#except re-irritate my leg

[moonshynecybin]

Do think vale said he thinks the sabotage from Marc began in 2013 at Leguna Seca so he would sound less insane in his theory he’s like look I’ve thought this for age it must be right.

i think the laguna seca comment is so crazy for manyyyy reasons. like yes he is being delusional and yes i do think he was a little uncomfy with it in the moment in 2013 bc marc won against him doing a punk ass move BUT he couldnt exactly raise a stink about bc its HIS famous move. irritating for competition and ego reasons as it was a very glaring reminder that uh. its MARC'S time to shine old man. i am you as you were back when you could do this shit get ready. BUTTTT i also think he liked marc enough in 2013 to mostly ignore that and make it a fun joke! choke him in parc ferme, give him some shit in the presscon, re-affirm that i did it first and better, and move on. which couldve been the end of it. EXCEPT:

where i actually think that comment gets its legs is from is ASSEN 2015, where they had a very similar on track moment where vale overtook marc off track and won against marc on the last lap. and instead of being #cool #chill and #hot about it, marc asked honda to lobby with race direction. which is where we get this iconic photograph... and yes! they were still very jolly in the post-race presscon/parc ferme and re-affirmed their friendship, but they DID disagree about it. and when vale like. specifically brought up laguna seca as a direct comparison, marc said ummmm no. i think i deserved to win this race. which EYE IMAGINE for vale was a hard pill to swallow considering he (very graciously in his eyes i think) was very nice about marc doing the same thing to him two years ago and even defended him to the press! so its less about sabotage and more about looking at marc and thinking. you steal my move and then when i do it to you a few years later you say that in your mind you won this race ???

[tenderlads]

Order and Voices - Chapter 2

Chapter 2: List of things

“Guys calm down, one at a time!”

All the pets around were jumping and pawing at her legs desperately trying to be the first to get her attention “oh oh, Blythe!” Vinne shouted, raising one hand up while the other pets followed suit. “Okay, okay settle down!” Blythe said, raising her voice a little, catching herself in a giggle spree.

After some time, she finally got the pets to stop and gather around her creating a nearly perfect circle.

“Blythe oh dear what’s that in your hand?”

Zoe said gesturing her paw towards her human friend. Blythe glanced at her own hand and smiled “oh nothing special.. just an all-paid vacation to the coolest places in the world!” She announced, opening the paper a bit more for her to see it, a huge smile forming on her face. “And you're all coming!” Blythe said, flipping the paper around for the others to see, showing them the tickets.

All the pets cheered excitement filling them with glee, regardless Blythe continued “we’ll get to go to the biggest camping place there is!’ then after that the beach then we will end it at the brand-new pet boutique being built!” Blythe said, trying to hold back her excitement as well.

“What else what else!!” Minka shouted, clearly getting riled up from the suspense. "You all get to model the new fashion pet line!” Blythe said, nearly squealing herself.

“Wait, so you're telling me we get to model for headliners new pet fashion, HOW!?” Zoe nearly screamed, throwing her paws up the air, “well turns out miss headliners were close friends with Mrs. T when they were just teenagers. And just recently they were able to reconnect. and Mrs. T told her about my fashion line, she loved it!” Blythe said rambling “and she loved you pets as well and wanted you to model her next line for the grand opening for the boutique!” She squealed, not containing her excitement anymore, same as the animals' cause as soon as she said it all the pets jumped her causing her to fall back. They all laughed and licked at Blythe’s face.

After a while she finally got the pets to relax, now being able to finish her statement “we still have plenty of time before this whole vacation starts." she stated "We have ten weeks before we go on vacation, I already got your owner's permission to go… except Russell’s.” she mumbled putting one of her hands to her chin. "Where is that hedgehog anyway?” Pepper said, striking up a good question,

“Am here...”

like on cue Russell replied before anyone could ask, his voice slurred a little from the sleepiness. He was walking rather slower than usual. He looked rather tired and sleep-deprived, as he had bags under his half-lidded bloodshot eyes.

“What did I miss...?” He yawned, putting a paw to his mouth. Everyone stared at him giving a certain look on their faces.

“Hate to break it to you Russ but you missed a lot.” Vinne said honestly walking past Russell,

“Yeah, Russell you missed a lot!” Minka jumped in begging to go on her talking spree.

And at that moment Russell stopped listening, Minka was known to ramble on for way too long when it came for a 'simple' explanation; he honestly wasn’t in the mood to deal with that right now so instead he decided to go to the source,

Blythe.

“Yeah, so.. that’s mostly everything”

Blythe said looking down at the hedgehog in her lap, Russell had decided to read the message by himself. Trying to make sure Blythe didn’t overlook anything important.

 “Mostly everything?” Russell asked, glancing up at Blythe, one eyebrow raised. Obviously wanting all the information known to him. “Well Russell before you can go with us.. we need to get permission from your owner..” Blythe said, her voice straining a little at the end.

Getting his owner's permission...? That should be easy. But if it was so easy it would have been done already,

right...?

 A sharp stinging sensation began to fill through his body.

The main source of it coming from his back rear, it was..

irritating his skin…

he needed relief,

he had to scratch..

scratch it.

Russell began to scratch, and scratch at the subjective spot till the sensation he felt earlier began to fade. Coming to a complete stop once he realized Blythe was staring at him. A concerned look on her face.

“Heh, heh.. just a bit itchy” He dry laughed flashed her a big embarrassed, smile.

Later that even…

The day went on pretty normal after Blythe left.

The pets went back to just doing the usual, Sunil trying new magic tricks, Vinne practicing his dance moves while pepper sorted through her jokester stuff, penny ling playing with Minka and Zoe walking in this direction—

“Russell, how long are you planning to stand there?”

“HUH...!?” Russell flinched abruptly, snapping out of his thoughts

 “Haven’t you been listening this whole time.?” Zoe said, flipping her bangs out of her face.

He shrugged, giving an apologetic look “well, since you weren’t paying attention l’ll reiterate what I said earlier”

We were talking earlier...? Russell thought, the dots not connecting together.

He couldn’t remember anything past talking to Blythe to be honest other than that he was drawing a blank. —a loud cough (that sounded rather intentional) interrupted him again, quickly looking back at Zoe, her was nose scrunched.

 He could tell she was getting irritated with him.

 “Now as I was saying, we WERE wondering if you were ready to go on this exquisite vacation Russell,” Zoe said Briskly as she went. “All the others are going to show off their finest qualities while there,” Zoe said, puffing her chest out sitting on her hind legs.

 “Zoe, I hope you're aware that we’re not even close yet..” Russell said, beginning to walk past her, heading to his clipboard and other assortment of things.

 “You do know it’s like ten weeks away...?” The hedgehog commented, giving her a quick glance.

 Zoe scoffed.

“I know! but some others just can’t wait!” She dramatically said, catching up to him.

 “Uh, yeah.. and when you mean “others” you mean you..” Russell reiterated not taking his eyes from the clipboard in his paws. “Yes well.. how could you blame me!” She barked back dramatically “every single famous pet model and fashion designer will be there! and will be the center of attention!” Zoe gasped “Can you just imagine it, Russell! Will be modeling headliners' new fashion for the grand opening of the new pet boutique! every single pet and human will be cheering and screaming are names, ah! I can just hear it now” Zoe said, her paws nearly hugging herself, clearly daydreaming.

Russell could swear he saw stars glowing in her eyes. Shaking his head a little, trying to hide this smirk on his mouth “yeah Zoe I can imagine all right..” he joked playing along with her while walking over to the wide window area. Jumping up there Russell pulled a pencil from behind his ear and cleared his throat, preparing to make an announcement to the others.

“Alright pets!” He said making his presence known to the others, they gathered around him. “As you may know we usually do a headcount when we all enter the daycare in the morning.., unfortunately things got a bit mixed up..”

“If you mean you sleeping all day is a mix up, then that’s sure one big mix up Russell''

 Vinne joked, shrugging his shoulders. The other pets chuckled a little trying their hardest not to show it. “Ha ha, very funny Vinne" the hedgehog said sarcastically rolling his eyes. "Anyways.. as I was saying, there’s a list of things I want to over with you all” Russell said glancing down at his clipboard tapping the pencil, he could hear some of the pets' groan, (mostly Vinne) at his statement.

“As you all may know Blythe is taking us on a fashion tour”

“ uh.. didn’t Blythe call it a vacation Russell.?” Sunil asked, quickly raising his paw up.

“Well technically it’s a vacation..— but more of a fashion tour,” Russell added “Will be doing a lot more than just camping and going to the beach, they want us to model different outfits catered to each different activities you would do on a summer vacation” Russell informed them.

“Welp that sense to me!” Minka piped in leaning close to pepper as she whispered “I actually have no idea.. he lost me past the vacation bit..” she admitted, pepper nodded.

“Now I am pretty sure Blythe already got permission from all your owners..?” Russell asked, writing something down on his checklist.

“Yup!” pepper replied,

“Duh!” “obviously! “ Vinne and Sunil both said at the same time,

“Totally!” Minka nearly screamed out in response,

“hmm yes!” Penny ling hummed,

“Do I even need to say anything?” Zoe sassily responded, flipping her hair to the side.

Russell finished writing, nodded his head “okay that’s everyone!” He announced going over the list again. “Now one last thing we have to- “

 “Wait! Russell what about you?” Penny ling questioned, quickly interrupting him. A worried expression on her face, clearly not wanting her friend to be forgotten.

After that question all eyes were on him, they all started to ask the same thing.

“Are you going?”

“Yeah, Russell!"

“please tell me she’s letting you go”

"Yeah, Russell aren’t you coming?”

“Please Russell say you're going!”

“There’s no way he’s not coming. Right..?”

They kept asking all at once overcrowding him. At some point their voices started to merge into one big loud cluster, their voices couldn’t even be recognized by Russell anymore.

He quickly flipped through his clipboard trying desperately to find himself the answer. He mutterd to himsealf, feeling sweat drop down his head.

 Is this what feeling overwhelmed feels like..? He questioned, no he shouldn’t be feeling overwhelmed! his friends just asked him a simple question and he’s taking it out of proportion. Russell told himself trying to claim his nerves, their voices becoming increasingly intolerable by the minute. He started to Grip at his ears hoping that would work in his favor.

it only made things worse.

The voices slowly started to turn into static, a drowning buzz vibrating his body to his core, causing him to shut his eyes tightly. Nearly beginning to shake. He started to hear whispers, whispers that sounded somehow familiar...

Were they speaking to him…?

(Just answer…)

Russell quickly opened his eyes, his ears still pressed against his paws. He took quick frantic glances around, dark shadows moved around the corner of his eyes, not making their presence known. It repeated again.. 

(just answer)

Keep it together Russell! that’s not important he mentally scolded, putting his hands down and quickly looked at his clipboard.

(Excuses)

There were uneven words constantly written scribbled all over the paper, some even all over the wooden part. 

Did he write these...?

Excuses.

Give them an answer..

Excuses..

Give them an answer.

They can tell when you're lying..

His ears nearly rang from all the sounds. The static nearly sounded like a snowstorm while the buzzing hummed and burned his ears the (pets) voices persistently repeated their so much he could almost see the words visually being spelled out.

Russell was getting overwhelmed..

He wanted this to stop..

He wanted silence..

Then answer..

“ huh..?”

Just give them an answer

“ what..?”

And everything will be quiet

 

“ how..?” 

Just answer. 

It repeated.

 Just answer 

Just answer 

Just answer 

Just answer 

Just answer

“BLYTHE’S TAKING CARE OF IT—!!”

 Russell shouted suddenly, causing the pets to stop. “ ye— yes! I assure you guys I'm going.!” Russell quickly added in slightly slipping up on his words, seemingly swatting and acting rather jittery.

 “ Thatrapsuptherollcallfor tonight— I mean today ah I mean— this afternoon, bye!” Russell quickly said, his words all jumbled together and not making any sense. But before any of the pets could ask him what he ment, he then took off quickly to the other side of the daycare, persistently scratching at the top of his scalp as he went.

“Well that was weird..”

pepper said trying to fill the awkward silence,

“ yeah.. we were just asking Russ a question” Vinne added while walking right next to pepper, “ did anyone else notice how nervous Russell was just acting a minute ago..” Sunil questioned.

“ Yeah I noticed that too!," Minka jumped in, adding  “he was all sweaty and shaky! like he had a cold!” She said, while mimicking russell. “ He also scratched the top of his head a lot!!”

“ Ohh! I hope we didn’t make Russell uncomfortable” Penny ling gasped her little paws flying to her mouth.

 " Don't worry penny ling, Russell just being dramatic,” Zoe assured the worried panda.

Then all the pets looked in the direction Russell went

“Yeah, I hope your right penny ling..” pepper added.

------------------------------------

Chapter 2 is here! And what's up with him? His friends only asked him a question.

[hislittleraincloud]

DirecTor: *sweat-drenched and sore, tries to sneak in as quietly as he can*

AB Wednesday: *turns on the light with a click*

DirecTor: *jumps* Heeey. There. Kiddo. How goes it?

ABW: Hey there, author. It goes quite fine. *takes out her phone, taps the screen, turns it to me* But care to explain to me what I'm seeing here?

DirecTor: *squints* That's uh...that's the Lords of Acid.

ABW: ...I know. I'm asking about the scene behind Gigi. *taps her little black-nailed fingertip on the screen over my disabled Weeble ass gesturing to the crowd to show me their pussies*

DirecTor: Well uh...see...uh — I was...there.

ABW: ...I know. But how did that happen?

DirecTor: *swallows* Well. I was seated sort of off to the side near the stage entrance and when Gigi called for people to come up on stage for 'Pussy (Round)', the dancer pointed to me. Probably because of my shirt.

ABW: *purses lips, and I can't tell if it's out of anger or irritance* Well, it is an attention-grabber.

DirecTor: Yeah, tell me about it. I got a lot of grins and comments on the way to the venue and then at the venue. I'm on a shitload of peoples' clouds. How'd you get that video anyway?

ABW: *clicks it off after she sees Praga Khan giving me a hug at the end of the song* I have my sources.

DirecTor: ...

ABW: ...

DirecTor: It was Fester, wasn't it.

ABW: ...Perhaps.

✨👹🔥🫠🔥👹✨

So...somewhere in this world more than a few people have pics and video of my thicc ass embarrassing myself behind Gigi Ricci (the current vocalist for the Lords). Face reveal!:

This is actually a screencap from a video I took of myself listening to the White Girl Drama next to me before the shows started. I wanted to stick an icepick into my brain to escape her blathering. She was with her friend and they were both dressed as Coop Voodoo U devil women, full-on red body paint and all. But because of their drama, they left before the Lords even got to 'Voodoo U' (and it was on the set list). Like...the yappy one had fallen asleep at her table at one point and her friend looked a little concerned. I asked her if she was okay and she said yes, but...she didn't look ok 😬

I'm so tired. I'm too old for this shit, but it was worth it because it seems that every time I go out and do something like this, people gravitate towards me. I got to shake Praga Khan's hand (he turned to me before the song and shook my hand after I climbed the short stairs w my cane...I was shocked to have even been invited onto the stage by his dancer ETA: WIFE, I learned it was Inja, Praga Khan's wife 💀), and then he hugged me after the song was done. He's so little and frail 😳 But very sweet. I haven't let anyone touch me bc of COVID, but he was the exception. The man is a legend, and the Lords still have it.

Gigi was topless! She didn't have any X tape taped over her nips tonight, unlike during the Philly show (the vids I posted).

I did have to leave a little early (they weren't done yet) because I wanted to beat the crowd to BART and I didn't want to get stranded late in the damn Tenderloin. I made a friend...of course he is a cultured, older European (Dutch, LOL). He was sitting alone before everything started and looked a little lost (his friends didn't show up). He too needed to leave early bc he lives in San Jose and also had to catch BART back. We chatted quite a bit and stuck together during the show.

Anyway. I guess time will tell re: if I get sick. I shouldn't, bc I don't think my gear slipped and the venue was not packed...it was a comfortable half-packed hall, so people could actually socially distance themselves, or dance and move around. The crowd was pretty geriatric (like me), but there were quite a few younger Millennials there too. I really should have a headache from all the headbanging, but I don't (and interestingly enough, my voice isn't hoarse either, despite loads of screaming). My feet and legs are dead tho. I'll probably be bedridden for a couple of days.

ETA: The dogs were all asleep when I got back, and my old boy was fine. I love it when they're well behaved. Someone was trying to get their dog into the venue (when I arrived at the hall, there was a short line of people waiting to get in). I don't know if they succeeded, but I didn't see the dog in there, so. It was a small, white fluffy dog with a 'service dog' leash on it. Even if it was a real service dog (and I don't think it was), why would you bring the poor thing to a freaking Lords of Acid concert? It's not a goddamn orchestal symphony. The Lords are LOUD. I kept thinking how horrible it would be for my baby had I brought her. Too loud! She's used to loud Lords of Acid since I sometimes play the Afterburn soundtracks when we go out in her little front pack, but not THAT loud. Damn, people. That's just cruel.

[under-the-weirwood-tree]

Couldn’t stop thinking about a “Guys and Dolls” Rhaenicent AU over the weekend. We already know Emma D’arcy looks hot in a suit. I use she/her pronouns in this ficlet because I’m referring to the character of Rhaenyra and not the actor 😊.

———

Alicent studies her reflection in the chipped mirror, tucking a strand of hair that had come loose from its updo behind her ear. Peering closer, she can see a single strand of gray amidst the auburn. Disappointed, but not surprised, she plucks the hair hard, letting it fall onto the dusty ground at her feet. Sighing, she resumes her cleaning.

The Save a Soul meeting had been ill attended as usual, except for a few disinterested people who had been lured inside by the prospect of stale pastries and watery coffee. Alicent had delivered an impassioned speech on the evils of gambling to largely deaf ears, picking at her cuticles behind the pulpit. Otto had given her an unimpressed stare after the stragglers had left before retreating to his room.

Now, Alicent stands, listlessly sweeping the cheap wood floor. Her feet are starting to ache in her tight heeled shoes, nylons uncomfortable on her now sweaty legs. Carelessly, she undoes the top two buttons of her starchy uniform jacket.

Suddenly, the door to the mission opens and a slight man enters.

“I will be with you in a minute, brother,” Alicent calls as the man walks casually towards the meeting chairs.

Carefully, she sets the broom against the wall and approaches her visiter. A small flare of irritation rises in her as she sees that he has straddled one of the chairs, arms resting over the back, head tipped down, face obscured by a jaunty hat.

“What can I do for–” as Alicent speaks, the stranger lifts their head and it's– a woman. Alicent’s mind stutters to a halt, a blush rising in her cheeks.

The woman takes her hat off, tipping it carelessly onto another chair. Her hair is white blonde and cropped close to her heart, lovely blue eyes, and a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. She’s clad in an expensive looking double breasted gray suit.

“For–for you, sister,” Alicent finishes indelicately.

“I saw you earlier out on the street. Thought I would come in and see what all the fuss is about. My name is Rhaenyra,” her voice is quiet, low.

Earlier, Alicent had been walking through the crowded streets of New York, attempting to hand out leaflets to an unresponsive rowd. She had not realized anyone had noticed her.

No one ever notices her, despite the eye-catching red of her uniform. They see the determined set of her jaw— her hand clutching a Bible— and purposefully drop their eyes and hurry away.

Coming back to the present moment, Alicent realizes her mouth had been hanging open slightly as she studied the woman. Abruptly, she snaps it closed.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Sister Rhaenyra. I am Sister Alicent,” she extends her hand.

“Just Rhaenyra,” the woman smiles, taking Alicent’s hand in a firm grip. Her hand is warm.

“You are interested in the gospel?” Alicent rallies, pulling her hand away, fingers tingling.

She waits for Rhaenyra to snort derisively and leave. Instead, she shrugs casually, leaning back on the chair, strong hands gripped on the spindly back. Alicent keeps her eyes away from the indecent spread of her thighs. She has never seen a woman in a suit.

“I’m not particularly religious. You looked very passionate out there today,” her focus on Alicent’s face is earnest.

“I am,” Alicent says quietly, feeling like she is not quite grasping the conversation.

Rhaenyra’s eyes travel down Alicent’s body. Alicent feels heat rising in her body, her pulse thumping in her chest. Her hand flutters around her chest, fumbling with the buttons of her jacket, re-buttoning them under the other woman’s scrutiny.

“It’s getting late,” Rhaenyra rises, picking up her hat. “Would you consider a more personal mission? Say furthering our discussion over lunch tomorrow?”

“Lunch?” Alicent’s mouth is dry.

“I would love to talk to you more,” Rhaenyra says simply, hand casually slipped into the pocket of her trousers.

“About the gospel?” Alicent says stupidly.

“Sure,” Rhaenyra smiles. “I’ll even tell you my favorite Bible verse. What do you say?”

“Yes,” the words trip out of her mouth almost without her realizing it.

———

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary154

2/15-16/2024

thursday - friday

tomrrow , the end of my weekend.

strange how all my time feels a bit like a countdown, right now, but it's not so bad, it's not so awful, i guess. today i feel a lot better, still obviously sick, i sound like terrible, right now, my voice is crazy but i feel completely fine otherwise, or not completely, my nose too, but it's crazy how bad i sound, i sound like one of the red scare women, which i really hate, but at least the irritating voice will only last for so long, just hopefully before i start work. maybe even by tomorrow. i want to try recording tomorrow, i'm deciding a song has some vocal issues and i want to get them fixed, but in order to do that my voice needs to sound good and also i need to scream kinda, maybe, i dunno. it's hard to get that kind of thing right, just in every way, it's hard to get the screams right, it's hard to know if i can / should do it, it's hard to know if it'll even work and if it's even what i want the song to sound like. but i think it is, in parts, what the song needs. it's just very difficult to get the more hardcore songs right, idk what about it is so hard, some of them aren't fucked up really, but this one is, kinda, i guess.

in order to figure out what to do, i'm listening to combatwoundedveteran, they always give me good ideas, they're like one of the best pv bands ever, to me. it really articulates some kind of fucked up feeling inside, not like, about how bad i feel, but a fucked up thing that happened to excitement, where i just have to feel it like that, where it's like violent, and crazy, spastic and doing whatever, spasming on the floor.

i think getting the synth louder in this song is gonna help a lot, or like, not louder, but more present, i made the rare decision to cut out this one hardly audible synth, which was 'audible' in that it kind of super interfered with the main guitar thing, in a weird way, leading to the song sounding kind of panned, in a weird way. which maybe there's a good idea, double track the main guitar, also? idk. could be wayyy too much, if i'm doing that w/ the synth i don't know if the guitar needs that.

i'll try it, i can try anything, tee bee eytch. it's just good for the vocals to have stuff panned, and maybe even farther than i am used to. it's just so weird sounding to me, to have anything hard panned in my music, but maybe that would be good, or idk, i doubt cwv's always totally hard panned, it sounds like it kinda close but maybe not as much, i think the guitars probably share some stuff in the middle on some productions on the comp, and electric youth crew def has some stuff that's a bit more centered, and i like how fucked that split sounds on their side, super heavy in a weird way, where it doesn't lose/sacrifice the scrapey weirdo guitar bullshit, it just amplifies the mess it all makes. it sounds honestly perfectly listening now. something crazy, is the drums are panned left, there, insane to me, to even do that.

panning wider on the song seems like a good idea. it's going well, it's making me think about doing the splits/spreading my legs. strange thing to think about while mixing a song.

while waiting i've also been doing pixel art guts, which is something i'm used to drawing, idk why but i always would draw distended organs, whenever i drew, when i was like, motivated normally, and when i was studying a lot, i'd do hands, but i think hands would be really difficult to do in 64x64 res + i like doing things like deforming them. it's fun to do but i am not a very great artist, i think, but maybe i could try getting a drawing done like that, and then using it as a ref layer or something, and then doing,,, something, with it, i guess.

the song sounds really good now i think except i need to do something to the vocal mix, i think i should just try redoing it entirely but that's not a bad thing honestly, like, with everything set up, it should be easy to just like, do the fx chain, cuz i know it well now, and get things where they need to be, really i think i cut too much in weird places and just need a clean slate to try and get it right, and just cut at the start and the end, and maybe boost in this rack fx-simulator, so i can get some more highs out of it after the multiband compressor.

otherwise, i did do another song today, and that one sounds just good, this new idea i had abt doing saturation for the instrumental and then vocal separate is probably very dumb in a lot of ways but it's seeming to sound quite good, especially when i have some light saturation at the very end anyways to smash it all together kinda.

tomorrow i'll probably do what i did today, cuz i really dunno abt recording, as much as i want want want to, getting on with one song, solving issues w/ this bigger problem song, but everything is really falling into place on it, feels less like i'm thrashing around pointlessly and more like i'm on the right path. which makes me feel good.

i also dealt with a friend really bothering me today, w/ her weird stuff about another friend, i had to go and talk to others about it, she was basically humiliating him and airing stuff out that didn't need to come out. i feel like, weird, i guess, about defending my friend without telling him i did it, but he's been away all day, i guess. the humiliation wasn't anything especially bad, just like, fucking up a move, it sucks for him and her other friend who he was trying to live with, especially since my friend was not perfect, but i can't go into detail here. at the end of the day it just wasn't going to work, it seems like. the two of them did not mix especially well. i just hate seeing this one friend be like, i don't want to say a bully because she just doesn't know. she thinks making people ashamed will make them better. that's just how you push people into being bigger fuckups, i know because of my gf's brother, i know this because of my stepdad, i know this because of like, so many people in my life, my stepmother, my gf's mom, being told you should be ashamed and how wrong you were, like a dog that pissed in carpet, just grows resentment. this is really all i can say because people i'm talking about come off as petty and freakish to me and i don't really want them prying or looking. if they find this i hope they know it's them and whatever. this is a problem with a public diary, i want to say how i feel about people, but some people you have to anticipate being weird and stuff, specifically certain kinds of people in your life.

my gf sometimes looks at the diary and as it was starting i was like, embarrassed, i told her not to look, but now i don't really care. i mean, beyond not caring, i'm completely fine with it if she wants to. now that it's a regular ritual for me, it's like, not less meaningful, but now i'm in the routine of putting everything regular down, articulating the minute parts of every day, and those new feelings or whatever, or even just like, diagnostic information for mixing music.

it's crazy how badly that first 'oh my god this sounds awful in other environments' thing hit me and made me want to die like crazy. i felt like such a failure. i guess the album is better for this though.

anyway i need to sleep soon so,

byebye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[tradedsymmetry]

an email i wrote but am not going to send my therapist. re: sucking at school, adhd feels, being unmedicated.

i dont even know what i want to say. i dont even know if i want to send this, because i know that youll just be like, "you know what you have to do to fix this" which is call the pharmacy. every week. until they have more medication. but i dont. fucking. waaanntttt tooooo. its fucking humiliating, and annoying, and enraging, and makes my skin crawl. i would rather be forced to have the shower curtain touch my leg after i turn the water off in the shower every single time i shower than ever call the pharmacy again. but im fucking suffering. i dont have my website done for my mass media class. it's no where near done. im going to barely pass, maybe, and i know that that's the ultimate goal, just passing even if it's barely, but... i dont know. that's also humiliating??? except it's not... because no one but the instructor ever has to know, really. and i guess my advisor. but i know that she'll understand, and not really care as long as im still eligible for financial aid. and even that... she doesnt care if im eligible, not really. not in the way that im worried about. but getting a not-great grade also DOES say something about the amount that i learned... except that it also doesnt. this class is a fucking nightmare. i just filled out the questionairre for it and i kind of ripped it apart and that felt sort of good but it also doesnt CHANGE anything... i was really excited about doing this website assignment, and i feel like my lack of medication just ripped that excitement away from me.

i feel like i dont know who i am anymore. non-medicated Me is familiar, but a prison. a tired, depressed, distractable, stubborn, irritable, familiar prison. medicated Me is who I always thought I could be. and i guess maybe i had been attributing a lot of my success to ME, and not to the medication, because i think my self-concept/self-esteem is really taking a hit with all of this. but attributing my success to me isn't wrong, it was still me that did all of it... but just... not natural me. and it sucks. i guess i thought that i could remember the feeling of being medicated and replicate it in my mind and be able to push through. but i forgot how tired i am without medication. im so tired, physically. which makes everything else impossible, because if i can't even sit up and type, there's nothing i can do. if i cant even sit up and type, how can i possibly have the energy necessary to push through inattention and not giving a shit, to spend an hour a day on slogging through reading articles and writing summaries and designing a website, on my own, spread out over several weeks. that's literal death, to an adhd brain. what the fuck was i thinking. i wish i would have just camped outside the pharmacy for a week waiting for the delivery truck. i would have gotten the same amount of work done.

[honhonluigi]

Original Writing

Hey, if you enjoy my original writing, then you might want to check this piece out! It's a slice of life short story about my OC Hazel.

Underwater

Morning broke cold in Alaska.

Hazel wasn’t sure what woke her. Her throat was kinda dry and she had to use the bathroom, but that was normal for the morning. She rubbed her hands into her fuzzy eyes insistently and shook her head. Wake up.

Her room was dark, but she could see the bright sunlight leeching in through the blackout curtains on her windows. Well, yeah, but that could still mean anything. She reached for her phone. The time was 12:45 PM. Almost one? Jeez…

Maybe that was why her head felt so thick and throbbing. She dug the heel of her hand into her forehead this time, as if she could push the heavy sleepiness away. The left side of her brain was swollen in a way that told her that she would definitely be getting a headache later. The best way to alleviate something like that was movement…but…she didn’t want to move…

With a groan of irritation, she threw back the thick feathered comforters and furs on her bed and swung her feet to the floor. Even through her thick house socks, the floorboards made her toes curl with their icy cold touch. The fire in the hearth had burnt down to ashes. But she’d re-start all the fires later, and the house would warm up more now that she was awake and alive in it.

Armored in only a big T-shirt as her pajamas, making goosebumps prickle on her legs, she padded softly over to her curtains and tugged the big velvet rope to pull them open. They were heavy and thick, and they didn’t give way easily to her 100lb frame. By the time they were folded back as much as they could go, she was huffing and puffing and had warmed up considerably.

The sunlight streamed in bright through her windows, illuminating her entire room and eliminating the need for her to turn on an overhead light. It was summer, the time for unending days and unsetting suns. Hazel always liked these months a lot better than the other half of the year. The days of complete never-ending darkness were a lot harder to deal with.

Despite getting up and moving, she could still feel the weight of sleep smothering her mind, making her pulse throb in her brain, making her eyes and her thoughts fuzzy and tired. She grunted again, an annoyed and tired grunt, aimed at her failure to clear her head and get herself moving in the morning. She could already feel the headache pressing at her temples. Maybe she was hungover?

She moved towards her bedside table and grabbed the silver flask that always sat there. The metal was icy cold from the temperature of the room, but at least the drink wouldn’t be lukewarm or tepid. Vodka was best on ice.

She took a big swig and felt the fire of the drink sear down her throat, scorching her tongue, making her stomach burn lowly. The chemical alcoholic taste sent a jolt through her nose and—hey, it probably cleared the sinuses up. It made her warmer, her whole body glowing like an ember. And the shock of pain and fumes and heat to her system woke her straight up. Plus, she knew from experience a little bit of liquor was always the best cure for a hangover.

Now that she’d had her morning coffee, she was awake, and clear-headed enough to start the rest of her day. Clear-headed enough to get dressed, at least.

Except why bother? Ran through her mind as she moved towards her wardrobe. Seriously. Why bother getting dressed? Who’s gonna see you today? Why should you put effort into a cool outfit when no one’s gonna see it?

But she didn’t want to stay in her pajamas all day long, either. That would be pretty boring.

“Well…there’s the grocery delivery guy. He’s like, what, 25? That’s still young enough to appreciate what I’m wearing.”

Yeah, but he’s not coming until tomorrow.

“He could get here a day early…”

She stared blankly at the doors of her armoire. Bother to put together a whole outfit just to not be seen by anyone, or lay around in her pajamas all day feeling lame?

In the end, she told herself that it was warmer to get dressed, and it was that and not desperation at all which prompted her to choose a black skirt, thick gray tights, a black long-sleeved shirt, and a big grey T-shirt. She looked pretty good in the mirror, even without applying her lipstick or eyeshadow. Not that anyone’s going to see it…

 There was no point in being in her room anymore after she got dressed. Pretty much the only thing she did in there was sleep, and only sometimes. When she walked out the door and into the hallway, she knew she wouldn’t be back again until nightfall. What would be the point in staying in her room all day, when she had the whole house to herself?

Firstly, Hazel went to make breakfast. Her stomach was already empty and growling from a full 11-or-so hours without food. She didn’t know what breakfast would be yet, but she did know that cooking something would make the big frosty kitchen warm up, and probably start thawing out the living room too.

“Ah, crap. I probably should’ve started the fireplaces first, huh?” Hazel mumbled to herself as she ducked into the kitchen. Then the whole house could warm up while she cooked, and be nice and cozy by the time she was ready to eat. But it was snowing lightly outside, and the wood was in the shed, and she really didn’t feel like braving the freezing Alaskan air first thing in the morning. With a headache.

It’s not like the house didn’t have any central heating. But the big log cabin with huge windows got chilled easily, especially with only one small person inside. The fires were just…better. They were toastier and cozier, throwing out a homey warmth and a nice yellow glow. The crackling of the flames and spitting of the logs made for nice background noise in the otherwise silent cabin. The smell of the fire, the flicker of the light…That was all stuff you didn’t get with central heating.

Hazel made bacon and eggs, with a side of vodka-spiked coffee.

She spread out as she cooked, taking up the whole kitchen, just because she could. She fried both the eggs and the bacon at the same time, on the two side-by-side stoves, just because it was there. She used her father’s snazzy big-shot coffee maker for a high-end ristretto, then dumped a bunch of alcohol in it to ruin the taste. Black coffee and vodka. The bitterness made her tongue dry out, but she liked bitter tastes, and it definitely helped wake her up more. Same with the bacon grease that snapped back onto her arms and fingers out of the pan, leaving little red welts.

She sat at the counter while she waited for the bacon to crisp. The big strip of fancy marble-topped cabinets with all the stools in the front, all the constantly empty stools, so why the hell did they need 7 of them? Hazel occupied exactly one.

As she waited, she barely sipped her coffee, tilting the cup until the hot liquid just scarcely brushed her lips, sucking in mostly air and fumes, and then licking the taste off her lips. Every time she walked into her kitchen, she laughed. There was never a day in her life that she didn’t find it ridiculous. It was ridiculous how much money and effort her dads had sunk into this thing. By god, did it look like the definition of a ‘rich person’s kitchen’. Two stoves and two fridges, right next to each other. The big counter of stools for fancy guests. The richly stained wooden cabinets and generous amounts of carvings and moldings around the edges. It was fancy, yeah, most definitely. Fancy and useless. Why did they bother paying for all of this? It’s not like they ever had guests over to impress. No one saw the kitchen except the grocery delivery guy, who changed every couple months, and who Hazel’s parents didn’t even know. It’s not like they even used it. They barely ever lived here. The only person who got any use out of this damn kitchen was Hazel, a small tiny person in a huge kitchen with way too much stuff and too much space. So that’s why she spread out as much as she could.

She ate her bacon and eggs in the dining room, on their homey-but-fancy stained wood dining table, with the stuffed moose head staring her down from across the room. The dining room was the same as the kitchen. So many guest chairs, so much space, so much decorating, and only Hazel and the moose were here to see it. Her feet in their thin socks tapped idly against the icy wood floor.

After breakfast, she tossed her plates in the big sink. They had a fancy high-end dishwasher of their own, but Hazel didn’t eat off enough plates in one day to justify loading it up. It would be a lot simpler just to wash her own dishes by hand later. Which would be later, yes. Not only did she not feel like doing it now; she would be eating more later. She’d wash her dishes later that night, after her dinner and late-night snacks and everything else was done. It wouldn’t take long.

Which meant that the only thing left in her morning routine was to start the fireplaces up again.

The firewood sat in their little log shed, attached to the end of their deck. Inside, the wood was already cut, split, and stacked from the rare occasions on which Hazel’s dads were home and they could hire someone else to do it for them. There was more than enough for a few months, but Hazel had full permission to buy some from town, or hire someone to come cut more for her. And if worse came to worst, she knew how to use an ax.

It was only a short walk from the back door of the house to the shed, across their high wooden deck, past their pool and hot tub, looking out over the pine-filled tundra forest. But it was cold and it was snowing, so Hazel had to shrug on the pair of fur-lined rubber boots by the door, and pull on a thick downy overcoat. It wasn’t winter-cold out yet. If it was, she’d have had to put a scarf over her face before going out, because even the air she breathed could freeze her lungs. But in this spring weather, she only needed the barest of essentials: boots, coat, mittens.

The snow crunched lightly under her feet, almost drowned out by the heavy clunk of her boots against the wood of the deck. She left perfect imprints of her footsteps in the otherwise smooth carpet of snow. An impeccably sculpted stamp of ridges and falls, tracing one after another, one for every step she took up to the door of the shed. If she turned around, she could look behind her and see her tracks outlined in the snow, the swirling flakes coming down around them, stretching from where she had been to where she was now. That was something that she had always loved about snow. It stuck. If you walked through it, your footsteps would stay there. And if you lay down in it, the shape of your body would be there for days afterwards. An undeniable imprint of your existence, that remained even after you were gone, that you could look back on and know for certain—‘Yes, I was there.’

Her muffled footsteps softly crushed the snow underfoot, barely letting the wooden thunk of the deck under her soles be heard. She passed their closed-off, frozen swimming pool and shivered. Why did they even bother buying a swimming pool in Alaska? Heated or not.

The door to the shed wasn’t locked, but Hazel had to push against it with her shoulder to get the icy hinges to crack open. She and the snow both fell inward at the same time, into the stuffy wood-smelling gloom inside. The air was still cold, but stale, trapped behind the glass windows. The wind at least was cut off. Inside the shed there were lights—bare lightbulbs sticking down from the ceiling—but in the daylight like this, there was no point in turning them on.

Hazel wound her way through to the wood pile. She had to scoot past any number of abandoned tools and lawnmowers, rusted and discarded, kindred spirits waiting endlessly for her dads to come home and choose to work on their house again. The wood was inconveniently in the back. Hazel had to dig out piece after piece and toss it towards the door, so she could take heavy armfuls of it and load it into the wheelbarrow next to the shed, which she would then push towards the house, and then bring all the piles of wood into the house to fill the many fireplaces. The whole process took over an hour, and it was hard. The wood was heavy and Hazel was so small that she could only carry three pieces at a time. The splinters and grains stuck onto her mittens and threatened to pull them off. Occasionally, a sharp strong piece would pierce through the fabric and prick her palms. That was why she didn’t look forward to doing it first thing in the mornings.

But once it was done, it was done for the rest of the day. Then the house could be filled with homey crackling fires, spilling warmth and light and sound into the cabin. And she wouldn’t have to go out and get it in the middle of the night, or fall asleep with only the chill and silence of the air-vent heating. Besides, as inconvenient as it was, she didn’t really mind it all that much. It was something to do, anyway.

Though what came next was always her favorite.

After she had brought all the wood inside and stacked it in the living room, after her boots had tracked in snow all over the kitchen, after the floor was slick with melt, after she’d put the splintering logs in hearths in the living room and her bedroom and whatever other rooms of the house she thought she might use that day. After all that, then she got to light the fires.

However she felt like that day.

If she was bored, then slow and steady. Wadded up paper in the center, matches from the kitchen, light ‘em and toss ‘em, one after another. Blow and blow until it sparked up. Splinter the wood with her pocketknife if it got too resistant. She could draw it out and drag it and savor every second of getting it to go up in flames. Then the little tiny curls of yellow would pop up— almost cute, though she’d never admit it—and circle around the wood, growing and growing into a full fire. She’d feel the heat slowly warm up her face and melt her icy fingers. It would be hard work, and then a satisfying payoff.

Or if she was tired, she could swamp the whole thing in lighter fluid, use the big lighter off the mantle, and watch it explode right in front of her. It’d be easy and quick, an instant payoff, an instant rush of adrenaline snapping her awake, getting her heart beating faster, putting some excitement into her day. It would singe her eyebrows and scorch her vision. Maybe catch fire on the bearskin rug that she was kneeling on, and then she’d have to put that out, which would also be exciting. Anything could happen when you were playing with fire.

Fire was comforting, and warm, and dangerous, and exciting, and familiar. This time around, she lit it slowly, using paper and matches and kindling, savoring every moment of it. She drew it out and made it last as long as it could. It was her favorite activity of the day, lighting these fires. So why not let it go on as long as it possibly could? She used about 12 matches before she could breathe the fire to life, and a whole wad of old newspapers. It took a lot of huffing and puffing too. But eventually, she got it. And she enjoyed every second of getting there.

Once it was lit, she sat back on her heels and watched it. It was the fruits of her labor. She had done all that work, and this was her reward: to sit back, relax, and watch the fire. She let it warm her and the entire living room of the cabin. She let it bring in a wash of comfort and hominess. She closed her eyes and let the soothing crackle and sizzle of the flames. She could feel the glow waxing and waning on her face.

There, kneeling on the rug, she stayed for who knows how long. She didn’t keep track of the time. She simply stared straight ahead into the flames, watching them curl and dance around each other, watching the currents and tornadoes of fire rise and break, watching the glow of the embers pulse and recede like a beating heart—first dark red, then blue, then orange, then back again. She watched and made a note of every color that popped up. The normal reds and oranges and yellows, but the rare blues and greens and purples that only came up in thin strands toward the center. Those beautiful, exotic colors only came up in the hottest of fires. She’d built bonfires big enough to paint a portrait with them, but this was just a hearthfire. A homey, yellow, warm, orange, glowy hearthfire.

It just didn’t feel like home without it.

She really had no idea how long she stared into the fire. It was mesmerizing. She could easily watch it for hours and not get bored until the last ember blew out. It was better than any program on TV. But after a while, she did stand up and move on. She wasn’t sure what compelled her to do it. Nothing she could do around this house would be better than fire. What did she have to do here anyway? Books? Movies? TV? Video games? All boring and lame. Nothing as good as fire. But she left anyway, because some voice in her head said You can’t sit around in your living room all day and do nothing. Some voice in her head said What a waste of time that would be. How pathetic that would make you look.

And so she got up and moved away from her comfort to try and scratch out something else to do, just to give herself the illusion of being busy, the illusion of having hobbies and interests, the illusion of being interesting.

There wasn’t much to do in a log cabin on a snowy Alaskan day. She could go out, she supposed. Take a walk in the piney forest, freeze her fingers and her nose until they were red, leave her footprints across the ground and come back with snowflakes in her hair. Sometimes, when you walked out alone, the snow-covered trees and icy rocks were peaceful and quiet and nice. When it was snowed over like that, the entire forest turned silent. And in the silence, it was easy to pretend that you wanted to be alone. Easy to suppose that you had gone out for some peace and quiet, to get away from it all. Easy to imagine that this experience was better by itself. Easy to think that you were the only one left alive in the entire world, and so it was okay that you were walking by yourself.

She could do that.

She would probably feel better if she did that.

She would definitely feel better if she did that.

It was cold outside. Not quite freezing, but still. The wind had been icy against her cheeks when she was outside earlier, and that was only for a few minutes. Besides, she’d have to get all dressed up in snowclothes again. She’d look like a fat, waddling penguin out there. There were so many layers to put on. She’d just be shivering the whole time. She’d track snow in and then all of her warm clothes would be wet. She’d have to leave the glowing fires behind. She’d have to get out of these blankets and this warm air and her comfy clothes and—

For a brief second, the image glamorized her. She, out in the woods, the snow and ice forming a beautiful picturesque halo behind her. She, a dark spot in the white, noticeable and pretty. She, for a moment, comfortable and contented in the loneliness. For a moment, she allowed herself to see it, and this almost got her to her feet.

But then she remembered again the clothes, the cold, the melted snow on the floor…And she stayed put.

It was only one day, after all, right? How bad could skipping one day be?

Instead, she would just stay warm and comfortable in the house. There would be plenty to do inside, right?

It was just a matter of finding it.

It had to be here somewhere. Hidden behind books or in cabinets. This was a big house, a vacation house. It couldn’t be completely devoid of fun. A little swig of vodka would help her look and clear her head.

For a couple of hours, she read. If she started fresh, she could read for about two hours before she started to really get restless. Any time she picked up a book again after that, though, she’d be hard-pressed to make it 20 minutes. Still, that knocked out two hours of her morning. And she stretched it a little, making a big deal of picking out the perfect book from their big library. She settled on an exciting travel book—Every Death on Mount Everest. Probably her dads had harbored some pipe dream about doing that someday. They certainly hadn’t told her about it.

For two hours, she was in Everest. Hidden in the snow in Nepal, a freezing terrain that was comfortable and familiar for her. She did better than anyone else in the book. She didn’t make the same mistakes. She kept a cooler head on her shoulders. She didn’t panic. She knew the cold, and she knew how to handle it. She knew ice. And in this scenario, she was an experienced climber, so she’d know exactly what to do. And she would do it better than anyone else, and she wouldn’t die. She’d climb the slopes herself, but she’d meet people there. People who were tough like her, cold like her, into climbing like she was (at least in this book). They’d make friends as they went up, helping each other through injuries and crevices. And by the time they got their 20 minutes at the top of the world, they’d be best friends with a bond that no one else could possibly imagine. She’d go through every day climbing over challenges and hardships, come back bruised and battered and cut, and be satisfied with it. With everything. Then when she got back, she’d be known as the first Alaskan girl to climb Everest. (Probably, right? That seemed pretty specific. Probably she would be the first.) And they would write newspaper articles about her. She’d have climbing friends. People to go on similar adventures with. Yeah, that seemed plausible. She’d become a climber, and totally envelop her future in that. It wasn’t too late. She could turn her whole life around and completely devote herself to mountain climbing, about which she knew nothing, and then that would be her future.

And that was pretty nice, for a couple hours anyway.

But it still would’ve been better to do something else.

It was possible to stretch TV out a long time. Episodes of a series really blended together well. Hours could pass in a blur, from one 20-minute section to the next. The only problem was that she had watched everything in the world that was worth watching…So it wasn’t as enthralling or exciting as it used to be. No easy all-day marathons. But after a couple episodes, you could play a movie too. That would feel like a different activity, like a change of pace. You could kill another two hours pretending to be somebody else who was actually alive.

Then she would plug her laptop into the TV and watch someone else play video games for a long time. So that way it would feel different when she booted up her game systems. There were a lot of solo games on her consoles, but she didn’t feel like playing any of those today. Instead, she switched to online multiplayer games—Call of Duty, Player Unknown’s Battle Grounds, Diablo—anything with multiplayer and voicechat. It wasn’t like she was super into shooter games. She wasn’t super into video games in general. But these were the ones she felt like playing right now. Team games were fun. Playing with other people was fun.

She won some, she lost some. Sometimes her teammates were little annoying 12-year-old boys, who bragged endlessly about their in-game stats and tried to show off their cool guns, only to end up getting killed over it. Sometimes her teammates were obnoxious older guys who thought they were better than everyone, who yelled at her for being a girl, and blamed her whenever they lost. Sometimes, they just tried to very obviously show off and hit on her. She didn’t care what annoying or rude things they did in front of her. She kept the voicechat on and she kept playing.

All of that killed a few hours. Well—it felt like a few hours. Actually, it ate up the entire day. But it only felt like three hours. It was funny, how all those people talked about ‘time flies when you’re having fun’, as if boredom would make the hours drag on longer and longer. Maybe that was true if you were only bored because you were waiting to do something else. But if you had nothing. If you were just bored. Time flew by like it was nothing. Hour after hour, waiting for something to change, waiting for something to interest you, and then realizing that your whole day had passed and not once had you had fun. Not once had you even noticed. Not once did it feel like there was any point to having today at all, or that anything you did would be worth it tomorrow.

It went by in a blink, and she didn’t even notice. When she got hungry enough for dinner and shut off the TV, the past 5 hours melted away before her eyes, receding into a background of blurred and fading memories, already starting to feel like they weren’t real and had never happened. Same as yesterday, same as today, same as tomorrow. And nothing changed for all that she did. When she finished, it went back to being the same, and so it felt like she had done absolutely nothing at all.

But anyway, dwelling on that stuff wouldn’t make it any less boring or weird. She was hungry enough to cook now, and it was getting late enough to be an acceptable time for dinner, so…she would go make dinner.

Back to the fancy empty kitchen. Back to the two stoves and two fridges. There really wasn’t much left in the way of cooking. The grocery guy was coming tomorrow, so they were pretty low on ingredients right now. Most things she had either already eaten or already thrown out. But she cobbled herself together a meal of country fried steak and mashed potatoes, which wasn’t so bad. Tomorrow, the grocery guy would come, and then she would have good food again.

And maybe someone to talk to for half an hour.

No, no. She shook the thought away. “Don’t think that. You’re not that desperate.”

Her voice filled the new silence of the cabin. The silence that she had been drowning out all day since this morning, skirting around it with the TV speakers turned up and headphones blasting music and artificial voices into her ears. Now that the screen was off, so was the noise. The house emptied rapidly. It quickly froze over, turning weak and airy and unreal. A stifling, ringing silence that made her eyes glassy, that made her vision shimmer slightly, that made the three-dimensional shapes of the dining room blur into a clear but watery 2D picture.

“I mean, this was a pretty good dinner, for what I had to work with.” She shrugged. Her voice rang through the wooden house and abruptly snapped it back to being real. Put it back into context.

She stood up and went to wash the day’s dishes. “Seriously, I hope he brings everything that I ordered though.” The water ran loud and hot over her hands, which was a nice contrast to the chilling air all around. “It’d suck not to have potato chips for another week.”

It wouldn’t really, not that much. But…

“And it would be really nice if we could have a woodshed that’s actually attached to the house so I didn’t have to go out into the cold every day.”

She didn’t really mind it. She liked the snow. But…

“And I’m seriously sick of those 12-year-old’s in Call of Duty. Doesn’t anyone who’s my age play that game? Those little kids are so annoying. Constantly trying to show off and getting themselves killed. But what’s worse are the creepy older guys. Who’s still playing Call of Duty at 30? Seriously? Get a life. And just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I can’t play games. The fuck kind of stupid logic is that? How do people still think like that in this century? It’s not my fault we lost the mission. It was just bad RNG.” She shook her head and talked herself through the task of washing and drying the dishes. This would not be her last meal of the night, but from now on it would be snacks, and she wouldn’t need dishes for those.

Now it was night-time. Solidly night-time. Like, 8 PM night-time. The sun outside the windows was still shining wanly over the snowscape, but it was night now. Hazel wanted it to be dark. She wanted it to be dark and cozy so the glow of the fire would be nicer, would be more noticeable. There were blackout curtains all over the house, and one by one she pulled them shut until darkness surrounded her.

In the inky blackness, she sat down on the living room couch again. The fire crackled and spit. Orange tongues of flame licked up the walls and on her lap—a throbbing steady glow.

The age-old question. The plaguing, annoying, irritating, itching, constant question. What now?

It was night-time. She could watch a movie.

But she was so sick of watching movies. The idea of putting on another movie made her feel like she was wearing a straight jacket.

She could play more games.

She was way too frustrated for that. Way too frustrated of the same never-changing shooters and the same annoying detached voices and the same losses over and over and over, on something that she never cared about to begin with.

She could read a book.

But she’d read so much today that her tongue was already stuffy with it, and the words blurred on the page before her eyes and filled her mouth with cotton.

It was night-time. The day was ending. Had she really not gotten to do anything fun or interesting all day? And was there not a single other thing to amuse her tonight, at all? She stared into the fire, letting her eyes melt away into the unfathomable twists and curls of the flames.

Well. When in doubt, there was always such a thing as a ‘fun elixir’. That would definitely make the hours fly by. It would at least loosen her up enough so that she could do one of the many boring repeat activities available.

The flask had been in her skirt pocket all day, but it was still cool to the touch when she grabbed it. The cold Alaskan air stuck to the metal, numbing her fingers as she gripped it tightly and passed it to her lips.

The blueberry vodka was tangy, sweet, and strong. It sent fire down her throat, up her nose, and into her belly. That should put a jolt of energy and excitement back into things. But that wasn’t all she was looking for. She gulped down draught after draught, ignoring the choking fumes and the burning in her throat. She wanted to get drunk, really and truly drunk, because that would be fun. Or at least funny.

She drank quick and deep until the flask was empty, then she sat down and stared at the fire and waited.

She didn’t know how long it took, because she wasn’t watching the clock. All she knew was that eventually the fire began to twist and blue in front of her eyes even more than it usually did. And she started to feel wobbly, and giggly, and full of energy. She stumbled over to the lights and turned them on.

“Why’s it so dark in here? Way to be depressing.” She shook her head as the cabin illuminated around her. “That’s better.” At least now she wouldn’t trip and fall on her face if she tried to walk.

She turned on the TV to some Twitch streamer and let it play. She didn’t watch. She didn’t pay attention. The volume was just there to have another voice resonating through the wooden walls. She knew she didn’t want to be lonely, and the drinking gave her the courage to admit it. As for what she was actually going to do, she plugged her phone into the stereo and put her music on shuffle.

Dancing was fun. Especially when you were drunk. Dancing and drunk made a good combo, right? Lots of people thought so. Of course, it was always better with other people, but if you didn’t have other people, then this was the next best thing.

            Being drunk made it easier to shake her ass with no shame. Playing her favorites: Green Day, Weathers, Fall Out Boy, The Killers—and then jerking and jumping and thrashing around the living room in movements that only a drunk person would call ‘dancing’. It was fun. It was an aching kind of fun. Each song took her away—took her to a smoke-filled party in someone’s shoddy trailer, took her to an abandoned lot on a hot summer day, took her to a fire beneath a graffiti’d bridge. For three to five minutes she’d be out somewhere else, doing something else, with other fun people whose unknown faces blurred before her. She didn’t know them yet, but she would, and it would happen. And then the song would end and she would realize with a bleeding, hollow pain that she wasn’t under a bridge or in a vacant lot or at someone’s house. She wasn’t doing anything fun. She was just wishing for it, alone in her own house, doing absolutely nothing.

            Another bottle of vodka was opened. It joined old bottles from days before, their discarded shells clanking and clattering against each other on the table and on the floor. She guzzled as much as she possibly could, breaking between each song to toss the bottle behind her lips. The dancing made her thirsty and so she drank. She wanted the nostalgia of the songs and not the pain, so she drank.

            “How can you be nostalgic for something that you’ve never done?”

            She knocked into the coffee table. She kicked fallen throw pillows across the room.

            “Man, I wish I had a pet. They could at least give me a dog or something.” She laughed, addressing the streamer on TV, snickering when he said something back.

            Eventually she stopped dancing, but she couldn’t remember why, or exactly what had led to her decision to stop. All she knew was that she was standing in front of the TV, cramming chips down her throat as fast as she could. The salt tasted delicious and stung the inside of her mouth. She was watching the streamer, and she just then realized what game he was actually playing, and it just now caught up to her that she had been watching him, and kind of paying attention, and so now that he was losing, that was definitely disappointing, right?

            She found herself sick to her stomach, in the bathroom splashing water into her face. The coldness of it shocked her awake for just a moment. Her throat was sore, but was that from the drinking, or had she thrown up?

            She was shivering. Freezing cold and shivering. Her clothes were soaked. She was in the bathtub, full to the brim with cold water, sloshing over the sides every time she moved. She thought it’s a good thing I woke up before I went outside like this.

            For a brief moment, she was standing on the porch in total darkness, watching the snow blink down with the stars, landing on her wet clothes that were quickly turning stiff with ice. But that must’ve been a dream, because it didn’t get dark at all these days.

            She was crashing through the kitchen, falling all over herself, trying to find where the hell anymore alcohol was. Where had she put it? God knows she was the only one who would’ve hid it somewhere. Her dads didn’t even bother to buy alcohol to keep here anymore.

            Tomorrow was grocery day. Tomorrow was phone call day. Tomorrow her dads were supposed to do their weekly phone call. Tomorrow she had something interesting to do, even if it wasn’t fun. Tomorrow she would itchily wait all day looking forward to the phonecall. Tomorrow the rest of her day would burn blearily through until then, fast and boring. And tomorrow the phone call wouldn’t come. It would be delayed, it would be the next day, it would be the day after that. Because that’s how it usually happened, or at least sometimes happened, and always only on the days when she needed it most. 

            The sink was full and she plunged her whole head into it, drinking deeply. Was it full of water or alcohol? There were too many fumes on the air to know. It had to be water though. She wouldn’t have just wasted that much alcohol, probably.

            That would be the last thing that she would remember. Her next moment of consciousness would be waking up tomorrow morning, to another headache and another overslept day. Her brain would skip over the rest. She wouldn’t remember the rest of what she did that night—not that she couldn’t fill in the holes based on the scant memories she had, and the mess she had left. She wouldn’t remember getting tired and slogging and falling up the stairs to her room, then passing out in her bed, leaving the fires to burn on all night long. The lights were still on, but that wasn’t the end of the world. The fires would sing her to sleep with their crackles and their comforting glow and their warmth.

And tomorrow—tomorrow would be better, definitely. For sure. At least a little. Tomorrow was grocery day. Tomorrow was phone call day. And then after that…All she had to do was get through the rest of the week, like this, and it would be phone call day again. Which wouldn’t be fun, but it wouldn’t kill her. And if she had more alcohol, well, she could make it go by without even realizing. And tomorrow she could light another fire. And maybe one after that, and one after that, and one after that. And all the days she had left until…until…

[cyborg-franky]

Can I have something fluffy with gn reader x Law please? <3

I WENT ABIT MAD ON THIS. Law is like my best boy. I even have Law tats haha. so writing him after so long I was very nervous. I hope you like.

Law x GN reader SFW Fluff/Angst Words: 1,558 Not proof read oops

You had always wanted to go to sea, being a pirate wasn’t exactly what you had been thinking when it came to visions of the wide-open sea, beautiful sunsets and amazing adventures. But adventures you got regardless of the unforeseen career option. Your only real complaint apart from the dangers of the job was the fact that you felt lonely, being a Straw Hat pirate was great, you loved your crew but there was no one you felt a deep connection with, not the type you’d always longed for, someone to hold your hand, share a bed with.

That was until you’d met the surgeon of death, you didn’t think someone as harsh as him would have been your type. The way he always seemed pissed off and irritated at even being around your crew, the fact he just needed your captains help and had formed a hasty alliance that every moment of every day you thought he deeply regretted the choice, that much was always clear on his face.

You were shocked he didn’t have wrinkles with how much his brows were permanently furrowed, even when the man ate at dinner with you all, the way his stern expression never left his face. Whenever you’d glance at him you always thought he would be so much more handsome if he smiled.

Just like everyone that you’d come across during this new life of yours, Law was no exception, scars of a tragic past remained on his soul. You couldn’t blame him for that and at least he wasn’t ever nasty or ill willed towards anyone. He seemed to even get along with some of the crew. The less intense members.

Thinking back to the first night you really made progress with the heart pirate you recalled how it changed the way you thought about him. It had been late into the evening, everyone settling down to their own devices.

You knocked on Chopper’s office door, opening it before you got an answer, often the small medic had issues rushing from his chair and to the door to open it so you always just stepped in. “Chopper can you look at this for me?” you asked closing the door.

“The Doctor went to bed an hour ago.”

You gripped the doorknob, that deep voice certainly didn’t belong to the sweet fluffy reindeer, you took a breath, why didn’t you just wait for a response like a nice normal and polite person? You had never been in a room alone with Law until now. Taking a breath and telling yourself that your hand wasn’t going to get any better by just going to bed.

“Oh, sorry” cradling your sore hand close to your chest your eyes darted around everywhere you could to avoid looking at him.

He was sat at the doctor’s desk, a medical textbook open, a pot of coffee at his side. His normal irritated expression however wasn’t present, his brows relaxed, his whole posture in fact looked lazy, his long legs stretched under the table, he looked comfortable in the chair, like he was on his own ship.

“I can look at it.”

“Huh?”

He turned to face you, cocking his head to the side to give you his full attention, his gaze rested on your chest, or rather the aching hand you clutched there, feeling your own beating heart as he nodded for you to come forward.

“Are you sure?” You looked at the comfy stool next to his desk, inching towards it.

Your hesitation made him laugh, actually laugh, it was such a nice sound you decided, deep but smooth, you’d never heard him make any show of amusement, he hadn’t even cracked a smile in all the time you had known him. But here he was, the very person who had the reputation of being a twisted individual, a current warlord for gods sake, the surgeon of DEATH in fact, smirking at you as you nervously sat down where he’d gestured.

“I am still a doctor you know” another chuckle as he straightened up in his seat.

“I know I don’t look like one, but my father was a doctor, I learned a great deal from him, it’s not just my devil fruit that affords me my gifts” Law explained and crossed his arms over his chest waiting for you to go on.

“Sorry, I know you shouldn’t believer every rumor that floats out at sea, if I believed everything the papers or drunks in bars said I’d think my captain was the devil but I’ve seen that man with chopsticks up his nose, I’ve seen him sleeping like a baby, he’s no devil” You knew your nerves had turned into rambling, feeling your palms sweat at being so close with the other captain but his soft chuckle, under his breath, trying to be discreet. But you’d heard it, such a nice sound you mused feeling a little more at ease around him now.

“So?”

“Well, my hand hurts, ever since I climbed down from the crows nest about three hours ago, I think I got it tangled in the ropes as I slipped a little” You explained. Law nodded his head before he held his tattooed hands out.

You held your hand out for him, he gently took it in both of his, long nimble fingers moved over your digits, feeling different parts, he was surprisingly gentle, his hands warm and welcoming. You couldn’t help but stare as he expertly examined your aching hand. You felt your gaze drift from his hands, up his arms and towards his face. His expression was like nothing you’d ever seen on the warlord. Soft. The way his tired eyes looked over your hand, he seemed happy to help, in his true element.

If not for whatever plagued him in his past, would he have been happy just being a village doctor? He seemed at peace right now. You allowed yourself to smile, your heart beating faster for an entirely different reason then when you’d set foot into the doctor’s office.

His grey eyes met yours when he pressed a certain painful part of your hand and you yelped. He clicked his tongue pressed a little harder, flexing your hand in his grasp. You bit your lip and focused on where your hands met.

“Sprain”

“H-huh?”

“You sprained your hand” He pulled his hands away and you hated how your heart dropped at the loss of contact.

“Oh..”

Law pushed his chair out and stood up, walking around the doctor’s office and looking for things, opening a few draws. You did your best to stifle any laughter from watching the very tall man try navigating his way around storage designed for a very small reindeer. It was comical.

“Avoid using it wherever you can for starters” he explained pulling out a small box and returning to the desk. “Ice will help it; you should have come to me sooner about it but” yeah, he was a doctor alright you mused as he took your hand once more. “Ice for twenty minutes every two to three hours will help with the swelling, I’m going to bandage it up right now, a compression will help support your hand while it heals, I suggest elevating it as much as possible.”

You nodded along while watching him work on your hand, he did so much damage to people, you’d seen some of the things he was capable of, he was terrifyingly powerful. But the way he held your hand still, being firm but gentle was a side you didn’t think someone who’d swapped out people’s body parts and rearranged souls for what seemed like fun could ever be capable of.

“Come to me tomorrow morning and I can re-do it if needs be” you wished he’d hold your hand longer, but he moved to get something else, a little cup which held two pills.

“For the pain”

“Thank you” You watched him pour you a glass of water and handed it you, aiming for your good hand. You gulped the medication he’d given you and drinking the water to chase it down you let out a sigh.

Law simply nodded in response to your gratitude, saying nothing more as he got comfortable in his seat once more, taking a swig of his black coffee, no wounder the man never slept, you stood from your seat and excused yourself with a small ‘goodnight’ closing the door.

Walking along the deck, just the sound of waves lapping against the ship to keep you company. You turned the corner and pressed yourself against the wall, your newly bandaged hand laid over your heart as you stared out to sea, watching the moon shimmer across the dark surface of water. You felt your lip tremble.

The feeling you’d wanted all your life, the tight feeling in your chest, the fluttering of butterflies, all-encompassing feeling and desire to be by someone’s side. You were in love. You were in love with Trafalgar Law of all people, and you knew this wouldn’t end well for you.

You bit your lip, slowly sinking to your knees on the wooden deck of the ship. You could feel tears prick your eyes. This was going to hurt, worse then never knowing what it was like to long for someone.

[holykillercake]

Tap Dancer Fish

word count: 1.5k

summary: Zoro´s haramaki is falling apart and he can´t find another one to buy. You decide to crochet him one before he kills someone. 

highlight: ¨You must be tired... stupid marimo.¨

notes: This was an anon request for a fluff where they have a s/o that made them a thing with crochet and how they would react. This is 1/3 of the request, we´re starting with Zoro <3 

𝕷𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘, 𝖗𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖘, 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊!

¨Any luck?¨ you asked without taking your eyes from the city guide, even with the rowdy sound of the metal chair scratching the brick sidewalk. 

¨No.¨ 

¨Need any help?¨ you tried to hide your smirk by sipping your coffee. 

¨No.¨

¨Well,¨ you closed the map and placed it on the table ¨I still have some errands to run. I´ll take a look around, see if I can find it. ¨ 

¨Thank you.¨

You placed a hand on his chest and gave him a quick peck on the lips before making your way back to your tasks. 

The Strawhats had docked on a Spring Island called Gardenia. It reminded you of Dressrosa, but without the talking toys and mad king. The houses and stores were all painted a shade of green or brown, but what made it extraordinary to the eyes - and nose - was the number of flowers. All kinds of all sizes and colors decorating everything around you. 

However, while you felt like an enchanted character from a fairy tale, your boyfriend felt trapped in a nightmare. For starters, everything smelled like flowers; Sanji would not stop bumping into him, saying that he mistook him for a moss tree, and the flowers made every corner look the same, so he got lost all the time. 

But what was really making him grumpier than usual was his haramaki, the green garment he wore religiously around his belly - well, not religiously. 

He has been procrastinating to get a new one for a long time, and despite you offering to purchase it whenever you ran errands, he would always turn the offer down. The problem was that it was not keeping itself anymore. After all the battles he fought and opponents he defeated, his haramaki was falling into pieces. 

In the beginning, you were able to patch it up with some simple sewing, but now he needed to get a new one. And here´s where problem number two arises, you have entered a chain of summer and spring islands where they don´t usually sell this stuff. As a result, Zoro was mad at everyone - you were an exception, though. 

It pained you to see him bothered like this, despite all of your previous warnings. Everyone has their own thing, Luffy has the straw hat, Chopper always carries his blue backpack, Sanji never stops smoking, and Zoro wears his haramaki. Anyone would be bothered, although anyone would listen to your advice. 

So you came up with a plan. Since you could not find one to buy, you were going to crochet one. That was an interesting fact that no one knew so far, your ability of crocheting. You would do it whenever you were in charge of the night watch, and when you presented someone with a piece of clothing that matched their personality or traits, you would say you found it in town. Reason being that you didn´t want to be swamped with sweaters and beanies to do. You knew the crew would go crazy if they didn´t have to pay for winter clothes anymore. 

¨Yosh, now I just have to make it.¨ you looked at the green ball of yarn in your hands before hiding it at the bottom of your bags. 

~

¨Oi, Luffy! Don´t steal her food!¨

¨But she´s not even eating it, Sanji!¨

¨Y/N, are you ok?¨

¨Y/N?¨

¨Y/N!¨ you almost fell off the chair when you woke up from your zombie state. 

¨What?¨ 

¨You look tired. Are you getting sick?¨ Robin asked, placing a hand on your forehead. ¨I hope you didn´t get some deadly poison from a plant.¨

¨Oi, Robin! Don´t say these scary things!¨ Usopp cried and walked away from you.

¨I couldn´t sleep last night.¨ the girls stared at you with a malicious smirk, and Sanji stormed out on flames ¨Yeah, uhum, I wish! I couldn´t sleep because Zoro kept rolling on the bed, it felt like I was sharing a bed with a tap dancer fish!¨ you shouted grumpily.

The longer he stayed without a decent haramaki, the more jittery he got. So throughout the night, he rolled on the bed, got up to train, went back to bed because he was too frustrated to train, mumbled and grumbled, and made you go through his insanity with him. At some point, you were planning on throwing him off the ship or choke him with that stupid belly warmer. 

After you finished your third cup of coffee, you decided to head to the deck. Your green-haired tap dancer fish was napping on the grass with furrowed brows and arms crossed. Suddenly, the irritation you felt was gone. 

¨You must be tired... stupid marimo.¨ you whispered and made your way to your room. 

He never bothered you before. Even when the other guys made him go crazy, he would always lay down, hold you close to his body, and sleep. On the days you were not so tired, pillow talks would last hours and hours, and he would tell you things he hasn´t told anyone; he would show interest in the stupid things you like and be the Zoro the other guys would never get to know. 

So you fought your will to go to sleep and grabbed the wool and a hook, determined to put an end to both of your miseries as soon as possible. 

With Zoro napping all day, Robin in charge of the ship, and the rest of the guys exploring the Island, you would have all the peace in the world to work. 

And that was exactly what you did. You were definitely going to hear from Chopper for going the entire day without a sip of water or bathroom break. Your fingers were red and hurting, and your shoulders were stiff and sore. But it was worth it. 

It was almost dark when you finished, part of you wanted to wrap it with laces or some sort of crap, but you passed out as soon as you heard the snap of the scissor cutting the yarn. You didn´t even know you had passed out until you woke up the next day, sunlight hitting your eyes. 

You were alone in bed, but not the way you imagined. You expected cramps and spasms to take over your body, but all you got was a slight soreness. You were in your pajamas and tucked like a baby. 

¨What the-¨ you sat and searched over the blanket looking for the crochet garment, but found no sign of it ¨Did I dream about that?¨

You threw yourself off the bed and marched - more like crawled - to the kitchen, craving for coffee. 

¨Morning, Y/N!¨ everyone was already up, although Luffy was sleep eating again. 

¨Morning, guys.¨ your voice came out sleepy. You grabbed a cup of coffee and sat beside Zoro ¨Good morning, you.¨ You smiled.

¨Morning, sleepyhead.¨ He kissed your temple.  

¨I´m so happy you found it, Y/N. I don´t think we would be able to handle his mood anymore.¨ Nami said relieved, and Zoro yelled something when everyone agreed. You gave her a confused look, and she pointed at your boyfriend.

Your eyes scanned him, oblivious for a moment, but when you noticed him wearing the haramaki you made, a big smile grew on your face. That also explains why you slept comfortably in your pajamas, he must have gone to check on you and saw your pitiful state alongside his present.

¨Yeah, I was lucky, I guess.¨ He held your hand tighter under the table.

After breakfast, the two of you decided to stay on deck, enjoying the gentle sun and the fresh breeze before it was time to set sail again. You were sitting between his legs, against his chest, and his hands rested on your lap while you played with each other´s fingers. 

¨Thank you... for making it for me.¨ You forgot about sore muscles. You forgot about raw fingers. Listen to him sounding so relaxed and peaceful made you forget about everything. 

¨Thanks for not telling the guys I made it. Besides that, how are you going to protect my ass if you can´t focus without this stupid belly wrap?¨ he let out a lazy laugh, and you felt his body vibrating against yours. 

¨Well, thank you again. I really liked it, and I won´t ruin it.¨

¨I know.¨ you whispered, closing your eyes and seizing the moment. 

You knew he would eventually destroy it, but that was fine. You didn´t have the emotional connection to it like he had. What mattered to you was his well-being. You were not strong enough to protect him - not that he needed - so keeping him warm and loved was your internal mission. Because that´s how he made you feel. 

[vidalinav]

Nessian Week Day 2: Gifts (Part 2)

Summary: Cassian likes Nesta’s night gowns... and buying her things. Swear this is not a sugarbaby AU. It just sounds like it. 

You can thank @arinbelle and @simpingfornestaarcheron for this. They threatened me with knives. 

~

Nesta’s on the armchair when he gives her his gift. She’s already reading a book, and he can tell she’s surprised to see another one resting on his palm. 

“What’s this?” She asks, “It’s not my birthday.” 

Cassian only smirks, looking to wear she traces the cover, and where she traces his hands holding the book as if his skin is more precious than paper. “Does it need to be your birthday for me to give you gifts?” 

Nesta raises a too heavy shoulder for him gifting her a book. But he’s long since heard this argument she gives. He knows her all too well. 

“I haven’t gotten you anything,” she says as if the words might make it take him back. There’s disdain in her voice and Cassian knows it’s for herself. For the lack of love she thinks he’ll find by her actions. 

Cassian thinks no such thing. Nesta loves with her whole heart, so achingly overflowing. She rubs at his wrist without so much as a thought, as if it might soothe some pain in him. But the pain is in her, and so Cassian rushes to absolve her of her misguided guilt. “I don’t give you things, expecting anything in return. I get you thinks because I want to.” 

"But you’ve gotten me so many things lately.” 

Nesta’s right about that. Cassian is endlessly giving her gifts. He can’t stop, it seems. He goes into the city and they pass by a window, and something about that bag reminds him of Nesta. Something about that bike seems like Nesta. Something about that candle smells like Nesta. He passes restaurants and bakeries, and all around he sees food Nesta might try. He goes walks through the city, and he thinks of all the places Nesta would like. 

She never leaves his mind and when he’s spent the day with his friends, meetings turning into dinner, Cassian thinks of Nesta then, too. He stops by the bookstore, because what else screams Nesta Archeron, but a smutty book? He peruses the titles and finds the raunchiest he can find. Cover and all. 

That’s what he gives her to absolve himself of his guilt. For being away for so long, for not asking if she wants to come with, or go somewhere else. That’s what she holds in her lap. Something to ease them both. 

She sets the other book on the side table, and Cassian recognizes the title. One of her favorites she keeps re-reading. Nesta takes the book, flipping to the inside cover. Even the description is tantalizing. Cassian flips to some random page in the store and it has him wanting to read the words to her, or... have her read the words to him. He can only imagine what they can do with all that description. 

“You brought me a romance?” Nesta only looks up at him, blinking those long lashes and furrowing her neat brows. “How did you know which one to choose?” 

She purses her lips and Cassian focuses on the color. A dark shade of pink from where she bites. Nesta always bites them when she reads. A bad habit of hers.

But it’s the color that Cassian holds on to. How nicely it contrasts with her skin, the sweet freckles dotted across her shoulders from when she trains. Her shoulders are bare, except for two tiny straps. Such flimsy things to pull and tug. Still he wants to kiss at them like he does every night. Such an engrained, important routine.  

“You think I don’t know your tastes?” Cassian snorts. “I picked the one with the male that looked most like me. See.” He points to the cover, where there’s indeed a muscled male, with long dark hair. Cassian’s hair is shorter and his ears aren’t pointy and his muscles are much more defined, but it’ll do for Nesta’s fantasies. 

Nesta scrunches her nose and Cassian wants to kiss their too. Everything about her is tooth-rotting sweet. 

“You’re full of yourself,” she says. 

“And you haven’t said thank you,” he taunts. He uses the voice he knows annoys her. Casually chastising. A voice he knows also makes her blush. Maybe that makes her irritated, too, how much he affects her without trying. Cassian uses that tone well, and he uses it often. 

Cassian raises a brow, waiting for her response, but his mate waves a hand, half-dismissive, half-haughty. All manners of insecurity tucked away. This is the Nesta he knows so well. He knows the other parts of her, too. But this is the one he fans the flames to, the one who makes him light up with mischief. “I didn’t ask for the gift.” 

Cassian almost tuts, shaking his head. “But you like it. Page 103 has something in there we should try.” He tucks a stray piece of hair that falls forward, and he makes sure to brush his hands across her neck. “He takes his whole fist and he--” 

“Stop!” Nesta calls. “Fine, I like the gift. Please don’t give me anymore details.” 

Cassian smiles, a wide victorious grin. “And that means?”

Nesta scoffs, “thank you, Cassian.” 

“A please and a thank you, what will the world do?” He kisses her head, suddenly serious. He can smell lavender and peppermint tea and just her scent alone makes him want to hold her close. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. 

Cassian moves to sit on the side of the armchair. His plan is for Nesta to move, to make room for him as she so often does. Another part of their routine. The chair is big enough for them both. Perhaps they can read the book to each other, exchange word for every smoldering word. 

Nesta doesn’t budge from the seat. She begins to read and Cassian coughs, shuffling on the tiny arm space. He nudges against her shoulder, but Nesta simply continues. She doesn’t even smile up at his antics, give him a glare because he irritates her. She reads and she ignores him. 

“You haven’t gotten me anything,” Cassian complains.  

Nesta huffs, “you just said you didn’t give me things to receive anything back.” 

She barely lifts her eyes off the page as she tells him that and something about the way she looks at the book annoys him, has him wanting to reach for it and take it back, throw it out the window if he has to. 

“I can think of more than a few ways to thank me,” he goads. 

Nesta rolls her eyes, “All you think about is sex.” 

Cassian doesn’t disagree. Especially not when she begins biting at her lip as she reads. “Yes, but that’s all you think about, too.” 

He gestures to the book in her lap as proof and Nesta squints at him as if he needs to come up with better evidence.

“No,” she argues, “I’m currently thinking about how long it will take me to read this... I might be up all night.” She flips to another page. “You just got me something new to read and you were just going on about manners, I’d think it rude to not first enjoy my gift.”

“And what of my gift?” He sings.  

Nesta raises a brow, and it’s that expression that has him burning at the seams. Her hair is down and he wants to comb his fingers through it, pull at it, feel how soft it is... and she’s wearing one of those nightgowns again. 

She always wearing one, even if Nesta will hardly keep it on throughout the night. Cassian never knows what to do with his hands while she’s wearing it and he thinks that Nesta must know. She wears it to entice him. To make him want her more like that’s even possible. 

It’s possible, Cassian finds. 

Her nightgown today is the richest green and her skin glows pale in the moonlight. He aches to trace the sweet swell of her breasts with his tongue. They look so inviting in that silk dress of hers and there’s a bow right at the center. His present to unwrap. 

“I’m very satisfied with you being my present.” He says, his voice so low he can hardly recognize himself. With his thumb, he traces the little ribbon. “Look, you even have the bow.” 

Cassian watches as the blush rises at her chest and he wants to kiss there. He aches to do so, but first he moves to tug the ribbon with his teeth. And when Nesta straightens, her book lowering even further, he nips at her nipples that peak through the fabric. Just how she likes. A little bite and a tug, a little pain to entice her. To make her breath catch in her throat. 

He takes his time with them. Nesta’s breasts are gods given. They deserve his attention. Large enough to fit in his palms. 

But Nesta’s impatient as she always is. 

Cassian leans forward, until he’s practically towering over his mate. She’s so small on that couch and she looks lonely there, all tucked in dark blue. The book lays open where the fabric billows between her legs, but Nesta pays no mind. 

“Now will you let me unwrap my gift?” Cassian grasps her neck, and Nesta gasps but he merely rubs his thumb at her pulse. He can hear it hammering away as Nesta blinks, her eyes so wide and her cheeks so pink and he’s just at the edge of her mouth. 

He thinks he’ll kiss her there, but first... 

Cassian snatches the book from her lap. He holds it above his head as she leaps from the chair. Irate and just a tad too slow.

“Hey!” She scowls, “You overgrown bat! You just got me that book and now you’re bending the pages!” 

“It seems you get distracted easily, sweetheart. We should work on that,” He says. 

But Nesta’s been working on many things and so she lunges for him, wrapping her legs around his waist as she reaches for her book. Cassian merely holds it higher. 

“I mean why read smut when you can experience the real thing?” He offers. Nesta reaches even further, pulling at his shoulders. Cassian moves the book to the other hand, just out of her reach. “I’m always willing.” 

“You’re a horrible person and I hate you.” 

Cassian gasps at that, holding his other hand to his chest. 

“I don’t even want your gifts,” she adds, her eyes burning with fury. 

“Now you’re just asking to be spanked,” Cassian says, shaking his head, “Is that what you want, Nes? I think that was on page 50. It’s a shame you never got to it.”

“You just like to hear yourself talk!” But Nesta looks at him as she blushes, and when he smirks, she wacks him in the chest. “Give me back my book!” 

Cassian merely wraps his arms around her, keeping her steady in his arms. The book is tucked behind her back and Nesta twists to no avail. “How about you read it to me?” 

She hits at his chest again and Cassian laughs. “Fine, I can read it to you, but you should know I’m going to make voices for the characters.” 

“I hate you,” she seethes. 

Cassian only smiles and kisses at her nose. “I love you, too, Nes.” 

~

@arinbelle @my-fan-side @sophilightwood @nestaarcher0n @duskandstarlight @soitsgorgeous @swankii-art-teacher @lordof-bloodshed @thewhelk @daisy-in-danger @highqueenevankhell @lovelynesta @sirendeepity @champanheandluxxury @ladynestaarcheron @moodymelanist @teagoddess99 @spoilersteph @angelic-voice-1997 @bo0kmaster69 @drielecarla @generalnesta @cozycomfyliving08

~

Two fics in one day? So unlike me. 

[hysteriium]

𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑩𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑩𝒍𝒖𝒆;

(𝐆𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞)

(𝐀/𝐧 ): This is the first I’ve posted in ages!!! I can’t recall how long it’s been, life has truly been hectic but I’m getting back on the saddle!!! We’re starting with my boi! I hope you enjoy it as much as I had fun writing this! I’ve been experimenting with the way he talks so it’s not as overt as I’ve previously written! I feel like the intonations may break the flow a bit so I’ve tried to make it more cohesive! Lmk what you guys think! Also shout out to my amazing partner @lilliryth​ they’re the light of my life and helped me edit this!! They’re such an amazing person and I would not be where I am today without them. 

( 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ): Wedding. That is all. It’s not what you think. 

( 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ): DK! Joker x Reader. 

( 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ): 7,600+ k words!

( 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ): Angst (very little), swearing, violence. 

The first time you’d asked, he simply stared in disbelief. 

“Come again?” The bright red hues of confusion painted his husky voice. 

The question had been wreaking havoc in your thoughts for the past month, unsure of how to slip out from ambiguity onto the sureness of the tongue. Such a bold yet silly little request was sure to be large and repugnant to the man hovering above you. While the darkness of his eyes was accentuated by his stygian greasepaint, hints of cocoa peeked through, prompting shy flutters of anxiety in your abdomen.  

You can do this.

Your tongue slid across the arid cracks of your lips, wetting them. You cleared your throat, “I need a date to a wed–” 

That was all you could get out before he blinked a few times and strode off.

The second time, albeit similar in difficulty, thankfully didn’t result in him running. 

You tiptoed into his makeshift office with an air of mischief, his room sombre except for the lamp that spotlighted his desk. Hunched over blueprints which you suspected were his next big scheme, his eyes never drifted from the intricacies on the paper. 

“Boo!” You shouted, catching his hips with an unbreakable hold when you closed the distance. While his body tensed, he couldn’t control the breath of amusement that left his nose.

“I can see you really tried there.” 

You knew he followed your stare when his long fingers worked to roll the sheet. They were fast – so fast the pinched ends stuck out in layered rings that almost resembled winding mountainous trails. He couldn’t have curious eyes ogling his extra top secret will-have-to-kill-you-if-you-found-out criminal plans, now could he? 

“What?” you started, while your hands fell and your footsteps whispered away from him. You felt the creases of your mouth wobble, ready to smile at any moment, and so you bit the inside of your tongue. “Don’t you trust me?” 

“No,” he smirked, petting your head. 

Curse his height. 

“Now, uh, what is it, doll?” 

You let your smile leap free, “I need to ask a super dooper big fav–”

“I’m not going.” 

“But whyyyyyy? My parents are harassing me! They think their daughter’s going to grow old and grey and be alone forever.”

“Gee, I can’t imagine why.” 

You shot him a look, one that only fuelled his amusement.

“J, I can’t just not show up.” 

You watched his figure rise slightly as he drew and released a breath. 

“I don’t like wed–” his tongue stuck out like he’d tasted something bad before he cleared his throat “–dings, they’re full of false hope, drunks and...” he shuddered, “romance. You see, they’ll end up killing each other in a few years. I can picture it now: dearly beloved wife kills cheating husband. Oh how could this have ever happened?” 

He scoffed.

“You’re so dramatic. I promise it would only be for a few hours.”

“And pumpkin, how exactly are you gonna sneak me into a… place like that when I look like this,” he said, hands motioning to his face – mostly his scars. 

It broke your heart. You could've sworn you heard it splinter, the downturn of your brows impossible to hold back. If only words were enough to convey complex feelings, to convey the pile of bricks nestled in your chest, to convey the desperate crave to comfort and rebut, the need to protect – even from himself. You had yet to find a way, and so you were stuck behind the thick lock and chain of language with no key in sight; restricted and bound to tools you never thought were enough, but could only hope were enough.   

“Hey,” you whispered, reaching up to cup his face. In his eyes you saw the emotions flicker, almost as tangible as they were transparent – anger, fear, shock. Stood still and stiff, you nodded softly, giving him a smile of equal warmth. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”  

He squinted before hesitantly giving in, shifting so his cheek rested against your palm. He had to lower himself a little more to do so. 

“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with how you look. They’re beautiful, and I’ll keep saying so until there’s no breath left in my lungs.”

You held him ever so gently while he flitted his eyes shut. Your heart galloped then, its swell too big for your body and for a moment, brief as the breeze, the chaos he prided himself in was absent; for a moment there was peace.

“If you weren’t The Joker, I’d say go as is. Though, I have a plan!” 

“Oh, do you now?” He said, shaking his head and returning to work. It was clear he was rapidly reaching his patience threshold.

Damn it.

“They have food!” You trailed off unsurely, as if it was a question – pinning your last hope on appealing to his raccoon inclinations.

It didn’t work.

The third, well… 

You had just about given up and accepted the fact that it wasn’t his scene, that him meeting your parents would never be an option – a reality you had started to think of as a good thing the more you thought about it. 

And so, the third day had been your acceptance. Self-care. Instead of chasing after an ideal, your hands were clutching a book, almost too hard, as the part you had been anticipating since very early had reached its finale. With your legs curled underneath you and practically asleep, your eyes flicked furiously from word to word– 

That is until a looming figure shadowed the page completely, concealing all light from the lamp next to you. 

Annoyance creased your features as you looked up at the clownish culprit. Your eyes met and a staring contest ensued, the intensity of his eyes beckoning a response until he, uncharacteristically, broke first. 

“Will this make you, uh, happy?” 

All traces of irritation were washed away by bewilderment, “sorry?” 

“My being with you.” 

“You mean to the wedding?” You asked, wide-eyed. If you hadn’t been as shocked as you were, you would have snorted at his continuous inability to say the word ‘wedding’. 

He shifted on his feet, eyes darting away for a second before he licked his lips. “Yeah.” 

“Is this a joke?”

“I’m not that cruel.”

You paused to hum obnoxiously, your finger tapping your chin to challenge the notion.

“Never mind,” he waved his hand in the air and was about to walk off before you grabbed his hand and sprung off your seat. You felt him try to wiggle out of your grasp with a grunt, but it was too late. “Thank you!” You shouted. 

You missed the way his surprise melted into a genuine curl of his lips, twitching; the muscles unused. Instead, you were too busy stuffed in his vest, with your arms swathed around him. You both stayed there for a while basking in the warmth of each other, as his hands, which you guessed were hanging awkwardly in the air and unsure of what to do, encircled your waist.

Third time’s the charm. 

Shaking fingers twirled sapphire silk, gliding over your cinched waist before finally moving up to the delicate exposed flesh of your neck. You glanced over the spaghetti straps that curved comfortably over your shoulder, and the simple silver circle necklace that laid between them, its chilled presence clashing with the heat of your skin.  

Knock knock knock!

“Just a minute!” You said, jumping at the sudden rude intrusion. 

“Not even funeral parlors take this long,” you heard J say from the other side, the distinctive departure of footsteps following promptly. They seemed faster than usual.

You puffed air at his complaint after calming your racing heart. Then you scrambled to finish up the final touches of makeup, at last winding the nude colored ribbons of your heels around your calves. Your head felt light, and your shoes only worsened the sudden gelatinous state your legs took on. Never before had you dressed up in such a way, not for years and much less in front of someone you dearly cherished. The line between fashionable and laughable was blurred and never truly had been exercised. Waving away the fuel your anxious thoughts provided, you decided to try and move. Your heels wobbled trying to avoid the flowing material pooled by your ankles, and you’d just managed to slip one foot out through the thigh-high slit. No matter how much you sighed, the pressure remained, weighing like an anvil. And so, with nothing much to lose, you made your way to the door; the dampness of your fingers leaving its foggy signature upon the knob.

This was it.

You breathed in one last time before opening the door.

“Okay, I’m re–” 

You exhaled sharply, feeling the earlier intake of air leave you – taking with it the remaining wind in your lungs. You couldn’t control the twinkle of your eyes, nor the flip of your stomach as you gazed upon him.

His form was angled against the wall and his arms were crossed – that was, until he dragged his eyes over to you. His limbs then dropped to their sides and he quickly, almost stumbling over his shoes, righted his position. The bob of his Adam's apple was clear while both of you stood meters from each other with widened eyes. You knew he had the ability to pull off a suit, but the royal blue he donned was stunning. The stark colour complemented his blond locks, while his foulard tie with its blends of pinks, purples, and its navy base matched his socks. 

It seemed you were both in the same boat, consumed by swells of giddiness and the need to fidget. The fingers that were dressed in dark brown leather gloves drummed against his thigh, while one of his cedar suede shoes tapped furiously against the floor.

“What.” He finally stated, rather than questioning. 

You dropped the necklace your fingers had started circling. 

“Nothing! You just look… really nice,” you uttered earnestly, unable to contain the sweet smile that broke through awe. 

“Yeah, yeah. Uh… you too,” he said, the last part coming out less steady. 

He avoided eye contact when you trotted over to him, fiddling with his cufflinks, though his tending to them immediately vanished when you began to accentuate the swish of your hips. 

All fidgeting stopped.

You were sure he was expecting something else, rather than the delicate cupping of his cheek once you reached him, soft lips meeting with roughened skin as you kissed his scars. You took your time with each one, whispering affection, before claiming his mouth. He growled against you, and you could feel him tighten his hold. 

The tip of his tongue traced the stain of lipstick, a wordless demand for entry which left you weak. Almost parting your lips to allow the gentle slide of his tongue, he suddenly reared back with a smirk. 

“Peach,” he cooed. 

You were going to have to reapply later. 

With a small smile you extended your arm to the couch, and knowing time was beginning to pass, he complied. As he advanced, you peeked at the orange lining in his blazer. The hue was similar to his purple coat, though slightly lighter. You smiled to yourself, the small detail so characteristically him. 

“Alright. Let’s get this over with,” he sighed, bracing himself. 

Already a step ahead, you had brought out the makeup needed just prior to getting dressed. Sitting on one of the nearby surfaces, you picked up a small translucent bag with little red hearts on it – a fact he’d snickered to himself at when he first saw it – and walked over to him. 

“As you wish, grumpy,” you simpered, “now hold still!” 

True to his new title, you heard him mutter something unintelligible under his breath. The tap-tap-tap of his foot against the floor was most of the noise for a good while, and although distracting, the fidgeting of his hands was less noisy. You knew more than anyone he needed to squirm around, some movement at the very least, and so you endured. You deduced that he’d not been this close to someone in so very long, let alone allow them to do his makeup. That task, intimate and personal within itself, was not something others could be trusted with. 

“Time to hide these little guys,” you murmured, focused as the beauty blender sat between your fingers and dabbed on concealer. “Not that they need hiding. I’ll miss them.”

“Really?” He chimed in, eyes shut while you did your work. 

“Yeah, they’re a part of you and I’d never want you to hide or be ashamed of who you are.” 

“Hmm,” he trailed off. 

Occasionally his mouth quirked, his tongue darting out to lick his scars; an involuntary movement. You were patient, and even if he wasn’t overt about his guilt of messing up your progress, you reassured him lightly with a kiss on the head, sometimes playing with the dirty blond waves that lacked any sign of green. 

The day before he’d washed out the colour in preparation for the big day, groaning until he caught sight of himself in the mirror; contemplative. Ethereal and almost delicate he seemed. How precious it was to witness such cracks in the fortress, where the basking rays of sun illuminated what once was – and still is, only shrouded by shrubbery and thorns, so overgrown and disordered that they had forgotten to take care of even themselves. Forgotten how.  

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he groaned as you finished blending the concealer on both cheeks. Grabbing the foundation you had colour matched, you dabbed a bit on your hand before applying that too.

“Honestly, me neither,” you replied, feeling no need to sugarcoat the shock from your tone. You knew he appreciated the truth. “But I’m glad you are! You’re doing so well!” 

He squirmed a little at the compliment but settled seconds later. Soon after finishing the blending, you reared back and observed your labour. Although it wasn’t perfect, and if you looked hard enough you could still see the intricate crevices in his skin, it passed. 

“All done!” 

As soon as you spoke, J pushed off his palms. He was halfway off the chair when you stopped him.

“Wait! I have to walk you through something.” 

At this, his eyebrows quirked up. You knew you had his attention. 

“Conditions!” You announced.

“Ah. Now there are conditions.” 

“Yes! I don’t want you to throw a tantrum and blow up the whole reception.” 

“My my, aren’t you a little fire stopper.” 

“Promise me.”

He flicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. With one hand on his chest and the other raised just next to his head, he bowed a little. “I swear.”

You wrinkled your nose, “I swear there will be no funny business, and I’ll be on my best behaviour – oh and no crossing your toes either!”

“You know me so well,” he sighed, admitting defeat, “Fine. I swear there’ll be no funny business and I’ll be on…” he cleared his throat and brought a closed fist to his mouth, “my best behaviour.” Then he shone his impishly wide grin, one that only intensified the pit of doubt in your stomach. 

It would have to do, though.  

“Okay,” you whispered. 

He stood up now, towering over you. 

“Okay,” he mimicked, dropping his hands at the base of your hips. 

The last few days had been full of surprises, his agreement to attend trumping all. However, his overt display of affection was a close second. Never before had he been so forthcoming and so comfortable with physical contact. 

As his hands laid there, unmoving and making their home in your curves, you inched closer to him; a specific craving only his warmth could ease. Though, those very same hands around you tightened when you tried to step forward, holding you in place. Curiously, you looked up at him, brows furrowed. 

“What are you–” 

It seemed he couldn’t help himself. The evil laughter he’d been trying to restrain bubbled from his throat and bounced off the walls. The eagerness to ask what he was doing quickly died – hard – when you could no longer feel the ground beneath your feet. It instead morphed into protests and occasional bouts of laughter as your arms dangled along his back, your pelvis against his shoulder. One gloved hand rested crudely just below the curve of your ass, occasionally squeezing your upper thigh and holding you in place, while his other arm hung unobstructed. 

“We–” he clicked his tongue, “–wouldn’t want to be late now, would we?” He finished, purring. 

The location was a couple hours outside of Gotham on the coastline in an area you’d practically never heard of. If it wasn’t for J’s gift for navigation, and his frustration when you kept leading him down wrong turns, you would have been hours late instead of just missing the ceremony. The last straw had been assuring him the early exit was your turn off despite his gut instinct, despite the countless times he asked ‘are you sure?’ and despite his sneaking glances – something he stopped doing when he almost crashed into the car next to you, too focused on craning his neck. All of this combined had resulted in the brutal demise of your map reading days. 

Stopping where he could after taking the wrong exit he held out a gloved hand, a wordless demand for the navigator. Before long, you were back on the freeway, thankfully heading the right way. The directory rested in his lap as he balanced the seemingly breezy tasks of reading and driving. 

Clearly safety was his middle name.

Once the two of you arrived at the venue, the first thing you both noticed was the heat. Warm and uncomfortable, the seabreeze made this bearable. The next notable feature was the rambunctious clamour of the crowd; music, laughter and shouting. 

After worming your way out of the van, comically wedged between two much smaller cars, you headed towards the reception, stopping short from the asphalt-sand border. J stared at it as if it had foiled his genius villainous plots, as if it was the cause of all his misfortunes, as if it was responsible for the brutal murder of his first pet. Then, he made a face – a mixture between a scowl and disgust. 

He sniffed, “it smells like...” he paused to grimace, “high society.” 

The ghastly look was then directed ahead to each moving – breathing – organism he could see. There was no doubt in your mind the crowd had already made it on his hit list.

“For once I miss the stink of Gotham.” 

“Well at least it’s at the beach!” You exclaimed, not recalling the last time you’d been. Trying to think that far back made your brain hurt, the tingle of overworked cogs and Brain Fog a lethal combination that coerced your forfeit in seconds. At the very least you were happy to be making new memories, hopefully some you’d be able to remember in the future; memories you prayed were not, later too, guarded by the merciless Brain Fog and his ravenous desire to generate headaches.  

“I hate the beach,” J delivered flatly, hatred distilled rolling off his person in waves.  

“Oh, you hate everything!” You pouted, brushing off his pessimism. 

“It’s hard not to.” 

“Well…” You stopped to think, wracking your brain to prove him wrong, “what about me?”

That had to get him. 

“You especially,” he grinned, eyes twinkling with a mischief that spoke nothing other than ‘you walked right into that one, sweetheart.’ 

You were unable to help the sigh that sailed past your hued lips, “well, come on sunshine. You can’t stare daggers at them all day.”

“I can try,” he spat sourly. 

You rolled your eyes and dragged him along but immediately dropped the act when you quickly realised it hauled unwanted eyes, like metal to magnets. Yet, J followed even though you were certain he saw the cursed asphalt-sand barrier as the very gates of hell themselves. In fact, he seemed a little bit too eager to start his anathematised exploration of the 9 circles as when you looked back, expecting to see his long limbs hanging in defeated protest, you were met with, well, nothing.

One moment he was there, the next he was gone seemingly stalking off into the unknown, hiding among the sea of people. It wasn’t like he was easy to lose either, his height and his aura of absolute discomfort is what set him apart from the rest. He protruded like a broken bone – so why couldn’t you find him?

“Damn it, J!” You harshly whispered to yourself, unknowingly stamping your foot until the insidious specks of sand tumbled their way into your shoe, under your feet and between your toes. Easily conquering your layer of protection, their coarse presence made you want to grind your teeth. 

Maybe this was a mistake.

Before you could go off and search for the lost irritating puppy, you heard shouts. At first they seemed like ordinary yells, distinctive deviations from the crowd which happened to catch your attention at the right moment. Though, the more time passed and you wandered around like a newborn giraffe looking for its mother, you realised this was not the case. Most telling was the way those vague cries morphed into the familiar syllables of your name. And then finally in view, the supposed sweet comfort of childhood embodied neared; their worn features staring into your own, different from all those years ago. 

You fought the urge to run. 

“Hey honey!” Your dad beamed.

Two pairs of smothering arms made their way toward you, enveloping. With your fingers clutching separate materials, each as scratchy and glacial as each other, your head started to spin and you felt yourself holding your breath. 

“Hey mum, hey dad, it’s nice to see you two again,” you said, feeling the slow ache from clenching your jaw starting to set in. You quickly swapped this expression for a small smile when they released you.

“How’ve you been?” Your dad inquired, the shimmer in his eyes a sight you couldn’t help but double take at. You noticed there was no glass in his hand. 

“Don’t bombard her dear,” your mum rolled her eyes, “where’s this date you were telling me about?” 

She lingered on the word with an emotion you couldn’t quite discern while her adjudicating eyes swept over your outfit. Her eyebrows then lifted, scrunching her nose with it. “Not bad.”

Her scanning forced you to shrink into yourself, the automatic motion of your palms relentless in their pursuit of wrinkles, a fact you did not pick up on until your mother cleared her throat at your unprompted staring contest.  

“My question dear, it’s rude to ignore your mother,” her thin brows creased and the folds just above them rested along her forehead in a similar fashion.  

You scrambled for an acceptable answer, the question just as ambiguous to yourself.

“He’s… um… getting us drinks! I was actually just about to go check up on–” 

“Well if a man can’t even fetch you a drink he’s hardly useful,” she scoffed, turning to her husband to whisper, “can’t imagine what this prince charming looks like.” 

Anger, lava-like and boiling, rose up in your throat. The pressure seemed unbearable as you tried to keep your mouth closed – tried not to defend the one you loved with your entire being. How dare she judge someone she had yet to even meet? She had yet to see the beauty that radiated in and out. 

It had only been minutes and you’d already been zapped of your energy for the day.

“I think I should go check on him now.” “Yes, of course. Come back to me when you have something to show,” your mother smiled. You watched her lips stretch, her wine lipstick as pigmented as the red coating your vision. 

Her hand clutched the necklace around her chest. Her fingers traced the glistening diamond which hung overtly, screaming it’s pricelessness to all passersby as she went to go have another sip of her champagne. At the corner of your eye you noticed movement, a pair of worn hands clutching suit pants. Hard. You turned automatically and when you met his eyes your dad shot you a strained smile. It almost looked like an apology. 

Your stomach turned. 

You tried your best to conceal the stomping as you promptly departed, promising yourself to at least wait until you were out of their view and blending in with the crowd. Once you merged with the patches, you quickly discovered that navigating your way out of it was going to be just as hard as trying to find J. Left and right amalgamated, looking the same no matter how many times you tried to compare differences and so did everyone’s outfits. You could have sworn you’d seen the same red dress three times, though you also could have sworn you went all different directions to the last; the truth was you were no more knowing than a sailor stranded at sea lacking a compass, the same indistinguishable shapelessness stretching out for miles and miles with no end in sight.  

Then, a miracle – a clearing of people which shrieked hope and a long portable table with flowing white lace harbouring all kinds of food. Amongst the good news, a blotch of royal blue caught your eye and a flash of blond. Focusing your view on the table and its few inhabitants, one of which was the blue wearing stranger, you quickly realised your missing date was fixed and firm in place at the snack area. No sooner than this revelation processed you dashed over, the anger returning once the relief had run its fleeting course. As you stormed your way over to him he failed to look up, too preoccupied with the food he was collecting. Lacking in subtlety, you grabbed his arm. 

“Jesus there you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

J, who had been waiting to stuff his face with what you identified as another cupcake, mouth ringed with strawberry frosting, crumbs and sprinkles, dropped it in surprise and turned to you with widened eyes. They shrunk as soon as they showed an inkling of surprise and instead shifted to speckled guilt. 

“Cupcake,” he managed to mumble with a full mouth.

Your fiery frustration was immediately put out by how cute he was, and you felt a surge of guilt yourself. It wasn’t fair to be taking out your personal frustrations on him. 

After closing your eyes and taking a breath, you reset. 

“They think I’m lying about you.”

He swallowed.

“You wanna leave? I, uh, know I want to,” he said much louder than the whisper you wish he’d used.

Such a comment warranted an elbow jab into his waist as you smiled ear to ear and sickly sweet at the passing guest who had clearly heard J. The middle aged woman with short brunette hair, white pom-pom earrings and beady eyes shot you two a blazing look before rutting her nose into the air. The reek of pretension wafted off her. Now you could see what J was saying earlier. 

Pee-yew. 

Everyone here sucked. 

“I’m gonna kill her later,” he murmured, squinting after her. 

“J, you promised to be good!”

Even if she was a grandiloquent old bitch who deserved it.

His ominous response was to pour himself some punch, the clown-in-disguise bringing the plastic up to his lips. As the cup masked most of his face, the only thing visible was his deadly gaze which bounced from congregation to congregation.

“How much longer.” Again, it wasn’t phrased as a question, more a statement. 

“The bride and groom haven’t even danced yet.” 

He scrunched his nose, though dropped the subject. At least verbally.

“You’re so crabby. You do know that you’re drawing even more attention to yourself this way?” 

“Hmmph.”

It was silent for a few minutes before, without warning, he grabbed your hand. The hesitant and jagged strokes of his thumb followed and even though they belonged to a novice, the delicacy was still there.

The message was clear: 

I’m new to this. 

Your lips upturned, the gentle quirk hidden by transient hair flowing along the salty breeze. His touch was warm and paradoxically amiable; his presence a shelter cutting the chilly current that had picked up around noon. Stained lips, of which you had forgotten about until the sticky residue imprinted boldly on his glove, aimed to ease his buzzing mind. Expecting a grumble for the lipstick mark, what you got in return was the soft gaze of dark brown eyes – a sign of taming raging waters. He didn’t seem to mind, in fact the window into his soul for once could be identified as just that – a window; crystal, without the dirtied stains of camouflage and trepidation. 

Something had changed. 

Before you could get another word in, it was announced the bride and groom were going to have their first dance. The crowd gathered around the newly wedded couple as the music suddenly switched. The speakers were loud as they played a waltz, the couple’s limbs intertwined and swaying to its dramatic pace. They twirled and swayed with the grace of swans tiptoeing and beguiling the creeping ocean on the golden sands. Even though you knew virtually nothing about them, and were convinced that in fact this whole invite was your mother’s scheme to pry, the sight was a beautiful one to behold. The epitome of love – reciprocal trust and utter surrender; it had you wondering where you’d gone wrong previously, and if such a thing was as formulaic as it seemed to be, or if they were freefalling into the abyss as much as everyone else was; blindfolded, but nonetheless with each other. Welded in each other’s hearts.

How long had you projected your yearning at the couple and vicariously lived through their magical moment? You couldn’t say, though it was only the sudden grip on your shoulder that had managed to break your fixed admiration. It was firm, but nowhere near the realm of rough, and it even contained a fraction of gentleness, an action that wordlessly said ‘are you okay?’

At the sudden presence, you looked over your shoulder to find J, his guarded eyes holding a knowledge which only deepened the crawling feeling of embarrassment. Blood rushed to your cheeks. As you rounded your gaze back to the couple, you quickly saw the crowd was beginning to join them, all dancing at their own pace as the music continued its intimate lull. J’s hand slid down your arm while you watched and returned to hold your hand. Content and about to lean into him, your sudden love struck daze pounced away when he started to walk, dragging you along with him. 

“Hey– what are you doing?”

No response. 

“Let me go!” You said, your tone coming out a lot angrier than you’d expected. You guessed this alerted him because even though you were mere meters away from the rest of the crowd he stopped to explain. 

“I saw the way you were looking at them. You know, cupcake, you’re not hard to read,” he drawled.

You pursed your lips, looking away for a moment. 

“So what? What are you doing?” 

“What does it – ah – look like?” 

He’d seemingly taken your lack of response as a positive and continued forward. He grinned once he had you in position and placed his palm on the small of your back, his thumb rubbing gentle circles. He then maneuvered his other hand to grab yours and stretched it forward. From his first few steps you knew immediately it was the Viennese Waltz. The fast tempoed dance was one you weren't all too familiar with, but you’d learned its slower English counterpart.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” you gasped, trying your best to conceal your astonishment. You didn’t want to seem rude, though he just didn’t seem like the person interested in such a thing. Nor have the time. You were certainly finding yourself more curious about the origin of such a talent, and all the other potential abilities that were sneakily tucked away. 

“Well aren’t I just full of surprises.”

He dipped you slightly in time with the halt of the orchestra. He held you there for a moment before the tune resumed its boisterous charm, climbing steadily to its crescendo. 

“Here’s to another,” he said, his smile widening. If you didn’t know him so well you would have believed the expression to be completely innocent and honeyed. Standing there intertwined with his limbs you knew that devilish gleam was anything but. 

And, seconds later, this suspicion proved right. 

Suddenly he lifted you, twirling you around in such a way that made you feel like you were the bride. You’d only seen such a thing in Disney movies and cheesy rom coms – to be cherished, to be loved and cared for in such a delicate way was a fantasy; a taste of nostalgia and a serenade to the hopeless romantic within.

“J, put me down! Put me down!” You felt yourself swallow when his hands tightly gripped your hips. For a moment the irritation you’d experienced all day from a full face of makeup and wandering had all been worth it. 

His laughs slipped out, too; a direct contrast from his often irked facade, a musically heart-warming phenomenon which no instrument could emulate. The whole time you kept your eyes on each other and never once did they deter, focused on drinking in the beauty of each other. The cheers from the crowd you’d gathered fell upon both your deaf ears, transfixed by each other’s magic in your own closed off bubbles. 

As you continued to dance, the act itself felt like flying. The crowd separated when you neared – that is, until everything stopped. Sharp and prompt. 

Neither of you had much regard for the abrupt bump when it happened, there were people everywhere and mistakes occurred. It was no big deal. At least that’s what you told yourself until such a collision was followed by a violent shriek and a splash. 

Loud gasps replaced the background noise of applause.  

In a few frightening seconds your brain made the connection – linking who you’d just seen in the same area minutes before, inches from the ocean. 

“Oops,” you squeaked, too scared to turn around. However, despite your better judgement you did just that. 

The groom stood in shock, evidently unable to come to terms with the sight he was seeing. One moment his new wife was safe within his arms, dancing as if it was only two of them in the universe, the next she was below him, swimming with seaweed. Then, his form began to tremble, a telltale sign that what was to come was nowhere near the realms of good. 

He turned around with searing red eyes, a wrinkled nose and bared teeth. The eyes of the bull met the petrified, and his stubby, squared and well-manicured finger pointed directly at you. 

“You fucking bitch!” He roared.

You jumped, feeling yourself cling to J. His arm wrapped around you reassuringly and although you trusted him with your life, being confronted by a raging groom was still nonetheless intimidating. The groom who apparently cared more about telling you off than helping his wife, who was still floundering in the crashing waves, began his march over to you. 

“Do you know who I am?” He continued, and you wondered if he was still aware there was a crowd around. J almost instantly stood in front of you and had to hunch further to scowl at your aggressor.

“What was that?” J grabbed the man in front of him and slipped the blade hidden in his sleeve between the groom’s lips, angling it against the crease of his mouth. 

“Hmm? Why not try your luck, princess. Say it again.” 

The groom froze, the flicker of fear evident even on your end, though he kept up his brutish facade. 

“You’re both going to be 6 feet under when my dad’s through with you.” 

“Aww… run along to daddy so he can fix all your problems,” you could hear the pout in your boyfriend’s voice, comfortable and in your eyes even elated, to spit out the toxins he’d been gathering from just being here all day.

“So you do know who I am–” “The second most spoiled kid of Gotham’s underbelly.” 

“And yet, you’re still holding the knife.” 

“Of course the first would be your brother though, hmm?” J continued, completely ignoring the man's statement.

The groom gritted his teeth. 

“I bet it stings to not be the favourite. To not even have him here on your big day.”

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” The groom spat, bullseyeing J’s shoe. You saw red pooling at the corner of the man’s mouth, the mere act of expectorating on your boyfriend’s shoe more urgent than self-preservation. 

Yeesh. 

“Now that’s not very hygienic,” J growled, wrinkling his nose. His grip on the knife tightened and in one quick motion, the groom was screaming. 

While you couldn’t see the infliction from where you were positioned, the blood dripping onto the sand was clear as crystal. The screams of those around you were piercing, their horror and disgust forcing you to cling tighter to your boyfriend.

“J, please! That’s enough, it’s okay!” You pulled on his blazer. Feeling the hundreds of widened eyes staring holes into your being was no longer a concern. What mattered most was him. Getting out of here. 

With a quick glance to his right, J met you, then looked back at the groom. 

He smacked his lips. 

“Seems you are lucky,” he purred, the shimmer in his eye reflecting nothing of the warmth he concealed so carefully – nothing of the warmth of when your eyes met. Instead, it was serrated and reflected jeopardy. He possessed the force of a hurricane. A gravity; the way in which he commanded the direction of things and uprooted the fortitude of the righteous, the sure, a mothernatured finesse. 

He looked back at you again before shifting his hold on the man, fisting his wrinkled and bloodied shirt, then barked, “why don’t you go join your blushing bride?” 

With the element of surprise, J raised his knee and shot it between the man’s legs, the man falling down almost as fast as the foreign presence made an impact. You could have sworn someone at the corner of your eye jolted, most likely fearing the worst while others let out shrieks. Fear of the unknown, the seduction of one’s imagination and its ability to fill in blanks was the most manipulatable aspect of consciousness. Rather than bleeding out and rocking lifeless against the cradling waves like so many had thought, the groom sat there, soaking in the shame of defeat and crimson. He hollered while his new wife crawled to his side. 

“Tell your precious father I said ‘hi.’”

All eyes now turned to you both as you speedily departed, J dragging you along once more. The colony of sand in your shoe that had begun its formation hours ago was well in its breeding season now, the leathery insole most likely buried along with the newly wed’s marriage. Before you fully exited the cooperative crowd, forever to forget the merging faces of horror, two familiar ones caught your eye. 

Hah!

“Some date, huh?” You smiled, staring at your mother straight on. The way her face twisted up in a myriad of emotions – surprise, disgust, embarrassment – was something you’d never forget. You were sure you destroyed her little snobbish social circle by the mere association. Pride swelled in your chest, a childish victory that didn’t seem so childish when you later reflected on your relationship with her. 

When the two of you escaped back to the van successfully, there was a moment of contemplation. 

“I – heh – think that went well!” J laughed to himself, rounding his body to face you, “you think your parents like me?” 

“I think I should be asking the same to myself,” you said.  

“Cheer up buttercup, at least your parents know you’re not dying alone anymore.”

“To be honest, after that shitshow they’d probably prefer it,” a sigh left your lips and you began to bite them, unconscious of the small action until the taste of metal blew up your taste buds.

“Eh. Who needs parents, anyway?” 

You began to fiddle with your hands, suddenly finding them incredibly interesting. From the lack of interruptions you concluded he knew you were miles away, trapped in the wilderness of your own thoughts.  

“So I’m guessing you only came because you found out whose wedding it was.”

It took a lot to break the silence, and the air suddenly shifted to a heaviness. You weren’t sure you were the only one tensing. 

J clicked his tongue but didn’t answer. 

“It’s okay… I think I’ve had my fill of weddings for a while, anyway. And parents. And honestly, maybe people,” you answered for him, despite the swirl of hurt brewing in your gut. 

He breathed out his amusement. The lack of transience had you swallowing, frantic to keep the growing weight on your chest from expanding – from consuming your entire being with emptiness. You didn’t know how long you had until the stampede made its mark, the thunderous thuds of terror already echoing in the distance. 

Those were only thoughts you could entertain alone, sunken in the decaying paradise of your bed. 

Silence prevailed again.

Dazed and lost of direction, you remained fixated on the lines of your palms. 

“The husband had a temper. You know, I thought they were so lovely at first.”

“That’s what they want you to believe. Their little golden castles sparkle in the sun and it’s only until the rain pours that you can see them for what they really are. Wet cardboard. Looks can be deceiving.” 

“They certainly can be,” you looked up at him, smiling softly. 

Even with the friction, you slowly reached up to cup his face. This time on his end, there was no fear or hesitation. Instead, just an unspoken mutual trust between two wandering souls. You looked down at his lips while your thumbs stroked the hidden lines of his scars. The gentle caresses wore down the makeup until finally they were visible again. 

The marks of a survivor – beautiful and bold.

“Wait,” he said, the word simple and yet so labyrinthine. He reared back and looked at his hands while your own moved to rest on your knees. Curled into fists, his slowly unclamped like a blooming flower. What they revealed had your heart thumping, dancing its rhythm in your throat. You felt your eyes widen and the sadness immediately leave you, as if all its colour had been drained from you. You felt like a 1930’s cartoon, so shaken to the core that all you could see was greyscale. 

“It wasn’t the only reason,” he whispered, the commanding presence absent.  

He cleared his throat and finally looked up at you, “in fact, these were my only reason.” 

“You son of a bitch,” you bit your tongue in awe at the binding pieces of metal in his hands. They twinkled in the holiday rays, beckoning, unuttering whispers of fabrication. Was the weight of those dual bands as heavy as his heart? As heavy as the solemn expression as he processed your jabbing words?

“I-I know it’s not much but–” he stuttered, and was promptly interjected. 

“Oh! No, no, no! I didn’t mean–” 

You both smiled. Yours wide and brazen, his small and seraphic. 

“My J. Always starting fights, always getting what he wants,” you took the ring from his finger and darted to your left hand, slipping it on its rightful throne, “how can I resist?”  

You kissed him mellowed and full of saccharine and he sighed, his reciprocation just as tender despite the usual dash of coarseness. 

“Mine,” he murmured, resting his forehead against yours. He fluttered his eyes shut and his breathing began to steady. 

“Mine,” you whispered. 

In all that was and all that ever could be, never would you have believed such a moment possible. Magical and idiosyncratic, you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Nothing big and extravagant in front of many eyes. Just the two of you, inside what you now considered the best moment of your life. What many described as a lock and chain, a prison for the rest of one’s life, you would describe as the only thing you had ever wanted. As much as before, everything felt complete. 

Supernal.

You don’t know how long you stayed like that, breathing in unison, basking in each other. All you knew was that it was all too soon when you hit the road again, starting the long journey back to Gotham. After a lot of the same scenery – trees, cars, rocks, more cars and occasional bodies of water – your eyes had become leaden. Resting became impossible to oppose and before long your eyes gave into its stinging demand. 

Somewhere within the haze of half-consciousness, a mysterious material was draped over you. It was silken on the inside, your arms softly grazing it occasionally, and linen on the outside, your chin brushing over it when passing uneven roads. Subtle ripples of cologne drifted from the fabric as you finally fell prey to sleep’s siren song. 

“Sleep well, sweetpea,” lulled a sweet voice. 

[taramikealson]

Just a sort of canon-ish Drabble that I got a little carried away with.

Set after the events in TVD excluding the “Hell” storyline in Season 8, the miracle babies, Caroline dating Alaric, Marcel taking the serum, and a few minor changes that are hopefully recognizable.

He could feel the irritation crawl along his skin like a serpent slithering itself up and around a tree. With the irritation, came anger.

Sometimes he enjoyed the challenge that came with others riffling with his plans. He has theories as to why he does but deep down he knows the true reason. His wolf. The thrill and excitement that came with the thought of the hunt. Predators such as wolves are born hunters who thrive on such games.

But, he is not only a wolf. No, he is a strategist- a remarkable one at that. There had been no plan, no despicable machination of his that hasn’t had a fail-safe.

Except for this one.

He had gotten himself into a situation where he finally became comfortable again after nearly ten centuries of running. And when he got comfortable, he began to lose his edge.

After successfully re-stabilizing the Quarter and allowing his brother to take a leading role in the peace treaty between the factions, New Orleans fell quiet. Of course, every so often there’d be a dispute between a couple of the factions that rose a concern within his elder brother, but that was always unavoidable. Werewolves, witches, and vampires alike have fought for centuries, that type of violence and warfare doesn’t automatically stop with a peace treaty. His brother may hope for that positive outcome but Klaus had always been a realist. And, unfortunately as he predicted, the peace was temporary.

“Niklaus, this is not a situation that we should ignore.” His brother’s voice sounded through the phone that he had pressed against his right ear.

No, this isn’t something we should ignore. He thinks, tentatively keeping his lips pressed together to keep himself from speaking of something that perhaps his brother shouldn’t know.

“Should Marcel make a regretful move, this treaty we’ve formed could very well be null and void.”

If Marcel were to make a move, it may start a gruesome war between the vampires and werewolves. If Klaus knew Marcel well enough, his former right-hand man is most likely planning something rather ill-conceived. He hasn’t theorized whether the harsh consequences will weigh the heaviest on either the vampires or werewolves, or even the whole Quarter all together. No matter what they may be, he’s most certain his brother won’t be quite pleased with what he has planned.

Although Klaus once held a tight hold over the vampires, it came to his attention that Marcel continued to be respected amongst both the day and nightwalker community. Thus, why in the time of tension, they clamber to him in search of a leader to choose the decisions that will benefit them. Which is why Klaus has chosen to keep the werewolves as an ally. The werewolves have proven to be loyal to Hayley and his daughter because they both are seen as part of the pack, which unnerves Klaus but gives him the relief that those wolves will protect his daughter. The connection that Hayley holds with those werewolves is bound to be manipulated, might as well be him to do so in a beneficial way. For both the stability of New Orleans and the safety of his daughter.

“Brother, do you understand me?”

His shoes crunch against the small layer of gravel underneath his feet.

“Yes.” Klaus tries his best to keep the irritation out of his voice but his answer still sounds short.

The hybrid immediately ends the call, noting that the conversion was to be continued in person. While pocketing his phone, he takes a few steps further along the rooftop and then steps up onto the ledge, giving him a grand view of the Quarter from a few buildings away.

A rough shuffle and a few voices could be heard from a little farther down the alley below him, but he didn’t much care about the happenings within the alley. From what he could hear, there were two men speaking in hushed tones, their heartbeats slower and more quiet indicating their undead nature. The fast and erratic heartbeat that was a few paces in front of them was a clear indication to Klaus of what the vampires below were planning to do.

His lips turned up slightly. He, himself, was feeling a bit peckish, perhaps he’ll grab a quick bite before he returns home to his disapproving older brother.

The vampires eventually closed the woman in, murmuring to her about where she was going and why she was out at such a time. He found it interesting that she stayed quiet. Ninety-nine percent of the time, the women would say something whether it be a plea to let them go or an angry curse.

Wanting to stay out of the house- more like away from his brother- for as long as he can, he turned his head to look down the alleyway. If this ends to be unentertaining, he’ll most likely grab a drink at Rousseau’s.

There, he could see both the vampires crowd into the blonde woman’s space. She has her back pushed up against the rough brick.

“I don’t think it’s very safe for a lady like yourself to be out here.” The vampire states before his eyes transform and fangs replace his blunt teeth. Usually, this is when the victims begin to scream or mutter that modern saying, oh my, God. But the woman doesn’t seem as scared as a normal human would be.

“You’re making a mistake.” She murmurs and Klaus’ eyes widen a hair, recognizing the voice. But before he can think of anything else, the woman is thrusting a wooden stake into the vampire’s stomach.

The vampire doubles over and the other vampire goes to attack the human but he’s no match for Klaus’ speed. Without a second thought, Klaus appears before the vampire, shoving him back before he could get to the woman. The other vampire has now pulled the stake from his torso and was looking to kill but Klaus turned toward him.

“Enough.”

The vampire pauses but scowls at him, a look of disgust and anger apparent in his eyes. His hand rises and points to the human. “She stabbed me! She’s a tourist! Tourists are fair game-,”

“And you would be in the right if it weren’t for her being under my protection.”

The vampire looks a little surprised at Klaus’ declaration and is about to protest once more but Klaus beats him to it.

“Now, I suggest you scamper off to Marcel before I’m tempted to rid you both of your hands.”

Both vampires share a glance and Klaus continues to stand his ground confidently. Eventually, the vampires figure out that it’s probably best for them to avoid any conflict with an Original, the Original Hybrid no less. Thus, they both give the human one last threatening look before flashing away into the night.

With the vampires disappearance, Klaus had began to turn around and quip something sarcastic but his whole expression changes when Caroline’s knees give out. His hands come out at vampiric speed as he catches her by her upper arms and kneels down as he slowly lowers with her.

It’s then that he sees her clearly. Her hair isn’t as perfect as she normally used to keep it, almost like she hasn’t had access to the proper equipment. Her clothes were a little wrinkled and two small dark red dots bled through her white shirt indicating that a bandaged wound was leaking. Concern now flooded through him as his eyes connected with her face. It was as beautiful as ever but there was a deep exhaustion and a line of stress etched into her forehead. Oh how his heart now aches. He thinks that he hasn’t felt as worried for someone as he is with Hope, but yet here he is, holding her just enough so she doesn’t slump over.

He now realizes that she hadn’t just lost most of her strength, but had been keeping herself from showing any weakness towards those vampires. If he wasn’t so concerned with her health, he’d be praising her for her stubborn strength.

“Caroline, look at me, love.” He aides her by tilting her head up gently by her chin. Her eyes are tired and look so vulnerable.

She looks as if she’s about to say something but Klaus shakes his head. “Conserve your strength. You’re alright, I’ve got you.” If those words were spoken to anyone else, they’d have a right mind to be worried but she seemed to feel relieved. He takes that as permission to pick her up, holding her from underneath her legs and shoulders.

His thoughts of what his brother will think of him are completely wiped away when he races to his home. It’s quiet but he knows his brother is lurking somewhere. He’s not quite concerned about Freya, Rebekah, and Hayley’s absences. Ever since the incident between the werewolves and vampires, Hayley has taken it upon herself to help with the remaining pack. Freya is most likely working on another miracle to save this city’s peace and it’s no surprise that Rebekah is with Marcel.

Klaus contemplates taking Caroline to a guest bedroom but the closest one to his is farther than he’d like so he figures that taking her to his bedroom won’t be the worst idea. At least he’d be able to keep a close eye on her for the time being.

He sets her down gently to the dark grey covers and takes a sharp turn into the bathroom. Klaus comes back out a few moments later with a wet washcloth and a couple different sizes of bandages. Caroline shifts a little and grazes her hand against the side of her torso where the wound was which seems to instantly sober her up. She lets out a small gasp and grimaces in pain. Her hand hovers over it as if it’d take the pain away. Klaus walks back over to her and sits on the edge of the bed, a few inches separating himself from her.

Extending his hand, his eyes travel up to her face seeking silently for any sign of rejection before pulling the edge of her shirt up to reveal a blood-soaked bandage. His hands slowly peel away the bandage and Klaus didn’t know what to expect but he hadn’t expect something quite as brutal as this. No, this was not a wound from an accident, this was intentional and by someone who was trying to harm Caroline. In fact, he was quite knowledgeable about this particular wound, or had been when he was human. By the sharp angles of the shape of the wound, he could tell it had been an arrow tip that pierced her skin. When he was human, Kol had been recklessly playing with his father’s bow and accidentally shot Finn in the shoulder. He had kept that arrow shaped scar for as long as he could remember. But just because Finn had survived, it only made Klaus more concerned.

By the tear of the wound, it seems to have been reopened due to stress. Although, he imagines that it’s good news that it’s not infected. Klaus is as gentle as he possibly can be when he pays the wet washcloth along her wound. She bites her lip hard and grasps his arm in a painful grip but he allows her to do so, hoping that if a fraction of his pain can dull hers, then so be it.

After a few moments, she slowly takes her hand away and he begins to clean around the wound.

“Klaus-,”

“Don’t.” He begins, “not now.”

His words come out a tad harsher than intended but she knows he’s just concerned and doesn’t know how to healthily deal with it like a normal human.

“I need you to listen just for once.”

“Caroline, let yourself rest before we speak of anything.”

She appreciated the notion that he valued her safety and well-being more than an explanation of why she showed up in his city as a human. But this couldn’t wait, for her safety and his own.

To truly get his attention, she places her hand on top of the one that was still cleaning the blood off her skin. It pauses its movements and he looks up to her.

“I- I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to use you for your contacts but I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” She hesitates to continue because after she asks, his involvement becomes concrete. Because she knows that he’ll help her. “I need a witch, someone powerful. Someone who can do a cloaking spell that can’t be broken by another witch.”

His face doesn’t express as much emotion as she thought it would but she doesn’t think that it’s a bad thing. He obviously seems to be contemplating something as his eyes bore into hers.

Setting aside the washcloth, he straightens out and takes a sleek black phone out of his jacket pocket. Without hesitation, he clicks a few times on the screen and places the phone against his ear.

“Freya, I need you at the Compound immediately.” With that, he puts his phone away and reaches for a bandage. Taking the plastic off, he softly places it over her wound, pressing along the outside, securing it to her skin without causing her pain.

His eyes refocus onto hers and she spots the anger that has now manifested within those blue orbs. “Who did this?” He asks and Caroline Knew she should have known better than to think the wound wouldn’t show any foul play.

“Silas.” Klaus’ lips part in confusion. For all he knows, Silas had been put in a safe and thrown down the quarry. God, things got complicated since he’d left. Much more complicated than she would have liked.

“For a while he pretended to be Stefan. We didn’t know because we thought he could only mess with a couple people’s perspectives but turns out he’s a doppelgänger.” She mentally cringes when remembering how Silas continuously terrorized her and her friends. She also remembers how Silas had made everyone think he was dead when Stefan killed him but had used it as an out to chalk up another plan that revolved solely around revenge. Against her.

Caroline begins to pull herself up into a sitting position so she’s resting against the headboard and is thankful when Klaus helps her. “Before you came back, we thought Stefan killed Silas but he’d used some last resort spell and it gave him the perfect out to recollect himself.”

“I guess he waited for a few years for things to settle down and for us to be off our guard.Damon was as happy as he could be considering Elena, Bonnie was back, and Stefan and I were getting back on good terms. Silas approached me on the last day of my Senior year.” Klaus notices as she bites her lip and looks down at her hands that have begun to twiddle in slight nervousness. “Silas made me think we were making some kind of deal. I leave my friends behind and never go back to Mystic Falls, or he kills me and everyone I care about. I chose to leave.”

Swallowing, her eyes darted from her hands to Klaus’ face to gauge what he might have been thinking but he wasn’t showing any sign other than that he was just listening to her, allowing her to pour whatever worries she had onto him.

“I don’t know if he thought that I would just settle down in some other place to get the opportunity to know my whereabouts while he tried to kill my friends but he called negotiations off when I skipped the third town I went to. So, he went after me.” When the single tear fell from her eye, she was a little surprised at how vulnerable she was allowing herself to be. “I told everyone that I was taking off for a little bit to go travel since I had finished college. I didn’t want them to try to find me and end up as one of Silas’ next victims.”

She pauses and wipes the stray tear away, trying to recollect herself. She must look like hell, crying would only make it worse. Caroline needed to man-up. There was no doubt that what Klaus had gone through with his father, or step-father, was worse.

Klaus leans forward and takes her hand into his, letting him drop a feather-light kiss along her knuckles. “You are safe. If I ever promise you anything, I will certainly promise you that.”

Caroline can’t help the small smile that forms on her face, knowing that he is being truly genuine. His lips turn up as well.

A small knock on the door interrupts them and Klaus rises from the bed. A taller dirty blonde woman stands in the doorway, analyzing both of them. Klaus crosses the room and pulls the woman further into the hallway, speaking to her in a hushed tone.

After a moment of back and forth conversation, they both advance into the room. Klaus pauses for a minute, watching as the woman approaches the side of the bed. She offers Caroline a reassuring smile that tells her she’s most likely a friend of Klaus’ or at least someone in his good graces.

“Caroline, right? I’m the older and wiser Mikealson sibling, Freya.” Caroline blinks for a moment and looks to Klaus in confusion. Although, she assumes what the woman, Freya, is saying must be somewhat true because all Klaus does is slightly roll his eyes in such a brotherly manner before turning towards the liquor tray.

“Niklaus tells me you need a little bit of a complex cloaking spell.” Caroline nods. Being that Freya must be a Mikealson, it is always safe to walk on eggshells around the ones she’s not very familiar with, no doubt the ones that she never knew about.

Freya turns towards the hybrid who was sipping his drink. “Will you fetch my grimoire and my herb bowl from the study, brother?” Klaus doesn’t seem all too eager to be ordered around but he does as asked and walks out of the room. Freya turns back towards Caroline and motions to the space when Klaus had sat before.

“May I?”

Caroline gives her a short nod and Freya smiles.

“Why are you being so nice to me? I thought all Mikealsons were kinda bordering on the ‘I don’t help anyone but my family’ ideology.” Caroline was going to be more subtle about it but she’s injured and doesn’t feel well, might as well rip off the band-aid.

Funnily enough, Freya laughs. “I’d agree with you but I’m quite aware of who you are.”

Now, that was surprising. Did Klaus say anything about her to his siblings? It didn’t seem like something he’d do. Her mouth opened to say something but she couldn’t find her words. It seems like Freya had an idea of what she was thinking and thought to correct her.

“I saw you when I entered my brother’s mind. If it weren’t under life and death circumstances I wouldn’t have done so. Trust me, I’ve already heard a mouthful from Niklaus.”

That made Caroline even a bit more nervous. Did this woman know everything about her and Klaus then? Had she watched some of their interactions? “How much do you know?” She asks.

“Just enough to know how important you are to my brother.”

That’s not cryptic at all. Caroline isn’t sure if that means Freya knows a little too much than she should or not but she imagines that she can’t push the woman any further than she’s willing so she shuts her mouth. And she also really doubts that Klaus is out of earshot, he can probably hear almost anything from the other side of the house so it’s best not to speak out of turn. Or maybe just not too much about him.

Speak of the devil, because he then walks through the door not even a few moments afterwards, carrying a grimoire and a small bowl with a few items in it that looked close to medical supplies.

He comes up behind his sister and sets her grimoire down on the bed and intentionally hands her the bowl, making her notice the extra supplies within. A sterile needle with surgical string and a couple other medical supplies. As he hands the bowl over to her, he murmurs, “perhaps you should also take a look at her wound, sister.”

By the look in his eye, she could tell he was a bit more concerned about the girl’s physical wound than the cloaking spell being down. Then again, both siblings knew that with all of the magic surrounding the Compound, it would take a highly skilled witch at least a couple hours to work through a location spell for anyone who was there.

Freya nods and takes the bowl from him. Klaus steps back and takes a seat directly across the room from the bed in one of the leather chairs, still allowing Caroline to see him.

The witch silently asks for permission to have a closer look at Caroline’s wound before pulling the new bandage away. Caroline watches Freya’s eyebrows furrow as she inspects the wound. Freya’s eyes look back up to her.

“Have you had this looked at before?”

Caroline shakes her head lightly. “But I tried to keep it closed.” Her lips turn up into a ghost of a smile. “You only learn so much in high school and college level health classes.” Freya understands the lightheartedness within the statement and offers her a smile.

“Well, it seems like you at least kept it clean.” Freya begins. “But I’ll need to stitch it up a little and possibly do a proper cleaning just in case. It’ll probably be easy to put you to sleep for that.”

Caroline’s eyebrows furrow at the lack of a surgical syringe. “Like a witchy anesthesia?”

Freya seems to enjoy her lack of magical knowledge and find amusement in it. “Something along those lines.”

“You’ve done it before, right?”

The witch lets out a small laugh. “Yes, but I can certainly do a demonstration.” Her head turns over her shoulder towards her younger brother but Klaus seems unimpressed.

It was a little reassuring seeing him naturally take up his brotherly role. She hadn’t ever really seen that side of him and never saw him actually interact with his siblings before. It was nice to know that even the Original Hybrid could act like a typical brother once in a great while.

“I promise it’s safe and when you wake, your wound will be patched right up.” Freya reassures and Caroline nods. She knows that Klaus will go just about as far as he possibly can to keep her safe which tells her that Freya is trustworthy. So, she doesn’t think about it too long before she murmurs, “okay.”

———————————————-

Upon breaking the fog of sleep, she doesn’t feel as weak as she had before Freya had put her to sleep which was a good sign. She begins to lift her head off the pillow and suddenly feels a warm hand help her sit up.

Looking over, she sees Klaus hovering beside her. “Easy, love. No need to tear your new sutures.”

His words remind her and she looks down, pulling her shirt up and the bandage aside to see her wound stitched up neatly with a strange light paste spread on top.

“My sister assured me that her little remedy,” he nods towards the paste on her wound, “should have healed you just enough to allow you to shower, if you wish to do so.”

The thought of a steaming hot shower is so appealing to her right now. “God, yes.” She sighs. It’s been so long since she’d been in any type of shower that wasn’t in a hotel or had some sort of modern day technology.

It seems Klaus enjoys her enthusiasm and takes it as a good sign for her health. “Would you like me to fetch my sister to help you?”

Caroline shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. I’m okay.” She silently thinks that should anything happen, he’ll most likely be listening in on her. It was a little creepy to think about but also made her feel a tad safer knowing that he’d always make sure she was safe.

He respects her choice and helps her stand. Waiting a moment to make sure she gets her bearings, he keeps a hand on the small of her back and leads her towards the entrance of the bathroom. She silently thanks him before he closes the door to a crack after her.

Looking around the bathroom, she’s not surprised about how lavish it is and how neat it’s kept. She never really took Klaus as the person who kept his personal space in disarray. As clean as it was, it still held the feeling of being used daily. One of the medicine cabinets was left cracked open a little, a small tin and classic shaving knife was left on top of a white cloth, and a bottle of cologne sat on the counter. If Caroline had possibly thought of a bathroom Klaus would ever call his, this is probably as close to it as she’d get.

Caroline decides that if she takes too long, Klaus may think something is wrong so she strips quickly and turns the water on. She’s pleased when it takes a whole couple seconds for the water to warm. Stepping into the shower, she sighs at how good it feels. The water runs down her, rinsing away all of the dirt and grime from the past couple days.

After getting her hair wet, she reads the minimalist labels on the three bottles that sat on the shower shelf. Thank God they weren’t the typical soaps that guys used nowadays. She shivers at the thought of two-in-one products. These were just simply packaged products that were obviously a little more on the manlier side of things but it’ll have to do.

Rubbing the shampoo and conditioner in her curls, she almost felt a weight lift off of her. Once she finished up basking in the warmth of the shower, she turned the dial off and stepped out. Grabbing the white towel, she wraps it around herself and tries to dry up as much as she can.

Upon walking back over to the bathroom counter she notices that she can’t exactly wear her old clothes but she does choose to wear her bra and underwear again. Hopefully she can ask Klaus to rile her up something for her to wear.

When she exits the bathroom, she immediately notices that the French doors that had led to the balcony outside were now closed with the drapes shut and the sliding door to the bedroom was almost shut all the way. She could hear a little movement in the next room over and assumed it was Klaus.

Stepping further into the bedroom, she sees that she doesn’t even need to ask Klaus for clothes because there’s a pair of yoga pants and t-shirt folded neatly on the bed. It was also accompanied with a hairbrush. Her heart warms at the thoughtfulness but then again, Klaus had always put thought behind a lot of things that involved her.

She’s quick to take the precious privacy that he allowed her and got dressed.

He finally emerged when she was finishing up brushing her hair. He held a plate of food and a glass of water. Caroline places the hairbrush down and into the drawer of the nightstand before scooting herself further back on the bed to give him enough space. Klaus sits down on the edge of the bed and places the glass of water on the nightstand, then handing Caroline the plate. At the sight of the scrambled eggs, bacon, and assortment of fruit on the plate, she was almost worried her stomach would growl. She doesn’t even remember when she last had a proper meal.

“Thank you.” She murmurs when he hands her a clean fork.

His smile is genuine and tells her that he doesn’t find helping her to be a chore. When he watches her carefully as she began to eat, she knew that if he’d done so a few years back she’d find it extremely creepy, but now she’s come to find out that it’s his way of communicating his reassurance. He’s silently telling her that he’s here, he’s going to protect her.

“I’ll leave you to eat. Perhaps get a few more hours of sleep, it’s only a quarter after six.” He states as he rises from the bed. His eyes drift for a moment down to her torso where her wound is covered by her shirt. Something in his eyes changes and he leans down close to her head. She pauses as his lips softly connect with her forehead. He pulls back a little and looks deep into her eyes.

“So long as I have a say in the matter, Silas will never get close enough to touch you again.” He then rises to his full length and exits the room.

——————————————

After eating and getting a couple more hours of sleep she’d ventured out of Klaus bedroom to find him again. When she did he was insistent about getting her at least a week’s worth of clothing for herself. She didn’t make a second objection, knowing that either way Klaus will get her clothing, it was just a matter of if she’d pick it out or have some compelled vampire do it. Thus he’d taken her to a few local shops. In typical guy fashion, Klaus hadn’t been too animated about watching her pick clothing out. In most of the stores, they’d parted ways- her towards anything that caught her eye and him to any empty seat he could find.

Caroline tried to be as time efficient as possible knowing that even a man who has waited a thousand years to break his curse, he still had his limits of patience. As much as she thought he dreaded chaperoning her, because he refused to have a possibility of another vampire thinking they could harm her, he still offered her considerate smiles. There were a few instances where she could feel the heat of his gaze as she walked out of the dressing room. She didn’t know what to make of it and brushed it aside.

This is hopefully the first and last time Caroline thinks this, but she is thankful that Klaus has the ability to compel vampires. He had a vampire, she forgot her name, retrieved Caroline’s brand new clothes and took them to the Compound so they could continue to stroll down a few of the streets.

If Caroline hadn’t spent the last couple years skipping from city to city, she thinks she may have been a little more amazed at the New Orleans architecture. But still, it was truly stunning. She liked that Klaus didn’t directly guide her but just allowed her to wander. Soon, they’d found themselves in a bar. The bartender that approached them seemed very familiar with Klaus and when he’d introduced her to Camille, the woman was welcoming.

It didn’t escape her notice how Camille had laid eyes on Klaus for a few seconds too long before walking off to let her and Klaus enjoy their drinks.

Caroline smiles a little at the situation. “You know, she likes you.”

His lips turn up and he sips his whiskey.

“You may not be aware of this, Caroline, but you are on the exceedingly short list of women who have rejected me.” His head turns towards her with a smug smirk. “You should feel lucky, most of those women are dead.”

Caroline rolls her eyes lightheartedly. “So lucky.” She breathes and looks away from him. His chuckle is rich and deep, making her crack a small smile.

“Quite a number of women find me charming, you surely had at one time.”

The statement brings out an instinct in her to say something snarky or quip something a little harsh but she chooses not to. Instead, her teeth catch her bottom lip as she lowers her gaze to the vodka soda. She doesn’t exactly know what to do. All she’s ever done with him was constantly impolitely reject him with statements about who he killed or what bad things he’s done.

Her eyes go up to see the bartender come out from the kitchen in the back. The girl gives them a small glance and Caroline offers her a friendly smile. Camille seems a little surprised by Caroline’s friendliness, almost as if she was expected to be ignored or brushed off. Caroline has no doubt that the crowd that Klaus would spend time with would be most certainly supernatural, thus their lack of interest in simple human servers. Although, Klaus seemed a little keen of her. Truthfully, she didn’t know what to think about it. If it was a few years ago, she would have rather drowned before admitting that she was a tad jealous when it came to Klaus, but she was older and more mature. So, yeah. Maybe she felt a little jealous that the girl’s feelings towards Klaus could be mutual. But she also wasn’t going to be spiteful of it.

Stirring the small straw that floated in her untouched drink, she murmurs, “If you want to go talk to her, there’s nothing stopping you.” Her voice is as neutral as she can make it.

Even now without her vampire senses, she could still feel his fiery gaze in the side of her head. He lets out a low chuckle.

“Camille is a close friend of my family. She’s sacrificed quite a bit to aid my family’s survival and I’ve repaid her loyalty with protection.” He begins. “Our relationship may have developed into somewhat of a complicated friendship since she’s known me, but that is simply it.”

Caroline turns her head towards him and his eyes are as clear blue as ever. “But by no means do I wish to be in anyone else’s company other than yours.”

There’s a brief moment between them where both of their solid barriers were dissolved and their eyes just simply met. They said nothing but their eyes communicated plenty. But, that moment was only brief.

The bell over the door to the bar chimes when it opens, the noise from the street could be heard for a moment before the door closes again. Both Klaus and Caroline are shaken out of their moment when a voice chimes.

“Now, this is interesting.”

Caroline is a little taken aback even though she should have expected to come across another Original. Hell, she wouldn’t doubt that the whole Mikealson clan was crawling around New Orleans at this point. It seemed to be almost like a hub for them.

Klaus is the first to turn in his seat and greet his sister. “Sister, a bit of a surprise to see you on this side of the river. Has Marcel finally bored you enough?” His tone has dramatically changed from the genuine one before to something more smartass-y.

When Caroline scoots on her stool a little to look more properly at the female Original, she notices how annoyed Rebekah gets because of Klaus’ comment.

“No, I came to visit my niece. Whom, in which, has noticed your lack of presence.” Rebekah then gives Caroline a disapproving glare. “But I think I know why.”

Klaus sighs quietly and Rebekah is about to say something but pauses. Her eyes scan Caroline carefully. After a moment, her eyes widen and she flashes towards Caroline, aggressively yelling, “who the bloody hell gave you the cure!?”

Caroline stumbles out of her stool as fast as she can and takes a few steps back. Rebekah is about to get into her face again but Klaus zips in front of her, blocking her way to Caroline.

“I-,” Caroline doesn’t know what to say or how to even start to calm down the Original. She’s not as strong as she once was. One little neck snap and she’ll be done.

“Rebekah.” Klaus growls in warning, earning a glare from his sister before her gaze goes back to the blonde.

“Why do you get the choice? You, of all people?”

Caroline is beyond grateful that no one else was in the bar because she’s sure that there could have been a bloodbath if there were.

Klaus is about to say something but Rebekah beats him to it.

“How is it that you get to have a normal life?”

Those words seemed to trigger something in Caroline. Something emotional.

“You think I want this? Do you think I chose to have a normal life where I’d meet some regular guy, marry him, have a few kids, and work for the rest of my life?” Rebekah frowns and Klaus turns his head just enough to look at her. “I didn’t. I don’t want that life and I didn’t choose to become human again. So, blame me all you want for being a bitch to you or whatever, but don’t blame me because you didn’t get the human life you’ve always wanted.”

It seems like Caroline’s words have an effect on Rebekah because she shrugs her brother’s hand away from her and takes a step back. Caroline can’t exactly know for sure but she thinks that maybe Rebekah can somewhat relate to her. Rebekah had always wanted to be human but was stuck as a vampire. Now, Caroline wants to be a vampire but is stuck as a human.

When Rebekah takes that step back and Klaus is sure she’s not going to try to attack Caroline again, he fully turns his body towards the blonde human. She can’t gauge exactly what he’s thinking but it could have been a cross between surprise and sympathy.

The younger Original looks almost a little guilty when she casts a glance towards Caroline but instead doesn’t say anything before flashing away. As the light breeze wafts over them from Rebekah’s exit, Klaus takes a step forward towards her.

“Caroline.”

She shakes her head. “I-,” her eyes shut for a moment. “Please don’t make me talk about it.”

She fully expects Klaus to struggle with her request but he quickly proves her wrong and gives her a short nod in understanding.

————————

Caroline’s fingers drum silently against the cold metal of the railing she’s stood behind. The city has now been cascaded in darkness but people still mull about on the street beneath her. The very idea of the liveliness of this city brings a smile to her face. The neon lights of shops and street lamps were now lit up to shine down on the passerbyers below, their drunken ramblings slightly muffled due to her human hearing.

She finds that Klaus was right. There was something about this city that not only attracted the party-seeking humans, but also the darker creatures who lurked in the shadows. She may not be a vampire any longer but that doesn’t mean the connection she holds with the darkness was shaken. There is not just history in this city, it is the home of the supernatural. Caroline bets that if she were still a vampire, she could have spotted a couple dozen supernaturals that had walked by in the past thirty minutes she's been up on Klaus’ balcony.

She only hopes it doesn’t attract a different kind of supernatural.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can sense movement just as a figure joins her. Their hand grasps the railing casually and when they sigh, a white cloud escapes their lips from the continuing dropping temperature of the night. He doesn’t attempt to make a move to slide closer to her and she appreciates the space he’s giving her, along with the time of silence.

As they stood in silence, listening to the noises of the city before them, she could recall how nervous she used to get during long periods of silence. She had always tried to fill them up with mindless chatter or something to that nature. But now? She finds that she sort of enjoys it. His presence may be a little nerve-wracking at times of tension but, as of late, Caroline seems to feel at ease knowing he’s just right there- not totally offering her comfort but the reassurance of his presence.

“You’re cold.” His voice murmurs smoothly through the air. It’s only then that she notices the goosebumps that trek along her arms. The light breeze flows around them once more, reminding Caroline that she doesn’t have as much tolerance to the weather as she once had when she was a vampire.

Her eyes lifted towards him to watch as he slid the casual high-collared blazer off just to then gently place it over her shoulders. Caroline’s arms cross and grasp the sides of the coat, pulling it closer to her body before offering him a smile in thanks. Although his eyes seemed to be light, there was a hint of concern to be seen.

“Caroline, what aren’t you telling me?”

The words surprise her, not because he’s asking them, but because he’s asking them now. She should have felt lucky that he hadn’t asked her earlier or even within the first ten minutes she was in New Orleans.

A lot. She thinks.

When she doesn’t speak, he sighs and shifts closer to her.

“You should be aware that I will do everything in my power to keep you safe, but I can’t very well do it if I don’t know any of the details.” He pauses for a moment before continuing. “I understand that these past few years haven’t been as undemanding as you’ve hoped, but you need to tell me something- anything- so that I can help you.”

Caroline contemplates just shrugging it off and telling him there’s nothing to talk about but that would be a lie. A big lie. She came to him for help, slept in his bed, and ate his food. It would have been foolish of her to think that she could take full advantage of his protection and not have to give him a detailed explanation. But, she doesn’t know exactly how to start and how to proceed. There are specifics that he doesn’t want him to know about, but if she were to leave them out, she’s sure that he is intelligent enough to put a few pieces together, or at least tell that she’s leaving a few key details out. She had two options. Either she tells the truth or she omits, telling him that she doesn’t have the courage to give him an explanation. The last option would be the easier route, but one that would most likely drive a wedge between them, thus possibly compromising their safety.

If she were younger, she would have grappled for a third option. But she was older and more mature now. Even though the prospect of what Klaus may think of her afterwards held a sizable weight over her head, she knew that she couldn’t avoid telling Klaus the truth.

“Silas isn’t just chasing me because I helped in the plan to kill him.” She breathes.

Klaus’ eyes blink in surprise, as if he’s shocked that she’s actually opening up to him. But he allows her to continue.

“When you came back to Mystic Falls, I didn’t tell you the whole truth about what happened with Silas. When Stefan lured Silas outside, I was left alone on the far side of the boarding house. Someone had grabbed me and I acted on instinct because I knew Damon, Elena, and Qetsiyah were in the parlor, so I assumed it was Silas.” Caroline looks away from the Original and out towards the night sky. “It turned out to be Amara.” Her eyes slowly drifted back over to him to gauge his reaction. He stood still, eyes just taking her in and processing the information that she was offering him.

“Silas’ one true love.” Her eyes hold guilt and a sadness within them as she remembers the events that occurred nearly five years ago. “She was innocent and I killed her.”

A stray tear begins to form in her eye and bubbles over, making a thin wet trail down her cheek. Klaus’ hand doesn’t move as fast as it normally does when he gently wipes the tear from her face, making sure not to make any moves that she wouldn’t be able to reject. The heat of his palm against her jaw and the pressure it holds gives her an odd sense of comfort that she wouldn’t have expected.

“I don’t know how he found out after he faked his death, but he-,” she begins to struggle to speak, the emotions beginning to take advantage of her. “He approached me in my dorm one day and I’m not sure if he planned it or not, but Tyler happened to walk in.”

Caroline lets out a small exhale to try to keep her emotions slightly underwraps but she can’t help the couple tears that escape her eyes. Turning her head away, she feels a shade of guilt run through her. “He- he killed Tyler right in front of me.” She also tried to explain how after Silas left her with his ultimatum, she had to find a place to bury Tyler and come up with a story for his absence, but she thinks she would have totally broken down if she spoke another word. It didn’t take much longer than a couple seconds before his arms had brought her closer to him and she didn’t shy away from pushing her head into his shoulder and wrapping her arms around his torso.

The heat radiating off of him almost felt like it began to wrap around her, comforting her in her grief. Klaus kept one arm around her back and another in the hair on the back of her head. His head craned down and he gently pressed his lips to her temple. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. She feels the most safe she has ever felt in the past two years in his arms. The sandalwood cologne fills her lungs when her nose digs deeply into his shirt, surely ruining it with her tears but she's not too worried about that right now.

After a few long moments of being wrapped up in his body, he halts the slow brushing of her hair that she had just noticed he was doing. Klaus’ head pulls away to get a better look at her and she tilts her head up to do the same.

“Come. Let’s get you inside.”

Caroline nods and lets Klaus guide her back into his bedroom. He shuts the French doors behind him and closes the cream drapes, the sounds of the city now greatly muffled by the extra barrier. Caroline walks over to the bed. Once she’s sat down, Klaus is already over by the fireplace and starting the fire. She tries to catch her breath. Although she wasn’t sobbing, she still finds it hard to regain herself. A crackle comes from the fireplace and when Klaus stands from his crouched position, she can see the small flames of the fire begin to lick at the wood inside. In no time, Klaus is right there, taking the coat from her shoulders and silently encouraging her to lay down on the bed. She pulls the soft covers over herself as Klaus’ eyes rove over her.

“Will you stay?” The words escape her lips before she can understand what she had said.

Klaus studies her for a moment but his attention is pulled towards the sliding doors that are cracked open just enough for him to see his brother. His brother’s presence now reminds him of the factions meeting they were supposed to attend tonight in light of the recent events between the witches, werewolves, and vampires, but Caroline is in a sensitive emotional position. Although he finds it surprising for her to feel comforted by him, he doesn’t feel as inadequate for the job as he would with anyone else. He decides then what he will do. New Orleans can wait. If anything, his brother is more than equipped with handling tonight’s meeting without him.

His head turns back towards Caroline. The deep blue of his eyes already indicate his answer to her and she slides to the other side of the bed to give him room. Klaus toes off his boots and just before he lays down, his eyes glance up to see the sliding door closing all the way and his brother’s footsteps retreating away.

When he’s settled onto his back, Caroline quickly tucks into his side. The move isn’t unexpected with her trying to seek a source of comfort. He slowly pulls his arm out from under her and instead wraps it around her body, placing his hand just above her hip as she buries herself into his ribcage.

Klaus lays there for a while, listening to the changes in her heart beat and studying the way it slows when she falls asleep. He only allows himself to shut his eyes when he hears his brother return an hour later, feeling more comfortable being asleep when at least one other Original is awake. He won’t take any chances with Caroline. He won’t risk losing her.

-------------------------------------------------

When Caroline wakes up that next morning, she isn’t shocked that she’s alone and the place where he had once been was vacant of his body heat. She never assumed Klaus to be the type of man to sleep in by any means being as paranoid as he usually was but it had seemed like he’d been gone for quite a while. As much as she wants to think that maybe he had some weird bout of inspiration to paint or do whatever artistic thing he prided himself with, she has the better judgement to know it was business related.

From what she could tell, he and his brother were the main one’s calling the shots in the French Quarter. Not unexpected, considering Klaus is, well, Klaus. But he has subtly mentioned from time to time whilst they were out yesterday that there was some tension between a few of the supernatural factions. Caroline imagines that it's more of a regular occurrence and something that comes with ‘ruling’ (Klaus’ words, not her’s) over the supernatural community within New Orleans. Thus, it doesn’t take a genius to understand Klaus must have a decent amount of business to conduct most of the time. She wouldn’t be all too surprised if he was out handing threats out like flyers first thing in the morning.

The mere idea that Klaus has probably been awake for at least a couple hours now prompted her to get motivated for the day. Although she didn’t directly have any plans other than possibly not getting her throat ripped out by Rebekah, she still needed to eat.

It didn’t take her long to get dressed and make her way out of Klaus’ bedroom. But when she made it to the hallway outside of Klaus’ study, she was a little torn on what she should do next. Klaus hadn’t exactly shown her around the Compound so she really only knows the way in and out of the Compound from his living quarters.

There were a few doors on each side of the hallway. She chose the route she was more familiar with and decided to start there. Fearing that she might be interfering in his family’s privacy, she only ventured into the rooms that were already open. She first found a parlor room with dark red couches and a small wet bar, next she found a very extensive library where she read a few of the titles of the books. Some were familiar and some were totally unknown to her, but she imagined that she wouldn’t know any books that were written in other languages like the French one she decided to flip open. After finding a few first editions, she thought it best to move on and keep her human, clumsy hands away from books that could be worth more than a couple thousand dollars. When exiting the library and finding the courtyard, she climbed down the stairs and got lucky when she found the kitchen.

Walking over to the fridge, she crosses her fingers that she doesn’t just see blood bags. Upon opening the fridge, she’s satisfied to find a tray of eggs, milk carton, a drawer dedicated to fruits and vegetables, a couple bottles of water, some condiments in the door slots, and a couple other assorted food items that were relatively healthy. She would do just about anything right now to satisfy her sweet tooth that she woke up with but she’s also grateful that the Mikealson’s even have food in general, so she’ll take what she can get. So, Caroline takes the grape jelly out of the door slot and then goes to search for bread. Surely if they had food in the fridge, they had to have some non-refrigerated items too, right?

Looking through a couple of the cabinets, she mentally notes which cabinet held the plates, glassware, coffee grounds, and such. She finally finds the bread and limits herself to two slices. She may be hungry but she’s also human.

Grabbing a plate and spotting the toaster conveniently placed on the counter next to the coffee machine, she places the slices of bread inside.

In that moment, she thinks of the simple weekday mornings just before school. Those so easy and simple times where she had convinced herself could be the worst for her. How wrong she was. Now, she misses those mornings where all she had to worry about was boys and if she was going to pass that week’s pop quiz. In fact, she can even say she misses the times where the worst that could happen was an unexpected visit from a particularly moody Original hybrid in which had a 50/50 percent chance of ending with a pair of toxic hybrid teeth in someone’s throat.

Now, Caroline realizes that Klaus must have either grown to enjoy watching her and her friend’s failed attempts to end his life or preferred to use ‘kid-gloves’ because if he were to kill any of her friends, he knew better than to think she’d ever forgive him. Either way, she feels somewhat lucky in an odd way that he hadn’t reacted as badly as she now knew he could have. Unlike Klaus, Silas had no attraction or reason to extend any amount of mercy towards her, which was extremely terrifying. Silas may be mortal now but he is also a very powerful witch. One that was able to keep up with her when she was still a vampire.

The ding of the toaster brings her out of her reverie. Caroline reaches into the toaster to carefully pull the slice of bread out. The front of her finger grazes the hot metal inside and she pulls it out as quickly as she can on instinct. “Damnit!” She whispers heatedly, knowing there were other vampires within the house. In the process of taking a step back as the pain still sizzles underneath her skin, she could see something in her peripheral vision. Turning her head quickly, she yelps.

“Shit!” She curses, jumping slightly in her own skin when she finds an unexpected figure in the entranceway of the kitchen.

A smirk graces his features and a deep chuckle escapes his lips.

“God, you can’t do that. I can’t exactly sense when you’re creepily stalking me anymore.”

He doesn’t respond but she thinks he gets the point. Klaus walks over to her and easily deposits both slices of toast onto the plate she had out. Fishing out a butter knife from one of the drawers and opening the lid to the jam.

“I’d like to take you somewhere.” His eyes glance over to her as she watches him spread the jam over the slices of toast before placing the used knife into the stainless steel sink. He then slides the plate closer to her and walks back over to the fridge to put the jar of jam away.

Caroline takes the plate and takes a couple steps over to the island counter where a couple stools sat. She sits and takes a bite out of her toast. “Now?”

“As soon as you are ready.” He then grins at her, clearly hiding something from her. “Although, I recommend you wear something you don’t mind getting dirty.”

----------------------------

They’ve been in the car maybe five minutes before Caroline began to question him on where he was taking her.

“Seriously?”

His eyebrow rises and he glances towards her with lighthearted eyes that tell her he was certainly enjoying her irritation. Caroline just resorts to glaring at him but it doesn't hold nearly the same weight that it had a few years ago when she’d glare at him then and he clearly knows it. Klaus’ eyes return to the road and Caroline sighs, settling further into the leather seat of his luxury SUV.

“If you can’t tell me where we’re going, can you at least tell me something?” She asks, thinking that maybe he would want to play the ‘hint game.’

A sly smirk puts the edge of his lips up. Instead of giving into her, he decides to veer off into a different topic altogether.

“Do you recall the period of time when Alaric helped train the doppelganger in the ridiculous hope that it would somehow keep her safe from my siblings and myself?”

Caroline is a little taken aback by his question. Obviously, she remembers. Elena had once tried to get her to join her and Alaric. What surprised her about it though was that he even knew about it in the first place because Elena had thought they’d kept it all ‘hush hush’ specifically so he wouldn’t find out. Although, Caroline now thinks that he would most likely know from pulling the information out of Tyler or having a hybrid tail them once in a while. Both scenarios are equally as realistic.

The Land Rover slows and turns down a dirt path that is cascaded with tall trees. Clearly, he was taking her somewhere in the countryside.

“Yeah, but I don’t see how that’s relevant unless you plan to drag me out into the middle of the woods and kill me.” She turns her head to look at him. “Because I will put up one hell of a fight.”

His chuckle is low but not in a dark way. The blue in his eyes gets a little brighter when he parks the car at the edge of a large clearing. There’s a few fallen logs and if Caroline squints just enough, she can make out the shape of a couple makeshift tents a couple hundred yards away. She feels the Original turn towards her after shutting the car off and she looks his way.

“Trust me, sweetheart, if I were to make you my victim, I wouldn’t need to take you to the Bayou.” The tone in his voice is as casual as if he were talking about dinner plans and the smile he dotes is edging on the side of diabolical.

She raises a brow and turns away from him as she opens the passenger side door. “Because that makes me feel reassured.” Caroline knows his lips tug higher up into his cheeks, enjoying her slight sarcasm and their back-and-forth banter. Sometimes she thinks he likes making her angry, she can’t really think of a reason why, but he seems to always draw that emotion out of her at times when he doesn’t really have to.

Upon getting out, she notices he rounds the back of the car and opens the tailgate. Klaus pulls two objects out and closes the tailgate before meeting her a few paces away from the black vehicle. Her eyes widen a hair and her eyebrows rise dramatically when she sees what he took out for the back of his SUV.

He holds two long medieval looking swords, one in each hand. Stepping up to her, he readjusts his grip on one of the swords and holds it by the blade, offering it to her by the leather wrapped handle. She physically hesitates, clearly confused about what his end goal was.

Klaus seems amused by her reaction and tips his head to the side.

“Go on, it won’t bite you.”

Her eyes shift from the sword in his hands and his eyes. Slowly, she grasps the handle of the sword and Klaus lets go. Caroline struggles for a moment, the sword being heavier than she had anticipated. Not knowing what to do with it, she lets the end of it sit on the ground.

On the other hand, Klaus holds his sword by the handle and holds it out diagonally in the air.

“Strike it.” He orders.

Caroline does nothing except look at him strangely before rolling her eyes. “Seriously? You brought me out here for your own amusement? Newsflash, I’m not exactly some minion you can drag out to weird places and play ‘swords’ with.”

Klaus sighs and lowers the sword down, expertly thrusting the point into the grassy ground.

“This is no game, love. As much as I’d like to be showing you my city, I have a vested interest in your safety and to keep you protected. From what I have come to realize within the past years in residing in New Orleans, I can’t be in multiple places at once. Thus, why we are here.” His empty hand motions along as he speaks and his eyes glance around the clearing at it’s mention. “I’d like to be able to say that I will be by your side at all times, but that would simply be false. Which is why I think it is pertinent and rather of astronomically great import that you have some ability to defend yourself.”

Caroline glances down at the sword in his hand. “With a sword?” She asks with a stifled laugh, almost amused by the thought of using a sword in an actual realistic fight.

“No, but it gives you a starting place and the ability to learn how to use spare objects as weapons.”

Klaus then raises the sword again and nods. “Now, strike it.”

[pi-cat000]

BNHA: Kakashi dimension hops crossover (5)

Summary: Kakashi gets dumbed into the My Hero Academia universe through random plot devise.

Characters:  Kakashi Hatake

Fandoms: My Hero Academia and Naruto

WARNINGS: Mentions of violence/injury

START  / RREV / NEXT

Ms Iroi always tries to engage him in conversation whenever she comes in, asking questions and chatting to herself in a fruitless attempt at helping him recover his 'lost' memories. Most of the time, Kakashi is indifferent to her presence and always has a magazine handy as an excuse not to talk.

Today, Iroi is in a particularly good mood, humming to herself, greeting him with an energetic, “How are you doing today!”

Kakashi grunts a noncommittal response which doesn’t do much to discourage the woman’s good mood as she runs through a check-up routine.  

“You should try watching U.A’s sports festival tomorrow. I hear it’s going to be particularly spectacular this year,” she says as she pulls the blinds on Kakashi's window, blocking out the distant city lights. 

U.A? he recognises the name. Kakashi glances up over the pages of HERO!! MONTHLY BREAKDOWN. It is the third time he has read this issue.

“You know, since you like reading those hero magazines, I figured you would be interested in watching the ‘next generation of heroes’ debut,” she continues, noting his attention, “U.A always puts on a good show.”

Kakashi frowns. The problem with his amnesia cover story is that he is still trying to figure out what he can get away with not remembering. So far the doctor’s seem content to chalk up the disappearance of his long term memories to a ‘quirk’ accident but were always more concerned when he failed to recall basic factual information. Something to do with different parts of the brain being responsible for different types of information.

 “Watch how?” He settles on asking. U.A. was supposed to be a hero-training academy so whatever this ‘sports festival’ was was worth checking out. 

“Oh,” Iori pauses to think, “I, ah, think channel 2 with be covering it?” she hesitates, “You know what. I’ll look it up and let you know later. Sorry, I can’t carry my phone around with me while on shift.”

“Thank you.” He smiles and makes a show of returning to his magazine to dissuade further conversation.

Later the same evening, just before the end of the evening shift, Iori pokes her head into his room again. She is out of uniform, long hair untired, waving to catch his attention.

“The coverage is on channel 2 and starts at 11am,” She holds up her portable communication devise like it means something.  It probably did mean something. The frequency by which people checked them suggested it had a function beyond basic communication. He has held off attempting to steal one because, unlike pens, people would notice and care if one went missing.  

“Have fun watching! Oh… also, I forgot to ask…”

Kakashi raises a brow.

“I have a bunch of old gossip magazines. Mum used to read them all the time and there are a few hero-themed ones in the mix. I can bring them in if you want more stuff to read.” 

“If you want.” Iori must have noticed him re-reading the magazines. 

"I'll bring them on Friday!"

Iori had been unsubtly hinting that Kakashi might have had a history in heroics. It definitely wasn’t because reading information on a page just made sense when compared to the barrage of conflicting reports the television gave him. A few weeks with only the television as his information source has him writing off most of its information as useless or propaganda.  

…

...

“HEELLLOOOOO, LISTENERS!”

Kakashi stares dully as the video footage, which had been giving him a bird’s eye view of a positively massive stadium, changes to a sweeping shot of what must be thousands of people crammed into seats. It almost makes him claustrophobic just watching it.

“WELLCOME TO OUR ANNUAL U.A. SPORTS FESTIVAL! THE HIGH SCHOOL ADOLESCENT RODEO YOU ALL LOVE TO WATCH. CAN A GET A ‘OH YEAH!’”

As if of one mind, thousands of people leap to their feet screaming. The camera angle changes again to show a grinning blond-haired man, seated at a desk and pointing enthusiastically at the camera. All these shot changes are going to give him a headache. Kakashi is already having reservations watching this and its only10 minutes.

“Thank you! You’re an AMAZING audience!”

 It almost reminds him of the final Chunin Exam stages -if the Chunin exams had had three times the audience - which always involved some sort of combat display.  There hadn’t been any public Chunin Exams recently for reasons such as a large portion of Konoha being flattened by Pein.

“FIRST UP ARE OUR FIRST-YEAR EVENTS! And what an exciting round of events they are, perfect for debuting our newest students! Give us a shout so they can feel your support!”

Another loud shot as thousands of people yelled in unison.

“Come on! Louder than that! These are your future Heroes I’m talking about! SHOW THEM SOME LOVE!”

More yelling. Kakashi turns down the volume.

“But! Wait just a minute!! We're not only here for our Hero students! As I'm sure you all know, behind every great hero is a hardworking support team! GIVE IT UP FOR our Support, Management and General departments who are also competing for a chance to face off in the finals!”

Kakashi sighs. He is getting the sense that this might be more for entertainment than utility purposes, conforming to the general trend of Hero-related stuff being flashy. Different from the Chunin exam which had deadly consequences if not taken seriously.

“Hey. Hey! HERE THEY COME NOW! OUR STUDENTS PARTICIPATING IN THE FIRST YEAR STAGE!”

What follows is an overly dramatized race where the only thing of interest to him are the obstacle types, including robots, - mobile mechanical weapons of some sort that produced a lot of environmental damage but were taken down fairly easily- and explosive devices that acted a lot like explosive tags. Then there was a team elimination round and one-on-one tournament fights after which the coverage shifts to the second year and third year stages.

He uncovers the sharingun only to discover that, while its memorisation function worked fine, the part that translated the movements into muscle memory felt off. Perhaps, the replication and copying component of the eye didn’t work when viewing a technique through a screen rather than in person. Interesting. As there wasn't anything particularly impressive technique-wise during the events he counts the new information as a net gain. 

The student-heroes – he is not sure if there is an official term for a hero in training – barely match Konoha’s academy standard in their taijutsu and physical conditioning though there was marked improvement between first, second and third-year groups. These students were what...between 14-18 years old...and yet most had the skill level of an academy  students and fresh genuin with only a few notable exceptions?

Sure, there were - honestly ridiculous- versatile and powerful bloodline abilities being thrown around like nothing, but ninjutsu techniques only took a shinobi so far without a strong base to work from. He shakes his head, reminding himself that these kids - because what else did you call combatants who hadn’t graduated yet- weren’t shinobi in training and would be policing civilians and engaging ‘Villains’ of similar skill levels. It was obvious that the students favoured non-lethal takedown methods and put little to no thought into stealth and misdirection during fights. 

Different words…different priorities. 

As Kakashi has yet to see any evidence that the country, Japan, was at war with another he thinks the skill level displayed might be serviceable. There were also no major conflicts between the country’s large cities over farmland, water sources and the like. Obviously, this place had sorted out the resource and distribution issues usually encountered when supporting such large populations. Or, who knows, maybe everything on the television was a carefully constructed lie to lull people into complacency.

Now he has seen an example of hero-students, he better understands the low combat ability demonstrated by the police. It also gives incite into the blurry recordings of Hero/Villain confrontations which played on repeat across the various ‘news’ reports. They all tended to hover around Chunin or maybe Special Jounin in terms of skill. He knows generalisations are dangerous so, until he saw the combat in person, he would exercise his usual level of caution. There were bound to be outliers after all-the impressive brute strength of the number one hero comes to mind- and there was no telling what advantages a bloodline ability might provide. Absently, he makes testing the susceptibly of people without chakra to genjustu as something to figure out sooner rather than later.

He sighs. This is why he hated the television. Whenever he watched it, he came away increasingly confused, with more questions than he had answers. Not to mention anything useful being constantly interrupted with information detailing one of the many products that he could apparently buy here. It irritated him to no end. 

...

...

The chakra collecting seal is ready before the week is out. Mostly ready...it was ready enough.

Kakashi returns to the roof. Sitting cross-legged, back against the stairway entrance, he works his way through the 100 or so pens, cracking them open and tapping out ink into a large bowl, stolen -like the pens -from hospital staff.

The mix of black, blue and red ink is gluggy, forcing him to add water to thin the solution out. Once satisfied he pulls out an appropriated scalpel – one of a growing collection hidden alongside his pens because having a stash of weapons is never a bad thing- pricking his middle finger, watching the blood drip and curdle with the mixture. The blood would be absorbed into the ink, allowing it to conduct chakra. He mixes everything with pair of disposable chopsticks, taking care not to spill it on the ground or stain his hands.

The whole process reminds him of other insistences where he had improvised fuinjutsu ink in the field. The last time being during his final Anbu missions where he had created a body storage scroll from scratch after unexpectedly losing a squad mate on what should have been a simple intel retrieval mission. Not a particularly fond memory but a memory he was stuck with.

Since his demotion to Jonin-sensei there had been fewer of those sorts of missions. Not that being a Jonin-sensei had been easy – considering all his students had gone off to find other teachers he didn't even think he had been particularly good at it - bringing with it its own special brand of stress, culminating in a stint as Hokage, a fourth war and him stuck here. He is pretty sure his experiences aren't universal. Team 7 was just cursed to fail in increasingly spectacular ways.

He lets out a heavy sigh, leaving his airways open to a sudden gust of cold wind which carries the scent of cleaning chemicals from the hospital and oil from the road straight up his nose. He exhales forcefully and mentally bumps finding a face mask up his list of priorities. It would be good for hiding his features and dulling the artificial smells of a city housing over a million people.

The sound of wind whistling around the building almost blocks out the echo of feet in the stairway, approaching his location. In one smooth motion, Kakashi stands pushing the remaining broken pen back into the vent, nudging the cover back in place with his foot. Carefully he holds the bowl of ink in his injured arm and a scalpel in the other. Kakashi steps back against the entrance so the outward opening door would hide him from whoever came out.

A crying kid comes barrelling through the door.

Well, not completely crying, more like sniffing loudly, eyes all shiny. He even recognises the kid from the U.A combat demonstration, as improbable as that was. It is the first year hero student with the speed-enhancing ability which, seeing him up close, probably had something to do with the strange growths coming out of his caff muscles. High speed movement put enormous strain on the body so he could reasonably conclude that the kid was physically resilient to acceleration stress and similar forces. Not resilient to stabbing though....

Kakashi forces himself to relax, his scalpel lowering ever so slightly. Lucky he had heard the kid coming or he might have accidentally hurt him. A few weeks of reduced sleep coupled with a lot of time to ruminate on past missions and failures has put him on edge. This was exactly why he disliked taking extended breaks. 

Maybe, Kakashi should start relocking the stairway if he was planning to make regular trips up here because the young male probably hadn’t had the roof in mind as a destination. Kakashi knows from experience that, unless you were injured or a member of staff, there were few good reasons to wander around a hospital at odd hours.

With the hero-student distracted sniffling into his arm, Kakashi slips around the door and back down the stairs. He hadn’t planned on applying the seal on the roof anyway. Too exposed to the elements and the concrete was too rough for the delicate line work.

He continues mixing while he walks, having mentally mapped the hospital well enough to know which hallways to use and which to avoid. There is a surgeon with some sort of heat-sensing vision who works late most nights that he must be careful around and a nurse with a weak proximity based empathic ability working in paediatrics. Both obstacles force him to take a meandering detour on his way to the ground floor and  the larger shower blocks which housed  cubicles the size of small rooms. Enough smooth floorspace for the expanded seal design and easy to clean afterwards. He supposes he is lucky, some complicated fuinjutsu required several meters worth of floor space. The containment on Saskue’s cursed seal comes to mind and he is glad that this seal is infinity smaller.

Not one to waste time knowing that nurses and patients regularly used the space even this late in the evening, he immediately slips into a cubicle upon arrival. Flopping onto the floor he pulls out the paintbrush he had had scour the hospital for and eventually to steal from the children’s ward. Carefully, he begins the slow process of application.

…

…

The final seal design is circular, about the size of his splayed hand, positioned on his uninjured shoulder just above where his Anbu seal had previously sat. The sleepwear provided by the hospital had sleeves that extend just past his bicep. It hid the design, for the most part. The final visible seal is a bit bigger than he had predicted or planned for. If this were a proper infiltration mission, where blowing his cover came at the price of death, he would be in big trouble. If this were a proper mission, he would have waited before applying this. An unnecessary risk. He itches the back of his head, turning from where he is craning his neck to see the seal, gathering up his supplies to be thrown in one of the hospital’s many rubbish bins. Kakashi lets out a breath. Maybe, this whole ‘trapped in a different world’ thing is affecting him more than he was willing to admit and making him sloppy.

He pulls down the sleeve so it mostly hides the design. Not like the doctors here would recognise the significance of fuinjutsu, he reminds himself, even if their questions would be annoying to deflect.

He pumps chakra into the seal and a jolt akin to lightning runs down his limb. It activates without issue and Kakashi grimaces as his chakra is slowly drained and collected. The rate of the drain is pathetically slow. Three years too slow. But, between this and his sharingan - which was always active and draining chakra- he can’t risk making it quicker. Despite the relatively low-level threats around him, Kakashi is, first and foremost, a Jonin in an unknown territory who is already taking risks simply making and applying the seal. He can’t afford to impair himself with poor chakra management on top of everything else.

Kakashi pops his head out of the cubical, scanning the shower block. Nothing of note has changed and he darts out, intent on returning to his room. He is tired and it would be a long, tiresome week as his body adjusted to the strain as well.

NEXT  

[aggressive-positivity-network]

Spy and a very laid back love interest who is always bugging them to "just relax" and "chill a little bit"?

Oh god, this would be the best dynamic EVER. Spy would learn to chill and the partner would learn to care. It’s just...so wholesome...

Non-Emergencies:

Spy would simultaneously be trying to keep up his face-of-stone persona while also hyperventilating.

“Do...is the screw under the sofa? Perhaps next to the TV stand? If we don’t use every piece it may fall apart. Sacre...do you even care at all?!”

You raise your eyebrows. “Okay, you know what, let’s hear it.”

“Pardon?”

“If we don’t find the screw, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“YOU KILL YOURSELF ON THIS DEATH TRAP DISGUISED AS A SOFA!”

“How?”

You got him there. He thought for a while, not wanting to admit he was wrong. While he was pondering, you lift up your leg and you find the lost screw. You had been sitting on it.

“Looking for this?”

Spy snatched the screw away from you, cursing under his breath. You can’t help but snicker.

“Listen, if furniture killed, IKEA would have gone out of business long ago.”

“Oui, oui, you are hilarious. Hon hon hon.”

“Aw, you’re so cute when you get all worried about me.”

“Go to hell.”

“Only if I can take you with me.”

After Work:

A lot of times, Spy will come home from jobs absolutely exhausted. He usually finds comfort in you. The Frenchman has told you when he was particularly tired that you “smell like home.” If you are still up, he’ll sit next to you on the couch and eventually fall asleep on your shoulder.

However, every once in a while, he will walk through the door, his eyes wide, his body shaking, and his hair a mess. After those nights, he is always jumpy and anxious for the next week or so.

During those periods, you make sure to give him some extra TLC. You take over meal duties for a while, you make sure to watch shows that don’t have gunfire, screaming, or combat, and you make sure to pour positive thoughts back into his life.

“Spy, I saw the cutest Pomeranian! I know you’ve said you always wanted one.”

“My barista was French, and her name is Mimi! I may have a bit of competition...”

“I saw a double rainbow on the way home! My grandpa always said that double rainbows meant a happy marriage - I guess he was right!”

You’d know he’d be feeling better when you’d come home to the smell of camomile and disinfectant...he always cleaned and made tea when he was in a good mood.

It was also his way of “making it up to you.” He’s always embarrassed about his episodes, but you always secretly like loving on him a bit.

He never let you treat him this romantically otherwise - he felt it was his responsibility to swoon.

But, despite his aversion to being spoiled, he always seems to have a smile on his face when you surprise him with gifts and loving words.

Problems With Being Assertive:

Even though you are as kind as you can to everyone, sometimes kindness isn’t enough. But due to your large family and little personal time growing up, you are a little too forgiving when it comes to how people treat you.

Spy, however, is intolerant of any disrespect. He has scared off many telemarketers and belligerent Girl Scouts with his withering looks and sharp words.

One night, you both were at a restaurant, and you ordered a salad to eat before the main course, as this establishment was known for taking their sweet time with dishes.

Twenty minutes later, your salad arrives, absolutely covered in cheddar cheese. Because you’re lactose intolerant, you had ordered no cheese AT ALL, but your salad had so much cheese you couldn’t even see the top of the lettuce.

Now, Spy has an almost scary memory, and knows exactly what you ordered, but he doesn’t say anything except that you should probably ask for another salad.

“This is their job, mon chéri. If they did not do it correctly, that is not your fault.”

You finally do pluck up your courage and ask the waiter to get a salad without cheese.

They are reluctant, saying that wasn’t what you ordered the first time, but a glare from Spy sent them scurrying back to the kitchen. You get a little irritated.

“Honey, they’re trying their best. Working at a restaurant is hard enough already without remaking something I didn’t have to eat.”

Spy raised his eyebrows. “Something you didn’t have to eat? That you expressly asked for? At a restaurant?”

“You know what I mean.”

The salad comes back and it is very obviously the same salad but with handfuls of cheese picked off. There was still quite a bit left.

Spy is now visibly angry, and you look to him for help, but he shakes his head. He wants you to deal with this on your own. You can’t rely on his social bravery forever. He just gestures to the waiter, who is already starting to walk away, and smiles.

You take a deep breath.

“I’m really sorry, but there’s still cheese on it...I can’t...I can’t eat it.”

The waiter rolls his eyes. “If we make your salad again, you’ll have to pay for all three.

“There’s...only two.”

“You sent it back, we remade it, and now you want me to remake it again. Three.”

“But then why did you add cheese this time?”

“You ordered it.”

“I did not order cheese on my salad! I am really, really lactose intolerant! And...and I ordered no cheese so I wouldn’t be throwing up all weekend! So why would I order cheese?”

“You should have informed us of any allergies you had.”

“I did! By asking for no cheese! What, do I need a doctor’s note to eat here?!”

The waiter started to say something else, but you cut him off.

“It wouldn’t even be that big a deal if your food didn’t take an hour and a half to get here! I haven’t eaten since breakfast, because all my orders got backed up! I just wanted a salad! A salad to eat while your gourmet chef put your gourmet dishes in a gourmet microwave! I thought I could come in, talk with my beautiful husband, and eat a little more than I should so I could konk out watching Nailed It! when I got home! I don’t want to argue with you! I just want a damn salad!”

You strike the table, causing your silverware to clink together. You put your head in your hands and massage your temples for a few seconds.

“So. A salad. With no cheese. Not extra, not some, not picked off. None.”

Spy grinned, impressed.

“I would listen to them if I were in your position, mon ami. You have cleaning duty tonight, no?”

The waiter nodded slowly.

“Let’s just say I have to book a hotel when they accidentally eat dairy. It even set off the fire alarm once, didn’t it, dearest?”

You cock an eyebrow, but you agree to play along. He didn’t have to take it that far.

The waiter blushed scarlet and retreated back to the kitchen. He didn’t say anything all night, and followed each of your instructions to a T.

Once you got back in the car, you smacked Spy on the shoulder.

“Set off the fire alarm?! Seriously?”

“I have been lying all day, mon amour. Forgive me if I wasn’t exactly up to snuff this evening.”

“We can never go here again! Ever! I’ll be known as the guy who almost blew up the bathroom!”

“It isn’t such a loss...I much prefer dining in anyway.”

There was a silence. Suddenly, Spy wrapped his arms around you and kissed you so suddenly you almost fell over. He pulled back after a while, taking his mask off.

“You are so irresistible when you’re angry...”

You giggled. “Did I find a sweet spot?”

“Oui. Most definitely.”

“We’re not going to go to the movies, are we?”

“Unless you prefer the smell of stale popcorn to get you in the mood.”

“You had better make it up to me after tonight.”

“Oh, I will, mon chou. I will.”

**************

I know that this is a little shorter than usual, but I wanted to leave a little more to the imagination. Besides, some bigger HCs are coming up, and I don’t want you to be reading a novel every time I answer a request.

Call this a Non-canon Novella!

[chamomileteainabuttercup]

Dincobb Week Day 2 - Hurt/Comfort (SFW)

Welcome to my Dincobb Week fanfic posts! I've written stories and scenes of varying lengths and tones. For clarity I should say that most of these exist as miniature AUs of their own and have no continuity with each other or with anything else I've written about these characters, so in different pieces they may be described having different physical features, personal possessions, preferences, et cetera. (There are three exceptions which I'll note as such when they come out.) Thanks to @djarining, who helped me a lot with brainstorming and discussing my ideas!

For today I have two pieces, an SFW and an NSFW - the NSFW is scheduled to post an hour after this one. The SFW is the first of the three linked stories - the other two are SFW and NSFW for a finale (but the SFWs can stand alone if you prefer not to read the NSFW one).

Hurt/Comfort - Sunburn and Grief

“Oh, partner,” Cobb says with rueful sympathy. “Look at the state of you.”

Din doesn’t know how his face looks, but from the hot, tight feeling of the skin he guesses it’s much like what he can see of his arms, shoulders, chest — burned crimson. Even his eyelids feel burned, and puffy to boot. He’s feeling pretty angry with himself. Just because he’d been enjoying the newfound warmth of the sun on his face was no reason to decide to take his shirt off and feel it all over the top of his body. It was a dumb impulse and the fact it had felt blissfully good, so much so that after he lay down to bask on the patch of sand behind Cobb’s house that he jokingly calls the garden, he fell fast asleep, did not excuse it. This is his natural punishment, he guesses, for getting into a “nothing matters any more so I’ll do whatever I feel like” state of mind, exacerbated by day-drinking. He’s not sure if the splitting headache is because of the sunburn or more of a hangover symptom. Either way, he knows he deserves it — and he doesn’t deserve how gentle Cobb is being with him, guiding him into the cool shade of the house with a hand carefully on his unburned back.

“You don’t have to look after me,” Din says. “I deserve this.”

“You’re under my roof, so yes I do,” says Cobb. “We take hospitality seriously out here. Sit down.” He guides him into a chair by his kitchen table and looks him over again. “You’re already blistering, you poor dummy. Well, first things first, you’re dehydrated.” He brings him a tall glass of water. “Slow sips, now. You gulp it down and you’re liable to throw up. I once found that out the hard way.”

Din doesn’t want to be fussed over but he still has enough of a wish to survive that he takes the glass gratefully. He takes a first sip to wet his mouth and throat, then another that he tries to hold in his mouth for as long as he can before swallowing. Cobb’s left the room; he thinks he can hear him in the bathroom, opening and shutting the cabinets. It’s so hard to think clearly; his head aches and he’s still not really sober. He can’t think what he should be doing. Is this sunstroke? What are you supposed to do for sunstroke again? He doesn’t think he’s ever been sunburned before, maybe it always feels this awful and he just wouldn’t know. Not really a Mandalorian problem. And he’s not really a Mandalorian now, so it’s become his problem. He drinks the rest of the water, probably too fast, but if he throws up he probably deserves that too.

Cobb comes back with a handful of washcloths and a big jar of something pale yellow and waxy-looking. “Let’s get you cooled down,” he says, and goes about efficiently filling a big bowl with water, throwing in some ice from the freezer, soaking the cloths and laying them spread out on Din’s chest and arms. They feel shockingly cold at first and he flinches, but almost immediately they seem to grow warm from the heat of his skin. Cobb’s humming softly as he does it, a constant soothing sound. “Head back,” he says, and lays a wet cloth over Din’s face, then leaves again and comes back with something that he sets on the table beside him. There’s a click and a whirr and a fan is blowing across his body, helping to chill the wet cloths again. Cobb keeps re-dipping and replacing them. Quiet minutes pass. The coolness is so merciful. Din opens his mouth a bit and sucks some water from the cloth over his face. His lips really hurt, but it’s still comforting somehow. He remembers how Grogu was hellbent on sucking soapy water out of the washcloth whenever he gave him a bath, and the memory stabs him under the ribs. Why does he have to remember stuff like that? Stuff that was annoying and a little gross and worried him at the time, but that he’d now give an arm or a leg to have back in his life?

“Okay,” says Cobb, peeling the wet cloth back from his face, “I want you to drink some more water. I put some rehydration salts in this glass, so it may taste a little funny, but you need the electrolytes or whatever.” Din accepts the glass and drinks, obediently; he’s starting to feel very slightly better physically. “And I bet you have the mother of a headache, so take these too.” He gives him a couple of white capsules to swallow.

“Thanks,” Din says, his voice even more subdued than normal. Cobb is watching him with his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand. He looks concerned, which makes Din feel guilty, but also irritable because Cobb doesn’t have to concern himself. Yes, Din asked if he could stay here, but he could always have said no, he can always ask him to leave if he becomes a burden. He should leave, it was so selfish to come here just because he was miserable and didn’t want to be around anyone else. He doesn’t know where else to go, though. He can probably go and find Boba. He would give him a job. He should probably have stuck with him anyway, but he felt like he’d imposed on him a lot already. Or followed Bo-Katan and tried to sort out all the Darksaber political nonsense. Not come here just because he wanted to see Cobb. Because he missed him and wished he could have spent longer with him in the first place. And all he’s done since he got here is act like a depressed asshole. And for reasons unknown Cobb is putting up with it. Yes, he’s a good, kind person, and maybe he feels like he still owes Din for his help over and above giving him the armour, but he still shouldn’t put up with it. Maybe he won’t for much longer. Whatever good opinion Din bought back then must be eroding fast. And that thought stabs at him, too.

“Okay,” says Cobb, taking the washcloths off Din’s left arm, closer to him, resting on the wooden arm of the chair. “This is good for sunburn, windburn, you name it. The all-purpose old-fashioned Tatooine skin balm.” He takes the lid off the jar, scoops out a generous amount on his fingertips, and begins smoothing it onto the burned skin on the back of Din’s left hand. It looks waxy, but it’s so soft that it melts into his skin almost immediately. “Mind you, you’re bound to peel, as crispy as you are, but this’ll soothe the pain and help your skin recover.”

Din’s cracked lips tremble, and if he wasn’t dehydrated he’s pretty sure there would be tears in his eyes. Cobb’s hands are so gentle. Being touched on the sunburn hurts, too, but it’s the gentleness that makes him want to cry. Cobb quietly, patiently, continues up Din’s arm to the shoulder, then moves his chair to do the same on the other side. He’s humming all the while, an old Tatooine folk song, Din thinks. Or for all he knows, last summer’s big pop hit, it’s not like he keeps up with these things.

“Sure do have a lot of scars,” Cobb remarks as he reaches the top of Din’s arm. “Looks like some of these wounds were cauterised.”

“I can’t exactly give myself stitches,” mumbles Din.

“Life’s been like that, huh?” Cobb says sympathetically. “Been there. Things are better now.” His voice softens further. “Things do get better, if you give it time and don’t lose heart. Turn your chair towards me, I gotta get your front.”

When he removes one of the washcloths from Din’s chest, Din takes it from him and drapes it over his face again. Being covered is such a relief, even if he has no right to it now. It’s particularly a relief because Cobb’s hand stroking his belly and chest with soothing balm is… embarrassing. His face would be red even if it wasn’t burned. He’s not used to this kind of physical intimacy with… anyone really. The fact that it’s still somewhat painful to be touched and his head still aches is keeping him from enjoying it in any unseemly way, but he wishes he’d laid down to bask on his front. He could just have a burnt back then. Much less… confronting to have your back touched. Cobb’s hand is stroking his neck now; he’s even burned under his chin, which feels ridiculous.

“Okay,” says Cobb, “I need to see your face again.” He takes the washcloth and Din lifts his head again, but keeps his eyes closed. Cobb begins by smoothing a dab of balm over each puffy upper lid. Now he thinks about it, he must look pretty hideous, not just red but swollen. It’s not the sort of thing he’s used to thinking about, or caring about, but it does bother him a little to have Cobb see him look like this. Gentle but firm fingertips spread balm over his forehead, down his nose, across his cheeks, down to his chin. He must have absorbed enough water by now from the two glasses he drank; tears are sneaking from the corners of his eyes and stinging his skin painfully. He feels Cobb’s thumb brushing balm across his chapped lips, the last place on his face, and thinks that will be the end of it, but then he feels hands cupping the sides of his head, thumbs stroking his temples. “Look at me, Din,” Cobb says quietly.

Reluctantly, he opens his eyes. He isn’t prepared for what he sees in Cobb’s eyes, the tenderness and affection but also the trouble and fear.

“Don’t hurt yourself like this again,” Cobb says. “Please.”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Din says, although his voice comes out weird, choked and husky.

“Wasn’t it?”

“Trust me,” he says with a little grim smile, “if I wanted to hurt myself I know a lot more efficient ways to do it.”

“But —”

“If I wanted to hurt myself I could just go out back and eat my blaster. Quick and easy. Roll down the dune and let the wind cover me up.”

“Please don’t talk like that,” Cobb says urgently. “Don’t be so flip like you don’t matter.”

“I — I don’t matter,” Din says. “I don’t matter any more. I — I’m nothing any more,” and then the dam breaks and he’s crying. It hurts, it hurts to stretch the burned skin of his face, it hurts where the tears cut through the balm, but it hurts worst inside his chest, around his heart.

“Oh, no,” says Cobb, and pulls him forward, pulls Din’s head to his shoulder, hugs him close, and Din feels his hands stroke his back, his unburned back where thank heavens, he can feel some real comfort from the touch. He still can’t stop crying. It’s a raw, ugly sound that tears his throat, a stupid, inarticulate a-hur-hur-hur. “No, darlin’, no,” Cobb’s telling him, “you’re so wrong, you matter so much to me, you are everything to me. You don’t know how happy I was to see you. To see your face! Or how broken up to see you so miserable. I wish I knew what to do for you, what to say.”

Din still can’t stop crying, but if he’s ever able to do so, he’ll want to tell Cobb that he’s doing and saying it now.

[lovestrucked-again]

Something You Should Know

Summary: Your boyfriend asks you to help teach one of his colleague’s a lesson and you agree reluctantly. He forget’s to mention one thing though, his colleague’s pretty hot. 

Genre: smuT Pairing: boyfriend!Jaehyun x female Y/N x Johnny x (ft Yuta) Word count: 4.8k

Warning: SMUT, cheating? if you read to the end it’s like pSyCH. handjob, oral sex (Jaehyun/Yuta/Y/N), teasing, ass sex? mindblank forgot the term, double penetration, sex, nipple teasing, humiliation, dirty talk.

a/n: Hi, how has your day been? :) _____

“What was that about?” You ask, your eyes still on the TV as Jaehyun falls back against the couch after a long call.

“Just Johnny,” He sighs, ruffling a hand through his hair.

“How’s he doing?”

“Not bad, he just wanted to come round sometime soon to catch up with us.”

“That sounds nice.” You hum, agreeing with the idea.

The TV show continues, the tiny forms of pixel racing across the screen to produce one of your favourite movies you’d chosen to re-watch. It’s a lot harder to concentrate with Jaehyun beside you. His fingers restlessly tapping against your leg as his eyes are on trained on you instead.

Finally, you cave in to his stare, “What?”

He grins, reaching for the remote to pause the scene before talking, “Babe I have a favour to ask.”

“What is it?”

“Johnny’s been acting like a real jerk recently, thinking he can fuck anyone he wants including one of the managers at work.”

“So?”

“I was thinking,” he pauses, sitting cross legged on the couch and turning his body to face you, “Maybe it’d be fun to wind him up a little through the evening, like if you could openly flirt with him and leave him hanging then send him off.”

The idea runs through your mind. “What? Why me?”

“Because you’re hot.”

You can’t help but laugh, “To you maybe.”

"Are you kidding? Several of my mates say how lucky I am."

"Oh yeah, like who?" You question, suddenly very intrigued.

"I'm not telling you that," Jaehyun frowns in reply.

You laugh at his pouting form, his dimples furrowing further into his cheeks as he keeps his gaze level with yours. You relax a little into the couch, thinking about his suggestion. “Are you sure about it?”

“Yeah why not?” He crosses his arms, leaning back against the armrest, "It's only a bit of fun, I just want to put him in his place, you don't actually have to sleep with him."

Just for fun. Not actually doing anything physical.

“Yeah okay, I’ll help.”

*** When the night finally comes around, you struggle choosing out an outfit, but eventually decide on purposefully picking a rather shortish skirt with a low V line shirt, allowing your push up bra to show a nice cleavage.

While you’re choosing your accessories Jaehyun finishes up in the shower, your back towards him as he stares into your reflection through the bathroom mirror. "Fuck, you look gorgeous,” Jaehyun comments, leaning against the ensuite doorway, "I want to bend you over and take you now."

You clip on the pearl earring on your ear and turn around to face him. The visible bulge underneath his towel. "I can see that.” You laugh, giving him a side smirk as you stand up, pulling your skirt up a little.

You walk over to Jaehyun and pull his towel away so his standing naked. Your hand reaching to grab his cock and gliding your hand over it very slowly. Jaehyun lets out a low moan at the contact of your skin on his length. His voice getting louder as your hand works its way up and down his cock.

“Does that feel nice?” You purr.

“Ugh fuck Y/N,” he groans, “you look so fucking hot right now.”

“Isn’t that what how you want me for Johnny?” You tease

Seeing you in your short skirt, your low cut shirt and your breasts almost hanging out your bra, he second thinks the idea. Jaehyun trusted you to follow the plan but he was sure, certain, positive that there was no way Johnny would let you go tonight.

You drop onto your knees, still grasping tightly on his member, his cock now staring right in your face. You part your mouth open, and lightly lick the tip of his cock, tasting the familiar saltiness of his pre-cum.

Jaehyun remains still, completely lost in his ecstasy as he watches you suck on him, savouring every moment as you greedily slurp and suck his cock. His balls tighten as you play with them, your hand squeezing them gently as you continue to suck.

“Fuck that feels so good.”

The pressure builds inside his balls as your hand slips a little higher. His cum shooting straight into your mouth as you swallow it straight down. Jaehyun leans more against the wall to support himself as you suck on him, milking everything out and down your throat. You finally let him go as you feel his orgasm subside.

"Babe that was so good," he sighs, helping you up on your feet as you wipe away the droplets of cum sliding down your lip.

"That was a teaser, maybe if you’re a good boy tonight I’ll let you have some fun before bed.” You tell him, giving him a little wink as you go back to your dresser to fix your makeup.

"I can't fucking wait for that," Jaehyun groans staring at your backside.

“Go get dressed Jae.” You laugh, watching him daydream through the reflection.

***

You leave Jaehyun to get ready and make your way downstairs, preparing everything for their game night. The beer, spirits and snacks are all stocked up in your fridge just next to the dining room where they would be playing. At around 7:30, Jaehyun finally joins you, making sure everything’s set.

Doyoung’s the first to turn up, followed by Taeyong, Yuta and Taeil. You know all the guys so naturally, you give each of them a hug as they enter, each in turn letting them eye you up in surprise at your outfit; all of them giving you a wink, aware of the real purpose for tonight.

“How are you feeling?” Yuta asks, trailing behind as you lead him and the others to the setup game zone.

“Not too bad.”

The doorbell rings and you excuse yourself, letting Yuta join the others as you skip down the hall to answer it, ready to put the plan into action. Except what Jaehyun had failed to mention to you earlier, was what Johnny actually looked like. You had met his other colleagues, the group of them having worked together for many years. But Johnny, well, Johnny is something else.

You cling onto the door for support, feeling your knees weaken when you see him. Johnny was tall, well built, brown hair and had looks to die for. He smiles as you stare.

“You must be Y/N,”

"Uh yes," you stammer out.

"I'm Johnny," he says offering you his hand.

"Of course, come in," you reply shaking his hand, which feels a bit odd considering all the other's had got a peck on the cheek.

Johnny follows you down the hall and into the dining room. You take a quick detour and run into the kitchen to get him a beer. Jaehyun quickly appears by your side.

"Fuck, you could have told me he was so hot," you blurt out. Jaehyun gives a little smirk, amused at your flustered reaction to his colleague.

"Sorry, didn't think it mattered. Either way, he's a ladies’ man and he knows it, so we want you to put him in his place. Oh and he's already mentioned how lucky I am. Get to work and show him he can't have everything he wants.”

You take a deep breath, turning your nerves into a forced smile as you take on the role. As the night goes on, you can tell that Johnny behaves with an air of arrogance and you can hear him talking about his conquests at work and how he’s now planning his next move on one of the directors who was in her fifties.

"If I can get in her pants, I'll be right up the ladder," you hear him say.

You hide the laugh that's about to escape your lips, swallowing a gulp of the soft drink in your hand. Yep Jaehyun was right. This guy really does think a lot of himself, good looking or not. You continue to supply the boys with drinks and snacks, taking every opportunity to show a bit of yourself as you lean over the table, reaching unnecessarily far for no reason. At one point you turn to go and feel a smack on your backside. You let out a little yelp and turn around, unsurprisingly discovering its Johnny.

"Proper beauty you've got here Jaehyun, no wonder you look tired all the time," you hear him say, followed by a deep chuckle.

“I’m not an object asshole.” You mutter to yourself, storming away to cover your irritation from being seen.

You’re in the kitchen when you hear Johnny asking Jaehyun where the toilet is. He guides Johnny through the kitchen, passing you briefly to the downstairs bathroom which is rarely used. You have your back to Johnny as he comes in and you jump, feeling him creep up behind you.

"So, just how did Jaehyun manage to find a sexy woman like you?" he whispers into your ear as he gets a little too close, letting his chest brush against you.

Time to up my game. You carefully undo a button on your blouse to reveal more of your bra and cleavage and turn around; with some difficulty as Johnny’s right behind you. His height makes it incredibly hard to stare him straight in the eyes and while you attempt to keep his gaze on your face, it’s pretty obvious that he’s looking somewhere else.

"Do you think I could have done better then?" you ask with a pout.

"Jaehyun’s good, but you seem way out of his league," he replies

"Would I be good enough for you?" you ask fluttering your eyelids, feeling a bit of a fool as you do so.

Johnny manages to hide the shock from your question, believing your show, “You’d be more than good enough.”

He leans forward and you place your palms on his chest, pushing him back to keep the little distance between yourselves.

"Forget it, there's only one man that's going to have this," you tell him, following his gaze to your chest, "and it certainly isn't you."

Johnny takes a step back, throwing his hands in the air sarcastically pretending to be offended. "What's all this about you little prick tease? You've been giving me the come on all night" he chuckles, bringing a hand through your hair.

You swat away his hand before buttoning back up on your blouse.

"You really think my boyfriend was going to invite you into his house and have you fuck his girlfriend?" you snarl at him.

"Shit, I'm sorry, but I've not done anything, you were the one flirting with me," he genuinely did look sorry and you feel a pang of guilt.

"Look, the guys are fed up of you bragging about your conquests and treating women like dirt, they just wanted to teach you a lesson that was all."

"It'll take more than that," he says, turning back to his arrogant self, "well if you do fancy a bit of a change sometime let me know." Then he was off to the toilet before going back to the game of poker.

You were furious at his attitude, your anger directed as much to Jaehyun as to Johnny, for getting yourself into this in the first place. Johnny was a good looking guy, but yes, definitely full of himself. Was it all just an act though, he had seemed hurt when you had a go at him. You decide you had enough of the little game and it was time for you to retire upstairs and return to the comfort of your bed. Jaehyun appears just as you’re about to leave the kitchen.

"Everything all right baby?" he asks.

"No, it is not all right, I'm going to bed. You can continue your game and get your own drinks." You tell him, arms folded, throwing the hand towel on the kitchen bench as you walk off.

Jaehyun looks puzzled, but he doesn't question it.

An hour or so later, Jaehyun appears in your shared bedroom. You’re already changed into a nightie, but left your little thong on; too lazy to switch it. You weren’t happy with Jaehyun for making you wind Johnny up, but at the same time it had got you aroused, so if he apologised it wouldn't all be wasted. However, when you see him stumble through the door, you realise even if he did apologise he was in no fit state for anything else. Clearly they had moved on to the whisky.

"Good game." you say flatly.

"Yeah, I think so." He slurs, “Look I'm sorry about earlier, you should have said it would make you uncomfortable." Jaehyun flops down onto the bed, bouncing the mattress and your bpdy, and you know for a fact, he would be staying there till morning.

He mumbles out a barely audible sentence, his face pressed into the pillow, "A few of the guys are staying over. Taeyong’s in the spare room and Johnny is downstairs, I think he's watching the football or something."

A minute later and Jaehyun’s knocked out, completely cold. You switch off the bedroom lights, pulling the bedsheets up to cover the two of you; tucking yourself in. But whatever Johnny’s watching, it begins to bother you, the TV unnecessarily very loud.

“What a pain.” You mutter, throwing on a dressing gown over your figure to check downstairs. You grab your phone on the bedside table, flicking the torch light on as you make your way out the room. As the screen light becomes brighter you notice it isnt football that's playing, but rather a late night TV chat channel with a couple of girls with rather large breasts on the show, talking about nothing in particular. You walk over to the TV not even bothering to give Johnny a glance before turning it off. When you turn around to face the sofa, your jaw almost drops; Johnny lays there fast asleep, pants half way down his legs and the most enormous semi erect cock in his hand. What the fuck?

Not only had he comes to his friend’s place and try something with his girl but the fact that he was now crashed out on your sofa watching porn on the TV and in the middle of a semi wank. Suddenly, a realisation hit you; now was your chance. You unlock your phone, clicking into the camera app to take a couple photos of Johnny lying asleep, cock in hand. This will wipe the arrogant grin off his face.

That was your original plan. But you end up standing there staring at his cock for a little longer, it’s far bigger than what you had seen and you were a little shocked to admit it. You manage to get so caught up in your own thoughts that you don’t realise Johnny had woken up.

"Impressed?" he asks, his voice a little raspy with a knowing grin.

Your eyes flicker between his eyes, to his dick, to the wall behind him, unsure where your focus should be as you choke out your reply, "What? Oh... Oh shit..."

He laughs. "Hey don't worry, everyone whose seen it has the same reaction," he says pointing his cock at you.

"I'm going back to bed," you stutter, turning to go.

"Hey wait," Johnny calls after you in a loud whisper. You don't know what compulsion it is, but you stop and turn to face him; who’s now standing. You peek a glance down, noticing his cock has hardened a little but still isn’t fully erect. "Now, as you've been taking photos of it, perhaps you'd like to experience it in the flesh."

"I didn't ta..." You let the words drop as Johnny grins at you.

"Keep the pictures, I'm sure they were really for your own use anyway," he says with a smile. “Come on, I bet you've never experienced one this size have you? Jaehyun won't ever know, he's probably knocked out from the whisky."

You know it’s complete madness but you falter, you can’t keep your eyes off his member and the temptation to touch it, to let it fill you, was growing with every passing second.  You were sure that in length it would definitely beat your boyfriends and thickness was almost the same size. You can’t even imagine how it can fit inside of you, but you have a feeling you’re about to find out. Johnny gently takes a hold of you and sits you down beside him on the couch.  

"I really shouldn't be do..."

"Shh," Johnny whispers

He leans over and kisses you very softly on the lips. You don't back off, instead slightly open your lips and let Johnny take the lead. You were so turned on, although you weren’t sure if it was the arrogance of the handsome man doing it or just his huge dick standing to attention between his legs. You kiss for a couple of minutes, animal passion slowly taking over as you respond to him.

He lifts up your gown, revealing your erect nipples sticking up, the cold air rushing past. He smiles at you while you keep your eyes low, feeling the heat rise to your cheek. He removes your gown easily and throws it aside.

"Mind if I touch them?" he asks enjoying the sight of your nipples.

You shake your head slightly. Of course I don’t mind. You have no idea what had suddenly come over you but you were desperate for this man to take you. Johnny plants more soft kisses on your lip's and begins to caress your firm tits with his palm. You let out a moan of approval. He gently goes to work on each of your nipples, tweaking them between his fingers. You lean back, revealing all your nakedness except for the pink thong, which is now sporting a very damp patch.

"Fuck, you have the most gorgeous body. Can I kiss it all over?"

"Please," you whisper, "I would like that."

Starting at your neck Johnny works his way down your body, spending plenty of time sucking and nibbling at your breasts and nipples. You lay back as he moves down past your belly and towards the top of your thong. Johnny looks up at you and you nod.

His hands roam up to your hip, easily taking hold of the soft material and slips it down your legs leaving you fully naked. He looks in admiration at your pussy, and slightly parts your legs, going to work with his tongue. You bring your hands towards your breasts, fondling your tits in ecstasy as Johnny circles your hardened clit and laps at the juices that are dribbling from your entrance.

"Tastes good," Johnny murmurs as he continues to lick your cunt.

You groan again and take hold of Johnny’s head pushing him into you and arching your back so you can get as much of his tongue as possible. You’re so close to coming, but you fight it off desperately; you wanted his cock to push you over.

"Fuck me," you plead, letting go of his head.

Johnny doesn’t need asking twice. He brings a cushion under your head and spreads your legs as wide as possible. You’re still unsure whether that monster can fit inside your pussy, but you’re sure as hell wet enough and willing to give it a go. Johnny pushes his big purple helmet, smothered in pre cum, against your opening teasing you by slightly slipping it in and then pulling it back out.

"Fuck me, pleeeaaase," you beg.

"Sure thing," Johnny replies and in one go pushes the whole length of his cock straight into you without a warning.

"Agggh," You cry out.

It hurts momentarily, but within seconds the feeling of his cock completely filling you up is more than you have ever experienced before in your life. Johnny sets to work at a slower rhythm as your pussy, if it’s possible, gets even wetter. You can just about see his cock covered in your love juice each time he pulls it out before thrusting back in and making you gasp every time. You can’t believe you’re even doing this, the guy was a dick, but hell did he know how to take a woman to heaven and back.

The two of you continue fucking this way for a couple of minutes, wrapped up in each other's sweating bodies, moaning and panting before you tell him you want to get on top. He slips his cock fully out of you and it springs up. You grab hold of it and wank it, barely able to get your hand fully enclosed on it. It feels like gripping the thick end of a baseball bat.

"Impressed aren't you?" He asks breathlessly.

"Mmmmm," You purr in reply.

You let go of his cock and ask him to lie on the rug on the living room floor. Johnny gets on the floor and, with some difficulty, you squat down over his cock. Your pussy is already feeling severely damaged from the initial fucking he had given you, but in a very very good way. You take hold of his shaft and guide it into your pussy. You still can’t believe that it’s possible to fit the whole thing in, but you’d done it once and so without hesitation, you slide down his pole again until you can feel your own juices seeping out onto his pubic hair.

"Oh that is so fucking good," you groan.

"Ride it you little whore.” Johnny grabs hold of your breasts as they droop above him.

"Pull my nipples," you urge. Johnny does so and you gasp once more in ecstasy.

"Oh my god this is so fucking good,"

You lean forward and nestle your head into Johnny’s neck as he thrusts his hips in the air knocking against yours, his cock driving into your pussy.

As it turns out you’re going to feel Jaehyun’s cock a lot sooner than you thought. You lift your head up to arch yourself back and really work on Johnny’s cock but you freeze on the spot.

"Oh fuck..." you mutter.

Jaehyun’s standing in front of you, just in his boxer shorts, with his cock sticking out of them while he moves his hand up his length.

"Shit, I..." You go to get off Johnny, but he holds onto you and you notice Jaehyun wink at him. "Wait a fucking minute," You gasp, "was this a setup?"

"Afraid so," Jaehyun replies, "Johnny saw your picture in my wallet one time and said how gorgeous you were. I told him if he could beat me in a game of poker he could have you if you'd let him. I knew you'd get turned on flirting all night."

You struggle to process the words, Johnny not slowing down as he pounds into you, your body being bounced up and down as you stare at Jaehyun. Clearly Jaehyun had not been as drunk as you thought. You hadn't exactly been turned on, but now you definitely were. You gasp as you feel the cock buried inside you begin to twitch and Johnny brings his fingers between your squished bodies, squeezing gently at your clit.

“Ugh..” the moan escapes your lips, although it’s meant to be silent. Both the boys hear it, and it powers Johnny more as he stretches himself back into you.

“You look so fucking hot,” Jaehyun murmurs moving closer to your brushed up bodies, “Bend over and keep fucking him, there’s no reason why I should be sitting on the sidelines.”

Johnny manages to work at a faster pace, sliding his cock in and out of your pussy, fucking it thoroughly and wildly. Jaehyun moves out of your sight and behind you, most likely just watching your body being bounced up and down.

But suddenly, you feel something wet trickle down your ass and before you know it, there’s a finger probing at the entrance. He pushes a finger straight up, letting you cry out again. You’d had his cock in your ass before, but the fullness inside your pussy already was going to prevent anything else from entering you without causing a lot of pain.                                                                  

“Ahhh fuck, go slow,” you beg

Jaehyun holds his cock inside you, letting you warm up to his length as Johnny continues to move in and out of your pussy. Slowly, he eases his cock into you as Johnny holds your waist, holding you still to allow them in. They both work to build a rhythm, feeling their cocks rub against each other through the thin lining of your walls; the friction getting them both even harder. The initial pain which had been present before Jaehyun had first forced himself inside you had faded and now, you were in heaven.

With the grunts and moans coming from the three of you, it was only a matter of time before Yuta fumbles down the stairs, initially half asleep. When he finally makes out the figures on the floor in the living room, he strips himself free, instantly feeling much more alive. “Can I join?”

You had forgotten he was still in the house but seeing him at the entrance of the doorway, his cock standing erect, you nod. What the fuck is one more cock in the equation going to do?

It’s a rather awkward position but Yuta manages to squat down and force his cock into your mouth, letting you suck roughly around him. It’s a difficult task to concentrate on the length in your mouth as your body continues to be pounded from both holes. You grasp onto Yuta’s cock with your hands, attempting to guide it to your mouth, but each time you manage to grab it, your body jerks and his pre-cum slobbers against your lips, painting around the edges.

Although Yuta is the last to join, he’s the first to explode. His first spurt of cum landing into your mouth with a struggle. He gets up quickly, wanking his cock as fast as he can, showering the rest over your face and hair with his creamy cum. He squeezes the tip, forcing every last drop of cum from his cock before he finally flops against the couch, watching the remaining scene unfold.

You manage to hold on for a few more minutes before you finally feel the need to find your release. The feeling of two cocks rubbing against each other inside you becoming too much.

“I’m cominnng,” you scream, feeling the gush of juice fill your insides and burst around Johnny’s cock.

The two boys hold still, pushing themselves up to your hilt as you feel the overwhelming rush of your orgasm hit you. It seems to go on forever as you cry in ecstasy. Your body shakes with sheer pleasure as you come down from your sexual high and that image seems to do it for the boys.

Jaehyun pushes himself into your ass as far as he can, grabbing onto your hips as his cum shoots deep into your passage. He continues to fuck you as he empties himself, making sure every last drop is left inside before he finally slips out.

Your focus goes back to the man beneath you, hands gripping at the sides of his chest as you claw at him, letting him guide you to reach your second high; Jaehyun’s presence being pushed back in your mind. Your body shudders and trembles as you’re left to hold your weight up before eventually, you give in, losing feeling in your arms as you fall onto Johnny’s chest and your pussy spasms with his twitching cock.

“Let me fill you up,” he groans, thrusting deeper inside to shoot a stream after stream flow of cum into your worn out pussy.

“Don’t stop until you’ve fucking ruined her,” Jaehyun calls out from behind; clearly getting into this.

With a few more hard thrusts, Johnny falls back against the floor in exhaustion; your body following with his. The room is filled with your heavy breaths, trying to calm yourself as you lay still, scared to take his cock out. When you finally feel him soften, you carefully ease yourself off it, leaving a trail of Johnny’s cum dripping from your pussy.

***

The night remains in your memory as an exhausting event. You’re not sure how you wake up in bed but the faint recollection of Johnny’s voice echoes inside your head as you remember Jaehyun’s warmth surrounding you; helping you off Johnny.

“Good game, let me know if you want a rematch.” Johnny chuckles, directing his words to your boyfriend.

Jaehyun laughs with him, the vibration of his chest causing your body to rock in his hold as you attempt to fight off the droopiness of your eyelids. With the very little energy you have left, you being thinking of next time. Your boyfriend never lost at poker, so you were certain, he must have deliberately lost the game and he would definitely, do it again.