#(Is this a Reach? Yes. Do I care? Abso-fucking-lutely NOT.)

[violetheart77]

Tired: “Aw man we didn’t get ANY reference to PEIP in Nerdy Prudes? No callbacks, not even a Wear A Watch?! What a ripoff! 😩 ”

WIRED:

[albatris]

rentalcar update!

it's been a hot minute since I did one of these!

today's word count is 75,595...... uh oh! "but it was over 100k a few weeks ago, monday!" yes my process is mysterious and unknowable

today I got a lot of work done due to the being at my friend's house where we just sit around and vibe together. I'm really happy with my progress!

today's mood is a severe lack of sleep and today's jam is "little lies you're told" by joywave

taglist and today's excerpt under the cut! it's jumbly and unedited sowwy

She settled on the couch and immediately sprawled herself out, bringing her legs up onto the cushions and cuddling right up to him, her head nestling down on his shoulder. Nat’s heart pounded in his chest in a rhythm he was certain she could hear. Was she coming onto him? What was this? Why was she so close?

The movie seemed to be about a zombie invasion of a small town in Pennsylvania, but Nat was finding it hard to pay attention. Partially tiredness from his night of work and the emotional stress he was under. Partially his hyper-awareness of Ripley’s presence. The longer the movie wound on, though, and the longer Ripley stayed like that, leaning herself against him all cosy, the more Nat suspected that she was simply just more physically affectionate than he was. What had the care package said about vampires and physical contact? They liked it, right?

Did he like this?

Maybe she would think his pounding heart was just exhilaration from the jump-scares, from watching so many zombie heads get blown off, so many entrails get ripped out. The movie was exceptionally gory. He was—uncomfortable. But he was almost always uncomfortable. He found himself wishing he was home cuddling his cat instead, but he almost always wished he was home instead of out. Even when he was enjoying himself, he was never truly enjoying himself.

Did he like this?

Nat tried to untangle his emotions. Fear, shame, guilt, stress, paranoia—oh, there was relief here, too. Relief and affection. Small flutterings of it. Nat exhaled and tried to release all his tension. He did like this. He hated it, but he liked it.

“What—what’s that thing called?” he asked during one of the movie’s lulls in action. “That thing that gets all up in your brain. The Greeble. The Gerbil.”

Ripley wheezed, laughing. “The Garble?”

“That’s the bastard.”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Do you believe in it?”

“I don’t… not believe in it… I guess.” Ripley reached up to pat Nat’s face, ruffle his hair, playfully. “I mean, do I believe there’s something alive in vampire bodies? Like, wriggling around in the blood and stuff? Something that gives us our power and demands life force in return? Abso-fucking-lutely. Do I believe in—in some big spiritual vampire hivemind god that connects us all? Not really. I think it’s just—a way certain people have of wrapping their heads around the physical. It’s like a comforting delusion, maybe." She stopped for a breath. "Do you believe in the Garble?”

“I don’t know,” Nat said. “I haven’t decided yet. It talks to me. I can feel a presence sometimes. It could be something alive in me, like a parasite. Or it could be a big hivemind god.”

Ripley nodded thoughtfully.

“My friend Alex thinks it’s a spiritual thing, I think,” Nat said. “I wouldn’t call it a delusion exactly. I’ve been delusional. Religion is different.”

“Does your friend think it has, like, a purpose?” Ripley asked. “That’s what I always ask that trips people up. If it’s a religion, if it’s spiritual, what’s the point? What does it all mean? What’s the higher purpose?”

“I dunno. I’ll ask next time I see him, maybe.”

“Here’s a hint: there isn’t a higher purpose,” Ripley said. “It’s all just—just a fucked up medical condition.”

“If it’s a medical condition, why is no one working towards a cure?”

“You think vampires are running around offering themselves up for medical research? We’re not human anymore. If we told people what we really are, that we’re monsters, we’d get cut up into teeny tiny pieces by the government for sure.”

To emphasise Ripley’s point, the lead of the movie ran a chainsaw through a zombie’s decaying chest.

“Yeah,” Nat agreed. “Best not.”

@transmasc-wizard @saturn-iidae @polyaubergine @tracle0 @goosemixtapes @valence-positive @the-one-who-makes-negative-noise @ambiguousfiction @afoolandathief @silverwarewolf @mecharose @vellichor-virgo @plasticseaslug @jetstargenderfuckery @multi-lefaiye @writeouswriter @junoshusband @writing-is-a-martial-art @midnight-and-his-melodiverse @sleepycaprine @cream-and-tea @gailynovelry @lefttigerobservation @indecentpause @somealienquill @cannivalisms @violetfoxsketches @approximately20eggs @mohluskiepedard @desastreus @kk7-rbs @cee-grice @northwyrm @xylophonicsynapse @careful-pyromancer @recapitulation @incandescent-creativity @whole-buncha-snakess @mysticalalleycat @thatonecrowguy @va-nila-bean @televisionjester @excessive-vampires @walkman-cat

[open--till--midnight]

Trapped | alt version

geralt x fem!reader

redo of this. basically it went from friends to lovers to enemies to lovers

warnings | smutty smut 18+, minors DNI

wc | 1.2k

a/n | oh yea, and Geralt is a bottom. also i didn't proofread, sorry

****

You always hated missions like this. You were perfectly capable on your own. But Geralt, who you only associated with due to mutual friends, was forced to come with you. Yennefer had insisted it was a two-person job, for two very skilled individuals.

A box. A fucking jewelry box. A tiny one, at that. What could possibly be so important that she sends you both down here in these horrid ruins? To be honest, you tried not to care. In and out. That was your job. And the witcher was just an accessory.

Geralt had walked ahead of you, doing whatever it was that he did while searching. While your approach was far more organized, going over section by section, investigating anything that stood out.

You thought you had it when you saw a gleam from between a pillar and the wall by the door. It seemed too easy, but you hadn’t thought of that when you reached for it.

Almost as soon as you grasped it, a stone wall slammed down over the entrance, trapping the two of you inside.

"What the hell?" Geralt spun around at the noise, locking deadly eyes with yours. But you couldn't speak, not well enough to respond.

He decided not to engage, it wouldn't help the situation and he knew it. There was also the little fact that he really didn't want to fight with you, if not just for now. So, he began looking for a way out, along with the box.

"Do you always have to be so careless?"

"Hey, it's not like I wanted to be down here in the first place. You think I wanted to get stuck in some disgusting cave thing. Much less with you?"

"If you paid attention this wouldn't have happened, y/n."

"God's, alright, I get it. And would you stop looking at me like that?"

He continued to glare, though there was a strange twinkle in his eye.

"Trust me, I'd rather not look at you at all. But someone got us stuck in these damn ruins, and there is literally nothing else to look at."

“Well, why are you looking at me like that?”

Geralt was unaware of the way he was gazing at you. A whirlpool of emotion stirring behind yellow irises. There was the usual contempt, aided by the quirk of his upper lip, but there was more than that. An intrigue, maybe. Surely something you had never received from the witcher before now.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re looking quite lusty, witcher. Would make a bit of sense, really. What’s one more insanely unstable relationship to add to the list?”

"What are you talking about?" There was something not unlike desperation in his eyes. His shoulders hunched over, bringing his front as close to you as they were able while still maintaining his usual distance.

"Yennefer?"

"That's over. I guess it never was anything anyway.”

"Figures."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're a whore, Geralt."

"What about Dandelion, hmm? Still think you’re so perfect?" A gut punch, but you could fight back.

"Triss?"

For a moment, your eyes locked. The only sounds were that of your breathing, soft and faltering. Geralt’s eyebrow quirked up when you narrowed your gaze.

“We might die in here.”

“From dehydration, yes. If we don’t kill each other first.” His brow stayed raised, trying to gauge your actions.

“We don’t have to fight.”

It was you who made the first move. Every so gracefully, you slammed your lips upon his. Though, you gasped after pulling away seconds later. You were about to walk away, it felt wrong not to ask, but there was no way those words were coming out of your mouth. Geralt, I still hate you, but would you please just fuck me senseless? Abso-fucking-lutely not.

It seemed that Geralt understood what was going on, and before you could walk away, he pulled you onto his lap. With just about as much grace as you had, he cupped the back of your head, bringing you back to his lips.

You could feel him growing beneath you as you pressed every inch of yourself against him. He groaned into your mouth before his nimble fingers worked the laces of your armor. Thankfully, his much more complicated set had been abandoned while searching, leaving him in a simple shirt, which you deftly slid off of him.

Once his chest was bared, you struggled to not comment. There were so many things you could say to bring him down, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to say any of them. Instead, you would show him who was in charge, hoping that would rile him up a bit.

“What do you want from me, Geralt?”

“Y/n.” You could tell he was trying to intimidate, but it wasn’t working. You could see the arousal in his face and hear it in his voice. There was nothing this man wouldn’t do in this very moment.

“I asked you a question.”

“I want to- ugh- I want to fuck you.”

“Uh uh,” you tutted, “turn that around, witcher.”

“Fuck you,” you pressed yourself further against his restrained cock, earning another grunt before he hurriedly continued, “Fuck me, y/n.”

“Good boy.” You pulled off the final layer that was separating you and slowly, painfully so, worked him until you lined him up at your entrance. He looked like he was restraining himself from completely taking over, but you knew he wouldn’t do that, so you took your time.

You let him enter, only slightly, before lifting yourself up off of him again. You would repeat this until you sank down on him completely.

Geralt was still sitting on the desk, you on his lap, when you began to set a fast pace. Your hand reached around the back of his head and grabbed a fistful of his silvery hair. You swallowed his moan as he began grabbing at your ass.

Gods he was loud. You didn’t know if it made you want to slap him or kiss him even harder. Maybe both? Taking in the already rough way you were fucking him, you decided to take it a step further.

Roughly, you grabbed his jaw and made him look at you. When you were sure he was ok, you planted your lips firmly on his.

As you felt him near his climax, you reached down between your legs, but not before Geralt could swat them away and do the work for you. He steadily rubbed circles around your clit, working you up to your high.

You pulled back from his mouth and your eyes locked. No words were spoken, but a conversation was being had through your eyes. Your soft moans evolved into something louder and Geralt's grunts grew even more frantic.

His head fell into the crook of your neck, a softer sound escaped him as he finally came. Shortly after, you had as well. In the heat of the moment, your teeth found their way to his shoulder.

Before you could catch your breath, Geralt was kissing down your chest and his hand grabbed a handful of your breast. You wanted to ask what he was doing, but for the moment, you couldn't care less.

"What makes me so different from everyone else?"

"Honestly?"

"Mhm."

"This."

You didn't have time to respond. With a whooshing sound and a clap a portal appeared. A familiar raven-haired mage stepped out, Yennefer.

"Well, I can honestly say I was not expecting that."

[filipinoizukuu]

hello mr simp do you have any thoughts on the leeks 👀

FIRST OF ALL. THEY CAME SO FUCKING EARLY??? BRO I WAS ASLEEP

SECOND OF ALL

holy SHIT YALL

Okay, it's no secret that I'm an All Might stan. I LOVE All Might. Very very much. Not just as a simp, but genuinely, I enjoy his character SO MUCH.

--And unlike what some people may think, I'm not totally blind to his flaws. I know he sucks as a mentor and that he's done way more harm to Deku than good. He's.... not perfect. in every sense of the word. The whole point of AM's character is that he is a DEEPLY FLAWED individual— but at the end of the day, still good.

This new chapter gave me SOOO many new feelings. I'm not gonna lie to y'all and say I was a Stain apologist beforehand because I wasn't. I disliked Stain to a certain degree, but I also knew he was morally grey enough that I was able to still quite appreciate him as a character. This chapter was about EVERYTHING to me because I honestly did NOT expect Hori to go in this direction and for things to happen the way they did. It was too good to be true! Too fanfic-y! The disbelief I felt when I read what happened was on par with when Bakugou and Deku had that apology and kinda-hug in the rain!

But this disbelief is not because it was a bad thing.

I think the writing in Chapter 326 is phenomenal. The moment that All Might was really beginning to lose hope in not just himself as a hero, but himself as a PERSON... we finally hear the opinion of someone who would abso-fucking-LUTELY make or break the last of his spirit.

Stain is, as much as his views are pretty agreeable and his label is that of a vigilante, still a pretty shitty guy. He's tried to kill literal kids who got in his way, even if said kids made pretty dumb decisions. AM hearing what he has to say is absolutely mind-boggling to him because he knows all of that. He knows Stain is a shitty person and that his worldview is perhaps terribly skewed. He knows Stain has spent a hot minute frying his brains down in Tartarus and isn't good at making judgment calls. Knows that for all intents and purposes, Stain's opinions are not to be trusted.

But the thing is... Toshinori also knows that Stain, regardless of the soundness of his mind, is telling the truth.

Regardless of how fucked-in-the-head Stain is, we as readers are able to acknowledge that he isn't blinded by hero worship. Sure, he's bitter, cynical, and quite the absolutist--but Stain is still clear-headed enough to be able to see AM's flaws for what they are and accept them, ultimately proving to Toshinori that the power of All Might was never his own but rather the legacy that he inspired.

The society MHA takes place in is flawed. We all know this. Heroes, as a concept, had been corrupted into being purely about good and evil. Purely winning fights for money or fame or the abstract concept of victory (coughs Endeavor and the no.1 spot coughs), making heroism as we know it about flashiness and power instead of mercy and the desire to help others.

All Might symbolizes the ideal version of the Hero Society. He represents doing the best you can. Being a hero until you reach your limits, and then going even past that. He symbolizes pure intention and the desire to be a hero not for material gains but because of the pure want to make society a better and safer place. Stain refers to Kamino Ward and the statue as a "holy land" because he believes that through and through, AM's only had the purest of intentions and morals. To him, Toshinori was like a deity that had no fault in making society what it was in the present because that accountability fell on the generations of heroes that failed to fulfill his legacy.

The point being, Stain understood that All Might was fundamentally not about 'being there' for everyone 24/7, but rather the message his presence had sent.

All Might's monologue at the beginning of the chapter essentially boiled down to the ideas that:

A. He regrets not being there properly for Deku

B. His image was a delusion that ultimately led to the downfall of hero society.

To break this down, his problem with Deku is his inability to be a competent mentor. It shows that he has led him down dangerous and horrible paths (Deku's stubbornness to do things by himself and his 'dark' arc post-war), and is unable to bring him back into the light even if he tries. It was only when Class 1-A had intervened that they were able to get Deku to rest and let people tag along, after all, which is why Toshinori was far too embarrassed to follow him into UA's walls even after everyone had come out with umbrellas.

Stain disproves this in two ways.

First, he says that it was never about All Might's ability to actually be there for people. The whole point of what inspired Deku to be the inherently good-hearted "true hero" he is today is because of the values that AM's brand had instilled in him as a child. AM's biggest positive impacts came from behind the screen where he was used as the proof that true heroes can and do exist. Deku does want to be exactly like All Might, yes, which is why we see Toshinori leading him down the same path that he walked--but the underlying message of this is that the very first thing All Might gave him even before OfA was the courage to help fix society.

I do believe Deku is an innately compassionate person. Most people in the series are. However, what makes All Might's smile so uniquely impactful to what it did to Hero Society is the way it gave people courage to help people. Less hesitation. Less bystander syndromes. The ability to move without thinking. Because you can feel the want to help a person, but the courage to be nosey and actually do it? That's portrayed as something AM's image teaches people.

The second way he disproves AM's insecurity of dragging Deku down is that he makes it clear that this pain is somewhat of a necessity in reforming society. He says, interestingly enough, that this is but the 'middle process' in reforming society. This spills over to how he addresses Problem B, but what Stain is essentially saying here is that this sort of brutality and isolation that Izuku faces is impermanent. A phase. It implies that even if Deku is struggling and Toshinori is unable to help him, it is something that needs to happen before they re-realize the ideal heroes All Might's image is meant to create.

The second problem in regards to how All Might feels about current society (how it's collapsing because of him, etc. etc.) is more interestingly addressed. There are many things that Stain says--like how Toshinori doesn't need to actually be the one to fix society with his bare hands. The current society is not his fault because of the fact that it is not finished developing. I'm not sure if I can go so far as to say that Stain means this in the sense of the Scorched Earth method of tearing everything down to build it back up better-- but I can say that Stain still has faith in society to rebuild after this period of chaos.

This rebuilding starts with the old generation of heroes correcting what they messed up (i.e. Endeavor v Dabi) and more importantly, paving the way for a better generation of heroes that was inspired by All Might's image. Heroes that are led by people like Deku, who is defined by his proclivity to help without thinking. The violent deconstruction of society is about exposing society to the raw truth of All Might's image that not everybody can be as strong as him-- which is why we have to take care of each other.

When the lady comes in to remove the sign and start cleaning the statue, it's symbolic. It's a clear metaphor that the past few chapters are the turning point for society as a whole, and how people are starting to remember what real heroism is. From the distrust that was seeded in society ever since LoV had surfaced, we are seeing that trust being returned TEN-FOLD now that people can see not only the mask of a hero's smile, but also the person underneath.

I think it's some really neat symbolism here too about how Deku, who's metal mouth guard was literally all about representing All Might's smile, is shed.

This is hero society dropping their masks. Letting people see them for as they are. Toshinori revisiting the statue in this form makes all the more impact because he shed his mask ages ago during the Kamino Bust, so this is him coming face to face with the image he's created and seeing the differences between them, and how his image continues to live on even after he's almost completely Quirkless. The lady cleaning the All Might statue shows off the fact that things can be repaired again--that society can be clean (hehe stain pun) again.

It's interesting to me here how Stain offers the information from Tartarus.

He doesn't care anymore about his life. It's evident. He disagrees with what the LoV is doing, but believes enough in Deku to think that it's time for him to retire the mantle of 'Stain'. Unless this is another test, it's very odd for me to hear that Stain is offering a blade and his life to someone he isn't even sure is All Might.

But the impact of this action reads loud and clear.

This is Stain taking pity on All Might. This is him realizing that All Might too is a person behind the hero. That Toshinori Yagi is incapable of doing anything past the image he had already created. By offering that knife and information on Tartarus, Stain is giving control back to Toshinori. He is giving AM the chance to do something big again to help society's reconstruction. To be a part of the revolution that he so badly deserves to see. That knife is essentially an exit ticket from the sidelines, and one last chance for All Might to be able to see what his image has done for people.

I personally think that the main reason Stain is willing to die then and there by Toshinori's hand, despite not being sure that he is All Might to begin with, is because of the final impact it creates that it isn't about Toshinori Yagi's true power as a person, but the image of All Might. It is because he looks like the symbol of peace, that Stain (the literal HERO KILLER) feels comfortable laying his life in his hands and giving away valuable information.

If that isn't a great testament to the power of AM's image, I don't know WHAT is.

I guess all I have to say is I absolutely love what Stain did in this chapter. Everything felt so incredibly symbolic and emotional and as someone who absolutely ADORES All Might and what he stands for in the story, this felt like a cool balm after seeing Deku tragically reject his bento box a good few chapters ago. I have a few more opinions about symbolism, and how I think Deku's generation of heroes is going to stray from the old gen, but I think that's a discussion for another time.

Thanks for reading 'til the end!

[arrowflier]

Okay, I'm trying to figure out how it all works here with asks and I'm so sorry, if I do it wrong.

Thank you for all your beautiful speedwritings, they're perfect. You're so skilled, it's incredible.

If you still take prompts, I wonder whether you could do something about Ian talking to the paralayzed Terry and telling him how he, as a farther, could do right about Mickey and how Mickey deserves everything and how while Ian doesn't understand WHY, he sees that Mickey cares about his asshole of a parent. I guess, I prompt something like Ian being protective over Mickey in front of Terry, maybe without Mickey being in the picture for the most part.

Thank you in advance, if you consider that!

Thank you anon!  Content warning: Terry Milkovich.  He deserves his own.

"Hey, I gotta run out for a sec," Mickey says after rooting unsuccessfully through the refrigerator in the new Milkovich house.  "They're out of that protein stuff the doctor said he needs."

"I'll come with you," Ian says, already grabbing for his stuff, but Mickey stops him with a hand on his chest.

"Need ya to stay here," he tells Ian.  He bites his lip, not meeting Ian's eyes.  "Don't wanna leave him alone, you know?"

No, Ian didn't know.  Because if it were up to him, Terry Milkovich would be alone and miserable for the rest of his hopefully short life.

But Mickey still felt something for the man.  If he could even be called a man after what he put his children through.  And Ian might not understand that--he stopped caring about Frank years ago, and his real father years before that--but Mickey is tired and anxious and staring unfocused over Ian’s shoulder, and Ian isn’t going to let him down.

“Okay,” he says instead.  “I’ll hold down the fort.”

And Mickey is smiling, quick and thin, and pecking him on the side of his mouth in thanks and in goodbye.

“Keep your mouth to yourself under my roof, boy,” Terry growls from the living room, and Mickey rolls his eyes and flips him off without looking.

“Back soon,” he promises Ian, backing away.  “Don’t kill him while I’m gone.”

“Aw shucks,” Ian answers flatly, eyebrows raised.  “There go my afternoon plans.”

Mickey comes back over at that, kisses him again.  Pulls back more slowly, ignoring Terry’s grumbling.

“Make it up to you later,” he says lowly, and winks.  Then he pats Ian on the cheek, and is out the door with his wallet and the ambulance keys before Ian can say another word.

It’s quiet for a moment.  Ian keeps on with what he was doing before Mickey left--rinsing out the old bowls in the sink, sipping on a beer--and Terry does the only thing he can: sit and mope.

The quiet doesn’t last for very long.

“Why are you still here?” Terry demands to know.  “You after my ass now?”

Ian can’t help it; he snorts so hard he can feel bubbles from the beer in his nose.

“Oh yeah,” he reveals.  “You got me all figured out, Terry.  I’m just with your son so I can get to your saggy, decrepit ass.”

It feels good, to wind Terry up the way he used to wind up Frank.  To taunt him without having to worry about the repercussions.  And Terry must realize he’s enjoying it a little too much, because his next words are a lot harder to laugh off.

“Shoulda put bullets in both of you when I had the chance.  Fuckin’ queers.”

Ian goes still.  Water continues to splash off the dishes, wetting his arms, but he ignores it.

“What did you just say?” he asks quietly.

“You heard me, you pansy-ass fuck.  I should have put you in the ground where you belong, and let him jump in after you.”

Ian reaches out calmly to turn off the water.

“You shouldn’t say shit like that,” Ian says softly.  Softly but sure, a thread of something in his voice like barbed wire, like blood, like the butt of a pistol against Mickey’s head.

“Did I hurt your little girl feelings?” Terry goads.  “Gonna cry now, princess.”

A humorless laugh escapes Ian as he pushed back from the counter, makes his way to the living room where Terry has no choice but to sit.

“You know,” he says casually as he does, “I used to wonder why you hated us so much.”  He smirks.  “The gays, you know.”

He doesn’t stop until he’s right in front of Terry’s chair, towering over him.  He doesn’t lean forward, doesn’t put his hands anywhere near the man.  He just stands, and looks at him.  Waits until Terry’s typical sneer starts to fall, for his eyes to dart nervously around the room.

"But that's the thing, isn't it?" Ian says finally.  "I don't give a shit if you hate me, or why."  He shrugs.  "Don't even really care if you hate him."

"Then why the fuck are you talkin to me?"

"Because your opinions are garbage," Ian answers plainly.  "You're garbage.  And if it were up to me, I'd throw you out with the molded leftovers and never spare you a second goddamn thought."

"But it isn't up to me," Ian adds.  "And Mickey asked me to take care of you, so here I am.  For him."

"You his bitch now?" Terry mutters.  His eyes may be about all he can move, but he uses them to full advantage, eying Ian up and down like there's some visible sign of his

"Thought it was the other way around."

"I'm not his bitch, Terry," Ian says calmly.  "And he isn't mine.  He's my husband--yes, husband, despite your best efforts--" he repeats firmly at Terry’s responding scowl, "and I will do everything in my power to make him happy."

"Milkoviches don't do happy," Terry grunts.  "Makes people weak."

"Well Gallaghers do," Ian counters, "and it makes us strong."

"You always did think you were better than us, you gay ginger fuck."

"Better than you?" Ian repeats.  "Abso-fucking-lutely.  But better than Mickey?"  He snorts.  "Not in a million years."

Now he does lean in, bracing his hands on the arms of that hospital-issue chair.

"Despite your best efforts, your son is amazing,” Ian tells the man he hates more than anything.  “He's a good man, a good husband.  A good uncle to my sister's kid, my brother's.”

Terry is avoiding his eyes, trying to look like he isn’t.  Ian doesn’t care--he revels in the knowledge that his very presence makes the man uncomfortable.

"I've hurt him too, you know,” Ian confesses, just to see the faint flinch Terry tries to hide.  “So many times.  And he should have left me for it, but he didn't.

“Because unlike you,” Ian continues, “Mickey takes care of the people in his life.  The people he loves.”  

Ian pulls back, away from Terry’s face, gives him room to breathe again.  Rubs a hand over his own face, and sighs.  He can hear a door slamming outside--Mickey, probably, already back from the store.

“I'm working on making it up to him,” he tells Terry while they still have the room to themselves.  “All the shit I've put him through.  Because of all the people on the earth, he might deserve it the most.”

Mickey’s footsteps are approaching the front door, and Ian moved back toward the kitchen.  Before he starts the water again, he looks back at Terry one more time.  At the face that once haunted his dreams, now pale and sweaty and forced still.

“Maybe you should try to make some things up to him, too.”

[ultimateluckystudent-writes]

hello! if this isn’t too weird, i’d like to request nagito and his fem s/o being heard having...seggs...... (maybe? possibly? perhaps? you can include the seggs scene?? if it’s not too much..) and the next morning their classmates are literally like 🧍‍♂️🧍🏻‍♀️ and it’s so awkward 😭😭 I CAN JUST IMAGINE HIYOKO AND MAHIRU LIKE 😀🤬 and everyone else like 😅😐please don’t feel obligated to do it but if you do then thank you so much!!! have a great day/night

Nagito and S/O being overheard

Anon, you're a genius. Absolutely, this is my favorite request I've gotten so far I had to do this first (even... if I'm... really late) It kind of spiraled into a little fic with smut and fluff but eh, the more the merrier right?

-Mod Usami

Word Count: 1.9k

Content Warnings: Island Mode AU! Some smut at the beginning, the rest is pretty fluffy. If you don't wanna read it, skip to where you see *****

“Fuck! Oh, fuck, yes!” Nagito’s hips hit yours with a fervor that was unfamiliar but completely welcome. His long, bony fingers held your waist tightly to hold himself steady as he fucked you while you lay on your back. Above you, he had a look of complete focus as he worked to keep up his pace. Usually he was quite gentle with you, making you take the reins if you wanted something rougher, but tonight he touched you with a drive you couldn’t place.

It had been much the same earlier, when he brought you off the first time eating you out; however, you had grown accustomed to Nagito’s eagerness when his face was between your legs. You’d been much too distracted by that very tongue laving your clit to notice any difference. When his hips slotted between yours though, the difference was so clear.

One of Nagito’s hands moved from its place on your torso to the back of your thigh, pushing it back towards you gently. His eyes remained locked on yours, and though his pace didn’t relent, his eyes were soft and questioning. When you could moaned in response, he couldn’t help but grin to himself a bit. The new angle allowed him to go even deeper,

“My hope...” He choked out, obviously attempting to remain steady even while he was so pleased. “I- you- you sound beautiful already and- and I know this is a selfish request-”

“Wh- What do you want, Nah- ah! Nagito!” You’d meant to continue on, but it was rather difficult. Your fingers dug into the sheets. Nagito moaned aloud at his name, his brows furrowing.

“Yes! My- my name! Just like that!”

“Of course, my pretty boy.” You managed to give him a sloppy half-smile. You let your head fall back once more as he continued. “Nagito! Oh, ah, Nagito! Fuck, baby you’re- you’re so good!” Your hand began to reach down to your clit, but his voice interrupted you.

“P- please, allow me-” He adjusted himself so he was pressed further down into you, one arm supporting himself on the bed and the other beginning to rub circles around your clit, one of your legs over his shoulder. All at once you were enveloped in how good he was making you feel, and knew you weren’t going to last long.

“Oh, Nagito, Nagito, Nagito!” Your voice was almost a whisper, chanting his name like a prayer. The leg not already against him came to wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper. “I’m- I’m close-”

“Yes!” He moaned. “Please, please cum for me- I want to see you, I wanna see you-”

“Nagito!” A particularly electric motion from his hands caused your own to fly into his hair. “Nagito, Nagito- ah!” Your legs shook as you came, left trembling in his hands, and he didn’t last much longer. As he came, he leaned down as much as he could while still pumping into you to kiss and bite down on your neck. He peppered kisses all over you as you both lie in the aftershocks, panting in between nips and kisses. At last, he sucked hard on a spot by your pulse point, making you shiver while he marked you. “Nagito...” You whined. “You’re gonna leave marks...”

“Forgive me, my love, I selfishly crave nothing more than to see you completely marked up by my hand.” He murmured, his voice breathy and sleepy. You giggled, a bit out of it yourself.

“You talk funny.” You nudged him to move and he finally stood back up and wiped the sweat off of his brow. After cleaning up a bit and hitting the light, the two of you crawled back into bed to finally get some rest. You held his head close to your chest and played with his hair, and you were quickly asleep. Nagito needed to try a bit harder to fall asleep. He was facing the window he’d noticed he’d left open earlier, and tried not to laugh too much and make you stir.

*****

“Good morning everyone! It’s another beautiful day on the island! Please eat breakfast and do your very best today! Love, love!” Usami's voice crackled through the tv in your room. You internally groaned, upset that you could never find a way to turn that damn monitor down, until the events of last night came back to you. You smiled to yourself as you pulled Nagito closer, right while he was in the middle of a yawn.

“Morning breath.” You grumbled, moving to kiss him on the cheek.

“Nobody made you kiss me in the middle of my yawn. Least of all me.” He protested, but he sounded pleased. “Good morning.” You simply grumbled in response, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. “We’re expected at breakfast eventually.”

“So what?” You grinned deviously and peeked open your eyes just enough to press hot, open-mouthed kisses to his neck. He made a little squeaking noise and tilted his head to give you more access.

“Ah- as much as I- oh- enjoy your intimacy...” He swallowed hard, as if he was preparing himself for what he was going to say next. You didn’t relent. “We really shouldn’t do this every time we wake up together- we end up la- hah- hmm.” His voice died down into a hum as you began to suck on his neck. “Didn’t you complain about marks just last night?” His voice was strained. His hands found your sides and held on tight, despite his hesitant words.

“Yeah, but they’re probably already there, so it doesn’t matter now, does it?” You said in between your kisses. You pulled away just for a second to see that you were in fact leaving red marks something deep within you hoped would bloom into something darker. My precious boy… maybe they’ll all stop being so rude to you if they understand you’re mine.

“Well, there wouldn’t have been anything to connect it to me.” He said seriously. A laugh bubbled up out of you. “What?”

“Nothing.” You lied. Nothing would connect it to you except all the time we spend together, the way you cling to me when other people are around, those puppy-dog eyes you give me in front of everybody whenever we’re sent to collect in different areas… “But your logic is flawed.” You argued, moving to straddle his hips. He looked awestruck under you, something that made you falter for a moment. “Everyone else would know it wasn’t them, and that would likely narrow it down because...”

“Because?”

“You’re not the best liar when asked something directly, Ko-chan.” You giggled, tapping him on the nose. His eyes crossed trying to follow it.

“You’re probably right.” He beamed. You rolled your eyes. He seemed like he was in too good of a mood now to disagree with anyone. You leaned down to kiss his forehead and your feet finally found their way onto the floor. You felt much more energized now. You and Nagito began to get ready for the day. Nagito had begun to keep clothes in your cabin at your insistence and desire to have as much time with him in bed in the mornings. Still, between your conversations and extra kisses you both snuck, you found yourself late to breakfast.

“You don’t want to walk in separately?” He asked. “It might be rather… suspicious if we walked in at the same time. Especially with… these.” He gestured at your necks, which were marked up in matching fashion, though yours were a bit darker due to time. Despite his words, you’d seen the way Nagito smiled when he caught sight of himself in the mirror earlier, something you hadn’t seen him do… ever.

“I don’t mind, really, Nagito.” You took his hand and kissed his knuckles, making him blush once more. His face was already almost permanently red around you. “Besides, it’s not like anyone actually cares if we’re fucking… they probably won’t think at all about ”

“Ah...” Nagito pursed his lips as you finished climbing the stairs to the hotel’s restaurant. “About that...” His words fell on deaf ears however, as you pushed open the doors. All your classmates were already there, and though you expected to be able to slip in without much notice, all conversation paused as the two of you walked in. Everybody’s eyes turned to you at once.

“Good mo-or-orning lovebirds!” Ibuki sang, waving her utensils and accidentally splattering some of her food onto Byakuya. You froze completely, your eyes widening.

“Good morning, Mioda-san.” Nagito said from behind you. You turned to him, but he seemed most unfazed. There was still a light blush on his cheeks, but you couldn’t tell if that was from earlier or now.

“Mioda-chan!” Mahiru said crossly. “We agreed I would talk to them about it first!”

“Oh, fuck.” You covered your face with your hands. “Oh my fucking God. They all already knew.”

“Well… if it helps, we- we didn’t know until last night.” Mikan laughed nervously, before her own eyes widened. “Oh no! That probably doesn’t help! I’m so sorry, Koizumi-san!”

“Last night? What- oh no.” You could feel your face begin to burn. “Did.. did you...”

“A lot of us… heard you last night, yes.” Chiaki nodded. “Though I believe it was mostly the girls, as it came from the girls’ side of the dorms.”

“Komaeda, my man, I never thought I’d say this but like… how’d you do it?” Kazuichi asked.

“Now is not the time Soda-san!” Sonia chided. “(L/N)-san, did he at least pay you first?”

“I’m gonna do it.” You whispered to yourself. “I’m gonna walk into the ocean and never come back-”

“It’s somehow not that sort of deal. I keep trying but-” Nagito shrugged. You turned and glared at him furiously. “I sense I’ve made a mistake of some sort.”

“She doesn’t make him pay!” Hiyoko smirked, and just from the look you knew you wouldn’t like where this was going. “We all heard last night how much of a cum dump you are!” Several people gasped. Your face froze in what must have looked like a delirious grin. Your mind wouldn’t even register the words she was saying.

“I wish I could have heard.” Teruteru whined. “I’m sure the lady sounded… orgasmic in more than one sense of the word.”

“Haha!” Nagito said the words instead of actually laughing as he stepped out in front of you. He was smiling, but his eyes were cold. “I believe, besides last night, those sounds are usually reserved for me.”

“Whatever, weird choice aside, if she’s getting it from who she wants it’s cool!” Akane said around a mouthful of egg. “As long as she keeps it down! I almost didn’t make it to my early morning run today!”

“Thank you for getting us back to the point, Owari.” Byakuya sighed. “I hate this conversation with a newfound passion. Keep it down, please. Make sure your windows are closed.”

“What? But my windows are almost always closed!” You protested, thankful for the further change. “We’ve got AC, why would I-”

“It doesn’t matter!” Fuyuhiko groaned, shoving his chair away from the table. “And now I’ve completely lost my appetite. Can we go, Pekoyama?” She gave a curt nod, and they left to clear their plates.

“That’s cool! I’m gonna throw myself off one of the bridges today anyways!” You waved at them all. “Toodaloo!” With that, you began to walk away.

“She’s joking… I think.” You heard Nagito say behind you.

“I’m not!”

“...I’ll go with her. Ah, we’ll see you all at morning delegations- hey, wait up!”

[honeytae]

Is this the wife material you’ve been waiting for?

hello my lovies, happy wednesday! i hope you guys are having a great week, but if not...i’m here to provide you with some seokjin mega fluff. it’s got little actual plot to follow along with - however, i think it’s sweet, so hopefully you guys like it!

tags: @ahgasearmyfan, @hoseokayy genre: fluff word count: 1.8k

Coughing as smoke billowed up off the pan, you tossed the lid to the side, eyes burning as you blinked them through the hot air of the oven space. 

“Shit.” You cursed as the fire alarm began beeping above your head, reaching for the dishtowel on your kitchen counter and, in a panic, jumping up to bat at the alarm in a desperate attempt to silence it. 

This was not how you wanted tonight to go. 

All you wanted was to make a nice meal for Seokjin to come home to. It was your anniversary, after all, and he’d been working all damn day. 

You already felt bad enough that your dinners were either takeout or something your boyfriend could whip up after work, since your inability to cook was absolutely hazardous to the building and the people in it, as Seokjin had lovingly informed you after you tried to cook the last time he wasn’t home. 

But even trying your hardest wasn’t enough, which was evident by the smoke exuding from the pot you’d desperately thrown into the sink to put cool water in, the blaring of the smoke alarms in your apartment, and the panicked “what the hell?” coming from your boyfriend as he walked through the front door.

The next thing you knew, he was directly beside you, arm still cradling his bag as he’d rushed in to the chaotic scene in the kitchen. His arm easily reached the smoke alarm on the ceiling, hitting it a few times before he successfully silenced it. 

Glancing around the kitchen with wide eyes, he returned his gaze to you, curled into yourself as you leaned against the counter in shame. 

“Hey,” he greeted briefly, “what happened?” He asked, his tone exasperated as he tried to piece together how the kitchen could’ve possibly gotten to this state in the amount of time he’d left to retrieve some clothes he’d left in the practice room the other night. 

“I can’t fucking do this.” You whimpered, your tone causing Jin’s eyes to soften immediately as he reached forward to pull you into his arms, his palm cradling your head against his shoulder as his other hand landed on the window, pulling it up to allow some smoke out of the hot room. 

You sniffled into his chest as he hushed you, mumbling sweet words to calm you as your fingers clung onto his shirt. 

“Okay, it’s okay. Come with me, love.” His warm voice soothed into your ear, you wordlessly following his lead as he guided you out into the living room, allowing him to sit you down on the couch with a quick peck to your forehead. 

“I’m going to go clean up, then I’ll be right back. Okay?” He asked gently, rubbing at the top of your spine as you nodded slowly. 

“I’m sorry.” You said, not knowing what else to say as the sweet man who’d just stepped in the door was about to clean up another one of your messes. And, not to mention, figure out an alternate dinner plan.

You kept your eyes on the ground as Jin dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands placed on your own as he dipped his head to try to catch some eye contact. 

“Hey, none of that, sweetheart. You don’t need to apologize.” He soothed, rubbing his palm up your thigh before his hands went to your own, picking up your fingers one by one to inspect them. 

“You’re fine, right? No burns or other injuries?” He questioned, you shaking your head in response and causing him to hum in approval. 

“Good. Because guess what? That’s all that matters.” He said, causing you to sigh as you lifted your head to finally look at him. 

“What if I told you I burnt your favorite pan beyond repair?” You mumbled, the man shaking his head with a purse of his lips.

“I don’t care. Pans are replaceable.” He said, threading his fingers through your hair to push it back behind your ear as you huffed a breath past your lips. 

“I’m still sorry.” You pouted, the man’s features crumbling into a chuckle as he shook his head, rubbing at your shoulder with a comforting palm. 

“You’re so silly to think I’d care about a pan.” He teased you, causing you to crack a smile as you met his eye for the first time since his entrance. 

“I care about the pan. And I’m buying you another one, whether you like it or not.” You quipped, Seokjin’s shoulders shaking as squeaky chuckles escaped his mouth. 

“Silly.” He said before leaning in to press his lips to the tip of your nose. 

“Now you sit here and look pretty while I clean up.” He directed you, coming to a stand with a point of his finger, leaving it up at you as he backed out of the room. 

You giggled at his actions, his eyes remaining on you challengingly until he rounded the corner of the kitchen doorway, at last obscuring your view of the man. 

Sighing, you looked around the living room, thinking of what you could possibly do to make it up to him. Him. The man you’d been with for four years today. Grunting, you stood up to further examine the room, opening drawers and cabinets to inspect their contents as your brain whirred with ideas. 

Spotting the collection of candles you stashed away for special occasions, you quickly snatched them into your hands, shutting the door behind you and setting out for the hallway closet.

Grabbing the table runner, you hastily ran to the dining room, lining the table with the fabric and placing the candles inches apart from each other to make an evened out display. 

Sneaking into the kitchen in search of matches, you thanked your lucky stars that Seokjin had his back to you with the faucet running, as he could no longer see or hear you when you snatched the flame starters in their little carton from one of the drawers. 

Scratching the wood against the strip on the box, you lit a match to hopefully light all of them, dipping the flame down into the glass candle cases and continuing the action with each one. 

“What happened to sitting still and looking pretty, love?” 

You nearly jumped at the sudden arrival of Jin’s voice from behind you, turning around with a small smile as he leaned against the wall across the room from you. 

“That’s your job, Jinnie. Come over here and sit.” You directed him, the man’s face contorting into a beautiful full smile as he pushed himself off the wall to make his way over to you. 

Pausing his steps, he instead stood in front of you, his eyes checking out the details of the table you’d built in his absence.

“Cooking is a definite no.” You sighed, turning to look back at your handiwork with a gesture of your hand to the simple decorations you’d put on the previously blank surface.

“But setting the table,” you started, Seokjin raising his eyebrows in amusement, “that I can do.”

Your boyfriend chuckled in response, bringing a smile to your face as he gripped your hand in his to pull you into his chest. 

“I love you.” He cooed, your nose scrunching up in response at the sudden affectionate tone he used before you repeated the sentiment back to him. 

“This is actually really good.” He admired the table again, making you scoff at the man’s amazement at the simplest candles lined up on a runner. 

“Why don’t you set the tables at our wedding?” He asked abruptly, making your chest erupt in butterflies at the mere idea of marrying the man in front of you.  

“I can make that happen,” You agreed, “but there’s going to have to be some kneeling and a ring first.” You teased, the man’s lips curling into another smile before his face faded into a more serious expression. 

“Okay.” He said simply, confusing you as he stared back at you. 

“Okay?” You chuckled, face falling when he wordlessly dug a hand into his jean pocket, producing a small black box between his fingers. 

Your mouth dropped open at the sight, widened eyes meeting his own as his pupils seemed to trace your features. 

“Jin.” You whispered, allowing him to hold your hand in his with a pounding heart. 

“You alright with this?” He asked in just as soft of a voice, you nodding eagerly in response as you grinned at him. 

“Is nearly burning our entire building down what you’re into? Is this the wife material you’ve been waiting for?” You chuckled through your shock, the man’s eyes crinkling as he giggled.

“Abso-fucking-lutely.” He smiled, lifting your hand to his face to press kisses to each one of your knuckles, holding you appendages in his as he lowered himself to his knee.

”I love you so much. Kitchen fires and all.” He teased, squeezing your hand in his as you giggled down at him. 

“You are absolutely the only one I want, forever. You’re the only person I want to share my bed with, the only human I want to be close to all the time, the only one I ever want to burn all my pans.” 

At his last addition to the speech, you chuckled, bowing your head for a moment as your cheeks heated up before lifting your gaze to smile back at him. 

“You make my life so full.” He whispered, the tenderness in his words causing a tear to trickle down your cheek before reaching up to swipe at it with your thumb. “Please marry me.” He continued, making your eyes prick with more tears at those words you knew were coming, yet not emotionally prepared at all to hear them fall from his lips directed at you. 

“Yes, I’ll marry you.” You chuckled in bewilderment, Seokjin smiling so big that you could for the first time through the ordeal see the tears brimming in his eyes. 

Vision blurring with more unshed tears, you barely registered Seokjin slipping the ring snug onto your fourth finger before you were desperately tugging him up from the ground into a hug. 

He only got halfway up off the floor before you were seated on his thigh, his opposite knee supporting his weight as it remained down on the ground. Your fiancé easily intercepted your frame with a watery chuckle, rubbing his palm up and down your back as he lightly swayed your bodies back and forth. 

“Oh my god, I love you so much.” You spoke into his shoulder, sniffling as you only slightly pulled your face out from where you’d tucked it into his shirt. 

“I love you so much.” He spoke tenderly, swiping his thumb underneath your eye to catch a fallen tear with an adoringly smile. 

“We’re getting married.” You wept, Seokjin squeezing you to him with a sniffle as he nodded.

“We’re getting married.”

[legends-live-in-memories]

Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century

AYO! Day 2 of MGI Trope Tussle! Team Enemies-to-Lovers for the win. I bring you another oneshot. but this time i used 3 prompts like a dumbass.

Fics Masterlist

Daminette Oneshot 4.3K words (no warnings except slight cursing)

Summary:

“Marinette is invited to the Super-Rockin' Wedding of the Century and she needs a date. Alya is both her best and worst wingman.”

Day 2 of MGI Trope Tussle, I used 3 prompts to make this thing: 1. "You don't have to like me, you just need to pretend you do." 2. "I like your costume. You look very cute." "Are you making fun of me?" 3. 'Write about a very unusual wedding proposal.' this is the culmination of all my efforts.

without further ado:

It was the biggest news on the internet. Global sensation, international rockstar, Jagged Stone, was officially engaged to childhood friend turned manager, Penny Rolling. Memes and fan theories stormed every corner of the web. Trending topics including #rockstar_wedding and #RollingStone permeated every social media platform. Guest lists were speculated, dress designers were tagged in every post that even mentioned the words ‘wedding’ or ‘bride’. It was total mayhem but none felt it worse than up-and-coming Parisian designer, M. D. Cheng, privately known as Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

The young adult was up to her neck in design templates, and was drowning in half-baked ideas and sketches. While the internet has only heard about the proposal for a solid two weeks at this point, Marinette was in the know for six months. Jagged Stone had contacted her in advance because he needed her help with the proposal itself.

And what a proposal it was.  

Jagged had outlined his idea in simple terms but it was still so mind-boggling that Marinette needed him to draw some visual aids to completely convey his idea. Initially it sounded simple enough but the more the man spoke, the more Marinette felt her brain fry at the mental picture. It first involved recreating a scene from Penny’s favourite movie. Which sounded rather romantic, if you ignored the fact that her favourite movie was Bride of Chucky. Then it involved Jagged dressed as the Tinman from Wizard of Oz. Oh, and the proposal had to happen on Halloween because that was the anniversary of their first date apparently, and based on everything else this plan entailed it might as well have been. Marinette’s role in all of this was to simply re-make the white wedding dress Chucky’s bride, Tiffany, wore because Penny already had the leather jacket to match. Of course she did. She didn’t even want to know how Jagged acquired the Tinman suit. Not her barrel of monkeys.

While many thought Jagged was the eccentric one of the pair, due to his loud personality and being an actual rockstar, the more Marinette worked for the two of them over the years, the more she learned how absolutely wrong they all were. It turned out it was Penny’s idea for Jagged to dye his hair purple, and she was the one to ask him out on Halloween all those faithful years ago. Her calm and collected demeanor was an impressive cover for the absolute weirdo she actually was. And Jagged had planned a proposal that was undoubtedly perfect for her. Regardless of how abso-fucking-lutely bizarre it was.

To each their own and let’s move on.

The set-up for the proposal started with Jagged, dressed as the Tinman, playing the part of Chucky, who begins the body-switching chant from the movie. Everything from that point on was resting on Penny’s love for the movie. Without hesitating, Penny, dressed as Tiffany, and playing her part, knew the lines by heart and immediately began reenacting the scene with Jagged. Her lines involved telling ‘Chucky’ to kiss her while she reaches for a knife that’s supposed to be in his pocket. Instead, as Jagged was still dressed as the Tinman, Penny pulled out a slip of paper. On said paper, the words ‘All the Tinman wanted was a heart’ were written in Jagged’s almost illegible chicken scratch. When Penny was distracted with the piece of paper, Jagged had gotten down on one knee and pulled out the engagement ring. The actual words of his proposal were never actually said because, upon seeing the ring, Penny flung herself into the man, clipping her chin into his metal-plated shoulder, but she wasn’t complaining.  

So that was how the proposal went.

Wedding planning started almost immediately since the newly engaged had already picked a theme. And this is where Marinette began to regret every life choice she has made since she was thirteen; starting with opening the mysterious box she found on her desk and ending with agreeing to being the main designer for the Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. One thing that wasn’t well-known but not a secret about Jagged was that he was a superhero fan. He grew up enjoying the fictional ones in his childhood comic books and he adored the real ones he witnessed in his adult life. His song that he dedicated to the teenage Ladybug was only one part of his… appreciation. His hero-worship went so far as to beieve that a hero-themed wedding was appropriate. Or he didn’t, but also didn’t care about adhering to societal propriety and went with that theme anyways. So the Rockin’ Wedding of the Century was now the Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. And twenty-three year old Marinette was incharge of the entire wedding party’s outfits.

Perfect.

As a small mercy from some god, both the bride and groom to-be had a rather short list of people in their parties. Marinette was also able to design appropriate hero-themed outfits for all of them and scheduled them for fittings in the coming weeks. That, surprisingly, was the easy part as there were plenty of heroes to draw inspiration from. However, that wasn’t the cause of her current crisis right now.

No. Marinette was up to her neck in unnecessary designs and ideas because she’s been avoiding one particular contingency in her acceptance of the wedding invitation.

She needed a date.

She needed a date because she had promised Penny that she wasn’t overworking herself and to prove it, she would bring a date to the wedding. Rather than call any of the people who expressed interest in her at some point in time, she designated herself to wallow in her situation and distract herself with designs. In the midst of her one person pity party, her phone rang under the sea of ripped out pages. She scoured for the device and hastily answered before she could accidently send the caller to voicemail.

“Hello?” She didn’t check the caller ID and was delighted at the sound of her best friend answering her.

“Marinette! How’s it going over there?” Alya’s voice was mixed in with the busy street life of Metropolis. She had moved there immediately after high school, snatching an internship with the Daily Planet and attending the local community college. She and Marinette don’t call often due to time differences, but when they do it’s like they’ve never parted. She always looked forward to her calls.

“It’s going great, Als,” if she ignored her current dilemma, then yeah, everything was perfect. “But you wouldn’t happen to have an available bachelor willing to be my date to the ‘Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century’ in your back pocket, would you?”  

Alya’s answering laugh was both comforting and teasing and Marinette felt herself missing her even more. What she said next, however, took Marinette by surprise.

“Actually I do.”

“Pardon?”

“Well,” she took a pause to build suspense. “I know a guy who knows a guy. But it’s nothing shady, I swear.”

“That’s not comforting.” Oh god. What has she unintentionally signed herself up for?

“You know my coworker, Jon? The guy who does the photography for all my field work?” Alya had met Jon as soon as she had started her internship. Both of his parents were top journalists at the Daily Planet so he volunteered to act as tour guide for all the new interns. He and Alya, from the exasperated stories Marinette has heard from Nino, got along like a house on fire. If he was involved, Marinette was starting to doubt even further that this was going to end well for her.

“Yes, I know Jon. How is he by the way?”

“He’s fine, but I remember him telling me how he tried to set up his best friend on several dates over the years and how they all ended poorly. He’s as approachable as a brick wall; not just a prick but the whole damn cactus. Or so Jon says.” How does that sound like someone Marinette wanted to bring along with her to the wedding? “But he’s totally your type so I could ask Jon to wrap him up in bubblewrap and send him your way whenever you want.”

“How,” and Marinette said this with a lot of feeling, “is he my type exactly?”

“Green eyes with daddy issues.”

“ALYA!” Marinette was absolutely floored at her bluntness. She wasn’t even sorry about shouting into the receiver.

“Am I wrong? You have a type and he fits that type. Jon mentioned how this guy and his dad hit several roadblocks when they first met. And I’ve seen pictures of him so ‘green eyes’ checks too.”

“That is not my type of guy.” She can’t believe this was how this conversation was going.

“Adrien.”

“I didn’t even know who his father was at the time, Alya.”

“Felix.”

“His dad is dead! That doesn’t count as ‘daddy issues.’” She can feel her cheeks flaming as the call went on. Any hotter and she was going to set her sketchbooks on fire. “Besides, I dated Luka so he doesn’t fit the criteria.”

“He’s an outlier and that’s only because his eyes are blue.” Okay, fine she had a type. “And besides, you don’t even have to date the guy. You only need him to accompany you to the wedding and you both go your separate ways after. No harm, no foul.”

Right. That was true. No strings attached. She could do that.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but,” she held her breath and let it out loudly, ignoring Alya’s chuckle at her dramatics.” Give Jon my number to give this guy. And send his number to me.”

“Wahoo! Look at you, girl,” Alya was hooting and hollering over the speaker and Marinette found herself going along with the theatrics. “Okay, I will. But I gotta go, my cab is here. Bye!”

“Bye! Stay safe. Oh before you go, what’s Jon’s friend’s name anyways?”

“Uh, Damian, I think.” The call ended before Marinette could respond, but it was okay she mused. Tossing her phone onto her couch, she flopped down onto her floor and stared at her ceiling contemplatively.

What could go wrong?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Alya had described this Damian guy as ‘not just a prick but the whole damn cactus,’ she was right. Marinette had been texting back and forth with Damian for a month, and the guy was making this idea seem less and less worth it by the day. Whenever Marinette tried to learn more about the guy, he would ghost her for days on end before replying with a half-assed response at best. She knew nothing about him other than that his first name was Damian and that he was from Gotham. She had no idea how the ball of life that was Jon was even friends with someone like Damian. She asked as much to Alya in their most recent call.

“How did they even meet?” She was pacing the floor plan of her apartment, ready to tear her hair out. “Did Damian bully him in school or something?”

“Apparently their dads knew each other and introduced them,” Alya sounded half awake, stifling a yawn; probably because Marinette had called her at 1 am, Metropolis’s time. “Their brothers being friends also forced them to get along.”

“And that’s another thing!” Marinette had paused in her pacing and was now staring intently at a potted plant in the corner of her living room. Any more rage in her glare and the plant would have wilted and died. “He doesn’t tell me anything about him. I don’t need to know all his personal information, but if he’s going to be flying out to Paris on my behalf, I think I at least deserve to know his last name.”

“Hey, M,” another yawn echoed through the speaker, “I love you, truly, but maybe this could wait for holier day time hours?”

“I guess,” a vindictive part of Marinette felt like this was payback for all those inopportune calls when Marinette was busy with clients. “Sorry for interrupting your sleep.”

“It’s no big deal. But have you tried talking to him about it? If he’s ghosting your texts, try calling him. If he ignores you then too then maybe you should try finding another person to be your plus one.”

“The wedding is in two weeks, Alya!” Marinette partially regrets waiting so long to vent her frustration about the situation but she had tried to tough it out. “I would have much preferred if you were my plus one. You sure there’s no way to convince your parents to skip out on the family trip?”

“Sorry, M. Once the news about the proposal hit the internet, I tried everything. I even tried to use work, saying that I could cover the ceremony for the newspaper. My folks won’t budge though. My dad’s aunt is important to him and he wants us all at the funeral.”

“Right, right, I forgot about that.” Now she felt like an ass. “Send you dad my condolences when you see him again.”

“Will do. Good morning, Marinette. And don’t worry too much about the guy. Everything will turn up great. I can feel it.”

“Thanks, Alya. Good night, get some sleep.”

The line went dead and Marinette let out a rather weary exhale. She had no idea how this was going to work. She pulled up her contacts and searched for what she had Damian saved as.

‘Douche’ flashed on her screen and she hit the call button without remorse. She didn’t care that it was also currently 1 am in Gotham. He didn’t deserve that much consideration from her.

“What?” His voice was gravely and deep. And also really pissed if his clipped tone was anything to go by.

“Damian? Hi, this is Marinette, the girl you’re accompanying to the wedding in two weeks?” Her voice was pitched as if she was dealing with an irritating customer. Fake and polite.

“I know who you are. Why are you calling me at this unreasonable hour?” Fair, but Marinette was still aggravated at him so she wouldn’t concede.

“I’m calling because we need to talk.” She heard him scoff over the line and she felt her blood boil even hotter. She took several calming breaths to reign her temper in. “Don’t hang up.”

“Look,” She didn’t give him a chance to refuse and kept talking, getting everything off her chest. “This wedding is important to me and I promised the bride I would bring a date. After that you can delete my number and we never have to speak to each other ever. You don’t have to like me, you just need to pretend you do.”

“Whatever,” he sounded less annoyed from when he first answered the phone. “I will act as cordial as the situation requires, and nothing more. I also have my attire secured for the wedding and accommodations in Paris already prepared. I will see you at the wedding.”

“Than—” The sound of the call ending interrupted her and her frustration was back tenfold. With a cry in anguish she flung her phone onto her couch and stomped into her kitchen to channel her rage into baking.

Three loaves of bread and a dozen eclairs later, Marinette felt calm enough to finish the final touches on her outfit for the wedding.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the day of the Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. The Rolling-Stone’s, as they were asking to be called, had kept the ceremony small. Relatively. Only two hundred invited guests, few of which were asked to bring a plus one. Marinette was over the moon at the array of outfits people were sporting. Some chose full-on cosplay while others, like herself, went for more subtle nods to the heroes. In honour of a previous Ladybug, Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, Marinette based her outfit off of Wonder Woman’s uniform, Hippolyta’s daughter. A navy blue sequined halter top bodice that flows into a blood red A-line skirt. She paired it with a thick silver belt, silver gladiator heels rather than boots and broad silver arm cuffs. It was simple but effective. Besides, all attention should be on the bride and groom today.

A tap on her shoulder caught her attention and she turned only to come face first with red with black spots. Ladybug. Someone chose her as inspiration. How flattering. Looking up to see who was wearing the Ladybug-themed suit jacket, she stared at a pair of deep forest green eyes and a sneer to ruin that ridiculously handsome face. She recognized him from the photo Alya had sent some time ago. Damian.

“Hi, Damian,” at least one of them had to be civil and Marinette knew it was going to be her. But the idea that of all the heroes for him to choose from he chose her sent her into poorly stifled fits of giggling. Images of him going ‘Lucky Charm’ and ‘Miraculous Ladybug’ were almost too much to bear.

“I don’t know what’s so amusing about my choice of attire,” his face was starting to flush in similar shades to his jacket and that made Marinette laugh harder. “Ladybug is a well respected heroine and I thought it appropriate to pay homage while in her home city.”

“No. No no. There is nothing wrong with it. I like your costume, you look very cute.”

“Are you making fun of me?” His irritation was rather cathartic for the still giggling woman.

“No, I just didn’t think you would have put that much thought into your outfit for today. You always gave me the impression that you were ready to back out at any time.”

“I made a commitment and I had all intentions to see it through the end.”

“Could have fooled me.” And her snark was back. Now was not the time to pick a fight with the guy, he did fly all the way to Paris on her behalf after all.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” and Marinette wanted to know how he managed to sound so condescending with that statement. “How did you even get an invitation to this wedding anyways? You’re not a celebrity and you don’t look like family either.”

“Actually,” she said it with more force than what was probably necessary but his slightly accusatory tone was just so irritating. “I am the lead designer for the wedding party,” her chest was swimming with confidence at the chance to talk about her job. “I’ve worked with the bride and groom for years; M. D. Cheng, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Marinette will deny to her grave the rush of satisfaction at the absolute gobsmacked look on Damian’s face. A real fish out of water. Mouth open wide ready to catch flies. She wished she could capture this moment forever.

The moment was over too soon because Damian was regaining his composure and slipping into his default stoic expression. He cleared his throat and fixed a look at Marinette. It was rather intense.

“I believe I owe you an apology then.” He looked put-out at admitting something so menial. “I believed you were nothing more than a socialite chain climber.”

“A what?”

“When Jon reached out to me saying that a friend of one of his coworkers needed a date for an event, and when that event turned out to be the wedding of someone of such popularity, I figured you were only trying to increase your own social status by showing up with me on your arm.”

“And you said ‘yes’ anyways?” Marinette was confused but pieces of the mystery that is Damian were starting to fit in place. But something else stuck out as odd to her. “Also, how would you being my date increase my social status anyhow?”

He scoffs before answering. Bitch.

“What? It wouldn’t be the first time one of Jon’s set-ups ended that way. Besides, we’ve had an agreement that I can’t turn down an offer until meeting the person face to face.” Weird deal but some friendships are just like, Marinette supposes. “And being seen with me is enough to make anyone more popular.”

“...And you are?”

“Damian… Wayne…” He spoke as if he was talking to a small child. As if it should be obvious who he was like he was some celeb— Oh shit.

A name had flashed into her mind. On the finalised guest list, Marinette had only seen it once in passing, there was a name that belonged to someone Jagged was rather excited to see. He said the friend was an old college buddy. She remembered that much. She had completely forgotten that ‘a billionaire playboy’ was also attached to the name. Damian was the son of Bruce Wayne. Suddenly everything in the past few months made perfect sense. The cold shoulder, the ghosting, and his prickly disposition. He was overly guarded because he had justified reasons to be. Now she felt like an ass.

“Oh.” Real intelligent, Marinette.

“Oh? What, you didn’t know?” He sounded incredulous at the notion and he had every right to be. Marinette could only shake her head. Words were failing her now, her brain trying to rewrite the memories of every interaction the two ever had.

She was saved from further mortification by a call for everyone to find their seats. The wedding was about to begin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ceremony was beautiful. Penny’s dress was a silver grey, tied back with a golden belt. Instead of a long train, Marinette had attached a black cape that shimmered in the right lighting. Penny wore a tiara with two peaks to imitate the ‘bat-ears.’ A Batman-themed wedding dress was not something she ever saw herself making, but she was proud at how beautiful and confident Penny looked in it. Jagged was adorn in a royal blue suit with bold red lapels. He also had a matching red cape. His hair was styled in the familiar sleek way Superman wears it. The two made quite the pair.  

The reception was a lively affair. Jagged had dedicated several songs to his new wife and they dazzled the crowd on the dance floor. Marinette didn’t pay much attention to the speeches beyond a quick glance at Damian when his own father stepped up to the podium. He had buried his head in his hands, looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. A courtesy pat on the back was all Marinette gave to him.

The two hadn’t really spoken much since the revelation that they had completely misjudged each other. The awkward tension was almost palpable. As Marinette was gathering the courage to speak to him, to try and officially clear the air, she was being dragged by one of the bridesmaids onto the dancefloor. It was time for the bride to throw the bouquet. All the unmarried women were being corralled into a tight cluster and Marinette got swept up in the tide.

Marinette wasn’t focusing on the actual game, trying her hardest not to get trampled, when she saw something move in her periphery. Years of being Ladybug had left her with finely honed instincts so she could not be blamed when she immediately jumped and caught the incoming object. The bouquet. She had caught the bouquet. Oh that was just her luck. Deafening squeals of delight brought her out of her own head and she was suddenly being embraced in Penny’s arms. She returned the hug, sharing in her delight, before breaking away to sit down.

“Nice catch.” His voice had surprised her, she hadn’t expected him to speak to her for the rest of the night.

“Uh, thank you. Just lucky, I guess.” Damian didn’t get the chance to respond because he was being dragged by his own father to join all the bachelors in catching the garter. Marinette was equally uninterested in this spectacle and had let her mind wander to other things.

A loud uproar caught her attention again and her eyes zeroed in on Damian holding the tossed garter. He made his way back over to her, dropping himself into his seat gracelessly. The two sat in silence, contemplating the implications of them both catching the garter and bouquet. The games were done purely for tradition’s sake, with total disregard of what it was supposed to symbolise. Still. One’s mind couldn’t help but wander. Minutes ticked passed and Marinette was beginning to wonder if someone was going to talk about the elephant in the room.

“So,” Damian’s voice was slightly strained, like he wasn’t used to being this flustered. It was kind of endearing. Wait what?

“So.”

“While marriage seems far out of reach for right now,” Oh god. He was going to talk about it. “How does dinner sound, next Friday?”

“Wait,” he wanted to spend more time with her? After their disastrous first impressions? “Really?”

“Really. I believe we started off on the wrong foot,” he let out a soft chuckle, almost self-deprecating. “Which isn’t really new for me, but it’s not everyday I meet someone who doesn’t recognise me at first glance. I think you’re someone who I would like to get to know better. If that is something you are also interested in.”

“Yeah,” Marinette knows all about wanting to get acquainted with someone who she’s had a bad first impression of. Just look at her past relationships. Wow, she really does have a type. Damning thoughts for later. “Friday works for me. Seven pm?”

“Perfect. I’ll text you the details then.”

“Wonderful, I can’t wait.”

The rest of the evening was spent in companionable silence with small bouts of conversation in between. They shared a couple dances on the floor and parted ways at the end of the night with budding anticipation for Friday.

As Marinette was preparing for bed that night in the comfort of her apartment, she sent a text to Alya that her friend would see later in the day.

You were right, I do have a type :(

[fbfh]

might have almost died but at least my crush likes me back - percy x gn!crush!reader

pairing: percy x gn bad swimmer crush reader

wc: 1.4k

warnings: some swearing, near drowning, water monsters, nonsexual tenticals ever look up and wonder how you’ve gotten to this point, some general dumbassery but what did you expect

summary: was charging into battle against a water monster when you practically need a pool noodle to shower a bad idea? yes. was getting rescued by percy and finding out he has a crush on you worth it? abso fucking lutely. 

requested: yuh

song I listened to while writing this: what the water gave me - florance and the machine

Okay, jumping into the water was definitely not your smartest move, especially since you still need water wings when you go canoeing in the camp lake. In your defense, you have beef with this piece of shit monster. What are you supposed to do, not beat the shit out of it when it tries to go after your friends and sink your ship? No! Plus, will kicking it’s ass possbily impress Percy? Maybe! Is that worth it? Hell fucking yes! You jump in there with a plan; you’ll charge in head first, land on its back where its’ blind spot is, and attack while it tries in vain to reach you. The one thing you didn’t expect was for it to sink below the water and keep going further down, which is where you find yourself now. 

Okay, you think, don’t panic. Hard advice to take when you’re watching the surface recede as you get dragged further down. You’re still trying to stab the bastard, but it’s not working. You know when to pick and choose your battles - literally - and it’s time to retreat. You pull out your sword and try to jump off its back, but you don’t move. You look down, another spike of panic shooting through you, making your collar bones hot and stomach drop sickeningly. 

This piece of shit has two tentacles wrapped around your feet and ankles. 

Oh fuck.

You start to swing desperately at the gelatinous arms holding you down, but your movements are heavy and sluggish, and you can’t land a good hit. A heavy, deep dread fills you as you realize the depth of the situation you’re in. Your mind is already racing with the worst possible outcome, but you try to shove that away, and return to trying to free yourself. If you’re going down, you’re going down swinging. Plus, the others will probably realize what happened, they’ll probably come in for back up any second. 

A wall of stone and sand appears to your right, and you dare to look down at the trench the monster is dragging you down into. You haven’t been down here for too long, but the panic is making you feel light headed. If you pass out down here, that will really be the end. A shadow passes over you, or maybe your vision is going dark, you can’t tell. Either way, you try really really hard not to think about how screwed you are.

A blurry, overlapping combination of Fuck! and No! are all that go through Percy’s mind as he stares at the rippling, swirling water where you were one second ago. He can’t stop seeing the tips of your hair getting dragged into the churning blue depths. Overwhelmed with dread, he feels the water was over him before he realizes he even jumped. He follows the irregular currents from the monsters wake, never wanting so badly to vaporize this bottom feeder. A steely determination rushes through him, overpowering his fear, his worry for you, and yells louder than his racing panic about how hurt you could be; he is going to get you, and you’re going to be fine.

He had left you for one second - one second! - and you somehow managed to do the dumbest, bravest, hottest thing possible and charge after that monster. He pushes aside those thoughts. 

They’re instantly replaced with a rush of hypotheticals; the feeling of your arms around his neck, how you’ll blush when he asks if you’re okay, how he’ll kiss your forehead and tell you how stupid that was, maybe your eyes lock, your hands come up to his cheeks, and- 

He stops them again, chastising himself for thinking about that at the literal worst possible time. 

‘I have to find you first...’ He muses, catching up to the monster - and more importantly, you - a moment later.

‘And there you are.’ 

His shadow passes over you, and a bubble escapes your mouth. Another hot spike of dread cuts through him. He speeds up, drawing his sword, but hesitates when he sees the tentacles holding on to you. A new plan is immediately in mind. He’s only got one chance at this, he has to line up his shot perfectly. 

He speeds down, swings one immaculate arc with his sword, and cuts you free. He pulls you toward him with his free hand, making an air bubble around your head. His nerves calm slightly as you catch your breath, returning to your normal color. 

“Stay here,” he says firmly, helping you get your footing a safe distance from the trench. You nod, hands still clutching his arms. He can’t tell what adrenaline is from the fight and what’s from you, but it doesn’t matter. He’s ending this now. 

He turns back to the monster. 

“Hey shrimp breath!” 

The beast rises, turning to look at him. It was not expecting this. He raises his sword slowly, then races forward, slicing through its weak point. It lets out something between a roar and a shriek, sending currents that almost knock you over. He jabs the thing two more times for good measure. As soon as it starts to turn to dust, he swims back over to you, pulling you into a tight hug, and rising to the surface in one fluid motion. 

You gasp when you break the surface, mostly out of relief, but the feeling of going up doesn’t stop. It takes you a second to realize Percy is waterbending you both up, arching to the side, and setting you gently on the deck of the ship. 

“Are you okay?”

It takes you a second to process everything that just happened. Your mind replays the most terrifying - four, maybe five? - minutes of your life, ending with breaking the surface, rising back up to the boat, and having Percy’s hands on your cheek and shoulder, worriedly inspecting you for any injuries. Wait, what? You realize what he asked, and sputter out a response. 

“Y- uh, yeah, I’m totally fine-”

“What the hell was that?!”

You blink in surprise as he keeps going.

“That could have gone so wrong, why would you just- just jump into the fucking ocean without a plan b, or a life vest, or something!” 

Is he lecturing you? You hold back a smile as he continues, you don’t think he’s ever lectured you before. It’s really cute. 

He pulls you close, your cheeks heating up as he presses his face into the side of your neck. You feel more grounded in his arms than you probably ever have. 

“I… I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you,” He says it so softly you almost don’t catch it. His face nuzzles against your skin, taking in your presence, and presses the smallest kiss to your neck. 

Oh.

Your mouth hangs open as it dawns on you how he feels. 

He pulls away, face flushed, and rubs the back of his neck.

“Uh, do you…” he trails off, searching your expression for an answer. 

Of course you like Percy; everyone does. You don’t know one person at camp who doesn’t like him at least a little. Camp Half Blood culture is smelling like barbeque smoke, not questioning it when you find a new bruise or scar, and having at least a small to moderate crush on Percy Jackson. We’ve all had it. The giddiness from finding out he likes you feels almost fake. You snap out of your internal spiral, realizing you haven’t answered him yet.

“Yes- yeah, of course… I mean, hello, you’re Percy freaking Jackson. There’s a mile long list of people who have a crush on you.” 

He glances to the side. You’ve never seen him smile like that, it looks good on him. He pulls you close, thumb running over your cheek, foreheads almost touching. 

“There’s only one name on that list I care about.” 

Your lips meet, and you can tell how long he’s wanted to do this. He angles his head just right, and you reach a surprising new level of euphoria you didn’t know existed. You eventually pull apart and he rests his forehead against yours, both of you catching your breath for the second time. 

His words from before replay in your mind. 

“... it is my name, right?”

He laughs and pulls you into a hug. 

‘I could definitely get used to this.’ 

Standing on the deck, holding you in his arms, Percy is thinking the same thing. 

[docholligay]

Prompt day, Rei and Michiru cook off

Rei hated the way Michiru laughed.

Not all the time, mind you, because Rei was very used to her practiced society giggle, and sometimes Michiru would even laugh in a genuine way that went all the way up to her eyes, and Rei supposed that this type of laughter was genuine too. That fact only made her madder, but it remained true. It was the sort of laugh that implied utter disbelief, like what Rei was saying was an incredible joke, and it always came after Rei stated a simple fact.

“Oh Rei,” she looked away, recovering from her laughter, “You can’t possibly be serious. Come now, let’s us decide--”

“I am so!” Rei balled her fists at her sides, “I am so a better cook than you!”

“Yes, well, if yelling made one into Gordon Ramsay, than that might be true.” She took a sip of her tea, “But as it stands, though I confess I am no great talent with a pan, I have experienced food outside of a microwave once or twice.”

“I know how to cook outside of microwave! I did great in Home Ec!” She put her hands on her hips, “I’m more Gorton than you’ll ever be!”

“Gordon, not Gorton, we are speaking of the chef, not the man on your box of fish sticks.” Michiru smiled, “and you may test that assumption at your earliest convenience.”

Haruka and Mina sat next to each other on the opposite side of the room, saying nothing, afraid to break the spell that was in front of them. Mina leaned just a little toward Haruka.

“Three hundred yen and a pizza night on Hino.” She inclined the bag of chips toward Haruka, who scoffed.

“You’re on. Michiru is like, a gourmet,” she reached her hand toward the bag, “no contest.”

“Yeah, well, you love to read fashion magazines.”

“Mmhmm,” Haruka put a few chips in her mouth, “and I--hey! Also Rei is blind?”

Mins shook her head. “She’s only blind legally. Michiru’s domestically helpless on every level, including some legal ones, probably.”

“I challenge you!” Rei bellowed, “Right here and now!”

Mina sighed and rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why she has to sound like she’s playing Yu-Gi-Oh with a bunch of kids when she does this shit.”

“Very well,” Michiru folded her napkin and laid it aside. “Shall we discuss terms?”

“I’m going to beat you--”

“Not a term so much as a prophecy, but continue, Tiresias.” Michiru smiled at her own joke, which was just as well, seeing as no one else was going to.

“And you’ll have to…”

Rei was a clever sort, and even Michiru on her most withering day would not have said otherwise, but she was also, even after all these years, a terrible hothead, and did not think sometimes beyond the winning for the sake of crushing her enemies. She could have demanded nearly anything of Michiru, were it not for the fact that the thing she wanted most was for Michiru to say she had been right.

“You’ll have to clean my entire kitchen, top to bottom! Scrubbing the grout, even.”

“My love,” Mina chewed on her chips, “Could you not pick a room we use more? Or like, maybe make her walk around the Akib--”

“Oh, do be quiet in the gallery,” Michiru slowly rose to her feet. “Very well. If I lose, your kitchen gets clean--”

“By you! Don’t try to weasel word me, Kaioh, I’ve known you too long.” Rei crossed her arms, satisfied with her own cleverness. “You have to clean it. Yourself.”

“I will do it,” she said, but with a touch of annoyance in her voice, “however, when you lose, Hino Industries becomes sponsor of a VIP table at this year’s gala for the art museum.”

“Michiru that’s like two hundred thousand--”

“Ah, now we see the price of our confidence.”

“Oh fine! You just watch! I’ll make the best--whatever it is we’re making, and enjoy the barkeeper’s friend!”

“I’m not entirely certain your mixologist’s friends might have to do with anything, but please trust it won’t be necessary for me to know.”

Haruka raised an eyebrow to Mina. “So the gala’s theme is Rome this year, if you want to be the horse pulling my chariot.”

“Don’t ask me to engage in ponyplay bud, it’s weird.” Mina clapped her hands together. “Can I suggest upping the ante with maid costumes? HIgher level of difficulty?”

Rei shot her a look. “Shut up, Minako.”

Mina shrugged. “Can’t hit if you don’t swing.”

Michiru took a book off the shelf, and opened to a random page. “There we are. Beef Wellington. I’ve had it dozens of times, how difficult could it possibly be? Is this acceptable to you? I realize Banquet has not yet released a version, so it’s understandable if you’re unfamiliar with it.”

“I know what Beef Wellington is, and guess what? We’re also going to make the pastry, and I don’t care if you DO have to do it one-handed!”

“It spares me the annoyance of having to tie it behind my back, and please be assured I would.”

Mina looked over to Haruka. “Listen I know we’re supposed to go get pizza tonight for our date, but we’re staying to watch this, right?”

“Oh abso-fucking-lutely”

[smol-and-grumpy]

Confidentiality - Chapter 1: The Conference Call

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Summary: Four months. Four long months that she’s been hiding in lockdown. So when everything starts to go back to normal again, she’s going back to work as Jensen’s handler for the first Supernatural convention after the pandemic.

Chapter Warnings: A little angst, a dash of fluff

WC: 1703

A/N: For this fic, let’s pretend Jensen is single and the pandemic was over and done with after four months. Also I’m sorry ugh, it’s been a while since I wrote Jensen. 

Beta’d by: @dean-winchesters-bacon​​ <3

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

Become a Patron ~ Buy me a coffee

It’s Monday and Y/N is sitting in a darkened room as she starts up her laptop for today’s work meeting. She had drawn the blinds already, hiding her surroundings from her workmates.

The light on the nightstand illuminates the room enough for the people in the video call to see her features. That’s all they need to see, really. 

Logging onto her laptop with her password, she clicks open the email client, and selects her calendar. The cursor travels over the highlighted block and she clicks on it, searching for the login link to the Zoom meeting. 

It’s 4.56 PM, she still has four minutes left. Wonders if she should click on the link and let the computer connect or if she should wait. She’d hate to be one of the first ones because that’s always awkward. She would spend time talking nonsense with whoever was as eager as her to join a meeting too soon. 

4.58 PM. Now is a good time, probably. Not too early and she’d hate even more to be the last one. 

Moving her mouse over the link, she clicks on it and a window with the meeting pops open. There’s another click and then she’s there, her laptop camera lights up with a green light, signaling that she too can be seen. 

Seeing herself on screen is not something she enjoys. She nervously rights her hair, arranges it so nobody will notice the hickey that she tried to hide with concealer ten minutes before. It’s a fresh one, one he just gave her an hour ago, even though he knew full well that she’s going to have a meeting. It's her own fault because she had let him, always gets so fucking weak when he nibbles at her throat.

Y/N joins as the six people are talking about something. Nonsense, she guesses. She doesn’t really listen. 

There should be ten people in the meeting to discuss the upcoming Supernatural Convention. The first convention after the lockdown. 

“Hi,” she says and waves, because that’s what every newcomer does and she’s greeted with Hello’s and Hi’s back. 

But there’s one guy already sitting in there, looking like he owns the whole fucking internet, and she doesn’t know how he does it with the lighting but he looks downright pretty. It’s not really fair. 

“Hey, Y/N,” Jensen greets her by name. Of course he does, because he likes to rile her up. He’s also the only one who’s so abso-fucking-lutely cheery. “How are you?”

She smirks, “I’m fine, thank you. I hope you are too.”

Keeping it professional, that’s what she can and will do.

“Good,” Jensen nods and opens his mouth to say something more but he gets cut off by her boss who’s taking the lead. 

Y/N doesn’t say much, doesn’t have anything to say anyway during the first ten minutes of the conversation. Lowering her face, she takes notes because it’s a prep meeting where they get informed how it will work out and to see how the spirit of the people involved is for the upcoming convention — which she’s really excited about. It has been a while. 

Jensen and Jared do a lot of talking, as they want to know the details on how to make the experience great for the fans after everyone’s been holed up for so long. And she loves that. She always loved how they actually really care, unlike other show’s leads. There are some points that still need to be talked through and Y/N just sits back and watches. She could watch Jensen talk for days, it’s really mesmerizing. 

His hair is long, his beard too. Jensen’s new look is completely different from Dean. It makes him look softer, and rounds up the edges of his jawline. The graying of his beard doesn’t make him less attractive, and that’s also something that she thinks it’s unfair. She hopes they will let him keep it for the convention. Hopes that he won’t let them talk him out of it because ‘some fans might want to meet Dean and not Jensen’. It’s going to be another month until they go back to filming, so it’s actually feasible. She’s sure that apart from a select few, the majority of fans would love to take a photo with this look and she can’t blame them one bit.

It’s going to be weird when the look is gone. Honestly, she needed some time to get used to it herself, but it has really grown on her. Maybe she’ll mourn the loss — just a little.

“So, let’s recap,” Gina, her boss, says and Y/N snaps her mind back to reality, “Jared’s flying in on Friday already because you want to visit some friends, right?”

“Correct,” Jared nods his head in approval. “You did book the hotel for three nights for me, right?” The question is directed to her co-worker, Julian, who’s responsible for the boys' travel arrangements. 

“Yeah, I did,” Julian says with a nod of his head.

Gina nods, “Good, so Jensen, I see that you’re flying in on Saturday evening as per usual?”

“Yes.” Jensen says. He looks into his screen and licks his lips. She hates that she knows that he’s looking at her.

“I want you girls to be there on Friday evening at the latest? We’ll also go for dinner on Saturday and go over the Sunday schedule.”

“Uh, yes. I’ll be there,” Hannah and Kristin say in unison. Kristin is responsible for Misha but since Misha is also attending Sunday, she sits into the meeting as a formality.

That’s Y/N’s cue.

“I-I’m, uh, sorry, I’m still in the middle of booking my flight but yeah, I’ll be there on Friday.” 

It was a huge issue with Jensen and they’d argued today about the flight. He doesn’t want her to leave until the last possible minute but now she has the confirmation that she has to be there on Friday already.

She sees Jensen raising an eyebrow and hates him for it because he distracts her.

“Okay,” her boss nods, “Jared and Jensen, I’ll have someone picking you up.”

Jared smiles, “Okay.”

“Great,” Jensen huffs out. She can see that he’s a little irritated about something.

The others don’t seem to have noticed, but she does. Jared notices as well, but apart from him clearing his throat, he doesn’t say a word.

“Right, I need to hurry to another meeting. Boys, I’ll see you Sunday!” Gina addresses the boys before waving goodbye, and disconnects. People in the meeting follow her and disappear one by one.

Y/N too, disconnects and is about to shut down her laptop when a skype call interrupts her.

Ugh.

It’s Jensen.

As soon as she picks up, her screen lights up and the view of his face almost blinds her. Honestly, it’s like staring into the sun. Nonetheless, she rolls her eyes because of the things he pulled in the meeting. 

“Why are you rolling your eyes at me?” He asks, seemingly oblivious. 

She groans with another eye roll, “Because you tried to distract me the entire conference call!”

“Excuse me? I wasn’t the one who was trying to undress you with my eyes.”

Y/N cocks an eyebrow, frowning at him. There’s a beat of silence until he groans.

“Fine, alright, I did. Sorry, okay? And why didn’t you say that we’re going to fly in together on Saturday like we said we would?” There’s something about the way he looks and she detects disappointment. 

“As far as I remember, we did not settle on that because you ended up distracting me again and gave me a fucking hickey. And besides,” she sighs, “Nobody should know.”

“Would it really be so bad, Y/N?”

“Jensen, are we really going to have this conversation over Skype?”

“Fine,” he scoffs and stands up abruptly, walking out of the frame. 

Great.

Abandoning her laptop, Y/N proceeds to walk to the window to open up the blinds again. Walking back, she switches off the only other light source, and as if on cue, the door opens.

“Shall we have the conversation face to face instead?” Jensen asks as he barges in, walks to the bed of his guest room, and sits down. He rubs a hand through his long hair, scratches at his beard before he looks at her. 

“I rather not have it at all, but yet here we are, huh?” She strides over to stand in front of him and Jensen looks up, his features are so fucking soft, it makes her weak.

“Why don’t you want them to know? And I’m sure they would let it slide if you flew in on Saturday instead of Friday. You’re only responsible for me anyway and we’re a good team.” His hand reaches out for her, tugs at her wrist, uses his strength to pull her onto the bed with him. 

Y/N lands on her back with a squeal and Jensen takes the opportunity, looming over her and looking down at her. Her hand goes up, strokes his hair back, fingertips tracing along his beard.

“Because the only reason I’m still employed is because you let them put in the contract that you want me as your handler and no one else. They would absolutely hate it if they found out I was fucking their talent.”

Jensen chuckles, his nose touching hers, “That’s not true.”

“What’s that?”

“If anything, it’s me fucking you.” His irresistible smile makes Y/N melt a little before he kisses her. 

He lingers too long, kisses her too softly, too sweetly, knowing what effect his kisses have on her. 

Pushing at his chest, she makes him break the kiss, “I should look for a flight.”

“No,” he chuckles and pecks her lips.

“Jensen!”

“Okay, fine,” he pushes himself up, “but only because I have an interview scheduled.”

Right, he does. It’s going to be an hour long.

“You want me to make dinner to have it ready when you’re finished?” She asks while she sits up and walks over to her laptop.

“Nah, I’ll eat you,” Jensen winks before he walks out.

Chapter 2

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

[silvanable]

Idk if hcs are open and ignore me if it isnt!! Can i request an angsty ikevamp prompt? How would suitors react to an MC he likes who likes another suitor? Both suitor and MC's love can be unrequited, and MC could come to suitor to talk about her unrequited love. If you want to make it super angsty, MC could be suitor's first actual romantic interest in a very long time. Plz feel free to choose any suitor, but my favs are leo/comte. I love your writings :) thanks so much!

i know you said headcanons but i saw this as a perfect opportunity to slap down an angst filled fic because i’m not doing so hot and i can’t process emotions unless it’s written format. anyways, i hope you don’t mind!

i figured it was about time i got back to my roots, bringing the unholy angst back that started this blog— 

SO HAPPY THANKSGIVING AND WHY NOT WRECK CELEBRATE THE HOLIDAYS WITH A LITTLE ANGST, EH?

and everyone can cry with me because we all abso—fucking—lutely know that comte would sideline himself and his feelings for the better of others.

↪  GUIDELINES

✒ tags : unrequited love, comte x mc, mentioned mc x leonardo, angsty af, gn!reader mostly but love languages don’t have fucking gn terms

✒ warnings : n/a

✒ word count : 1740

It seemed this was some sort of punishment. It had to be, perhaps to make up for all the things he had done in his youth. Fitting, he would agree, but it did not lessen the pain.

Here you are, sitting in the garden with him.

A wistful sigh falls from your lips.

The things he would do to comfort you. To assure you that you were deserving of all admiration and love.

He would steal your breath with amorous kisses, only daring to relent when neither of you could last a moment longer without air. He would whisper every loving and reassuring word he could muster from his tongue. He would hold you close and keep you in his embrace until you understood how much he adored you.

He would do all these things because he loved you like any other before. You were intoxicating. The way you smiled brought warmth to his chest. The sound of your laughter was a melody he could never tire of. The scent of you was more intoxicating than any vintage wine that ever grazed his lips.

Without you, he was empty and hollow. You had brought the light back into his life. You had offered a hand to him and showed him a gentleness he believed he was undeserving of.

And perhaps he still was because your heart belonged to another.

Comte forced a small smile.

“Ma cherie,” He called your attention. Those beautiful eyes flickered away from the cup of tea in your hands and up to him. His heart still had not gotten used to such a sweet gaze upon him, yet now it was broken with sorrow.

“You said you wanted my advice on something?”

You pursed your lips in response. It seemed you were second-guessing yourself on the need to talk. Comte knew the expression you made all too well and offered a small, encouraging nod.

Another sigh escaped you, far heavier than the one before. “There’s… Someone I like and the problem is, well, they don’t seem to feel the same way.”

What a bitter irony of life.

“See,” You shifted, sitting up and twisted your hands in the hem of your sleeves, “It’s been a long time since I felt something for someone and… I don’t know— maybe I’m just over-analyzing it because they were nice.”

He understood, Comte understood entirely what you meant. After all, he was looking at the very person who had set a spark to his heart’s fire and he would never say a thing.

“Are you sure this mysterious suitor is just unaware of your affections?” He took a sip from the teacup in his hands. He tried to play it off calmly, to hold himself together.

Nothing was allowed to slip through his carefully crafted facade. It took decades to build such a gentlemanly persona and he would not allow himself to fall in shambles, back onto his old ways. No, he had to be a better man.

No matter how much this drove a knife into his chest.

You shrugged, defeated with a gesture of your hand. “I don’t know, maybe it’s because we’re just too different—personal—and don’t even get me started on time-traveling culturally!” An exasperated huff left you, somewhere between a broken laugh and squashed sob.

Comte said your name softly, “Surely there are things you have similar, things that drew you to this person,” He set the tea aside on the table between you both, “Have you confronted them about your feelings?”

As if he was one to talk about such a thing, with you just across from him, yet he hid a secret from you.

A growl of frustration erupted from your throat. “That’s the thing! I’ve tried so many times to find a good moment but any time I start, he somehow always manages to run away!” By now you were on your feet, angrily pacing through the gazebo.

“I mean, did I do something wrong? Is it because he’s a vampire and I’m not?” You vented, too caught in the whirlwind of your growing anger to notice the softness the pureblood gazed at you with.

He understood the fear of that commitment. You were mortal after all, he was not. No doubt the resident—who Comte had a growing suspicion of who, yet would not dare entertain the thought, not yet—feared their long life and falling for someone who would, eventually, pass away and leave them a broken heart.

He would love you nonetheless. If you were his, he would dare to turn you if you let him, so that he could have you to himself longer.

Selfish, yes, but if he had been fortunate enough to have your heart he would never want to let it go.

“Or is it because of the door? I don’t have to go back—hell! I’ve thought more than once these past few weeks about not going back!” You glared heatedly at the mansion. A gaze that was so fierce that the flames of it practically glowed in your eyes.

“But when I mention I might suddenly Leonardo—” Comte visibly flinched, you did not notice, “—is insisting that I go the moment I’m able when all I’ve been trying to tell him is I want to stay for him!”

How could you be so cruel and yet so gentle at the same time?

Comte had only wished you had never said his name, his closest friend. He could feel his heart twist, the ugly head of jealousy reared like a viper, but he forced it down.

He was a gentleman, one of the utmost kind.

Comte’s smile strained but to you, it was sympathetic. “You must understand, ma cherie, as pureblood vampires things are different for us.”

“Yes and?” You turned to Comte, expression twisted and asking to explain how any of that mattered. How did being different like that matter so much when you were so enamored with him that you were willing to give up everything you knew just to be with him.

“Does he not want me and just doesn’t want to tell me?” Your voice welled with emotion suddenly, “Does he think it’s sparing my feelings instead of telling me straight?” Tears gathered in your eyes.

It was painful to see you becoming so unraveled. At that moment, it took all his strength to remain poised and still, to not reach over and take you into his arms and kiss away all of your tears. But he could not be the jealous man, it was not his place, because he was not your lover. He was nothing but your host and he had to remain the courteous host for you. 

 And now of all times, he damned himself for taking that position, because it meant he would never have you.

“Perhaps he believes that not telling you will spare you of forcing your decision, of stealing the life you have ahead of you.” And to protect you from the heartache I feel now.

You sank back into your seat. A disheartened sigh fell from your lips as you put your head in your hands. “What should I do?” You lifted your head to look at Comte.

He could not resist your gaze, the way your beautiful eyes plead with him. He wanted to see that stunning smile of yours again, the one that brightened his days, the one he cherished in his dreams.

It was decided at that moment, he would see your smile again. Even if it meant he had to break his heart to have you happy. To see you happy was all he wanted.

“Let me speak with Leonardo,” He prayed you had not heard the jealousy hidden in his chest in his voice, “I’m sure I can find what is troubling my friend and spare you from any further pain.” He leaned forward, taking your hand in his.

If he could freeze time he would have, to engrave this moment in space and never let it pass. The warmth of your hand in his. How the light returned to your face with newfound hope. The sparkle in your eyes. Everything, he wanted to remember everything about you at this moment forever and preserve it.

Alas, time was fleeting, and moved on despite his desperate wishes. So he had to keep the memory, tucked away somewhere close to his heart, never to leave him even with the wear of time.

“You would?” The eager hopefulness in your voice was heart-wrenching.

“Of course, ma cherie,” He patted your hand before he reluctantly withdrew his touch, “This is an issue you have with one of my residents and I would not be a decent host to let these problems fester when they affect you so.”

You were absolutely beaming, a bright smile that could rival the sun’s own warmth and light. It was something he wished he could have basked in for eternity.

“Thank you so much, Comte,” You jumped from your seat, throwing your arms around him.

The action was so sudden it had taken him by surprise and yet before he could process and return the gesture, you drew away again.

“Thank you!” You repeated, gathering up the dishes from your tea chat, “I should go help Sebastian with dinner.” Your tone was practically ecstatic as you moved back towards the path to the mansion.

All the while Comte only smiled at you. Yet as your figure grew further and further away, fading into the gardens lush greenery, his smile began to gradually fall.

That facade of a caring, gentlemanly host shattered the moment you were gone. Emotions erupted from the tight fist that had held them at bay. Comte pressed a hand to his mouth, restraining the sounds of sorrow that threatened to burst from him. Amber eyes welled with unshed tears.

Emotions rushed over him like a tidal wave. There was no moment to breathe, not a chance to catch himself. No, these feelings grabbed hold of him and dragged him under. He would drown in them and nothing could save him now.

Comte swallowed hard and his eyes fluttered close.

The sky grew darker as time passed him by in silence.

He took a shaky breath and steadied himself, dropping his hand into his lap, as he regained his composure.

“For you,” His voice betrayed the emotions under the calm face, “For you, ma cherie, and your smile.”

[djarinslover]

Insecurities

Warnings: Slight suggestive themes, eating disorder mention (brief), angst, fluff

I had a female Reader in mind, but I did try to make this as neutral as possible

Sam-

After getting out of the outrageously fancy shower (thank you, Zemo), you were staring at yourself in the long mirror in your room. Twisting and turning to look at your body. You pinched and grabbed your thighs, face pinching in disappointment as you take note of the extra weight you gained in the past months. You didn't notice Sam sneaking up behind you. He wrapped his arms around your waist, dipping his head into the crook of your neck to press light kisses. You don't even acknowledge him, making him meet your eyes in the mirror. He frowned as he examined your face, noticing the scowl on your lips.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"Sam, do you think I'm getting fat?"

"What?!" He lets you go, moving to stand in front of you, blocking your vision from the criticizing gaze in the mirror. "Baby, why would you ask that?"

"Because I'm getting more stretch marks on my thighs and ass, and my pants barely fit anymore."

Sam raises an eyebrow, a teasing smile filling his face. He reaches down to grab your ass through your robe, bringing you closer to him. "Thick thighs save lives, baby. Isn't that what the kids say?"

"Ugh, Samuel." You push away from him with an exasperated groan, heading for the duffle bag thrown on the bed. "I'm asking you a serious question."

He hurries after you, reaching to grab your hand. He spins you around, hand tilting your head up to make you look him in the eye. He's grinning, that lovely little gap in his teeth making you feel warm. His hands run down your arms before he bends slightly, gripping your thighs. He gropes you, making you blush.

"Baby, you are abso-fucking-lutely gorgeous to me. I don't think you're fat at all. Don't roll your eyes at me."

Sam pushes you onto the bed, leaning down so his face was hovering right over your stomach. His eyes glint in the soft sunlight that's streaming though the windows. His hands run up and down your legs, chin resting on your stomach. "I don't care about your stretch marks. I don't care if your pant size goes up or down. I just care that you see yourself as beautiful as I see you." He unties your robe, leaving you bare to his gleaming gaze. "Besides, the more meat you got down here means the more for me to grab and kiss and love on."

He punctuates his sentence by swooping down to your thigh and sucking a hickey on the inside, leaving you breathless. His eyes meeting yours, a sly grin on his lips. "Can I show you how much I appreciate your body?'

"Please," you breathe out, all insecurities flying out the window.

Bucky-

"Hey, doll?"

You shrink under the covers of the large bed, trying to hide away from your boyfriend. You knew you had important stuff to take care of in Riga, but you couldn't bring yourself to get out of bed.

"Doll, what are you doing in bed? You need to get up."

Bucky goes to pull the blankets back but you hold on tight, groaning from your spot. He chuckles above you. "Let's not act like some sleep goblin, alright? Get up, what's going on with you?"

"Will you still love me even though I'm getting fat?" you mumble.

"Huh?"

You throw the blankets back to reveal your tear stained face, lips cracked and bitten red, eyes swollen. "Do you still love me even though I'm fat?"

Bucky sits next to you, bringing you into a tight hug. "Honey, of course I would love you! What are you talking about?"

"I feel like nothing fits me anymore, like everything is too tight. My arms and stomach look bigger and, and-" you begin heaving, tears filling your eyes again.

Bucky cradles your head, shushing you as you sob into his chest. He lays kisses on the top of your head, holding you as tight as possible. When you calm down, he lifts your head to kiss along your tear streaks. His breath is warm and comforting, keeping you grounded to the reality that he's here and holding you and he loves you.

You take a shuddering breath, clinging onto Bucky's shirt as he continues to rain kisses along your face. He finally pulls back, thumbs rubbing your cheeks. His eyes are so soft and blue, looking into your soul.

"Doll, I don't care what you look like or how much you weigh, or any of that petty shit insecure guys care about. I'm one hundred and fucking six years old. You think I could find anyone else to deal with my crazy ass?"

His question causes you to giggle quietly, shaking your head. "No," he laughs. "No one else would put up with me. You're stuck with me, no matter what changes your body goes through. I'm here for you."

You gaze into his eyes, knowing he's being sincere and true. You lean in, pressing your lips against his in a soft, slow, passionate kiss. You pull away breathless after a while, hands playing with the curls of his hair on the base of his neck. Your lips are still so close that they touch as you speak.

"Thank you, Buck. It means a lot to me."

"You mean a lot to me."

He kisses you again, pushing you against the bed. He begins to get frisky, groping your body as you kiss. Though you're quickly interrupted by Sam pounding on the door.

"Hey, lovebirds! We got shit to do, let's go!"

Bucky kisses your cheek, smiling. "C'mon doll. I'll show you later how much I love you."

Zemo-

Zemo placed plates in front of three of you. It smelled and looked delicious, but you couldn't bring yourself to eat more than a few bites. Sam and Bucky, however, dug into it eagerly. The Baron had been cooking for you all since he was out of prison, shocking you that he even knew how to cook. It made you think about how he probably spent nights in the kitchen with his wife and child, making dinner together with laughter and kisses.

Instead of eating, you sip on the cherry blossom tea Zemo made, listening to Sam and Bucky bicker. They were having another one of their stupid little spats, causing you roll your eyes. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Zemo staring at you intently. You glance over at him, eyebrow raised. He raises his own in questioning, gaze flitting down to your barely touched plate. Your cheeks grow warm as you realize what he's hinting at.

"NO, Bucky, end of story!"

Sam storms off, Bucky hot on his heels to fix whatever just happened. They disappeared into a room, the door slamming behind them. You became acutely aware that it was just you and Helmut Zemo in the room. Alone.

You sip more of your tea, your throat tight. You weren't scared of the Baron, just apprehensive. He was still in a robe from earlier, his hair dripping water onto his shoulders.

"May I ask why you haven't eaten? I assure you, I haven't poisoned your food."

You startle, clearing your throat as you think over your answer. "It seems great, Zemo. I'm just not hungry."

"Bullshit."

His stern reply makes you turn your head to fully look at him. He's frowning, hands resting on the marble counter. His eyes bore into yours, almost venturing to your soul. "In the short time I have been with you, I have not seen you eat a full meal. You drink, yes, but I have yet to see you eat."

You grit your teeth, swallowing a sharp retort. "It's really none of your business, Zemo. I don't remember asking you to mother me."

His frown deepens. "My wife had an eating disorder when we were younger. Freshly twenty, she was struggling with the expectations of being a Baroness. So, she stopped eating. It took me a few years to discover what was going on, but together, I helped her. You deserve happiness and health."

Tears were building behind your eyelids, your breath caught in your throat. "I just . . . I don't like myself, right now. I'm still adjusting with the blip and the deaths of my friends. And I somehow put on weight. Avengers need to be thin and agile, not fat and out of breath."

Zemo steps around the counter to stand a few steps away from you. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but I see an absolutely breathtaking person in front of me."

A shaky breath escapes your mouth at his words.

"Eat, Liebling. You need your strength."

As he strolls away, you stare at the plate before taking a bite. Just as you predicated, it was delicious.

Sharon-

"You look amazing," Sharon whispers, hands on your hips.

"Are you sure? I feel like I look huge."

"Honey, are you kidding? I want nothing more than to skip this stupid party and just stay in here with you. I mean, those new sheets do need broken in."

"Sharon!" you snort, pushing your girlfriend away.

She smirks at you, grabbing your hand. "Why do you think you look 'huge'?"

Your smile falls from your face, lip catching between your teeth. "I've just noticed my stomach looking bigger. And more stretch marks appearing everywhere. It's getting hard to feel sexy, honestly."

Sharon grabs your chin, forcing you to look at her. "Stretch marks are sexy as hell. And your stomach, babe, it's perfect. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

You try not to make a face of disbelief, but you can tell by the way Sharon's eyebrows pinch together, you didn't do a good job. She grabs your hips and begins steering you towards the couch. She pushes you roughly, making a gasp leave your lips as you flop down. She straddles your lap, running her fingers through your hair. She grabs a nice chunk of your hair, pulling your head back so you're staring at the ceiling. She starts sucking and kissing on your neck, laving over the stretched skin. She makes her way to your ear, pulling the lobe gently with her teeth.

"You're sexy as hell."

She presses her hips down against yours.

"I want to tell Bird Brain out there and his gang tough shit, they're going to have to find Nagel themselves, because I want to prove to you that you're beautiful."

She sucks a heavy mark onto your collarbone, your hands tightening on her hips. Suddenly, she pulls away. "Alas, I have business."

You stare up at her in disbelief, eyes wide. She grins, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips before hopping up. She pulls you up by your hand, rubbing her thumb soothing along your skin.

"Can I show you off tonight?"

You smile, kissing her. "As if you have to ask."

"Great. Let's go find Nagel and get back soon."

"Deal."

[ko-fanatic]

Blood, Guts and Chocolate Cake (Part 2)

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Danganronpa

Pairings: IshiMondo

Summary:

It seemed after the night before, Ishimaru was back to routine. The issue? Mondo wasn't previously aware of said routine.

TW: Alcohol, and eating disorders (both restrictive behaviours and B/P), mentions of disability, underage sex/sexualisation, drugs

Other parts: Part one

A/N: So, I reference a small headcanon of mine that Mondo has asthma. So fed up of it being seen as a "nerd" condition, so... The boi now has it. Not severe, but still.

Mondo made the executive decision to stay sleeping on the couch that night. Not that he was that bad off - the suite was VIP, after all, and the couch was comfy. he was a just bit miffed that, firstly, he had to do that in the first place because Mr Pretty Boy wanted to go clubbing, and secondly, there was a plush, California king sized bed in his room which was being tragically wasted. He hadn’t exactly had many chances to experience that sort of luxury, and he’d slept like the dead the past few nights. 

Maybe that was a problem. Had he just not realised? Some “Ultimate Bodyguard”, if that was the case. Shit… Little asshole, making him question things and get all shaky and crap. It might’ve had very little to do with Ishimaru, in full honesty, but he was too tired to think it through clearly. 

At least he did manage to get some sleep, despite being slightly cramped. He was over six feet tall, after all; not exactly made for sleeping on the couch. He’d even managed a rare, pleasant dream; dogs and cotton candy, Daiya’s obnoxious laugh and hanging with their friends in one of the many abandoned buildings they used as hangouts. They were such edgy little shits, but it wasn’t like anyone cared about the disused factories and crap. 

He’d been reliving the time Takemichi got his tongue piercing stuck in his jumper (somehow, Mondo still didn’t know how the hell someone did that), when he awoke. It wasn’t some crash or anything, just the usual sounds of someone pottering around, getting ready for the day. 

He groaned as he sat up, head pounding. He still felt exhausted, and he’d definitely drooled in his sleep. He turned to the window, and realised… It was still dark. Fucking really? After Mondo told him he wasn’t going out?

“Hold it right there,” He began, hoisting himself to his feet, doing his best not to fall straight over again, “I thought I said -”

Oh. He wasn’t wearing the tight jeans and such he was the night before. 

Ishimaru raised an immaculate eyebrow at him from where he was tying his trainers. “Relax, I’m going for a run,” He huffed, “I might as well get on with my regular routine, since someone -”

“I’m gonna cut you off right there, kid,” He grumbled, stretching out his back and arms, “What time is it? Sun’s not even out yet…”

“Owada-san, it’s winter,” The kid sighed, a deadpan look on his face, “It’s about 5:15AM.”

It was a damn good job he wasn’t drinking anything - he would have choked on it. Who the fuck even wakes up at five in the fucking morning, let alone after being awake at midnight? Not to mention the clothes. Mondo was praying, if the kid really was going to work out in some way, it’d be in a gym. Heating, shelter from the elements, a bench he could probably catch some z’s on because it’s not like anywhere’s going to be busy at five in the morning -

“Now, if you excuse me, I’m late for my run,” Ishimaru waved off, going to open the door before Mondo reached above him, slamming it closed once more. For a guy who worked out pretty constantly, it was pretty effortless to overpower his grip. Eh, guess that what comes from having lithe muscle for aesthetics, rather than the bulky stuff for actual strength. Not to mention the lack of warning  -

No, that shit could wait until later. Fucking focus, Mondo!

“You said routine… Have ya really been sneaking out every day?!” He demanded. He could’ve been a little softer about it, sure, but you have to understand; this wasn’t a good start to the job, especially if shit got out. Was he being overly paranoid? Yes. Did he not have a reason to be? He abso-fucking-lutely did! 

“It’s not sneaking anywhere,” The idol groaned, sounding very much like the stereotypical teenager in that moment, “I’m an idol. As such, I have an intensive exercise routine to stay trim, not to mention fit enough to perform my high-energy choreography. I just don’t see the need to wake you and have an irritable tough guy around me, when I can easily complete my run without dragging you the whole five miles.”

Five fucking miles?!

Oh, today was going to suck. Today was going to kick his ass and run him over with a truck. All because an idol needed to “stay trim”. Fuck, if the kid was any trimmer, he doubted he’d have any skin left. 

“Were the idols you guarded before babysat so extensively?” He kid questioned, raising an eyebrow. 

“In all fairness, you’re the youngest client I’ve had,” He grumbled, scrubbing his hand over his tired eyes, “But kid, you’ve got to tell me when you run off. Don’t care what for. You being famous, and pretty, and so skinny… I wasn’t kidding about my worry last night. Celebrities get murdered… Or worse.”

“You think… I’m…” The kid shook his head, cheeks red, gaze staring holes into his trainers, “I understand. I don’t like it - it’s suffocating! But… I see the logic.”

Mondo smiled, turning back to his room. He had to find some clothes that passed as exercise gear… 

---

Mondo knew someone had it out for him. 

He was wheezing as he jogged, trying to keep pace with Mr Trim in front of him, but lagging behind somewhat pitifully. He had his inhaler in his bag - he wasn’t that much of a dumbass - but holy fuck if this wasn’t torture. He didn’t do track in middle school. He was more than content to work on his strength and brawling skill. 

Speaking about things he was more than willing to do; laying down in the road, waiting for the next car to come along and end his misery, was getting far too attractive. 

Conversely, Ishimaru was just about breaking a sweat, panting. His insides weren’t threatening to become his outsides like Mondo’s were. Kid either had a stomach of steel, or he was just a lot more used to this shit than Mondo was - namely, the extensive train travel and exercise. 

Actually, considering the whole “Ultimate Idol” thing, it was most likely the latter. 

That was when his legs noped out of the situation, sending him stumbling and falling. He didn’t cry out, per se, so much as let out a manly grunt of surprise. 

Who was he fucking kidding? Ishimaru heard him through his headphones and blaring music. 

“Owada -san!” He called, rushing to his side in an instant, “Are you hurt?! Can you speak?! What’s wrong?!”

Ugh, so loud. 

“What’s wrong,” He grunted, “Is that someone is punishing me!” 

Maybe a tad dramatic, but holy hell! Fuck five miles, it felt like he’d run a marathon. 

“I don’t know if I royally pissed off someone up there -!”

He pointed an accusatory finger at the idol.

“Or someone down here! Like, sorry kid, but I give! Just doing my fucking job!”

Mondo watched the idol’s carefully cute and prim expression crack apart, his dignified (if far too loud) concern quickly falling into laughter and snorts. He had half a mind to be rather offended, but the carefully crafted exterior melting into those cute as hell snorts and chortling… That wasn’t even mentioning the look on the idol’s face. Pure fucking sunshine. 

Could he not be a queer disaster for five fucking minutes?!

“You’re rather funny, Owada-san,” Ishimaru chuckled. 

“Mondo.”

“Huh?” The idol barely breathed - lord above, give him strength - staring at him wide-eyed. Of course, that tends to be what happened when he let his tongue go before his brain.

“Ya can call me Mondo, none of that ‘Owada-san’ crap,” He grumbled, and he will eternally blame the heat in his cheeks on the marathon he was sure the other dragged him through.

“Oh! Well, in that case… You can call me Taka!” The kid - Taka, Goddamnit that’s cute - grinned. He was going to have to invest in those cheesy, stereotypical sunglasses if the kid was just going to unleash that megawatt smile on him without a shred of warning. Then, the kick to the crotch he really needed in that moment - 

“Now, as you’ve caught your breath, we should keep going! Obviously such a long break isn’t ideal for cardio, but we can still -”

He just flopped down once more, groaning like a man dying.

“I said sorry, didn’t I?! Ya don’t need to keep punishing me! I fucking give!” 

“Mondo,” Kiyotaka sighed, standing once more and looking at his FitBit, “Do you want to know how many miles of my morning run we’ve completed?” 

“I don’t know, ten, you animal!”

He was sent a rather disapproving, levelling look. “Two,” Taka deadpanned, “We’ve got three miles to go.”

That truck Mondo mentioned? The one the day was going to run him over with?

Yeah, it reversed for another hit.

[botwstoriesandsuch]

The reason aoc had no stakes is cuz even if we lost link would just take a nap and then wake up and murder ganon with a stick

Ok I recognize that this is a joke and I love you good job have a lil kiss *mwah* nice joke nice joke but also I am in MAJOR WRITING MODE which means that I am prompted to write essays on the storytelling process at the flip of a switch and buddy, pal, chum, mate, this is a major switch that has been flipped

Because it gets on my nerves, it’s one of my BIGGEST PET PEEVES of ALL TIME, I abso-fucking-lutely DESPISE, when people think that stakes is equivalent to life and death. I just hate it, it makes me seethe to no end. I could grip the clouds from the heavens, and my rage would make it rain upwards.

People who think stakes is just about winning or losing or living or dying, I will stake you, I will do violent crimes. You wanna know why those big superhero movies like Justice League and what not don’t work? It’s because it thinks that big giant death armies are meaningful stakes. You know stuff like Civil War, or hell even shows like Attack on Titan or Gravity Falls work? It’s because it’s stakes exist both externally and internally, and the consequences of actions exist beyond just living or dying or winning or losing.

Listen to me very closely. The reason Age of Calamity has no stakes, is because you don’t care about the characters. It’s not because of the timelines, or resurrections, or whatever whatever, no. It’s because you don’t care about the characters.

Now Ashshshshsh, yes you love your bird and fish husbands and wives very much ok yes I get that, I do too. BUT, BUT, when you look at this from the storytelling perspective, like thinking from the perspective of someone experiencing the story fresh for the very first time, with or without botw context. You did not care about the characters, you cared about the ending. That is why there are no stakes. 

Why the fuck do you care if Teba dies? Like, sure, if Teba dies, you are sad, the character that you love is dead, you might even cry! But why do you care, what are the consequences of his death, what happens if he dies, what does he, on a character level lose?

What you’re typically supposed to do to get your audience to care, is establish a character, develop them, then give them a goal and a need to attain that goal, a good goal or motivation that affects a character both externally and internally, and then when the conflict or battle comes up, you’re left with that feeling of “oh no, I really hope this character wins, because otherwise, [insert something] happens, and I don’t want that.” That’s what stakes is, in very broad concept. 

That’s why living and dying is a form of stakes, but it’s not the only one. “Oh no, this character is hurt, I really hope this character wins, because I like them, and I want them to live.” That’s you stakes. Same idea with winning and losing. “Oh no, this character is losing this volleyball match. I really hope this character wins, because they’ve worked hard to reach their goal, and I don’t want to see that go to waste.” Okay, great. 

Now the PROBLEM is, those concepts are overdone to the point of extinction, like it’s arguable that the stakes of living and dying just doesn’t exist as a strong good form of stakes in media anymore. Whether by symptom of plot armour, of predictable writing, or the establishment of modern tropes and clichés, blah blah blah, you can’t solely rely on those ideas for stakes. ESPECIALLY in the realm, of video games. I don’t need to spell out the whole living and dying aspect of it right? And the winning and losing stakes goes out the window because that concept has an entirely different meaning and tone when the player is the one in control. Essentially what I’m saying here is, on a character level, you can’t rely on those ideas as a sense of stakes because it just doesn’t have meaning. But the thing is, Age of Calamity does rely on it. And it SOME aspects, it worked. 

You have experience good stakes in this game before. You’ve probably done it on some crazy tough side mission or some interesting self-made quest to find yourself that last raw bird wing to finish up that upgrade. You yourself struggled, and understood the journey that you went through, the time that you invested to make yourself better (as big or small as it may be) at the game, and you eventually beat that level, or found that item. And you were genuinely relieved and happy. Whether you realized it or not, you were on the edge of your seat, intently focused on the task and “battle” at hand, you were invested in yourself, and the effects of the outcome of your struggle. That’s what good stakes does. That’s why so many videogames have impactful story telling.

But listen here, the reason you only experience those good stakes through the gameplay, is because you don’t need to put in the effort to care about yourself. You’re you! You know yourself, you played out your motivations and struggles. That all happens without the games help. So now the issue becomes, you need to emulate that same feeling for the story world and it’s characters. And Age of Calamity just puts in none of the meaningful work to get you care about the CHARACTERS on a CHARACTER LEVEL. It relies SOLEY on the work done by Breath of the Wild, with the exceptions of maybe Kohga and King Rhoam. And also Sidon is an exception in the sense that his relationship to his sister is a pretty decent stake (but tbh the bar is VERY LOW)

We’ve established how the stakes of winning or losing or living through a battle don’t have as much strength as motivations or stakes in this game. So, knowing that....Name Daruk’s motivation. Name a true and honest reason why Zelda shouldn’t die. And don’t tell me that “because it would make the other characters sad” because that is just a reaction to events (based on the characterization and writing work done by AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT GAME cause again Hwaoc doesn’t character develop for shit) being sad isn’t motivation, or stakes. Being sad is a normal human reaction to anything ever, it isn’t anything new, and by god it doesn’t inherently impact the world or story around you.

You know what would have been good stakes? If Age of Calamity developed the New Gen Champs a bit more and maybe one of them could say something like, “I feel it’s my duty to help stop the Calamity, because the fact that I time traveled here means that I have a big responsibility, and if we lose then I’m a failure in both this time and my own. So I need to step up to the plate that has been set for me” or something something. Or, and this is a big one, give ASTOR something to do (because stakes is inherently about CONFLICT and you can’t have good internal and external stakes when there is nothing to CONFLICT with the other characters) let Astor be like “This world doesn’t deserve to go on, humanity has made too many mistakes, I was abandonded as a child, the King murdered my mom, I need power to get revenge, or to revive some dead family member” blah blah blah pick one of the clichés but at least it would be SOMETHING. When motivations conflict, that’s what gets you to care about characters, because then it’s not just about living or dying, it about the effects of that death, or that loss. If this character dies, they died believing a lie, or believing they were a failure and I don’t want that. If this character is defeated, they won’t get another chance to save the people they care about, and I don’t want them living with regret. These two characters have sympathetic goals, and I can see the points that both sides have with their motivation, but I also like them so I don’t want them to die, oh no, what’s gonna happen. 

If you don’t CARE about the characters, and their goals, if the only thing that’s keeping you awake at night about them living or dying is “I like them” then there is something wrong. 

You didn’t finish Age of Calamity because of the characters, you didn’t finish it out of an honest desire to see these characters reach their goals. MAYBE there’s a connection you had for Zelda, but honestly compared to Breath of the Wild, it’s nothing. You finished Age of Calamity simply out of curiosity to see what happened at the end, to see what your efforts of gameplay lead up to. You had no actual character arcs to latch onto or care about, which means you had no expectations or desire to see how they would play out, no STAKES no INVESTMENT. Which means live, die, resurrect, or perma-death as you see, you’re not invested in the characters, your invested in the time you put into that media. 

[bechloeislegit]

25 Days of BeChloe Christmases - 2020

Day 1 - I'll Walk

Prompt from FanFiction User horsefurl03: Based on the song I'll Walk by Bucky Covington. Beca and Chloe are getting married on Christmas Day. Parts in Italics are flashbacks.

It was a beautiful Christmas afternoon as Beca Mitchell stood at the altar with a nervous smile on her face. She stared back at the doors Chloe would be entering from. It's taken them three years to get here, and they were finally here. Today was the day Chloe would become her wife.

Beca felt tears stinging her eyes as she thought back to the night that started the journey that brought them to here and now. Chloe wasn't going to let the fact that she was in a wheelchair stop her from marrying the love of her life. Beca couldn't help the tears that came to her eyes as her mind wandered back to the night they were both eighteen and had just attended Senior Prom.

The Prom was over for Beca and Chloe and they were heading home in Beca's car, still arguing along the way.

"I can't believe you flirted with her right in front of me," Chloe cried.

"I wasn't flirting with her," Beca said, trying to defend herself. "She was flirting with me."

"You left me sitting alone," Chloe said. "I couldn't find you for almost half an hour. And when I did find you, your hair was messed up and you had lipstick on your face. Lipstick that wasn't mine."

"I didn't cheat on you, if that's what you're implying," Beca said through gritted teeth. "The lipstick was from Stacie. She kissed me on the cheek because she was leaving early."

"I want to believe you," Chloe said, as a small sob escaped her lips. "But,-" Chloe swallowed and stared out the windshield. Chloe's voice was soft and full of pain as she said, "I love you so much, Beca. And, this was supposed to be our special night."

"It still can be," Beca replied. "We can go back and get a room like we planned."

"That's not happening," Chloe said, staring out the side window. "Pull this car over."

"What?"

"You heard me," Chloe said and sniffled. "Pull the car over. Please?"

Beca did as Chloe requested and reached for Chloe's hand.

"I don't know what you're crying for," Beca said as Chloe reached for the door.

Beca continued to hold Chloe's hand as Chloe opened the car door. Chloe looked at Beca.

"I'll walk," Chloe said. "Let go of my hand. Right now I'm hurt and you don't understand. So, just be quiet and later we will talk. Just leave, don't worry. I'll walk."

Beca let go of Chloe's had and Chloe got out of the car and started walking. Beca sat for a moment watching Chloe walk away from her. She drove off and headed home, wiping tears from her eyes as she drove.

Later that night Beca got the call and rushed to the hospital. As soon as she ran in, Chloe's mother met her and pulled her into a hug.

"What happened?" Beca asked, crying as Mrs. Beale held her. "Is she okay?"

"It was dark and she was wearing black," Mrs. Beald said. "The driver never saw her." Mrs. Beale sniffled and added, "There's something else."

"What?" Beca asked, pulling back from the hug.

"She can't move her legs."

A sound brought Beca back to the present. Beca's breath hitched when she saw the doors open and the bridesmaids walking down the aisle. Beca smiled when Aubrey, Chloe's Maid of Honor, was the last to walk down the aisle and take her place. She looked back to the doors and waited for Chloe to show herself. She couldn't help but get lost in her thoughts again.

Beca pulled away from Mrs. Beale and ran into Chloe's hospital room with tears streaming down her face.

Beca rushed to Chloe's side and Chloe looked up at her. She cleared her throat and said, "I'll walk. Please hold my hand. Right now I hurt and I don't understand. Let's just be quiet and later we can talk. Promise you'll stay and not worry. I'll walk."

"I love you, Chloe," Beca said, holding Chloe's hand. "And I promise to be with you every step of the way."

During the intensive therapy Chloe was put through, Beca was there holding Chloe's hand. She wouldn't let go no matter how many times Chloe told her she should leave her.

Chloe never gave up and Beca continued to cheer her on. Beca continued to stay, holding Chloe's hand every step of the way as she had promised.

Days turned into weeks; weeks turned into months. And two years later, Beca was still by Chloe's side through the ongoing therapy and surgeries Chloe had to endure.

One day while visiting Chloe in rehab after her first surgery, Beca took Chloe's hand as she sat in her wheelchair. With tears in her eyes, Beca got down on one knee and asked Chloe to marry her. They both cried when Chloe said yes.

They planned a Christmas wedding because that was Chloe's favorite time of the year. Beca loved Chloe so much she didn't care what date they got married as long as they got married.

One night as Beca laid holding Chloe in yet another hospital bed, Chloe said, "Ever since I was a little girl, I've dreamt of my father walking me down the aisle. I'm hoping that part of my dream will become a reality."

"You ready for this, Beca?" Stacie, Beca's Maid of Honor, asked, bringing Beca back to the present once again.

Beca looked over to Stacie and said, "Abso-fucking-lutely." Stacie laughed and looked to the back of the church. Beca followed her line of sight and saw Chloe sitting in her wheelchair, looking even more beautiful than Beca had ever seen her look. She smiled when she caught Chloe's eye; Chloe winked and gave Beca one of her famous Chloe Beale smiles. The one that put all other smiles to shame and seemed to be reserved just for Beca.

Mr. Beale started pushing Chloe down the aisle when Chloe stopped him. Beca furrowed her brow and was ready to run back to help Chloe. She only stopped when she felt a hand on her arm.

"Wait," Stacie said quietly. "Let her do this her way."

Beca nodded and watched as Mr. Beale leaned down to hear what Chloe was saying to him.

From her wheelchair, Chloe looked up at him and smiled. She said, "Daddy, I'll walk. Please hold my hand. I know that this will hurt and I know you understand."

Tears came to her daddy's eyes. "Please, daddy, don't cry; this is already hard. Let's go, and don't worry. I'll walk."

Mr. Beale straightened and moved around to the front of the wheelchair. He reached down and set the wheel locks. He then gently held each of Chloe's legs up as he moved the footrests to the side.

Beca watched from where she stood waiting, her eyes filling with tears.

Mr. Beale leaned over slightly and Chloe reached up and put her arms around her father's neck. Mr. Beale lifted her easily to her feet. Chloe stumbled slightly but he held her tight. Someone moved the chair out of the way, as Aubrey and Stacie both rushed down the aisle to adjust Chloe's dress behind her. Mr. Beale continued to help Chloe stand and then waited for Aubrey and Stacie to return to their places at the altar before placing one arm around Chloe's waist and taking her hand in his.

"You ready, Chloe?"

"I'm ready, Daddy."

Chloe took a tentative step as her father held her steady. She took another step and stumbled slightly; her father tightened his hold and mumbled, "I got you. You'll walk. Just hold my hand, I will not let you fall."

Father and daughter held their heads high as tears streamed down both their faces. The walk was slow but steady.

It took everything Beca had to stay in position and let Chloe do this on her own as tears streamed down their faces.

There wasn't a dry eye in the church as Chloe slowly made her way down the aisle with determination etched on her face, along with a beaming smile. Her eyes never left Beca's as she slowly put one foot in front of the other.

Chloe was almost to the altar and Beca couldn't hold back any longer. She walked down the three steps to meet Chloe as she reached the bottom. Mr. Beale stepped back slightly as Chloe reached for Beca. Beca grabbed her and held her up.

"We can bring the chair up for you," Beca whispered as she held Chloe.

Chloe smiled and said, "I'll walk. Just hold my hand. It's hard, but I know I can do it with you by my side."

Beca took Chloe's arm and helped her up the steps; Mr. Beale walked behind Chloe in case she needed him.

The Officiant cleared his throat and looked at Beca and Chloe.

"Are you ladies ready?" he asked.

"Yes!" Chloe and Beca said simultaneously, causing a ripple of laughter throughout the church.

The Officiant began the ceremony. The assembled guests jumped to their feet and applauded as soon as Beca and Chloe had their first kiss as a married couple.

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

Here's the link to the video for the song this fic is based on; I think it's worth a listen:   watch?v=muXJK0mrvgs