Hii! I’m a sucker for the way you write Danhausen, you nail his voice and his silliness and his eeriness so well!
If you’re still taking requests, may I suggest something with a reader insert that’s in The Judgement Day having to grapple with the fact that, despite all of the animosity between the faction and Danhausen, they find him super endearing and it’s developing into an ill-advised crush?
If that doesn’t strike the muse, no worries, I understand. Thank you!
omg thank you!! i think what i'm having the most fun with is the humor. he's such a goof.
You’re supposed to hate him.
He’s cursed multiple members of your faction. He stole money. For God’s sake, he electrocuted JD.
But how could you hate that animated face of his?
It was becoming a problem.
Most days are, so when they notice you being quiet during them, they question your loyalty. You assure them you’re on their side — but, are you? Is it so bad that Danhausen rigged a briefcase full of money to explode baby powder in Dom’s face?
It was entertaining.
Well, at least you were entertained by it.
Danhausen brought mayhem with him that you can’t help but be fascinated by. He could point a finger at anyone, and they would flee in terror, the fear of getting cursed too great. Usually, he stumbles into his feuds but ends up besting the other, either by stupidity or by that bright, shining smile of his. Many times, you’ve found yourself suppressing your own urge to smile because of how infectious it is. You start to think you may have a crush on him.
Which would be utterly career-ending.
Still, you think about him, you wonder if he spends all day, every day as a chaotic goblin, or if there are quiet moments he spends reading books or completing the Wordle.
You catch him alone two days later in a hallway you have no business being in.
That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.
“Did you do the Wordle today?” You blurt
“Wordlehausen? Got it in four.” He holds up five fingers. You quirk a brow, a stupid smile on your face. He looks at his hand, realizes, and then slowly folds one finger down. “Four,” he repeats, very seriously.
See? See??!! How can you not giggle and smile around this creature?
“Judgment Day people are not supposed to ask Danhausen about Wordle,” he said, narrowing his eyes at you.
“I’m not asking as Judgment Day.”
“No?”
“No,” you say with a firmness that surprises you.
His eyes twinkle. “So, you are asking as… a friendhausen?”
The word makes you panic. If anyone from the Judgment Day could see you right now, and could hear what was going on, it would be a kick to the head. You want to say yes more than anything.
“Yeah, but um, in secret. Secret friend.”
“A-ha. Secret.” He zips his black lips shut with a wink that has you chewing the inside of your mouth.
You should stop it right here. It’s not the smart thing, and it’s certainly not the right thing.
Instead, you step closer and lower your voice. “Same time tomorrow?”
Danhausen’s smile spreads slowly, all mischief and hope. “Yes,” he says, softer than you’ve ever heard him. “Danhausen will bring the Wordle.”
someone requested a danhausen striptease and i’m sitting here kicking my feet over imagining him in teeny tiny black and red undies (of course there’s teeth on em)
In dire need of flustered Danhausen but in a sexy way. The way you write him makes me want to chew him.
i do very much want to chew on him... thank you :)
Heat would not stop creeping up the side of his neck. He fidgets with his collar, hoping for some relief, but there is none to be found whenever he is there.
You’d come to check on him each week, even though it’s long after his debut. Danhausen hopes it’s because you want to see him, too, but you are so polite. It could easily be a part of your very nice personality.
“Hey Danhausen,” you say with that voice of yours. He watches your mouth as it forms his name.
This crush has turned into something more. He feels the want deep inside him, in those dark moments where he’s alone and his mind wanders to how soft your skin must be. It’s confusing. It’s delightful. It throws him off — more so than he usually is.
“Good eveninghausen. Here for your weekly check-up?”
“You know I’m curious about your experiments.” You stare at the large wooden box labeled ‘cloning machine’. “Everyone is trying to figure out what you’re up to.”
“You will have to find out with everyone else,” he purrs and leans forward onto the top of his computer. It’s an awkward position, but anything to get closer to you. He could smell your perfume.
You give a polite laugh, and he nearly falls over. If only you knew what he wants to do with you. He wants to know how you taste, the sounds you make when touched. Danhausen blinks a few times, snapping himself from his reverie.
You’ve gotten closer, around the desk now, right beside him. He blinks rapidly.
"Guess I'll just have to wait until next week to find out your secrets.” You brush your arm against him before stepping back, taking that agonizing warmth with you, and give him a wave. "See you later, Danhausen."
He doesn't move. He stands frozen behind his computer, his hands hugging the sides of it so tightly his knuckles ache. His chest rises and falls in shallow puffs of air.
Can we get some cute Danhausen on reader’s birthday 👀 you posted the second part of backstage handler on mine and it was the best gift ever
oh my goodness! happy belated birthday :) here's a little somethin' cute
“BIRTHDAYHAUSEEEN!!”
Danhausen tosses what looks like confetti from his hands but it clumps together, seemingly wet. It falls with a splat onto the concrete floor. Your gaze drops to it — the strips of paper are your favorite color.
“It is your birthdayhausen, yes? Or, is it not? Did Danhausen get the date wrong?” He’s nervous now, rattling off each word in rapid succession.
“Oh, yeah! It is! I didn’t think anyone knew,” you say. How did he know? There’s something about Danhausen, something otherworldly that makes your skin buzz. You didn’t know where he got the information or if he just knew. Maybe he bribed someone. “Thanks for the confetti.”
Danhausen visibly relaxes, his high shoulders dropping. “Danhausen got you something other than confetti, you know.” He digs into his pocket and fishes for far too long before revealing the grand gift.
A dippy bird, just like the one on his desk.
“For you,” he says. “So you may also have a little office man who drinks forever and ever.”
A laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. Not mean. Not even close. It burst out warm and surprised, bright enough that Danhausen’s painted eyes widened.
“I love him."
Danhausen blinked. “You do?”
“Of course I do.” You took it carefully from his hands, your fingers brushing the backs of his knuckles. He went very still at the contact, like someone had pressed pause on him. “He’s perfect.”
“Yes,” Danhausen says faintly. “Very perfect. Very dignified.”
The bird bobbed forward in your hands, beak dipping toward nothing.
You grin. “What’s his name?”
Danhausen’s mouth opens. Closes. His gaze darts to the bird, then to you, then somewhere over your shoulder as though the answer might be hiding in the wall.
“His name is…” He swallows. “Birthday.”
You burst out laughing, harder than you have in ages.
if danhausen is cuddling you it has to be full weight with no escape
the poor thing is touch starved so he’ll need to be as close as physically possible. half on top of you, one leg thrown over yours, arm hooked around your middle.
his favorite place to bury himself is the crook of your neck. his makeup-smudged cheek pressed to your skin, and nose cold at first and then warm from staying there so long. a very clingy boy. he likes when you scratch lightly at the nape of his neck. it makes him go quiet for once
Wrestlers carry a certain aura. They have a way about them that draws in a crowd and either gets them on their side or against them.
Nobody’s aura confuses you more than Danhausen.
The man was obviously only in it for himself, and yet he had won everybody over. He cursed people, stole from others, and went so far as to perform experiments on some of them. And that was just fine and dandy?
You look at him sideways. Every time you see that easy, contagious smile and those ever-shifty eyes.
The hallway outside the podcast room is a tunnel of fluorescent light. You round the corner, expecting an empty corridor to take a moment’s break.
Instead, you almost walk straight into him.
Danhausen leans against the wall, slumping his shoulders as he exhales heavily after his match. Sweat glistens on the demon painted across his chest. His face paint, especially around his lips, is smeared as if he were kissed too hard.
For a second, the whole act stutters.
You’ve seen him perform. You’ve seen him play at being something other, something stitched together out of comedy and spookiness that everyone cheers. But this is just exertion and weariness. A man who ran himself ragged for an audience, now caught in a personal moment after.
His eyes flick up when he notices you, and his smile starts there looks… smaller. Realer. Tired.
“Oh.”
“You’re—” you start, and then stop, because what do you even say? You’re shirtless. You’re human. You’re not a monster, apparently.
He huffs a laugh, breathy and unsteady. “Hot?” he offers, and wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. The paint only smears more.
You should feel triumphant. Vindicated. You’ve been looking at him sideways for weeks, waiting for the moment he slips and shows what he really is.
This is the first time you think you might be wrong.
Perhaps he is just a man.
You hover by the recording room and watch him put on a song and dance after his win at Backlash. An important milestone for any wrestler, but watching him bask in it in his odd way put your teeth on edge. Was he truly this good at manipulation? Or is it all genuine and you’re the asshole who didn’t understand?
The interview begins to wrap up, and you decide the last thing you wanted was to run into him again. You’re scurrying back to your cubicle when you see a foot dangling out from the entrance that reads VERY EVIL. There was no way he could have made it here already.
But it was him.
He was sitting in a chair inside your cubicle, untying the laces of his boot. “Ah, Danhausen was hoping to catch you.” He presents his smile to you, directly to you, and you can’t help but smile back. It is like a beam of warmth that tugs a string in your chest.
“Oh, is this about earlier? I’m so sorry. I wasn’t expecting anyone there.” Let alone the most suspicious wrestler in the company. Your eyes darted to his chest, to the demon tattoo still glistening with sweat.
“You’ve been watching Danhausen.”
“I mean, so has everybody.” You shrug, unwilling to give in just yet.
There’s a twinkle in his eye.
“You watch him closely. Like you are looking for something.”
The silence that follows is thick, awkward — like you’ve been caught.
Your eyes linger on the black paint at his mouth, sweat on his collarbones, and his careful posture, small and self-conscious. Danhausen’s head tilts a fraction. The twinkle in his eye doesn’t go away, but it dims, becoming something watchful.
“Come,” he says, suddenly brisk, like he’s made a decision. “Danhausen would like to speak with you. Privatehausen.”
You blink. “Privately?”
His hands hang limp at his wrists, fingers slack, as if he’s too tired to make a fist. The damp hair at his forehead has started to curl. He's still flushed, still shirtless, still very much a man who just wrestled and then walked here.
You swallow and, against your will, chew at your lower lip.
“I mean, I guess I can grab a conference room.”
Danhausen brightens at once.
“Yes, yes,” he says, pleased enough that the word almost purrs. “A conference roomhausen.”
You want to roll your eyes, but control yourself. He gets up from the chair and follows you closely. You don't hurry; you hope to prolong this walk—what could he want? You try to distract him with decorations in other cubicles, but he stays firm. Danhausen must speak with you.
In the conference room, he invades your space, eyes wild, making your stomach flip with nerves.
“You’ve been watching Danhausen. Closely.”
"We’re all watching you. You’re a big deal right now," you shrug.
“No, no. Well, yes, Danhausen knows this, but — you watch like you are looking for something.”
Caught.
You laugh, but it comes out too thin.
“Maybe I am. Maybe I’m trying to figure out what your deal is.”
Danhausen’s smile returns in pieces, first at one corner of his mouth and then the other, a crooked little thing made stranger by the ruined paint. Up close, the effect is worse. Worse because it is intimate. Because you can see where the white has cracked at the line of his cheek and where the black has settled into the soft crease beneath his lower lip.
“Danhausen’s deal,” he repeats, as if tasting the phrase. “You think Danhausen is tricking them. The people. The wrestlers. The cameras. You think he smiles, and they give him things.”
“Don’t you?”
“Yes.” He lifts his brows.
The admission knocks the next clever thing straight out of your mouth.
Danhausen looks delighted by your silence. “Do you think… that Danhausen is bad?”
You have an answer ready. You’ve had it ready for weeks. Yes. Obviously. Very bad. Very evil, as advertised, if anyone in this place had the sense to read the sign.
But he is standing close enough that you can smell sweat and canvas and the faint sweetness of whatever he uses to set the paint. His chest rises and falls too quickly. The demon inked over his sternum moves with every breath.
“I-I don't know what to think.”
Danhausen’s expression changes.
It is not much. A small tightening at the edge of his smile. A little pause in the busy flicker of his eyes.
“Hm.” The sound is soft. “Danhausen is something.”
“Something,” you repeat.
“Yes.”
You wait for more. You wait because there has to be more. Because no one drags you into a conference room, shirtless and damp and painted like a ghoul, just to admit to being vaguely unusual.
Danhausen only looks at you.
The silence stretches.
“What kind of something?”
“Ah.” He lifts one finger, sharp and triumphant. “That is the question.”
You cross your arms. “And?”
“And Danhausen will not tell you.”
Irritation saves you from whatever else you’d felt in your throat.
His smile softens at the corners.
“You watch Danhausen like you are waiting for him to become frightening.”
“Maybe I am.”
“Good.”
You blink. “Good?”
“Yes. Good.” He rocks back on his heels, visibly delighted, hands limp at his sides. “You should be on your toes.”
“Around you?”
“Especially around Danhausen.”
“Why?”
He leans in, just enough that the smell of sweat and sweet setting spray and canvas fills your head again.
“Because Danhausen is somethinghausen.”
You let out a frustrated, nervous laugh.
He is enjoying this. The realization hits with a strange, embarrassing clarity. He is enjoying your attention. The sharpness of it. The suspicion. The way you keep trying to pin him down, but cannot.
He likes being watched.
No. Worse.
He likes being watched by you.
“You wanted me to notice,” you say.
For once, he does not answer immediately.
His eyes flick over your face, quick and bright, searching.
“Perhaps,” he says.
The conference room suddenly feels too bright, too airless, every fluorescent bulb buzzing overhead like a summer day. Outside the conference room, people pass by as if you weren’t trapped in there with a something. He stands close enough to touch.
“So what happens now?” you ask.
Danhausen’s gaze drops to your mouth for a devastating instant.
It is quick. Barely anything. A flicker of attention, gone almost before you can decide whether you imagined it.
He steps closer, presses you to a wall you didn’t know was there. Air stutters in your lungs; your hands rise, defenseless. Danhausen leans in, nose grazing your cheek, lips near yours.
“Keep watching Danhausen.”
You feel his breath. His lips just miss yours as he backs away, smiling yet again, like this entire moment has been a total delight. He twinkles his fingers at you, winks, and then leaves you alone, disappearing through the door and then into thin air.
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