#I never really wanted to upload it to ao3 because of the tagging

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

Had a terribly great thought! The Ghoul and reader traveling together. She's a brat but loyal as a dog to that man. They get into a pretty bad fight and she storms off and he's too proud to follow after her, struggling with coming to terms that he's actually soft for her even though he's mean as hell. She finds him some days later, with her tail tucked between her legs. He's not surprised, comparing her to a female dog often. 👀 still, he's going to make sure she's sorry. Lots of groveling on her part, maybe some face slapping, boot licking, he gets off, she doesn't. Ends with her in his lap. Hair petting and praise for coming back to who she belongs to.

As A Dog

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Reader

Word Count: 7,085

Warnings: smut (18+), DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, Jealous!Cooper, canon-typical violence, intimacy issues, angst, insecurity, slightly fucked conceptions of love and loyalty, pet play-ish activity, hard drug use, forced intoxication, shotgunning, slapping, boot licking, oral sex (male receiving), face fucking, rough sex, riding, cannibalistic thoughts, orgasm denial (female), breeding kink, creampie.

Notes: I had several pieces in line in front of this one and then this prompt reached through my screen, sunk its teeth into my brain, and shook me until this came out. It really is a terribly great thought. Tagging heavy, since the themes/Cooper's mentality may be triggering for some. It is what it says on the can, folks.

I dunno what unholy demon you've unleashed on me here, Anon. But bless you for it. Another Coop POV because I have a problem. Thanks for the patience on this one; I've been doing some admin stuff the last few days, including setting up an AO3 that you can find here, where I'll be uploading all the long-form stuff. Enjoy!

Cooper's trigger finger was itchier today than it had been for a long time.

He was fully aware that he'd never be able to stop every man left in the world from talking to his little vaultie companion, but boy, he sure would love to try. On an average day, he struggled to hold his tongue as she drove away her own sun-baked suitors, standing silently aside until called up to defend her, no matter how badly he wanted to reduce whomever was bothering her to nothing.

Today was a worse-than-average day, and the girl wasn't helping anything, herself.

"Are you gonna be ready to go any time soon, princess?" he asked her acerbically as she passed by him for the millionth time, tossing his current cigarette down to the ground.

He'd intended to stop at this shitty little settlement, little more than a dingy bighorner ranch at first glance, for a few minutes at most, just long enough to unload some things and check to see if they had any vials on hand. Here it was, nearly four hours of glad-handing and chit-chatting and unnecessary gun repairs later, and he was still leaning against the same crumbing wall, still angrily smoking. She was pushing it.

"Oh, be patient." she shot back, rolling her eyes as she turned to saunter back to the little ramshackle counter. "I'm waiting for my gun back and I was having a nice chat with the mechanic. Try to be pleasant for five minutes, would you?"

She was so full of shit, he thought as he snuffed the still-glowing smoke butt out beneath the toe of his boot with just a little more force than necessary. Typically, she shied away from male attention at her most demure, refusing to acknowledge most advances, playing innocent, playing dumb. The big doe eyes and soft voice didn't hurt on that front, but usually didn't deter the more steadfast predators.

He preferred the days where she had a little extra spitfire, when she told them clearly and loudly to fuck off, no doubt emboldened by having the rather intimidating ghoul hanging over her shoulder, silently encouraging her as she did it. In the past, she had proven that she wasn't above evoking his capacity for violence as a threat when the desert trash was persistent, and it gave him a thrill he couldn't identify, one that ruminated deep in his gut.

That same gut feeling was burning him now, eating a hole in his patience as he watched her listening attentively to the third scrawny young man who'd approached her as she waited around the repair hutch to yap her ear off. She nodded and smiled politely, even laughed from time to time (the sound of which made him want to shoot he kid between the eyes just for that), but kept a respectful distance. Clearly, she'd finally learned that the sort of over-friendliness that she'd been raised with in the vaults could be read differently up here. The young buck, however, continued to try and dance into her space as he spoke animatedly, and, eventually, she reached out and quickly touched his chest.

The old cowboy was stomping across the sand to her before he was even aware he was moving.

His logical brain could see very clearly what had happened: the boy had advanced into her space for the half-dozenth time and she'd put her palm out to gently rebuke him, distracting him from the rejection with a laugh at whatever he'd said. But that part of his brain was rather quiet after a long afternoon of watching her rather blatantly flirt with the asshole she was having repair her plasma pistol (something that she would typically have him do, since it wouldn't cost her anything, and he almost certainly could do with equal or superior adequacy), and letting every other little piss-ant farmhand in the next mile radius chat her up.

"We're hitting the road in five. Get your shit and let's go." he hissed to her, ignoring the little scowl she shot him as he interrupted her newest conversation with the willowy, greasy mechanic, who was sliding her her pistol back across the knotted wood of the semi-exposed countertop. Flashing him that brilliant smile, the one that he wanted to be only for him, she checked the thing over before tucking it back into the holster she kept on her hip, pushing a stash of caps in a metal tin back his way. The old cowboy watched with inflamed indignation as the fucker opened the box, dug out a massive handful, and tucked them back into her hands, letting his own linger across her skin as he placed them back into her palms.

Frankly, he was impressed he was able to let her drop the things back into her bag before he grabbed her by the arm, none too gently, and wordlessly began to yank her back down the road, back in the direction they'd originally been heading in. He could've shoved the damn things in himself and just dragged her along; it wasn't like he was unfamiliar with where she put them. The long, sleepless nights could be boring, and early on, he'd been curious enough about her to nose through her things once or thrice. That, like this, had been quite illuminating.

"Oh, you're being such a prick today!" she yelled, yanking at his grip in an attempt to free herself. He humored her, dropping her arm and turning to face her, unpleasantly surprised as the last farmhand she'd been chatting with, the one she'd touched, came running up.

"Hey, leave her alone!" he yelled. Or, he would have, if he'd had a chance to finish.

The sound of Cooper's rifle butt cracking into the kid's face was incredibly satisfying, collapsing him into a limp, useless pile on the ground, deep crimson pooling around where he lie face-down in the dirt. The girl didn't scream, probably surprised that he hadn't outright shot him, but her hands did fly to her mouth in a quick moment of silent shock before she kneeled to quickly check his pulse, rolling his ugly mug to face the sun. Blood poured from his obviously broken nose, leaving the old ghoul wiping at his face to cover the smirk it sent twitching across his lips.

"What did you do that for?!" she demanded, frustration clear in her voice.

"Oh, my apologies, sweetheart. Your little boyfriend there was trying to join a party he wasn't invited to." he replied, though she was clearly ignoring him in favor of turning the boy onto his side and examining him.

His little companion let out a huff, casting a look between the body on the ground and the little cluster of buildings they'd just left. After a moment, she grabbed him by the fabric of his shirt the best she could and began to drag him back towards where he'd come from. The ghoul watched her pull him about five feet, red and huffing by the time she made it there, rolling his eyes deeply.

"Leave him. He'll be fine."

"He won't be if no one comes over to collect him soon, and you know it." she snarled, and her tone sent him seething, snatching the kid up over his shoulder like a sack of spuds and stomping ahead of her, depositing him unceremoniously against the ranch's handmade sign before yanking her along with him once again.

"Y'know, if you'd have just gotten in and out like I told you, that wouldn't have happened." he said eventually, dropping her arm once more.

"Oh, fuck you!" she hissed. "I was trying to see if I could talk him down on the price. And sometimes people know useful things, you know!" she yelled, exasperation clear in her tone as she threw her arms up in the air.

She pretended to be ignorant, but clearly knew what he was upset about before he specified. Interesting.

"Oh, I'm sure. Y'know, I'd wondered how long it was gonna take you to start sellin' that little ass of yours. Figured it would be for something nicer than a pistol repair or some bad intel, at least." he sneered. He could feel himself slipping further from rationality.

"What are you talking about? It wasn't even like that!" she insisted, an edge of something more worrisome creeping into her voice.

"Quit playin' dumb, doll. You make it seem too easy." he said, watching her entire face light up bright red in frustration. She was tersely quiet for a minute, the gears in her head clearly turning hard and fast as she worked to contain herself and formulate a response at the same time.

"I'm sick of you getting pissed off and treating me like I'm the stupidest person you've ever met." she spat, eventually, madder than he'd ever seen her. "I'm sorry that I haven't spent enough bitter fucking years walking around the desert and killing things and being an asshole to know everything like you do, Coop. I'm sorry I still have human emotions and desires. My sincerest fucking apologies."

That was it: the argument had officially become about...something else.

Honestly, he'd assumed that she was going to leave him a few days back, when they'd stayed in a rare hotel room waiting for a bad dust storm to settle, the little thing getting just a tad too tipsy on some whiskey he'd given her before trying to kiss him. He'd rebuffed her, though not as gently as he wished he had, and, feeling bold, she'd pushed back with surprising fervor, basically demanding to know why he wouldn't kiss her more, why he wouldn't sleep with her.

True, he felt closer to her than he'd felt to anyone or anything in a long while, and he thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, but, as embarrassing as it was, the idea of being expected to perform sexually so suddenly made him feel a seizing sense of panic that he wasn't sure he'd ever felt before.

What he'd wanted to say was "I care about you so much, but I'm not sure I'm ready to take that step." Instead, what had come out was "Why are you buggin' me about this? I said no. Fuck off." followed by him storming out to spend several hours smoking in the decrepit, junk-walled-in parking lot.

When he'd returned, she'd been asleep, her poor face tear-swollen and red. He'd waited for her to rouse and hash it out with him, but she'd slept through the night, and, the next morning, didn't bring it up or seem amenable to discussing it. She hadn't seemed angry, necessarily, perhaps a little sad, but in the few days that had passed since, she had definitely been colder, poutier than usual.

It seemed, to him, that she was punishing him now for not doing what she'd wanted, and it was pissing him off.

It didn't matter that he hadn't fucked her yet, that he didn't feel ready to expose the most vulnerable parts of him, inside and out, so openly. She was his; she belonged to him and she knew it as much as he did. The fact that she was even still traveling with him after all this time, after what happened at the hotel that night, was proof. She proved it every single time she came back from one of her little stomp-offs every time he ticked her off, lacking the wherewithal to ever even move fully out of sight before slinking down to pout awhile, inevitably peeking out from whatever she was hiding behind to see if he was still there. Despite her lack of proper training, she was a loyal little bitch.

The fact that she suddenly didn't want to act accordingly sat entirely wrong in his mind, wriggled under his skin like when his stash ran low.

"All's I'm saying, princess," he growled, throwing out the nickname he knew she loathed once more, "is that you're too fucking friendly for your own good, and you shouldn't be shocked when it gets people hurt."

"Why would you give a shit who I'm friendly to, anyway?" she spat, suddenly pushing her way right into his bubble and sending him baring his teeth.

"I wouldn't. Didn't I made that clear enough the other night?"

He knew that this particular barb would hurt her, but he genuinely didn't expect what she did next.

"Alright, then." she said; her voice was trembling noticeably, as was her lower lip. With that, she snatched her backpack up from the ground, jammed her arms into the straps, turned, and began to walk back towards the way they'd come from. He watched her silently, waiting for her to duck back into the ranch, but she didn't; instead, she kept walking, as long as he could watch her, until she disappeared over the hill that fed into the horizon.

The old man watched her go, dumbfounded as she actually continued to walk instead of stopping as she always did. For a while, he hung around, waiting for her to come huffing back, but she still hadn't by the time the sun had fully sunk out of the sky. Eventually, he resumed moving himself, stopping after about a mile in their original planned direction, settling down for a grating night of looking out over the road at every little noise.

She'd never even looked back. He couldn't shake that thought from his mind as he sat there resting overnight. It was basically the only thought he had for hours, plaguing him as he puffed his inhaler and watched the world around him brighten with the rising sun.

When the next day started in full, he'd resolved to hit the road, to resume his travels as he would be resuming his existence before the girl had come along. Compared to how long he'd been exploring the desert solo, she'd been but a brief blip in his life, and there was no reason to fret so much over where she'd gone or what could happen to her without him around.

For some reason, he only covered about half the ground he would typically cover on a day like this, and he found himself beyond unreasonably frustrated...with himself. Nothing about the conditions was slowing him down; he didn't run into more trouble than usual, and he was fine on supplies, vials, but for some reason he found himself hypervigilant, looking for any excuse to move up high and scan the road with his binoculars.

By the time it was too dark to safely continue, he was seething once again, but at his weakness, at his cowardice. After he chose a tucked away little corner to settle down in for a few hours, he quite literally couldn't dig into his stash fast enough, doing line after line, hit after hit of whatever he had on him, until the horrible pain he felt behind his breastbone melted away into a familiar, soothing numbness.

But his numb mind liked to wander, and soon he found himself thinking about the softness of her voice, her skin, her lips against his that night...

And, quickly, he was back to pain and anger, but an irrational anger fueled by a far-more than reasonable dose of basically every kind of stimulant known to Wasteland man. This pain, too, was chased away with more and more chems, until he was so fucked up that he could barely keep his eyes focused and open.

She truly did plague him now, just as she had all the months she'd traveled with him. She plagued his thoughts at all points in the day, plagued his worries about the future, and even as he attempted to snort and huff himself free of the thought of her, she plagued him, dancing up along beside him in a quiet, stalking creep, watching him daintily from the end of the rotted log he sagged himself on, his back wedged against the large rock cluster behind him. At some point, he'd tugged his gloves off and shucked them somewhere nearby, leaving him feeling quite naked as his hands fretted with themselves absentmindedly. Against his will, he thought about running them through her hair like he'd wanted to for so long, and the unpleasant flip his stomach did made him sigh.

"I'm sorry." came a voice on the breeze, so much like hers. The visions of her were persistent, annoyingly so, the one staring hauntingly at him from the side really starting to unsettle him. He was no stranger to visual and auditory hallucinations when he was this far gone, but she was so solid-looking out of the corner of his eye, watching him so close. Judging him and what a fuck-up he was.

He squeezed his eyes shut hard, willing her away, willing himself to go back a few days and redo this entire thing differently.

"Aren't you...gonna say anything?" came the soft, timid voice once more, this time from beside him. Firmer, realer.

He narrowed his eyes in her ghostly direction, focusing as best as he could on her blurry, swimming visage.

"Huh. Didn't know that was really you."

When had she arrived, exactly? Fuck, he was dangerously gone if she'd been able to sneak up on him like that.

She frowned at that, leaning close and sizing him up with worrying eyes. Gingerly, she placed her palm on the back of his bare hand.

"Jeez, Cooper. How fucked up are you?" she asked, her tone sincere, almost apologetic.

Her glaring worry burned into him as judgment, harsh and stinging, and he struck out in response, yanking his hand away.

"Mind your fuckin' business." he slurred, forcing himself to sit up straight enough to point his full anger in her direction, growing with each passing moment. "Think you're better'n me? Hmm?"

He'd fully expected this to ignite another yelling match between the two of them, but she didn't scream back; instead, she quietly dropped her head, avoiding his eyes as she gazed around where he'd chosen to bed down. Truly, he was quite impressed she'd managed to find him at all, let alone in the dark. Turns out he was rubbing off on her even more than he'd thought. The idea left him bitter.

A big part of the anger he felt, the ugliest, most violent part, was the Jet; he knew this. The stuff had gotten him into more than his share of scuffles through the years, making him even meaner than usual, his sharp tongue exact and piercing. However, beneath the amphetamine fog, there was a nugget of true bitterness, an open wound of insecurity that pained him into lashing out when she tried to come close. He'd lashed out in such a way that night at the hotel, despite how hard he'd tried to hold back his sour words.

There was a fear there that he'd felt before, but never so strongly as when he'd watched her disappear over that hill. If she'd tried to leave over that relatively small argument, when would she try to leave again? He wasn't a pleasant man to be around, even when he actually tried to be, a lot of the time. Hell, he wasn't even pleasant to look at; if he'd been a giant prick in his old life, at the very least, he had been handsome.

Increasingly, since she'd come into his life, he tried to reach deep, deep into himself and pull out whatever remained of the old him, the one who was kind and hopeful and actually knew how to talk to women, but the process was infinitely more difficult and painful than he'd imagined.

She clearly wanted and needed intimacy from him, on more than one front, and the pressure of feeling like he couldn't give her what she needed was increasingly getting to him in a way that embarrassed him more than he could possibly say (not that he'd ever say it out loud). Centuries of time had passed, and yet, here he was, still dealing with the same anxieties and feelings of inadequacy that he had before, just dressed up in a new, uglier face.

When would he finally succeed in pushing her away, in frightening her away from him 'for her own good'? The walls around him had never failed him before, for better or worse.

Things were quiet between them as she fidgeted in her spot, the tension of an inescapable conversation in the air, but the desert's constant score, the hiss of sand across corroded asphalt, the soft rattle of the wind in the rocky hills, played on. His muddled ears played tricks on him, making him hear murmurs and distant gunshots and the crack of his rifle butt into that farmhand's face, but he tuned them out, focusing on her steadying, but increasingly heavy breathing, his eyes unable to leave her mouth..

He let himself drink in the fact that she really was there, sat on her knees in the dirt before him and already begging him for his forgiveness, for his acceptance; corporeal, flesh and blood and her sweet smell and that wet, warm place between her legs. Only in his drug-induced private fantasies had he felt it, but he knew he wanted to bury himself there, as deep as possible, and never let her pull away.

"I really am sorry, Coop." she whispered, those big, round eyes brimming with big, wet tears. It wasn't difficult to see her sincerity, even as he struggled to focus. But that hot coal of bitter anger still smoldered in his gut; not replaced by the lust he felt, but fed by it.

Slowly, his own movements labored under the weight of too many substances, he reached out and ran the thumb of his sullied glove along her smooth, smooth cheek. Smearing the trail of wetness there until he was tracing the outline of those pouty lips, he pushed it into her mouth.

"Prove it."

She let out a pitiful little retch, though whether it was from the taste of the incredibly filthy material, or because he was shoving her tongue back in her throat and gagging her with it, he didn't know. What he did know was that the sound made his cock twitch, which was already more blatant sexual desire than he'd felt in ages.

"How?" she asked, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand as he pulled his own away. The wetness that trailed from his thumb, from her lips, made him feel feverish, and he quickly knotted his hand into the thick, soft hair at the back of her head, yanking her so close that their noses would've been touching, had he still had one. When her wide eyes met his, not so much as a sound escaping her lips at the sensation in her scalp, he finally gave in and harshly mashed his mouth to hers, swallowing the sigh that escaped her as he did.

Cooper was unsure how long they kissed, how long he plundered her swollen, eager mouth with his tongue before she stumbled onto her knees, pulling back slightly to pull air into her lungs. As she hovered there, eyes closed as she attempted to gather herself, he dug deep into the pocket of his duster and withdrew a Jet container, giving it a shake to prime it as she righted her breathing. Once she was steady once more, he cupped the back of her head again, bringing her to him and lifting it to her mouth. There was hesitation in her eyes, then disgust as the chem filled her lungs. It touched him with a twinge of amusement, knowing how badly the stuff tasted, watching her retch harder than before. He let her cough for a few seconds, allowing her a few half-cocked breaths of air before shoving the thing back between her lips and holding it down even longer.

By the time she managed to stop sputtering and drooling, he'd had a hit of his inhaler and started stroking his increasingly hard cock through his pants, watching her closely as she raised her now bleary, glassy eyes towards him. He waited for her to mouth off, to complain, to remark on anything that had happened, but instead, she sat there, unmoving, waiting for his instructions. She was the picture of obedience, but nevertheless, he could still see that glint of outrage behind her gaze, waiting to argue with him the moment she sensed an opportunity.

It pissed him off more than he thought possible, and, before he could even think to stop himself, he lashed out and slapped her across the face, the blow landing squarely in the center of her cheek and making her head turn away from him slightly. Surprising him again, she didn't make a sound, but she also didn't correct her head to look back at him.

Pulling a long drag off of the Jet inhaler himself, he held it deep in his lungs as he grabbed her by her long hair to kiss her again, exhaling the stuff right down into her lungs. She kissed him back until she choked on the sensation, leaning away to spew and cough more.

"Wanna prove you're sorry?" he hissed, his brain buzzing with the fresh hit as she leaned against his knee. "Clean my boots, vaultie. Show a little humility for once in your life."

His words were mean, meaner than he should be right now, but she didn't seem to register their full weight as she struggled to focus her eyes on the boots in question. When she lifted those dark, glassy pools back to his, he could see she knew what he meant, a heavy blush staining her cheeks and neck. Of course she knew what he meant; she was a smart girl, and her brain worked so much like his, even if she wouldn't freely admit it.

She looked up at him so dreamily through those thick lashes, though whether it was real affection in her eyes or simply the haze from all the Jet he'd forced down into her lungs, he couldn't tell.

In truth, his boots weren't as filthy as they could've been, as he'd cleaned the farmhand's blood off of them the night she'd taken off to get rid of the smell. But it wasn't about cleanliness; no, she'd humiliated him, her and her spoiled, entitled vault-dweller attitude, when she ran off, and he wanted to see her humiliate herself a little in kind.

The woman kneeling before him didn't hesitate as much as he'd thought she would, the red outline of his palm and fingers seeming to glow on her cheek in the dying firelight as she cast a vaguely-seeing glance around her, measuring her space before pulling herself into a sort of downward dog position, her round ass in the air as her marred cheek rested softly on the sandy ground. There was a moment of quiet tension as she seemed to study it, planning her approach before rather timidly leaning forward and running her tongue along the side, swiping a clean stripe across the tarnished black material from ball to toe. She gagged at first, likely from the dryness of the dust, but, again, she didn't complain.

He didn't have to tell her to clean the other boot; she did it with no prompting as soon as the first was finished, gagging less as she ran her pretty pink tongue all along the sullied, scuffed leather, and he couldn't believe how much it turned him on while equally failing to quell his indignation, his disappointment. Before she'd really finished her work, he yanked her up by her hair again; this time, she let out a slight yelp of surprise as he dropped her onto her ass, gesturing to her shabby, scavenged armor with one hand as the other began to wrestle his ammo belt, then his actual belt, open.

"Take that shit off."

Again, she did as he asked with only a moment's pause, placing all the little pieces of boiled leather and metal off to the side, her eyes flitting to him for a heartbeat before she proceeded with the rest of her clothes, quickly exposing herself completely. He could see her well in the moonlight, but not as well as he'd have liked, leaving her standing there, vulnerable and shivering ever-so-slightly as he took a good, long look at her. He was painfully hard at this point, desperate to have at least some minor relief from the confines of his trousers, but he was also uncharacteristically nervous at the idea of exposing himself to her this way. Beckoning her forward, he used her distraction as she kneeled once more to pull his cock free, grateful for the darkness and her weaker eyes.

"Suck me." he growled.

While he wasn't exactly pleased at how entirely fucked up he'd been going into this, he was sort of grateful that he couldn't feel almost anything with any vivid detail across the expanse of his body; the visual of her wrapping her dainty little fingers around him and obediently leaning down to take him into her mouth alone would have been enough to finish him if he'd have been able to feel her properly.

The way she went about it also seemed to indicate she wasn't entirely experienced, simply sliding her mouth down over his cock and setting to finding a pace that she could handle, as everything was surely spinning for her. For a while, he let her do so, fingers knotting into her hair again, before his patience wore thin and he began to push her head downwards, the sound of her gagging once more sending a thrill up his spine. Even with the numbness from the most recent hit seeping through him, he wasn't able to keep it up long before he yanked her back, taking in the drool hanging down from her swollen lips.

Cooper gave his spit-slicked cock a few firm tugs, hissing from between his worn teeth at her as he sat back, making room for her on his lap.

"Now get up here and show me you know who you belong to."

She didn't even look towards her bag, towards the condoms he knew she kept tucked deep inside her little toiletry pocket, as she quickly and sloppily pulled herself up into his lap. A part of him knew that he'd have stopped her if she did try to put one on him.

He tried so hard to not think of Barb as the pretty young thing on top of him began to sink down and envelop his cock in her heat, tried so hard to not feel guilty for giving himself to another, and he failed miserably. She felt heavenly, tighter and warmer and sweeter than he could've ever imagined, and he hated himself for how much he loved it, for how alive it made him feel when for so long he'd simply been existing. The choked noise that left his dry throat as the aching head of him fully breached her wasn't a sob, but he wouldn't have known what to call it.

It must've seemed to her, he thought, that he was forcing her to do all the work out of anger, wanting her to fully prove that she wanted him, that she was his; this was true, but he was also terrified, deep down, of how he would react if he allowed himself to freely touch her the way he wanted. He feared he would literally rip her limb from limb in his intoxicated state, sink his teeth into her pillowy flesh until it bled, tear a chunk off of her and swallow it so that she could be part of him forever.

He couldn't tell if the way she huffed and whimpered her way down his length was because she was high and hypersensitive or because she'd never been with a man this way before. That thought was quickly and harshly banished from his brain, however, his hands finding the plush fat of her hips, fingertips digging hard into the soft, supple flesh.

"Good pup." he breathed out when he eventually felt her ass rest on his thighs, fully sheathing him inside her.

The whimper she let out in response, her tight little clasp quivering around him as she clumsily reached out and braced her hands on his shoulders, made him throb hard, leaving him at least slightly grateful for his intoxication once again. If his numbed brain and body had been able to feel her fully, he knew he would've absolutely shot his load already.

Cooper struggled to stay still as she moved experimentally on top of him, lifting and lowering and grinding herself a few different ways before she found a rhythm that made him let out a throaty moan, the ghost of a smile flashing across her sleepy face as she rode away at him for a while.

What he really wanted, deep beneath all the unwanted feelings and unanswered questions about things he didn't want to think about right now, was to knock her up. For so long now he'd thought of her as his, and now that he'd claimed her, he wanted nothing more than to see her round and full to the brim of him. He wanted her to need him, to be completely dependent on him to provide for her and keep her safe.

He wanted her too vulnerable to get away from him.

On top of him, her movements were rapidly losing all coordination as her glossy, heavy eyelids drifted shut, her head nodding violently as she struggled to maintain her pace. He'd given her too much for someone who didn't use regularly, someone her size, and she was crashing out, falling asleep against her will right there. Poor thing.

He slapped her again, the sound ringing out across the vast, empty desert, watching closely as she startled back into a fully upright posture, her hips stilling for a moment before slowly beginning to churn again, her gaze unfocused.

"Mmm." she murmured groggily, leaning forward and placing her forehead against his shoulder, her arms winding around his neck as she tried her best to keep in some sort of motion.

This gesture, the way she cuddled up to him and sought comfort, support from him, even after the way he'd treated her, the fact that he'd literally just slapped her awake, was the only thing she'd done thus far that truly quelled the ugly, raging anger inside him.

"Thought this stuff was s'posed to wake you up." she sighed into the crook of his neck. She was entering the peak of her high, her body pitifully liquid against his chest as she clearly struggled to stay upright.

Personally, Cooper was reaching the un-fun part of his comedown, where everything started to feel grating and the mind began to uncloud, providing an increasingly painful level of clarity, but the senses remained muddled in a way that provided more discomfort than relief.

"Usually does. You had too much, baby." he responded, the mild chastisement in his tone doing a poor job of hiding the guilt behind it. His naked hands stroked reverently at her back, at the long, wind-swept hair that flowed down it, mindful to hold her so that she wouldn't lilt too far to one side as he attempted to soothe her.

Familiar with the unpleasant swimming sensation too much Jet could give you, he let her relax fully against him, the small sigh she let out one of gratitude as her whole body sagged even further. But she didn't stop grinding against him, probably out of some sort of pleasure for herself, he figured as he could feel her greedy insides tugging around him. He hid his grin again, this time in the crook of her neck as his hands found her hips once more, easily lifting her a few inches before dropping her down again, bouncing her on his cock as she rested.

Things went on like that for a spell, him bobbing and rocking her naked, lax body on top of his as she curled up on his shoulder, cooing and nodding off from time to time. As his high wore off, the sensitivity in his body was returning, and it made her feel more and more overwhelming as he continued to fuck her, her hot, wet little cunt leaking all over him as he continued to use her body to get himself off.

She seemed to be more conscious now than before, though barely, jostled awake by the increasing force of his thrusts up into her, bare breasts heaving with the movement. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to trace his lips down her chest, sealing them around her puffy, erect nipple and swiping his tongue along her slightly salty flesh. In response, her arms tightened around his neck, holding him on her breast as she clenched around him hard.

"Cooper." she whimpered, and that single little sound pushed him right into what felt like the most powerful orgasm he'd ever had, his fingers digging into her hips far too hard as he dropped her full weight onto him, grinding her down onto his cock and yanking her against him. His head dropped back, dead weight as he let out a feral snarl, tapering off into a throaty moan.

As he throbbed his gift up inside her, she squirmed at the feeling, tucking her bright red face into the side of his neck in what read as slight embarrassment, giving little huffs and whimpers as he continued to fill her. Another, smaller wave of guilt nagged at him as she clung to him, as he held her as close as he possibly could, struggling to regain control of his breathing; even if she'd had sex before, she'd never done this.

He held her as long as she could tolerate, her grip around him loosening slowly as she moved closer to real sleep. His girl was exhausted through and through, lightly snoozing against his chest.

For a few minutes, he let her rest uninterrupted, scanning her over to assess how badly he'd fucked up. She seemed fairly intact, though certainly more bruised than before. Eventually, he went digging into her bag, knowing (hoping) that she would have Radaway somewhere, and letting out a small sigh of relief when he found some jammed into the bottom.

Only one dose; he would have to find her more, and soon. This would be enough to see her through the next day, though, and he was pleasantly surprised to note that she wasn't showing even minor signs of radiation sickness as he found a vein in her arm, starting up the intravenous line to administer the thick, yellowed solution. Surprisingly, she didn't rouse fully when he slid the included needle into place, but she did begin to stir and groan mildly as the stuff began to effuse. Dimly, he remembered being given it when he'd been in the service, and how shitty it could make you feel.

Softly, he stroked her cheek with the backs of his bare knuckles before setting to jabbing her with a Stimpak from his bag around where she'd stuck some staples in her belly, making a note to ask her what had given her the several inches-long laceration he saw there.

He hesitated, though, when he moved to give her a dose of Med-X he'd dug out from the depths of his saddlebag. Most of the Wasteland's mind-rotting and pain-soothing substances were on the table for him, and in great amounts, but he hated the way the opiate made him sluggish and sleepy, reducing his accuracy in a fight significantly. The pain relief it provided wasn't worth it if he ended up dead anyway.

Smoothskins loved it, though, so he usually kept a few syringes on him for bartering purposes. Never did he think he'd be happy to give so much of his stash away for free.

He knew she must be hurting, or, she would be when she woke up, whenever that was. But he was hesitant to give her anything else, both for fear of how she would react, and, somewhat selfishly, because he knew a proper dose would make her sleep even longer, and he was desperate to actually get to speak with her again.

If she asked for the stuff, he'd give it to her. But...tomorrow. After they'd gotten a chance to discuss everything that had happened with cooler, more sober heads. After he was sure she wouldn't wake up in the morning and hate him for what he'd done to her.

His fingers played softly in her mussed hair as the indigo cover of night faded into the periwinkle of twilight, washing her nearly grey in his arms. She slept hard awhile, undisturbed until the awkward angle of her neck made him gently resettle her into a more comfortable-seeming position, letting her slip down until she was curled up in a ball on her side in his lap, her head supported in the crook of his elbow. Lying this way, he'd have to hold her up while she slept, but he found himself strangely excited at the prospect.

"M'sorry I ran away." she murmured suddenly after a long period of silence, readjusting herself in his lap to curl closer.

"I know, kid. I forgive you." he replied after a moment of hesitation, the words soft and strange as they formed on his lips. He petted her hair as gently as he could manage. "Did a good job findin' your way back to me, pup. Proud of you."

"Mmm. Please don't be mad at me." she echoed his own thoughts softly, so slurred as she finally began into unconsciousness that it was barely intelligible, her face buried in his side.

"I'm not." he said, fully, completely honest for once in his long life. He let his eyelids rest, his hand on his gun, ready to stop anyone who would try to ruin this quiet moment under the fading stars. "I promise. Now, get some sleep, pup. I know you came a long way today."

She sighed at that, as if to say "You have no idea." before flopping loosely into his arms, and was snoring lightly within a minute. He allowed himself a small smile at this, at how earnest and adorable she was.

"Good girl." he murmured.

[djarins-cyare]

Never Look Down

Part 1: Din’s Evening

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Prompt: “I don’t know what’s happening but I love it.”

Summary: Din has been ignoring his crush on Grogu’s babysitter for a while now, with varying degrees of success. But after a misunderstanding leads to some revelations, there’s no denying things any longer. Sometimes you just need to look at things from a different perspective.

Rating: Mature (18+) with a smidge of explicit

Pairing: Din Djarin x Original Female Character (for his POV scenes) / Din Djarin x Reader (for her POV scenes)

Word count: 5,330

Tags/warnings: alcohol, drunkenness, vomit (no description), numerous references to erections, some swearing, references to sex, non-explicit smutty thots, Din carries OFC a short distance, masturbation (male, semi-explicit, but I don’t think enough to push up the rating), 3rd person POV (part 2 will be 2nd person POV and OFC will become reader/you).

Author’s note: This was originally supposed to be for @beskarandblasters’ Din Djarin Fic Club Drabble Event, although drabble this is not! Kel said there was no word limit, but it grew so long that I couldn’t even call it a one-shot anymore, so I’m uploading it in two parts to make it easier to read and I think that probably disqualifies it from the Drabble Event. But Kel, thank you so much anyway for the prompt – it resulted in me finally pushing through my writer’s block and finishing/uploading something new, so I’m eternally grateful!

READ ON AO3 (author’s preference)

Tumblr version ahead if you prefer…

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He’s panicking. It’s stupid, really – he’s been in situations far trickier and more critical than this. But Karga said he needed help urgently, and now his babysitter isn’t answering her comlink.

Should he just go and leave Grogu here? It’s not like he never left him alone on the ship.

Except… something’s changed since the adoption. Din has started to care what others think of his parenting style. He hears people whisper that fatherhood clearly isn’t coming easily to him (he thought he was doing alright). He watches how his babysitter closely monitors every move the kid makes (the Mandalorians never watched him that closely). He listens when people talk about how they raise their own children (he hadn’t realised it was such hard work). And it’s made him feel as if he’s… lacking.

He hates feeling less than adequate in any area of his life, but somehow, failing as a father cuts deep. Perhaps it’s because he grew up without one. Plus, that scolding Peli gave him after she found Grogu alone on the Razor Crest still haunts him.

Although the Mandalorian method of letting them learn from their mistakes has merit (and it never did him any harm), he wants to be there for his son. So, no. He won’t leave Grogu here alone. He can’t risk him waking up and wondering why nobody comes if he calls. The kid has probably had enough of that in his past.

Why isn’t Maia picking up?

Din paces the cabin’s length, listening to the gentle ping of the comlink as it tries to connect with the one he gave her. Even the soothing pulse doesn’t ease his frustration. Diligent parenting is hard.

Just as he’s wondering if he can wake the kid and bring him along, the comlink crackles to life.

“—know what the stinking stang is wrong with it! Ah, frotz! Hello? Is this thing totally borked?”

For a baffling moment, he can’t work out whether he’s shocked or thrilled. She certainly doesn’t use that type of language around the kid, but he’s delighted to hear her voice nonetheless.

“Maia!” He interrupts her frustrated confusion as loud as he dares, lest he wake the sleeping child downstairs.

“Shiny, hi! It works! What’s up, my metal man? It’s late… is this a booty call?”

Once again, Din can’t decide if he’s shocked or thrilled. However, his dick’s instant twitch of interest proves that it, at least, is clearly siding with the latter. Dank farrik, he wishes it were a booty call. “No, Maia, I need—”

“Course it’s not!” she interrupts, giggling inanely. “Sorry, that was ridiculous, ignore me. Go on, you were saying?”

He takes a deep breath and tries to push past the stab of dismay at her labelling the idea of a booty call as ridiculous. At least she sounds in a happy mood.

“I’m sorry to contact you so late, but Karga has some kind of crisis. IG-11 is still with the Anzellans for repairs after the last crisis, so he’s asked for my help. Grogu’s asleep, but I’m gonna need you to come over and wait at the cabin until I return. I’ll pay you double your usual rate. I just don’t wanna leave him here alone.”

“Suuure! I’ll haul my jets over to you now. Five, ten minutes, tops. If you wanna take off now, I know your door code. I’ll check on the li’l bug as soon as I arrive.”

Din breathes a relieved sigh. “Thank you, I owe you. I shouldn’t be long.”

“Happy hunting, Beskar Boy! Or happy dispute settling!” Maia signs off with a melodic laugh that instantly makes him grin beneath his helmet, despite the stupid nickname.

The grin fades as he processes the meaning of the words preceding her addictive laughter, and he sighs. She’s probably right, although he hopes he’ll at least need his blaster for whatever mess the High Magistrate wants him to clean up.

Karga was once able to intimidate the townsfolk, but these days, they see him as purely a leader and captain of industry. They respect his ability to govern and improve the town – he’s more than proven himself capable in those roles. But whipping out a blaster from beneath those ridiculous robes now gains him little more than dubious raised eyebrows. By contrast, Cara was a fearsome and capable law enforcer, and now IG-11 keeps the citizens in line.

Except a reptavian tore off both of IG’s legs a few nights ago. Apparently, whatever the droid equivalent of ‘sick leave’ is, he’s taking it.

Din doesn’t mind helping out when he’s not on jobs for Carson. As long as Karga doesn’t solicit his help too often, it’s an easy way to make a few extra credits. He supposes that kind of makes him a part-time deputy, though he’ll never accept a title or a contract. But if tonight’s job is nothing more than a neighbour dispute, he’ll be a little peeved. His friend is aware of his skillset and wouldn’t contact him unless it required weapons and armour. He hopes.

He checks on Grogu once more, then equips himself with his usual arsenal, making sure to lock the weapons cabinet behind him. For some reason, his blasters fascinate Maia. He’s given her several shooting lessons, and she always asks to hold them whenever the cabinet’s unlocked. Although he doubts she’d handle them without his permission, he’d rather be present if she’s caressing his things.

Truthfully, he’d prefer it if she handled and caressed something else entirely, though he buries that thought for now. He has work to do, and an ill-timed hard-on would be awkward at best, if not downright perverse. He can torture himself later.

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Din wraps up the problem in less than an hour. It does require his blaster, in fact, and he does have to shoot someone. Okay, it’s in the shoulder to disarm him, but the guy is only on his drunken vendetta because he’s heartbroken. He doesn’t deserve to die.

A year ago, he would’ve just shot him in the head and gone home. But he’s lived among the citizens of Nevarro for several months now, and he’s almost starting to feel like part of the community. Passing through it to visit the old covert was different. The Mandalorians were a separate (secret) colony, and he was merely a visitor who lived on his ship. Even though his new home is still on the outskirts, Grogu attends the school in town, and he already knows many of the other parents by name. These days, the market stall owners try to chat with him instead of looking away in fear as they used to.

The guy standing on a table in the cantina tonight with a blaster trained on his ex and her new flame is someone Din recognises. He can’t recall from where, but disarming rather than killing him feels like the right thing to do.

Once he has him in binders, he delivers him to Karga and hurries straight home. The lava flats are quiet and peaceful this time of night, free from the nocturnal bustle of the town and lit only by the celestial display above. There’s no sulphur fog tonight, and the air smells fresh.

But as pleasant as it is, he doesn’t dawdle. Just like every other time he’s left Maia in charge, he relishes the chance to walk into his home and see her there. As if she belongs. He finds that image far more dazzling than the constellations sparkling above him. It’s far sweeter than the fresh air he inhales through his helmet filters as he hastens toward his cabin.

He can’t pinpoint when his interest in her changed from professional to passionate. Grogu made it clear that he liked her best out of the several childminders they auditioned, so he gave her the job. At some point between then and now, he became enamoured with her.

But he can’t do anything about it.

His loyalty to his son means he can’t fuck the babysitter, so for now, Maia belongs to the kid, and Din sleeps alone.

Even though he’s had no serious relationships in the past, he imagines he’d be willing to try it with her. But since it’ll never happen, it’s not worth dwelling on. He’s noticed a few locals checking him out, so he can always approach them if he’s looking to get laid. He’s much more used to casual encounters.

But none of that stops Din from thinking his babysitter is beautiful. It doesn’t stop him from wishing he could run his hands over her welcoming body, indulge in her tender touch and heady scent, sink into her depths over and over until she’s crying out his name as they shatter together in ecstasy….

Dank farrik, he’d better quit thinking like that. He has enough trouble controlling his physical urges around her as it is. In fact, it’s starting to become a problem. He’s lost count of how many times he’s had to dash off and furtively rearrange himself so his stomach padding hides his boner. He can’t wear the flight suits with the tight pants around her anymore, so the looser-fitting ones are getting much more use. In fact, he’s wearing his last pair. (That reminds him: he needs to do laundry tomorrow.)

Maia teases him whenever she can, but it’s always friendly, not flirty, and it doesn’t come close to being sexual. He’s never caught her looking anywhere other than directly at his visor. Still, he can’t help feeling embarrassed whenever something she says or does causes his cock to harden. He simply can’t control it.

Din reaches the cabin and punches in the door code, happy to note that his guest has locked it from inside. Her diligence and attention to detail certainly helped him trust her in his home from the outset of her employment.

Stepping across the threshold, he notices all the lights are out except for the one above the kitchen sink, which is unusual. Stranger still, all it illuminates is a near-full cup of water standing in a pool of condensation.

Nonetheless, it’s bright enough for him to survey the rest of the room cast in shadowed shades of grey.

He can’t see Maia.

Instantly, his heart rate rises, although he doesn’t panic. She’s probably just in the refresher or the kid’s bedroom with him. But the amount of moisture surrounding that cup shows it’s been sitting there almost as long as he was gone, which is curious. And there’s no light coming from downstairs either.

The cabin is small, with an open-plan kitchen and living space, and a staircase leading down to two bedrooms and the refresher. Din’s priority is his son, so he creeps down the ferrocrete steps, well-practised at following the route silently. With his night vision on, he can see that Grogu’s door is open a crack, and he pushes it wider. Little purring snores verify that the kid is sleeping soundly, and he slides the door fully closed to ensure he stays that way. Good.

Since his babysitter wasn’t in that room, and she wouldn’t invade his private space without permission, there’s only one other option. He bypasses his own bedroom opposite Grogu’s and heads to the door facing him – the refresher. He can’t pick up any sounds from within, but he’s not about to invade her privacy by listening too intently. The door is fully shut, but there’s a faint glow through the ventilation grill at the bottom, too weak to be the usual lights. A glowrod?

That’s rather odd. He’s grateful that Maia avoided putting on the hall lights while Grogu’s door was ajar, but she could’ve switched on the refresher lights once inside.

For an unsettling moment, Din isn’t sure how to proceed. He really doesn’t want to interrupt her if she’s busy. But… his instincts are telling him something is off, and he wants to know she’s okay.

He’ll give her a little longer. He’d rather be cautious than a perv.

He retreats upstairs again, conducting a thorough check of the living space and kitchen but finding nothing abnormal or suspicious. Nothing besides that abandoned cup of water, at least. Next comes his nightly check of the cabin’s weak points – the windows and entryway. He secures them all, figuring he can escort Maia out when she’s ready. Tipping away the water, he runs a fresh cup, turns his back to the stairs to lift his helmet and drink, and refills it. Finally, he disarms himself of most of his weapons, leaving one blaster in its holster and his vibroblade in his boot. He likes to bring some of his usual arsenal downstairs with him, even though he has multiple spares in a secure cabinet near his bed.

Which is where he’s headed now. Din sets the drink on his nightstand, switches off his night vision, and switches on the dim bedside light. His guest has seen him armourless a few times before, so he begins removing his beskar and the rest of his kit. He’s almost finished – just his armourweave stomach padding to go – when he hears a thump from the refresher.

In seconds, he’s outside it again, listening intently for any further clues. He’s been in the business of handling unconscious bodies for decades, and that sounded like an unconscious body.

“Maia?” he tries, keeping his voice low to ensure he won’t disturb the kid.

Nothing.

He knocks gently, giving it a few moments.

Still nothing.

Okay, now he’s really starting to worry. He returns to his bedroom, grabs his vambrace, and flicks through his visual settings until he’s replaced his night vision with the thermal overlay. He hopes he isn’t crossing a line here, but what else can he do? Walking to his doorway, he takes a deep breath… and directs his visor at the refresher.

Dank farrik, she’s on the fucking floor. Why didn’t he check sooner?

Jabbing off the thermal overlay, Din throws his vambrace on the bed, then rushes to the refresher door. He keeps his voice low in case he wakes Grogu, hoping it reaches her anyway. “Maia, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I hope you’re decent because I’m coming in.”

He gives her five torturous seconds to respond or get decent if she isn’t already, and then he keys in the override code. The door slides open, revealing his unconscious (but blessedly fully clothed) babysitter slumped near the toilet, lit by a glowrod on the floor next to her. He can now hear her breathing heavily, though it doesn’t sound laboured, just a deep state of sleep.

His helmet isn’t sealed, so straight away, he’s able to detect the lingering smell of vomit. A somewhat grim consequence of being both a bounty hunter and a father means Din can also distinguish types of vomit. Although she has flushed, there’s no air filtration with the lights off, and the residual odour tells him that Maia has been drinking alcohol.

It also explains her unconscious state, so his worry dissipates a little, and mild annoyance starts to creep in.

She agreed to look after his son when she’d been drinking?

He kneels down next to her, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Maia. Wake up.” He shakes her, but she doesn’t stir.

He assumes she slipped from a propped-up position against the toilet, and the thud he heard was her slumping onto the ferrocrete floor. Did she bang her head? If that didn’t wake her… shit.

He tries shaking her again with as much force as he dares, and she groans and curls up even more. She’s fighting it, but he sees consciousness sluggishly returning.

“Maia, it’s Din. Can you sit up?”

“… y’can’t make me sing for the cup….” She’s still half asleep and confused, but that’s not surprising. A few seconds later, she cracks open her eyes, becomes aware of her situation, and slams them shut again. “Oh… fuuuck… no no, m’sorry… so so so s-sorry… please don’t be mad at meee….” She’s tearful and rambling but mostly coherent, even though she’s still curled on the floor with her eyes squeezed closed.

“What happened?” He can’t think of anything else to say until he’s established her culpability. He knows she wouldn’t drink on the job, so she must’ve been drinking earlier this evening. It certainly explains her overzealous response on the comlink. Dank farrik, he should’ve realised. But, no, he was busy revelling in his own drunken high from her joke about it being a booty call. Idiot.

“It was accidet— ac-ci-den-tal,” she continues from her foetal position. “Tried to call you back, but m’comlink’s busted… figured better I’m here drunk than not at all… ’m sorry sorry sorry, kark, pleeease don’t hate me. I jus’ wanted to make sure the li’l man was okay. I didn’t realise how much I’d had till I stood up, n’ it hit me worse on the way over. But Grogu’s fine, I checked. But I’ve grossed up your ’fresher, ’m sorry…”

Din sighs. In the scheme of things, Maia did the right thing. He’d rather she was here puking in his refresher than risk his child waking up alone. And it occurs to him that she achieved a surprising amount while seemingly drunk as a pirate. She secured the cabin, poured herself some water, stomached a few sips, managed to descend the stairs unscathed, and checked on the kid. Then she sealed herself inside the refresher and threw up neatly into the toilet bowl with no spills, even managing to flush before she passed out. And she did all that by the light of a glowrod so she wouldn’t wake Grogu.

In many ways, his babysitter’s actions tonight were more responsible than some of his own questionable choices regarding his son’s safety. He can’t be mad at her.

He tells her so. “I’m not mad, Maia. Thank you for coming over anyway. Can you sit up? I need to know you’re okay.”

Her eyes are still clamped shut, but she cracks them slightly as she tries to push herself off the floor. It doesn’t go well, so Din reaches forward to help, and together, they get her into a stable sitting position. Nevarro’s volcanic environment means the basement maintains a cosy warmth, so he’s not surprised she passed out down here. It’s not exactly soft, but those who grow up in the Outer Rim spend their lives making do. He likes that she’s a survivor. Like him.

“Everything’s s-spinning,” she groans. “N’ my mouth tastes like bantha balls.”

Din suppresses a snort. “Hold on.” He climbs to his feet, retrieves the cup of water from his bedroom, and then passes it to her. “Here, sip.”

After she’s taken a few delicate sips, Maia gives him back the cup. “Don’t wanna puke again.”

“You won’t,” he assures, placing it in her hands again. “Pretty sure you got all the alcohol out of your system already. You gotta rehydrate, or you’ll feel worse.”

Kneeling down next to her again, he watches her try to follow his instruction, pleased she trusts him. He can’t help but admire how adorably dishevelled she is. Her hair is mussed, her clothes are wrinkled, and she keeps pouting between sips… but it’s all so… cute.

Once she’s had half the cup, he accepts it back, though she follows it up with more apologies. “M’so sorry… , m’such a karkin’ idiot… I get it if you don’t want me to look after Grogu anym—”

“Stop,” Din interrupts sharply, unwilling to let her beat herself up. “This is as much on me as it is on you. I didn’t ask you if you were busy. I demanded you come over and bribed you with extra credits. I didn’t question why you sounded different on the comlink. And I didn’t wait for you to arrive. If I’d done any of those things differently, you might not have ended up on my ’fresher floor. So I’m sorry too.” Maia doesn’t reply besides blinking at him a few times, so he asks, “What was the occasion? For the drinking, I mean.”

“One year of freedom from a terrible relationship,” she states resolutely, and for a moment, she seems a little more sober. “Me n’ Zandi, we were both in deep with some mudscuffers who locked us in when we were too young to know any better. But we got lucky. Marshal Dune caught them dealing spice, and now they’re spending a decade mining the asteroid field at the edge of the system. The Nevarran tribunal sentenced them a year ago today, so we drank to celebrate our freedom.”

Din doesn’t really know how to respond. She’s made some previous passing remarks about the toxic relationships she and her friend escaped from, which he’s always taken as hints of her wish to remain unattached. It’s yet another reason he wouldn’t feel right about making any sort of move on her. He settles on, “You… deserve to celebrate.”

“Thanks, Shiny.” He bristles at the nickname out of habit, but he secretly likes that Maia has numerous nicknames for him. “N’ you deserve a ’fresher without a woman on the floor. I should get outta your way, Beskar Boy.”

She tries pushing herself up but instantly becomes dizzy and topples to the side. Din’s naturally quick reflexes kick in, and he positions himself to catch her, letting her fall into his chest as his arm snakes around her back. Before he can even process what he’s doing, he’s slipping his other arm beneath her knees and lifting her up.

“Whoa!” she exclaims, grabbing onto his flight suit with one hand while the other flies to grasp his neck. He almost shivers from feeling her clutch at him so keenly. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I love it! Thanks for the lift, muscles!”

He’s glad his bold move has amused rather than perturbed her, so he doesn’t answer, too busy willing his cock to remain unreactive to this sudden closeness. His main goal is to get her off the ferrocrete floor and put her down somewhere softer as fast as possible. As he elbows open the door and navigates out of the refresher, he makes a split-second decision. His bed is closer than the couch.

“Shiny! This is your bedroom!” Maia whisper-shouts as he steps through the door. At least she’s lucid enough to keep her voice low in case Grogu hears across the hall.

Din grunts in agreement as he approaches his bed and starts carefully lowering her onto it.

She keeps going in a gleeful whisper. “Is this…? Are we…? Kriff, I never thought I’d actually end up in your bed, metal man! I mean, it’s been a dream, sure, but I figured your creed thing meant, like, no sex or whatever. But holy frotz, I guess tonight really was a booty call! Count me the fuck in!”

He’s already laid her down by the time he fully processes her words.

Dank farrik, he’s a fucking idiot.

He will never have sex with any woman in this state. He’s not that kind of guy. The fact that being with Maia is a dream for him too is meaningless, and so is the possibility that she might actually want him. Because does she really? Maybe this is still the alcohol talking. It has to be. Right?

It doesn’t even matter. All Din needs to do is extract himself from this situation in the least awkward way possible and without having to reject her verbally.

But how?

He points a finger at her. “Stay put.” She bites her bottom lip and acknowledges his order with a sloppy salute.

Damn it, the image of her lip caught between her teeth is now burned into his brain, haunting him with forbidden promise.

He pads back to the refresher in his socks and closes the door, relieving himself, flushing, and then pouring some cleaner down the toilet to sit overnight. He then washes up at the sink as fast as possible and refills the cup of water. Returning to his bedroom, Din places the cup on the nightstand along with the glowrod that belongs to his guest.

Speaking of whom…

In his brief absence, Maia has toed off her shoes, stripped naked and strewn her clothes across the floor, and burrowed under his covers. She’s still bleary from the booze, but he sees fire and lust behind her hopeful gaze as she blinks up at him.

It kills him.

He remembers he never finished removing his armour, so he retrieves the vambrace from where he threw it and places it on its shelf. Then he finally removes his stomach padding and puts that away too, directing his visor anywhere except at the naked woman in his bed. He’s doing everything possible to deny the physical reaction her presence is giving rise to.

When he’s done, Din approaches the bed again, acutely aware that she’s tracking him with a hunger he shares but can do nothing about.

Fuck, this is torture. The blanket has slipped down (or maybe Maia has arranged it) so low that it’s daringly close to exposing her nipples. She’s right there, waiting for him. Wanting him.

But she’s drunk. And she’s his kid’s babysitter. He tries to quell his ache by thinking about how she’s thrown up this evening, which would make kissing gross. It helps for a second, although the idea of kissing her at all ends up eclipsing the negatives, and he hardens even more.

Shit, he cannot think about kissing her. Or how naked she is. Or anything like that. Vomit. He should focus on vomit.

Okay. Din taps off the bedside light and picks up the glowrod, then heads to the door in the dark, stumbling over her clothes strewn on the floor. He can’t activate his helmet’s night vision without his vambrace control, but he won’t put it back on just to navigate his escape. Nor will he switch on the glowrod yet because he doesn’t want to see any dismay or regret in her eyes as he leaves her. He wants to remember the hunger he witnessed there.

Hazardous garments notwithstanding, he finds his way to the exit.

Crossing the darkened doorway’s threshold, he whispers, “Get some rest, Maia.” Then he fumbles for the control and taps the door close button, releasing a sigh as it swishes shut behind him.

Switching on the dim glowrod, he traipses upstairs. It’s going to be so kriffing awkward in the morning. Nonetheless, one thought keeps repeating itself to him above all others, one he can no longer prevent his dick from swelling at the prospect of.

Is she really attracted to him?

He has to know.

Din extracts another blaster from his cabinet, knowing he won’t sleep without one beside him. Then he sits heavily on the couch, thinking about how often he used to sleep in his helmet before this cabin became his home. It’s the first place he’s felt secure enough to remove it at night, so he’s no stranger to sleeping beneath his beskar mask. It’s almost a comfort in a way.

With his face covered in a darkened room lit by nothing but a glowrod while those he cares for slumber downstairs, more memories return…

Sitting in the Crest’s darkened cockpit, fucking his fist by the swirling glow of hyperspace, chasing a release during those first stressful days as a fugitive. In theory, if something had pulled him out of hyperspace, someone could’ve quite literally caught him with his dick in his hand. But the odds of anyone being close enough to peer in through the transparisteel at that very moment and notice his furtive actions were slim. Back then, he was so untethered that in his weaker moments, he desperately sought anything that made him feel good. Fleeting moments when he could pretend his life wasn’t falling apart yet again. The risk was worth it.

Here, too, although he’s locked up the cabin and closed the shutters, there’s a risk of Maia sneaking up the stairs and finding him. But a similar desperation fills him now – the utter frustration of loss. Back then, it was the loss of a stable income, the loss of his covert. Now, it’s his missed chance – the loss of what could’ve been with the woman downstairs. And maybe even the total loss of her in his life. Perhaps she’ll be too embarrassed about this evening’s events and quit. Din couldn’t take that, nor could Grogu. It’s why he tried to avoid this.

Can they get past this? Maybe he ought to find someone else to care for the kid. Would that be best? This is getting too complicated. He doesn’t want to think about it anymore.

So, right now, he’ll imagine the positive and lose himself in the fantasy, just like he used to. He’ll think about the hunger he saw in her eyes and let himself believe it wasn’t merely the alcohol. Just for tonight, he’ll believe it’s the truth. The risk, once again, is worth it.

He’s already tenting his loose flight suit pants, so he fumbles to expose himself and relaxes against the couch cushions behind him. The wet spot on his underwear displays just how profoundly turned on he is simply by the idea of being with Maia.

After all the temptation it’s endured this evening, his cock is extra sensitive, so he begins with measured, lazy strokes. Whilst he’d love to revel in the fantasy, he knows he won’t last long. As he imagines joining her in his bed, filling his palms with those half-exposed breasts he saw, pressing his naked body against her, his movements begin to speed up and his pressure increases. Very soon, he’s plummeting toward the edge of ecstasy like a podracer pilot with the finish line in sight.

His helmet tips back to stare at the ceiling as he pictures how it would feel to sink into her warm depths, and the notion ignites his fuse, burning rapidly. It only takes a few more strokes before the powder keg within him explodes into a million tiny raptures. His hips stutter, his muscles clench, and his orgasm tears through his body. He comes hard, and a fractured groan far louder than he’d intended escapes through the modulator as he spills forth his pleasure…

Fucking. Bliss.

Din’s mind is blank for some time, just a sense of fulfilment and contentment gently rippling throughout his relaxed form.

As the real world filters back in, he’s able to think clearly, and he now knows what he has to do. He doesn’t like it, but it’s the mature and sensible option. It’s also a fucking daunting prospect, but he’s faced worse. Has he? Yes, he has. He can do it. 

He tucks himself away and finds a cloth to wipe down the mess on his flight suit. That task makes him realise he’ll have to sneak into his bedroom tomorrow without waking Maia to grab his armour and some fresh clothes. And now he really needs to do laundry tomorrow. The only pants he has left are the tighter ones, which he tries to avoid wearing around her. Great, there’s another reason to dread the morning. Although it’s not as if he’s ever caught her checking out his package – she may tease him verbally, but her gaze is always polite.

For now, he’ll enjoy the security of darkness and the lingering swirl of happy chemicals in his brain.

Din lays down on the couch and switches off the glowrod. With a deep sigh, he surrenders to the relaxing state of comfort brought on by his orgasm, letting himself fall into a contented sleep. Before he drifts off, his last thought is of Maia’s beautiful lips… leaning in for a kiss….

If only.

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Part 2 →

Those of you who've read my work before will be familiar with my copious end notes:

As usual, it’s British spellings I’m afraid. Demographic stats say about 60% of you are American, but I can’t help where I was born, so sorry about all the extra ‘u’s and ‘l’s and for using ‘s’ where you would expect ‘z’. However, I’ve channelled my inner linguist and used American language and speech patterns since the show is filmed in the US and Din’s accent is American. All other wording is internationally neutral, including Maia’s dialogue (since the next chapter is written from her POV and I’ll be switching to second person reader insert for that, e.g. you/your pronouns). I’m a little sad I didn’t get to include any Mando’a linguistics in this fic tbh. Maybe another time.

The cabin’s layout is inspired by the concept art by Christian Alzmann that appeared in the closing credits of s3e8, in which there appears to be a staircase leading down to a lower level. That makes sense to me, as Din would need total security to sleep without his armour on, and a windowless underground room seemed appropriate. I also like the parallel that on the Razor Crest he used to sleep on the lower level in a windowless room too.

I know Carl’s absence is going to be felt when we finally get the movie, so I wanted to write something where Karga is still around. If this had been a longer piece, I would’ve had him actually featuring in it instead of being in the background, but in any case, Karga lives forever in the universes I write.

The reference to Din wearing looser pants is, weirdly, Canon. One of the ways you can tell it’s Brendan Wayne in the suit is because he seems to prefer these weird baggy clown pants. Contrast to Pedro who likes them tight (Din Peña?), as does Lateef Crowder, and as did Barry Lowin in season 2. Since Brendan did the majority of season 3, we saw Din in the loose-fitting style a lot more, so I decided to write in a reason for that beyond actor preference.

Though we have no information on Nevarro’s judiciary system, they’re an independent world who have a marshal and a magistrate, so my guess is they’d adopt the New Republic’s system of having a tribunal. Generally, group decision-making is favoured during this era, in contrast to the single-judge system of the Imperial era, so it seems more likely that Karga would encourage citizens to serve on a tribunal rather than unilaterally passing judgments himself.

Apologies to @the-mandawhor1an for using the name of your longtime established OC – it was coincidental, I promise! I chose it after looking up the most common female names in the world, one of which is Maria, and I settled on the variant Maia because it sounded like a more Star Wars-y version (and for another reason which you’ll see in part 2). I only realised when you reblogged my WIP Wednesday snippet, and it was a bit late to change it by then. I guess it’s a common name in the SWU too! But I’m sorry and I hope you don’t feel like I’m muscling in on your domain. Your Maia is of course the original Maia 💖

I made the GIF myself. Sorry it’s a bit blurry, I’m not very good at making them yet. I tried to use Tumblr’s GIF-making function, but it wouldn’t let me crop out Grogu’s ears, so this was my alternative attempt. It’ll have to do.

Definitions: Comlinks are those little cylinder comms they all use. Glowrod is a catch-all term for anything portable that produces light. All the swears/insults (stinking stang, frotz, borked, kriff, kark) are from the Legends list of phrases and slang this time (it’s longer than Canon). Nevarran reptavians are the ones that Grogu saved Karga from in s1e7 and that the Mandalorians were roasting in s3e7. Ferrocrete is a compound building material (Canon and Legends) made from concrete and iron, used in roads, reinforced bunkers and building foundations. I figured Din would only be happy with something strong and defensible, so Karga had the cabin built with it. Transparisteel is used for windows and ship viewports, as well as helmet visors.

Part 2 is written and will be uploaded next weekend once proofing/editing is complete. What do we think? Is Din gonna be dumb and tell her she can’t babysit Grogu anymore? Deny himself what he wants for Maia’s own good?

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

Tags requested…

@aheadfullofsteverogers @alltheotps @axolotllover225 @burntheedges @copperhalfcent

@foomoosworld @jude77 @secretelephanttattoo @stagerightlauren @the-mandawhor1an

Those tagged below showed interest in my masterlist and WIP snippets (comments/reblogs), so I thought I’d sneak in some extra tags. Apologies if it’s too forward, if you’d prefer I didn’t tag you in part 2 just let me know…

@604to647 @cheekychaos28 @djarinmuse @gingerlurk

@joelalorian @kyberblade @readingupsidedown @sunflowersunlight7-blog

@thefrogdalorian @whataenginerd @wrathkitty

[calchexxis]

I think I skipped a few posts, but here it is, the final chapter of Flashbangs & Frag Grenades.

For those who do not know, this story was actually started before Arcane, and so the entire first...third? Of the series is before any of that dropped. When I first started posting this story, there were less than 100 fics under the Lightcannon tag, and by the time it hit 100, I was more than 10% of them. Now, there are over 1,000.

I don't say this to self-aggrandize, even though I know that's what it will sound like, but I genuinely don't know what Lightcannon as a fic-fandom would look like without Flashbangs. The reason I say that is because, and this is not a joke, when Arcane dropped, the only longform Lightcannon fic/series that I'm aware of that was still being regularly updated was mine. Most of the other fics in the tag were short, 1-2 chapters, or ficlets. There are a few standouts like 'Don't Lose My Number' by Starcola and the '100 Beautiful and Ugly Words' ficlet series by Ironstatic.

I think the longest one of the Pre-Arcane Lightcannon classics was Illuminous Duet by Kindredtea, but even that, ironically, had its first chapter posted two weeks after the first fic of Flashbangs: Wherefore Cometh Light.

Jinx has always had a kind of fun appeal to her, but to me, Lux is my girl. It's so strange for me to see echoes of my Lux in other people's fics. It's even stranger to see my personal ao3 tags 'Jinx is crazy, Lux is Crazier' show up in works whose authors I've never spoken to. So that's what I mean when I say, I don't know what the Lightcannon fandom looks like without Flashbangs, because it was here when it really took off, and it continued through the events of Arcane, and onward all the way to today. I think that Flashbangs codified what Lux was 'supposed' to sound like in fandom in the same way that Arcane codified Jinx, and I am proud of that.

For those of you have gotten this far, there is a Audiobook of Flashbangs in production, being professionally recorded chapter by chapter, and uploaded to Spotify and Apple Podcast completely for free, and we are up to the final book in the series.

If you want to donate to the cause, please check HERE.

I can't wait to see what Season 2 brings. I can't wait to see what you all create. I hope that Flashbangs continues to tell its story to all of you, so with that said, cheers.

Because We Have Come To Terms.

[egeos]

a brief look at the history of hulknussen on ao3

as I was writing up my hulknussen fanfic recommendations masterpost I realized that someone coming into the ship just now is probably missing a decently sized amount of lore on their "meta" history - that is to say, how fandom has treated hulknussen and how it has changed over the years. I'm making a post on it that so I can reference it in the aforementioned masterpost, but you can also just read this if you want to know more about hulknussen's position in f1 rpf fic on ao3. they're no lestappen, but they've had their moments

I'll try my best to boil down the key factors that influenced them, dynamics, characterizations, etc for the three - and soon four - "eras" I have determined for their ship.

the oldest fic currently in their tag dates back to 2015, which was about a year after kevin joined F1. there were a few people writing for this ship back then, and it didn't really gain traction until 2017 with the infamous "suck my balls mate/honey" incident. there was a small but steady stream of fics uploaded to ao3 over the following years. around late 2020/early 2021 was when they started getting put into the background of fics, as well as into compilation works a lot more, slowly but surely earning them the status of a pairing with bruce banner syndrome.

around this, I have determined three eras you can divide hulknussen fics into. this is based on when they were written and posted, not when the fic itself takes place. I can write something today that takes place in 2014 but it (read: characterizations, dynamics, plot devices, etc) would still be influenced by things that have happened since.

anything from before hungary 2017 kmag joins the grid in 2014, when nico is in his fourth season. they didn't really interact much, but had some interesting parallels in their career for these years. there really aren't a lot of fics from this era, which is a shame in my opinion. I know I technically can't write something for this era, but I really want to try to play around with the dynamics common for them at this time. both of them are younger (kevin 20-23, nico 25-28) with everything to prove. nico still has more of a heartthrob status, kevin is the young and impulsive new rookie. nico also doesn't hold the "beloved by no one, cheered on by everyone" status he has nowadays. he's just kinda there, doing nothing with a friendly smile and never bothering anyone (as opposed to the rest of the grid borderline trying to murder each other in their rivalries).

the last thing I think you can point out is that it was a lot of au's - and I dont mean canon divergence or what if's, but "hulknussen except one is an angel and the other is a demon" "firefighter", "showjumper", that sort of level of au. it is how fandom used to be. nowadays it's more focused on tropes and "canon" (in quotations because rpf) plays a bigger role than it used to.

suck my balls, honey, and all that it brought this part is pretty straightforward. they had their moment in hungary and it spawned a few hate fucking/sexual tension/enemies to lovers fics. there was for sure an uptick around 2017 and even into 2018, but what this moment did way more importantly was cement them as a pair with both history and a "canon" dynamic at all. think of it; hungary is the first time anyone really saw them interact. for a lot of people that was the number 1 thing connecting these two and was basically expected if they were tagged in a fic.

their portrayals boiled down to two, really: the horny one, and the less-horny one. the first is pretty self explanatory, we got two guys who really don't seem to like each other and we make them bang because it's hot. the latter might involve repressed feelings, "secretly together but putting on an act for others", soulmates and making up because of it - kind of, the typical enemies to lovers trope.

(fun fact I want to include; kevin said in 2019 that he never felt much of a grudge towards nico after hungary and held a lot of respect for him. he also said that nico was refusing to even just look at him, and simply determined that nico must have taken hungary very personally while he himself didnt care a lot. it's one of my favourite hulknussen tidbits that I think can really be played around with when writing fic set in this era/using this dynamic.)

it's also worth mentioning that this was when a/b/o as a whole was going mainstream in fandom spaces (and honestly even outside of them, but I wont dive into the implications of that here) which of course also reached F1/hulknussen. some fics fell into the trap of "uwu bottom" and "strong top" stereotypes as a result, usually with kevin as the omega and nico as the alpha. I'm mentioning it because I think that, like hungary 2017, it left its mark in their dynamic and how people cho(o)se to portray them even outside of a/b/o contexts. I will also be honest and say that it's not my personal preferred interpretation, but I acknowledge that it exists, and I won't even deny that maybe it's influenced my own portrayals in ways I haven't noticed.

up until 2019 most of the fics tagged as hulknussen still centered on them. then around 2020-2021 they started getting tagged as a background, side, etc pairing more and more, slowly taking over their tag. I think it was mainly because they had a (at first glance, anyway) simplistic and familiar dynamic with the archetype of enemies/rivals to lovers. it was easy to slot into the background of a fic, easy to use as a catalyst for the main pairing, that sort of thing.

that doesn't mean there were no hulknussen fics being written. I'm mentioning it because it's a development that has stuck around, and they are still often delegated to the sidelines in favour of younger and more popular ships. the fics that were written about them didn't all stick to the enemies to lovers archetype, however! fluff, making up and fics that simply ignored hungary and kept going like before were still being written.

making up (and making out?), haasbands, "my favourite dane", kevin's defence masterclasses, and probably so much more *you are here they make up sometime in 2022. both of them are older, they have matured. both of them are now married and both of them are fathers. they have survived a pandemic (together, kinda) as well as survived being out of the sport and returning. then they're announced as teammates for 2023. it is, of course, a decently huge deal in the wider F1 community. not everyone knows they made up, and media does what they do best, which is stir shit. they didn't manage to convince everyone that they wouldn't implode and take haas with them, but they proved themselves a decent duo in 2023.

it's 2024 when things really kick off. günther is fired from the team and replaced as team principal by ayao. gene decides to invest more capital into F1 over NASCAR, and somehow haas is the only team on the entire grid that didn't have super misleading wind tunnel analysis results (that's not entirely true; theirs were misleading, but theirs were telling them their car is worse than it actually is, whereas everyone else went into 2024 expecting to be better than they ended up being at the beginning of the season). so, overall, haas is in a good spot and on an upwards trajectory.

cue jeddah 2024. kevin racks up penalties like crazy because the fia is trying to be stricter and punish more harshly by giving out 10s instead of 5s penalties. which, credit where credit is due, it did what they wanted, which is ruin kevin's race, and ruining someone's race is a solid way of making sure they don't become a repeated offender (you would think so, anyway). kmag uses the opportunity to hold back the entire back of the field so the gap between him and nico is big enough to buy nico an entire pitstop. that is a crazy feat on so many levels. that takes slowing down without being overtaken. like, forcing the other race cars to slow down when they could easily go faster, in a race where the entire point is to go fast. he needed to speed off into the sunsent during the straights and slow down crazily fast in the corners, all while managing tyres. and the madlad did it and then gives interviews with a big fat smile, saying he "had to do [his] thing to protect nico". okay, we get it, youre married, get a room

the "enemies to lovers arc" and "haasbands" jokes go mainstream. nico calls kevin his favourite dane and describes their relationship as "[their] little romance". they watch the euros together and post pics of it with them smiling at each other like they are actually married. nico wants kevin to go to audi with him, kevin keeps playing the team game for nico even off-track, spending way too much time defending him and his actions. the haasbands as we know them have been birthed.

(before I go on a tangent any longer about this era, let's actually get to what fics from "then" are like. it's the current state of things, so I can't give conclusive statements, but I can make some deductions already.)

before the hard launch of the haasbands, around 2022 and 2023, their fics went into the direction of slow burns, making up, and (mutual) pining. 2024 shook things up again.

with the 2024 season still going, this is pretty much as close up to date as possible as we can get. the current dynamic that has been crystalizing is what I like calling feral dog kevin and lovestruck nico. it's very descriptive, so, you know, Im sure you can imagine what I mean. kevin's attempts at securing nico points also hasnt gone unnoticed by the mainstream community, and jokes about nico getting his first podium because kevin chose to play pinball with all the 18 other drivers are getting more frequent. there is also the upcoming "divorce", courtesy to both of them leaving haas at the end of the season and haas being the sole reason haasbands exists in the first place (both the moniker and the new dynamic).

I predict we'll be entering a fourth era soon, which is the post F1 era. while I don't like to think about it, it seems less and less likely that kevin will get the audi seat, and it is also the only seat left on the grid currently. nico will stay for some longer I do believe, but even his end is approaching. the number of fics being written will start dying off. I can't really say if a new dynamic will come up; I would think not, unless kevin decides to be unhinged and starts coming to races acting in borderline wag capacity to nico, or both of them move to indy or wec or something.

now, just for self indulgence's sake, the fourth era could also be kevin goes to audi, they turn into… audibands? stakebands? and Audi actually develops a great car and they get off the ground running and kevin can break that record of "most career starts without having lead a lap" while nico gets his first podium and breaks his undesirable record. we get an uptick in fics, the feral dog kevin and lovestruck nico dynamic evoles a bit further to be just a little bit deranged with an edge of codependence to it and then they retire and take their ship with them, if maybe a bit less abruptly than in the first "fourth era" I described.

or, who knows; maybe we don't get a fourth era. maybe their tag has reached the end of it's evolution. we'll just have to see.

[guudak]

andante, andante

[epilogue] - allegro

click here to read the original fic i.e. the rest of it as this is only the epilogue chapter. Also cross-posted this on AO3.

pairing: jungkook / oc genre + tags: college au, f2l, alcohol, pining chapter warnings: mentions of / direct references to sex but no smut or descriptions of it. word count: 4,490 The aftermath of your best friend singing that ABBA song, clumsily flirting with you and then drunkenly professing his love to you multiple times in the same night.

And honestly? It doesn’t take long. 

Your first date you both labelled officially as a couple had been bowling. Which you, by the way, had royally sucked at, but it at least gave you an excuse to ask him for a demonstration (i.e. a chance to have him pressed against you while he guided you during your turn) - sly, but clearly not sly enough since he called you out on it. Subtle had never really been your thing, but at least he’d played along. No, you had always been a master of the art of un-subtlety. You never had any shame in saying things without thinking too thoroughly or (respectfully) staring, as well as being the one to make the first move, owing to the amount of flings and almost-relationships you had prior to Jungkook. 

He’s always been handsome. Truthfully, he isn’t your conventional type. As in, not the typical guy you used to go for, but you’ve always known he was handsome. But back then, it hadn’t been in a butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of way, but in an objective sense, because if you uploaded a photo of him on prettyscale.com it would have given him a 90% but if you did the rating yourself you’d give him 100. Now that he’s yours you could stare at him all you want without it being weird and he’s a total dreamboat, and you could finally say it. You don’t hide it from him either because you remind him every chance you get, and you revel in the satisfaction from the way his cheeks tinge pink when he notices you giving him the eyes. 

The thrill of seeing him blush under your gaze never gets old. You catch him trying to suppress his shy smile when he notices, pretending to focus on something else entirely, but the corners of his lips betray him every time.

“You’re not subtle, at all.”

“Can you blame me?” you shoot back, your tone light and teasing, “With a face like that, I’m just appreciating the view. And I like seeing you all blushing and flustered.”

“I’m not blushing,” he mutters as if offended, but the grin he hides says otherwise.

Though the dynamics of your relationship have shifted, the essence of your connection remains beautifully familiar. He’s still your best friend, only now, there's a deeper layer of intimacy woven into the fabric of your bond. It feels like a gentle, inevitable progression of the love that has always simmered quietly between you. There's a newfound softness in the way you look at each other, a tenderness in the touch of your hands that find their way together instinctively, drawn by a magnetic pull when you're close. He’s always been there, and maybe, you have since concluded, a constant is what you want. What you need. 

Over time, you’ve come to realise that Jungkook's steadiness is like a gentle glow that doesn't rush to overpower, but instead slowly illuminates what surrounds it. His reliability isn't loud or showy, and it doesn't need to be. It's in the quiet moments, the consistent support, the unspoken understanding. With him, there is no dramatic shift in your world, just the comforting assurance that no matter where you turn, he is there, like a lighthouse guiding you back to shore. And in the chaotic blur of your own life and your thoughts, his enduring presence has become something grounding, anchoring you back when your head is in the clouds.

When it comes to your love life, you've always kept things simple, governed by a single, steadfast rule: the six-month timeline before saying the L-word. That monumental declaration wouldn't escape your lips before month six. That has always been your rule. A timeline not just drawn from caution but from a lack of conviction about what it truly felt to love someone in the all-encompassing way that other people seem to romanticise. Your previous relationships, hovering close to that mark, dissolved before the pivotal sixth month. But you stand by your belief in the saying that when you truly know, you just know, without any second-guessing.

You had been upfront with Jungkook about this from the very beginning, laying your cards on the table with the kind of transparency that leaves no room for misinterpretation. He took it gracefully, in that dignified way of his because that’s just how he is but you knew he’d understand. With that stoic composure of his that masked the depth of his feelings - feelings that had matured over time, unlike yours that were still forming, and still tentative. 

He’d confessed his love for you again one moonlit evening on the beach. It was the midst of winter, and the air was bitterly cold as you both walked back from a party. On a whim, you had taken a detour, ending up by the seafront. Each of you held a handle of a grocery bag, the one that carried your leftover bottles of gin and toffee vodka from the night. The waves crashed nearby, their rhythm mingling with the crisp sea breeze and the sand crunching beneath your footsteps. His breath formed little clouds in the frosty air, and you could see the shine in his eyes reflect in the moonlight. You’d huddled closer as both of you sat side by side on the sand.

“I’ve loved you for a long time,” he said, his voice carrying over the waves. “You’ve been my best friend even longer than I’ve loved you. But I love you to the point I would have been content if we’d never changed a thing - anything to have you around in my life and seeing you happy, even if it was with someone else. But being here with you now, like this, is more than I could have ever hoped for.” His words were as raw and vast as the ocean before you, and surrounded by the echo of waves and winter’s chill, you felt a warmth that only he could kindle. His words were as sincere as the first time, but this time clarified, unlike his drunken confession that he barely remembered, but still heavy with the weight of emotion he had harboured for so long. But with it came a gentle reassurance: he didn’t expect, nor did he need, an immediate reciprocation. “And I know you don’t feel that way about me. But I’m here, no matter what it is you feel towards me. I’m happy just being with you.” 

You’d melted at that. You gave his hand a squeeze, interlocking your fingers with his. “Jungkook, being your best friend is one of the easiest things in the world. What I feel for you, sometimes it confuses me, but whatever it is … and I know I’m not fully there as you are yet. But it’s real, and it’s deep, and it’s growing each day. I’m getting there.” Your words had hung between you, a tethered promise in the making. 

You’d known he was content to wait, giving you the space to let your feelings blossom naturally, unforced and genuine. It had been this patience, this unwavering steadiness of his love, that touched you deeply, challenging every preconceived notion you held about love and its mysterious timeline.

.

“I think I have feelings for you,” you tell him one evening, as you both lay sprawled across his bed, one of his playlists softly playing in the background. His room is dimly lit, the glow of his lamp spilling a warm amber. The ambient lamp was a recent addition he bought since you were spending more time in his room and him being familiar with your spite for overhead lighting. 

Jungkook blinks, taken aback by your suddenness. “What made you reach that conclusion?”

“Well,” you start. “I can say I like a ploughmans sandwich, and I can also say I really like a ploughmans sandwich, and I know what that feels like, but I can’t exactly say I have feelings for a ploughmans sandwich, you know? And what I feel, I know I like you more than just really liking you.” 

His eyes soften as he processes your words, the corners of his mouth curling into a hesitant smile. 

“You’re serious?” he asks, his voice a mixture of hope and surprise.

“I am,” you affirm. “It's different with you. You're not just comfort food. You’re the homemade kind but you’re just better, better than a sandwich I impulsively make just because it’s my favourite and it's 2 A.M. and I need something. Does that make sense?”

He laughs softly, his initial shock giving way to a warmth that radiates from his eyes. 

“It makes perfect sense.” He reaches across to squeeze your hand. It’s a sweet, genuine moment, wholesome in its simplicity. Jungkook is a touchy lover. Yet, you noticed how sentimentality always seemed to kindle a spark of desire in him, a stirring deep within that brought a slightly more insistent touch to his hands and a need in him to take your clothes off. This had been a pattern - a very amusing pattern you’ve noticed in him.

“Ugh, you’re so handsy.” You roll your eyes but the bells of your laughter give you away while he pulls the edge of your shorts. But with him it never took much for you to be persuaded, charming and handsy as he is. His fingers linger with playful intention, tracing a line so light and teasing along your waist, that it has your back arching to have him closer to you.

“Behave,” you murmur, even as your voice and your body betray you. His grin widens, eyes glinting. 

“I'm trying,” he says, his voice low, but not exerting any effort to sound convincing.

You draw him in, giving him a kiss that was deep and profound. And for the second time during that evening, you lift your shift over your head. 

.

You thought you knew him well, but soon you began to notice the little things. Jungkook, though sweet, showed his competitive and mischievous sense of humour more after you started dating. It was like (as said by Shrek) peeling the many layers of an onion and uncovering the deeper facets of his personality (except, of course, Jungkook isn’t an ogre). At the indoor crazy golf course, his modesty disappeared and he delighted in teasing you whenever you missed a shot, suggesting a scoring system where points were awarded for missed holes instead of successful ones. Of course you hit his ankle with your club after that but despite his playful jabs, it was difficult to resist his charm.

When it approaches the fifth month you begin to question your timeline. The pace at which you caught feelings for him, and the depth you’re plunging into, is admittedly terrifying. Despite you approaching this relationship with an open-mind, it’s a sobering and an almost embarrassing realisation. What is it that you’re scared of? That’s the question that’s been bearing down on your mind.

You’ve been invited for drinks at the beach in the evening. A friend of a mutual friend’s birthday, of whom you couldn’t remember their name but assume it’s the guy wearing the glittery party hat and sash that says Birthday Bitch on it. It’s unlikely Jungkook could make it tonight as he has a deadline due at the end of the week, but promised he’ll come down later if he inevitably becomes sick of staring at his computer screen. In the meantime, you try to find familiar faces. 

You spot Yerim, sitting criss-crossed and staring at the sea. Her hair is slicked-back into a ponytail, no longer the bleach blonde you’re so familiar with, instead a lovely sheen of black, which is definitely a change. In the time you’ve known her she’s never had her natural hair, always dyeing it, but she’s just as pretty as she’s always been. It’s been a while since you last spoke to her but she greets you warmly, standing from the sand and dusting herself off to pull you into a hug when you endeavour for her eye contact. 

You talk to each other about many things, catching up with what you both missed from each other’s lives. Truth be told, you stopped talking as much after her and Jungkook broke up. When they distanced from each other, you saw Yerim around less and less. 

She’s on her fourth can of beer, and her face is a warm flush. “I miss having him around, you know,” she admits later on. “That’s probably the main thing. Not the gifts, or the attention, or the sex. Just him. And I never properly said thank you … to you. I know how close you were to him and I know you distanced from each other on purpose when I dated him.”

“Well, would have made it easier than having a conversation with you telling me to fuck off, you know. But I get it. I do.”

You had done it out of respect for her, and her relationship with Jungkook. You had told him that you couldn’t be with him alone like you used to, and if you did spend time together, other friends would be present if Yerim wasn’t around. You could tell at the time he was a little upset, but ultimately could see your reasoning. It made sense. He invested a lot in his and Yerim’s relationship. He wanted to make it work, so badly, but she broke it off. 

Yerim shifts uncomfortably, opening her mouth as if to speak, then closing it again. She looks like she’s summoning the courage to say something, and you have a sinking feeling you know what it is. 

“Are you and Jungkook together now?” 

And there it is.

“Only for about five months,” you tell her. You’re honest about it, you owe her that much. 

She nods slowly. “Did he ask you out?”

“Uh … well. We kind of both did, in a way. He was tipsy, then the messy, awkward stuff happened where he tried to avoid me for weeks and couldn't look me in the eye, etcetera, etcetera, and then I confronted him about it. Then I thought, we’re already friends anyway so why not? And here we are.”

You exchange a knowing look, then share a small, relieved laugh.

“That’s really great,” Yerim finally says. “I mean it.” Her smile reaches her eyes, and the expression on her face is all soft lines, free from malice or hidden jealousy. It’s what you’ve always admired her for, and why Jungkook was drawn to her in the first place. She’s a kind person, not just seeing, but finding the good in circumstances and in people. When she broke up with Jungkook, he was devastated and turned to you for comfort. It took him time to heal, because he just couldn’t understand where he went wrong. 

“Yerim…” you begin, nerves tightening your throat while she looks at you with quiet expectation. “Why did you break up with Jungkook?” 

To your surprise, she giggles.“To fully answer that I have to go through the entire emotional turmoil I went through. I was so torn about it, I hope you know that. I didn’t want to break up at first. To put it simply, and I know this is so fucking cheesy, but I thought to myself - if you and I were hanging off the edge of a cliff, and Jungkook could only save one of us, who would he pick?” She gives you a small, knowing smile. “Even in that impossible situation, I knew it wouldn’t be me.”

“No, Yerim, he would have tried to save both of us.” 

She turns away, her gaze settling on the sea instead. “Maybe. But it’s always been at the back of my mind. It always would have been at the back of my mind. I know it was partly me being insecure and I know you drifted yourself from him for me so I wouldn’t feel that way, but I knew what you meant to him. He was such a good boyfriend, but I didn’t have him as a best friend the way you did. And I realised I could never really get past that.”

“I’m sorry.”

She looks at you, her expression gentle. “Don’t be.”

There’s a pause.

“I’m glad it’s you,” she finally says, her voice steady. “I always knew he deserved someone who could be everything for him. A best friend, a partner, someone who really understands him. And that was never going to be me, not completely.”

You feel a lump forming in your throat, a mix of gratitude and sadness. “You were so important and meant so much to him, Yerim. You still are. He was so happy with you.”

She nods, her dark eyes shining with something that looks like acceptance. “I know. And that’s enough. I want him to be happy, and if that’s with you, then I’m genuinely okay with it. I have always been okay with it.”

The sincerity in her words touches you deeply, and for a moment, you’re overwhelmed. The love, the loss, and the resolution that seems to settle between you.

“Thank you,” you say, meaning it more than you can express.

She reaches out, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “Just take care of him, okay? Keep him in line. All drunk phases of him.”

You exchange a laugh, and you both sit there for a moment longer, the unspoken understanding between you finally at peace.

Jungkook comes down to the beach about two hours later. 

There's a strange flutter in your stomach as your eyes search for him. His gaze sweeps the area, scanning for you amidst the crowd. A few people greet him as he arrives, including Yerim. You know they haven’t really had a chance to talk since the breakup. Not like this, where they can genuinely connect. You notice the subtle tension in his posture as they exchange a few words, his shoulders stiff at first, but it doesn’t take long for him to relax. You stay back, letting them have their moment. 

When he finally spots you, his face lights up.

“Yerim’s not blonde anymore,” he says, his tone wrought with disbelief. She had been bleach blonde the entire time he knew her, and the change seems to have caught him off guard.

You laugh at his astonishment. “I know right? I think black hair really suits her.”

“It does,” he agrees, nodding slightly as if still processing it. You notice his expression, suggesting he’s thinking, perhaps a memory or an inside joke only him and Yerim shared in relation to it. Don’t they say hair holds memories? You don’t pry or ask him further, sensing that this brief flicker of sentimentality, is something that belongs to them only. 

“How are you doing?” he asks you, leaning to kiss your temple.

You pull your jacket a little tighter around yourself. “I was about to head home. It's getting a bit chilly. Sorry, I was going to text you, but I got distracted.”

“Don't worry about it,” he replies, his voice gentle. His hands interlace yours, which doesn’t help the awful fluttering in your tummy. God, this is awful, after all that talk that you didn’t like him that way all those months ago and now you feel like you’re a naïve teenager tripping over your own words all over again. 

“I would've come anyway to walk you back,” he tells you, “I’m not really in the mood to drink tonight.”

“Are you sure you don’t want at least one drink? You’re already here,” you suggest, though part of you is already eager to leave the noise behind.

He shakes his head with a small smile. “Can’t be arsed. I just want to lie down.”

“You know what, me too.”

.

When you’re both back at his place, you both make a beeline for his bed to collapse on the mattress with a shared sigh of relief. 

“I’m so tired. This assignment was driving me insane,” he groans, flinging an arm over his eyes as if to block out the world. 

You roll onto your side to face him, watching the way his chest rises and falls with each breath. “Are you almost done with it?” you ask.

“Yup. All done, actually.”

“That’s actually very impressive.” 

He peeks at you from beneath his arm, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Reaching out, he tenderly strokes your hair, his fingers gentle and reassuring.

Despite the comfort of his touch, your mind drifts back to the conversation with Yerim. Her admitting that she missed him and his presence in her life, weighs heavily on you. It forces you to reflect on your own relationship with him. Losing Jungkook, or no longer having him in your life, makes your stomach sink with dread. Even though it was your idea to date each other to see how things would go, because you trusted him, you realise now just how devastating it would be if you ever had to break up and couldn't remain friends. The idea of a life without him, in any sort of form, feels unbearable.

You shift closer to him, pressing your forehead against his shoulder, needing the physical connection and the comfort of his warmth to anchor your swirling thoughts. 

“Jungkook,” you whisper, the vulnerability in your voice surprising you, “I don’t ever want to lose you.”

His hand pauses in your hair, then resumes its gentle caress, a quiet understanding passing between you. 

“You won’t,” he murmurs, his voice soft but resolute. “You’re my best friend, I’m not going anywhere.” He pauses, his hand trailing to trace your cheek. “And I love you.” He doesn’t anticipate your reply, like the many other times he’s said it, just kisses you deeply.  

In his arms, the exhaustion from your walk along the beach finally catches up with you, and you drift into a peaceful sleep. At some point, you feel him move beside you. He gently lifts you to free himself, careful not to disturb your rest. You peek through half-lidded eyes, watching as he reaches for his noise-cancelling headphones on the bedside table. The quiet thumps of footsteps from the room above - Jimin’s room - fill the air, a familiar annoyance for Jungkook. He has always been sensitive to noise, a trait that often makes you question why he chose the downstairs room, knowing how much he despises the sound of footsteps overhead. He always argues that he preferred being closer to the kitchen and thought Jimin wouldn’t be a heavy walker, but it didn't take long for that assumption to be proven wrong, and now he’s stuck with the downstairs bedroom with the stomper in the room above. 

As he settles back beside you, he gives you a tender peck on the forehead before lying on his back, his headphones securely over his ears. You shift slightly, turning to face him, and find yourself captivated by the peaceful rise and fall of his chest, the even rhythm of his breaths. 

It hits you all at once. That what you feel for him is far more profound than you’ve allowed yourself to admit. Far bigger than just feelings for him, far bigger than plain fond affection for a ploughmans sandwich. No, it’s something far deeper. Something that has quietly, but steadily grown into something that has wrapped itself around your heart, anchoring you to him in a way that’s both exhilarating and, strangely, not as terrifying as its fast development had been. The realisation is both startling and liberating.

You continue to watch him, your chest tightening with the weight of this newfound understanding. The words are right there on the tip of your tongue, and though your heart is pounding, you take a deep breath and whisper, “Jungkook?”

When he doesn’t respond, your heart sinks slightly, but of course he’s not responding, he’s wearing his noise-cancelling headphones. You almost laugh at yourself for forgetting something so silly. But you persist, because maybe saying it now, even if he can’t hear you, will make it easier when you find the courage to tell him later when he’s fully present. 

“Jungkook … I don’t think I can follow my six-month rule.” You take another deep breath, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest. This was a big deal. “Jungkook, I think I love you.”

His eyes shoot open, a look of surprise and curiosity flashing across his face. 

“What did you say?” he asks, his tone laced with disbelief. 

He pulls off his headphones, tossing them aside, his eyes locking onto yours with a gaze so intense that your breath catches, a mix of confusion and realisation dawning on you. 

“I think I love you,” you repeat, the words coming out more clearly this time, though your expression betrays your incredulity. “You could hear me that whole time? I’m gonna whack you, you idiot.” You laugh softly, nervous but relieved.

A slow smile spreads across his face as he shifts closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “I could hear all of it. Sorry,” he says, the warmth in his voice wrapping around you. “I love you too. But you already know that.” 

You nudge him. “I can’t believe you made me say it twice.”

He chuckles softly, his hand reaching out to gently brush a stray strand of hair from your face. 

His voice is low and sincere. “I needed to hear it twice to make sure it wasn’t just a dream.”

You roll your eyes. But there’s a softness in your gaze as you look at him. 

“Well, it’s not a dream.”

He closes the small gap between you, his forehead resting gently against yours. 

“I know,” he says, his breath warm against your skin. “And I’m so glad it’s not.”

.

Notes: Wrote the epilogue after 4 years but finished the final 3/4 of it in a day, the writer's block was definitely rampant! As well as just how busy my degree made me. I've started this chapter in so many different ways before and could just never finish it. When I first posted this fic it was months before I started university, and now 4 years later I have my degree plus a job lined up how absolutely insane is that. What’s even more insane is that when I posted this fic 4 years ago I hadn’t had a boyfriend ever or gone through any of the gross feelings leading to having one, which is also probably why I struggled so much with the epilogue when I finished the second chapter. Now myself and my other half have been together 3.5 years (?!?). And when I wrote this chapter, I definitely had him in mind. Gross. So many different takes on love and what it is, this is mine. Also ploughmans sandwich supremacy. Also I haven't been on tumblr in years does anyone still use tumblr 😭 But anyway, that’s a wrap!

[ghostoftheyear]

I was going on in tags and I just realized I should make a new post about this. Please share if you're a visual artist.

So my friend theskee recommended this site, itaku.ee, for image hosting when I was looking to get out of artstation. I set up an account and started uploading art back in February or something. Went back through 2015 to basically the oldest stuff I felt proud of, just went ham on it. As of today I have 382 images on there.

It's a super streamlined system. You can make sub-galleries for all your art and organize to your heart's content. Tagging is a dream. The best part of the tags is you can edit them and add information, so there are tags designated for characters, for races, for copyright (i.e. the TV show or game they came from). There's even a way to make a tag for you as an artist, so everything I post is tagged #edibleflowers. You can upload one image or multiple images at a time. You can also favorite and comment on images. And you can link the images offsite if you want them on AO3 or wherever.

Here's the best part. The site is designed to be NSFW-friendly, so you can add a label (in fact, you have to) if the art is questionable or mature. So you never have to see NSFW art if you don't want to. You can flip that switch off, or you can set it to only show questionable content, or let your little heart run free and see everything. Because we're adults and we deserve spaces to be adults.

It's a free site, and I believe even the ads were recently removed because they weren't getting much use. Really, the only downside is that it doesn't get much traffic, but it makes for a great portfolio site to have everything in one place.

edited to add: this is probably far past containment, but I want to note that this post is in direct response to the change in Discord's image hosting policy and just before I made this, I rb'd something about that. Then I was going on about itaku in the tags and realized I should just make this post, which is why it starts off the way it does.

In short: I know about what Discord is doing and don't need to be informed. Thanks =)

[welcometololaland]

almost uploaded a picture of my bank statement instead of this header! happy days!

thanks for the tags @hippolotamus @kiwiana-writes @happiness-of-the-pursuit @rmd-writes

@nancygillianmvp @terramous @tellmegoodbye @freneticfloetry @beautifulhigh

@orchidscript @myheartalivewrites and @strandnreyes (don't think that was a real tag but i'm taking it anyway to force you to love me).

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

49 (last time it was 46 but i feel like that isn't enough of a difference? disappointed in myself dfhskjh)

2. What's your Ao3 bodycount word count?

1,119,086 which does include some co-writes, but I also have around 200k of unposted WIP in my google docs so i'm counting it (including a fully written fic - someone put their hands around my neck and force me to edit it PLEASE).

3. Which fandoms do you write for?

red white and royal blue, 911 lone star, top gun maverick (flirting with winter's orbit always)

4. Top 5 fics by kudos?

the order of these has changed but not the identity:

Speak for Yourself (RWRB) (you know when eminem said he'd never be able to top My Name Is? this is my version of that)

Fifty First Dates (RWRB) (oodie agenda reigns supreme)

The RIng-In (Lone Star) (otherwise, lone star is in danger of being eviscerated from this top 5 lmao)

(Not) A Cinderella Story (RWRB) (NDAs are hot, apparently)

Cursed is a State of Mind (RWRB) (cursed caffeine is the main drawcard let's not lie)

5. Do you respond to comments?

i try my absolute best to. i am currently really behind and i apologise for that (the problem is, i reply to comments before i post anything and i haven't posted anything in ages).

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

serious answer - Contaminated

my answer - oh baby i'm a fool for you because we never find out if they actually watch twilight and that's a damn shame

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

literally everything else - i don't really do open endings or sad endings! in the words of the great philosopher, skepta: "nah, that's not me."

8. Do you get hate on fics?

i used to, but i haven't in ages! thank god for that.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

yes, although i have to say i've been moving away from pwp lately. i feel my best smut is written into longer fics where the sex serves a plot or characterisation purpose within the frame of the overarching narrative.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

yes, a RWRB/LS but i never finished it. ALTA is a veronica mars inspired tarlos fic which kind of feels like a crossover at times.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not to my knowledge :)

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes! Phonography (Lone Star) has been translated, as has Baby, Make Your Move (Lone Star) and Warm Whispers (Lone Star). I'm very grateful to the incredible people who have made these translations happen - you are so talented.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

yes, many with @dustratcentral. I also wrote a chapter of a co-written fic with a whole bunch of incredible RWRB authors called never the same twice.

@rmd-writes and I have created (Un)Professional Services and (upcoming) Call Me (By Your Name).

The Rainbow Fish was co-written with @strandnreyes.

I love co-writing so much and I am always open to anyone who wants to give it a go!

14. What's your all time favourite ship?

me + my unposted wips.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

probably the aforementioned crossover which was apparently also my answer last time.

16. What are your writing strengths?

i'm allergic to giving myself compliments but i would say maybe dialogue/banter and worldbuilding.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

keeping things short. also, exposition.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

kinda scared to because i don't speak any other languages and i'm so hesitant to annoy my very talented multi-lingual friends with my annoying questions.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

we don't talk about that.

20. Favourite fic you've written?

probably still Love Game because the experience was just so amazing and i never wanted to stop writing it.

heaps of people have already done this so leaving an open tag and also a couple of suggestions under the cut but apologies if you've already participated or been tagged 7 million times:

@bonheur-cafe @theghostofashton @thebumblecee @indomitable-love @eclectic-sassycoweyes

@tailoredshirt @vineofroses @liminalmemories21 @mikibwrites @birdclowns

@ladytessa74 @basilsunrise @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @rosedavid @sanjuwrites

@alrightbuckaroo @three-drink-amy @marjansmarwani @dumbpeachjuice @doublel27

@lemonlyman-dotcom @blueink3 @ambiguouspenny @clottedcreamfudge @emmalostinwonderland

@sail-not-drift @inexplicablymine @celeritas2997 @cricketnationrise @reyesstrand

@goodways @carlos-in-glasses @heartstringsduet @sunshinestrand @sherryvalli

[olderthannetfic]

I mean, I'd *like personally* if using CNTW meant something, as someone who genuinely does prefer to avoid the stuff covered in the archive warnings.... but I also understand the whole point is that it doesn't, and that in an archive you absolutely need a setting which just opts out of the need for warnings altogether.

They could be someone who puts that on every fic, because they don't feel like going through each of them like that, or because they ideologically oppose the idea of content warnings for whatever reason.

They could be someone who feels that putting specific warnings on it will spoil their fic, and they don't want to spoil. (I'm someone who doesn't care about spoilers ESPECIALLY with fanfic so I've always been a bit "eh" about this, but I get that I'm the minority here and also, it's the norm in original fiction. And I also get it's ultimately the author's discretion if they'd rather not spoil, and I respect that.)

They could mean that the person MIGHT include something that is warning-worthy later, but they aren't sure yet, so they're putting CNTW on there just in case because they feel putting on "No Archive Warnings Apply" and then changing it if they do decide to include character death/non-con/etc. later would be unfair to their readers.

They could mean that their use of something is borderline - for instance, underage sex alluded to, dubcon rather than noncon, violence they're not sure is graphic enough for the warning, etc. - and so they want to head off people who might be wary of that in any form/cover their asses, without drawing in people who are specifically looking for that element with false advertising. (This is how I often use them.)

They could be that they uploaded someone else's work with permission, but didn't specifically ask if they're okay with having warnings applied to their work.

It could be any of these things, and that's totally fine. The whole point is YOU DON'T KNOW. And if you click on a fic with that warning and it doesn't explain why it uses it, you're going in aware of that lack of knowledge and up for whatever version it is.

--

TBH, looking at my old stuff, I have a couple of cases where I barely remember the work and don't care to reread it. That's another common use, and it's really helpful for encouraging historical preservation. True, the CNTW means fewer people are clicking on these, but they're the kind of thing I'm including for completeness because I tell other people to do that.

I've also got some where I just got rid of the CNTW but I'm pretty sure it was on there because I was uploading in a hurry and meant to go think more deeply about tags later. Again, a "If I can't upload this in 2 seconds, I'm probably not getting around to it" issue.

Another one is for people who are very sure their dubcon is not noncon but who also know their fandom is full of douchebag antis who will constantly report them to AO3. If CNTW is on there, PAC will just tell the person reporting "Sorry, we're not even going to look at it", and the poster never gets contacted and bothered about this.

[they-reap-what-we-sow]

20 questions for writers

thank you for the tag @fanfictiongreenirises I finally managed to finish a tag game!!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

168- with 44 podfics and the rest are regular fics!

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

346,848. unfathomable number who is she where did she come from

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Batman (Batfam) my love my life, but 9-1-1 is a close second with one-offs for a lot of my other passing interests.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Floppy Bird - crack fic that was meant to be an angst fic that I never understood why people liked so much asfhjs

cocoa on a cold night - a classic timby holiday fic that I wrote in the middle of summer, talk about environmental storytelling

secrets un(revealed) - the only purposeful long fic I've ever written, and also the most trope mashing I've ever done with reverse robins, magical realism au, and delicious delicious miscommunications (in my head the only fic that deserves to be in the top five :wheeze: )

Eggshells - vent fic alert !! very embarrassing that people like this I try not to think about it ":)

taking the blade (for you and yours) - a round robin fic written with the server and CHOCK full of Damian suffering.

5. Do you respond to comments?

NO PICTURES. NO COMMENT. I DONT KNOW HOW TO READ.

no jk jk I really really try to but once I start getting behind it's just a whole spiral. these days I have a better chance of replying to a comment on an old fic than a brand new one because I dont want leave them half replied

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

any of my death fics probably? I think with DC a death is a little more inconsequential than other fandoms just because of how often it's unpermanent, so as a concrete answer, I'll say for you (i would cross the line). nothing quite like parental grief.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

happy ending wink-wonk or XD

probably Who The Hell Is Red Hood? - I've done things there with growth and healing that DC HQ would shudder to imagine

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not regularly, thank everything, but the one controversial three-some I posted needed comment regulation lmao

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes and uh, the kinky kind? idk take a look for yourselves I guess

10. Do you write crossovers?

Yes, and they're ALWAYS unserious- Buck from 9-1-1 dating Emma from Friends (yes Ross and Rachel's kid) anyone?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Uh, not by a person? as far as I know? but I have found my fic on those like, document websites??? which is weird lmao just read them on your phones guys not everything needs to be uploaded

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

nope!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

weee yes! round robin my beloved, and also every fic @canonicallyshort and I have written in our threads. those count. to me. emotionally.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

I WILL GO DOWN WITH MY MULTISHIP (which really means I'm never going down at all) but really I dont think I will ever get over Merthur... or Buddie... or- you see what I mean?

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

oh god I have so many wip that I am holding out hope for but my biggest WIP is an unpublished hellhole affectionately entitled "Death Pit" by everyone who is working on it- most notably because it features a literal Death Pit, every horror, angst, whump, and trauma trope you can think of, and a cast of characters and a plot thread so long we have 20+ page outline documents that aren't even fully updated... I shudder to think what will become of it one day, I imagine sentience isn't very far off

16. What are your writing strengths?

why is this an interview question. I dont know my strengths really?? um. I have good ideas, that one I'll say. execution is a different story (likely one that will never get told. like the rest of my good ideas)

I also think I do fairly well with scene descriptors. I really like to set a scene because I'm seeing a movie in my head and you all should too!

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I'm down to clown globally! I dont like to use google translate though, so if im writing in another language it's only because SOMEONE on the server is a native speaker and can vouch for my text.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

oh god one direction. head in hands. it was an 'adopted by 1d' fic that I made my mom beta, and turned it in to my 6th grade English teacher as my creative writing assignment. then I made a poem about it. then I wrote a song about it. thankfully it never got published and is trapped in the cursed purple file folder it was 'hidden' in since 7th grade. my first published fic was almost 7 years later with a Gomens fic!

20. Favourite fic you've written?

AHh um. favorite child scene here, but top contenders include: lithium + 5 for its graphic design and medical accuracy, fiery veins on speechless days for its emotional whump that makes me hurt every time I reread it, [PODFIC] wither on the shore which is not a fic I wrote but one of my favorite podfics of @silk-scarlet-ribbons 's works.

tagging (if you wish to participate!) @canonicallyshort @silverandsunflowers @selkienight60 @crows-murder

[runninriot]

this wasn't planned but i guess Sweet Thing is now a two-parter

written for @subeddieweek

complete fic uploaded on ao3

Safe Space

rated: E | tags: Client Eddie Munson, Pro Dom Steve Harrington, 18+ content, sensation play, anal play, smut | snippet, complete fic and tag list on ao3

Master H, it says on the website Eddie stumbled upon one lonely night a few months ago. He introduced himself as Steve but Eddie never calls him by his name.

He calls him Sir when he addresses him. It’s what they agreed upon when Eddie entered the dungeon for the first time. It felt almost like an interview, like he was applying for a job. Which is kind of funny because it’s the other man who gets paid to do these things to him.

Eddie didn’t really know what to expect when he decided to get his fix from a stranger, a professional, someone who knows what they’re doing. Turned out it was the best decision he could’ve made. Ever.

This is a safe space to explore, to want without being prone to fall for yet another man making false promises. Another man abusing his trust, abusing his desire to give up control.

Here, Eddie can fully succumb to the feeling of letting go.

    “Please, Sir. I need more.”

It should be embarrassing how whiny his voice sounds, how messed-up he already is, trembling violently, helplessly pulling at the restraints keeping him tied to the bed. They’ve only started their session and he’s already so hard, so ready to come. So ready for Steve to tip him over the edge. But it would be a shame to fall so quickly because it’s the before that really gets to Eddie every time.

He enjoys it maybe too much. To be at the other man’s mercy, unable to get away from his heavenly torture.

The clamps on his nipples hurt, send a rippling wave of pain through his whole body whenever the Dom tugs at them or tightens the screws to punish him for squirming around although he told him to stay still.

Ordered him to be good, to earn his reward.

Eddie wants to be good, tries his best to keep his body from jolting up at the feeling of needle-like pricks biting into his skin when Steve uses this tool that looks like a mix of medical device and instrument of torture. It’s called a neurowheel, Eddie’s learned when they talked about their scene. Before they started. Before Eddie got spread out on the bed like a offering for a God – and maybe he is.

Because the man currently teasing the ever-loving shit out of him, tormenting the insides of his thighs with a satisfied grin on his handsome face, truly is a divine creature.

It’s not only his looks, although Eddie has found himself getting lost in his big, beautiful eyes a lot lately; they’re so soft in comparison to the hardness in his demanding voice when he orders him around, tells him what to do.

    ‘Kneel down.’

    ‘Open up.’

    ‘Hold still.’

    ‘Come for me.’

He’s guardian angel and soul-eating demon,  both morphed into one perfect body.

And not for the first time, Eddie wished he was real. That he could have someone like him in his life. Out there, in the real world. That he could have this, always, not only when he’s paying for this perfect illusion.

But he’d rather have this than nothing at all.

It’s enough, at least for the time being.

And he’s not going to let his mind’s racing thoughts ruin the moment. He needs more though, to shut up the voices.

   “Sir, please! Fill me up, let me come! Please, I need it!” Eddie begs, doesn’t feel stupid doing so because he knows how much Steve likes when he dissolves into a pleading, sobbing mess. He can see it in his eyes and the way he greedily licks his lips like he’s craving for a taste.

Eddie would let him. Hell, he’d let him eat him alive if that’s what he wanted.

But that’s not what Steve does when he unbuckles the shackles at his feet, rubs soothing thumbs over the irritated skin on his ankles before he bends him in half.

It’s always messy when he fucks him. When he uses a dildo to split him open. Lube is dripping down his crack while Eddie’s hole is stretched almost painfully wide around the base of the silicone toy. So deep inside that he thinks he can feel it in his throat. Every time his torturer pulls it back out, a sobbing breath leaves his lungs like he can’t breathe with it inside him. And every time he pushes back in, Eddie’s body convulses, wrists tugging ineffectively at the restraints keeping him in place.

There is something about the other man’s aura that sends a wave of fear through Eddie, a darkness in his master’s eyes that reflects something like frustration mixed with deeply engraved desire. Like Steve’s greedy for Eddie’s pitiful whimpers. Like seeing Eddie fall apart is as satisfying for him as it is for his willing victim.

It’s almost as if Steve, too, is falling apart. Only a little. Almost unnoticeable.

But Eddie can feel it in the way he pushes the toy inside him, fucks him harder than he ever has before. The merciless hand around his cock is almost too much, too rough, too tight, angry. But when Eddie looks up at him, he finds so much devotion in the other man’s hazel eyes that Eddie nearly loses it.

The words are right there, on the tip of his tongue, waiting to spill.

    Want you inside me. Take me. Take all of me. Make me yours.

Thankfully, they never get the chance to fully form when a loud and desperate cry drowns everything else out. Eddie comes hard, feels like he’s falling.

And then everything goes black.

[sailorblossoms-snowbaz]

Simon and children (assumptions and expectations)

I'm.... sorry for spamming the Simon Snow tag lol but going through my posts to upload them to ao3 just sparks so many thoughts and I Must Write Them Down.

This one is about children, or rather a continuation of this post where I say Baz mentioning marriage and children to Simon plus Simon's reaction could mean this is the very first time in his life that he's in a position to even begin to consider children.

This is important because, while I don't remember the details, I remember seeing the idea that Simon would be like "I used to think Agatha would have my children" or something when considering children with Baz, and that hit me like a jumpscare to honest (he wouldn't really think that??) but then it got me thinking. Where does that idea come from?...

Unless I'm forgetting something, the only person in that comphet triangle who ever thinks about children is Baz. And that's only because his heteronormative hell is specifically tied to expectations of heirs. This is followed by Baz's stomach being turned at the idea of (reproductive) comphet sex because he thinks about and knows himself enough to know he doesn't want to have it, as opposed to pushing through, having it, and then unpacking that it wasn't really wanted after the fact (this is sort of a tangent but also tied to my main point about assumptions: Simon isn't comfortable enough to even think about sex before making progress with Baz, he doesn't have the tools to consider and realize he doesn't want it before he had it – part of how the books challenge expectations and an important part of Simon's characterization is that, when he communicates how sex with Agatha was, he isn't the type to think "I slept with Agatha but..." "I've had sex with Agatha, but..." "Agatha was like this or that in a sexual context"... that type of direct wording is easier to imagine and understand, but it requires a level of casualness and comfort Simon doesn't have, which is very telling in the way he chooses to express that sex with her wasn't a result of love, attraction, or even feeling turned on... he's not going to be the type to consider reproductive sex, not even non-explicitly or in a way that's just implied like Baz does)

I figure the reason someone might think Simon thought he was going to have kids with Agatha "for real" is because he thought he was going to marry her. If people get married, you assume they'll have kids, and you're usually right... but that's still an assumption.

First of all: you can't make assumptions about Simon telling himself he was going to marry her without considering that he didn't really believe it was going to happen. He didn't think he was going to have a future at all. He tells himself plenty of things he doesn't necessarily believe (like "Baz being evil" – the second Baz tries to say he's indeed "evil" Simon is fighting him and telling him he's wrong, he always knew the stair incident was an accident, etc). Even if there's a throwaway line about kids I'm forgetting (like he mentions housing and getting a job, maybe with the help of her parents, as a logical consequence of going through the motions... it makes sense to bring up "where I'll live" and "how will I make and sustain a living" if you consider how all his life those things have never been taken for granted and even then… he doesn’t really believe those things are coming!) my point would still stand, because just like how he never truly considers being married to Agatha, he never considers what that would entail (like raising children).

I think it's important that Simon's mind is not going to just go to kids. You have to remember this is an orphan with abandonment issues – the fact that his sperm donor is always close in one way or another arguably makes this worse. He's not going to be as casual about this as someone who's not an orphan with abandonment issues – we can't just take this for granted. This is likely somewhere he's not going to be able to go without working through some things first – it would be a delicate thing, because it's kind of hard to consider having children without considering your own childhood... and Simon never wants to think about his childhood. Visualizing himself as a father is likely not going to be easy for him – it's not something he would really take for granted.

If you ask me, this is why we are in Baz's POV and not Simon's when he replies "could we?" to Baz's "we could be married with children" in Snow For Christmas. Baz has lived through his dad remarrying and has half-siblings. He can be "casual" about mentioning such things, even if he would be new to considering it in the context of "I can have those things with the person I want to have them with." If we were in Simon's head, it would probably be blank (the author was asked about what Simon thought about then and she replied that not even she knows)... and part of it is that this is likely the first time the idea of having kids truly enters Simon's head. Because Baz is saying it. And if the person he wants to build a future with says it, it means it's on the table. Even then, he doesn't have time to process it.

In short, as far as canon goes, Simon and the idea of kids is at: Baz mentioned it so it warrants serious consideration, but Simon hasn't had time to process it yet... so even then, he's not at a point where he's thinking "I'm going to (or I'm not going to) have children" affirmatively. But Baz mentioned it. It warrants serious consideration, then... And so, because it's just entering his head for real, because he's now living his life in the way he chooses to live it with the person he wants to live it with, he tentatively starts with a question.... "could we?" (is this a possibility for me? for us?... he hasn't considered it before!)

[luckyartdrawer]

Small WIP Moon fic drop

Sooo over the summer I started a new dca fic WIP (ik I shoulddd write for my other stuff but shhhhhhh-) and I'm doing a thing where I'm aiming to start posting this one until I'm either completely done or very close to done with the fic. (Because if I post right away my ass will not be able to keep them coming regularly 😔)

Rn I'm about 6 chapters of my expected 15 in! I wanna make this a pretty short story that'll still pack a bit of a punch. I got a message I wanna send >:)

I'm really feeling good about this fic, but since I'm holding back from posting the full chapters, I'll satiate my need to share by giving small tid bits from the beginning chapters. :)

TLDR:

This story is Moon centric and mostly takes place in his pov! (Sorry Sun lovers, I swear I adore that boyo too-) It's also an x reader BUT it'll be SFW and could be interpreted as platonic/queer platonic - Moon is just gonna be a really clingy attention deprived goober. o3o

If you're curious, I have 2 snippets and the story summary below the cut! Ty for reading through my yapping <3

Summary:

Moon was never one to outwardly complain about his place in life.

He had simply lost the lottery. Only out for moments at a time, too afraid to do anything wrong. He's active for so little as is, why risk losing even more time?

Moon prefers nap time. The one place where he can interact with the world calmly for a whole hour. To be a comfort rather than a tool. When everyone sleeps, he can relax, knowing he's done everything right.

Time for himself…

Now that's his favorite. But even then he cannot do much. Only in his wildest nonexistent dreams could he be truly free.

But one day, somehow… Moon actually dreamed.

Who knew how addictive a sweet dream could be?

vvvv Main Ch 1 scene vvvv

vvvv Scene depicting details about the Reader vvvv

Thank y'all for reading! This whole fic is based more on a world I created on my own, but you can definitely see influences from other things within.

The fic is so far planned to be called "Everything You've Ever Dreamed" - and if that rings a bell to you then it's likely exactly what you're thinking :)))

I don't mind if any of y'all wanna give your opinions on it. Tbh I'm not looking for criticism since this is just going to be a short story with unrealistic aspects. Plus, I just want to write something like this for my own satisfaction!

These snippets may or may not change once it comes time to finally start uploading the fic to ao3. This is still a WIP after all, I just love it so much to share it :3

(calling this fic Dreamlike and EYED for short/tags)

[erraticprocrastinator]

Maybe I’m imagining it, but am I the only one who’s noticed a significant shift in fandom culture very recently?

This is coming from someone who’s “grown up” with modern fandom culture, and I’m not even talking about the differences between now and six years ago, when I first started participating in fandom spaces. I mean recently as in the past few months, maybe the last year? Again, maybe this is just in my head, but, I swear, I feel like I’ve been seeing a bigger and bigger division between creators (fan artists, fic writers etc) and audiences (readers etc) across multiple fandoms and in general fan spaces, too.

In particular, it feels like reader entitlement when it comes to fanfics is becoming much more prevalent than I’m used to seeing. I’ve been coming across so many posts, across multiple platforms, trying to justify re-uploading others’ work, coming after authors who orphan or (god forbid) delete their fics, complaining about unfinished WIPs, and so many other things that honestly give me the ick. I know that, as an author myself, I’m biased towards these kinds of posts, but I really do feel like there’s been a shift from fans who really are just genuinely invested in this content to a way more hostile attitude. I’m used to seeing people who are upset about a favourite fic being removed, or disappointed about an abandoned WIP, but I’ve just never noticed so many people outright vilifying authors for it, or promoting things like using the Wayback Machine to copy and repost deleted content (something I have now seen people suggesting to each other on multiple occasions). It’s starting to put me off from actively participating in fandom at all, which I really don’t want to happen.

Even setting that particular issue aside, I’ve also noticed a huge uptake in people shaming both authors/artists and readers for the kind of content they produce and consume. I genuinely don’t think I can scroll through any of my social media feeds without finding at least one post complaining about a certain ship, or the way Author X portrays Character Y, or the existence of Dead Dove, or literally any other tag or trope that’s ever existed on AO3 or any other major site. I’m not talking about people asking others about their preferences, or people who say something just isn’t their cup of tea. I���m talking about posts, dozens of dozens of posts, made with the sole purpose of saying “eww, why does XYZ thing even exist, I mean who could ever read/write this, you’re disgusting if you do”, completely unsolicited, about every possible content you can imagine. I’m genuinely asking, whatever happened to “don’t like, don’t read” and “you’re allowed to click away”? Again, I’ve only ever known relatively recent fandom culture, but I always thought that “you do you” was the generally accepted attitude? I was actually anxious about posting my most recent fic because of this, and I’m honestly still a little afraid that I’m going to get a comment tearing apart my characterisation or end up as the subject of some unhinged Reddit thread — and what I write is pretty tame, compared to the darker works out there.

Have fandom spaces always been like this and I’m somehow only realising now, or has anyone else noticed these things, too? Is there some piece of the puzzle that I’m missing? I’d particularly love it if other fic writers could weigh in, because I’m really curious to see if it’s just me who’s seeing things this way.

[daydreamingfuel]

Freak Like Me

Chapter 6

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

AO3 // previous // next

Y/N has just moved to Hawkins from England with her parents and is starting at the high school in the final term of her senior year. Eddie immediately takes a liking to her and they become fast friends, deciding to take her under his wing and falling to her charms. This is Hawkins however and things are never quite as they seem...

WHOLE FIC TAGS & WARNINGS: gratuitous use of Y/N (I'm not sorry), friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, eventual smut, semi-fix-it-fic, angst, injury, canon dialogue and events used, canon graphic violence, no main character death :)

Chapter Tags & Warnings: Y/N's backstory - illusions to SA and drugging but no graphic detail, trauma flashbacks, Eddie and reader have a heart-to-heart-bonding moment, Patrick gets vecna'd in the lake, mass amounts of swearing and sexual innuendo and tension, two idiots in love in hiding, insecurity, anxiety, reader has baggage, Eddie is protective.

Chapter Word Count - 6.1k

A/N - I had writer's block for a while, so another 2-month gap in uploads, sorry. apologies in advance, this chapter is incredibly dark, and you may need tissues. I had my best friend proofread the trauma flashbacks to ensure that it wasn't too much to read emotionally but still, Heavy Trigger Warning for mentions of SA.

“Wait!” Eddie stopped her before she could launch into her story, “Let’s get you off the floor first.”

Slowly and shakily rising from the floor, Eddie managed to get a still out-of-it Y/N back to the boat, carefully sitting her down. Frantic eyes checked over her constantly, looking for any signs of another attack. Her red raw bottom lip was pulled between her teeth, hands fidgeting in her lap which was bouncing rhythmically.  “Eddie, what I’m about to tell you…it’s really dark, I just…I don’t want you to think any less of me…”

“Sweetheart, there are very few things on this earth that could make me think less of you, I can handle it.” His voice had a slightly playful lilt to it, wrapping her hands in his ring-clad ones.

Y/N took a deep breath, eyes fluttering as she tried to keep her thoughts in check, “Before we moved to Hawkins - before my dad got this new job - there was an incident at my old school.” Eddie nodded as she paused, silently encouraging her to continue, letting her fiddle with his rings as she continued to speak, “I didn’t use to look or act like this…I was a preppie. I thought I had to be to survive, and I promised myself that when I started at Hawkins High, I would be myself, completely, and I’m so happy that I did because I found you and I’ve never felt more comfortable in my own skin but…what happened, it still haunts me.”

Y/N’s perfectly manicured nails tapped against the desk absentmindedly to the song in their head as the teacher at the front of the classroom talked the classroom through the imagery in one of Shakespeare’s sonnets. A note slid itself onto the wooden surface from beside her. She smirked to herself before even opening the note, knowing that it came from her boyfriend sitting beside her.

‘You still up for Saturday? Haven’t stopped thinking about what I’m gonna do to you, baby.’

Theo stifled a laugh as Y/N blanched at the words before quickly scribbling a response and passing the note back, readjusting her posture as he read the note.

‘Of course, I’m up for Saturday, but you can keep those thoughts in your head.’

‘Come on! It’ll be a laugh, I’ll be gentle.’

‘You know I want to, I really want to, but I do not want my first time to be at a party where anyone could overhear us or walk in.’

‘But that’s part of the fun baby, come on I wanna make you scream for the whole house to hear.’

‘Drop it or I’m not coming at all. You can have me all to yourself another night.’

‘Alright, jeez, loosen up a bit baby, I was just teasing.’

By Saturday night, 3 days later, unbeknownst to Y/N, Theo had told his friends all about his plans for the evening whilst not bringing it up again to her at all, acting the perfect gentleman. The party hosted by a member of the school’s popular boys, a friend of Theo’s, was in full swing by the time Y/N arrived, flouncy baby pink dress skirting her thighs sweetly. She mingled and danced and laughed, Theo’s arm slung around her shoulder, hand slowly getting closer and closer to her chest with every hour.

As the night went on, Y/N started to feel time moving slower and slower, despite having not drunk too much of anything and mostly sticking to non-alcoholic beverages. Most nights like this, she chose to be able to remember what had happened and hated the headaches that followed when she didn’t.

“Theo, can you take me somewhere to lie down? I feel dizzy…” Y/N slurred slightly, leaning on him, and feeling the rumble of his laugh in his chest. Not hearing his response, she let out a small yelp of surprise as she was suddenly guided to an upstairs bedroom, “Thank you…you’re so good to me…”

Y/N took a shaky breath before letting out a bitter laugh, “‘You’re so good to me’. What bullshit…”

Eddie was silently fuming in his seat, hating every word that spilt out of Y/N’s mouth with eyes like thunder, as she continued the story.

Waking up the next morning, Y/N blinked harshly and groaned as the sunlight hit her face. The more awake she becomes the more horrifically aware of her surroundings and exposed state of being she becomes. Memories of the previous night came flooding back to her in a daze of blurry images and incoherent phrases, making her sick to her stomach. Theo waltzed into the room wearing only sweats and a smug smirk, eyeing the powdery pastel pink of her dress discarded in a corner along with her underwear and shoes.

“Morning baby, sleep well?” The implication dripping from his voice twisted at her insides, despite the seemingly sweet words. All she could do was sit there, clutching the duvet to her exposed chest, staring at him in complete and utter betrayal and hatred.

Breathing growing heavier with rage, Y/N managed to control her emotions enough to speak somewhat calmly, “What happened last night, Theo?”

The boy in question sauntered over to the bed and perched next to Y/N on the bed, making her shuffle away in disgust. “Don’t be like that. You were practically begging me to get you in bed last night,” Everything about his being made her skin crawl, instantly feeling an intense need to scrub every trace of him off her.

“No…I wanted to sleep, I was dizzy…I don’t even know why, I barely drank,” Y/N urged, the door looking miles away from where he had caged her in on the bed.

His laugh, cocky and victorious rang in her ears, “Oh, baby…you were being so fucking uptight, I just wanted to help you relax a little,” The world around her blacked out. “God, you were so clingy, it was almost too easy. ‘Oh, Theo, you’re so good to me…make me feel so good…’”

“I- I didn’t- what did you- you didn’t, please tell me you didn’t.” Tears streamed down her face uncontrollably.

Theo groaned in frustration and rolled his eyes. “Are you really crying right now? I’ve been nothing but good to you. And I remember all those nights we talked and talked on the phone as you told me every single one of your dirty little fantasies, you’re a little freak. I know you wanted this. You asked for this.”

Y/N rocked herself back and forth slightly, her grip on Eddie’s hands vice-like; Eddie looked as though he was about to commit homicide. His mind raced with all the different ways he could hurt the person who hurt her without a single care. Breathing heavily, Eddie gulped down the growing lump in his throat, knowing that despite his rage, all his energy should be focused on the girl in front of him. He calmed his racing mind to take in her state, and almost crumbled. She was a wreck. Their eyes were frantic as she relived that memory in her mind, tears streaming freely down her face, still shaken from the panic attack and more so from the vicious words circling her head.

“I got out of there pretty fast after that.” Y/N sniffled, pushing away the painful memory, “On Monday, back at school, I tried to avoid him, but it was impossible, we shared so many classes and I ended up walking straight into him. I tried to walk away but he pulled me back, he- he told me that if I tried to tell anyone, nobody would believe me. He’d told his friends and they’d told basically the entire school, not that they needed to. Half the school had already seen me all over him at the party and jumped to their own conclusions about what happened when we disappeared. Everyone thought that I’d, like, begged him to-” She took a deep breath to calm herself, “It was torture, none of my friends would look at me the same after, and so many people talked about what they thought happened, I couldn’t escape it, so I became a recluse. Stopped talking to everyone, just went to school, did my work, tried to ignore what everyone was saying and got the hell out of there without saying goodbye when dad got offered his job here.”

“He should be in fucking jail for doing that to you. Actually, no, fuck that, he should be six feet under.” Eddie furrowed his brows, mystified by the sad tale, and wondering why or how anyone would be capable of hurting her in such a violent manner, “Why did you think that I would think any less of you?”

Y/N laughed in hysterical relief at his protectiveness and understanding, gazing at him with such adoration that he thought he might explode, before it faded into anxiety all over again, “Ever since that day, there’s been this voice in my head telling me that I deserved it. That I ruined everything, and that I’m going to keep ruining things, because I’m just some horny bitch who couldn’t keep her legs closed and made everyone hate me…” her voice came out as barely a whisper, “that I, fundamentally, don’t…deserve to be loved. That everyone is just going to use me and leave me.”

Eddie pulled her into the tightest, safest, embrace. She breathed in his scent, stronger from being in hiding but still very much Eddie, and allowed her eyes to fall shut as she nuzzled into the juncture of his neck. One of his ringed hands cradled her head as his other arm locked itself around the small of her back, his head resting on hers once more, the curtain of his hair falling over her face. Trembling hands held tightly onto him as he let her cry into his neck. Whilst his mind spun with the new information, his heart ached – wanting nothing more than to make sure that nothing like that ever happened to her again, and knowing that his own actions hadn’t made it any easier.

“After it all happened,” mumbling into Eddie’s neck, just loud enough for him to hear, she tried to further explain herself, “I didn’t report it, I was too scared, but my parents knew. They’d heard from other parents when it had circulated the school and sat me down to talk about it. Mum was pensive, but I could see on her face that she was in pain for me, despite not saying anything about it. My dad…well, our relationship has never quite been the same…I think he partially blames me for what happened, thinks I was too reckless, that I should’ve never got involved with him in the first place…he always hated Theo.”

“Anyone that could even somewhat blame you for that is just as much a douchebag as he is,” Eddie stated defensively, hands flexing as he barely stifled his temper, bumping her dad up his mental list of people he hated.

She pulled herself off his chest to look him in the eye, “You really believe that?”

Eddie stared down at her in disbelief, “Of course I do.” She smiled softly, leaning back into his touch.

Their surroundings started to phase back into reality, and quite quickly became all too aware of her own skin and the things touching it, snapping her out of her self-pity. With a sigh, she pulled herself up, and started rummaging through her backpack, stuffing a clean pair of underwear in a pocket, having packed them earlier in case a ‘you-never-know’ situation occurred, “Does Rick’s house have a shower we could use? I’d quite like to get this grime off me.”

“Uh- Y-yeah, follow me.”

Sneaking out of the shed, for fear of lurking townies, they made their way up to the house, Eddie pulling a key out of his jacket pocket. The house had a lingering herbal scent, as though it had seeped into the walls and taken up permanent residency, that made Y/N snicker slightly. Eddie strolled pretty casually through the house, knowing the floor plan with his eyes shut, and led her through to a back room where the den was, overlooking the lake, attached to a small bathroom. Opening the door for her, Eddie guided her into the small, tiled room. It wasn’t particularly new or fancy looking but it was clean enough, and towels were stacked in a tall wooden cabinet near the door that she could use.

“I’ll be quick…don’t want to be here long enough for anyone in the area to notice,” Y/N thought out loud and Eddie hummed in agreement, saying that he’d knock if they needed to make a quick escape back to the boathouse. Deciding that it’d be quicker to not wash their hair, Y/N scrubbed at her body with the generic-looking soap in the shower whilst keeping her hair as dry as possible. The warm water wasn’t quite hot enough, but got the job done and she was out of the shower in under 10 minutes, despite having spent the first few figuring out how the shower worked, trying to make it hotter and then having a little cry before actually washing.

Eddie paced the length of the den as she showered, keeping an ear out for any signs of movement around the house from potential townies. Despite the horrific things he’d seen happen to Chrissy and being in hiding for her presumed murder, the story Y/N had told him about her past was all he could think about. Why anyone, how anyone, could do that to another person? How he wished he could punch the asshole in the face, repeatedly, with iron knuckles.  How utterly terrifying it must’ve been. His head couldn’t help but also go back through every one of their conversations and encounters, searching for any sign that he had made her feel uncomfortable in any way, for any sign that she didn’t want what he wanted. But when she appeared back in front of him, skin flushed from the steam, clothes clinging to her slightly differently from the precipitation, any thoughts of doubt fled his mind. She looked at him with utmost care and respect, her body pulling itself into his personal space like gravity. 

“In different circumstances, we’d be sat on these sofas, probably high as kites, watching some stupid movie that Rick has in his collection, right now.” Y/N sighed wistfully at the thought of doing functionally nothing with him, curled up in peace and safety.

Eddie smiled, moving impossibly closer to wipe a stray water droplet from her hairline running down towards her temple, “Wouldn’t that just be perfect, considering our last movie night got ruined by this mess.”

Y/N laughed dryly. Everything she had planned for that night, flew out the window pretty fast and had been flying just out of reach ever since, feeling more and more like a pipe dream with every day that passed. “We technically have all the time in the world right now, to talk about everything but…God, it just-!” She cut herself off, frustrated with the world. “Every fibre of my being is still so confused and tired and angry about this whole fucked up situation, but all I can think about when I’m with you is you. It would be so much easier if you didn’t take up so much of my goddamn brain space.”

She collapsed face-first onto one of the old, blanket-draped, sofas and let out a muffled noise of frustration. He cautiously sat next to her, thigh by her head and arm hanging off the back of the sofa above her. “Do I really take up that much space in that pretty little head of yours?” His voice was slightly cocky and teasing but with that underlying sincerity and insecurity that had made her so infatuated so quickly, and eased her frustration somewhat.

“Yes.” She answered into the sofa, making him chuckle. She lifted her face up and out of the fabric, “Don’t laugh.”

Eddie grinned at her cheekily before it faltered, “Sweetheart, I’m honoured, truly. I don’t deserve it.”

“Shut up, yes you do Eds. If I didn’t think you deserved that time or energy I wouldn’t be here. Dumbass.” Annoyance dripped off every word, but he knew that it wasn’t malicious.

“Someone’s cranky,” She flipped him off, which he returned, a smile trying to force its way onto her face, but being stubbornly repressed. “How are you feeling, anyway?”

“Grim and still anxious, but better having showered,” she sighed pulled herself up to sit, legs touching his, right as her stomach grumbled loudly, “We should probably eat something. I brought all our favourite snacks but there’s also some leftovers from Mum in my backpack-”

Eddie’s face lit up, not saying a single word before pulling her up and dragging her back to the boathouse where her bag was. If there was one thing that Eddie had grown extremely fond of from having Y/N in his life, apart from Y/N themselves and everything they did together, it was her mum's cooking. No matter what she made, he was almost guaranteed to love it. Even the things he wasn’t so sure about he ended up loving. “I don’t know how she does it, she must have magic in some capacity to make vegetables taste good,” he had said one night after she made a veg-packed pasta dish that he knows he would’ve hated if anyone else had made it.

“Eds, ease up, you’re gonna pull my arm out the socket,” Y/N whined as she was pulled behind the man on a mission. They sat in the boathouse sharing the tub of leftovers, that were somehow still good even cold, in comfortable silence, too hungry to talk between mouthfuls. Once devoured, Y/N stuffed the empty box and cutlery back in her bag and collapsed against Eddie, trying to find a comfortable position to get some rest. Ultimately, they found themselves in an all too familiar position, her head on his chest, one of his arms curled around her back and the other behind his head, their legs tangled. Though intimate, the position was comforting and lulled them into a false sense of security. Any other time they had cuddled like this, it was in the safety of one of their rooms after a long night of studying, food, and D&D prep, whilst they listened to music and talked until it was time for the other to leave for the evening. Sometimes, they cuddled up like that under her smoking tree, stargazing deep into the night. But snuggled up in the boathouse in hiding, it meant something different to them both.

“Weirdly enough, the rocking of the boat in the water is oddly soothing…is this how babies feel in the crib?” Eddie broke their comfortable silence.

The question made her scoff into his shirt, shaking her head slightly. “You know, you come out with some right odd shit? But yeah, probably.”

He hums in acknowledgement, before asking another question, “Are you scared?”

“Terrified. You?”

He paused, deliberating how honest he should be. Of course, he was scared. The whole situation was mortifying, and what was scaring him just as much, was how much danger he had put her in. The thought of losing her, of what happened to Chrissy happening to her, made his blood run cold. She could be at home with her mother, peacefully unaware of any of this, safe and out of harm’s way. If only she had chosen another lunch table. If only she hadn’t joined Hellfire. If only she hadn’t taken over every waking thought he had. They wouldn’t be in this mess. But…

But then he would be alone in hiding, alone in his fear. With only Dustin to keep him in check and safe, from a distance. A long and very silent distance. Banished though he may be, at least he wasn’t banished alone. And there was no one he would rather be banished with than her. It was selfish of him but in that moment with her safe in his arms, being on the run wasn’t too bad.

“Not as scared as I could be right now.” His eyes closed, heartbeat picking up as the words fell from his mouth. With her head to his chest, she could feel the skip of his heart and smiled a little. Not another word was said as they drifted off to uneasy sleep.

Waking up every few hours, as noises from the woods made it hard to sleep, eventually, Y/N felt as though she had rested enough and woke up a final time to sunlight pouring in through the arch and windows. Eddie had been awake for a while, having been woken up by sounds of movement in the trees and, though nothing came of it, he couldn’t get back to sleep for much longer after that. His body ached from the wood of the boat, and the tarp hadn’t done much to help keep him warm in the early hours of the morning, but the warmth from Y/N’s body and the sound of her soft snores, as she dozed, helped to take the edge off. Pulling her closer as her eyes finally fluttered open, he gazed down at her, sunlight kissing her sleepily pouted face.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” Eddie murmured huskily, what little sleep he had caught in his throat.

She closed her eyes again and buried her face into his chest, one hand gripping the fabric as the other played with a near curl of his hair, “Mornin’, honey.”

“Killing me here,” He groaned at the softness of her early morning state, “If this is what it’s like to wake up with you, I never want to wake up alone again.”

She laughed lightly before sitting up and feeling just how stiff she was, letting out long whines and groans as she stretched as much as she could without leaving the boat. As she stood to stretch out her legs and back properly, she thought out loud to herself “Need to pee…” before wandering to the door of the boathouse.

“Where d’you think you’re going?” Eddie questioned, tilting his head with a raised eyebrow. He had propped himself up with his arms behind him slightly, watching as she moved to the door.

She looked back at him in bewilderment, “The bathroom? Gotta go.”

“Be quick, okay? Then back here, it’s early but we can’t be too careful.”

The day was going to be long, and though they were in hiding, they still needed to be human. Luckily, she had food covered and Eddie had found a hiding spot with access to plumbing. She scampered up to the house and back as fast as she could, the adrenaline of potentially being caught had her moving inherently faster. Trying to find ways to pass the time, they spent the day slowly snacking on the supplies Y/N had brought, talking about ideas for the next campaign, discussing theories for what the others were doing – “Knowing Dustin, he’ll have gone full detective, you know, like how he is whilst trying to figure out the next move in D&D?” Y/N had suggested, causing Eddie to laugh with a strange fondness at the thought of the freshmen - and coming up with silly games to keep them occupied, deigning to go to the house only when absolutely necessary, and rarely alone. The conversation didn’t dare breach anything too heavy, already anxious enough and clinging on to any sense of normalcy between them, though the reality was creeping back in with every hour. Sleep that night was more uncomfortable from the lack of any real food, Eddie promised to check Rick's cupboards the next day before drifting off to sleep. Sounds of their stomachs grumbling pulled the pair from their slumber. Y/N reached for her nearly empty bottle of water and took a sip, savouring it before passing it to Eddie who finished it off.

“How many of these do we have left?” He asked, playing with the bottle as he watched Y/N rummage through the bags and rationing out what food was left.

She pulled out another large bottle of water from one of the bags and put it down on the workbench, “This is the last one. God, I hope the others are okay, I thought they’d at least check in to see if we’re still alive or needed more food.”

“They left a walkie for us.” The black device stood on the workbench, taunting them, “I’ll try to get a hold of them in a bit, right now I’m too hungry to care about trying.”

Digging into their breakfast of slightly stale toaster waffles, both of their minds raced, feeling as though their luck was running out. They spent most of the day like they had spent the last, only more on edge. It was past noon before they decided to venture back up to the house, needing some hot food no matter how gross it might be. Rick’s kitchen seemed to have been abandoned long before his arrest, with dust on the counters and shelves and a mostly empty fridge. Y/N jumped up to sit on the counter as Eddie rummaged through the cupboards. Watching him riffle through the abandoned kitchen made a warm domestic bubble settle in her stomach, knowing inherently that it was something she would never be tired of, holding dear all the mundane life moments she had with him, whilst she still could.

With each drawer and cupboard he opened, he muttered a small ‘nope’ to himself before finally opening the cupboard above the oven and inspecting a can, “Yeah,” he snorted, “You’ll do.”

“What are we having, chef?” Y/N watched as he pulled a saucepan from a cupboard and turned on the stove.

When the contents of the can were slowly heating, he turned to her, “A nutritious meal of spaghetti hoops. It was all I could find that wasn’t a potential biohazard.”

Once the hoops were sufficiently hot, they wandered into the living room passing the pan and spoon between them, neglecting to properly plate up the food in sheer hunger. Eddie’s agitation wasn’t fully squashed by the meal, however, “Throw me the walkie…I’ll try to get a hold of Henderson…” He fiddled with the knobs as Y/N collapsed onto the sofa with the hoops, wrapping themselves in a blanket thrown haphazardly onto the backrest. Eventually, he got it to the right channel, holding down a button to talk, “Hey, Dustin, this is Eddie the Banished. You there?”

Static. Silence.

“Dustin, can you hear me?”

Nothing.

“Dustin?” He tried again, getting more impatient, “Earth to Dustin.”

“Hey, it's Nancy.”

Y/N recognised the voice of Nancy Wheeler, Mike’s older sister. They had only briefly met a handful of times when it was her turn to pick up Mike from Hellfire, she never stayed for long. Only once had she actually gotten out of the car to greet Mike, and that was when he was stalling and talking to Eddie about the campaign for a little too long for her liking, practically dragging him back to the car with a silent nod at Eddie and Y/N as she went.

“Wheeler! Hey.” Eddie sighed in relief of finally getting a response, Y/N jumping up to stand with him by the door, saucepan in hand, “Um, we’re gonna need a food delivery, like, really soon, unless you want us going out into the world.”

“No.” an immediate response from Nancy, “No, no, no. Don't do that. Stay where you are, and we'll be there as soon as we can.”

“Thanks, Nancy, we were starting to get a little worried,” Y/N took the walkie, “How is everything?”

There was an almost palpable silence before they heard Nancy’s voice again, “We’ll tell you when we see you.”

The pair locked eyes, “Well that’s never a good sign.” Y/N mused, deciding not to hold down the walkie button so Nancy couldn't hear.

“Listen, um…” Eddie pinched back the radio, “Can you pick me up a six-pack?”

Y/N stared at him in exasperation for a few seconds before walking away and eating more of the now slightly cold spaghetti, flopping down on the sofa.

“I know, it's stupid as shit, drinking right now,” He said pointedly, not taking his eyes off Y/N as she stared back at him over a spoonful of hoops, “but a cold beer would really calm my jangled nerves.”

“Hey, I'm gonna have to call you back.” Nancy ignored the request, seemingly distracted by something, and they were once again met with silence.

Eddie panicked, “No, don't you da-- Wheeler? Wheeler?”

But she was gone. Eddie cursed to himself before collapsing into the space next to Y/N, and taking the saucepan from her to finish off the rest himself. “Was the beer request necessary, Eds?”

“Look, if we’re gonna be stuck here for longer than a week, I’d kinda like to spend at least some of it not sober,” Eddie grumbled into his pasta, knee bouncing. With a sigh, she slid her hand onto his restless leg to soothe him a little, allowing her head to rest on his shoulder lightly. “Although…”

“Fuck off, Munson.” She denied him, the smile ever present in her voice, making him snort a laugh.

Once back in the boat house, with the empty can of spaghetti Eddie had brought back with them, the pair resided themselves to setting up camp for the rest of the day, settling back into their hideaway routine. From the sound of things with the others, or lack thereof, Y/N slowly let it settle in her head that they might be stuck for longer than she first imagined. It had already been an exhausting couple of days, and they were both getting antsy, waiting for the shoe drop.

Sometime in the afternoon, Eddie started a little game for himself, throwing things he could find into the empty spaghetti can from increasing distances. At first, Y/N just ignored the rattling sound of the can before it became too much, and she resigned herself to join him instead. They took turns trying to beat each other at the shot, nudging the other to make them miss, bickering as they did and keeping score.

Eddie was beating her 4-2 when tires on the path to the house made them immediately stop and duck down from the window above the bench they were sitting on. Eddie, slowly peering over the edge, looked out to see if it was just Steve in the Beemer but immediately crouched back down, “I don’t think it’s Harrington.”

Shaking slightly, Y/N peeked out through the window just as a familiar unfriendly face came into view getting out of the car, and ducked back down to whisper to Eddie, “It’s Jason. And I think he brought friends.”

“Shit…shit.” As Y/N took a few deep breaths, Eddie checked on the group outside, “They’re going into the house, we might have to make a break for it.”

Y/N nodded quickly before scrambling to collect anything important as Eddie tried in a desperate attempt to contact the others, “Hey, Dustin. You there?” He took frantic glances out of the window as he spoke, “It's Eddie. You remember me, right?” His eyes locked with Y/N’s as she came to stand by him once more, essentials in pockets in case they needed to run. “Hey, if anyone's there, I really think we might be in a bit of trouble here. Okay? Wheeler?” He hit the radio hard against his hand, as he sunk back down to crouch beneath the window, “Anybody?!”

“Eds, we’ve gotta try to stay calm, too much noise and they’ll come down here,” Y/N implored and reached for his hands. He put the walkie down, brushing her hands away before pulling her into him. She whispered into his chest just loud enough for him to hear, “They might give up after searching the house and realise we’re not there…”

“Let’s hope so,” Eddie whispered back, closing his eyes, and trying to focus his panicked breathing, his arms wrapped tight around her.

The sun set as Jason and his friends searched the house, the night growing darker and colder as Eddie and Y/N huddled ever closer. Eventually, when the moon was high in the sky, his curiosity got the best of him again. Eddie peered back through the window for any more signs of movement, the glow from the lights in the house alerting him to the townies ever-persisting search. Gripping the walkie tightly, he tried the others again, the desperation and fear fuelling him, “Dustin? Please. Are… Are you there?” After being met with yet more silence, only the sounds of the water against the boat to listen to, he gave up, “Never mind.” Placing the walkie down on a bench in the wooden vessel they had been sleeping in, he rounded it and called Y/N over softly, helping her into it before clambering in himself.

Trusting him implicitly, and not wanting to leave his side, Y/N followed his lead and silently helped him unhook the boat from its mount and started to paddle out onto the lake. They barely got 30 feet into the water before they heard a call from the bank, “Hey, Freaks!” Jason had finally found them. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Fuck.” Y/N could feel her heartbeat pick up more, as Eddie scrambled to reach the engine, cursing to himself. Faintly, Y/N could hear bodies in the water, swimming over to them, as she tried to tune them out and focus on her feeble attempts to row the boat solo as Eddie argued with the boat engine, which had obviously been attached and installed by Rick himself.

No longer caring about being heard now they had been seen, Eddie tried emphatically to get it to work, emphasising each word with a pull of the starting cord, “Just come on, you piece of shit.” Weakly, the engine spluttered in response but did not roar to life the way they wanted it to, “Come on. Gotta help me out here, man. Come on. Come on, you piece of shit!” He tried harder to bring it to life, but nothing worked, “Come on! Goddamn it!” He hit the engine in defeat as Jason and his friends swam ever closer, “Nope? Okay. All right. Okay.”

Scrambling back over to the bench to help Y/N, and almost falling over in the process, he picked up an oar and joined her in rowing away from the two boys in the water, gaining on them. Together, they managed to keep distance between themselves and Jason in the water, but it didn’t stop Eddie from shouting at him to ‘stay back’ and threatening to hit him with the oar if he did start coming too close for comfort, standing up to get more leverage to swing at him.

“Come on. We almost have them,” Jason called out behind him but stopped swimming when there was no response, looking back over his shoulder, “Hey, Patrick. Patrick!”

Y/N stopped rowing and turned around to see what the kerfuffle was about, just in time to see Patrick be pulled under the dark water of the lake, seemingly by nothing. With only the moon's reflection on the lake to illuminate the water, the group could only just see each other without straining, let alone movement below the water. Gripping the oar in one hand and the leather of Eddie's jacket in the other, Y/N scanned the gentle waves of the water frantically for any sign of Patrick beneath the soft currant. But found nothing. “Eddie, it’s happening again,” Y/N curled into herself as a cold chill ran down her spine as the air grew thick with apprehension.

Jason continued to call out for his friend, getting increasingly more terrified, until suddenly Patrick's body lifted 10 feet into the air above the lake. Dropping the oar and staring up in horror at the boy’s body suspended in mid-air above them, illuminated in the moonlight, Y/N let out a terrified scream before she registered Eddie’s shouts and then a loud splash as he fell backwards into the water from the shock. “Eddie!” Y/N shouted and, in complete disregard for her safety, dove in after him. She managed to grab his arm and keep a hold of him as he flailed to try to keep afloat.

Kicking for the surface, Y/N gasped for breath, as Eddie coughed to dispel the water from his lungs nearby. As Patrick's bones started to snap, they lurched backwards in their fear and found themselves clinging to each other in the cold water. Jason cried out for his friend, as he watched in disbelief as his body contorted, suspended in mid-air above him. Patrick's body buckled and bent out of shape limb by limb as his eyes were gouged out from behind his skull, his jaw finally dislocating before her was dropped mercilessly back into the lake, with a loud splash. Dead.

previous // next

[khorazir]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks a lot for the tag, @helloliriels

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

25 (23 fics, 2 artworks)

2. What's your total A03 word count?

1,462,682

3. What fandoms do you write for?

BBC Sherlock

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Enigma

The Horse and his Doctor

Rewind

The Summer Boy

Putting up Shelves

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do, if only to thank the reader.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

None of my fics have angsty endings.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

All my fics have happy endings. For a while, I played with the idea of writing an unhappy ending for Enigma, but luckily decided against it.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not really. There’s been what I like to call ‘The Rabies Outrage’ in connection with my fic The Horse and his Doctor, in which I had John, a veterinarian, have an animal checked for rabies (as one does in this profession, especially if an animal is injured and is behaving oddly). Several (British) readers alerted me to the fact that there is no rabies in the UK and that hence, John wouldn’t have done this. I had, however, confirmation from actual British vets that of course one would check for this disease, even in the UK. But those readers made it seem as though I had personally insulted them by implying that rabies might be present in the UK after all.

9. Do you write smut?

Awkward and hopefully realistic sex-scenes, more like.

10. Do you write crossovers?

Kinda.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I’ve had fic uploaded at Wattpad and Goodreads without my permission, albeit on Goodreads, I think it was unintentional. They were uploaded via people’s ebook-readers. Still, it’s a pain to have them taken down again, and now with all this AI crap, I’m really sensitive about this issue, especially because plenty of my art has been stolen and uploaded in places where I’d never give permission for it to be uploaded. Some of it has also been used on t-shirt and stuff without my permission.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, several.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Back in the days of message boards, I co-wrote Tolkien fics.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Not sure about ‘all time’, but at the moment, it’s BBC Johnlock.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

The Passage

16. What are your writing strengths?

My readers can probably judge this better than I can, but I’d say dialogue and making places come alive.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Smut, I guess.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I’ve done this a few times: German in Nightjet, Over Hill and Under Hill and Enigma; French and Italian in Slipstream. I enjoy it as a reader, too.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

My first fanfic (of sorts) was an Indiana Jones story (first written in longhand and then typed on an actual typewriter – those were the days ...).

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Difficult to say. I like and dislike bits of all of my fics.

Tagging @discordantwords @raina-at @7-percent @calaisreno @jrow and whoever else wants to play.

[kimbureh]

There's this big fanfiction I've been tinkering on almost daily for the past couple months, and now that I get to the end of it and prepare to upload it to AO3, I struggle a lot with how to tag this story.

The prequel to it attracted the occasional confused or disappointed voice, seemingly because my tags didn't communicate clearly enough what the story was about. I intend to do a better job this time.

Apparently my readers expected a) strictly monogamous relationships as default, b) couples getting together and staying together. Instead they got messy relationships that didn't end in an Happy End nor in Complete Desaster. Sometimes relationships linger in that unstaisfactory area between, I wanted to show that. Perhaps that particular point came across too well, lol.

Fanfiction has this very specific level of "sexy unrealism" that my story perhaps lacked? Like, if you tag a couple, there's the expectation that will get back together after the breakup. But since my characters don't even have a concept of monogamy or romantic relationships, they don't breakup, cuz they never really got together. Which one reader interpreted as them "just fucking around", as if that was a) the wrong way to write fanfiction and b) not entertaining in a different way.

idk man, I just feel like some readers click on my story with a lot of very specific expectations, and since I don't read that much fanfiction, I can only guess what those are for this specific fandom.

I don't like wordy prefaces, so I guess I'll just tell my readers three things: - don't assume monogamy - there can be a happy end even if none of them stay together - keep an open mind

I mean, I have very particular tastes about the fics I read too, I think it's just fair if I try to tag my story as accurately as possible.