an hour.

Daniel: Why can't I go to the concert, huh?! What's the big deal?? You can't tell me what to do!!

Terry: Why don't you want to stay home with me??? I can sing too, Daniel! I can sing!

Daniel: ....whAT?

Terry: I could sing better than that prick AND play the piano while I do it!

Daniel: I didn't know you could sing. :D

Terry: *turning pink* Well... you never asked.

Daniel: Okay, let's hear it. Sing me a song. :3

Terry: What, now??

---

Daniel brags at length to anyone who will listen that his multi-talented boyfriend sings to him on the regular.

---

Daniel catches on eventually.

Miss Margaret may or may not have left a certain list out for him to find.

But his Boss tshirts always ending up at the bottom of the laundry would have tipped him off.

---

Terry's at his desk in Dynatox HQ when he gets a large envelope signed from Daniel.

Inside is a photograph of his beautiful boy just for him, according to the note inside.

He pockets the note and keeps the photo on his desk for years.

Okay. So maybe, once in a while, a supervised Springsteen concert can be tolerated. VIP seating.

Maybe.

---

It's always a touchy subject and the grandchildren know not to trigger grandad. But one crisis at a time.

Terry: Please. That was decades ago. I bet he looks like a bloated bald--

Daniel: Have you seen Bruce lately?

Terry: What do you mean.

Daniel:

Terry: MOTHERFUCK--

[conceptalbon]

galex, 1.2k words, golden age of piracy au

inspired by @boxboxlewis's pirate captain daniel from some time ago

The crew find him adrift at sea. He looks very much out of place, sticking out like a sore thumb and trying to row against the waves in a tiny boat. It would be funny, were he not half-dead with hunger and exhaustion. But that has always been George, hasn't it? A fighter 'til the end, determined to a fault.

He's in no state to fight four well-fed men at once, though. Alex takes care of his people, thank you very much. They grab George by the shoulders, search him for weapons. He still has a handkerchief with the Union fucking Jack stitched into it tucked into the pocket of his trousers. Lando almost guts him then and there, Alex barely has the time to yell at him to keep his fucking hands to himself. He hasn't seen George for almost a decade, but if he's anything like he was in his teens, he must be the biggest fanboy queen Anne has ever had. Which explains the handkerchief, but can also be a fucking death sentence in these waters. Pirates don't really take kindly to the British crown these days.

His frilly linen shirt is ripped at the collar, but he doesn't seem to have any life-threatening injuries. Alex intends to keep it that way while George is on his ship, at least.

"He's worth more alive, Lando. Not a fucking hair falls off his head without my permission, capisce?" There's no way he loses George forty seconds after getting him back. "Surely there's someone back in London ready to pay a pretty penny for your safe return, eh, posh boy?"

Alex isn't sure if Lord Russel is still the Admiral of the Royal Navy, but even if he isn't, he will do almost anything to get his boy back. That Alex knows.

George's head turns to him slowly, his eyes red-rimmed and muscles weak. There's a spark of recognition on his face, but before he can say anything Alex orders, loud and blunt. "Put him in my quarters. There's not much free space on the Bull, and I want to look after him myself." He grins in a way he hopes looks menacing.

The sheets on Alex's bed aren't even remotely close to what George is probably used to, rough and stained from months at sea. His skin is pale enough to almost blend in with them, and the bruises around his eyes look even harsher in the dim light of the captain's quarters. As soon as Lando and Pierre lower him onto the mattress, he's out like a light. When they were at the Academy, he was always the first one to fall asleep, too. It's funny how some things don't really change.

Yuki is ecstatic to have an excuse to work on something besides their usual fucking rations. George is lucky they found him only a few weeks into their journey, because when Alex walks into the galley he's greeted by the smell of an honest-to-God stew. With some proper spices in it even, something Pierre picked up on a Dutch merchant ship two months ago. When he tells Yuki some random prisoner isn't really worth trying that hard, all he gets in return is a single too-knowing smile.

None of the others seem to pick up on anything though, maybe only that Alex is more restless than usual throughout the day. He snaps at Daniel, who has spent the better part of the morning trying to mend a huge rip in their old sails and failing miserably. He's good at that, sewing and fabrics and whatnot. Fashioned them a new flag some time ago, two bulls in front a bright yellow sun. Pierre despises it, says it reminds him of old captain Christian too much. Alex doesn't really mind it. Hopes Christian is happy in his retirement. Also hopes to never fucking see him again.

When George finally wakes up, well into the evening, he's greeted by a bowl of reheated stew and a poorly hidden look of concern on Alex's face. Even in this miserable state, he's still just as beautiful as he was when Alex left him.

"Blimey, the Heavens sure know how to play a joke on me, huh?" His voice is hoarse and the words sound like they hurt. He sits up, winces. Takes the spoon from Alex's hands.

Alex is suddenly very angry. "What the fuck are you doing here? You got a deathwish or something?"

George is meant for the safety of London. Sitting in some general's headquarters, rising up the ranks, maybe fighting the Dutch once in a while at the very worst. He's not supposed to be alone in the middle of the Atlantic fucking ocean, getting picked up by Alex's crew two weeks after they leave the Bahamas. If he died from, like, malnutrition or Lando's sword or something, Alex would throw himself into the sea.

"Didn't really care for the Navy after you left." It sounds nonsensical. George has always passed all of their exams with flying fucking colours, the bright future with the Royal Fleet all but guaranteed for him, being his father's son and all. It was Alex who couldn't really give two fucks about the Academy, the King or the Navy. "Hated the whole court thing, too. London and the fancy lot of them. Was very boring without you. And then, uh- And then father decided I had to marry, so. I ran."

Alex knows the feeling. When he left at seventeen, there was nothing he wanted more than to get away from fucking London. Well, besides George. But he has always wanted George, and he has always known he could not have him, not in any way that matters. There was no place in London for Alex besides George's embrace, and no place in the world for George besides London.

"So you decided to go to America in a fucking rowboat?" Alex needs time to process.

"Don't be stupid, Alexander. I sailed with a merchant ship under a fake name, I'm not insane." It sounds like the most insane thing George has ever done, actually. "Got caught by a hurricane a few days after we left Haiti."

None of what he's saying makes any sense and Alex doesn't really know what to answer, so he stays silent. Watches George eat his fucking stew. He didn't think he would ever see him again. He wants to grab him, shake him until he gets some sense back into him, wants to topple him back to the bed and kiss him senseless like he did eleven years ago. He thinks he forfeited that right when he chose the freedom of Christian's ship over the suffocating warmth of George's bed.

He leaves the room with an empty bowl and goes back to the deck. The waves look black in the evening light. Pierre is sitting with his back against a mast, singing to himself softly, sharpening his cutlass. Daniel and Lando are playing cards, their laughter and curses cutting through the salty air. Sebastian is nowhere in sight. Alex has no idea how he's going to explain to any of them why they are suddenly changing course tomorrow and why they are now tasked with delivering this strange prisoner to the colonies safely. He hopes they don't mutiny against his ass. God be with him.

[thatpunkmaximoff]

Story: 5 out of 5 Smut: 1000 out of 5 (holy hell, the smut!)

Holy. Hell. Where do I even start?

This duet is possibly the filthiest I’ve ever read and I loved every second of it. All of my questions from book one were answered here in book two, and boy was it a rollercoaster to get those answers.

The love that all five of the main characters have for one another made my heart melt. The drama had me on the edge of my seat and my heart pounding a little too quickly, but it was well worth it.

Friendships were lost (good riddance) and others blossomed. Again, I loved every second of it.

I highly recommend everyone read this book!

Now enjoy my rambling thoughts...

* “I’m perfectly happy. Why wouldn’t I be?” // “A sad person knows what another sad person looks like. I hear it in your voice. I see it in your eyes. I feel it when I look at you. You deserve to be happy, but you’ll never find it with the people you’re choosing.”

* Lmao. They really “took her captive”. They weren’t messing around when she explained her fantasy 😂

* I’m so glad Jason told her they weren’t going anywhere even after her car was fixed. Yes! Keep her ass with you all. It’s where she belongs.

* Jason and Lucas competing on who can hold out the longest, and Jess doing her best to make them cum fast 😂

* So Manson’s dad was talking to a group of “young men” in order to sabotage our boys, huh? Fuck that dude.

* He told her he loved her 😩

* God. Danielle and Candace are such bitches.

* Goddamn, Jess. You really made Lucas kneel, huh. So hot 🥵

* Is Manson’s dad really recruiting people to fuck with the boys? Ugh. Can someone unalive him, please?

* Why are these assholes trying to kill my babies?! Seriously, these fucks need to go. Someone please ruin their lives 🙏🏻

* She finally told Manson she loved him 😭 Nothing better happen to my babies.

* Manson’s dad really tried to attack Jess at her own home, huh. What a fucking dick. Die already!!!

* And now Vincent has confessed his love ❤️

* I’m so glad Jess finally stood up to her mom. She was pissing me off so bad.

* And now her and Jason confessed their love. All we need is Lucas!! Lol.

* Holy shit. The way they suspended Jason and Jess across from one another as they.. 🥵 well, you know. Read the damn book. You won’t regret it.

* Tough guy Lucas takes care of stray cats. Oh I love him so much.

* And now they’ve all confessed their love for one another!!! I’m so happy. I don’t want anyone to ruin it.

* Manson’s dad really tried to poison the dogs?! What a fucking dick!

* Her debt is paid off and they asked her to join them. Yesssss!! They’re even willing to move to New York with her 🥰

* So Jess being into golden showers wasn’t a mistake on her check list after all. Those boys were so excited lmao.

* Fucking Nate and Alex attacked Jess… this isn’t going to end well.

* Holy shit. Nate and Alex got a well deserved beat down. I’m here for it.

* And here is Manson’s father riling up Alex to go after the boys and Jess again. My heart can’t handle this shit.

* Atta girl, Jojo. Attack Alex.

* Holy shit. Manson’s dad really tried to kill them all. I’m so glad the boys woke up in time.

* They proposed. Omfg. They can’t actually get married, but they got her a ring 😭

* Oh shit. They got her a collar 😏

* Damn. All that talk of breeding.. I hope they have a family one day.

* It’s over. It’s actually over.

[banannabethchase]

That scene in Clueless where Christian asks Cher if she likes Billie Holiday and she says "I love him", but make it ....Claudio and Danny.

(Don't) Like 'Em Young

~

Danny's in the middle of the a text to Sammy when he sees the Adonis make his way down the hallway. Shoving the phone in his pocked haphazardly, he scrambles to his feet.

"Hey," he says. "Claudio."

The Adonis turns around and looks at him. He doesn't look disgusted, so Danny thinks he can count it as a win. "Daniel," Claudio says. "What can I help you with?"

Danny leans against the wall. "So much." He keeps his voice low. "Maybe you could help me work the kinks out of my lower back, if you know what I mean." He decides against the wink.

Claudio's expression doesn't change. "Are you proposing we sleep together?"

"You said it," Danny says. He goes for the wink. "What do you say, big man?"

"I say you're half my age and I'm not that depraved." Claudio's smile goes condescending.

"Not technically half!" Danny says. Claudio turns away and Danny hustles after him. "And you're, like, fucking Yuta, right?"

"Yuta's an older soul than you, dear."

Danny frowns. "I'm 24, and you're, what, 40?"

"42," Claudio corrects. "Are you really chasing after me like a lost puppy?"

"I'm walking beside you," Danny fires back. "Can't a man walk?"

"I'll tell you what." Claudio stops and Danny follows suit, only to find himself crowded into a corner. "If you think you're enough to keep up with me, we'll go to my locker room and I'll share you with my boys while we play Billie Holiday and pretend it's romantic."

"I love him," Danny says, fluttering his eyelashes, "and that idea."

"Wait, him?" Claudio says. He steps back. "Do you think Billie Holiday is a man?"

Danny feels the opportunity slip away. "What? He isn't?"

Claudio laughs so hard his face turns read, smile across his lips and head thrown back. "Oh, sweetheart, you are far too young for me."

Danny watches Claudio and his chuckles fade away down the hallway, and is suddenly determined to find himself in what he's now calling the Billie Holiday scenario.

He pulls out his phone. "Huh," he mutters. "She's a girl singer."

[nobedofroses]

Day 11: Play Fighting

pairing: Jack Daniels x fem!reader

warnings: manhandling and that’s pretty much it

words: 758

a/n: play fighting as in a competition is fighting and a game is competition and hide and seek is a game... lmao

Last, Full List, Next

🎃🎃🎃

Everywhere you looked was pitch black. You tried to regulate your breathing, keep it silent so you could hear any movement coming closer. A scent in the air could alert you to his presence as well, his damn cologne that he doused himself in because he knew you loved the smell. Now it would work to your benefit. 

The two of you were playing a game that he had smirkingly called “dark and go fuck,” and that he refused to call anything else, even though you told him it didn’t really roll off the tongue. It consisted of turning off all the lights in the house, Jack counting to a hundred, and you hiding. But instead of just waiting to be found, you were allowed to leave and find a new hiding spot if you could tell he was getting close. 

Jack won if he found you and his prize was fucking you right then and there, maneuvering you into whatever position he wanted based on your surroundings. If you won… well you didn’t know what would happen because he had never given up before he found you. 

Now you were hiding in the closet, which luckily had two doors out of it, so you still had an exit strategy. Plus it was so big to fit both your clothes and all of Jack’s boots that you were sure you could scoot around him if necessary. 

After ten minutes of what you were sure was thorough searching in other parts of the house on his part, you heard the door to the bedroom from the hallway brush against the carpet. He must have taken off his shoes, because you hadn’t heard his footsteps on the stairs. 

You waited to see if he was coming into the closet. If he went to the bathroom first, you would go back into the bedroom. But if he came into the closet you would go into the bathroom. 

A creak came from the doorway to the closet and every one of your nerves were set on edge. You listened even closer and thought for sure he was coming in through the bedroom connection. Carefully, slowly, you started crawling for the bathroom door. It was hard, being quiet and crawling fast, but you had to crawl fast or you would be caught. You made it about three quarters of the way through the room, not having heard Jack again, but that was probably because he was still at the doorway, or maybe just inside the bedroom. 

You put your hand in front of you on the ground again, feeling the very edge of the door threshold. Just a couple more moves and you were homefree. You moved your knee forward, your whole body moving with it. And your face ran straight into a thigh. And not just any thigh, but Jack’s. 

Before you could do anything else, you screamed and scrambled to back up. Obviously, this wasn’t the smartest plan because if Jack wasn’t sure what happened before, he 100% knew what was going on now. But it was hard to crawl backwards while you were panicking, so you only made it a few inches before a strong hand came down and grabbed your shoulder. 

“Found you, darlin’,” you could hear the menacing smirk in Jack’s voice. It made a shiver run through you. Everything was scarier in the dark. 

“Jack—”

You cut yourself off with a gasp as you felt him move behind you, and then a hand on your waist and one pushing on your back. Letting him move you, you dropped down onto your elbows. But something pressed against your chest. Something hard that smelled like leather. And feet. 

“Wait! Wait! It’s your boots! I’m on your boots!” you cried out, desperately trying to stop him from fucking you with your face in his shoes. 

Jack started laughing above you and let you get back up on your hands again, “Oh sugar, okay. Where should I fuck you instead, huh?” 

You hesitated, wondering if he would go for what you were going to say, “Well, the bed is right next door…” 

“Nuh huh, those are not the rules of the game. I get to fuck you in the bed whenever I want.” There was a pause as you waited for Jack to tell you where to go instead. Then you felt him stand up again and start counting, “One, two, three…” 

You took off, heart beating wildly as you tried to think of where you were gonna hide this time.

🎃🎃🎃

[newyorkkiss]

its me 🥄 im still around im like.. on tumblr to an embarrassing degree because i have. well, problems i suppose. so rest assured i am, more often than not, seeing and enjoying the posts- i really do like all the fun stuff you find and the things you scan and the photos and gifs you post/make! also btw i just got done listening to that mount kimbie/king krule song you posted and i absolutely loved that. sorry i dont reach out much or come off anon ever its the. aforementioned problems. fun fact i live in united states central timezone (spoon technically qualifies as a semi local band to me) and have for all this time! i just dont ever sleep right haha. due to, circumstances. things sure suck and are weird huh! in a general sense. i think you can probably relate. 🫂 <- this is us if you want.

anywayyy sorry this got weird and sad lmaooo please keep listening to good music, including spoon, and posting about it so i can see!! i need to keep learning about how genuinely odd (affectionate <3) britt daniel is. something to be said for how ethereal and feylike he can come off while simultaneously being the most literally just some gen x guy ever. sir why are you willowy.. why are your features so delicate. why is your hair so downy. WHY are you wearing the lamest fit ive ever seen. and so forth, you know what i mean. i also like learning from you about what an adorable babygirlifiable dork alex fischel is which i had been sorely overlooking

obligatory ↑

but yes spoon anon i missed you so much. you are so loved. please feel free to literally say anything any time. cutting this cuz i'm gonna yap.

that description of britt is so... accurate. like nail on the head 100% truth, words taken straight from my mouth, etc. he can genuinely be so beautiful – it's actually stunning. sometimes he can look like an evil goblin lol. it's astounding. seeing it irl is kind of blinding, hypnotic in a way? he moves so fluidly and perfectly. like 100% control and command of the space he's in – he knows what he's doing. like he could just be like any other performer and just stay stood in one place barely moving – let alone interacting with any other members, which is very lovely to witness – all interaction between them is so heartwarming, like you just know they all actually love doing what they're doing and enjoy performing. they goof off sometimes, don't give a fuck when they do. it's just lovely.

and yes alex is literally the babiest girl to have ever existed imo. only one other man is that good to me but i'm not mentioning (not shameful, just don't think anybody cares. it's sebastian vettel.) that aside he is also so... bizarre? which is something even i overlooked for an extremely long time until i was like Okay what is up w this guy what is his lore. he has a deeply attention deficit riddled childlike quirkiness that i have to resonate with. his tweets on the spoon twt are really unhinged. even his personal tweets are unhinged. he says some of the most random shit sometimes in interviews. he somehow manages to look so fucking beautiful when he's bored as fuck in interviews. i made a heap of gifs from one bts video from their twms era acl performance (need to track down the full thing and make more) and he's so fucking drunk it's endearing – he's just vibing the fuck out in his own little world the entire time. in the post-show interview he's looks utterly hammered sipping from a bottomless solo cup, not saying anything.

^ literally girls when they're drunk and have no idea what anybody is saying.

it is impossible to hate him. he's genuinely hilarious and all second hand descriptions of him being an instigator and a wild man are extremely accurate. and he's also obviously extremely talented. it's so jhghd to see how -.- he kind of gets whenever britt complements him on that. i'd have to dig around but there was a lots era pod they did and britt complemented him on his ability to play guitar which is a more recent-ish thing for him and said he's better than he is and alex was like Ummm okay? that's not true -__- and it's like ohgh man.... like the first (noisy) solo on satellite is alex btw and it's good?? he even bashes himself for not being able to sing too which is such a lie he sounds like an angel whenever he does live backup... but alas. he is so loved. we love him. everyone loves him. we all know britt loves him. he is the entire universe.

also yes i will forever be posting my garbicth music need not worry... nothing will ever stop me from posting spotify links here or anywhere else. i have a massive general diary playlist of everything i listen to on a near daily basis and it's updated constantly. it's just one huge log of everything i've enjoyed since i was 16 lol. only becomes truly curated after mid 2017, though. also i apologize for the vast amount of greyed out local file tracks in that playlist but i swear a lot of them are worth tracking down if you're really interested.

[whumping-in-the-dark]

Chapter 4: Visitor Pt 1

Just two friends hanging out after a long time ^_^

Speaking of friends, a big thank u to my irl friend for reading through this :D who doesn't have tumblr yet hence no tagging :/ so if there are any grammar mistakes left it's on her 6u6

Ingredients: creepy/intimate whumpers, alluded future noncon [Honestly... more plot than pain. Mostly the introduction of a new character. I felt like wanting to keep the major torture stuff separate. So the hopefully good whump in the next part promsies]

Matt groaned as he shifted once more, trying to find a decent position in which to relax. He thought it'd be easy at first, but the man had tied his wrists actually closer to his knees than his ankles, forcing him to strain his shoulders. Not to mention, his ankles kept twisting the wrong way, and no matter how hard he tried he simply couldn't get himself to lie on his side. Each effort ended up in him nearly slipping off the couch, but flipping back onto his back at the last moment.

The doorbell rang and Matt froze. Who could it be right now? His mind wandered to any possible parcels he could have ordered. Oh right... That stuff he ordered for a friend. It was supposed to arrive the next day from what he could remember but it wasn't too unusual for it to be a bit early.

The semblance of a smile crossed his face-- as best as it could with his mouth stuffed full anyway. The delivery guy recognised him from all the things he'd ordered when he had first arrived here. He knew Matt lived alone.

If only Matt could reach the door before the man.

____

Daniel hummed to himself as he stepped out of the shower. The kid had a surprisingly decent house-- pretty new too by the looks of it. Didn't show signs of anyone else living there either. What a good catch. Pretty body pretty house.

Going through the closet attached to the master bedroom, he managed to find a red plaid shirt and a pair of black jeans that fit him decently. He'd have to get his stuff from the base pretty soon though, if he really decided to make this one permanent.

As he checked himself out in the mirror, he drummed his fingers on the wooden dresser. The whole house had a woody theme, not dark enough to match his personal preferences... but he still liked it.

His eyes fell to the canopy bed, snow-white bedsheets spread out on it... how would his little rabbit look all spread out on it for him, crimson dripping down-

The enthusiastic call of the doorbell dragged him back to his surroundings. Maybe his rabbit didn't live alone after all. Oh well. More toys to play with.

His gun tucked safely behind his shirt, he calmly walked down to the front door. The doorbell rang once more and his hand involuntarily went to the gun. "Protect me, Maria." He muttered under his breath.

Then, with a deep breath, he opened the door. An instant later, they were both pointing guns at each other's heads.

____

Matt watched wide-eyed from behind the stairs, lucky to have rolled his barely functioning body in there just in time to escape the man's notice.

"Ralph, what the fuck?" The man-- in his fucking clothes now-- complained, a strange friendliness behind his tone.

The olive skinned man-- Ralph-- shrugged, beaming. "Finally found you now, huh Danny? You really thought you could stay hidden from me? Me, of all people?"

Matt's brain struggled to jog up with the new information. The two were what... friends? Fuck. He was soo fucked.

The two laughed together casually, as if one of them hadn't nearly fucking raped someone a while ago. Matt doubted the other guy was even half as decent as-- who, Danny? Daniel? Did it fucking matter?

"Come on in now, Ralph." In a flash, both guns were back in their places. "Welcome to my new base."

The man-- Ralph? Did he have a full name-- whistled as he entered, closing the door behind himself. "Not bad. Definitely better than the last one. Who are you sharing it with this time around?"

What did he mean this time around? Had the bastard done it before too? How many times?

"A dark-haired one this time around. Still light-eyed though-- I haven't lost my taste for that just yet." The two began walking to the living room, towards him. "It was his wide terrified eyes that drew me in in the first place. Ah! I'm sure you'll find him pretty too."

"Oh yeah? Fucked him yet?"

Matt shuddered.

"Mhm, not really. I'm planning to experiment a bit with this one. If I had to guess, I doubt my rabbit has ever been with anyone. Should make it more fun, huh?"

Was that an insult? But Matt didn't have time to care. As the pair drew nearer and nearer, he pressed himself to the wall, silently begging the shadows to swallow him up. At the last moment, he squeezed his eyes shut, not willing to even gauge his situation.

"Oh hey! Here he is, huh." Ralph's animated voice reached his ears.

Matt whimpered as a rough hand grabbed his chin, tilting his head up. "Open your eyes, boy." Danny- Daniel's gravelly voice sent shivers down his spine.

Reluctantly, Matthew obliged. His gaze fell on Daniel's-- surprisingly soft-- gray eyes. "See, isn't he so pretty?" A smile danced on the edge of his lips.

Matthew sucked in a shaky breath as the fingers loosened to caress his cheek.

Ralph bent down, hands on his knees and a tilted head, to give his judgement. "Hmm... yeah... I think I like this one more than the last. Definitely more my type." He finished off with a grin, grabbing his hair to steal him away.

"He's still mine, you know." Daniel grumbled.

"Mhm." Abruptly, he let go. Matt winced as he fell flat to the floor, unable to support himself with his compromised limbs. "So, what do you plan on doing first? Fuck him in the bed or--"

"Nonono." Daniel voiced Matt's thoughts, albeit much more playfully. "I told you, I plan on experimenting on him. So let's start with something less sexual."

"Would he still be naked?"

"Well, wouldn't it be a waste of such a pretty body otherwise."

Matt shifted closer to the wall, chest heaving with violent inhales. How the fuck could they just talk about him like he was not even listening.... like he was-- what? A doll?? Tears welled up in his eyes as the two men turned to him, desire so plainly written across their faces. He shook his head as Daniel's hand hovered above him, desperately trying to plead with his eyes.

"Oof! Just look at those eyes." Ralph exhaled. "You might just get me addicted to light eyed boys too."

Daniel chuckled. "I know I know. The tears just look better in them."

"You should leash him, you know. Bet he'd look cute being dragged across the floor like this. It's about time you take his clothes off too. You're spoiling him way too much."

Retracting his hand, Daniel sighed. "Mm yea. Good point. I would have gone easy on him since it's his first day and all but... I don't wanna instill any bad habits either." Standing back up, Daniel ran a hand through his hair. "I'll get some stuff from the garage. Look after him, yeah?"

"Mhm. Don't worry about it."

Matthew watched wide-eyed as Daniel disappeared through the door, almost wishing for him to turn back. The other man seemed like an even crueler bastard.

"So..." Ralph crouched down. "What do you say we get you ready for him, hm?"

Matthew whimpered, shaking his head once more.

"So adorable." The man smiled, leaning forward to tap his nose. "You're right. I'm sure he'd like to watch."

A few minutes passed before Daniel returned, carrying a black duffel bag-- his black duffel bag. His expressions looked more focused now and Matthew feared the worst. Had he changed his mind and was planning to rape him after all? Ditch whatever he called his experiment? Oh fuck no.

"I'm surprised you didn't fuck him yet." Daniel handed Ralph the bag, before taking out a coil of rope from his pocket. Matt squeezed his eyes shut again.

"Alright, don't shy away now, my little rabbit." Daniel's voice came closer.

Matthew swallowed as he felt the rope being wound around his neck, the rough fibers tickling his soft skin. As Daniel worked on the knot, Matthew suppressed his tears. Suddenly, the pressure tightened, nearly choking him as his head was lifted above the ground. Eyes flying open instinctively, he saw Daniel tugging up the rope, a smirk on his face.

"Didn't I tell you not to shy away just now?" Daniel watched as Matt struggled to balance his weight on his knees. "Keep. Your. Fucking. Eyes. Open. Hm?"

Matt narrowed his eyes, giving him his nastiest glare. This fucking--

Daniel's smirk grew. "Let's see how much of that glare is left by the time we're done with you, yeah?"

[bandedbulbussnarfblat]

Yours-Part 1

the next part in my Vampire Daniel series. Two chapters, first one is up. You can read it below or here

Armand returns from visiting Marius after a week. Daniel is disgusted to find he missed him. He is determined not to show it, doesn't even go to greet Armand once he arrives back home.

Armand finds him, of course.

Daniel is in the reading room, skimming through a novel. Armand appears and plucks it out of his hand. “I was reading.”

“You didn't come to say hello,” says Armand. “I missed you, Daniel.”

Daniel takes the book back. “I'm busy.”

“Did you miss me, Daniel?”

“Like a toothache.”

Armand presses a hand to his heart. “You wound me, Daniel.”

“Uh-huh. How was your trip?”

Armand looks away from him before answering. “Fine.”

“So when are you loading me off on this Marius?” Daniel asks. He's not about to tip toe around it. He wants to know. Has a right to. It's his life. Unlife? Afterlife?

Armand quickly returns his gaze and seems confused. “What ever are you talking about?”

“Don't lie to me. I know the reason-”

“You know nothing, Daniel.” Armand cuts in. “I have no desire to be rid of you.”

“Bullshit.”

Armand sighs. “If you must know, I asked him to take you on in the event you left me.”

Daniel snorts. That's a stupid fucking idea. “What makes you think I want to chum it up with your ex?”

Armand tilts his head and examines Daniel. “Is that jealousy? Are you jealous I visited Marius?”

(Yes, but he doesn't want to be. So that's the same as no.)

“We're not together.” Daniel rises to his feet as he says it and moves toward the other side of the room. He wants to put some space between him and Armand.

“But you are jealous.” Armand says, eyes focusing on him intently.

“I'm not,” Daniel denies.

“There really is nothing like it, the bond between maker and vampire,” Armand says. He takes a step closer to Daniel. “It's why I turned to him. Why part of me will always be his.”

Daniel nearly sees red. He wants to hit something, he wants to scream. “You aren't his.”

Armand smiles slightly. “Aren't I? After all this time, he's the first one I go to for help. It must mean something.”

Daniel can see what Armand is doing. Hates him and himself for it working. “It doesn't, and you aren't.”

“Oh? And how do you know?”

“Because-” Daniel starts, then stops.

Because you're mine.

Armand takes another step closer, eyes wide. “Say it.”

His voice is barely above a whisper, but demanding all the same. He knows exactly what Daniel is thinking.

“Because you're mine.”

There's a beat of silence while Armand stares at him. Then there's no space between them and Armand is kissing him, hungry and perfect. Daniel's arms go around him and hold his close and he kisses him back with an urgency he didn't know he felt. Fuck, it's been a long week.

Armand keeps kissing him and kissing him. After a few long minutes, he breaks away to pant against Daniel's mouth. “I am yours. Utterly yours. Only yours.”

It feels like victory. Daniel kisses him again. He's drunk on desire. All he can think is of want and mine. He moves his mouth the Armand's neck and suck at the skin there, kissing and licking. Armand's fingers tangle in his hair and he chants “Yes, yes, do it.”

Daniel bites down and the rich, sweet taste of Armand's blood fills his mouth. His head is buzzing and his body feels like it's on fire. He's burning, burning for Armand. Armand moans, low and needy. “Daniel, Daniel, Daniel. Take me to bed.”

Daniel pulls out his fangs and looks over Armand. His eyes are dilated and his chest is heaving. His gaze drops to Daniel's mouth then back to his eyes. He lifts a hand and traces his thumb along Daniel's bottom lip. “Don't deny me now, Daniel.”

Daniel seizes the hand and twists it, biting into Armand's wrist. Armand gasps and moans. Daniel takes the smallest of drinks before pulling away and meeting Armand's burning gaze.

“Bedroom, now.”

[hekateinhell]

Vamptember, Day 4

Armand/Daniel | Rating: E | Prompt: Danger | Word Count: 777

cw: my spin on the prelude to the infamous switch scene but with Armand & Daniel.

“Louis was right—you care about nothing!”

Daniel isn't even sure it's the truth—hadn’t meant to say it, wasn’t altogether aware he’d even thought it before it slips out.

And the look, oh, the look on Armand’s face.

The corner of his mouth had started to pull itself up into its familiar indulgent grin before he caught the sentence Daniel hadn’t finished processing. An eerie incomplete smile plastered on his face as his eyes—yellow and glossy in the light of the streetlamps peeking down the alleyway—widen, and his jaw tightens to a point that ought to be painful. 

If he had a human threshold for pain of any kind.  

What did you just say?

It’s a scramble of a hiss and a moan ricocheting in Daniel’s skull. He knows Armand heard him good and well, hears everything Daniel says before he says it.

His thoughts haven’t been his own in over six years. How indulgent to have a lover that can anticipate his every need and want, how incredibly unfortunate that that same lover can perceive every insult and offense as it skitters across his mind.

Why does Armand want him to repeat that? 

Say it again, Daniel.

He takes a step closer, head twisted to the side at an angle that a person could never achieve—a lifelike doll with a broken neck, flung down the stairs one too many times.

Lifelike, not alive.  

Daniel’s stomach churns; he's tongue-tied.

If laughter and tears have the ability to humanize his demonic lover, rage evidently serves the opposite purpose. His muddled mind flashes back to the boy in the theatre Louis had spoken of—Daniel's predecessor, his untimely ending. Did he have an amulet too?

Instinctively, his body recognizes the prospect that he’s in real danger. Too much time has passed since he’s felt anything resembling genuine fear, the sensation almost foreign as the adrenaline barrels through his nervous system.

“No.”

He wonders if Armand can smell it—imagines it rolling off him, dense and wet like the San Francisco fog.

Armand’s staring up at him now, effectively having cornered Daniel against the hard brick wall, his lips parted and a small fang glinting in the shadows.

Hardly Daniel’s fault he’s been conditioned to associate that image with intimacy, arousal, and reward; on some level, he’s aware his body is reacting accordingly to the stimulus—in spite of the obvious.

Foolish!

Armand’s grip is rough, unforgiving, so unlike the careful control he’s made a show of exhibiting up until now, as he pulls Daniel behind him for the two blocks it takes to get to the apartment.

Strip.

Armand shoves him towards the bed.

“What?” Daniel knows he shouldn’t, but the ups and downs of the past few minutes combined with all the substances in his system make this seem even more nonsensical, and he bursts out laughing.

It’s off to his own ears. Hysterical.

Wrong move, and he barely has time to register the disbelief in Armand’s face, how spectral, inhuman he looks—in a sick way, Daniel suddenly thinks he prefers him like this, his otherworldly dark god—before he’s on his stomach on the bedspread, helpless and stunned.

He feels his pants being yanked off, torn, and then his underwear. Armand’s never been this careless with him before.

Degrading, uncomfortably familiar in some long-forgotten, buried recess of his memory, and Daniel shifts to turn when a cold, satin-like hand between his shoulder blades pins him in place. The weight of Armand straddling the small of his back might as well as be stone for all the good it does to resist. Wasn’t fun before, but this is more than he’d bargained for.

“You’re a monster!”

Why so surprised, Daniel? I thought you preferred me like this. How indecisive you are!

A trained response to this bed and Armand’s honeyed voice, combined with the shock and stress of being treated like a prey animal, then flung through the air with no time to recover... He's just lucid enough to feel a burning shame when he realizes his cock is starting to throb again, leaking onto the cotton fabric.

Something thin and cold slithers along the back of his thighs is that leather? what the hell? and settles in place.

His own belt—twenty-seven years old, and he’s about to get put in his place with a fucking beating like the ones his father used to dish out. Spare the rod and spoil the child, right? He would laugh again if his throat wasn’t so tight.

“Armand, stop,” he whispers, knowing it’s pointless.

Oh, it’s going to be a delight to whip you, darling.