#I wonder if I can find a garbage car for really really really really really really cheap

[muppet-lurker]

I m̴̖͆̋̓i̸̫̼̩̿ss j̴̱̟̝̈̀̊̃ế̸̯̩̮̞͗͝rking it w̴̖͆̋̓i̸̫̼̩̿th m̵̛̯̜̗̪̜͎̮̟͉͔̙̟͎̾̎̄̄̂̀̓͘̚̚͜͝ý̶̳̞͓̰̯̤͇̞͇̤̭͓̹̇̕͝ ḇ̴̟̝̈̀̊̃ế̸̯̩̮̞͗͝st bro...

[everyonewooeverywhere]

chapter 3 : old pals, new beginnings

part 1 | part 2 | masterlist

summary: when you come into his shop to get your boyfriend's car fixed, yunho can help but wonder what a hardworking, pretty girl like you is doing with someone so...pathetic. and maybe, just maybe, he feels like he could treat you better.

pairing: cowboy mechanic!yunho x female!reader

genre: non-idol au | strangers to lovers | angst | fluff (no smut yet, but there will be eventually)

rating: pg-13 (18+ for the whole series bc there will be smut eventually)

word count: 5.6k

content/warnings: pet names (sweetheart, doll)

notes: thank you so so much to @yunho-onlyhands & @skzdust for beta reading this for me 🤧 it means so much, and it very much helped me iron out this draft 💗

also thank you so so much for all the love on this series so far! i truly love writing for this couple so much. they make me so happy 😞

Getting up out of bed for the next several days took nearly all of your energy. And unfortunately, “getting cheated on” is not an acceptable reason to get out of work, so you were forced to call in sick. Using up the last of your sick days for the year. Everything was so draining, and somehow every corner of that godforsaken apartment was just a painful reminder of the years you seemed to have wasted.

Your head swelled and pounded from the lack of sleep, and the endless hours of tossing and turning left you unbearably irritable. Even trying to make yourself meals felt like an impossible task.

You basked in the irony that your apartment was messier than ever. You were trying to pick away at Yeonjun’s endless amount of stuff. Throwing whatever you could find in boxes and letting it pile up in the kitchen. But somehow you were constantly finding shit that you had to physically restrain yourself from tossing straight into the garbage.

And you probably would have been living in your mess for days on end if Rosie hadn’t forced herself into your apartment nearly every day. Her cheerful energy never wavering when she burst through your front door. Usually bringing snacks and treats with her. 

Today was no different. This time, though, when she dragged you out of bed, she started laying out outfits. A variety of short, fringe skirts and topslined up haphazardly across your unmade bed, complimented by a pair of white cowboy boots tossed onto the floor.

“What is all this?” you asked, brows furrowing while you failed to suppress a yawn.

She grinned at you, “We’re going to a party.”

“Oh, Ro. I don’t know if I’m ready for that,” you grimaced at the idea of being surrounded by sweaty strangers in a house you’d never seen, Rosie’s usual party scene.

“Oh, babe…” She mimicked your tone, “You have no choice.”

You pouted at her, and she mirrored that, too. Before breaking into a wide grin, “C’mon! I know you’ll have fun! It’s not a house party. It’s a barn bash that Mingi invited me to. He said his friend’s family hosts one every year, and he really loves it. And I don’t know what I’d do without my favorite girl there.” 

You eyed her suspiciously, “‘His friend…”

She bit her lip in a failed attempt to hide her smile. Her clearly freshly manicured hand swatted at your arm, “Come on! You haven’t seen him in weeks! And you don’t even have to talk to him. I really just want to have you there,” she laid her head on your shoulder, “Between you and me, though, Mingi says he still talks about you a lot.”

You scoffed, but Rosie could tell clear as day how flattered you were by that statement. A heavy sigh fell from your lips, “Can we at least get ice cream after?” 

Her face lit up, “Yes! So you’ll come?”

You nodded and smiled softly at her, “Yes, Ro. I’ll come.”

“Oh yay!” She wrapped you in a hug. When she pulled back, her grin was full of scheming. “Okay…let’s play dress up.”

After several hours of letting her dress you up and do your make up and hair, Mingi pulled up outside your apartment. Loud music spilling out the windows of his shiny black sports car. 

Rosie grabbed your arm when she saw him leaning against the hood of the car, dark sunglasses covering his eyes. “Oh girl I got so lucky, didn’t I?” She whispers to you.

You rested a hand over hers, “Well I’d say he got pretty lucky, too.”

She giggled and smiled up at you. Letting her head lean on your shoulder as you both made your way down the sidewalk to his car.

He grinned and waved as he saw you both approaching, pushing himself off the car. “Wow, you both look great.” He slid his sunglasses onto his head, and you watched as Rosie ogled up and down at him. You wouldn’t lie, he looked really good. In a tight black t-shirt that didn’t quite reach the waistband of his black leather pants, leaving a sliver of his midriff exposed. The black, studded boots he wore were the perfect way to stay on theme but put his own spin on it. Suddenly, it made a lot more sense why your friend had opted for a black leather miniskirt for a supposed “barn bash.”

You reached your hand out to him, figuring this might be your only time tonight to finally introduce yourself to him, “Thank you, Mingi.” You gave him a friendly smile, “I’m Y/n, by the way. I don’t think we’ve ever officially introduced ourselves.”

He chuckled and shook your hand, “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” you glanced down at your friend, “I could say the same thing about you.”

Rosie just giggled and leaned further into your side. And your heart about melted at the way Mingi looked at her so fondly. Hearts practically forming in his eyes.

He opened the door to the backseat and half bowed, presenting the open car door to you, “Ladies.” 

You laughed and slipped into his car, clearly freshly cleaned. Rosie slid in after you, taking Mingi’s hand as he helped her into the car and kissing him on the cheek before he closed the door. She was glowing, and you couldn’t be more happy for her.

As you pulled up to the barn, your stomach fluttered with nerves. The car pulled to a stop before Mingi helped you both out and led you to the door, his hand resting on Rosie’s back.

The atmosphere is much calmer than you were expecting. It was still a party, but the ambiance of the small barn was really nice. There was no DJ, just a playlist playing over the various speakers spread around the building. A small but adequate bar was set up not too far from the door, and you saw many people serving themselves out of the coolers.  The lights were low, but it was still relatively easy to see all the way across the small space. And there were hardly more than fifty people here, so you had a lot of room to breathe. 

Maybe you were glad that Rosie had dragged you out of the house for this. 

“Alright ladies,” Mingi spoke from beside you, his hand on your friend’s lower back, “Everyone is over there.” He pointed to one of the many high-top tables that were spread around the dance floor.

And just like you suspected, Yunho stood beside it alongside a couple men you failed to recognize. He wore the normal cowboy get-up, but it seemed nicer today. Even though he wore the same beige hat you’d seen him in before, he was more dressed up. His jeans were darker, and he wore a white button-up that had clearly been ironed before he put it on. And maybe it was just the low light of the barn or maybe it was your newfound singleness, but something about the way he leaned against that table and the way his head tilted back when he laughed made your stomach flip.

You followed Mingi and Rosie to the table, trailing behind the two of them and trying to catch your breath and calm your growing nerves. Yunho saw Mingi first, his height and platinum hair a dead giveaway, and broke into a huge smile. He pulled his friend in for a hug, with two mildly aggressive pats to the back. And he even pulled Rosie in for a small side hug. 

“You guys made it!” He greeted with a huge grin. When he let go of Rosie, he finally saw you over Mingi’s shoulder. For a brief second he looked a little shocked, though you could tell he was trying to hide it. He broke into yet another smile but a softer one, one that was more obvious in his eyes than his lips. “Hey.”

You waved shyly at him, “Hi.”

Rosie and Mingi stepped aside to chat with the others, leaving the two of you alone with each other. “How’ve you been?”

You shrugged and failed to reel back a clearly unsavory sigh, “It’s been alright.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, “You sure?”

The tips of your fingers fiddled with the fringe on your skirt, and you chuckled dryly, “It’s been kinda horrible actually. I haven’t had to deal with a breakup since I was sixteen, so I guess I’m just out of practice.”

He laughed at that, and you were glad, feeling better that you hadn’t brought down the mood. “Try not to beat yourself up about it, alright? Break ups suck, but a lot of the time, it is for the better. And if you ever need anythin’, car related or otherwise, call me. I know you’ve got Rosie to help you out, but if you ever need help when she’s…” he glanced over at your friend who was practically hanging off of Mingi’s arm, “preoccupied, just let me know.”

You looked up at him, grateful for his willingness, “Thank you, Yunho.”

He tipped his hat, in a way that seemed half a joking nod to his cowboy persona and half completely sincere and genuine, “Of course, Doll. Anytime.” He glanced over your shoulder, “Can I introduce you to my friends? Well, most of ’em, anyways. Looks like we’ve got some slowpokes who haven’t shown up yet.”

“Please, I’d love that.” 

He holds out his arm for you, and you grasp it gently, letting him tuck your hand into the crease of his elbow. And he guides you back to the table where the rest of the group has been talking. 

They all turned to the two of you once they noticed your approach. Waiting curiously while Yunho introduced the girl who'd arrived with Mingi’s date, “Guys, this is y/n.”

You smile, giving them all a small wave, catching the eye of one of the men who was practically beaming at you.

“Well I was wondering when we’d finally get to meet her,” the blonde man said, leaning over the table and shaking your hand when you reached for him, “Nice to meet you. I’m Hongjoong.” 

“Nice to meet you, too.” 

You went around the whole table introducing yourself. You found out that Hongjoong had been in the year ahead of Yunho and Mingi in high school and had left town for fashion school in New York after he’d graduated. He’d moved back a couple of years ago and opened his own tailoring shop downtown. Bringing his boyfriend, Seonghwa, back with him from school with him. Both of them moving in together in the small studio above Hongjoong’s shop. Seonghwa had pulled you in for a hug immediately upon meeting you, and you couldn’t help but feel a deep warmth at how easily accepted you were.

After meeting Seonghwa and Hongjoong, you were introduced to San. And found out that you and San actually went to the same university. Never once did you cross paths, but it was nice to have the connection nonetheless. He was newer to the group apparently. Only meeting Mingi at a race a little under a year ago. He wasn’t a mechanic but he “knew his way around the cab better than anyone.” Or at least that’s what Mingi had claimed.

And then there was Yunho’s younger cousin, Jongho. Apparently, this whole barn bash tradition had been one started by his parents, and, though he wasn’t super keen on running it, he made sure that the party still happened annually. 

When Yunho went to grab you a beer, Jongho nudged your side with his elbow. Smirking at the way you shamelessly eyed his cousin at the bar.

“He’s single, you know?” standing next to you and admiring his cousin alongside you. Watching as he mingled with some other friends beer the cooler.

You laughed, “So I’ve heard. That’s not really any of my business, is it, though?”

Jongho shrugged, “I would say by the way you won’t stop staring at him, it might be all of your business.”

This kid. “I guess it’s kind of on him to make a move then, isn’t it?”

“He won’t.” He took a sip of his beer. Setting it on the table in front of you.

“What?” you glanced over at him, brows pinched in confusion. “What do you mean ‘he won’t?’”

He met your eyes, “You just got out of a relationship, right?” You nodded hesitantly and a bit embarrassed that that was knowledge he had. “Then he’s not gonna push anything. It took a lot of convincing from us,” he gestured to the group, “to even get him to invite you tonight, and he wouldn’t even do that directly. Unless you push for it, Yunho isn’t gonna make a move. He wants to give you the time you need to heal. So the ball is definitely in your court for this one.”

You pondered his words. Turning them over in your head. Part of you nervous at the prospect of being in charge, being the driving force. But another part of you feeling like he just couldn’t get anymore perfect. Already, he had been nothing but respectful and gentle toward you. Helping you where you needed it. But something about the way he treated you…it just made you feel so special.

Your heart tightened at the feeling. Special wasn’t a new feeling. A much younger you had felt that beautifully deceptive feeling before. Because it doesn’t take much to feel special, but it's an easy way to trick the heart.

“Want me to open it for ya?” Yunho gestured to the beer in his hand that he had so graciously grabbed for you.

You nodded, “That would be wonderful.”

“Not a problem, Doll.”

You watched as he positioned the rim of the bottle against the edge of the table. Shamelessly admiring his arms as he did it. You hadn’t noticed it earlier, but at some point, he’d rolled his sleeves up. Revealing his toned forearms. From which you could see his many veins lining his arm. When he brought his hand down on top of the bottle you jumped in surprise, watching the cap pop up and fall to the ground.

Yunho laughed at your jumpiness, reaching the bottle out to you. His fingers brushing over yours when you took it from him.

“Thank you,” you gave him a shy smile.

He opened his mouth to playfully remark over the way you ogled at him, but he was cut off by a voice behind you.

“Y/n!?” shouted a male voice full of obvious surprise. Your head whipped around, recognizing that  voice instantly.

You stared at him wide-eyed in shock. Though his hair was longer and his voice deeper, you’d recognize Jung Wooyoung anywhere. And he hardly gave you a second to breathe before his arms were wrapped around your shoulders, practically suffocating you. 

He rocked you side to side dramatically when you finally hugged him back, your arms embracing his back. You were still trying to comprehend seeing his face after so long, when he pulled back, hands still resting on your shoulders, “How have you been?”  His enthusiasm not once wavering. He playfully slapped your shoulder, “Where have you been?”

Still a bit dazed, you just blinked at him, before pulling him back in and hugging him tighter than before. His giggle vibrated through your chest. A sound you thought you’d honestly never hear again. And though you couldn’t see his face, you could perfectly visualize the way his lips pulled back into that smile that had encouraged you so strongly all those years ago.

Finally, after several long moments, you let each other go. His smile still burning as he repeated his question, “How’ve you been?”

You shrugged, trying not to let the unfortunate question tamper your mood, “Fine. Kind of going through a breakup right now, so it’s been a little rough if I’m honest.” You felt your heart fill with a familiar warmth, though. And you smiled at the memories of your long walks together, the ones where you told each other everything.

“Oh girl, a bad one?”

You nodded, taking a sip of your beer, “He cheated.”

“Shit, seriously!?” he made a face of disgust, “Give me his name. I’ll kick his ass. I swear.”

You sat there for a second silently staring at him. A bit embarrassed to admit the truth he had yet to realize.

Expectantly, he kept his gaze locked onto yours, waiting patiently for your response. Until you saw it click in his eyes, and his face turned to a look of utter disgust. “Please tell me you two did not just break up.” You avoided his eyes. His judgement, “Was there at least a break in there?”

You shook your head, “No…”

“Damn, girl. How’d you put up with that for that long?” Sympathy washed over his face.

Shrugging you offered the only thing you could think of as a reasonable answer, “It was comfortable? I don’t really know.” You leaned against the table, “He’s the only boyfriend I’ve ever had, so I guess I just…didn’t really know when I was supposed to end it.”

“Maybe that’s just the thing with him.”

You hummed.

He continued, “He makes you feel like you’re where you’re supposed to be. With him. And your life revolves around him for so long that it just becomes the new normal, and you struggle to even remember what your life was like before you met him. Was it better? Was it worse? I guess it’s hard to tell when he’s worn you down so much that you can’t even think that hard.”

As much as it was so nice to have someone to understand your pain, your heart hurt for Wooyoung, too. You placed a comforting hand on his back. 

He smiled gently at you, “Well, I’m glad you're at least out of it now.”

“I’m glad you are, too.”

Things between him and Yeonjun had ended disastrously. About as bad as things could go. Wooyoung leaving the band had been kind of inevitable from the beginning. With all logic, it was just a fun thing for him to do throughout his university years. He had never planned for it to be a lifelong thing, let alone the career path that Yeonjun seemed to think it was. But when Wooyoung had told Yeonjun that he was leaving the group one month before graduation, it was chaos. A constant storm of accusations. Yeonjun berating his former friend for being a poser and a traitor. And Wooyoung scoffing at the man's delusions. 

You remember the countless hours you spent in Yeonjun’s room. In his bed consoling him. Telling him that it was going to be okay. And reassuring him that he didn’t need his help to keep the band together. Though you were secretly hoping to see Wooyoung move on to better things.

Peering up at him, you asked softly, “You don’t hate me, do you?”

He laughed through his nose, tucking you into his side and pressing his cheek into your forehead, “I could never. Actually sometimes I wonder why I never reached back out to you. Maybe I had figured you’d moved on.”

“I missed you, Youngie.” 

You felt him let out a content breath, “I missed you, too.” 

From behind you, you felt a pair of eyes on you, practically burning into your skull. You glanced over to see his painfully familiar face watching the two of you carefully. You tried to smile and wave at him, but he continued to stare, seemingly uninterested, before returning to his conversation with San.

“Oh, yeah…” Wooyoung muttered, “Yeosang’s here, too.”

“Mhm,” you sighed, a bit defeated, “And he still hates me.”

He nudged your hip with his, “Hey, he doesn’t hate you. You two just…probably have some things you need to work out.”

You glared at him, “That might be oversimplifying it.”

“Seriously, I think you just need to talk to him. At least for closure. Because I know the way you two left things left room for none of that.”

Of course, he was right. The last time you spoke to Yeosang, it was a massive fight. One that had left many wounds, the biggest one being the loss of your closest friend. Someone who had always made you feel complete.

“I’ll try.” It felt like an empty promise. The thought of going over there and talking to him made you honestly sick to your stomach. 

“Hey,” Wooyoung slid your beer back into your hand, “Don’t let it bum out your night, okay?” He looked back at the group and then smirking back at you, “So…Yunho?”

You took a sip to try and mask your smile, “What about him?”

“Don’t play dumb. What’s going on there? How’d you two even meet?”

You laughed, “Actually, I think you would really like this story.”

After chatting with Wooyoung for what felt like hours, you found yourself wandering back to Yunho. You could tell he was a bit tipsy from the light flush across his face. 

“Small world, huh?” He gestured toward your friend.

“Yeah I guess it is,” smiling fondly at him.

He lifts his hat off to readjust and ruffle his hair before placing it neatly back on his head. God you needed to get over your feelings about that hat. But you couldn’t stop looking at him. Something about the alcohol that was barely in your system and the way the smallest of his actions drove you up the wall had you feeling insane. 

But maybe it also had you feeling more confident. Perhaps a bit too confident.

“Hey,” You look up at Yunho apprehensively, “Do you wanna dance?”

His smile makes you nearly melt into the floor as he tips his head to the side, that stupid beige hat lopsided with the motion, “Of course, Doll. I thought you’d never ask.”

He takes your beer from your hands and discards it in the trash. Grabbing your hand and pulling you to the center of the barn where everyone is mingling and dancing together. 

You stumbled over your feet and braced yourself on his chest. He grinned down at you, “Well hello pretty girl.” 

He placed his hands on your waist to steady you. “Hi,” you whispered up at him.

He held you so gently. Letting you both sway to the song that reverberated off the wooden walls of the barn. But you paid no mind to the music or the dust at your feet or Wooyoung’s eyes that you could feel boring into your back. Too focused on the way you could hear the rustle of Yunho’s shirt as you danced.

As soon as the song picked up its beat, though, the two of you started to really have your fun. His hands found your own and he pulled you to him before spinning you around. He was careful with you, but not in a way that stomped on any of your excitement. You just felt…safe around him. And as many times as he spun you and dipped you and pulled you to him, you never once doubted his ability to keep you upright and in his arms.

Even when you tripped over your feet a couple times, he always made sure you were steady and balanced. And then he would proceed to giggle and tease you for being clumsy.

It was so carefree. Being with him made it so easy to forget that you were rotting in your bed just earlier that day. And it wasn’t out of a place of pity. He was just that kind of guy. The one who was so easily able to make you laugh with just his presence. And one that valued your happiness just because you deserved to be happy, not because it made him feel good to cheer you up.

And as the music kept going you could feel yourself falling deeper and deeper into his big brown eyes. Maybe it was just the alcohol or maybe it was the fact that this man, who seemed to embody everything you would want in man, had you in his arms, but your mind kept flashing with thoughts of lifting his hat off of his head and running your hands through his hair. Brushing your fingers over his cheek. Wrapping your arms around his neck.

As the music slowed, the space between you two shrank until there was virtually nothing between you save for the clothing covering your skin. Yunho’s hands lightly squeezed your waist, his eyes searching your expression for any sign of discomfort, “Is this okay?”

You nodded, letting your hands rest comfortably on his chest, “It’s perfect.”

Your eyes explored his face. Over his lightly flushed cheeks, over his beautiful eyes that tracked your every move, over the soft pink of his lips that made it impossible not to imagine them on your skin. You didn’t even notice when your hands slid from their place on his chest to the back of his neck. Holding yourself closer to him. The tips of your fingers brushing against the pieces of his soft hair that peaked out of his hat.

The sound of the music faded completely into the background. The only beat you could feel was the one of your hearts beating together in rhythm. 

“Fuck,” he said in a whispered breath, “you’re so beautiful.”

You pulled a bit of your lip between your teeth, “Yunho…”

He removed a hand from your waist and cupped your cheek, “Doll.”

You could only blink and look deep into his eyes. Trying to ignore the way your heart pounded erratically in your chest. Your ears drowning out anything but his voice.

“Doll,” he leaned in closer, and his eyes flicked down to your lips, “Can I kiss you?”

“Please,” you practically whimpered. Letting him fill the gap between you. Kissing you with so much need and desire. Like he’d been wanting this for months. For years. His arms wrapped around your back. Holding you as close as he could get you. 

And you let him kiss you so breathlessly that you had to gasp for air when he pulled away in moments. Grasping tight to the back of his neck. Only to be pulled back in by those deep, beautiful eyes.

His lips were so soft on top of your own. Just like you had imagined. But it was the way he held you that made you feel so safe. His arms around you like he’d never let you go. Like the comfort of having someone by your side for a lifetime. 

It felt like a lifetime.

An eternity.

You’d felt that before. 

When you had started dating Yeonjun at nineteen it had felt like a lifetime. And the way he kissed you the first time had made you melt into his arms. You’d rushed headfirst into that relationship. So sure that the sparks that flew between you and the tipsy butterflies filling your gut were enough to sustain the feeling you’d mistaken for love. 

And here you were again. 

Running away from Yeonjun and tumbling into Yunho’s open arms. 

Sweet, sincere, and beautiful Yunho who genuinely seemed to want something deeper with you. 

Who seemed to truly see you and want you despite knowing so little about you.

God, what the fuck were you doing?

Yunho pulled away from you immediately when he felt you freeze up in his arms. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He asked. His brows furrowed and voice gentle but still piercing through the loud music surrounding you. Concerned at the way you wouldn’t even meet his eyes.

You stumbled away from him, “Yunho, I’m so sorry.” Practically falling out of his grasp and in the next instant you were bolting out the nearest door. 

Yunho stared in shock as the barn’s side door slammed behind you. Glancing over at his friends, he saw that none of them had seemed to notice the incident. And with Rosie and Mingi nowhere in sight, he had no choice to run after you. A mix of fear of confusion guiding his steps as he chased after you. Momentarily losing sight of you in the dark expanse of the pasture.

The soft dirt revealed footprints that matched the pointed toe of your heeled boots along the side of the corn field. He followed them without a thought. Only racking his brain for what had gone wrong. Each step he took had him feeling sicker and sicker with dread. 

Fuck he had moved too fast. 

Never in his twenty-five years of life had he kissed someone without taking them on a date first. Let alone a woman who, before tonight, had not been single every time they had met. He knew he was jumping the gun when he asked Mingi to bring you tonight, though he wasn’t really sure if you were gonna show up. And just the brief idea that he had made you uncomfortable made Yunho want to curl up and die.

As your footsteps made the curve around the edge of the corn field, he finally saw you. Sitting in the old swing that hung from the massive oak tree that loomed over the pasture. 

His heart hurt when he saw you there. Hunched over and sobbing into your hands. With your back to him, he knew you couldn’t see him, but he was sure you knew that he was gonna come after you. Nevertheless, he stepped a bit heavier than he normally would, so you could hear him. Not wanting to scare you off another time.

You refused to turn around when you heard him coming up behind you, but you let your thumbs swipe away the tears that threatened to stream down your cheeks, taking a few deep breaths to try and get yourself together.

And when you caught a glimpse of him stepping into your line of sight, you finally dropped your hands from your face. Teeth gnawing at your lip. Trying to think of something, anything, to say to rectify the mess you had just created.

Because, truth was, that was probably the sweetest and gentlest kiss of your entire life, and maybe if you had held it together for two more seconds, you would have been able to explain your worries to him.

But instead, when you looked up from your lap to the man squatting right in front of you, hat clenched in his hands. And you couldn’t even find it in yourself to swoon at his flushed cheeks or the messy hair falling over his face, because all you could see was the distressed look in his eyes.

“Doll–” he shook his head, “Y/n, I’m sorry if I misread…Fuck.” He dragged a hand over his face and up into his hair, pushing the strands out of his face, “That was too soon. I’m so sorry. I should have never–”

“Yunho,” you cut him off. Still fighting back tears, “You did nothing wrong.”

“But–”

You put your hand up to stop him again, “Stop. Please. It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I should’ve never asked you to dance. I didn’t mean to give you false hope.”

His heart broke a little, and you could see it in his eyes, “C’mon, you don’t mean that…”

“I’m sorry,” your words came out in a broken whisper, “I’m just…I can’t do this,” you pointed at him and then yourself, “right now.” 

“Sweetheart,” he lifted a hand and cautiously placed it on your knee, and you let him keep it there, “I don’ mean to rush things. We can wait as long as you need and go as slow as you're comfortable with. I just,” he took a deep breath, “don’t wanna let you go.”

You placed your hand over his, forcing yourself to look him in the eyes despite how painful it was, “Yunho, you are such a sweet guy. And I know someday you will make someone so happy.” His head dropped forward, his forehead barely resting against your leg in defeat, “But that someone just isn’t me. Not now. And probably not for a long time. I have too many wounds to heal from Yeonjun, and I just can’t pass that burden on to you.”

He stood up from the ground and you lifted yourself up with him. Your heart nearly cracking in half at the tears streaming down his face, “You won’t even let me try?” His voice came out in a strained whisper.

You reached your thumb up to wipe a tear from his eye, selfishly letting your hand rest on his cheek. You shook your head. “I need time. Too much time to expect you to wait for me.” The hat he dangled in his hands, the hat you’d grown to love, bumped against your thigh. You grabbed it from him and slipped it back onto his head. Smiling sadly up at him “I believe in you, cowboy. You’ll find someone else. I just know it.”

Pushing yourself up onto your toes, you gave him one last kiss on the cheek. Before leaving him standing there in the cool night air. Wishing for a brief second that you hadn’t come tonight at all. But wishing even stronger that you would never leave.

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[after-witch]

The Driven Snow [Yandere Coriolanus Snow x Reader]

Title: The Driven Snow [Yandere Coriolanus Snow x Reader]

Synopsis: You're a District 2 school graduate who comes to the Capitol with her father before the 11th Hunger Games. You don't expect to meet anyone kind, especially not someone named Coriolanus Snow who offers you his arm, his smile, and treats in secret. 

Word Count: 5270

notes: yandere, abusive relationship, non-graphic descriptions of torture and death (not against reader); uses a mixture of book and movie canon

The Capitol was not as dazzling as your father described it but then, he had seen it before the war. Though perhaps it was your own bitterness that made you ignore the signs of returning prosperity that sets it above everywhere else.

The repaired elaborate buildings, the fresh pungent smell of plaster and paint. The cars pumping exhaust fumes into the air. The low rumble of garbage trucks that pick up bright green garbage cans, some of which are actually teeming with plastic trash bags. Such waste was unheard of, even in the oh-so-loyal District 2, where only the lowest of the low find themselves starving.

Although not-starving didn’t mean that everything was plentiful. 

You, though, were lucky enough to avoid the lima bean heavy diet that some of your classmates (now former--graduation was months ago) lived on. Or were you? The meat that graced your family’s dinner table, the pats of butter on toast, were all courtesy of your father’s  immense talent in building creative weapons that allowed the Capitol to stamp out every last bit of rebellion in the Districts. That allowed them to regain control. That allowed them to create the Hunger Games.

Which is why you were in the Capitol now. Oh, not to participate in them. Your father’s status in District 2 had seen to that; it would be a scandal if the name of his beloved daughter were to ever be pulled. 

You were there because your father had been given a lucrative contract, one that was sure to cement your family’s wealth for generations: a contract to build high-tech weapons for the Hunger Games themselves. 

They would still be killing. But on a much smaller scale, you supposed, than the weapons your father designed during the war. 

Still. Blood was blood. And if it had to be spilled, well, there was nothing you could do about it except hope they died quickly. Especially the ones from District 2.

Last year’s Games’ had been awful enough. Your family had watched the Games on a modest television set in the privacy of your living room, sent courtesy of the Capitol. 

You wondered if you would ever get the sight of Marcus’ battered, bloated face from your mind; if you would ever unhear the way his body thumped to the ground when that girl had killed him, out of mercy. If you would ever stop imagining what it must have felt like in those last moments.

But it wasn’t all horror. You’d liked Lucy Gray well enough, even though she was from 12. She had a wild way of dressing and the singing--it was practically theatrical, compared to what you’d heard about the previous games. 

Maybe that was why your father got this contract: theatrics. Maybe the games would be more dramatic from now on. Maybe they wanted tributes like Lucy Gray, who sang and spit and poisoned her way to Victory. It was strange, really, that there’d been hardly any talk of her since her win. 

“Father?” You asked, quietly as you could. 

Both of you were standing in the foyer of the grand university in the Capitol. The outside was still a little ravaged, but inside, it was perfectly lovely. Walls lined with books--perhaps some of them were fake--and marble floors and marble busts dotting the sight lines.

“Mm?” He replied, eyes scanning over his clipboard. He flips it, here and there.

“I was just thinking. About last year’s games. About Lucy Gray, and how the Games--”

Your father rounded on you, eyes suddenly serious and blazing.

“Quiet. Weren’t you paying attention on the way here?” Admittedly, you were not. You’d been daydreaming about what you might do now that you were done with school. There was no university in District 2, and your father hadn’t even mentioned a job. “You’re not supposed to mention--”

“Not supposed to mention whom? Ah, ah, ah. Lucy Gray Baird?” called a voice, almost in sing-song.

Your father stood up stiff, and the life seemed to drain from his face.

Both of you look towards the sound of the voice, and now it’s your turn to stiffen. The voice came from a woman standing in the doorway of the very office that your father was waiting to enter. She was wearing an elaborate jacket made of what looked like rainbow snake scales. Her hair was gray and curly. She had, you realized, two different colored eyes. 

Your father swallowed, and you could see the apple of it bob up and down. It made you think, abruptly, of suckling pigs. 

“Dr. Gaul,” he said, in a voice far too tight to be relaxed. “I apologize for my daughter’s insubordination, I assure you, she meant no--”

Dr. Gaul waved her hands at him and approached you. 

“Did you like last year’s games?” She didn’t look angry. No, she looked delighted.

“I…” It was your turn to swallow, your turn to feel that tightness. “It-it was the first time I’ve watched them, ma’am.” You want to ask this woman: do you think I liked watching someone from my District 2 so horribly? Or any District, really? Did I like it? 

Her smile grew wider. 

“I’m glad. You’ll be watching them every year from now on, I hope. We have big plans.” Her eyebrows raised high. “Big changes. Thanks to men like your father.” She glanced at him and you saw disdain flicker across her gaze. 

And then another door opened, and you heard the sound of polished shoes on the marble floor. Dr. Gaul’s attention dropped away from you like you were nothing at all. She turned to meet the sound of these footsteps, and you did too.

It was a young man. Probably your age, you thought, with light blonde hair and eyes that your mother would have described as “baby blue.” He didn’t look at you, or your father. But that was nothing new. You’d only been in the Capitol for 2 days, and you’d already gotten used to being treated as lesser than. Though, at least, you were not so far down on the food chain that you lost your tongue. 

“Ah, my protege,” said Dr. Gaul, giving the young man a grin. The smile on her face almost looked warm, which was somehow far more terrifying than her manic smile from earlier. “Ever the earnest student. Aren’t you supposed to be enjoying the day off, Mr. Snow?”

The young man, this “Snow,” chuckled and lowered his gaze. “I couldn’t stay away once I heard you were discussing some of the new prototypes for this year’s games.” 

He finally looked at your father, and then at you. But only briefly.

“Can I assume that this is…?”

Dr. Gaul nodded.

“Yes. My little designer from District 2. And his daughter.” Her voice dropped a few octaves when she referred to you. She probably didn’t want you here, you thought. You weren’t supposed to come, but your father had begged the Capitol for a pass; it would probably be your only chance to see it, he said, so you may as well take advantage of the chance.

Snow nodded to your father. It was a surprising gesture, almost respectful. But cold, too, like it was done from necessity rather than anything else. 

Your father stammered a bit and nodded back, and you felt shame begin to creep into your bones. It wasn’t fair, to be lesser-than. But weren’t others lesser-than you in your own District, where you ate better food and never worried that your name would get picked, that your blood would be spilled?

Everyone 

But when Snow turned to you, he smiled. It gave him dimples. 

It was the first kind smile anyone in the Capitol gave you. 

“My name is Coriolanus Snow. I doubt you’ve heard of me, but if Dr. Gaul’s teachings have anything to say about it, perhaps one day you’ll know me as a Gamemaker.” 

You didn’t know what to say. Congratulations, one day you’ll be coordinating Games that kill people? Instead,  you gave your name, voice squeakier than you meant it. But it was fitting, you supposed. Here, you were a mouse, hoping you would get a bite of cheese and make it home unpoisoned. 

Dr. Gaul’s face seemed to react slowly, as if she couldn’t decide what she thought about his words or your interaction, but a small smile grew on it, eventually. “I do have high hopes for you, Mr. Snow. Now, shall we?”

She gestured for your father to follow, face once again impassive with a sprinkle of disdain, as she led the two of them into her office.

Snow gave you a smile and a nod before he left.

You waved, stupidly.

Your father didn’t even look back.

--

I’m dead. I’m dead. I might as well be dead.

Your heartbeat kept time with your racing thoughts as you went up and down corridors, begging your shoes to be silent, wishing your breath would catch and stop coming out in terrible pants.

You were lost. You weren’t where you were supposed to be. If someone found you, if the wrong person found you, they would think you were running, trying to get lost in the Capitol; they’d think  you were a rebel. They’d shoot you.

Just when you thought you might collapse and die from your own nervous exhaustion, you heard the most wonderful sound in the world.

Your name.

It was only the moment after that you realized it didn’t come from your father’s mouth, but the lips of--what his name--Coriolanus Snow. The young man who was a Gamemaker-in-training, or so your father said. But that’s all he would say. He kept tight about anything that went on behind closed doors. 

But this Coriolanus Snow smiled at you, and didn’t look at you like you were some kind of insect he might want to pin on a board, and so when you whirled around to look at him you were smiling.

Ah--for a moment. For just a moment, you saw his muscles tense. You saw the expression on his face falter in worry. Like he thought he was about to miss a step on a staircase, and corrected himself; like he thought you were a wolf and you were only somebody’s dog, off their leash. 

But it wasn’t too surprising. You knew most people in the Capitol thought anyone from the Districts wanted to rip out their throats. 

Well, the worry was mutual. Except in your case, you were forced to walk around with the living proof of that worry--all those “Avoxes,” they called them. Without tongues, without freedom. 

But you swallow all that. Because he smiled at you. Because maybe it wouldn’t hurt to make a friend. Especially right now.

“I’m--I’m lost,” you tell him, giving a shaky smile. “I was waiting for my father, but you see, I got to thinking, and I started to wander around and now I’m… well. I don’t know where I am, actually.”

His smile wasn’t very deep, was it? It was like the gloss of paint on the outside of the Capitol buildings. Pretty to look at, but there must be more underneath.

You expected him to lead you right back to where you’re supposed to be.

Instead, he asked you something.

“What were you thinking about?

You couldn’t tell him. Could you? But something about 

“About… the Games.”

You don’t tell him that you were thinking about Lucy Gray and all those snakes, and the way that Dr. Gaul’s outfit that first day made you think of them. Because your father had slapped you across the face when you got back to your lodgings that night, and told you to never, ever bring up Lucy Gray Baird or the 10th Games unless you were directly asked. And you would probably never be asked. 

Coriolanus gave a little snort through his nose. You liked it. It was nice to know that even Capitol people could seem a little dorky.

“They aren’t for another 3 months. Are you that eager to see them?”

You didn’t know what expression you made, exactly. It was so instinctive and fast that you didn’t have time to control it. 

You only knew that it made him shake his head and offer you a sympathetic look.  

“I apologize. That was rude, wasn’t it?” 

And then he did a strange thing.

He offered you his arm. 

Like you were Capitol, like you were a real person, and not some visiting District wench walking on the coattails of her arms-dealing father. 

“Let me walk you back to the waiting area.”

And the stranger thing?

You took it.

--

You and your father were quickly moved into a small apartment within the university, once it became clear that he would be staying in the Capitol through the duration of the Games. It was best, he said, because ordinary people in the Capitol didn’t really want to see new faces from the Districts mingling around unless their tongue had been cut out first. It made them nervous. The rebel bombings, and all that.

You didn’t mind, because it meant you didn’t have to be flanked by Peacekeepers on the streets. 

And, well.

You got to see Coriolanus more often. Sometimes he greeted you, sometimes he didn’t. He did it less often when Dr. Gaul was there,  unless she was talking to your father and it gave him an opportunity.

He asked you things, too, when he caught you walking back to your father’s little apartment. Like what you did back home. What you liked to do. Whether you went to school, and what you planned to do now that you have graduated. 

This morning, he caught you drawing while you waited in a chair outside Dr. Gaul’s office. Sometimes you waited there--you would admit to no one that it was to catch a glimpse of the kindest person you’d met in the Capitol--and other times you stayed in your temporary home.

“What are you drawing?” He asked. But he had a way of speaking that you’d quickly clocked into. He can make a demand sound like a polite little question. Oh, he wasn’t mean about it, but it reminded you of the way your father talked to his underlings back in District 2. On his home turf, he was far smoother than he was here, where his voice stammered and sweat beaded on his neck.

So you handed it over, even though, to your greatest embarrassment, you’d drawn… him.

“Why me?” He had a smile on his lips. His smiles were nice. Kind. The kindest you’d seen since you came here. But they always felt like that fresh coat of paint; like you didn’t know what he really meant by them, and that was how he liked it. 

“You’re… important,” is all you could come up with. You felt small, then. He would dismiss and probably never want to talk to you again. What a stupid answer from a stupid girl. 

But he just smiled. It was like paint peeling a little.  You could see underneath that he liked what you said, although you weren’t exactly sure why. And his expression tightened up so quickly, protecting what you’d seen, that you weren’t entirely sure if it was real or not. 

“I’m just a humble student at this university. Not so important. Not yet.”

--

You were really going to die, now. This wasn’t some panicked imagination gone wrong, some flight of fancy that took a wrong turn.

A pair of stony-faced Peacekeepers had walked up to where you sat in the waiting area near Dr. Gaul’s office and ordered you to come with them.

You asked to talk to your father. They said no. You asked where you were going. They yanked you up. 

And now they were leading you down hallways that you’d never seen before, where there weren’t even Avoxes roaming the halls with brooms and dustpans. 

They didn’t even answer, just spun around and walked back the way they came. You pushed the door open reluctantly--what the hell was going to be on the other side?--and it was--it was--

It was Coriolanus. Standing there in a nice suit, eyes downcast on a book. Until the door creaked and he looked up.

“What--why did you bring me here? Did I do something wrong?” The thought went through you, that perhaps this had all been a test, to see if you were loyal to the Capitol and he’d found you wanting.

“No,” he said, simply enough. He set the book down and gestured for you to step inside. You did, because what else were you going to do, in some strange room in a Capitol University where you’d been forcibly brought by Peacekeepers.

Snow studied your face. Your eyes darted around, from him, to the room, to the door. 

“I wanted to see you,” he said, a little softer. “In private.” 

“Me?” You furrowed your eyebrows. “But… why?”

He smiled. “Come now, you’re a smart girl, even if you aren’t in university.” 

You really didn’t know. Not at first. But then you watched the way his expression softened, and you remembered it, or glimpses of it, that he’d given you before. When he complimented your drawing. When he said your name. When he escorted you back from the maze of hallways. And his smiles, all his smiles, although you were never sure how much they meant coming from home. 

He took a step closer. You didn’t dare step back. You weren’t sure if you wanted to step back, but it didn’t matter, either way.

He pressed his lips to yours and took your first kiss, in a secluded little study in the heart of the Capitol University. 

--

Your days became routine, although the routine was strictly forbidden and could have probably gotten you executed or at best, gotten you a one-way ticket to a tasteless existence.

You wake up. You stay in your apartment.  You wait for the Peacekeepers. You get summoned here and there, always private rooms, secret rooms, rooms out of the way. You meet Snow--Coriolanus, he said, call him that--and you talk (well, mostly him) and kiss and sometimes a little bit more. He gives you gifts. Trinkets, necklaces that you can only wear under your shirt. Food, flaky pastries made with mountains of sugar, sandwiches made with cream and cucumber. 

But how much longer could it go on? The Games were going to start soon. As soon as they were over, you were going back to your District. There would be no more meetings, no more kisses. No more wondering how far he wanted to go or why he liked you or even if he even liked you as anything more than someone to keep him busy. 

You didn’t dare talk about the Games, but you did talk about this. In the kindest way you knew how for such a sensitive subject. 

“I’ll miss you,” you told Coriolanus after one meeting, when you’re both sitting on a sofa and he’s got your fingers tightly wound in his. He squeezed them tight.

“Miss me?” 

“After the Games,” you clarified. “We’re being sent home right after.”

He squeezed your fingers until it hurt a little. Then he looked up at you. To see if you would say something? Or did he not know how strong he was?

“Oh, that. I can arrange for you to stay.”

Your chest began to feel sick.

“Stay? In the Capitol?” You were torn about Coriolanus, but you didn’t want to stay here. You couldn’t. 

“Yes,” he said, as if it was the simplest answer in the world. “You wouldn’t be the first person from the District granted such an extreme privilege. I’m sure I could--”

“But I don’t know if I want to stay.” 

His gaze narrowed and you felt your stomach clench. He looked at the necklace you’d pulled out as soon as the door was shut, at your lips where a dollop of strawberry cream still rested. 

“I treat you so well, and you don’t know if you want to stay with me?”

His voice was calm, and that scared you. It would have been better if he flew off the handle.

Instead, he simply stood up and gently sent you out the door, and called the Peacekeepers to bring you back to your apartment.

--

Every night for the last week, you have cried yourself to sleep. Because every day for the last week, Coriolanus Snow has not sent for you. Not even once.

What if he told someone? What if you got sent back early, and your father was shamed? What if they broke his contract? Or--worse, worse, worse. There were so many worse things than merely being sent back to District 2.

And then he sent for you, and it was the longest walk of your life, though it was no farther than any of the times you’ve been escorted to your secret meetings.

This time, when you pushed open the door, Coriolanus was not alone. 

There was an Avox in the room. 

It was someone from District 2.

You didn’t know her. Not personally. But you saw her, before. She worked in one of the munitions factories and you watched her walk to work from your classroom window sometimes. Then she stopped showing up, and you thought perhaps she got married. 

That delusion was shattered the moment you saw her, eyes downcast to the floor, wearing a simple gray tunic. 

It’s not until Coriolanus tells you to hurry up and come in that you’re able to move. Even then, you weren’t sure how your body did it; how your arms managed to gain the mobility to shut the door, to twist the lock; how your legs moved, one foot in front of the other, until you were standing stiffly in front of him.

The Avox--you wish you knew her name, but she couldn’t give it to you now, even if you asked--moved seamlessly to a table set up nearby. There was tea and sweets. The sort of thing that you and Coriolanus had been enjoying together for the past few weeks. The sort of thing that you were sure would sit sour in your stomach, now. 

The cup shook in your hands when she handed it to you, and your tears dripped right into the tea.

Coriolanus glanced at the Avox and waved his hand. She left obediently. She would never tell the secret she witnessed in his room, that much was certain.

And then he looked back at you.

“Don’t cry,” he said. Soft but firm. A command, not a coo. “You shouldn’t cry here, in the Capitol. You should be grateful to be here. You should be grateful that I’ve arranged all this for you.”

“I am,” you whispered. 

“Then show me that you are.”

And you did. 

You said what he wanted and looked to him to show you how he wanted you to act, and did just that. You didn’t argue, even to lightly banter. You kissed him and nodded along when he told you about how things would be after the Games, when he had arranged for you to stay.

All you had to do was keep him happy until the Games were over, and then you could go home. 

Bitterly, all of this made you realize just how much of your father is in you; he knew how to appease the Capitol. You could do the same with Coriolanus Snow. At least until the Games were over. Just keep him happy until the Games were done and the blood was spilled, and you would go home. 

They wouldn’t let him keep you here after the games. You were sure of that. You’d overheard some of Dr. Gaul’s assistants murmuring how glad they would be to send the District profiteers like your father home once the Games were over. And you? You’re just his useless daughter, an appendage he brought like an unwelcome suitcase. Why would you be allowed to stay?

--

The Games were over. The winner was from District 1. 

You were going home any day now. Just as soon as your father finished tinkering with the designs, gave his notes on improvements that might be made for next year.

The thought gave you a delightful bounce in your step. It was like having a pat of sweet butter in your shoe on a day when you needed good luck-- District 2 superstition, although the strict rationing meant most people didn’t have even a pat to slip into their shoes anymore.

The sweetness didn’t even disappear when the Peacekeepers showed up to bring you to Snow. It was going to be a bittersweet farewell, you were sure. He might be angry. But you would kiss him and tell him that there was nothing he could do, and how sorry you were not to be able to stay, but that was how things had to be.

Except they didn’t bring you down a maze of corridors that led to a secluded room.

They brought you right into Dr. Gaul’s office.

Breakfast threatened to evacuate your stomach with every step. Not just because of nerves, but because of what you saw. Rows of experiments in glass tubes; some of them move. You walk by a room with a half-open door that showed someone strapped to a gurney, face contorted in a silent scream as they fought against restraints. You almost did lose breakfast, then.

But somehow you made it to the desk of Dr. Gaul without a dribble of vomit to show for it.

The Peacekeepers left with no fanfare and you stood there, ramrod straight. Did she know? Was she going to tell you that you were going to be strapped to one of those gurneys, now?

“I’m keenly aware,” she said, keeping her hands primly folded, “on how much you’ve enthralled my star pupil.”

Toast. That’s what will come up first, you thought . The toast.

“I don’t know what you mean, ma’am.” Your voice was so thin and tinny that you didn’t even believe yourself.

And then the prim facade cracked, and Dr. Gaul threw her head back and grinned.

“You really think I don’t know everything that goes on within these walls?  I know every time one of my lab assistants runs into the bathroom to throw up after a particularly nasty experiment. I know every time one of our university professors sneaks into a closet to down a vial of morphling with a student. And I certainly know when my newest protege is having an adorable little District girl brought to him for… canoodling.”

You weren’t even embarrassed. No.  You just felt terrified to the bone. You only hoped that you’d be killed, shot against a wall, instead of made into an Avox. Let there be some mercy in this world. 

”He’s asked to keep you, you know.” Her voice was low, almost a drawl. She tapped her fingers on her desk rhythmically.

“My Coriolanus Snow wants a bird of his own.” Her smile turned darker. “Not a songbird, though. Oh, no. I think he’s had enough of those.”

Her gaze bored into yours, each color magnified by her intense expression. “I think if I let him have his pretty caged bird, he’ll be happy. He’s more productive if he’s happy.” She smiled. “I like productivity. It keeps the Games more interesting.”

She looked you over one more time, and then waved you away.

“I’ve granted his request. You’ll be staying here indefinitely, courtesy of one Mr. Snow. Your father has already been told.” 

You were wrong.

It was not the toast that came up first, but the sweet butter you’d patted on top.

--

You still had your tongue, but you felt as though it was useless, stuck to the roof of your mouth, as Coriolanus fussed over your outfit. Or rather, as he directed an Avox to fuss over it for you. He could afford his own personal servant, now, he told you. He’d almost flinched after he said now, and you didn’t dare press him on it. Had he not been able to afford one before?

“We can’t walk arm-in-arm in public,” he said, walking around you, making sure the outfit was just-right. “But you can stand by me if I stop and direct you forward.” He reached over and fixed one of your buttons. “Don’t speak to anyone unless I’ve told you to, or they speak to you first. Always address someone older as ‘sir,’ or ‘ma’am.” He pointed at your hair, and the Avox began to fuss with it, eventually covering it in a colorful wrap that Coriolanus said was popular right now. “Address someone our age by the last name and Mr. or Ms.”

When he was satisfied with your appearance, he sent the Avox away. You liked it better that way, it was one last reminder of the horrors in the Capitol, even for someone “privileged” like you.  You’d only been without your father for 3 days, but you felt like your nerves were continually on fire. You wanted to go home. You wanted your family. You wanted out of this place.

But that wasn’t going to happen.

For now, you were still living in the small university apartment the Capitol had given your father. Coriolanus insisted on it, until he could figure out how to move you into his own sprawling apartment that he shared with his cousin, Tigris (who, at least, genuinely sounded lovely) and his grandmother, Grandma’am. She was the sticking point, or so you were told, with a thin smile. She hated Districts, and she ought to, he said. They killed her son. His father. 

She would hate you, too. Even if Coriolanus wanted you enough to make you stay with him; wanted you enough to keep you. But for how long? And would he change his mind, if you couldn’t fit in? 

He said your name, and you snapped yourself out of your thoughts. He held you by your shoulders. Gently. Like one would an unruly child that hadn’t yet learned that there were such things as salad forks and dinner forks, as polite conversation and etiquette. 

You got the feeling you wouldn’t have long to learn all of those things and more, to make him happy.

“Remember,” he said. “You’re District. You’re here because the Capitol has recognized that your loyalty can benefit us in some way. Be grateful.”

“I am,” you said, reflectively.

“Be happy..”

“I am,” you said again, your chest hitching.

He smiled at you. Was it real or not real? 

You smiled back, regardless. And he liked that, evidently, because he leaned forward and kissed you. Then he scrutinized your face and wiped at your lips with his thumb--the kiss had smeared your lipstick. 

“Good.” 

He gestured towards the open doorway. This time, he didn’t take your arm. There would be too many people lingering in the university hallways, all making their way to the soiree held to celebrate the end of this year’s Games and discuss what improvements might be made for the next year. 

You dutifully walked behind him, just like he said. And you would do exactly what he said in all respects. You would stay quiet unless you were spoken to, you would certainly never bring up anything confrontational or controversial, and you would make a good impression. You would be a loyal, grateful District citizen who was given the opportunity of a lifetime thanks to the graciousness of Coriolanus Snow. 

Of course you would. 

Your life depended on it. 

[hectorthedoggo]

I will put this in ao3 and edit when i have the means to. but. @kani-miso it's 0009 sibs i thought of you and decided to make this 🎀🎀

UPDATE I ACIDENTALLY DELETED THE TAB WITH MY EDITS AO3 is going to kill me

“Alright. Milgram's up.” The creature stayed. Es stayed frozen from where they were sitting on the couch. Oh God. What's the consequences of my verdicts?

Wait. Up? This is Trial 2?

They disregarded that. It must be a mistake.

If these verdicts even are mine, I can’t tell. I've been dreading this. I'm scared. They clutched their arms, trying to gain some warmth, some friction, for what was to happen next.

Jackalope narrowed his eyes at them. “A nervous one, aren't you now. Anyways, so since the administrators decided that you were too unstable, you'll go free. Congrats.

Oh yeah, and the verdicts didn't really have consequences, it was just a little social experiment. It doesn't matter. Good luck surviving in the real world!”

What. What the heck is he talking about? “Wha- What do you mean- Who's the admin- wah!”

They felt a pulling sensation, and suddenly, they were standing in a Walmart™ parking lot. The only other person nearby was Mikoto Kayano.

But, nobody was dead. He was in his original clothes, but. Wait, where are we? What's this big sign that says ‘Walmart’?

What is a Walmart, and where the hell did Milgram go?

They also had a little pack with them, and upon opening it, there was a little message printed out. Nothing else.

‘mikoto is your legal sibling btw. gl lmao be glad I even gave you this note ur probably my favorite warden - Jackalope (professional child neglecter)’

At least the pack looked cool looked cool…

Es was about to have a mental breakdown. Why did Milgram leave me like this? Is this what I am to them?

“Woah, what happened?” Mikoto wondered, “Hey, Es. Did you do this? Is Milgram over? Did they identify it to be a mistake?”

They started shaking. They threw me out like garbage. I…

“Es?”

They sniffled at the situation. I’m… garbage. Because, as my usual logic says, I am what Milgram deems me to be.

“I- I have no idea…” they extended the last vowel to emphasize how little idea they had.

They threw the note on the ground --- or at least tried to, it just flew away, right into Mikoto’s hands ---, and started to sob.

The tables had turned. Mikoto looked like he knew why he was here, Es didn’t (nande boku ga koko ni iruyo). It was genetic.

Meanwhile, Mikoto had gotten the note, and he read it. “Wh- huh?”

He stared over at Es. “Es, this is a mistake, right?”

“That is the least of my worries right now, pudding boy!” they snapped at him, instead channeling their sadness into aggression.

He completely disregarded their feelings, to the point where he might not have even heard them. “Right… my mom did mention that our father got remarried. Wah, Suu! You’re my little sib!”

He went up to their grieving form, and gave them a little fistbump, lifting up their unwilling arm to do so. Why did he do that? Last time we touched, John was beating the shit out of me.

A random car pulled up into the Walmart™ parking lot, and the window unrolled. 

It was a woman with brownish hair, who looked like Mikoto. “Oh, you’re the other sibling that your father was talking about. You two can just get in the back in the car, your sister’s taking shotgun. Nice to meet you!”

Why the fuck does Mikoto’s sister have a shotgun? Are they all like this?

Mikoto followed in with them, and buckled in. Es had no idea what was going on.

They could not find the seatbelt, too busy processing the upheaval of their life in the past 5 minutes.

“Yo, sib. The seatbelt’s over there.” Mikoto smiled and gave a thumbs up, like a reliable older brother. “I saw it.” I did not see it.

They touched it, and got stung by the heat. Their, wait, no, Mikoto’s sister turned back at their sound of pain, turning off her phone. “Ah, yeah. It’s summer, don’t touch it.”

They scowled, forgetting their dread in the face of the overheated car seatbelt.

The car chimed, and the keys jingled. “Alright, folks! You two seem pretty tired from wherever the heck you disappeared to. Would you wanna go home, or get some ice cream?”

The sister turned around, and smiled a little wide. “My dear siblings, do you know the answer? There is a correct one.”

Es scowled. “What the fuck is an ice cream. Why is the cream ice?”

“Are you serious?” She scrutinized their face, finding the truth, “Step on it, Ma.” She went back to her phone, probably texting her friends about this weird kid in a warden outfit that was apparently her sibling now.

Mikoto looked over at Es and shrugged, like a comical cartoon character. Like a ‘what can you do?’.

I won’t allow these insolent- wait, these aren’t prisoners. Unless the sister girl did something with that shotgun of hers. It would run in the family, I guess.

Wait, that would mean that I’m also violent. Nevermind.

The 11th cell came to mind, and they dismissed it. Wrong kinda fic, buddy. We staying fluff here.

“So, Mikoto. And, what’s your name?”

“Es. I think?”

The woman put on her strict mother voice. “... okay. Mikoto and Es. What was so important that you had to completely disappear for like a years. No note! Job gone! You could’ve died, for all I knew! Es, sweetie, I’m sure it was Mikoto’s fault. He’s such a bad influence.”

Es raised their hand to ask a question, slightly flustered from the pet name. She indicated that they could speak.

They decided to just reveal it all. “Um, Mikoto committed murder… eh, Mikoto, he has DID and was stressed from his job, hence the murder. And I was the warden of the prison that held him and 9 others.”

Mikoto lost all of his composure at all of his darkest secrets being revealed, the dramatic guy he was. “What… Es, don’t… I… that’s not… I don’t have DID? I was doing… I was doing just…”

He seemed a little overwhelmed at the prospect of having to unpack all of the luggage that Es laid out, so another guy came out. “I am not straight. Oh- sorry, hi, I’m John. I’m the guy who totally committed the murder 100% trust guys c’mon vote mikoto innocent 2024-”

I already had to deal with that yapping last interrogation. Es shut him up with their hand. He waved it away. “If you’re gonna say that shit about Mikoto, Es hasn’t been going to bed at a healthy time or eating healthy.”

They were betrayed at his reveal. “I can’t believe you.”

“We’re going to fix that, Es. You’re going to get the regular kid treatment.” The mother nodded, eyes steeling. Oh no, not the normal teen treatment!

John had some other stuff going on behind there. Maybe Mikoto’s cheesiness had rubbed off on him. “As soon as we get out of this car I’m giving you a hug.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Yes.”

Speaking of unwarranted physical contact. “Oh yeah, mo- Mikoto’s mother, um… John beat me up in Trial 1.”

“SNITCH?!”

“What’cha gonna do about it?”

“Give you another hug.” He deviously grinned, knowing that wasn’t the answer they expected or an answer they liked.

“I won’t allow it.” But, they weren’t the warden anymore. They couldn’t deflect affection as well as they used to.

The sister was unbothered by this discourse. Perhaps it hasn’t quite set in. “I guess I got two extra surprise siblings. Cool.”

-

When they got to the ice cream store after a prolonged amount of awkward silence, the moment the car doors opened, the chase was on.

Es nearly ran into oncoming traffic to escape any chance at being loved, as one does, but John grabbed them and lifted them up by their elbows, giving them a hug once they were out of the street.

“Jeez, you’re light. C’mon, we’re getting ice cream and you aren’t gonna kill yourself.”

“‘M not!” They kicked their legs to try and get the man off of them. But, they had about the strength of a 5 week old kitten compared to him, without the claws.

He plopped them down, Es seething about their lack of power they had here.

The sister turned off her phone, finally, and turned to Es. “Okay, I just wanna make sure. Were you joking earlier about not having ice cream before?”

“I’m the prison warden of Milgram, I don’t need-”

She interrupted them before they could start monologuing and crying about how Milgram didn’t exist anymore. “You’re getting Birthday Bash.”

“What- but it’s not my birthday?” It could be, for all I know, but she’s doesn’t have to know that.

“Ok, what is your birthday?” Dammit.

“Great question!” Es stared into space, tone full of sarcasm. Milgram never tells me shit.

“Mikoto or whoever the hell you are, do you know their birthday?”

“Nah.” John responded. “By the way, um, this kid was the one who named me John, because they thought it would be funny to be a know-it-all and reference some English name.”

She looked over at Es. “No offense, but you suck at naming. I think we were all thinking that.” We…

Es tried to defend their horrible naming skills. “What?! Who else was gonna name him?”

Mikoto’s mother decided to join in the conversation, but left after putting her two cents in. “Me. Or Mikoto, since he’s where John came from.”

John smirked. “See, Es! But the name has stuck, so you owe me.”

Es crossed their arms, huffing. “I don’t owe you anything. You beat me up that one time, so if anything, you owe me!”

He couldn’t exactly find a defense for that, so he took their hat off their head and held it as high as he could reach, exposing their hat hair. “Hey!”

They jumped to get it, but to no avail. They looked pathetic.

Meanwhile, Mikoto’s mother and sister had already gone in to order. Order, like what a judge says?

It’s all a law reference.

John grinned. “You're a silly little creature, Suu.”

“You're not Mikoto, stop that.” I do not like that weird ass nickname.

He put on an innocent face. “What do you mean? I'm Mikoto, and I love my company so much! Hahaha, I would never commit murder. This must be a mistake!”

Es was somewhat surprised. “That's stuff he actually said in his first trial, how did you get it so accurately?”

“I hear this guy's internal monologue.”

That’ll do it. “Ah.”

 He threw their hat into the air while they were distracted, and they stepped back in surprise. He caught it. “Nice hat.”

“Get away from-”

The rest of the family brought over ice cream, and Es was handed a mash of colors in theirs that seemed unnatural.

“Is this food?”

“Eat it.” John asserted.

They shrugged. If this is poison, at least I don't have to worry about Milgram and all that stuff.

Worst case scenario, it doesn't kill me and it tastes bad. I'm not sure what my best case scenario is. Dying? It tasting good? We’ll see.

They bit down on the food with aggression, and it tasted… amazing, other than the fact that it was cold.

“What the heck is this? In a good way?” They temporarily forgot about their slight suicidal ideation.

“Bro has never heard of the wonders of overly processed foods…” the sister commented, smirking.

Why is she calling me bro? Huh? If I question her, will she bring out the shotgun? I'm scared of her. She’s my older sister now, isn’t she…

To be honest, Kotoko was scarier. I’ll be fine.

She wasn’t addicted to her phone, though… wait, right. Kotoko kinda was.

They grinned, and momentarily forgot their troubles in the face of their action. I’m so much better than these people. This tastes good. Mmm… ice cream… I like it…

They did get a brain freeze, and brought their hand up to their forehead in pain.

They got their head patted by John, who had somehow consumed his (larger serving of) ice cream. “Do you want the rest of that?”

“Yes?” They answered.

He grabbed a spoon, and took a bite of their ice cream. “Wow, this tastes nice.”

Es disliked the younger sibling experience. “Give me my hat back. I didn’t forget about that.”

“No.” However, he made a mistake: it happened to be in grabbing range. They quickly snatched it, and grinned in pride.

But, while they were distracted with John, they forgot about their other older sibling, who took a sizable amount of their precious ice cream.

I just discovered ice cream. Will they stop stealing it?

-

They were next in a car, making sure to avoid the seatbelt this time. About ⅓ of their ice cream had been usurped, and they didn't have the strength to defend it.

But, it wasn’t that bad. These people are nice…

I… I guess this is my life now? It’s not that bad.

Finally, there were no catches to this fact.

They would have to buy new clothes, the warden outfit was scratchy.

[madhatterbri]

Just Hear Meow-t | K.M.

Summary: I was thinking Kol Mikaleson x Reader. Where Reader was finding blood for Kol because he was hungry. She found some blood bag from the hospital and she heard a tiny meow and she found a cute small kitten. It has brown eyes and mixed tan and brown fur, and it reminds her of Kol. She brought the kitten back, and Kol was eyeing at her, looking for suspicious. When she told him what she found, she gave him the cute baby eyes to convince him that Kol and Reader could keep it. :)

Author's Note: I'm incredibly corny. 😂��

Requested by @twinklestarslight

You waited behind the hospital and tapped your foot impatiently. The nurse should have been out here by now to give you the blood bags. They weren't for you, but for your boyfriend, Kol Mikaelson. The pain in the ass, temperamental, sexy, handsome vampire that you grew to love. You loved him so much that you drove miles to a hospital to get blood bags for him.

"About bloody time," you snapped at him. "What took you so long?"

"They are getting suspicious. I had to go a different route," he answered quickly. He didn't want to be on the hit list of any vampires. You rolled your eyes and grabbed the cooler from him.

"Figure it out, or next time he'll be coming for a visit and not me," you threatened. "And you won't like it when he pays a visit,"

He nodded quickly. He had never seen Kol before, and he didn't want to. You told him plenty of horror stories from his past. He wasn't so bad now, but he definitely wouldn't mind tearing this man up. He muttered an apology and scurried back inside.

You turned to go back to your car but stopped. A tiny meow sounded from behind a garbage can. "The hell?"

You looked behind the can to see a kitten. The kitten mewed and took a few steps back. Brown eyes stared at you in wonder. Eyes similar to your beloved.

You set your hand down and moved your fingers around. The kitten walked slowly to you. His paw swatted at your fingers. You chuckled and stood up. You really needed to get the blood to Kol.

The kitten meowed at your sudden departure. As you went to pick up the cooler, the kitten jumped on your jeans covered leg. He climbed your leg to not allow you to leave him. His brown and tan fur is almost similar to Kol as well.

"I guess you chose me, huh, baby?" You asked and picked the creature from your jeans. You placed the cat on your shoulder. He snuggled into your face while you walked with the cooler to the car.

He slept in the passenger seat the whole ride home. You figured he hadn't had a full night's sleep in a while. He woke up once you stopped in front of your apartment. He yawned and looked at you. His big brown eyes full of wonder.

"Welcome home, little guy," You smiled and placed him on your shoulder. You grabbed the cooler from the trunk and walked to your front door. Your keys unlocked the door and you walked in. "I'm home, darling,"

The kitten meowed, and you tensed. Kol was never a huge lover of animals. His footsteps could be heard down the hallway. You grabbed him and placed him behind your back. "Stay quiet,"

"What?" Kol asked once he came around the corner. He eyed you suspiciously. "Did you say something?"

"Your blood bags are here. Sorry for the delay," you apologized. "The nurse was late,"

"Should I go over there and tell him that my girl's time matters?" He asked and kissed your lips. He ran his hands down your arms and noticed you were hiding your hands. "Do you have a surprise for me, darling?"

"Not exactly," you giggled nervously.

"What is it?" He asked trying to peek over your shoulders.

"Nothing. Just some trash I found that I have to throw away," you answered. You backed towards the kitchen counter. He followed after you, not believing you for a second. The kitten meowed in protest at being called trash.

"Was that a kitten? Did you bring a kitten home?" He asked. You sighed and brought your hands forth. The kitten stared at him.

"Honey," he started.

"Please? He reminds me of you, and he was hiding behind a trash can. You should have seen him in the car. He slept the whole way home. I'll take care of him," you begged. Kol picked him up from your hands. He rubbed under his chin. The kitten purred in delight. His eyes closed.

"You trying to take my girl, little guy?" He asked and held the kitten like a baby. The vampire sighed. He knew how lonely you were when he left to help his brothers. "Fine, you can keep him, darling,"

You squealed in delight and kissed lips. You looked down and smiled at your new kitten. He was fast asleep in Kol's arms. His little ear twitched as he snoozed.

[heartsforvin]

CHRISTMAS IN SEATTLE

pairing; vinnie hacker x fem!reader

warnings; pure, tooth rotting fluff, enjoy <3

summary; you and vinnie spend your first christmas as a family of three in seattle

christmas time for you and vinnie was always fun and filled with so much love. ever since the two of you became parents to a baby boy three months ago, christmas time got a little bit better.

oliver made your and vinnie’s lives so much better when he was born, bringing so much more love into your family.

it’s been an adjustment though. going from just the two of you, to finding out you were pregnant, then suddenly nine months flew by and your baby boy was here.

neither of you would change anything for the world, though.

“vin, you got the car all packed?” you asked as you ran around the house trying to think if you forgot to pack anything important.

vinnie stood to the side holding his son, smiling down at him and whispering “your mom’s crazy, i know” to him.

you stopped in your tracks, glaring at your husband. “i heard that,” you say, walking up to vinnie and grabbing onto your son’s tiny finger. “don’t listen to him.” you whisper.

vinnie let out a low chuckle before replying. “yes, babe. car’s all packed and ready to go.”

you smiled and kissed his cheek, walking over to the garbage can to throw your checklist away.

✧∘* ೃ ⋆｡˚.

one long and stressful plane ride later, the three of you landed in seattle. the three of you finally get to sit down for a minute and relax as you wait for vinnie’s parents to pick you up.

“you excited to see your grandparents and uncle, ollie?” vinnie asks his son as he bounces him gently on his knee.

the baby squints his eyes at his dad, making both you and vinnie smile to each other. soon enough, vinnie’s family gets to the airport and the six of you are on your way to your second home.

walking into the home, it’s just as you remember it - homey and full of love. you smile at vinnie and grab your son from his arms before walking around the familiar home.

“this is gonna be your second home, bub,” you whisper to your sleeping son as you walk around the home. “lots of memories are gonna be made.”

you hear footsteps behind you and soon a pair of arms wrap around your waist seconds later. vinnie smiles into you, kissing the back of your neck.

you turn around to face him, his arms never leaving their spot on your waist. “did your parents set up the pack and play?” you whisper to your husband.

vinnie nods and the two of you head upstairs to put your son down for a much needed nap. after you do, you and vinnie stand side by side, his arm around you once again, as you look down at your son.

“can’t believe it’s already his first christmas, feels like he was just born yesterday.” you say softly to vinnie, his grip on your waist tightens but not enough to hurt you.

kissing your forehead, you lean into him and rest your head on his shoulder. “i know, time’s flyin’.” vinnie tells you.

the two of you stay upstairs in the spare bedroom for a while, smiling down at your son, wondering how you both got so lucky to have this life.

moments later, you two make your way back downstairs to help set up for the night. you help vinnie’s mom in the kitchen while vinnie catches up with his dad and brother.

“how’s mom life been treating you?” maria asks you as the two of you plate some food and set it at the dinning table.

you smile at the mention of your son. “good, actually. it’s been rough, but having vinnie there with me helps so much.” you reply.

maria smiles. “he loves that little boy so much,” she says. “i’m really happy you two found each other, you made his life complete.”

hearing your husbands mother say that to you really warmed your heart. he made your life just as complete as you did his.

baby or not, you knew either way the two of you would be the happiest. oliver just made your guys’ happiness a million times better.

“smells good in here,” you hear someone say. as soon as you feel arms wrap around you and a soft kiss placed on your skin, you knew exactly who it was. “how’s it going?” vinnie asks.

maria smiles at her son and daughter in law. “good, y/n was just telling me how much she loves you and olllie.”

you turn around and smile at your husband, he kisses you quickly since his mother is in the room. vinnie unwraps himself from you and makes his way to the dinning table.

“this all looks amazing, mama.” vinnie says, looking up at his mother with a smile.

maria walks over to her son and hugs him, saying a quick ‘thank you’ before pulling away.

soon enough, it’s dinner time and the five of you gather around the table and enjoy the amazing dinner you had helped prepared.

✧∘* ೃ ⋆｡˚.

after dinner you go back upstairs to grab your son from the crib. “hi, baby!” you greet, grabbing the boy carefully and laying him in your arms.

“you ready to see everyone?” you ask as you make your way down the stairs and into the living room.

once in the room you say, “look who’s awake.” with a big smile on your face as you make your way to sit next to vinnie.

vinnie swings his arm so it’s around you but still resting on the couch. “hey little man.” vinnie says, smiling at his son.

oliver tries to give his dad a wide smile back but it doesn’t work too well, making everyone laugh.

you soon feel your son try to wiggle out of your grasp, making you look down and see he’s trying to make his way to his uncle.

you get reggie’s attention and hand his nephew to him. you nudge vinnie who is talking to his parents, grabbing his attention and have him look over to where reggie is sitting on the couch.

he smiles and wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him and kissing your temple.

you watch as reggie plays with his nephew, tickling his sides, making him clap his hands, and just all around being the best uncle with your boy.

“he’ll be a great dad someday.” you whisper to vinnie, making him smile.

the blonde agrees and watches as his brother hands his son to his parents now. the two of you sit in awe as you watch your little family share the love.

after awhile, oliver lands back in vinnie’s lap and you soon hear that presents were now being open.

you sit down on the floor next to vinnie with your son in his lap, grabbing all the presents for you, vinnie and oliver.

“who first?” you ask, but soon see nate pointing in your direction and saying. “i think someone has already tried to start.”

you turn to look at vinnie and see oliver grab the tiny present that’s in front of him and watch him put it in his mouth.

“okay let’s not do that,” vinnie laughs as he takes the present out of his son’s reach. he positions oliver so hes snug against vinnie’s chest and wont fall over. “we open them like this, bud.” he tells his son, opening the small wrapped present in front of him.

you look over and smile at the other three family members as you watch vinnie open his son’s gift. every little interaction vinnie has with oliver makes your heart so warm.

soon after oliver’s presents were opened, the rest of you took turns opening what each of you got for each other. as you did, you couldn’t help but feel so much love and happiness to be apart of this family.

when you and vinnie started dating all those years ago, you had a small feeling he’d be the man you marry, the woman he’d take home to for the holidays, the father of your children. you never fully know that those things would become reality.

you’re so happy they did, though. you couldn’t imagine doing any of this with anyone else. you wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else.

“baby, you okay?” you feel vinnie nudge you a bit, grabbing your attention.

“hmm? oh yeah, just thinking.” you reply with a smile.

“about what?” vinnie asks, and as he does you feel a tiny finger grab yours. you smile at your son and then look back up at your husband.

“us, you,” you say. “just about how happy i am to have you in my life, to have your family, our son, in my life.” you tell him.

vinnie can’t help the smile that creeps up on him, making him give you a goofy grin. “i love you so much, sweetheart. you’ll never know how much you mean to me. having you here with me and my family, with our little family, it means the world to me.”

you start to tear up but vinnie wipes your eyes, careful not to bump his arm against his son’s head. he kisses you softly, completely forgetting he’s in a room with his parents and brother.

you smile against his lips, giving him one quick kiss again before pulling away. “i love you to the moon and back, vinnie. forever.”

“as cute as that was, can you not do that again?” the two of you hear reggie speak up, making you laugh.

you stand up and walk over to the other three people in the room, opening your arms to invite them in a hug.

“i’m gonna do it again, reg, sorry,” you say as you hug the three family members. “i love you guys so much, thank you for letting me be apart of this family.”

the four of you pull away and you give the three a warm smile. vinnie watches from where he sits with oliver and can’t help but tear up.

he picks up his son and gives him a hug and kisses his head. “i love you so much, little man.”

you make your way back to vinnie and your son, grabbing the boy from his dads arms and hugging him and kissing him the same way vinnie did.

after all the presents and ‘i love you’s’ are done, you all make your way into the kitchen for dessert. you sit next to vinnie with oliver close to your chest, and the five of you finish the night with laughs and a whole lot of love.

after dessert, everyone says goodnight and parts their ways to their rooms. you, vinnie, and oliver make your way to the spare room for the night.

changing his diaper and putting him in a sleep onesie, you kiss his head as you lay your boy down for the night.

vinnie does the same after you, saying a quick goodnight his son before climbing into bed with you.

wrapping yourself around your husband, vinnie pulls you into him and kisses you softly. “goodnight my pretty girl. merry christmas.”

you smile and kiss him once more. “goodnight, vinnie. merry christmas.”

moments later the three of you drift off to peaceful sleep, with you snuggled into the love of your life.

this was definitely one of the best christmas’ yet, and you loved every minute of it.

hiii i really enjoyed writing this, sorry it was so long , i got carried away 😭

but merry christmas to those who celebrate !! i love you all tons and hope you liked this pure fluff imagine !!!

taglist: @cosmicanakin , @lyndys , @kriissy4gov , @leqonsluv3r , @forevergirlposts , @slvthrs , @laylasbunbunny , @lovingsturniolo , @hallecarey1 , @bernelflo , @kayleiggh

[seat-safety-switch]

Have you ever wondered how many camerafolks are involved in your favourite YouTube dirtbag car channels? It's a lot. Scientists estimate by 2025 that one in three greasy car people will be employed full-time, filming other sketchy folks while they drive poorly-maintained cars over long distances.

We're all to blame for this state of affairs. Prior to the development of YouTube, it was unthinkable that anyone would sit down and watch a forty-minute video about a dude rewiring his shitty Japanese car at a gas station in the middle of the night. Now, with the outlawing of dating competition shows and the Olympics, it is our only form of visceral reality entertainment.

Demand for worn-out, field-found cars with peculiar smells and a malfunctioning transmission has never been higher. I've profited from it, of course, selling my vast hoard of shitty 1970s Plymouths to ill-equipped people who would later cannibalize their cameramen trying to make the interstate. Sometimes I'd buy them back from the next of kin, who were all too willing to let this terrible reminder of their loved ones' fate go for a ridiculous lowball, and the cycle would repeat with another earnest YouTuber with an account name like Scrapyard Toucher or Garbage-Can Dan. With some clever investments leveraging that beater money, I now sit atop a media empire that is incalculably large. You can't blame me for making it popular in the first place. That was all you.

Still, the money from sending endless numbers of camerapeople and media personalities to their almost certain death does not fill me with pleasure. Money is meant to be used, to be spent on beaters, and yet I can only find well-preserved, immaculately-restored cars for cheap in my local classifieds. No demand for them, explain the tearful grannies, who only drove these low-mileage cream puffs to church and back on Sundays.

There's only one thing left to do: run these cars into the ground, in order to produce the next generation of barely-hanging-together shitboxes that will create great content. It's a sacrifice I'm willing to make, although it is really boring to always arrive at my intended destination. Without the thrill of a random breakdown, what even is the point of living?

[hermesserpent-stuff]

Hermes, I I here to humbly ask thee for another songfic request.... it is for... the Ace In A Cage AU! You may choose your pick of which song on your playlist, as you will know which one fits that world best.

(You don't have to make this, but if you want to, a song might help you with writing it)

this is song 1. anywayssss this is what i got

Remy stares at the place where his den should be. His den with a nest that had been made for him and Henri when Creed had joined with the Guild. A nest that had been a safe place to run to ever since he was thirteen. When he had arguments with papa or Henri or big nightmares or little troubles and …

His heart shrieks and he leans against the sun heated wall. He trembles and shakes, eyes burning. 

Stupid Hydra.

Stupid portal thing 

Stupid Remy for hitting it with a card and getting exploded into a place where he feels so lost and confused. Everything looks like home. But to the left. Like looking at yourself in the ripple soft a pond or in a fun house mirror. His stomach twists and he finds a garbage can to throw up in.

After dealing with his wounds he had come straight to the nest. He probably should have gone back to the mansion but… he hurts so so bad right now. He adjusts the bandages on his aching arms. He turns and steps away. 

One foot.

Then the next.

Then the next.

His soul weeps as he moves alone through streets that are no longer his.

He starts heading north, up towards the mansion, with a vain hope of getting help. He slowly starts to avoid more people. They are all so much more sensitive to his eyes and him wearing glasses. Every once in a while he would seek help and shelter but…

People would try to get him to stay while calling for someone on the phone. He always slips out before the call connects, not wanting to know who would be interested in his red eyes. He needs to make it back to the mansion. See if anyone's there. The number no longer worked. He had tried it. It failed. He decides to make himself more scarce while moving through cities, terrified. Had something happened to drive his family underground? 

Maybe he should avoid the mansion… but he has to know.

Sticking to the shadows does not afford him much time to watch the news and get updates. After a driver tries to lock him in her car while trying to take him ‘where they help mutants’, Remy stops hitchhiking. 

A month passed in bursts of travel and he eventually snatches a bike, easily swapping the tags and kicking it into gear. His brother had taught him how to ride a bike anhas Creed htaught him how to be one with it.

Snow swirls down from the sky as he speeds across paved pathways that echoe what he knows. That fill him with a longing that cannot be healed. He has been running on fumes for the last few weeks. Not sleeping much for fear of his charm slipping out. Normally he would have been able to let it loose a few times in the safety of Creeds presence if he had been unable to get back into the nest. 

The dusky greys of the shadows snake across the fresh whiteness of the snow. Purples shade the darkest bits of shadow and Remy wonders at all the hues as he drives onwards. The snow only grows thicker as he goes, specks of cold becoming a wall that tries to soak into his souk. The fifteen year old knows that it is not much further to the mansion, just antoher bend and then!

Oh.

He really shouldn't be surprised, he thinks as he stares at a fence that is designed all wrong, with brickwork that is a mutation on what he knows. The colors are off. Instead of a stunning red with bursts of green and brown plant life, the bricks are a browner hue, with just a few vines creeping about. The mansion beyond is similar to home, but a little too big. Like a jacket stretched from use beyond its fit, with seams bursting and breaking and being patched with material that is the right color and texture but still wrong. 

He covers his mouth and hops off the bike as bile rises. He throws up in the bushes as his emotions smash past his mental shields. They splatter like blood on the world around him, sticky and clumpy. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand and steps back shaking. Something pokes at his mind. Something that feels like Xaiver, but its not. He lets his natural barriers throw whomever it is back. He raises up his mental shields sharply and bolts back to his bike as he hears… something. 

Something is coming. A roar that rings his soul.

But…

It is off.

Just like everything else. 

Remy has had too many experiences with clones to want to see how this world’s verion of his family is… twisted. Because he has finally accepted that somehow, some way, he has been brough into a new world. This is not his home. Could he even get back home??

He revs his bike and takes off, letting it shriek as he takes off. He hears the sound of motorbikes behind him as he zooms down the road. He twists off down a side road he kind of recognizes. he can hear the bikes behind him, more powerful than this stolen ride. He breathes and falls into almost meditative concentration. Running is what he is good at. He had learned how to run before he had ever learned how to stay. He pushes the bike faster and sharply turns off the road onto a side path that is gonna take him to a cliff, that has a road below. He launches the bike over the edge as he gets to it.  

He throws out a card at just the right time to hit the ground beneath him. The shock waves of his explosion gives his bike enough lift to keep it from snapping in half when hitting the ground. He revs his bike and flies, wind and snow swirling around him in wave like swells. He hears a crash behind him and a roar louder than any tiger or lion he has ever heard. Just as loud as Creed when he is pissed. 

Remy cannot help it.

He looks back. 

A man is chasing him on all fours, blond hair flaring behind him. 

Creed?

He heart leaps and he shakes his head. Remy narrows his eyes at the messy road ahead of him. He had seen twisted clones of his père. Half-melted things made due to Mister Sinister’s obsession with Remy, Jean, and Scott. He does not want to see what this world has cooked up. 

He throws cards behind him and blows up some of the road. He pushes the bike faster through the storm. 

--

Remy curls up on a random rooftop in New York, staring at the altered skyline. He sneezes wetly and takes another bite of his frozen sandwich. Snow is slowly falling from the sky. He has a bit of shelter over his head that keeps the snow off of him. He sneezes wetly again as he jots down another difference in the ratty notebook he had found thrown out. Remy keeps it all encoded just in case. 

“You're really stupid for stealing that face.”

A voice growls and Remy jolts. He stares, eyes wide at this altered Creed. Longer hair. Up in braids, looping and twisting up on itself is in a ponytail. The man is wearing pure black and Remy shifts out from his corner and takes a step back.

“Remy don't want no trouble monsieur, just tryin’ to live.”

He steps back as this twisted Creed steps forwards.

“Even bothered with the accent.”

Remy sneezes wetly again, shifts back further, and shivers violently.

“It's my accent, Remy not tryin’ to steal a face?!”

He is so, so confused, tired, and sick. Does… does this Creed think Remy is trying to be this world's Remy? 

The twisted Creed snarls and lunges. Remy spins and mourns the sandwich as he blows it up against the man’s side. He shifts and runs, leaping across the gap between buildings. Something hits his neck and the drugs swirl violently outwards. He tries to roll and fumbles, pain flaring up through his body as he skids across the roof. He whimpers as he tries to get up. But everything is shutting down. Remy whimpers loudly as hands pin him and his memory flares and drags at him. He struggles as much as he can, but his brain is fading fast. Gambit gasps loudly and sobs as he is pressed more firmly into the roof. 

No! No! No!

Not again!!!

He never wants to go through that again. 

And then blissful blackness overtakes him

[mysteryverse6]

Mystery kids remake comic pt 8

Doctor lobotomy:The doctor will see you right now!

Dipper pines:It seems this psycho won't leave you alone so easily

Doctor lobotomy: hahahaha

Rasputin Aquato:Psi-incident! Civilians must stand down.Leave it to the professionals

(Rasputin lifts Doctor Loboto through psionic energy and throws him to the ground.)

Rasputin Aquato:Lily, you take care of the car...Psi machine.Leave the big guy to me

(Lily beats Rasputin)

Lili Zanotto:When we're on a mission, to you I'm Agent Zanotto.

Coraline Jones:Are these your friends?

Dipper pines:What do you think?

Doctor loboto:So, isn't this a baby who became a psychonaut!

Rasputin Aquato:Isn't this a crazy doctor who couldn't resist leaving a trace on the documents from here to Ontorio?You're not hard to find, Dr. Loboto.But I'm really tired of cleaning up your perverted garbage.

Doctor loboto:Oh, how sweet!You get your shiny badge and your comfy chair, and suddenly you sound like Sasha Nine.But I wonder is your brain as big as your mouth! Now, let's see what we can do with your corrupted thoughts!

Rasputin Aquato:Lily?!A REAL psi-incident!

[japanifornication]

oh man oh man. im always fond of phoenix w a praise kink and just. overwhelmed by love. miles fucking into him while whispering sweet nothings until he’s shaking from his orgasm after orgasm. make this slut cry from being loved and fucked! that one fic you wrote, “late night” was RIGHT up my alley and i swear i go back to it often

rubbing at the bags he can feel setting in beneath his eyes, phoenix has never been more tired in his life. not when he stayed up all night studying to get through law school. not the time he didn't sleep for three days a week before the bar and had to be forced to rest by mia. not when she was murdered, not even when he spent a night in city jail accused of that very murder.

the clop of two pairs of sandals patter into the distance as he watches maya, holding onto pearl's hand like a lifeline, head for their train under the flickering lights of the station. as they board, any remaining energy phoenix had escapes him and he sags back against the wall he's been leaning against, arms crossing over his chest as a sigh slips out of him.

it's hard to watch them go when they've only just got maya back, but with morgan headed to prison, they have a lot of things to sort out back in kurain, like packing up belongings and figuring out where they'll stay when they're there for training.

"it's getting quite late, wright."

he'd almost been falling asleep where he stood and the voice startles him, making him stand up straight and snap to attention. for a few minutes, he'd almost forgotten edgeworth was there. it's easy to forget, when it's quiet—he was dead for an entire year, after all.

"yeah. sorry to keep you waiting. you didn't have to do this, you know." phoenix says it automatically, like it's an obligation, even though he's not quite sure he is sorry after what the prosecutor did.

"i'm aware," is all edgeworth says, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear and then just briefly gripping at his elbow.

it's almost funny. when phoenix first met the man again on the other side of the courtroom last year, he looked like hell barely warmed over. edgeworth was the one with dark circles around the eyes, a permanent scowl affixed to his face. now, he looks oddly tranquil, if just a bit fatigued, and phoenix is the one who feels like garbage. things can change a lot in a year.

he clears his throat. "well. i won't keep you here any longer. let's get back to the car." he lets edgeworth lead the way back to his car—new since phoenix last saw it during state v. skye—and climbs back into the passenger seat, rattling off his address. it's a wonder he can even remember it in his current state.

it only gets darker as they head back through the city and by the time they make it to phoenix's apartment it's well into the night, not a hint of sun left in the sky. the car idles in the parking lot. neither make a move to leave or encourage the other to do so.

"so are you back living here?" phoenix finally gathers the strength to say. he means is he back residing within l.a. but the way it comes out almost sounds like he's asking if edgeworth is really, truly back from the dead and not just a spirit. "in l.a. i mean, not here obviously," he clarifies, as though there were any confusion whether or not edgeworth lived with phoenix. haha, very funny.

there's a slight squeak of leather as the man's hand shifts on the steering wheel, uncomfortable but not angry. "ah, i've only been back for a few days. i'm in a hotel, currently, but yes, i intend to find a new apartment."

"gotcha," phoenix says with an absent nod, chewing the inside of his mouth. "hey, um. i'm sorry about what i said, about… about you staying dead."

"wright, don't," edgeworth scoffs. "it's too late to take back words we've regretted, if anyone knows that it's me. don't waste your breath."

an exasperated laugh bursts out of the defense attorney. "okay great, because i'm not actually sorry."

edgeworth huffs at that with a slight shake of his head.

"but… do you want to come in for a beer or something? because this has been the longest day of my life and i'm sure even underneath that perfectly logical, stoic exterior, you can agree it's been exhausting." phoenix raises an eyebrow.

"a beer? tch." edgeworth's lip curls in distaste at the idea.

"what, not a beer drinker? i don't keep much in the way of wine or anything but i might have some whiskey," he offers instead.

edgeworth tilts his head, considering the offer with a slow blink. "i'm not sure you can afford my tastes, wright, but i'm intrigued." he unbuckles his seatbelt, indicating he's taken phoenix up on it.

"great." phoenix climbs out of the car and leads the way into his apartment building. he lives on the second floor, and they take the stairs up. it's faster, and he's not going to ask the man to take an elevator. it might have been a year, but he hasn't forgotten everything.

"sorry about the mess," he apologizes as he unlocks his front door. the last few days have been so long—he's been sleeping in his office and almost forgot about how much of a disaster his apartment is. he haphazardly tries to clean up before edgeworth can take in too much of the surroundings, scooping up dishes to bring to the kitchen and stuffing trash in the bin and kicking dirty laundry out of the way.

edgeworth is busy removing his shoes at the door and he manages to get the place looking a little less gross by the time he's done, then stops to take off his own shoes and jacket. he heads into the kitchen to see what he's got as far as alcohol, searching through his cabinets until he finds the bottle of whiskey he promised.

"how do you take it?" he asks.

"neat," comes the reply, edgeworth having followed him into the kitchen. he waits as phoenix pours them each a glass, then takes the bottle himself to inspect it. his eyebrows go up. "perhaps you've come into some fortune in my absence."

staring down into his rocks glass, phoenix tries to give a smile. it comes off weak. "if only. i inherited mia's liquor collection. went through most of it between you choosing death and now, if i'm honest."

adjusting his glass on the counter, edgeworth frowns down into his own drink. "ah. i see. ms. fey had good tastes, then?"

"i think she was gifted a lot of it, i'm honestly not sure." he lifts his glass to his lips, taking a deep swig. it burns on the way down. "sometimes i wonder… if i even knew her that well. if i'm doing any of this right. if she'd be proud of me. after a case like today, i'm not so sure."

"you saved her sister," edgeworth points out, palming his own glass and drinking from it absently. "i imagine that would mean a fair amount to her."

"yeah, i guess so. but i almost pinned a murder on an innocent woman. just feel like i should have figured out it was engarde a lot sooner, you know?" phoenix stands up straight, the tension awkward, and downs the rest of his glass in one go so he can pour himself another.

"i can see your point, though i believe you’re being a bit harsh on yourself. anyone under those circumstances would have struggled. i certainly fared no better, and i wasn’t the one whose loved ones were being held hostage for the majority of that case.” the words are mumbled thoughtfully over the rim of his glass before he takes another drink.

“why are you being so nice to me?”

his question obviously catches edgeworth by surprise, and the man finishes his whiskey before answering. “after hearing you be so honest about what you thought of my absence… i suppose it feels like obligation.”

the thought of any more drinks is immediately abandoned, because in the next moment, phoenix is grabbing edgeworth by that stupid cravat and pulling him close and smashing his mouth against his.

there’s a noise of protest, an initial objection, from edgeworth that seems to be more out of shock than anything, and then edgeworth’s arms are around his waist, crushing him close; he’s kissing phoenix back and he tastes like the whiskey they’ve been drinking and mint—toothpaste? breathmints? something else?—and phoenix sighs almost angrily against his mouth, furious he could have had this so much sooner if not for everything that had happened.

except that then edgeworth stops kissing him, to ask “wright, should i be doing this? surely you’re not drunk after a drink and a half.”

“i’m sober. kiss me, you son of a bitch.”

“it’s a bit rude to speak so poorly of the dead, you know,” he huffs in jest.

“good thing you’re not really dead.” phoenix’s hands fist in his hair as he tugs him back in for another kiss, and it’s all tongue and teeth and desperation, wanton for more.

before either of them knows what has happened, they’re standing in phoenix’s bedroom next to his bed. neither of them is particularly good at kissing and it doesn’t matter, because they’re kissing like it’s the last thing they’ll ever do and it’s driving phoenix insane.

unfortunately, edgeworth seems reluctant to do anything more than that. phoenix keeps trying to move things along—attempting to kiss down his throat, to bite him, to grab at his ass or unbutton his waistcoat—and edgeworth keeps grabbing at his wrists, moving them back to more appropriate places, kissing him like he wants to savor it rather than do anything else.

“just fuck me already,” phoenix finally groans, drinking in the way edgeworth laughs in response. when was the last time he even heard him laugh? not just a condescending chuckle from the other side of the courtroom, but actually laugh like he does now? when they were nine?

his back hits the bed as edgeworth shoves him away roughly. “fine. i’ll give you what it is you’re so desperate for.” he watches as the prosecutor tugs open his nightstand to survey the contents, and apparently finds what he expected to, retrieving the box of condoms from within and setting it atop the surface. “but i’m not doing this without some sort of safe word in place. it’s clear you’re not in a state to be taken at your word.”

“stoplight system,” phoenix replies, without hesitation.

that earns him a raised eyebrow, and for a moment it seems like he might be rejected, but eventually, edgeworth shrugs a shoulder and nods. “i’m familiar. that’s acceptable, can i trust you to actually use it?”

“funny of you to be asking me about trust right now.”

“wright.” there’s an obvious warning tone in his voice. “yeah. yes, i will use it correctly. green means go, red means stop, don’t stop unless i actually say that.”

there’s a hunger underlining edgeworth’s voice when he next speaks that makes all of phoenix’s skin prickle with desire. “alright. get on with it, then. tell me what you want.”

“god, thank you,” phoenix breathes. he sits up and grabs edgeworth by his belt, yanking him forward so he can undo it. “just want you to hold me down, make me take it.”

edgeworth blows out a long breath, but phoenix doesn’t look up, single-minded in his task now as he moves to unbutton the man’s slacks. the zip comes undone with relative ease, but the prosecutor’s shirt is long and held down by stays, partially blocking access to what he wants. it’s dark, and he’s a little drunk, and undoing the smaller buttons here is a bit harder, so he fumbles around with them as he talks. “you know. give it to me hard, don’t hold back, no matter what i say.”

edgeworth sheds his jacket and waistcoat and works his cravat free, discarding them on the side of phoenix’s bed before loosening the buttons of his shirt sleeves to roll them up. like this, phoenix can see the light hair that peppers his arms, usually hidden by clothes or distance across the courtroom or the fact that he thought the man was dead for a year. “is that how you normally prefer it?”

opting not to answer that, phoenix finishes unbuttoning the bottom of edgeworth’s shirt, giving him access to his boxer-briefs beneath. his fingers hook into the waistband and stretch it away from his skin, freeing the arousal steadily growing within and shoving them down as far as he can with the stays still hooked around his thighs.

he leans forward, gently cupping edgeworth's cock in one hand as he trails his lips down the side of it. the skin is so soft under his touch, but he doesn't get even a second to enjoy it; immediately, there's a hand in his hair, forcing his head back and away. he grimaces, baring his incisors but flooding with heat at the simple movement.

"someone's a bit overeager," edgeworth admonishes.

"yeah, well, when you've spent a year fantasizing about something you're positive you'll never get…" he steals a glance up at edgeworth's face, his chest starting to heave even though they haven't even started yet.

the man clenches his jaw, like the reminder hurts, but he feigns it away with a roll of his eyes. it doesn't fool phoenix, but he doesn't call it out. again, phoenix is pushed back to the bed like it's effortless, and edgeworth moves back to the nightstand to retrieve a condom from the box.

phoenix takes the opportunity to undo his own belt and slacks, shimmying them down along with his boxers around his hips. his thighs and hair are already slick with moisture, his dick swollen and begging to be touched.

he doesn't want to bother with the effort of fully undressing, so instead he rolls over while edgeworth applies the condom, ending up bent over the edge of his bed, ready and waiting.

he hears edgeworth spit into his hand, stroke it along his length then feels that hand on him for a brief, thrilling second, but he's already sopping wet, so it's unnecessary.

phoenix scrambles up the bed a little further but before he can really get anywhere, there’s a strong hand on his hip as the body behind him thrusts forward against him. with that one, swift movement, edgeworth is inside him, and he cries out, writhing against the sheets and trying not to just melt into uselessness.

a hand comes down against his shoulder, holding him down just like he'd asked for, but edgeworth leans in close and the other snakes over his mouth, preventing him from further cries as each snap of his hips makes phoenix want to scream. "is this what you wanted?" the man breathes hot and low in his ear.

he can only nod desperately, tears catching in his lashes as that cock rams into his g-spot and makes him quiver.

edgeworth doesn't stop. each thrust comes unbelievably hard, a loud slap of skin echoing through the room, but there's a pause between each one, and phoenix is grateful for that because otherwise he doesn't know how he would breathe. beads of sweat are already forming on the back of his neck, rolling down under the collar of his shirt. he quiets down, just panting against edgeworth’s palm, tasting the salt of his flesh, pushing back into each stroke and closing his eyes to bask in the feeling of him, to know it’s edgeworth pinning him down and spearing him open.

he's slick and needy and hasn't been so close to satisfied in what feels like forever.

he rocks his hips forward instinctively, trying to get friction on his own dick against the bed, but failing. edgeworth huffs out a condescending laugh in his ear. "not enough still? what are you, wright, a dog? must you hump something just to get off?"

phoenix whines at the suggestion but nods again against edgeworth's hand.

"yes?" he sounds mildly surprised, but not put-off. "alright." he straightens for a minute, pulling phoenix up so he can slide a folded pillow between the man's legs—phoenix's head is spinning and he lets himself be maneuvered bonelessly—before pushing him back down into the position they'd been in.

"are you sure this is how you want it, though, wright?" he asks in his ear again as they return to that pace of steady slams. "I'm happy to fuck you as hard as you'd like, but i had something a little different in mind." he slows down further, the thrusts turning into a sensual grind, no longer ramming into him with each one.

a sob leaks out of phoenix and he ruts against the pillow, mumbling against edgeworth's hand. his mouth is freed so he can speak. "please," he gasps. "tell me you're here to stay. that you won't leave again."

an anguished sound chokes out of the prosecutor. "i am not going anywhere, phoenix," he says after a moment of hesitation. there’s an edge to his voice, hurt but on the verge of something almost tender, and phoenix easily needs more.

"just need to feel it. need you to show me you're not going anywhere," phoenix begs. “just prove it to me, fuck me like you mean it.”

"oh, darling, i'm not leaving you." the term of endearment seems to slip out of edgeworth like it’s an accident, but he doesn’t take it back, and it feels like it stabs right through phoenix’s back and pins him to the mattress as much as the man himself is doing physically. edgeworth's hands reposition themselves to the bed on each side of his shoulders for more leverage and his cock grinds deeper into phoenix, forcing a strangled moan out of him. "i'm here to stay, and i'll prove it to you just like this whenever you'd like. that's it, open up for me, i want to hear you."

phoenix doesn't try to hold back his sounds anymore, more moans and whimpers and sobs escaping him in escalating volume as edgeworth fucks him and as he humps against the pillow. edgeworth has picked up the pace again, strokes coming faster, and phoenix's brain is dissolving into a puddle.

"harder, please," he whines.

"i'll give you harder, darling, but i want you to come first. you're doing so well," edgeworth murmurs, leaning down to kiss the top of his ear. "i know you can do it. it feels good, doesn't it? to grind on your pillow? be a good boy and come for me, phoenix."

a harsher sob is ripped from his chest. his hips roll against it more desperately even as edgeworth doesn't stop pounding into him. "i'm so close," he whispers shakily.

"i know," edgeworth reassures, lowering himself to further press into phoenix, more grinding into him again which just forces him more into the pillow. "does this help? if i drive you into it?"

"yes, yes, oh, miles…"

"come for me, phoenix, then i'll give you that hard, unrelenting fuck you want, to prove i'm not going anywhere. come on. come for me."

and phoenix does, rocking forward against the pillow one last time and causing his orgasm to explode through him. he clenches around miles and his cock twitches with each pulse and miles is still rolling his hips, forcing him into the pillow, and he can't come down, and he's fully crying.

"good boy," he hears from edgeworth, and the praise is music he never imagined he'd hear. "are you ready for more?"

he hasn't even stopped coming yet, he's not ready for more, but god does he want it anyway. "no," he offers unhelpfully.

"no? color, wright."

"green," phoenix spits, a string of saliva connecting his mouth to the bed where he was accidentally drooling against his comforter.

"good, so let me ask again. are you ready for more?"

having no intention of changing his answer, phoenix repeats himself. "no. it's too much."

he can almost hear the smirk in edgeworth's voice, and is glad they're both on the same page. "and you think i have any intention of stopping simply because it’s too much? how quaint. you can handle more."

another hard slam of his hips has phoenix shaking, pressing his face back into the softness of his comforter to muffle a yelp, but as quickly as it was given, it’s taken away as edgeworth pulls out.

“roll over, wright. i want to see the moment you break,” he’s commanded, and phoenix doesn’t make any rush of moving to do so. edgeworth grabs his shoulder and pulls, rolling him over anyway. hands grab his slacks and yank, and phoenix kicks to at least help get them off, along with his boxers.

arms hook under his knees and in an instant edgeworth is back inside him, making phoenix’s back arch against the mattress. the pillow is still under him, but now it's providing support, and edgeworth is still hitting all the right spots, and he blearily opens his eyes to find the man looking down at him.

the way edgeworth looks at him is almost reverent, quicksilver eyes soft but dilated with pleasure, hair disheveled and hanging in his face, sweat beading on his forehead. it's different from how phoenix imagined it might be, when he thought he was dead. then, he hadn't known this edgeworth so desperately trying to redeem himself. he'd only known the angry, spiteful one, full of loathing for everyone and everything, especially himself and especially phoenix. he'd thought his eyes would be hardened, creased between the eyebrows, a permanent scowl fixed upon his face. he can see a slight divot between his eyebrows, but it looks more in concentration, and there's no scowl.

"miles," he breathes, just a whisper on his breath. he's struggling to even catch it with the force he's being fucked with, knocking the air out of his lungs, but he gulps down another breath and tries again. "m-miles. take off the condom."

a dry laugh huffs out of edgeworth and he hesitates. "are you delusional?"

"i promise it's safe. please…" he's crying again and he hates that he's crying again but he can't stop the tears from leaking down his cheeks. "please. i need you to prove you're not going anywhere. need you to fill me up and make me yours."

again, edgeworth blows out an affected breath, this time much more obviously struggling with the decision. "you're sure?"

"yes, i'm giving you the green light, please, god," he pleads.

"fuck, phoenix." in an instant, he pulls out again, looking down as he uses one hand to attempt to take off the condom. it takes a minute to get it off, but eventually he does, and it gets tossed in the trash beneath the nightstand before the man drives back into phoenix's hot cunt, filling him now with no barrier between them.

there's no way to prevent the flood of tears now, no longer just a trickle but practically a waterfall. he pushes edgeworth's arms away from under his knees to adjust, instead hooking his legs around the man's waist like he can draw him in deeper if he tries hard enough, like he can just pull edgeworth into his body and keep him there forever.

for edgeworth's part, at least, he grips a hand under phoenix's thigh and with a slight grunt helps shift them up onto the bed properly, and then they're chest-to-chest and the prosecutor is kissing down his jawline, tongue delving out to lick up the salt of his tears and god, phoenix is so overwhelmed.

"how long have you been dreaming about this, wright?" that deep, sultry voice mumbles right against his ear.

phoenix answers honestly, and he's not just crying from the overwhelming amount of pleasure anymore. now he's ugly crying, and it's embarrassing, and his hands find the front of edgeworth's shirt and twist in it, holding on to it like a lifeline. "a long time but—but i thought you were dead," he chokes out. he can feel alarm crackle through edgeworth like ice underfoot, but it's too late, they've already plunged through. "i th-thought you were fucking dead, that i'd missed my chance—"

his words are muffled by a kiss, one that's just as desperate and hungry as phoenix feels. he half-sobs, half-moans into it, clumsily attempting to reciprocate as best he can.

"i know. i'm so sorry, phoenix," edgeworth hisses against his mouth when they part for air. his movements have slowed, this thrusts languid but striking deep, and phoenix just encourages him, heels pressing against his ass with each inward stroke. "shh, you're alright. i'm not going anywhere." the words sound like a promise.

another pathetic mewl bleeds out of phoenix, energy sapped from him at the apology. his legs fall from around edgeworth's hips, coming to rest on the bed, because he can't hold them up anymore, and it just spreads him wider, lets the man fuck him deeper. he sniffles and presses his face into edgeworth's shoulder to hide his tear-strewn face.

"there you go, darling. relax. i'll give you what you need. you're being so good for me." edgeworth's breathing is labored and phoenix can feel sweat through the man's shirt.

his hands let go of the front to wrap around his back, crush him closer. it's too slow, too intimate, it's not what he asked for or wanted, but somehow it is what he needed.

the rhythm of edgeworth's thrusts start to falter and suddenly there's a hand on phoenix's jaw, turning his face towards his. "look at me."

phoenix does. the expression on edgeworth's face is so hard to read, but it seems almost close to adoration, or maybe obsession, and a shiver runs down phoenix's spine.

"i'm here, phoenix. because of you."

those six words are phoenix's undoing. his hands claw for purchase against edgeworth's back, fingertips catching in the folds of his shirt as his whole body tenses, pleasure slamming into him like a fucking freight train and forcing an orgasm out of him unlike any other. he feels edgeworth jolt against him and knows the man is coming too, leaving that tangible evidence that he's here, he's alive, he's alive he's alive he's alive, i'm alive.

for the first time since prosecutor miles edgeworth chose death, phoenix wright feels alive.

spent and exhausted, phoenix can't even complain when edgeworth collapses atop him. instead, he hugs him close, albeit weakly, eyes falling shut and just cradling the man against him, reluctant to let him pull out or leave just yet.

when they finally do part god knows how long later, no words are exchanged. edgeworth painstakingly withdraws from inside phoenix with a grimace, then helps him clean up in silence. he doesn't say anything as he removes the rest of his clothing, leaving phoenix to extract the implications from that action himself and disrobe as well, tossing the rest of his clothes to the floor.

they climb back into bed and phoenix finds himself hesitating to get closer until edgeworth draws him in himself, an arm sliding around him possessively.

before phoenix can drift off, he clears his throat and asks hoarsely, "should we… talk about what just happened?"

edgeworth dismisses it with a half-hearted shrug. "if you'd like. in the morning, perhaps?"

fear grips phoenix immediately and he swallows, looking up at the man. "will you still be here? in the morning?"

a long, tired sigh hisses out of edgeworth's chest. "i may have nightmares still, and may not be in bed when you awake. but yes. i will be here, in the morning."

"you promise?"

edgeworth searches his face for understanding. he doesn't seem the type to promise things, and perhaps that's why the response is delayed, but after a long moment, he nods slowly. "i promise."

phoenix buries his face against his chest, and in a few minutes, he's asleep.

[shimmerwindow]

I Never Really

Part Eleven

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: None!

Playlist | Masterlist

Tag list: @jazzyfigz @dont-go-home-without-me @poochiesworld @stardustcatcher @83rkblogs @jaketsguitar @dannys-dream @gretavanfan @do-it-jakey-baby @gvfpal @ignite-my-fire @gardensgatekeeper

Thanksgiving break had arrived, a welcome reprieve from the constant stress of classes. Everything had been ramping up lately on the climb to finals season, as your mental health had started to dwindle. Your world was crumbling, piece by piece, and you were desperately trying to get all those pieces back into place as the weight of life held you down. You hoped that finally getting some time alone would be helpful.

Loneliness had always been your closest friend, though it felt harder to cope with now that you’d gotten a taste of actual friendship. It had been tainted with love and lust, but it was friendship nonetheless, and you missed it dearly. This time of year in particular was always difficult. You could never afford the holiday travel cost to get back home, so you’d always just stay in the dorms, alone.

It was harder now, watching your fellow classmates in the hallways. Some looked ecstatic, smiles gracing their faces as they held their phones to their ears with one hand, the other hooked around the handle of a suitcase. Others looked exhausted, dark circles under their eyes as they shuffled their tired feet down the hall.

Being here with so few others had its perks. The showers were much cleaner, and on a few lucky occasions, you were the only person in the room. You kept yourself busy, finally cleaning the garbage heap that was once your dorm, and putting the finishing touches on your projects that would be due in the coming weeks. Through it all, though, a lingering feeling of sadness loomed over you like a dark cloud.

It was only the third day of the week-long respite, and you couldn’t take the feeling anymore. You drafted a text. One to Sam. Your last correspondence had been weeks ago, now, and something in your heart ached when you saw the date next to the messages. We don’t talk anymore, you thought, and that was the loneliest feeling in the world, for so many reasons.

hey, wondering if you and the guys are around/busy? bored and stuck in the dorms lol

You hadn’t even managed to close the app before you saw the tiny text of read appear under your message. It was almost instant.

back home for the week! maybe we can hang when we’re back? hope you've been well

You didn’t bother replying. What was the use, with all the unspoken words behind every sentence? You gave his message a heart, and put your phone back in your lap.

This was a situation you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy. You tried to think of how far back you would go if given the chance. If you knew then what you knew now, would you never go up to the roof that night? Maybe you’d quit smoking altogether. You barely smoked these days, only when you were particularly stressed. The smell reminded you too much of him. As did everything else, in all honesty.

The light was quickly disappearing from the sky, stormy clouds obscuring the rising moon. Maybe a walk would ease your nerves. You shrugged on your coat and slipped your feet into your shoes, heading out into the chilly air. You hated Sam for so many things now, so many things that were not his fault. You could no longer take your favorite path down the least-traveled side of campus, not since you spotted his car there.

Your mind began to unravel in the solitude. Campus was empty, with a dead air to it that made you the slightest bit uncomfortable. Normally, a lack of people would be everything you’d hoped for, but it was no longer comforting to you.

An array of paths sprawled out in front of you in your mind. There seemed to be no way forward given your current position. You’d tried to take the advice of Josh and Jake and talk to Sam, but you couldn't find the words. Everything you wanted to say just felt wrong when you would practice it in the mirror. And, on top of that, you weren't sure if you would be able to hold your composure when he actually gave you a response. Would you be able to keep a poker face if he told you he was dating this girl? You had no idea, and didn’t feel like finding out the hard way.

Visions of Sam danced in front of your eyes as your feet naturally quickened their pace. You didn’t have time for this. There was already enough weighing on your mind, the added stress of all this was too much. You feared that you’d made a terrible mistake, choosing to sleep with Jake. It was an action that had been deliberately calculated to sever your tie with Sam, whether you wanted to admit it to yourself or not. You’d told Jake he was not part of a revenge scheme, but that had been a lie, you now realized.

You said it wasn’t about Sam. But it had always been about him. Everything you did revolved around Sam. He was now the center of your world. This was more than a crush. You started walking faster. This was more than just finding him cute. You started jogging. This was more than wanting to be close friends with him. You started sprinting across the grass, your shoes leaving trails in the damp grass.

You couldn’t outrun him. You couldn’t the last time you’d been here, running across campus, trying to get away from him, hoping you could exhaust yourself out of being able to think. It wasn’t possible, not anymore. As you collapsed into the grass under a tree, your head spun, every word Sam had ever said to you running through your mind all at once, his image brighter in your mind than ever before.

The last of the leaves shuddered off the tree one by one in the light breeze. The dying grass tickled the palms of your hands when you laid them flat on the ground, your chest heaving. Tears ran down the sides of your face and all of this felt all too familiar. You hadn’t been able to say it back then, but you couldn’t hide from it anymore.

You loved him. You were deeply, desperately, unshakably in love with Sam.

The first flakes of snow began to fall. Delicately, small white flakes drifted down to you, landing on your blazing cheeks and collecting in your hair. Winter was here. Just as you decided to stop lying to yourself. Soon, the semester would end. You would be alone once again. You wouldn’t see Sam every morning, and you could free yourself of his constant influence. It was all so indescribably perfect and terrible, every feeling you had about him so painfully unresolved.

For the first time, you allowed yourself to dream. To fantasize about him in the ways you had always repressed so deeply. The calluses on his fingers, would they be rough against the soft skin of your cheek? What would it feel like to have your lips against his neck, your fingers running through his hair? It hurt so beautifully to let all of it in, two months of emotions washing over you all at once in a bittersweet haze.

Jake had meant nothing, when you got right down to it. But you’d put yourself in a precarious situation, now. Social dynamics you didn’t quite understand swirled in your head, confusing you, you couldn’t even remember all the details at this point. All you knew was that you’d taken what was offered, at the cost of losing what you needed most. Above all, you were scared. Nothing would be the same now, and you'd ruined something that could have been so beautiful – you were sure of it.

* * *

In some ways, it was nice to finally say it out loud. The rest of Thanksgiving break passed by like molasses, each day dragging on longer than the next. You’d done nothing but wallow in the agony of unrequited love, but it was somewhat easier now that you could say it. Love. When the semester resumed, you put on a brave face in front of Sam, though you were sure it was written all over you. There was no real use hiding it anymore. If he didn’t know then, he knew now, in the way you stared at him at the end of every class.

It was the final week of your regular schedule, and you felt a kind of nostalgia walking into the lecture hall for the last time. It would be a work day, the professor announced.

“Well!” Sam said, stretching his arms above his head and turning to you. “I think we’ve got this in the bag.”

Indeed, you did. The two of you had worked rather seamlessly together, more than you’d expected. “Yeah, I think it’s done.”

“Wanna turn it in together?” He gave you that smile, the one you had every inch of memorized.

“I think we only need to submit it once. You can do it, if you want.”

“No, together!” He pulled up the submission screen and added the finished file, neatly titled with your full names. Seeing them next to each other like that was strangely jarring. Before you could protest, he snatched your hand off the desk in front of you and brought it over to the mouse on his laptop. That warm, rough hand stayed on top of yours, pushing your fingers down to click the mouse button once.

And just like that, it was over. The class that had originally drawn the two of you together was done, it was all over. Nothing tethered you to him anymore but the fraying social ties you’d so carefully neglected. Pondering it for too long made you feel tears threatening to well up in the corners of your eyes.

“Finally done.” His voice broke you from your reverie, his hand sliding off of yours. “You wanna come over some time soon?”

You didn’t want to. You weren’t sure you could ever be alone in a room with Sam ever again. You recalled the words of his brothers, though. You needed to talk to him. Even if it was only to find closure, to be given the opportunity to truly cut him out of your life without guilt. “Sure, if I’ve got time. Finals, y’know.”

“Oh, don’t I know it,” he chuckled. “I’m in the same boat. And I have to move all my shit back to the house, too.”

He did look much more exhausted than usual. Those eyes, that already had an air of tired behind them, seemed heavy. Dark circles adorned the spaces below them. His hair was pulled back, and had lost some of its usual luster.

“Maybe once I’m done with everything I’ll text you." Maybe.

He looked at you, and closed his laptop with a finger. “Sweet. I’ve been missing you.”

“Really?” The word slipped out in shock.

“Of course. What’s a sky without the sun and moon?” He gave you a little shove and a grin. Unbearably endearing, to the point you almost felt embarrassment over it.

“Will you ever stop being so cheesy?”

“Don’t think it’s physically possible, actually.”

“So you’re not staying in your dorm?” You asked.

“No, isn’t the place closed during break?” He looked at you, confused. "You're staying there, though, I'm guessing?"

You nodded. “Normally, yeah. They let some people stay over the break. Like, international students, or people who can’t go home.”

“Can’t…go home?” He looked at you like he was treading on very treacherous ground.

You waved a hand at him, giving a sheepish grin. “Oh, it's not like that. My parents are just really far away. And they downsized recently, so I don’t have a room there anymore. It’s smarter for me to just stay here.”

“Oh, right, right.” He propped his elbow on the desk, resting his cheek against his palm. He looked utterly captivated by even dull talk. “Seems like it would get lonely in there this time of year.”

“Doesn’t bug me much. You get used to it.”

“Probably nice to finally have some peace and quiet, huh?”

“Oh, god, yes.”

“Hoping I’ll finally get some of that at the house. The guy in the room next to me, I don’t think he's spent a single night alone the whole semester. Loud as fuck, too.”

You laughed at that, immediately picking up what he was laying down. “God, that sounds obnoxious.”

“I’m worried it won’t be much better at the house. It never is.”

There was something behind his eyes when he said that, something that made your palms start to sweat and your eyes take in a bit more light. Fear, regret, something in the middle of the two. All that ran through your mind was thoughts of Jake, how you would have to stop. You’d need to quit all of them, that entire family.

“Anyway,” he cleared his throat and spoke over your silence. “I’m gonna run, if we’re done here.”

You nodded, suddenly struck by the feeling that you might cry at any moment. “Sounds good. I’ve got some shit to do, anyway.”

The two of you parted ways, and you were both burdened and light as a feather as you headed to the library to kill time before your next class. You didn’t have anything to do, in reality, but you needed time to center yourself.

Walking into the library did you no favors. You could see the quiet corner where you and Sam had sat together; that was months ago now. You sat as far away from that spot as you could, but your eyes lingered on it. If you could go back to that moment, would you change a thing? Would you have given up the blissful joy of being in love to avoid the way you now felt shattered to pieces?

A small part of you thought that, perhaps, it had all been worth it. Just to know him, during this time, had been enough. Maybe in your next life, you would meet him again, and he would point out the stars to you with his arm draped around your shoulder while you wore his sweater. The one you loved, the one that complimented his eyes. Maybe it would look just as good on you.

[communicationthroughlyrics]

I Like Your Blood On My Teeth Just A Little Too Much - 8

You’re a former military, career oriented security executive who has made quite the living for yourself- but it has always been lacking. Your non-committal attitude has led you down a playgirl lifestyle, never really settling. What happens when your new boss throws you a curveball, and as a result? You end up hopelessly involved with a Hollywood starlet.

A/N: I've got a long weekend, so I'm hoping to post this and Chapter 9. This is a shorter chapter, so let's see how this goes XD.

2.7K Word Count

Ch. 8: The Weight That’s Crushing Can Be Relieved

You had honestly driven just about as fast as you could to get to the tower as quick as possible. The anxiety alone that you were in the process of pushing down was almost crippling you at this point, years of unresolved traumas resurfacing with the reappearance of the only being that you hoped was dead somewhere for the last 8 years. This was one part of your past you never wanted to confront again, but ironically you had to deal with it now- for work, for a new client. The rest of the trip was anti-climactic, nothing of significance really happened. Kris had only called you about an hour ago, checking to make sure you were still on track to show up at the office around 2. You looked at the clock on the radio to the truck, seeing that it was now 2:18 PM as you pulled into the underground garage. The garage attendant did a double take, not anticipating seeing you here on a Sunday. You always made sure to give yourself 1 day off a week, usually Sundays. You rolled down the window, stopping by the all concrete office that he worked out of, complete with bullet proof one way glass windows. 

“Hey Ralph, how are you today?” You asked, handing him your work badge so he could swipe it, giving you a little ticket to stick to the inside of your windshield, signaling to all that this vehicle was allowed to park here. 

“Good Afternoon, Ms. Y/L/N, it’s a wonder to see you here today. I hear you gotsa big project comin’ up.” He handed back your card, leaning against the doorway to the office. 

“Yeah, I do Ralph. And please, call me Y/N.” You slid your card back into your wallet, before resting your right arm over the steering wheel to the truck and holding your chin with your left, which was resting on the armrest on the door. 

“Good luck with your project, Ms. Y/N. And get some rest, you ain’t looking so great.” He smirked, before closing the door to his office and retiring to his post. 

“There’s a real confidence boost,”  you think to yourself as you slowly pull forward, working your way up the floors in the parking garage to get to the highest floor, and finding your rightful spot in the level, complete with your title on the sign bolted to the wall. As you pulled in, you noticed that Kris’ car wasn’t there yet, so you glanced down at you phone to see if she had texted you. With no new notifications, you quickly typed out a message to her, hitting send and bringing down the visor in the truck to check your appearance. Ralph was right, you looked like absolute hell. It was obvious you hadn’t slept, the bags under your eyes a faint greenish purple hue, almost like you had two healing black eyes. Your eyes were red, like you could be a spokesperson for Visine, and the puffiness around your eyes betrayed the intermittent crying of the past few days. You felt your phone vibrate, glancing down at the screen. 

2:24 PM   YOU- “Hey, you close? I just pulled into my spot, I'll be in there shortly.”

2:26 PM   KRIS- “Yeah, I had to make a pit stop on my way in, I know you haven’t eaten anything but gas station garbage. I'll be there in 10.”

You smirk at how well she knows your habits, before climbing out of the truck and going to the passenger side to grab the duffel bag. You stretch briefly,  groaning at your joints aching from pushing through that drive after having been up for 17 hours prior. You brush yourself off, wiping off any crumbs that may be lingering from your road snacks, and any wrinkles in your clothes. You stood by the door to the elevator, swiping your security card and pressing the up button, tapping your foot while you waited for the elevator to arrive. The door dinged open, and you stepped inside, pressing the button to take you to your office. 

You slid the card to open your door, throwing your duffle bag onto the sofa at the far end of your office, and walked over to the private bathroom that lurked behind a faux wall panel. You looked yourself up and down, realizing just how terrible you really looked.  You reached over to the small cabinet on the wall, grabbing a cloth from within, and wetting it with cold water, wiping your face entirely, and wringing it out before soaking it in cold water again, and resting it on your eyes. Your stomach made a small grumble at its lack of true sustenance, and you heard the faint click of your office door opening, meaning Kris had arrived. You heard the click of high heels coming towards your desk area. Rising from the toilet, you removed the washcloth from your eyes, wringing it back out and draping it over the empty towel rack in front of you. You splashed some water onto your face, and ran your fingers through your undercut hair before opening the door and walking out to greet your assistant. 

“Thank you for meeting up with me, I know you value time off a little bit more than me.” You state, drawing the attention of the blonde in front of you, sitting in one of the arm chairs with her legs crossed. She had on a pair of light blue ripped jeans, and a simple black t-shirt, and her glasses sat on top of her head. 

“Jesus, Y/N/N. What is wrong with you?” She quickly rose and came over to your side, concern etched into her features. She could tell you were not doing so well right now. “What’s going on?” She rubbed your arms up and down, while you stared down at the hardwood floor. She shifted her head to interrupt your vision, stirring you from your trance, and grabbing your hands to try and ground you. When you winced in pain, she looked at the bandaged hand that was in her grasp. You motioned for her to sit across from you, keeping the barrier of the desk between you for this conversation. 

“Sit down, I’ll tell you. But you’re not going to like it. God knows I don’t.” You state as shed the coat you were wearing, and draping it over the back of your chair. 

“Do you want some food first? You look like you haven’t eaten for days. I brought you some tikka from your favorite place.” She motioned towards the bag sitting on a far table. 

“Right now Kris, I’m really not hungry. I ate some of a sandwich on my way here.” You reasoned, trying to reassure her that you had been taking care of yourself.Her face dropped, but she knew better than to try and force you right now. “But you can go ahead and eat some, if you want.” You nodded towards the bag, and she walked over, opening it and getting her containers of food set out. She brought over a few cups, one with rice, one with her masala, as well as a foil pouch which you knew held some garlic naan inside of it. On a normal day, you would absolutely devour some of this, and. Your mouth would water at the smell of the naan, but in your current state it made your mouth run dry, as you felt queasy. 

“Does any of this have to do with that creeper dude by your apartment?” She asked, staring down at the container of food in her hand, picking through it for the piece she wanted, before glancing back up at you. Your hand shook slightly at the mention of him. But you knew, you had to tell her some of what you had ‘discovered’.

“Yeah, it is. It’s all about him right now.” You state flatly, standing up and walking over to the windows in your office, grabbing the dog tags under your shirt and rubbing them for some form of comfort. “He was in McCall. Working at the general store.” You stare out the window of the high-rise, not sparing a glance over to the woman at your desk, 

“He what?!” She asked with a tone of disbelief. “Y/N, that can’t be a coincidence. Did he say anything?” She set her food down, leaning over to rest her arms on her knees to get slightly closer to you. 

“He approached me in the parking lot, trying to make a conversation about the Cobra. I pretty much shut that conversation down, then went in to get my groceries. When I checked out, he was the cashier. Went by ‘Fred’ at the store.” You glanced back over your shoulder, trying to gauge her reaction. 

“Have you seen him anywhere else?”

“No. Not physically, at least.” She narrowed her eyes at this statement. She could tell that you were being purposefully vague, and that irritated her to no end. 

“Not physically? What is that supposed to mean?” She asked, leaning back in the chair, resting her arms on the armrests. 

“When I got back home, I did some research. Turns out that ‘Fred’, or Mr. Steven Waters, was one of my Sergeants while I was in the Army.” You turned around at the last bit of information, wanting to see how she reacted to him being from your past as well.  He eyebrow raised, and she ran one of her hands through her hair. 

“So you know him?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” You express flatly, not wanting to let on that there was more to this story. “He’s a real swell guy.” You lace as much sarcasm as you could into the last of that statement.  “Looks like he’s had a rough go of things since his discharge. Battery, Aggravated Assault, Robbery, you name it. Man has been busy for the last 8 years.”

“That’s how long it’s been since you last saw him?” She asks, her tone alluding to the fact that she knows you are withholding information.

“Yeah. He’s definitely changed a bit since then. Which would explain why I didn’t recognize him at first.” You state. 

“But still, you have the uncanny ability to recall the most vague of details. Something isn’t adding up here, Y/N.” She stood, coming over to where you stood., looking you in the eyes. “Do you think that’s who was in that car behind you?”

“I know it was. He was driving. He had someone else with him, but I don’t know who.”

“How do you know? I mean, if you never saw him, it may have not been him.”

“He called me.” You mumble, walking away towards the sofa where your bag lay. 

“Wha…What?” She turned on an axis, stalking after you to try and withdraw more information from you. “What do you mean he called you?”

“Did I stutter? He CALLED me. On my cell. Twice. First time, I was at the house. He knows that I know he’s lurking around. The second time was to tell me that he knew I was heading to LA, so it didn’t matter what route I took- he would find me either way.” Kris stood there, mouth agape as she absorbed the information being relayed to her. “He knows where I live, he has my phone number, he knows where I work.”

“How? How did this happen? You’re so tight lipped and close to the vest about everything. You’re normally so careful.” She spoke softly, not wanting to insinuate that this was your fault. 

“Hes an ex-Ranger, Kris. He was one of the best trackers in the goddamn military. I learned from HIM.” You punctuate the last part, to let her know that he had been the teacher, meaning he knew more than you. “I may hate his guts, but he was like a goddamn bloodhound. You told him to find someone, and he would find them, their closest relatives, you name it. Witness Protection, Clandestine, didn’t matter. He would find you. He found out about this contract before I did. And it isn’t like I haven’t been interviewed and published. People still know about me, Kris.” She grimaced at this, knowing that meant he knew about everyone in your life by this point, including her. 

“So changing your number won’t help, I take it?” She tried to make light of the situation slightly, but you just glared at her. 

“No. It won’t.” You played with the zipper on your duffle bag. 

“So, if you know this guy, why do you seem so off about it?”

“Kris, thats exactly why I’m off. I know him.” The innuendo in that statement made your skin crawl. “I know what he is capable of. And all things considered, he is a man with nothing to loose. He is dangerous, and it sounds like the wrong people have a hold on him.” 

“Why did you come back early? Why not take the time to process? And why the hell wouldn’t you fly in?” You knew this would come up, and you weren’t sure you knew the answer. 

“Honestly, I just need to work. I need to figure out what this guy has been doing to warrant a top tier security firm being hired to protect an A List celebrity. I need to know the in between, and what he has been up to since his discharge that lead up to this point. He is too dangerous to just take time away- so I need to bury myself in work. Occupy my time. ” You state, sitting yourself down on the sofa. You didn’t want to tell her you drank yourself into a stupor and didn’t feel like flying would be safe. 

“Ok.” She left it at that, for which you were thankful. But you could tell she knew there was more. 

“Has there been any discussion as to what this guy has already done to the client?” You ask, moving your bag to the floor so you could rest more comfortably on the sofa. 

“The Client? Y/N, just say Scarlett.  And no, not to my knowledge. All I know is that this security threat has affected and rattled her to the point she lost her husband as a result. I know you care, but you need to rest first, so you can put your best foot forward. When was the last time you slept?” She asked, coming over to kneel by the sofa.

“I dunno,” you mumble, glancing at your watch, which now read 3:15 PM. “I couldn’t sleep, so I was up at 3 yesterday morning.” She shook her head in disapproval. 

“Y/L/N, you need to sleep. Do you need me to drive you back to the apartment?”

“No, I’ll head there in a little bit. I just need to rest for a bit and feel productive.” You don’t want to let her know that you’re planning on staying here, you know that he will be watching your apartment. You don’t trust him when he knows you’re alone. 

“Ok, Y/N. Get some rest, wash up and I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah. Thanks K. And thank you for bringing me something to eat.” You smiled briefly. 

“You know it. And Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Take care of that hand. I don’t wanna know how that shit happened.” She narrowed her eyes at you, insinuating that she thinks it may be self inflicted. 

You watched as she left your office after placing your food into the small fridge located behind your desk. You made sure that she left the floor before moving your bag into the hidden bathroom, hanging up your work clothes so they wouldn’t be wrinkly for the morning. This is the time you were glad that they let you design your own office. You had hidden the bathroom, so no one really knew there was one in here but Kris, but even she had no clue that you had designed a full hidden Murphy bed into the wall as well. You pulled the book on your shelf that was responsible for the latch, and slowly eased the bed onto the floor. You flopped onto the mattress, pressing a button on the wall nearby to draw all the shades for the windows to the office, allowing the room to fall into darkness. You grabbed your phone and set a series of alarms, ensuring that you would wake up before anyone arrived for work in the morning, and so you could freshen up in the gyms showers.

(CHAPTER 9)

[marcelllyn]

Again

After a long time I decided to come back, I admit I was finding my writing garbage. But anyway, I hope the few people who read this enjoy it. And also look forward to fanfics about my passion of the month, Captain America.

Part 1

Synopsis: A failed actress who is actually a professional hunter joins the Winchesters to solve a vampire case. But Dean, her ex, still has unhappy feelings for her.

Warnings: English is not my first language, imminent failure, and lots of cuteness.

It was a terrible idea to be on the street at that time, sitting on a suitcase in a dark alley, shedding tears of failure and resentment. Hollywood star. She was more like a Hollywood loser.

After another failed test, no money to rent a dirty motel room. My mother's harsh, harsh voice repeated in my head: "You will fail, you will fail, because this is not what you were born to do." Hunting, that's what I was born to do, at least that's what my parents thought.

With each failed test, these words spread more and more throughout my being, like blood running through my veins. Maybe I really was born to be a great hunter.

My melancholy was short-lived when I heard male voices approaching. I might not be afraid of demons or ghosts, but I was afraid of men at night. I raised my hand to pick up a piece of wood lying on the ground. The two men were arguing and ended up stopping at the edge of the alley, the dim light barely illuminating their faces.

— Dean, it's Dad's fault that girl got hurt! — The taller one said irritably. — How many times do I have to say that this obsession is unhealthy and hurts people?

— It's not intentional, Sammy! — The other said, running his hand across his forehead. — And that's no reason to yell at him like that and… I was standing, holding a piece of wood threateningly, but upon hearing Sammy's nickname, I lowered the bat.

— Winchesters? — I asked, still in a tearful voice.

The two of them furrowed their eyebrows and said together:

— Do we know you?

I walked a little closer, with a sweet smile on my face.

— It's a wonder they don't remember me. — He laughed softly. — Y/N Graham. It's been long years since John took you to my parents' house.

Dean raised his eyebrows as if his vague memory had returned.

— No kidding! — Dean said excitedly. — I thought I would never see you again, your parents said you became aimless or something the last time I went to visit them.

Aimless… very dignified.

— Actress, I became an actress. — I corrected him. — Sam, how you've grown!

Sam was a lot smaller when I was seventeen, and then suddenly he was taller than Dean. This made me feel old age knocking on the door.

— And you're still the same height. — Mess up my hair. I laughed and watched the two of them, Dean's nose was a little purple and Sam's face was bruised and melancholic.

— Still hunting?

— That wouldn't be new, it's just…

Family. — I added. — A very dangerous family thing. — I pointed to his nose. A minute silence remained between us.

— Actress, then? — Sam asked. — What kind of films do you make?

— I hope it's not the kind of movie I watch. Dean laughed.

— Until now, I've only acted in commercials and other small things. And unfortunately for you, Dean, no adult films. The three of us laughed together. A strange but familiar heat filled my body. And for a few seconds, it was Dean and I as teenagers and Sam, a pre-teen, sitting on the couch laughing like idiots.

—And what are you doing in a dark alley? Sammy asked.

— I'm having trouble finding a hotel. — I left out the part where I didn't have a dollar in my pocket.

Dean fake coughed, I always hated how he could read me like a book.

— You can stay the night in our hotel room. - He offered, picking up the bags that were on the floor. — As long as you need, the only detail… — He put his bags in the car. — John is there.

I rolled my eyes. But I couldn't do without a good room.

— For one night, I can bear it. — I laughed, sitting in the back seat.

I hope so. He's not in the best of moods, and it's enough of Sam being grumpy. — Dean got into the car, sitting in the driver's seat. — He and Dad are fighting all the time, I think I'm going crazy. Sam entered soon after. I noticed how silent he was, sadly silent. I deduced that it was John's fault, he was terrible, he always was.

— Did you finish talking, daddy? How old are you? Twelve? — I scoffed.

— Shut up, or I'll leave you on the street. — He pinched my nose. As if it were muscle memory.

The journey listening to Bon Jovi was calming, having my friends by my side again was an incredible thing, having Dean by my side was an incredible thing. He was always one of those boyfriends you never forget, the kind you'd tell your kids about when you were getting divorced. He was incredible, beautiful and had eyes… His green eyes were so beautiful they hurt.

— We’re here! — Dean said, parking and quickly getting out of the car. Sam remained silent.

— Sammy, I like how your hair looks, it’s stylish. — I poked him in a way to alleviate whatever it was.

— Only Dean calls me Sammy. — Those were his last words before getting out of the car.

I got out of the car, cradling myself between the seat that Sam — Damn two-door car — Sam was standing there looking at the sky, while the other one took the bags out of the car.

— How do you make money on hunts? — I asked curiously, since that motel didn't seem half-baked.

— You don't want to know.

— Gambling, right? — I laughed, approaching Dean and taking a small suitcase.

Dean laughed, carrying the heavier bags inside. And wow, how sexy he looked carrying those heavy suitcases. I walked up behind him, almost letting out a whistle. I entered the messy motel room, full of packages and clothes on the floor, typical of Dean, but lying on one of the beds was John reading a book.

— Home sweet home. - He put the bags in a corner. — Don't run out of hot water and don't you dare touch my suitcase.

— Why is there some rotten secret there? — She said provocatively close to his ear.

— We have a visitor. — John sat down.

— She's James Graham's daughter, you know that friend of yours who was always offering me champagne? — He takes some clothes off the other bed. — And she's my ex-girlfriend.

— I remember her, she was the one who broke my nose. — John said unsympathetically. — And he tried to convince Sam to leave the hunt.

—Things of the past. — She laughed embarrassedly. — I won't stay for long.

— I hope not, we have an important case and you are a distraction.

I took a deep breath.

-Are you hungry? — Dean took my arm almost like a plea. — There's a snack bar nearby.

— I'm not hungry, thank you. — I sat on the bed. — What case? Is it a vampire? Like Edward from Twilight? — He said, moving some discarded papers.

— Vampires aren't like Twilight's Edward. — Dean laughed, looking for something in the drawers. — But yes, it's a vampire case.

I stuck my tongue out at him. Deep down, the request to eat far away and be able to talk to him alone didn't seem so bad.

— You know what, I think I'm hungry. — I got up, heading towards the door.

Walking past the door, Sam was still outside, sitting on the hood of the car with his sad puppy face.

-Hey, Sam, go keep an eye on Dad. I'll take this lady out to eat. — Dean said, getting into the car.

Sam seemed to understand that it wasn't just a late-night snack. Even though Sam was my favorite, Dean was my ex-boyfriend.

— Of course, and don't come back late. — He replied somewhat apathetically.I got in the car, Dean started it and headed towards the most rotten cafeteria you could have, greasy tables, full trash cans, dead cockroaches in the corners, it was almost offensive to take someone to eat in that place.

— I could never get used to eating in a place like this. — I sat at the table, less filthy. — We have no danger of being attacked by vampires here. We have?

— Are you with Dean Winchester and are you scared of some vampires? — He laughed sarcastically. — Actress, then?

-Actress. — I let out a short, sad laugh. — You would make a good firefighter.

— Maybe when I'm around 48 or 50 years old. — Laughs. — You know you can't lie to me.

— I didn't lie when I said you could be a good firefighter. Maybe those who attend bachelor parties. — The waitress, a lady with greasy blond hair and poorly done makeup and a surly face, stopped at our table. — I want a chocolate milkshake and waffles.

— A coffee and a burger, please. — He completed and then she went to the kitchen. — She's sad, depressed. I can see it on your face, and Sam and I just didn't want to be rude when we saw that you were probably going to be sleeping on the street tonight.

— It's just a difficult time.

— It's been difficult since the beginning, then? — He arched an eyebrow. — Look, anyone born a hunter is unhappy in any profession. You are a great hunter.

— I was great. And also, who is running around at risk of death and practically not having a life? — I snorted. — I want to get married, I want to have children. Without the worry of having vampires running around or a spirit.

Dean laughed softly and said:

— That's true, but have you ever thought that maybe you're not a good actress?

— Dean… — I rolled my eyes. — Obviously already, and every day that seems more true.

— Remember when we were seventeen, you said you wanted to be a chef in a five-star restaurant. — His gaze was loving. — You can be anything you want, like Barbie says.

I laughed loudly, scaring the drunks, widowers, and people sleeping at the tables.

— Dean, I appreciate your advice.

— It's ten dollars. — Poke me. — You can stay with us as long as we stay here.

— I don't know if I can stand so much time with your father.

— To be quite honest, neither do I. And another question, don't you have a boyfriend?

— What a personal question. — I put my hand on my chin. — But no, Dean, I don't have a boyfriend and I don't want one.

— That's good, no chance of someone suddenly wanting to show up and punch me. — His characteristic smile could make any heart melt, even more than Sam's puppy dog ​​eyes.

— I do this because I don't have a boyfriend.

— I doubt it, you must be all rusty. — He provoked. — You know, because you don't give hunting another chance. I propose we resolve this case and, if you don't like it, you go back to being an actress and, if you like it, you spend a little more time with my beautiful company.

— The Impala will be crowded.

[sl33py-g4m3r]

perhaps the prentice was chosen in the gauntlet rite the years or so before Flynn and everyone else had? Or after if they were still doing The Rite in Mikado...

I have not a time frame for the samurai oc I've created, yet at least.

Given he can feel the rain in our world, would that also mean he can interact with things as well? Or could people see him? could everyone see him or just certain people?

What demons did he have on him when the incident occurred? if any.

in the game it appears that the first demon that you acquire as Flynn is a centaur.... Is this the same for all new recruits or was it a coincidence?

If the samurais spirit/soul is asleep in our world; does he have visions of his fellows in Mikado? their goings on and missions? Or what's happening to his body? I bet being an amnesiac, this deeply concerns him.... Hopefully he'll connect the dots and be like "they're wearing the same outfit/uniform as I am..... Mikado?" and hopefully try to find a way to return.

Or is he just kind of trapped here for unknown reasons? gets too interested in our world and almost forgets; but still has this deep longing of going back home to Mikado.

would him remembering bits and pieces through visions/dreams or what have you cause him distress? I mean it's cliche but probably. Headaches or illness or something else.... Would those affect his body in return?

hadn't pieced together how exactly they're keeping his body alive in Mikado yet... would the monastery and infirmary have access to modern medical technology? I doubt it... Magic?

I wanna write about my samurai oc, and I've got ideas, but still no clear idea of where I'm going with the story as I just make it up as I go...

It would be really messed up to share a copy of SMT iv with him, lol. maybe anyway.

makes me wonder what games are actually games in universe in the SMT/persona games? but that's not OC stuff that's just random musings on my end.

if anyone could see him; what would they make of his outfit? or what would he think of motorized carriages without horses? 'good heavens, what the oddity... how doth thine move without aid of a horse? is it a demon?' *possibly attacks car with magic*

wrote one post from his perspective... but i also worry its garbage in hindsight.... eh got to quit worrying about it being cringe and have fun with a dumb internet blog~~~

last I wrote, which was from his point of view; he was napping in the rain under a tree, just as the rain subsides. too tired still to do much or figure out where he is, and wondering if anyone can see him or not.

[annoyin-warlock93]

I believe that the definition of definition is reinvention. To not be like your parents. To not be like your friends. To be yourself.

Completely.

When I was young I had no sense of myself. All I was, was a product of all the fear and humiliation I suffered. Fear of my parents. The humiliation of teachers calling me “garbage can” and telling me I’d be mowing lawns for a living. And the very real terror of my fellow students. I was threatened and beaten up for the color of my skin and my size. I was skinny and clumsy, and when others would tease me I didn’t run home crying, wondering why.

I knew all too well. I was there to be antagonized. In sports I was laughed at. A spaz. I was pretty good at boxing but only because the rage that filled my every waking moment made me wild and unpredictable. I fought with some strange fury. The other boys thought I was crazy.

I hated myself all the time.

As stupid at it seems now, I wanted to talk like them, dress like them, carry myself with the ease of knowing that I wasn’t going to get pounded in the hallway between classes. Years passed and I learned to keep it all inside. I only talked to a few boys in my grade. Other losers. Some of them are to this day the greatest people I have ever known. Hang out with a guy who has had his head flushed down a toilet a few times, treat him with respect, and you’ll find a faithful friend forever. But even with friends, school sucked. Teachers gave me hard time.

I didn’t think much of them either.

Then came Mr. Pepperman, my advisor. He was a powerfully built Vietnam veteran, and he was scary. No one ever talked out of turn in his class. Once one kid did and Mr. P. lifted him off the ground and pinned him to the black board. Mr. P. could see that I was in bad shape, and one Friday in October he asked me if I had ever worked out with weights. I told him no.

He told me that I was going to take some

of the money that I had saved and buy a hundred pound set of weights at Sears. As I left his office, I started to think of things I would say to him on Monday when he asked about the weights that I was not going to buy. Still, it made me feel special. My father never really got that close to caring. On Saturday I bought the weights, but I couldn’t even drag them to my mom’s car. An attendant laughed at me as he put them on a dolly.

Monday came and I was called into Mr. P.’s office after school. He said that he was going to show me how to work out. He was going to put me on a program and start hitting me in the solar plexus in the hallway when I wasn’t looking. When I could take the punch we would know that we were getting somewhere. At no time

was I to look at myself in the mirror or tell anyone at school what I was doing. In the gym he showed me ten basic exercises. I paid more attention than I ever did in any of my classes. I didn’t want to blow it. I went home that night and started right in.

Weeks passed, and every once in a while Mr. P. would give me a shot and drop me in the hallway, sending my books flying. The other students didn’t know what to think. More weeks passed, and I was steadily adding new weights to the bar. I could sense the power inside my body growing. I could feel it.

Right before Christmas break I was walking to class, and from out of nowhere Mr. Pepperman appeared and gave me a shot in the chest. I laughed and kept going. He said I could look at myself now. I got home and ran to the bathroom and pulled off my shirt. I saw a body, not just the shell that housed my stomach and my heart. My biceps bulged. My chest had definition. I felt strong. It was the first time I can remember having a sense of myself. I had done something and no one could ever take it away.

You couldn’t say shit to me.

It took me years to fully appreciate the value of the lessons I have learned from the Iron. I used to think that it was my adversary, that I was trying to lift that which does not want to be lifted. I was wrong. When the Iron doesn’t want to come off the mat, it’s the kindest thing it can do for you. If it flew up and went through the ceiling, it wouldn’t teach you anything. That’s the way the Iron talks to you. It tells you that the material you work with is that which you will come to resemble.

That which you work against will always work against you.

It wasn’t until my late twenties that I learned that by working out I had given myself a great gift. I learned that nothing good comes without work and a certain amount of pain. When I finish a set that leaves me shaking, I know more about myself. When something gets bad, I know it can’t be as bad as that workout.

I used to fight the pain, but recently this became clear to me: pain is not my enemy; it is my call to greatness. But when dealing with the Iron, one must be careful to interpret the pain correctly. Most injuries involving the Iron come from ego. I once spent a few weeks lifting weight that my body wasn’t ready for and spent a few months not picking up anything heavier than a fork. Try to lift what you’re not prepared to and the Iron will teach you a little lesson in restraint and self-control.

I have never met a truly strong person who didn’t have self-respect. I think a lot of inwardly and outwardly directed contempt passes itself off as self-respect: the idea of raising yourself by stepping on someone’s shoulders instead of doing it yourself. When I see guys working out for cosmetic reasons, I see vanity exposing them in the worst way, as cartoon characters, billboards for imbalance and insecurity. Strength reveals itself through character. It is the difference between bouncers who get off strong-arming people and Mr. Pepperman.

Muscle mass does not always equal strength. Strength is kindness and sensitivity. Strength is understanding that your power is both physical and emotional. That it comes from the body and the mind. And the heart.

Yukio Mishima said that he could not entertain the idea of romance if he was not strong. Romance is such a strong and overwhelming passion, a weakened body cannot sustain it for long. I have some of my most romantic thoughts when I am with the Iron. Once I was in love with a woman. I thought about her the most when the pain from a workout was racing through my body.

Everything in me wanted her. So much so that sex was only a fraction of my total desire. It was the single most intense love I have ever felt, but she lived far away and I didn’t see her very often. Working out was a healthy way of dealing with the loneliness. To this day, when I work out I usually listen to ballads.

I prefer to work out alone.

It enables me to concentrate on the lessons that the Iron has for me. Learning about what you’re made of is always time well spent, and I have found no better teacher. The Iron had taught me

how to live. Life is capable of driving you out of your mind. The way it all comes down these days, it’s some kind of miracle if you’re not insane. People have become separated from their bodies. They are no longer whole.

I see them move from their offices to their cars and on to their suburban homes. They stress out constantly, they lose sleep, they eat badly. And they behave badly. Their egos run wild; they become motivated by that which will eventually give them a massive stroke. They need the Iron Mind.

Through the years, I have combined meditation, action, and the Iron into a single strength. I believe that when the body is strong, the mind thinks strong thoughts. Time spent away from the Iron makes my mind degenerate. I wallow in a thick depression. My body shuts down my mind.

The Iron is the best antidepressant I have ever found. There is no better way to fight weakness than with strength. Once the mind and body have been awakened to their true potential, it’s impossible to turn back.

The Iron never lies to you. You can walk outside and listen to all kinds of talk, get told that you’re a god or a total bastard. The Iron will always kick you the real deal. The Iron is the great reference point, the all-knowing perspective giver. Always there like a beacon in the pitch black. I have found the Iron to be my greatest friend. It never freaks out on me, never runs. Friends may come and go. But two hundred pounds is always two hundred pounds. -Henry Rollins

[my-gf-is-kazuichi-soda]

Pearl from Steven Universe with a fat human S/O who's having body image issues:

(Mention of her attraction to the late Rose Quartz)

-Pearl's relationship with food wasnt anything healthy or sustainable for a human being. Humans need to eat while gems do not, and Pearl really didnt want to deal with anything to do with human digestive tracks, namely anything concerning toilets. She was germaphobic. So she chose not to eat.

-Even knowing this, the comments she made about how gross the human eating process was, as well as her comments about Amethyst eating garbage, may have gotten into your head. Does she see you as beautiful? Does she think you're gross?

-When you opened up about how you felt, she turned red and tripped over her words to try to turn this around immeadiately. "OH no no, that's not what I -! You -you see, Amethyst literally eats garbage, as in trash bags, completely rotten foods, tires from cars - things human beings would never - I - I wasnt talking about your snacks! Of course not! That's -! ...A-And of course I think you're beautiful!! Your form is wonderful!! I - uh - oh Rose Quartz was the most beautiful gem in the world to me and her form was fat too, and I admired how s- uh...but I dont mean now because I - when I met you I - you're the most beautiful-!"

-She was so worried about hurting your feelings but also blurting out a lot of scattered thoughts. You might have had to stop her, but if you didnt, she would collect herself on her own and be able to pull herself together.

- "You're very beautiful, you're the most beautiful being in the world to me. I used Rose as an example to help you see that, but that may have been careless... (Your/name), I am so sorry for anything Ive said that hurt you."

- "I love the way your form looks right now, and the way it will look in the future, no matter what. I know that human forms are made to change over time, and that changes can be unpredictable, so I dont want you thinking you have to stay at a size or shape or weight at all for me. Every version of you is beautiful to me."

-And for the record, she does not find any fault with Amethyst's form, the comments were about the non-food she chose to eat. But Pearl also knew she was overly harsh with Amethyst and wanted to work on that too. When she did self-reflecting, she didnt like the type of gem she would be around Amethyst, and it saddened her to think about how that affected Amethyst and you. She would cease all comments about Amethyst testing of her form's consumption abilities.

-Pearl shocks you when she starts eating meals with you. She says that she used to do this for Steven too when was younger, to encourage him to eat regular meals. She would rather not talk about the waste, but she can manage her germaphobia. She's overcome way worse in her life, and for you, anything was worth it. ❤️