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avatarkv · 10 months

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V ! I Know it's for the better. Know it's for the better.

✎ Synopsis ! You've been thrusted to carry the burden of the eldest after his passing.

Content & warning Jake sully x Daughter!Reader, Sully kids x Sister!Reader Neytiri x Daughter!Reader. Mentions of death and violence! (wc; 5057)

Song: Waiting Room, Phoebe Bridgers.

“Can you hear me, corporal?” He chuckles, “Yeah. I think you can.”

"If you so much as lay a finger on her, consider yourself a dead man.” Your father seethed through the intercom that you could feel his very rage– it frightened you, almost more so than being captured by Quaritch. Jake wasn't the kind of man who liked to make idle threats; it was his commitment that made him the perfect olo’eyktan, but it was purely love that made him the father he is today.

You knew very well what he was capable of.

You tugged at the binds, desperate to loosen them but to no avail. Squirming uncomfortably in your seat, despair settled into your chest like lead and you felt helpless. You didn't even put up a fight to begin with; all those training, just to end up at the root of it all. You could only glare at Quaritch while he looked down at you, fingers pressing the pager on his ear.

“Now don’t look at me like that, sweetheart, you have your father’s eyes.” His remark made your gaze falter, disgust coursing through your body. “You know what to do, Jake.”

“Don’t touch her, asshole! She’s just a kid–

“Might’ve gotten a few scratches in, but nothing a few bandaids can’t fix.” Quaritch looks you up and down, a smirk playing on his lips, “Don’t worry, we show visitors the utmost respect here. I’m certain you’d know our customs around these parts, marine.” His tone is slightly aggressive and there's an air of smugness in his words– he’s provoking him, taking pleasure in knowing that he has the upper hand.

Scratches my ass. They gave you one hell of a shot on your side when they tried to kill off your ilu and they did nothing but put some ragged cloth to stop the bleeding. You knew it wasn’t any deep, but it still hurt– not to mention you’ve lost a lot of blood from their harsh tugging. You wince, thinking about it. If it wasn’t for the adrenaline coursing through your body, you would’ve been in a whole lot of pain.

“What the hell do you want?”

“Same as before. You for her.”

Their voices melted into the background, like a low hum of static passing through your ears. Despite the noise, you feel yourself attune to it after a while and allow yourself to drift away. Eventually, it tuned itself out and you were surrounded by an almost eerie silence.

Your father had said something, you remembered, something you had missed.

You had missed the looming aircraft above– unlike the usual helicopters you knew, this one flew stealthily, as if it was designed to lurk and catch even the slightest of movement. At first, they thought it was merely a lone ilu; they were now at the reef, after all. Your color blended almost perfectly with its skin, movement as fluid as the raging sea. They had shot it, grazing its fin.

“Mawey, mawey!” You had screamed in panic, trying to hold on to its thrashing body. “Dad–”

The ilu struggled, bellowing in pain. It was impossible to form a bond, let alone control your breathing– the bluish-green waters were now tainted with a faint, crimson hue. Blood; familiar blood, painful red.

“__, listen, I’m gonna find you, okay?” It was difficult to make out the words he had spoken over the loud static of the pager. The radio waves were making it hard for either of them to hear properly. Trying again, he shouted, “Sweetheart, I’m–”

From there, they had spotted you; a forest na’vi, sticking out like a sore thumb. Quaritch had most certainly hit the jackpot upon seeing that it was none other than Jake Sully's eldest daughter.

You wondered what he could have uttered in that moment before Quaritch and his people had rushed to get to you. Could it have been an apology– a sorry you’ve been longing for? Sweetheart, I’m sorry for being so tough on you. I’m sorry we had to leave home– leave him. I’ll find you and you’ll be okay. We’re going home.

But the thought of facing his disappointment again plagued you; once it had been his love that held you together, but now this fear kept your feet firmly planted on the ground.

Sweetheart, I’m disappointed in you– how could you put yourself in this situation? How could you put everyone in danger again? What would Neteyam think? I’m tired, __. You tire me.

Yeah, that was surely it.

Your eyes wandered around the room; the unfamiliar white walls reminded you just how far away from home you were and perhaps this time, you could never return.

Quaritch grabs your braid in his fist, tugging on it with a vice-like grip and forcing you to look up at him. You stifle a cry of pain, feeling the throbbing ache all across your scalp as his grip tightens around it. He tugs on it further, wanting a sound out of you, but all you could let out was a loud hiss. “Can’t hear your father, darling, think we have to put on a show.” He sneers, “You must not really love your children, Jake.”

“I understand already–! get your fucking hands off her!”

“I don’t think you understand, really.” Quaritch taunts.

A beat of silence passes before your father's desperate voice echoes through the intercom. “Please,” he pleads, “Don't hurt my daughter."

“There we go,” He finally releases your hair, “I’ll be waiting, Jake.”

Quaritch removes the pager, discarding it on the table just in front of you.

“You must be very disappointed in yourself,” A low hiss erupted from your throat as you gazed upwards. He sat in front of you, mockingly close, yet far enough that you couldn’t do anything but glare. “Does this not remind you of a familiar night?”

“They are coming for you,” Your tone was menacing– livid, as the words snarled from your lips. “And when they do, you’re gonna wish that you’ve let yourself rot in that shack.”

It flashed through his mind– a glimmer of your mother that burned fiercely; a warning. Quaritch straightened his posture, chuckling. “That traitor is coming to save his dear daughter in distress, much like your brother had. We know how it'll end.”

“Not until he kills you first,”

“You’re in a different boat, kid, away from the main one. What happens if I tell him he’d been too late and I got bored?” He shakes his head, snickering, like he had figured it all out– like he had carefully planned for everything to work out just so.“That this kid had too much of a mouth on her that I had to cut her throat?”

His words had struck you– a low blow. You feel as if your mouth has suddenly gone dry and the lump that appears in your throat lodges itself there stubbornly, refusing to move. No words came out of your lips, but a pathetic low sob. He was going to kill your father and he could succeed in doing so. “You’re one sick man.”

“You know your brother didn’t have to die,” His voice held no remorse and you wondered how someone could sleep so soundly. He stands up, dusting his pants, “But your father had it coming. Now stay here and be a sweetheart.”

Before he walked out, Quaritch had looked down on you one last time. There, you realized that you doomed yourself beyond salvation. You were nothing and he made sure of that— had cut you on a barely healing wound and now it reopened, bleeding more than ever.

Eywa must’ve turned her back. No child of hers would have suffered such trouble– and you were young. So young, you think that the stories of her were absurd. One more miracle, you needed just one more.

The lights dimmed when the doors closed, leaving you in the dark with your thoughts.

They were arguing again.

Tuk was nestled close to Kiri, the two of them huddled together in front of the table. Lo'ak sat on the other side, rising slightly from his seat in an effort to eavesdrop and make out whatever he could hear from their parents’ conversation.

Something was off and gravely so. Nothing ever good rooted from a fight and they barely do, not until the past occurrences. It had to be the sky-people.

“I don’t feel so good,” Tuk muttered, her grip tight around her belly as if she could hold in the pain. “The last time this happened was when we left our home.”

“We’re not leaving, Tuk.” Kiri quickly assured her.

Their meal had gone cold and the silence was deafening. They all waited with baited breath, trying not to fidget or move. The suspense was growing thick in the air and they didn't know how much longer they could bear to remain idle, wondering what the hell was happening.

As if their prayers had been answered, Jake hurriedly walks inside, eyes falling to his panicked children. It made his heart more and more heavy, but he couldn’t bring himself to comfort them. Neytiri had already gone to Ronal’s

“Kids,” His voice was low and firm, and it made his shoulders stiff in anticipation, “Make sure everyone stays here. No one goes out the reef, understand?”

“Wait—” Lo’ak abruptly stands up, staggering to his feet. “What’s happening? Where’s __?”

“They took her.” It was all the answer he needed. The sky-people had found them. “Lo’ak, stay here with your sisters. I mean it.”

“You can’t expect me to stay here while __ is in danger—”

“I need one child! One child to listen when I tell them to stay,” He raises his voice with every word, but it wavers as he speaks— Jake could barely keep himself together, eyes betraying his authority. His gaze sharply shifts to his daughters, watching intensely as the scene unfolds. “Kiri, please.” She only replies with a curt nod and Lo’ak visibly deflates.

He needed them to stay here— here, where it’s safe. Here where Quaritch couldn’t touch them.

From afar, he embodied the fierce olo’eyktan that he is, but truthfully, he trembles as a father. He blamed himself for that night– blamed himself for everything that had happened. Jake couldn’t risk losing another one. Not only will he be failing his family, he’d fail Neteyam again, most of all.

Lo’ak slumps his shoulders, pushing past Jake. “This isn’t fair,” He mutters under his breath. Jake’s eyebrows knitted tightly and he knew damn well there was no going back from talking back to a parent. “You aren’t being fair– how could you ask us to standby?”

“I’m not asking, Lo’ak. It’s an order.”

“That’s even worse!” He shouts in reply and Jake is taken back.

There it is. The emotions desperate to claw out of their throats. If toughening them to an extent was a good thing, why was it biting him in the ass right now? Jake’s bottom lip quivered slightly. He didn’t need this– not now. He would’ve dealt with it properly, if it wasn’t for the situation at hand. Jake didn’t need his kids reminding him how he fucked up. He didn’t need another heartache when he had to toughen himself out.

“This isn’t the time for attitude, Lo’ak–” Jake exhales a deep breath, his eyes squinting as he clenches his jaw. He tries hard to keep himself in check, the last thing he wants is to lose his temper. Talk to them. Calmly. “You think I have the upperhand? Your sister needs me right now, what don’t you understand?”

“This would not have happened if you could just listen!”

“Well I’m here now, Lo’ak– just what do you have to say?” He stares back at him with an intensity that matches his own, voice slightly raised.

A million thoughts raced his mind. Will he blame him for bringing him here–? Here in awa’altu where they had to unlearn everything they have known– here in awa’atlu, away from his brother; but when silence had only replied to his outburst, he sighed wearily.

“Right now, we do not see eye to eye, boy.” His tone turns gentle, surprisingly. It causes Lo’ak to become rigid– unmoving as he takes in his father’s unfamiliar nature. The atmosphere shifted so somewhat awkward. Lo’ak only knew how to deal with his father’s anger. “And that’s on me. I know you blame me for being a shit father, and I want you to. I messed up and I keep messing up.”

“Then why can’t you be better?” He said so casually, like it was something Jake could accomplish with a flick of a switch, as if it was an easy task she simply hadn't put in enough effort for. But that was never the case.

Truthfully, he didn’t know what to answer. Didn’t want to tell his son that this was already his best. He liked to think that no father is perfect– eased him just a little knowing that there were far worse than him. But maybe he was no better.

When he knew that Neteyam’s eyes would never open again, he thought that hurt had hit the lowest of lows. But here he was, watching his son’s hateful gaze and had never been so wrong.

His ears flattened. “Stay here Lo’ak, please.”

Coward. Jake was a coward.

Lo'ak let out a frustrated scoff, quickly turning his head away and storming off in anger. He left the Marui so hastily that Jake was left alone with a crestfallen expression etched on his face. His expression was enough for Kiri to run after him, Tuk trailing behind. She jogged hastily, her breath catching in her throat as she eventually managed to match Lo'ak's pace.

“Lo’ak, they asked us to stay here.” Kiri tried to grasp on his wrist, only for him to retract harshly. They continued to walk towards the shore in an argument, “Lo’ak!”

“They have __, I’m going.” He continues to march towards his ilu, caressing its head in greeting while it mewls in return. “I’m not losing another one, Kiri. She’s my sister.”

Kiri grabs his hand, turning him around to face her sharply. Tuk’s head peeps to watch from behind her legs, “I’m your sister too! You’re scaring Tuk, just let them handle it.”

“What’s going on?” Ao’nung calls. Tsireya had heard of the commotion and immediately went to find Lo’ak and it was no surprise that he’d want to go after his parents.

“This is the sky people we’re talking about! The same people who–” He had exhaled loudly in frustration, his movements jerking and violent as he ran his hands through his braids repeatedly. His face contorts in stress and disbelief, and he yanks on his hair lightly, an attempt to shift the focus of his energy to something tangible instead of this hopelessness that has crept up on him.

“I have to be there.”

“Keep your skxawng ass here, I swear to Eywa.” But her threats fell on deaf ears as he continued to mount his ilu, spear in hand. He threw them one last glance before he sped away, leaving Kiri to call out his name.

Rotxo’s expression grew worried as he watched Lo’ak’s figure disappear amongst the vast spread of water. Forehead creased in concern as he looked around where everyone had been standing, “Are we supposed to let him?”

“Eywa, of course not.” She had clapped towards the Ilus, beckoning them to ride. “Let’s go, people.”

Life was simple back then.

Jake knew he had to pull on his weight, lengthen his patience, and learn fatherhood from scratch. He was far from perfect, but he was sure that even his best efforts would still be better than what his own father had done for him when it came to parenting. His old man had never been there for him in any sense of the word.

“Alright babygirl, your turn.” Jake beckons you to take Neteyam’s place as he lends you his bow.

“He’s gonna come out behind those big rocks,” Your father instructs. He grabs your arm and moves it just a bit higher, steadying your aim with his firm grip. “Slowly, steady. Watch your aim.” You squint your eyes, focusing your sight as the fish comes to sight, stuck between the current and the rocks. With a deep breath, you release your hold, striking it right through its body.

“Good job, sweetheart. Go get it!” He shouts, giving you a big smooch on the cheek as he pushes you to claim your hunt. You giggle, feeling absolutely proud.

As you and Neteyam proudly display the fish you have both caught, he watches with a big smile. “My mighty fishermen, now let’s go home and show mama.”

Bracelets were enough to make his kids happy back then; beads and trinkets he found along his hunts. They would keep it for years to come and Jake thought he had cracked the code. But the gifts turned to few and then none and the ones they kept had burned along the crossfire. He became stricter– tougher on them.

He knew being a marine best than a father.

When his children looked at him, it wasn’t of love— he wasn’t dense with how their shoulders stiffened around him. Jake thought it was a good thing, to keep them all in a straight line, for them to learn discipline early. But as they grew older, they were getting harder to reach and no amount of presents could make them come back.

“Lo’ak started it!” Your eyebrows were heavily knitted, fangs bared as you showed him the broken bracelet. You tightly held onto the beads, afraid that you’d lose more of it.

Your brother had immediately turned defensive, shoulders tense. “If you hadn’t been in the way, it would’ve been avoided!”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Jake quickly interrupted you both, massaging his temples. “One night. One night without any of you bickering. You’re older, __, why can’t you be the bigger person?”

Your heart sank a little. You weren’t growing younger and so was your dad. Jake never took the time to craft, unlike before. The bracelet was from him and it would’ve made you feel better if he had listened.

“No more of this, you hear me? It’s just some stupid bracelet. Jesus Christ.”

Jake wasn’t perfect. He knows that– knows his children deserve better. He fears that when people ask them of him, they’d tell them how great of an olo’eyktan he is– how he fought against the sky-people, but never how he was as a father.

Your father loves you– loves everyone dearly. He would burn the whole world for his children– but the thing about fathers, they have an odd way of showing it.

As they finally near the large battleship, his hand pressed on the pager. “Babygirl, do you hear me?”

Your head perked up at the static coming from the pager discarded on the table right in front of you. Your body jerked against the binds desperately, “Yes, yes– sir I’m here!”

But he couldn’t hear you, not without you pressing on its button in return.

“If you’re listening, I’m coming, okay? Mama and I are coming to get you.”

You let out a stuttered breath, the beginnings of a sob bubbling up from somewhere deep inside you. It was no use anyway. You felt deflated as you sank down into your chair. Tears welled in your eyes, building itself up like a dam.

Jake anxiously waited on the other line, expecting to hear something back from you, but all he heard was the thump of his own racing heartbeat resonating in his ear as time seemed to stand still. His lips trembled as he softly spoke again, “I love you, kid. You know that, right?”

But you didn’t. You didn’t since everyone arrived at Awal’tu and for months, this was the first time you’ve heard of it again. It made your chest tighten in response, stomach knotting.

Oh Eywa, you missed your father. Missed him dearly.

This one time he had told you he had loved you. This one time where you needed to hear it the most and you couldn’t say it back. It’s true that your father had stopped being affectionate– but you’ve grown and stopped being as loving as you were as a kid too. You will always be your parent’s child– your daddy’s girl.

“I love you too.”

Life was so much simpler back then, and if Jake had just spoken to you, he may have figured out that his words had more value than any presents he could find. He fears that he might be too late.

“We have to split up.”

“Split up?” Kiri shouts incredulously, holding onto Tuk tightly.

“There are at least three ships here, she has to be in at least one of them.”

“We’ll take the one from the south,” Ao’nung says, Tsireya quickly trailing behind. Kiri groans, knowing she couldn’t do anything but follow. Roxto followed her as they all nodded to each other, speaking in unsaid terms. Be safe. Please.

Lo’ak trots ahead, letting out another eager yip as they make their way towards the distant ship far up north. You had to be on one of them. You had to.

As he stealthily moves through the area, searching every nook and cranny, Lo’ak is determined to find you, leaving no stone unturned nor any corners checked. The lack of people around was suspicious and it made the atmosphere more eerie. As he scanned every cell, his eyes caught a battered Na’vi, head hung low– you. Quickly, he broke down the door with heavy locks.

“Lo’ak!”

“__!” He immediately rushes to you, taking off the restraints with brute force. Without a second thought, you engulfed him in a hug, nearly pushing him off his feet while he frantically searched for any serious injury, eyes swiftly scanning the cuts on your skin. “We have to go now.”

Both of you hurriedly try to exit the ship, steps heavily thumping across the metal floors. It was silent. Too silent. Like there hadn’t been a war at all. The ship was quiet, other than the crashing waves and footsteps. Not to mention the lack of recoms surrounding the area, you grew more and more nervous. “Where’s dad? He’s–”

“On another ship, we have to go.” He pulled you closer the edge where his Ilu had been waiting,

“Lo’ak, we’re not leaving him, are we?”

“Dad can handle it, I’m only here to take you home. Now please, come with me–”

“I know you don’t want to leave him too.” his lips drew into a thin line in response, immediately growing silent. His heart was thumping wildly, knowing that the decision was his to make. “Lo’ak, we can’t leave him.”

“Fuck it. Let’s go.”

“Run– run, go!” Lo’ak's call was still echoing in your head as you sprinted, bullets whizzing past in all directions. Fear and adrenaline coursed through your veins as you darted and weaved throughout the area, momentarily hiding behind a steel wall.

Both of you had been searching for Jake and everyone but despite your best efforts, the only thing you were ever able to find was more trouble. What was supposed to be a relatively straightforward endeavor had quickly become an arduous task. You feared for your life and your brother’s.

“We have to jump now, __.” He pulls you out from your thoughts, panting heavily.

“We haven’t found dad yet or anyone– they could be in danger!”

“Listen, I’m not about to lose you in another dumb decision of mine. We’re going, do you understand?” He tugs on your wrists tightly. The look on his face told you that his decision wasn’t open for any negotiation anymore– this was about you and your safety. You offer a solemn nod, feeling a knot forming in your chest as your frown deepens.

As the shots come to an end, the avatars begin to disperse, frantically searching for both of you. Lo'ak forcefully pulls you to your feet and dashes towards the edge ready to take a leap, but the ship lets out a sharp screech as it leans further and further downwards into the vast ocean, both of you caught completely off guard. Water quickly rushes up to bathe the deck in a sea of white froth and foam, its relentless waves rocks the boat back and forth so harshly that you fall to your knees.

Lo’ak frantically looks around for something to hold onto, but it all happens too quickly; just as his hands latch onto a railing, it snaps and he begins to tumble along with the current and down an open trapdoor. He quickly holds on to its rusty edge, “__!”

You immediately slide towards him, grabbing his wrist. “I got you, just hang on.” While your other hand clutched your bloodied side, you groaned as you felt the skin surrounding it stretch, ripping more and more as you tried to hold on. “Lo’ak, please.”

“I can’t– I can’t!” Both your grips are loosening and you choked out a sob, feeling absolutely helpless. You could feel it– his fingers slowly slipping from your wrist. Your heart hammered on your chest as you extended your other hand.

“Brother please, grab my other hand,”

Another wave crashes towards both of you, and in that moment your grip on his wrist slips. You can feel the panic rise within you as you shout out his name desperately. His body falls, water completely engulfing him.

Without any hesitation, you jump down after him.

You hastily scramble out of the water, eyes wide and scanning the wreckage that surrounds you for any sign of Lo'ak. All around you there is nothing but the ship itself, pushing you down with it. It loudly creaks once again, the sound vibrating off the walls.

You try to regain your composure– breathing slowly and steadying the beat of your heart, only for it to race yet again as another body emerges from the water, coughing violently.

“Lo’ak–!”

“I can’t find an exit.” He says, breathing heavily.

“I’ll go check again, you stay here.” The water was already rising and your frantic state wasn’t helping.

you said as the water level began to climb higher and higher. Your frantic state wasn’t helping either of your cause, but there was no time to think of that now. In order for the two of you to make it out alive, one of you had to remain calm and focused. You had to be just that– the bigger person. The big sister Lo’ak needs right now.

“No! You’re bleeding, I’ll go look.” He protests and you both exchange banters.

“I am your older sister, Lo’ak, listen to me– just let me do this.”

“I don’t care. You’re hurt already.”

“Lo’ak, don’t be so stubborn right now.”

“I’m a better swimmer than you!”

“Why are you being so stubborn, just stay here–!”

“Just let me do this for you, Neteyam!”

And that stuns you both.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He croaks, the words barely escaping his trembling lips. His guilt is palpable in the air as he hangs his head low in shame, trying to swallow the lump in his throat that is threatening to choke him. Lo’ak had to let it out now. Now that you’re here– now that you and him might never come out alive. “Maybe if I didn’t insist on coming there, we would still be back at home– with him. Maybe if I didn’t force everyone to come along, he would not have the need to save us.”

“Lo’ak, please..”

“But I did– I did, and now he’s gone. I lost him and I can’t lose you too,” You stayed there, like the water surrounding you was anchoring you on that very spot. You could only stare at him as he poured his every guilt. Your heart ached for Lo’ak– Lo’ak, your baby brother. Lo’ak who tried so desperately to be seen. “It’s my fault, __. I was just so jealous– so jealous that I forced you to join in because maybe then, you’d want to spend time with me too. I wanted what you had with Neteyam, what Kiri was to Tuk.”

“But I miss him, I miss my brother so bad.” Lo’ak continues to weep, tugging on his hair– hurting himself. “I hate that my body didn’t move towards you– towards him that night. Maybe then, I would’ve said goodbye. Maybe then, I would’ve told him I was sorry.”

You slowly swam to him, awkwardly taking his hands. Siblings were such a funny concept. They could say the harshest, most meanest thing– hurt you to an extent because they know you more than anyone else. But they would do anything– absolutely anything, just to keep you safe. Hell, would give a kidney if it means that you’d live. You miss Neteyam, terribly so, but does losing him make you less of a sister?

“I’m sorry, __. I’m sorry that it took me this long to tell you this, but every time you looked at me, all I could see was him. I miss Neteyam. I miss home. I want to go home.”

“We’re going home, okay?” You pull him close in your arms, burying your head on the curve of his neck as you try to contain a sob. “I see you, brother.”

“I’ve been nothing but difficult.” You feel his breath hitch as he tries to steady his breathing, heartbeat slowing down. “I don’t like how everyone has become since he died.”

“Me too, Lo’ak. Me too.” You whisper, rubbing circles on his back. “I’m so sorry. I’m here now.”

As the two of you hold each other tightly, the water continues to rise around you with no sign of relenting. You both know that it will only be a matter of time until this ship finally gives in to its fate and sinks beneath the surface yet neither of you want to let go. There was something comforting with having Lo’ak near now that he had spoken of his troubles– something light.

“We’re going home.”

This was it, you thought, this is the end.

☆ mauve here! i know this has been long overdue ;( BUT FINALLY, IT'S HERE. don't really know if i should be adding another chapter or just stop with an open ending hahah hopefully this was painful enough because my brain is bleeding and i can't wait to start another series. -

please tell me how i did! i really enjoy interacting w my moots nd readers ;( it's like a reward (ALSO i'm sorry if i forgot to tag someone! some of the names don't really pop up too ;(

smooch!

tags: @eywas-heir @aonungsmate @cappsikle @dearstell @minkyungseokie @wwwellacom @aleracrovn @fangzyz @bobojojoba69 @alohastitch0626 @gcldtom @dumb-fawkin-bitch @navs-bhat @jo1818 @ladylovegood-69 @kahlowy @neteyamforlife @mochiivqi @heart-an0n @strnger @abbersreads @historygeekqueen @anxietydrogz @kau7itz @winxschester @1mawh0re @thefirst-ofus @tsoomie @wheeeelys @lunamhm565i @ayanelisa @sully-stick-together @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @jackiehollanderr @dreamsholdpowers @aimsro @violilaqrs

#mauve writes ☆#family angst #family feels #sully family x sister!reader #jake sully x daughter!reader #neytiri x daughter!reader #neteyam x sister!reader #lo'ak x sister!reader #kiri x sister!reader #tuk x sister!reader #angst #avatar #avatar 2009 #avatar the way of water #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #jake sully #reader!sully

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wisteriaiswriting · 3 months

Text

𝕋𝕒𝕟𝕜 𝔻𝕒𝕥𝕖 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤

Words: 1679

𝔻.𝕍𝕒:

She isn’t one for big, fancy dates. So she much prefers staying indoors playing video games.

She’ll drag you along to arcades. Making sure you two have the whole place to yourselves.

Isn’t as romantic as she thinks. It’s always interrupted by her giggling.

No matter how much you spend it won't make a dent in the amount she has. And she’s willing to let you use as much as possible.

She'll likely become tired. So she’ll fall asleep and in turn trapping you in her arms.

***

“Let’s go!”

“Finally, I thought you would never win.” Your celebrating was mixed with her teasing. You two had been playing Mario Kart for hours, with you just now winning a round.

Tempted as you were to play another round, wanting to show her you weren’t as bad as she said. Pausing when you felt a weight on your shoulder, slowly looking over to see Hana.

She had fallen asleep, in turn falling onto your shoulder. Her sleeping quickly turned into cuddles, taking her place on your lap.

Maybe a nap wouldn’t be too bad.

𝔻𝕠𝕠𝕞𝕗𝕚𝕤𝕥:

He much prefers the fancier things in life, so no surprise when he takes you to a 5 star restaurant.

He’ll reserve a private room for the both of you, making sure you’re getting the best things you deserve.

Is a real romantic and he knows it too.

Money means absolutely nothing to him when compared to you. He can give you his card to buy anything but there's no way you could make a dent in it.

When his romantic mood strikes it lasts for a while. Pulling you into a walt with him, making sure you're laughing and having fun during it.

***

The night was still young and Akande wasn’t going to waste it. Still in your outfits as he pulled you into his arms, the classical music playing faintly in the background.

It was one he had been practicing since he was a child, ingrained in his memories. And he wanted to make plenty of new ones with you. Pulling you closer as the song finished, letting the next one continue before starting the next dance.

𝕁𝕦𝕟𝕜𝕖𝕣𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕖𝕟:

She already thinks being around her is good enough so you’ll have to convince her to do something, which would be watching her fight and win.

Gonna be around Junkertown, either in the arena watching her from her throne there or in her actual throne room.

Much less romantic and more flirty. She has no clue about romance, absolutely none.

Technically none so don’t go out of Junkertown, but when inside you won’t need any anyways.

If you’re not a junker she’s taking you for a tour, but if so you’re going right up to her room and throne room.

***

All you could hear is the yelling, shouting and screaming of the Junkers around you. Odessa had won another fight, not that anyone was surprised.

Watching everyone leave, still loudly chattering away. During that time she was making her way back up to the throne, making it clear when he returned.

“How was that?” Her arms opened just to pull you into a hug, picking you up off the ground.

“Another win isn’t new, so predictable!” Suddenly throwing you up into the air, letting you fall into her arms in a bridal carry. A giant smile on her face.

“Let's celebrate!”

𝕄𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕒:

I’m going to be honest here, he can only cook very few foods. He will insist on a cooking date, just supervise him, you’ll need to.

As he’s part of Talon (So are you likely) so the only place you two can safely go to is the base.

Is more on the flirty side rather than romantic, but he can try tone down the flirting but you’ll need to ask him most times.

Normally he wouldn’t care about the price of things, but with you? It doesn’t even pass his mind once.

Even if you two cooked earlier he needs a bit to fill him up, so it’s likely you’ll have to cook again. But if you don’t want to, he'll find someone else for the both of you.

***

He wanted to give you a surprise breakfast in bed, except for the fact both of you were standing in the kitchen. By now he knew your favourite kind so he was quick to start.

“Mauga, what are you doing?”

“Huh?” Brought back to attention, realizing he had stopped cooking and was staring at you. You learnt when the fire alarm was going off. The food had become burnt, not even you wanted to try it.

“Why don’t we order in?”

ℝ𝕒𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕥𝕣𝕒:

Takes you to a small and simple cafe.

Much prefers to stay at base, but if you want to go somewhere he will take you.

He doesn’t even try cause he has no clue what he’s doing, seeing no use in romance, unless you really want it.

Has plenty of money to spend due to various jobs and resources, and he allows you to spend a lot of it. Will watch what you buy to figure out what you enjoy.

He will return to work but you can stay around if you’d want. Might even let you sit on his lap.

***

He had no idea what you wanted to do, so he ended up on the internet. Looking up ideas that seemed good, ending up on the idea of a cat cafe. You enjoyed cats and food, well he hoped. While he couldn’t understand all these attachments if it made you happy he’d be fine.

The date started simple, while you ordered food he looked around at the cats. There was a range, from calicos to ragdolls. While he looked he didn’t see the cat walking up to you, a plain black cat.

It nudged you, causing your attention to shift.

“Ram, it looks like you!” Holding it up even as it shifted, only getting comfortable. It was a plain black, short haired adult, sporting a purple collar.

“It does.” Maybe he’d look for one similar to you.

ℝ𝕖𝕚𝕟𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕕𝕥:

Enjoys walking around a market, able to spend time with you and buy you things.

Also has fun sitting around at home or the base, able to enjoy your hobbies together.

Has quite a bit of experience due to his age, but is aware of how romantic he is.

Accidentally spends a lot of money on you during the walk, as he won’t look at the prices. Isn’t worried though.

Will hold you while you both enjoy a drink, telling you stories about anything he can think of.

***

Dropping the bags onto the floor, letting some items fall onto the floor but neither of you minded. He stretched, hearing his back crack.

“You should’ve let me carry the bags.”

“Nonsense by dear,” He picked you up, letting you sit on his shoulder, “You need to relax!” Grabbing himself a beer and your favourite drink before sitting down, dropping you onto his lap.

“Now, did I ever tell you about the crusaders?”

ℝ𝕠𝕒𝕕𝕙𝕠𝕘:

He’ll take you for a motorbike ride around the outback, won’t go scavenging unless you really want to.

Most times you’d be staying at his and Junkrats makeshift base.

Has little experience, due to being isolated from others.

Due to being a junker he doesn’t have a lot of money, also meaning neither of you need any.

He’ll take you both back to base, wanting to spend time with each other.

***

The sun was beating down on the land, and on you if Mako wasn’t in the way. Instead you were covered in his shadow, slightly cooler and safer from the heat. With the goggles protecting your eyes from any stray sand or dirt.

While you were looking around this gave Mako the chance to look at you. Taking in all your features. The way the sun revealed everything, everything that he loved about you.

𝕊𝕚𝕘𝕞𝕒:

He’ll cook you both a nice dinner to enjoy away from the others.

He won’t be able to leave the Talon base so thanks to Sombra you’ll be away and inaccessible to others.

As much as he tries he’s always flustered, sometimes laughing in between words.

Due to being at the Talon base neither of you will need any money.

He just wants to hold you close, cuddling while reading some of his favourite books.

***

You felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist, pulling you off of your feet so you hung above the ground. Looking behind to see Sigma looking down at you, a hung smile on his face.

“There you are Starlight!” Moving you around so you lay in his arms, floating over to a chair. “How about I read us a story?”

Asking as he pulled a book from one of his many shelves.

ℤ𝕒𝕣𝕪𝕒:

Her first thought would be a gym date, but she knows not everyone would like it. So she goes for a nice and cozy lunch date instead.

She takes you to a small, less popular cafe that she goes to often. It's kinda small yet cozy place.

Unluckily she has no experience, being focused on other things. But she still tries, constantly looking to improve.

Normally won't spend a lot but for you she’ll go over her normal amount, you’ll be able to get most items you want.

Will pull you around to look around the town, stopping by the nearest ice cream of gelato place. Treating you to a flavour of your choice.

***

Before she even knocked at the door you knew she had arrived, her nervous pacing outside wasn’t the quietest. With fast paced and surprisingly light knocks. Stepping away when you opened the door.

There she stood, a button up shirt and simple black pants. A bouquet of your favourite flowers were held in her hand, reaching for you to take them.

“Dear, you look amazing!” While speaking her voice cracked lightly, face covered in blush. Hold out her arm for you to take. “Ready for today?”

#overwatch x male reader #overwatch x reader #dva x reader #doomfist x reader #junkerqueen x reader #mauga x reader #ramattra x reader #reinhardt x reader #roadhog x reader #sigma x reader #zarya x reader #wisteria♥

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icycoldninja · 5 months

Text

Fluffcember #15 (Dante x reader)

Fluff headcannons

-How to describe Dante in a single word: Loud. Everything he does is loud. When he wakes up, he stretches loudly, moves around loudly, gets dressed and drops a whole bunch of stuff in the process, which is pretty loud, and even eats loudly.

-9/10 times when you come home, you'll find him shirtless in the living room, playing rock music at top volume while the smoke alarm blades in the background. If you dare enter the kitchen, you'll find that one of your appliances has exploded and pieces of it are embedded in the floor.

-Loves to wrestle with you and does not hold back. No, he won't hit you or use weapons against you, but he will be trying to pin you to the ground with all his strength, and should you manage to fight back and succeed, you'll instantly become a target. The minute you walk into a room, he'll pounce on you and a wrestling match ensues.

-Will prank you in various ways such as giving you cupcakes that are actually uncooked broccoli florets covered in frosting, or by mismatching your socks. They're harmless little jokes, but annoying ones.

-Challenges you to a dance-off almost every other week, where he will select a song and start dancing, expecting you to join in. Even if you can't dance as well as he can, he doesn't care. He honestly just wants to dance.

-Sometimes you two put on matching dinosaur suits and go confuse the fuck out of Vergil. You two literally gallop over to him and start roaring in his face. It's the strangest thing he's ever seen and not even his MOTIVATION can stop him from screaming "What the actual fuck is happening!?" And then when Dante pulls off his mask, the MOTIVATION clicks in and the night ends with you hiding behind a rock in a dinosaur costume while the bros go at it--Dante still in his costume.

-Occasionally you go out for pizza. Can't do it too often because Dante turns into a monkey when he's near it and usually destroys the entire eatery, so...

-However, if you happen to know how to make pizza at home, Dante will frigging worship you. Every night he'll be begging, "Pleeeeeease babe? PLEEEEEEEEASE make me some pizza?" And if you say no, he pulls the world's most pathetic puppy dog eyes and you relent.

-There are some occasions when you are forced to become the Mom Friend and police your boyfriend, especially when you go out. He can easily get lost in the crowd--however, there's a way to find him. All you must do is shout "I have pizza" at top volume and he'll come running.

-Unfortunatley, sometimes that isn't enough. Sometimes he can't hear you. It's times like these when you are forced to play your ultimate trump card; your guaranteed Dante GPS. In these rare situations, you must pull out your phone and call Vergil. Using the power of their twin telepathy, the Motivated One will locate his brother and literally drag him back to you by the ear.

#Dmc #devil may cry 5 #devil may cry #Dante dmc #dante devil may cry #Devil may cry dante #Dante x reader #headcanon #headcannons #Fluff #fluffy headcanons #Vergil dmc #Dante sparda #fluffcember 2023 #fluffcember #Part 15 of 31

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river13245 · 6 months

Text

Why couldn't it be me (pt 2)

Warnings: cheating, crying, Platonic Love, Peter being an ass. Ned being a sweet best friend and Loki being there in the end.

Marvel Masterlist / Peter Parker Masterlist

Pt 1 Pt 3 Pt 4

The past few months had been rough, you had yet to break up with Peter even when Loki and Ned were both telling you that you should. That its the best idea, even when you knew they were right you couldn't do it. Even when Peter kept cancelling plans with you, no matter how many times you rescheduled.

Speaking of rescheduling and plans being canceled, Peter had finally made a date. He had promised to make it, and you foolishly believed him. Which is why you had been sitting in the same seat in this restaurant for the past hour. In his favorite suit of yours.

You chose the suit he loved because you thought maybe if you did then he would choose you. Maybe he would see you and start being a better boyfriend. However you began to give up with him not showing up at all. The final straw was when the waitress came around for the fifth time asking if you were okay. You politely told her everything was okay before she walked off

Tears were beginning to form in your eyes as you decided to call Peter only for it to go straight to voicemail. Standing up you pay for your meal and leave a generous tip to the waitress for her patience before you leave the building.

Once you were a good distance away from all the people you let your tears fall. Fighting through tears you find your way to the curb and sit down. Pulling your phone back out you find Ned's phone number and press on his name only for it to ring twice before its answered "y/n what's wrong? didn't you have a date tonight?"

A sob escapes your thought as you try to speak which causes Ned to speak as you hear keys in the background. "crap alright . Hey just stay on the phone with me, Ill be right there okay? Breathe in and out" He made sure to keep talking the whole time as he drove to you.

When he got there he seen you sitting on the curb and instantly got out and sat beside you wrapping his arm around you. The both of you sit in silence for a little while until you speak up "I think I want to go find him. I want to talk and hopefully resolve things and get an explanation. And I'm not going to get that unless I go to him"

"alright I'm coming with you" Ned said as if its the most normal thing in the world. He was a friend you could count on. One that would do crazy shit with you just so you didn't do it alone. Giving him a small smile you both walk to his car and get in.

As he drives he turns up the radio only for the song playing to be a song you and him both enjoy. So you both are singing along to the radio and you can feel the nerves rolling off of you for just a few minutes.

----

Once you park in front of Peters home you take a few deep breaths and close your eyes. "its now or never right?" Ned nods and rests his hand on your shoulder "ill walk you up there. You don't got to do this alone" You smile and nod "Thank you Ned"

You both get out of his car and go up to Peters door, You are about to knock when you hear laughter. It doesn't sound like Peters laughter its more high pitched and giggly. At the sound of this you almost just turn your back and leave when Ned gives you a look and you sigh before bringing your hand to the door and knocking.

About a minute of two goes by and the door opens revealing your boyfriend. However his hair is messed up and he is missing a piece of clothing. Like his shirt. He freezes like a deer in headlights. "y/n. Ned. What are you doing here?"

His voice sounds so genuine like he is actually confused and forgot about the plans that HE made. You scoff as you feel your chest tighten. "what do you mean what are we doing here? You had planed a date after weeks of cancelling. Just for you to not show up" You take a breath to calm yourself "i waited an hour and twenty minutes. I probably looked like a loser"

Peters eyes go wide and he looks at Ned hoping his "best friend" would back him up. "come on dude, you know how forgetful I get. I forgot that it was today, please believe me" He looks back at you, while Ned just shakes his head. "Peter you really screwed up. Both your friendship and your relationship"

Peter looks back at you but you look through him and see Mj standing there and that's when you walk inside and see the date the two of them were having. There was a movie playing, with snacks, blankets and pillows laid out everywhere. It looked a lot like the ones you two used to have when he made time for you.

Mj looks over at you and she looks sad. "y/n I didn't know you two were still together. He told me that the both of you had ended things a while ago. I would have never done this to you knowingly. I would have just been friends with him and nothing more"

Tears form your eyes because you know she is being truthful because there was a time when you and her had been close friends. This caused it to hurt worse, especially when you knew you couldn't hate her because she truly didn't know.

Peter walks over to you and tries to grab onto your shoulders but you move away slightly causing his hands to land on your upper arms. The tears beginning to fall down your face now as you struggle to look at him. "you said you forgot about our date tonight. The one you kept cancelling. Now I see why you couldn't ever make it" You look over at MJ

"y/n I don't know what keeps happening, I just couldn't stop and i couldn't split my time" His excuse was such a bad one that it causes you to pull away from him. His hands falling from you. "why couldn't you just love me" You ask as you meet his eyes.

What you are met with is silence, the kind of silence that makes it painfully known what he is going to say. "I don't know why I cant love you anymore. Even when I know you loved me and did everything for me..I just couldn't feel anything for you. I'm so sorry"

You nod and close your eyes while taking a deep breath. "how long" came your voice in such a quiet sad tone that had Ned walking just a little closer to you.

"what?" Peter asks

"how long have you felt this way Peter Parker" Your voice had been holding strong until he says the next words. "A year"

"oh" was the only sound you make as you look at the wall and away from him. Not being able to look at him you nod "thank you for telling me. I should go."

Ned grabs onto your hand and squeezes it softly making sure your still with him. He does this because he knows how much physical touch helps you sometimes. whether it be romantic or platonic. Ned turns to look at Peter "don't expect me to be coming around anymore. You screwed up so bad. "goodbye Parker"

----

Walking inside of your home your whole body seems to just droop as if carrying your weight is too much to bare right now. Ned gets worried when you haven't talked since Peters place. You are silent as you grab yourself a snack and get one for Ned too. If there is one thing about you its that you always took care of everyone even if you weren't feeling so great yourself. But now he wanted to take time to take care of you.

Ned walks up to you and pulls you into his arms and holds you close to him. Your head rests on his shoulder as you take a deep breath. Refusing to cry so instead you talk to him "I'm so sorry he did this to us. You were his best friend." Ned almost scoffs at how you are still worried about his own feelings and now your own.

He runs his hands up and down your back comfortingly. He notices how you aren't allowing yourself to fully fall apart and feel all the emotions you need to let out but he doesn't want to push you. "I know but what he did to you is unforgivable. I never thought he would be the type to do this"

You shrug "i guess everyone is capable." Ned holds you for a little bit longer before he walks you over to the couch and lays you down onto a pillow. As you close your eyes you speak "you can stay over if you want. Take the extra bedroom." he nods and tells you a goodnight and closes the door.

From the softness of the pillow and the headache forming against your temples you fall asleep rather quickly. Ned however pulls out his phone and texts Loki. Loki would rather people text than call him so he made sure never to call him. The only reason Ned had his number was because how close the two of you were and he also knew of the gods feelings towards you.

When Ned sends the text Loki is quick to look at it and instantly teleports there. As he stands in the middle of the living room he sees you laid down with no blanket and so he conjures up a green blanket of his he knows is your favorite and sits down while covering you up.

As they did this you end up waking up. "loki?" They nod and say in a soft voice knowing you wont remember waking up in the morning. "yes darling im here. Get comfortable and sleep, ill be here when you wake" you give him a soft smile and plave your head on their lap and instantly fall asleep under the blanket

----

When morning comes Ned walks down and sees Loki running his hands through your hair while you sleep. He smiles to himself as he tells a Loki a quiet goodbye and walks out of the house leaving the two of you there.

#peter parker x male reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x gn reader #peter parker #marvel fanfiction #loki x male reader #loki x reader #loki laufesyon x reader #angst #angst with no happy ending #river13245 #peter x mj #ned x reader platonic #@spiritzofthedead

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toracainz · 8 months

Text

Driver Picks the Music, Shotgun Shuts Their Cakehole

Masterlist

Summary: You and Jake decide to go on a road trip.

Warnings: Inaccurate depictions of DID (only knowledge from the show and some light research). Swearing. Established relationships. Spoilers for Case 63. References to the boys past trauma with water. Mild miscommunication. Verbal conflict due to frustration.

Word count: 4.1k

A/N: I am not fluent by any means in Spanish so if there is anything incorrect please let me know.

A/N: beta read by the wonderful @luvpedropascal and another friend that doesn’t have a tumblr lol.

A/N: this was for a fic exchange for the anniversary of Moon Knight, but as you can see I'm kind of late lol oh well! hope you enjoy!

Translations:

Mira, amor. = Look, love. Corazón = heart Mi tesoro, ¿qué pasa? = My treasure, what’s up? Cariño = Dear Dios, ¿eso es todo? = God, is that all? Lo lamento…realmente. = I’m sorry…really. Amor = love mierda = fuck Se lo juro. = I swear it. Nuestro amor. Nuestro sol. Nuestro corazón. = Our love. Our sun, our heart. luz de mi vida = light of my life

The eerie music of the podcast played in the background as the characters spoke. A man, who was apparently a doctor, talking (though he sounded just like the patient from the earlier part of the podcast) with the confused woman, a doctor herself…from the future?

“Let’s see, ‘Case 63’. It says your name is Eliza Beatrix Knight. You were admitted at 7:22 p.m. on November 24th. You were found naked at JFK airport in one of the bathrooms in Terminal 8 with paranoid ideations and confusion. You told a curious story about the end of the world in the future—“

“But the—the future??” She definitely sounded confused and a bit distressed.

“Yes, the future.” The doctor answered.

“Oh…wait. Wait. Okay. Wh—what year is it now?”

“You don’t know what year it is?”

“What year is it?” The woman repeated, a little agitated.

“It’s 2012, Ms. Knight.”

The only sound, other than the credits of the podcast, was the droning of wheels on pavement as you and Jake headed down the road. You had nearly begged Jake to listen to the podcast after you got back on the road from the last stop. You looked over to Jake, smirking as you studied his stoic, contemplative look. He suddenly let out a huff of a laugh, shifting in the driver's seat a bit.

“What?” you asked him, a little unsure of what to make of his reaction.

“That’s like…2 hours of my life I’ll never get back.”

“What?! Oh come on, you can’t be serious. That was a good show!” You insisted, mock offense on your face (though not entirely mocked).

“Mira, amor. It was…interesting, but just not my kinda thing. I mean, the guy was just bullshitting the whole time.” He shrugged, keeping hold of the steering wheel, his other elbow propped on the ledge of the window.

“Bullshitting??? Ugh, whatever. Putting it back on your old man music. Keep listening to this and I’ll have to put you in a home soon.” You teased as you reopened the music app and started his playlist. Frank Sinatra came to life in the speakers.

“‘Old man music’? These songs are classics and timeless. So are the dance moves.” He smirked glancing over at you, seeing your pout fighting off a grin. “I know you like it when I dance with you, corazón. Don’t hear you complaining then.”

“Because I have you to distract me from it.” Looking at the map on your phone, you tried to see how much further until the next stop.

You and Jake had been planning this trip for a while, just you, him, and the open road. The only thing that wasn’t accounted for, though, was Jake’s determination to pick the music, the snacks, and the places to stop. It wasn’t too obvious at first, especially when he was pointing out some pretty fun locations to go to, but it seemed like any time you made a suggestion, he would try and convince you to do something else. It was cute, with a bit of poking and some laughs about Jake being hard-headed, but the further into this trip you got, the more it started to bother you. Looking at the map, the both of you would be arriving pretty soon at the last motel before making the last trek to the final destination on the trip “itinerary”, Antelope Canyon.

~*~*~*~

Weeks Earlier

After you had mentioned going on a road trip, Jake took it upon himself to check out potential places and possible things to do there. Nothing had been discussed in earnest yet, but Jake's (and his headmates’) curiosity got the better of them. Vegas was discussed, San Francisco, and the Rocky Mountains, among other potential options. It wasn’t until Marc suggested the Grand Canyon that things really started rolling. Jake had in his mind that the Grand Canyon, while grand was honestly boring. He hadn’t expected Steven to agree with him, so the three began to look at other locations.

That’s when they found it. Antelope Canyon. Now that was a destination.

Steven offered to do the research since he actually enjoyed reading endless pages of websites or books, but Jake insisted that he would take care of everything. Looking through hiking reservations and things to do in the area around the canyon, Jake had started to really enjoy planning it all. He just knew you’d be excited for it all.

That is…until he read an article about some of the facts about the canyon and its geography. According to the article, the canyon was prone to flooding. Seeing that word made his blood run cold and his heart begin to pound. When he noticed his hand clenched tightly into a fist he had to consciously relax it. It was fairly understandable that if it rained in the area of the canyon then of course water collected, but the part that worried him and his headmates was that it could be dry in the canyon but rain elsewhere, and the canyon could still have a flash flood. There had even been ladders installed in the canyon for people to grab onto and climb to higher ground. At first, they were wooden, but those broke all too easily. They've since been replaced with metal ladders. Plenty of people had lost their lives to this all too familiar force of nature.

Once Jake learned about this, he began looking heavily into the weather of the area and the best time to go. Planning for the driest possible month that he could and making sure the projected weather was clear as it could be. Jake’s not delusional by any means, he knows that weather can be unpredictable so far in advance, but he had to try. Jake started to check the weather religiously to make sure things would work in his favor. He wasn’t taking any chances, wasn’t going to put the system in danger, and definitely wasn’t going to pull you along with them. He wouldn’t let that happen…not again.

So it was settled. Route. Destination. Activities. And the window of time they had to arrive.

~*~*~*~

Present

You both had been talking about taking a road trip for a while now and it wasn’t until a week or so ago that the two of you started talking and planning in earnest. Jake was the one that picked the route since he insisted on driving the whole way, but to your surprise, he also picked the destination - even going as far as to look at weather reports for the times that you two would be there. That left you to pick the snacks and the fun touristy stops along the way, giant rubber band ball-type attractions, that’s what road trips are all about right? Hearing you get excited by each new place you found along Jake’s route gave him the softest and warmest smile. This was how every night was spent leading up to the trip, you and him sitting on the couch, your legs over his, or laying in bed, his arm around you and getting giggly from all the excitement, an extended trip with your partner, your Jake.

What you didn’t know, and what you’ve rarely seen, was how Jake was stealing glances at you. He wasn’t exactly the talkative one in the relationship, but he didn’t mind, not when he could just observe and admire your energy. The smile on his face was content like waking up at your own pace in a comfy, warm bed. These simple moments were what Jake enjoyed most, these mundane, everyday moments. He never asked for much and he never needed much, so when he found you and you decided that you would give him your love, well that was all he could have ever asked for.

~*~*~*~

Pulling into the motel parking lot, the silence that Jake thought was comfortable was not so for you. Stewing away at how nitpicky Jake was being, how he was nearly dictating what you both did on the trip with almost no regard to what you wanted. You knew it wasn’t because he was trying to be mean. Jake liked to have control of situations. Having control meant a certain level of safety, and that’s just how his mind worked, protecting himself, protecting the system…protecting you. What you couldn’t understand was why. What sort of danger could come from the wrong kind of chip or soda being bought at the gas station?

You both grabbed your bags from the trunk and went into the room, starting each of your nightly routines…still, in silence, save for the small T.V. that had been turned on to some local news station. Then Jake chimed in on what side of the bed he would be sleeping on. You didn’t need him to tell you. You knew he would take the side closest to the window and door, that’s the side he always took.

“I know what side you sleep on. You don’t have to tell me!” you snapped not too unkindly. Funny how the bed would be the final straw. Jake stepped out of the bathroom. He was only half undressed as he was getting ready to shower (he thought showering with you, but the tone in your voice had him second-guessing).

“Mi tesoro, ¿qué pasa? If you want to skip the shower that’s fine, babe, just say so.” He fixed you with a confused look.

“Oh? So that I can decide?”

“Cariño, what are you saying? I don’t play head games, get it out. Start making sense or I’m go–”

“This whole trip…the whole trip, you have been so picky about everything. Where we stop, where we don’t stop, what snacks to get, where to stay and almost every time I suggest something you shoot it down. If it’s not your way it’s the highway is that it?” That was one thing that you were happy for in your relationship with Jake, and it certainly took some time to get to this point. Jake was right, he didn’t like playing head games. He didn’t like the whole “you should know what’s wrong” bit. He was never fully open about his own feelings, but clear communication? He was a staunch advocate. He wanted to know what was wrong, what was right, how he could meet you in the middle, all of it.

Hearing this outburst, his muscles tensed ever so slightly, his jaw tensing more. Jake tossed his shirt on the bed as he came over to his duffel bag, grabbing his toiletries bag, and starting back into the bathroom. “I’ve been picky. Picky. Dios, ¿eso es todo? And that’s what’s got you all worked up, just because I’m picky.”

“Just because. Worked up. This was supposed to be a fun trip and it is, it was! But damn it, Jake, it’s not fun for me when you can’t let go for two seconds. Nothing’s going to happen if we stop at some honey farm or a fruit stand or a fucking huge ball of twine!” The floodgates open, as you let out the building frustration from the past couple of days. It felt good to get it out, so it wasn’t buzzing around in your head any longer. Jake had been leaning against the bathroom counter, shoulders tense and hunched as he looked at himself in the mirror. You don’t know if Marc or Steven has anything to say about your outburst, if he’s listening to them, and right now that’s the least of your concerns.

You could see his jaw flexing and clenching as the gears were turning in his head, trying to come up with something to say.

“You want me to let go? Want me to just let things happen? Fine,” he threw his hands up. “Yeah, I’ll let go as soon as you learn some restraint. Think you can handle that for one more day? Hmm? You knew what you were getting into when you looped me into whatever you want to call this relationship.” He looked at you in the reflection as he grabbed what he needed and went to finally get in the shower.

“Fine. Sounds fantastic. Maybe tomorrow you can work on getting the stick out of your ass and actually enjoy the hike instead of worrying if a lizard’s going to be within thirty feet of us. Yeah, enjoy your shower.” You huff, going and sitting on the bed to watch T.V. while you wait for your turn with the shower. Flipping through the channels didn’t produce anything worth watching so you settled on the news again. Sometimes on the trip, you and Jake would shower together, make out, actually bathe, or both, and just enjoy those little moments. That was not in the plans tonight and you weren’t even sure how the bed situation would work tonight, there being only one, probably not a lot of cuddling.

Relationships have their rocky moments, that’s to be expected to some degree, but talking to each other and coming to an understanding…maybe once you both cool off you can have a more constructive conversation. Until then, you both needed some time to let the emotions come down from their boil, maybe on the drive tomorrow you two could talk, sort things out, otherwise it was going to be a long trip back to New York.

Jake eventually got out of the shower, curls wet and slicked back, and only in his underwear. You were upset with him, so stop looking at him like that…with all his muscles and tan skin and inky curls that started to spring back from their slicked state. You tried to shake it off as you got off the bed without a word to go for your own shower. Jake watched you go and once he heard the water start he sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands as he and his headmates tried to help come up with a way to salvage the trip. Sounds like partly cloudy days in the future.

~*~*~*~

That morning, after a not-so-pleasant night of sleeping as far away from each other as possible, though you're certain at some point in the night you could feel a strong hand gently caressing your shoulder, the two of you packed your things and got back on the road. It wasn’t much further to Antelope Canyon so the drive wasn’t terrible. It was certainly quiet though.

As Jake pulled into a parking space, he was the first to break the silence, gently grabbing your arm, stopping you as you started to get out of the car. When you look back at him it all started to flare up again. He’s stopped you from getting out of the car, decided things for you. You don’t mean to be on edge, it all just feels so raw.

“Lo lamento…realmente.” He says withdrawing his hand, holding it up to show he’s not keeping you, he only meant to get your attention, “We can talk about it on the hike, I just…I wanted to say it now. Before we get out there. I’m not expecting you to forgive me just because I said “I’m sorry”, I know I’m not the easiest person to live with, just ask Marc and Steven…” he paused, not entirely sure what else he could say. He really felt he was difficult to live with and he knew that his hypervigilance could get overbearing, but that’s something he intended to work on.

You listened to him, still feeling that boiling frustration, knowing that he meant it, he always means it. Jake clenched his fist, resting it against the gearshift trying to put the words together. “Let’s get out there…” He nodded, more to himself, gently hitting the gearshift with the side of his fist before getting out of the car to get the backpacks. While you grabbed yours Jake headed over to the information kiosk for maps, a weather radio, and to check in for the hike

~*~*~*~

It’s kind of amazing how being in a place like this could distract from the stresses you both came with. The smooth, waving walls of the canyon in those bright red and orange hues. It looks so ancient, mystical, alien, and absolutely breathtaking. You both were able to relax as you worked your way through trails, well you more than Jake who seemed to be clenching his jaw or muttering to himself (or Marc and Steven) a lot. Whatever it is they’re talking about, you hoped it wouldn't crop up into another argument, not when the hike had been going so well.

And that’s when it happened.

You suggested that you stop for a break, just to drink a little water, maybe eat a snack, take some pictures, or something, but Jake trudges ahead.

“We can go a little further, come on.” He said, pulling ahead now. It was as if the argument and his apology meant absolutely nothing to him. What in the hell was happening?! You never took Jake to go back on his apology or his word. Yes, the man would fib on occasion but he wouldn’t flat out lie like that…not to you.

“What? You have got to be kidding. After all that? For God’s sake, Jake you just couldn’t handle i,t could you? The whole hike you’ve been acting so uptight. Are you even enjoying this? This whole thing was your idea and now you have a look like someone just smelled the most gag-inducing stench.” You weren’t going to let it slide like you had in the car ride, you were going to call him out on it. This was your trip too and you wanted to go out and have fun. Which you were, but having a muttering cloud of gloom accompanying you was not helping.

Jake stopped, tilting his head back and looking to the sky, muttering more things (you couldn’t quite make it out, but it vaguely sounded like Spanish swearing), definitely a bit cloudy now but nothing too bad for now. Slowly, he lowered his head as he turned to look at you, regret clear on his face. “Amor, I swear this is the last time today…I uh, had looked up the trails online—just to be safe—I only meant…mierda…there’s a cool place up ahead. You've probably seen it in pictures, a beam of sunlight coming in…we can break there and after that…” he makes the motion of zipping his lips, tossing away the key, and holding up his hands in surrender.

Well, that was…unexpected. The worst part was, it was a good idea. With a huff you crossed your arms, contemplating the options and the fact that he really did mean what he said…he was trying, but you were still frustrated, and maybe(?) going to this special place meant that the whole rest of the time Jake would just lighten up and you could actually contribute to the trip.

“Fine. Yeah, fine, let’s go to this “cool place” and we’ll take a break there.” You shook your head, conceding. “But after that, you have to let me have some say, Jake—“

“I will. Se lo juro. Just thought you would like it and taking a break there you can take it all in like you do.”

He stood there waiting for you to rejoin the hike. Thankfully the place wasn’t much further, just as he said, and you looked around in awe at how nature could make such enchanting views. You were enjoying it and taking it all in, just as he said.

You both started to take off your backpacks, taking out a blanket and some snacks and drinks for the little makeshift rest stop this little place was about to become. The thing that was most mesmerizing was the beam of light in question, and yet again, he was right. You stood there drinking your water watching this marvel of nature, this beam of light so precise and almost like a sspotlight The sunlight almost looked tangible, so letting the inner kid in you come out for a little fun, you stuck your hand into the sunlight. That wonderful, imaginative part of you almost expected to feel it, well feel something other than the warmth it brought. Like it should have been hard like a stone column or fluid yet weighty like a stream or waterfall.

“Alright, I’ll give it to you. This is a really cool place to rest for a bit. Sorry for blowing up like that again. If you know any more places like this we should stop at, let’s make a plan okay? Together. We’re supposed to be enjoying the hike right? Just like you s—“

When you turned to look at him, you were met with a sight that that imaginative part of you was absolutely not expecting.

Jake.

Down.

On one knee.

Holding a small, velvet-covered box.

You didn’t know what to do, so you just gaped at the sight. Nerves were clear on his face as he opened the little box.

“Nuestro amor. Nuestro sol. Nuestro corazón. I know now that I wasn't being fair to you on this trip and I truly am sorry. You’ve put up with me, with Marc, and Steven when we were absolutely not the easiest to put up with. You accepted us, all of us, and everything that comes with being with someone like us…and we couldn’t be more thankful to have such a patient, loving, and strong partner. Because God knows you have to be strong to have to deal with three grown man-children.” Jake chuckles breathily, hoping the joke would help his nerves (it didn’t), not until he heard you chuckle too. The corner of his mouth quirks slightly, letting that little moment of levity give him the breathing room for what was about to come next.

“Will you marry us?”

You stood there still stunned, but now tears were trickling down your cheeks. Yeah, there was a lot to deal with, mostly due to their collective tempers and vastly different ways of doing things among other quirks…but you weren’t perfect, not by a long shot. There were plenty of things you did or said that they had to put up with too. But that’s the beauty of it, right? People are flawed. They mess up. They find someone to love them and they grow together…to work at being together, because it’s not easy, nothing in life is ever easy…but loving them…even after every argument, disagreement, or misplaced frustration…that was easy. How could you not?

You stepped closer to Jake. The last of the system that you met and once you had, everything just felt complete. Now, here he was before you, on behalf of himself and his headmates, asking you to love them for the rest of their lives. And you said yes…how could you not? You said yes again, nodding your head as he came to his feet, a nervous smirk blooming into an ecstatic grin as he plucked the ring from its box and slipped it on your finger.

It was a simple silver band with three diamonds set into it…one for each of them. You held up your trembling hand to admire it, your heart thrumming with what it represented. Looking at Jake, you wrapped your arms around him, as he did the same to you, your lips meeting each other. So much love and passion shared between you. It felt too soon when you both pulled away to catch your breath. When you looked into his eyes you saw his own tears threatening to slip away and down his cheeks, and you also saw the tenderness and deep love that he and his headmates shared for you.

After another kiss (and another), you both stand there in the beauty of the moment.

“I love you,” you finally say.

“I love you too, luz de mi vida. Like you wouldn’t believe. So much, that I made sure to plan as much of the trip as I could to try and make it memorable…turns out I made it exhausting and should have just had you help plan it.” Jake couldn’t wipe the smile from his face if he tried, you said yes and now you had the rest of your lives to plan more trips.

“Definitely should have consulted me. I have a keen sense for adventure, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And we have plenty of time to plan trips, annoy each other, love each other…and on the ride back, we will be having the best adventure.” You smile wide before Jake leans in, giving you another kiss which you happily reciprocate.

“I can’t wait.”

A/N: Antelope Canyon has a tendency to flood. This can apparently happen even if the rain occurred miles away. The boys were not only nervous about the proposal but also flooding, hence the weather research, monitoring, and radio.

taglist: @spacecowboyhotch @marc-spectorr @juneknight @mccn-bcys

#moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #moon knight fanfiction #jake lockley x reader #moon knight system x reader #moon knight x reader #moon knight fanfic

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samandcolbyownme · 23 days

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Summary: reader has been having a hard time, and with staying with the triplets, it’s only a matter of time beside they start asking questions.

Warnings: kind of a sad background for reader, mentions of parent reader fight (dad), Chris has a crush on reader, friends to lovers (eventually), fluff

Part One

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It’s been a week since you called Chris in the middle of the night. He’s had a crush on you forever, so of course he answered your call at two a.m.

He snapped awake and answered, voice still groggy, “Y/n. It’s two a.m. wha-“ he stops when he hears you crying, “Whoa. Hey. What’s happening right now?”

You gasp out, “m-my fuck-ing.. dad.” You say between cries, “kicked.. m-me out.”

“Where are you?” Chris asks sitting up, “I’ll go get Matt up.” He stands up, throwing on a pair of shorts as he listens to you trying to calm down so you can tell him where you are.

He rushes do Matt’s room yelling so loud that he woke up Nick, too, “Matt! Matt! C’mon. Wake up.” Matt groans and rolls over, “What the fuck, Chris!?”

“We have to go pick up y/n. Her dad kicked her out!”

And with that, Matt and Nick were both dressed and out to the car with Chris still on the phone with you. When they pulled up, you got in and they were all in their usual seats.

Immediately after shutting the door, you fall into nicks opens arms, sobbing against his chest, “Hey.” Nick says softly, “You’re safe, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

As much as Chris appreciates Nick comforting you, he can’t help but chew on his bottom lip as he throws his hood up, staring out the window as Matt drives you back to their house.

That was the last time you talked about it. You mainly stayed in the spare room most of the day, only coming out to get a drink or to sneak to the bathroom.

Your eyes move to the clock that’s on the nightstand.

05:23 PM

You let out a sigh, listening to Self Care by Mac Miller play once again. You’ve had it on loop all day. For some reason, you just really felt like you needed it to play.

There’s a soft knock on your door and you sit up, “Yeah?” You watch as the door opes and Chris walks in, “We’re probably going to get pizza for dinner, if that’s okay?”

You smile slightly, nodding as you reach over to pause the song, “Yeah, that’s fine.” He nods, looking around the floor for a few seconds before he looks back at you, “Are you okay?”

You stop breathing for a second, nodding, “Yeah.” You sigh quietly and Chris crosses his arms, “Alright.. I’m just making sure because I kept hearing Mac each time I passed the door and it just so happens to be the same song I listen to when I’m upset with stuff so..yeah.”

His words shock you.

You manage to muster up enough strength to speak, “It is?” He gives you a nod and you can feel the tears brewing because you want to tell someone how loud your dad screamed at you, the holes in the wall that he made by punching them.

He closes the door fully and walks over, “You can talk to me, I’m not gonna say anything unless you want me to.”

Your eyes meet his and that’s when you break, leaning into him, his arms wrap around you. You lay your forehead against his neck and just start telling him everything as you cry.

He plants gently kisses to your forehead and calms you down each time you get worked up.

══════════════════

Hi thanks for reading! Ilysm! Let me know how you liked it!

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

#samandcolby-ownme #snippet #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo oneshot #chris sturniolo fluff #Chris sturniolo blurb

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astroboots · 1 year

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RED FLAGS ║ PART 11

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader x Marc Spector (x hints of Jake Lockley)

Summary: You overhear things you were not meant to hear. Or alternatively: The girls boys are fighting.

Content: mild angst, lots of eavesdropping on secrets.

Word Count: 6.9k words

Series Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[PREVIOUS] - [NEXT]

The music box sits atop of the wooden counter. For a love song, it’s such a sad and melancholic melody. Made sadder by the off-key note that clangs jarringly five seconds in, after you've wound up the music box to watch the little deformed Anubis inside twirl.

It's oddly mesmerising in a meditative sort of way, how it keeps spinning round and round with nowhere to go.

Doing the same thing over and over again.

Stuck.

Has Anubis always looked so unhappy?

Steven's hand brushes against your back, interrupting your musing, and you jump in your seat despite the gentleness of his touch. Looking up, you find him standing in front of you with a worried frown.

"You're going to be late for work, love," he says, "It’s nearly eight-forty."

"Shit." You’ve lost track of time, fiddling too long with the music box.

You glance at the table where Steven has already stacked your plate. Two pieces of charred marmite toasts sit atop his emptier plate as he's walking over to the sink. A pang of guilt sits in your chest at the sight of it.

Despite the effort Steven had gone through, getting up early and having it ready for you by the time you woke up, you've hardly even taken a bite of your breakfast.

You rush forward, wanting to at least help him clean the plates, but Steven waves you off with a shake of his head.

"It's all right, love. You go ahead, don't want you to be late. I'll clear this up. Donna can't possibly get madder at me than she already is."

There's a forced smile twisting his lips, and when you don't make any moves to go, Steven sets down the dishes in the sink and walks back over to you.

"Have a good day at work today," he says and tips his head, pressing his lips to your forehead. "I don't want you to worry about anything alright? Everything will sort itself out."

It feels like deja vu when he says it, and for a second you worry, because the last time you heard this sentiment aimed at you, the man who said it disappeared without any physical trace.

As if he can sense your apprehension, Steven continues, giving your hand a gentle nudge. "Go on, love. I'll pick you up after work, and we’ll order something nice for take out tonight."

Despite your hesitance, you find yourself nodding as you head towards the front door. The sound of porcelain clinking together and kitchen clutter continues in the background as you click the door shut behind you.

The hallway is dimly lit and gloomy as you make your way down to the lift.

Once inside, it’s quiet except for the whirring of mechanical gears from above. It’s almost like being trapped in a music box of your own, except that Steven’s building isn’t fancy enough to have elevator music. There's nothing to distract you here. No twirling Anubis. No melodies. The only thing keeping you company is your own thoughts and memories.

‘Marc, I mean it. I miss you.’

The memory of your own words seems to echo between your ears, and you cringe, shaking your head in an attempt to make it stop. You're restless, the cuticles of your nails itching to be picked as you try to push yesterday's telephone call from your mind. Trying to mute your own pleading voice from playing on an endless loop.

‘I'm in love with you– ’

You’re desperate for a distraction, but the cramped lift offers no distraction. There are mirrors on both walls, and endless Xerox copies of your own reflection stare back at you, repeating off into infinity. There’s no place here to hide from yourself.

‘–You don’t have to love me the same way. Just come back.’

Your hand comes to your left wrist, seeking something to fidget with to calm your nerves, but the familiar leather strap of your watch is missing. Your forearm is bare.

Oh, for god's sake. Where have you gone and lost the bloody thing now?

As soon as you think it, you realise where it must be. Can see the watch in your mind's eye, sitting on the porcelain edge of the bathroom sink, right where you left it when you took it off to shower last night. You sigh, pressing the button of the lift back to the fifth floor. This time as the lift ascends the floor, you fix your gaze on the menacing bright red LED sign indicating the floor level, refusing to look into the mirrors on either side of you.

‘Please. I miss you.’

The lift door pings open, mercifully interrupting the replay, and you briskly retrace your steps. You’re so focused on retrieving the watch—and ignoring the unwelcome memories—that you barely register that Steven’s no longer in the kitchen. It’s not until you’re brought up short by the closed loo door that you realise it’s not going to be quite that simple.

Looking down, you can see the light streaming under the door is cut by a shadow’s flickering movement inside. Steven’s gone to the loo. That’s all well and good—nothing out of the ordinary— except the fact that your watch, which you would very much like to wear to work, is in there with him.

You sigh.

You’re already going to be late as it is, but you can’t very well barge in on him in the loo, now can you? The poor man would have a heart attack.

You contemplate your options, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, and you have to resist the impulse to tap your feet like some grumpy old biddy. Trying for patience, you take a few steps back, dragging your eyes away from the bathroom to stare blindly off towards the empty kitchen corner.

There’s not much to look at, just the morning sun streaming in the window to illuminate the pile of sauce-stained dishes waiting to be washed. Your eyes linger anyway. Your mind fills in the gap with an echo of Marc as you’re used to seeing him, standing at the sink or stove, his back to you, outlined in the soft early light. All that’s missing is his voice calling out a soft greeting.

And for a moment, you think you can hear him—his all-familiar American accent echoing from your memories. Better his than yours. Better the voice you've been missing like an amputated limb this entire time he’s been gone.

“You need to stop.”

You jerk upright because that’s new.

You’re no stranger to the flat, demanding tone, but you can’t trace the words back to any memory of what Marc has said to you before.

That means it’s real.

You whip your head back in the direction of the loo where the voice is coming from.

It’s muffled. The volume muted by the door, but you’d recognise that grumpy, impatient voice anywhere. Been replaying it enough in your mind, that you could pick the owner out of a blind lineup based on sound alone. And you can definitely identify it now in the quietness of Steven’s flat, where it’s just you and him.

Marc.

The room seems to narrow to a needle point, the colours blurring into each other until all you can see is the bathroom door. Excitement rushes to your head and everything feels fast and slow all at once.

Marc is in there.

Your legs threaten to buckle, and the wooden flooring underneath your feet seems to sink and warp into porous sand with each step forward. Then you’re standing there, in front of the loo, separated from him only by a few feet and the thin wood panelling of the accordion door, so ancient and flimsy-looking that a gust of wind could knock it down.

You want to knock it down. You raise a shaky hand to hover just above the surface.

All you want is to grab the handle, fling it open and see Marc again. Not as you have these past months, through the lens of the memory—either your own wistful, wishful thinking or the echoes of him that have been haunting your daily life.

You need the reality of him. To see him in the flesh and bone. Marvel at the ever-present scowl as he tips his head in irritation. That deep furrow between his brow when he’s consumed in some task. The rare half-smile that never fails to make you feel like you’ve won a rare prize at the carnival when you’ve manage to coax it out of him.

But you can’t.

Because you know how that will go. Even if Marc is in there, cornered in the loo, the moment he knows you're here and aware of him, he'll spirit himself away like he did last time.

So you stay there, hand raised, feet frozen to the floor, staring down at the shifting shadow visible through the wide gap like it’s shadow puppet theatre, trying to discern the plot as you listen in.

“This is how things are now. It’s better for both of you that I’m not around.”

He sounds tired, weariness weighing down his words, and your throat aches. You don’t need X-ray vision to guess how Marc’s shoulders must be slumped, his hand rubbing over his face and jaw in frustration.

The worst part is that you know Marc well enough to know that he truly believes what he is saying. Believes that his presence is a burden. That just by being here, he’s causing everyone trouble.

He thinks he’s doing everyone a favour by not being around, and there’s nothing you or Steven can say that will make him believe otherwise. You know that. But it doesn’t mean you want to say it any less.

You want to break down the door, take him by those broad shoulders, and shake him until his head wobbles as you scream that he’s wrong. That he would be nothing but good for you.

Because being around Marc makes you happy. Sitting next to him, watching him sip the “rubbish” coffee you’ve made him, makes your chest light up. Seeing his puzzled expression when you make a pop culture reference he doesn’t know makes you smile. And even though you’re not a morning person, he makes you look forward to waking up early because you know you get to spend those extra ten minutes with him. Marc makes you happy.

It goes quiet behind the door, and you can’t hear his voice anymore. Maybe Steven is arguing back. You hope so. You hope that Steven is rebutting Marc’s misguided beliefs the way you desperately want to.

Maybe for once Marc is actually listening.

"She doesn't know what she's asking for, Steven.”

Maybe not, the stubborn bastard.

His voice is pained, and you tilt your forehead forward until it makes contact with the doorframe, hovering as close as you dare. It’s not like it makes any difference; not like he can sense you from behind the door—nor would you want him to, given the flight risk. But your heart hurts for him, and you just want to be closer to him in any way you can, despite the divider between you.

“If I'm around it'll just mess everything up for–” He stops suddenly like maybe Steven has cut him off. Then there’s a grunt of protest, followed by, "Steven… That's not– Steven."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Steven!" This time he sounds almost angry, his voice is low and venomous. And whatever Steven says next must really strike a nerve, because Marc hisses, “Shut up, shut up! Shut UP!" the volume rising to a crescendo with his agitation.

It takes you by surprise, and you jump back, nearly tripping over your own feet in the process. Then you scramble back to the door, pressing as close as you dare. Worried that you’ve missed part of the conversation because you can’t hear Marc anymore.

“Look, maybe if you just, like... chill the eff out for a second, we can talk things over, yeah?”

That’s not Marc at all.

Instead, it’s Steven's warm South-Londoner accent spilling through the door. They must have switched.

“You can't keep doing this. You know that right?” Steven demands. “What's your grand master plan here, mate? Hiding during the day and sneaking out like a burglar in the dead of night...? A bit cowardly, isn't it? You have to know that’s not gonna work long term."

If Marc was angry, then Steven sounds properly hacked off, his patience on the last string, worn so thin it’s a surprise it hasn’t already snapped. This is clearly not the first, or even second time, they’ve had this conversation. Apparently the fact that he's been talking to Marc is one of those things Steven "can't tell you right now." You wonder how many times they've had this same argument. From the sound of things, you wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Steven has tried again and again without being able to even inch Marc to budge from his stubborn position.

"It's not the perfect life though, is it? Not when you’re being a right proper idiot about all this. She wants you here. I want you here, you great pillock!” Steven’s voice is loud and indignant, and you can hear a rattle in there that you’re pretty sure is Steven grabbing onto the sides of the mirror in a frustrated attempt to throttle Marc through it. “And you can stop trying to peddle ‘normal,’ all right? Nothing about this situation is normal, and I for one am perfectly okay with that!”

You can always trust Steven to come through with the honest truth.

God, you love that man.

You can’t help but smile as he quite loudly voices everything you’ve been dying to say to Marc in this moment. You agree with all of it, even the throttling. Because Steven’s so very right. Who needs ‘normal’ when you can have something better together?

“Just–” Steven cuts himself off, and you hear the deep inhale as he takes a calming breath before he continues.

“Listen, Marc…” His voice is softer now, almost cajoling. Trying to negotiate and soothe.

You lean up on your tiptoes and in closer to the door, until you’re practically pressed against it. In your eagerness, you forget about how flimsy the material is until it gives slightly under your weight, and you flinch back. Honestly, it’s probably a miracle the flimsy thing didn’t collapse altogether.

“You’re not fooling anyone, all right? I can feel what you feel when you’re around her.”

You wait with bated breath for Steven to continue, selfishly hoping that he’ll spell it out further because you desperately want to know what exactly it is that Marc feels around you. For you.

“When you wake up next to her, and–” his voice spills from the bathroom, the dry sarcasm unmistakable, “when you drink that bloody awful coffee.”

Again with the sass about your coffee!

You scowl at the door, any goodwill towards Steven’s efforts in this conversation quickly evaporating. Surely, your coffee can’t be as terrible as all that. It’s just beans and water! How much of a difference can the ratio make anyhow?

“Or… Or the way you clutched onto that jacket for weeks after she wore it. Treated it like some bloody teddy bear, didn’t you?”

His jacket? The one that gave you so much grief and guilt after the almost-kiss in front of the fishtank? And Marc had… what? Snuggled with it? Your mind boggles at the very idea, even as it warms your heart.

“‘Don’t?’” Steven challenges, obviously repeating something you can’t hear. “Don’t what, exactly, Marc? Don’t state the obvious?” He barrels on, apparently unwilling to give Marc time to reply, "I know how you feel about her. And I know what you think about when you spend those extra ten minutes in the shower."

Extra… minutes? You frown to yourself. You don't understand. What could Steven possibly mean by ‘ten extra minutes’ in the–

Oh.

An invading image pushes to the forefront of your mind. Of Marc's stern and focused eyes closed in concentration. Wet curls plastered to his forehead. His fingers wrapped in a tight fist over his hard cock. It’s true that you’ve not ever seen Marc less than fully clothed, but you’ve seen Steven without a thread on his body, and your brain is more than happy to fill in the blanks.

Heat curls into your stomach and settles there. Your chest feels tight, as though the thought of Marc in the shower is squeezing the breath out of you. Your vivid imagination clings onto the image, no matter how hard you try to think of something else. Your brain is too enamoured with it and refuses to let it go.

All you see as you close your eyes are his perfect cheekbones flushed a rosy crimson as he shudders in pleasure.

"Well if you don't want me to tell her, you’d best stop playing hide and seek then," Steven continues, clearly exasperated, "You’re being ridiculous, you bloody plonker."

Despite the fact that he's still technically whispering, he's so agitated that he might as well be shouting and the volume would be comparable. Steven never could keep a lid on his emotions. You can just picture the animated expression on his face.

“She wants you too, you know.” It’s quieter, comes after a second or two pause, as if Steven’s deliberately tamping down how loud he was.

More silence follows.

You wait for several torturously slow seconds, but there’s still nothing from behind the door. Is it because Marc has been replying to Steven, you wonder. And if he has, what has he been saying? Is he angry? Brushing Steven off? Or is it like it was on the phone last night—silent because he’s not replying back at all.

Why is that somehow the worst scenario?

You don’t hear anything else. Perhaps this is how it’s going to end today as well. Another stalemate. Stuck in a loop, like Gus II’s endless pilgrimage back and forth across the tank, forever spinning in this box that you have gotten yourselves into, with no way out.

How long can the three of you keep doing this for?

“Did you know… she had a sex dream about us?" Steven says.

A cold shock grips the entirety of your spine, and you jolt like someone threw a bucket of ice water over your head.

"That’s right, about both of us, together—said she couldn't choose."

Oh god. God! What on earth is Steven saying? Has he lost his fucking marbles? He can’t tell Marc that!

Embarrassment burns with a fury in your cheeks. You bite down on your tongue, trying to keep yourself still, fighting every nerve in your body that wants to ram down the door.

“Actually, I quite think you do need to be hearing this, mate. If you would just–” Steven breaks off, then tries again, raising his voice like he’s trying to talk over and overpower someone else in volume.

“If you would just come back and talk to us about it, I'm sure she would… Marc. Take your hands off your ears, Marc. If you would just listen for one bloody second. Can you please just– Oh, right, that’s really mature!”

“Oh, that is bloody well it!” Steven shouts, and harsh fluorescent light floods your vision, momentarily blinding you, as the bathroom door is flung open.

You stumble forward, nearly falling through the doorway. The only things that stops you from going arse-over-tits are Steven's solid frame and the fact that you faceplant square into the middle of his chest.

His hands go to your shoulders, helping to steady you, and it only takes a second to regain your footing. And then you find yourself staring up at your fuming boyfriend.

Steven’s cheeks are flushed, chest heaving, and his beautiful messy curls are bouncing wildly on top of his head. He must’ve been well and truly hacked off at Marc, but at the sight of you the anger melts off of him.

"Oh,” he says, blinking down at you in surprise, “hello, love. You’re back?”

Turning back to the bathroom, Steven narrows his eyes pointedly at the mirror, then turns off the light and slides the door shut firmly behind him.

"How... uhm… how much of that did you overhear?"

"Quite a bit," you admit, not bothering to beat around the bush. "I'm guessing Marc’s still refusing to come home then?"

Steven gives an exasperated shake of his head.

"He's being stubborn, as always."

You nod, but there’s a bitter clump stuck in your throat that you can’t quite swallow down. Steven must notice your struggle, because his hands trail down the length of your arms until he finds yours and weaves your fingers together, squeezing lightly.

"Don't worry, love. He'll come around eventually, yeah? He just needs time."

Steven likes to say the two of you have all the time in the world, but you're beginning to wonder if even that would be enough.

The flickering light from the telly is swathing the bed and surrounding surfaces of Steven’s bookshelves in blues and whites. You’re staring blindly at the ocean scenery playing out before you, without really hearing any of the narration as Attenborough drones on about whale wildlife.

You feel listless. You try to tell yourself that it’s just been a long day at work. Between Poppy stealing your lunch, (which she denies) and that three hour Teams call that nearly ended your will to live, it’s no wonder you’re ready for this day to end.

But it’s more than that.

‘It’s better for both of you that I’m not around’.

Marc had sounded so tired in the loo this morning, like he’s exhausted to the depths of his soul, and you hate that for him. Guilt swirls in your stomach, simmering until it curdles into irritation and then anger.

You’re furious at the whole situation.

You hate how angry and defeated he sounded. Can't stand the thought that he's doing something that hurts him to keep you and Steven “happy.” But most of all you hate that he’s alone again. By himself, trying to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders like the victim of some tragic Greek myth, condemned to a solitary existence by the gods for all of eternity.

But your anger isn’t helping you right now, and it certainly doesn’t help Marc.

In fact, nothing you’ve been doing has helped him, has it? All your efforts to get him to come back: spam texting him, poisoning him with your toxic coffee, confessing your feelings… The only thing any of it has achieved is to make him feel cornered and miserable.

It needs to stop.

You need to stop.

“You all right, love?” Steven’s voice near your ear pulls you out of your spiralling thoughts.

“Hmm?”

Steven frowns at you from where he sits beside you on the sofa.

“You seem… distracted. Is there something on your mind, love?”

“Yes, sorry, I think I’m just–” you trail off mid-sentence, the screen catching your eye when you lift your head. The credits are rolling and must have been for quite some time without you even noticing.

“Let’s go to bed, love. Call it an early night, yeah?” he asks with a gentle smile on his lips.

Curling up in bed with Steven sounds perfect to you in this moment and you nod at him.

It’s all he needs to start moving, Steven stooping to gather up the blanket that’s pooled by your feet and reaches over your lap for the remote to turn off the telly. The room dims without the brightness of the screen, and Steven takes your hand, pulling you to your feet. He watches your progress surreptitiously, keeping his hand steady over yours like he’s a guide dog worried you’re going to trip over your own feet.

He doesn’t let go until you’re safely sat down on your side of the bed, and even then he stays standing there with an uncertain look on his face, one hand hovering in mid-air, the other hanging by his side, fingers fidgeting.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Steven finally asks, the words bursting out of him as if he’s unable to hold them in any longer. “What happened today, that is. About Marc, and what you overheard.”

“Marc…,” you begin, and his name barely even leaves your lips before Steven is already nodding enthusiastically for you to continue. “He sounded really quite tired today, didn’t he? It must be hard for him to keep this up. I don’t know why he thinks he has to keep hiding like this.”

Steven’s chewing on his bottom lip, and there it is again, the feeling that Steven knows so much more than he’s been telling you. You can practically see the weight of the phrase ‘I can’t tell you right now’ perched heavily on his features.

You look down at your lap, fingers twisting into the blanket. But maybe, it isn’t hard to guess what it is neither of them are telling you. It’s Occam’s razor isn’t it? All things being equal, the simplest explanation is usually the correct one. And maybe the simple explanation here is that Marc just… doesn’t want to see you. Whatever the reasons, he’s made that much abundantly clear, and you’ve gone and ignored all signs and pushed forward regardless. You told the man you loved him, and he didn’t say anything back.

“I think that what I said on the phone–me telling him I love him—has probably only made things worse.”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself as you raise your eyes towards Steven again.

“I just want him to know it’s okay if he doesn’t feel the same about me. It’s all right if he doesn’t want this or– Or me. He doesn’t have to hide to avoid rejecting me or to spare my feelings. I don’t want him to be alone because of that. Can you… can you tell him that?”

Steven's eyes widens, and he shakes his head vigorously.

“No. No, no, no, love. That is not what's happening here. That's not– The problem is– Marc is just–" He stumbles over his words a bit before spitting out tartly, "Just a right twit, is what he is."

You can’t help the grunt-like snort that escapes, and the levity feels good. It’s nice to be able to laugh with Steven, even as glum as you are over the situation that you’re all stuck in.

Your laugh must’ve pleased him, because he smiles back at you, eyes crinkling adorably. His shoulders relax too, and his hands stop their nervous fidgeting.

Climbing knee-first onto the bed, Steven sits in front of you. His hand comes to yours, and he settles both your hands on top of your lap.

“Marc isn’t hiding away because he doesn’t feel the same about you.”

Your face must show your scepticism, because Steven squeezes your fingers between his reassuringly as he continues.

“Same body and all that, remember? I’m aware enough nowadays that I can usually feel what he feels when I’m not the one fronting.”

"What does he feel?" You blurt out. It's a question that has been haunting you since your impromptu phone call confession. Longer even.

Steven hesitates, clearly torn, and it’s enough to make you realise what you've just asked of him. How unfair of a question it is.

"Sorry.” You grimace, your shoulders sagging. "I know you don't feel comfortable sharing things about Marc without him here. And I understand. It's okay. Really it is. It's..."

It's only right, isn't it? Of course it’s not for Steven to out Marc’s private matters. And what can be more personal than one’s inner thoughts and feelings?

"Oh, love," Steven says, voice impossibly gentle, “You're right that it's not my place to tell you.”

You nod, looking down at your lap, feeling like your whole chest has deflated. You know it's the right thing for him to do. You’re glad for it even—that he's looking out for Marc when Marc's not here to look out for himself—but you can’t help but feel disappointed all the same.

“Buuuut…” he continues, and your head whips up, searching his face with a tiny sprinkle of hope that perhaps there's still something Steven can share with you.

“You heard what I said to him in there, right?” Steven prompts, and you nod. His fingers brush over yours, giving you the time to process.

You try to remember everything you overheard, any other hints you’ve gleaned. How Marc always drinks your “awful” coffee. That he’d clutched onto his jacket after you’ve worn it. The shower. Your fingertips tingle all over again as the image of him in the shower tries to resurface in your mind.

“Surely it’s obvious by now how Marc feels about you, isn’t it?”

Steven looks so certain—like he can’t even begin to fathom why there would be any doubt about this—and you desperately want him to be right. Desperately want to think that Marc might care for you in return.

He says it like all of the pieces of the puzzle are plainly there for you to see. And they should be, you suppose. Marc has shown you so many different sides of himself, and the conversation you overheard revealed more. The problem is that no matter how hard you try to mash the pieces together to make them fit… They don’t.

What Steven’s implying makes sense, and yet here the two of you are, alone. And Marc is still refusing to join you.

Despite everything, the picture before you is still somehow… incomplete. You can’t help but feel that there’s at least one more vital piece of information that you’re still somehow missing.

“So why is he still hiding, then?”

And there’s something there, in Steven’s reaction when you ask him. A quick, blink-and-you’d-miss-it flicker towards the direction of the fish tank. The only reflective surface, lit up as it is in the darkness of the room.

“Steven?” you prompt loudly, fully intent on interrupting whatever tirade Marc is shouting at Steven. You lean forward, squeezing his hand for attention. “What is Marc saying to you? Why won’t he come back?”

Steven’s head whips back in your direction. His mouth is works, but no words come out, and he’s hesitating like he’s trying to decide how much he should tell you.

“There are things that we—that Marc hasn't told you,” Steven finally says, eyes flicking to the fishtank again, then back to yours, holding your gaze earnestly. “Things that you ought to hear about from him. He doesn’t think he deserves– Well. He thinks that once you know about everything, you’ll walk away from us both. So he’s staying away. I guess in some way, he thinks he’s protecting me again. Buying me some time before it ends."

“That’s ridiculous!” you shout before you can stop yourself. “He can’t possibly know how I’ll react until he’s told me!”

Your ears burn and you wouldn’t be surprised if there was steam coming out. Why can’t Marc just sit you down and tell you these things instead of making assumptions about what he thinks you would want? What he thinks would be best for you? It’s Steven and the goldfish all over again.

“And, Steven,”—you look him right in the eye, because you don’t want there to be any doubt about this next part—”I love you. There is nothing Marc could tell me that would make me want to leave you, all right.”

Steven smiles, and even in the dark it’s warm enough to light up the whole room.

"Yes, love, I know.” His smile turns wry, “Like I said… a right twit."

It’s dark.

Quiet.

The world isn’t awake yet, and you’re not sure if you are either. You can’t even hear the London traffic outside. There’s too little light in here, and you can’t make out anything except vague shapes in the inviting darkness. You close your eyes again, ready to drift back to sleep.

Fabric rustles nearby, a soft white noise like the raising of sails. It reminds you of visiting the beach as a child and putting your ear to the opening of a seashell. Everything sounds like it’s underwater.

The surface under you moves, rolling slightly, and then settles again, and it feels like you are out at sea on a small boat. Behind your eyelids, all you see is purple skies dusted with sugared stars.

Someone is here on the boat with you, warm and sturdy against your side. For a moment or two, drunk on sleep as you are, you don’t quite know where you are or who the person is. All you know is that you feel happy and safe with them.

The boat rocks again, the surface under you shifting, and the warmth moves away. You want it back. Before you can reach out, the soft weight covering you shifts like a wave, dragging against your hip as it rises up over your torso before settling again, tucked snugly under your chin.

There are quiet, almost careful footsteps on wooden planks. Then the clink of metal like chains being dragged across the floor.

It’s all so familiar somehow.

Didn't there used to be a time when you'd often find yourself like this? Drowsy and half-conscious, pulled towards awareness by the quiet sounds of someone moving next to you, but too far under to fully wake?

When did it stop?

Oh. Right. When Marc disappeared.

This must be a dream then. Your brain processing and recycling old memories. Why else would you be out on the open sea?

The noises stop.

You can feel the moment drift, pulled away by the currents, but you’re not ready to wake up yet. There’s a long silence, where the dream threatens to slip beneath the inky depth of a wave.

Squeezing your eyes firmly shut, you try to let yourself float gently on the current, hoping you can relax and prolong this dream.

The surface you’re resting on dips, and something settles onto your shoulder. A solid, comforting weight. You know this feeling. It’s Marc’s hand, and it inspires the same feeling of safety it did last time, the last time you and Marc were together in person, after you'd cried yourself into exhaustion and he'd agreed to let you fall asleep in his bed.

It feels nice. More than nice. It feels right.

You nuzzle your cheek into billowing warmth surrounding you that feels like a soft pillow and smells of fresh laundry detergent and coffee. You inhale deeply, sighing contently at the scent, trying to enjoy it while it lasts.

You don’t want to give this up.

The weight lifts from your shoulder, and you almost rise up in protest, but something sweeps softly across your forehead. Those gentle fingertips, brush the hair from your eyes before coming to linger on your cheek.

It's a bit funny, isn’t it? A bit cruel even, of your subconscious to conjure up a scenario where Marc’s touching your cheek tenderly like this. After all, isn’t this what you’d thought he might do that night? What you’d wanted him to do, even if you hadn’t known it then? To cup your cheek in his strong, warm hand; to hold you like you're precious to him, beloved, the same way that Steven does?

Marc’s hand moves away again, replaced by the gentle brush of soft lips and bristly stubble against your temple. It’s a barely-there touch, so light and fleeting that you might have imagined it, yet everything inside you aches like a tender bruise. Your skin tingles with an echo of lingering warmth.

You don’t dare to move; barely dare to breathe for fear that you’ll wake yourself up. Your chest constricts with a bittersweet longing that feels large enough to bury you whole.

"I love you too," his quiet voice says, filling the silence.

Warmth blossoms in your stomach, pouring and pouring through you until you feel filled to the brim with happiness. You think you would be content to stay here, in this safe, quiet space, just basking in his loving presence forever.

For long moments, you do, sinking into the feeling of being loved by this grumpy, stubborn, confusingly gentle man.

Then you hear the heavy sigh.

"That's why I can't come back," he says, voice quiet, resigned, “I need you to be safe. And happy. I’ll make sure of that.”

The sea rises as his weight lifts away from you. The whole of the boat shifts unsteadily beneath you, tilting with the tumultuous waves. Set adrift by the unexpected and unwelcome turn the dream has taken, you’re convinced that the boat is going to tip over and capsize. That you’ll slip into the cracks between the planks of the deck and fall into the abyss, never to be seen again.

You reach out to grab the railing, trying to steady yourself. But where you expected a wooden ledge, hard and wet from seawater, your fingers grasp onto something soft and warm instead. It gives way easily under the grip of your hands, like cotton. Like sheets.

Still you hold on tightly, bracing yourself for the inevitable descent, and then…

Nothing.

Nothing happens. You’re still on steady ground. Still surrounded in the stillness of the dark night. The only sound is that of soft footsteps moving away and then the unmistakable click of the front door.

Wait, what kind of dream is this?

Your eyes fly open, and you’re greeted to the sight of the wooden planks, mostly lost in shadow. The bottom of the deck? Are you in the ship’s hold?

No, it’s the lowered ceiling over Steven's bed. You’re in his flat.

There’s an ache in your shoulder from having rested on it too long, and you force yourself upright. Your eyelids feel crusty and dry, as though a desert has sprung up behind them overnight. They sting as you blink, wanting to seal closed again.

Are you awake now? Or is this just another part of a dream? Ten seconds from now, will you find yourself back down on the mattress, forcing yourself to open your eyes all over again?

It’s dark in here, but that tells you nothing. In wintertime, dark can mean 5pm or 7am or anything in between. Turning to the side of the bed, you pat at the nightstand until you find your watch and raise it to your face, squinting in the darkness to make out the dials.

Eight-thirty? That can’t be right. You and Steven fell asleep well past eight last night, and it’s too dark outside to already be eight in the morning. You reach over to the small lamp, holding the face of it up to the dim light. The arms counting the seconds is taking much longer than a second to hobble forwards. It’s desperately trying to tick along but it’s not doing a great job at keeping time accurately.

You really need to fix the bloody thing. Or better yet, get a new one. Everything about it is falling apart. Still you fasten it to your wrist by habit before you move to get out of bed.

With a heavy sigh, you dip one foot onto the floor, and hiss out an involuntary breath at the chill of it. Your shoulders clutch at the quilt tugging it closer around your shoulder.

Wait, this is…

Real.

The biting cold is definitely real. Not a dream; not your imagination. As fantastical as your dreams can sometimes be, your subconscious wouldn't have the attention to detail to replicate the energy bill crisis.

Turning your head, your eyes drift to Steven’s side of the bed where he fell asleep curled up next to you. Except, he’s not there anymore.

You reach out your hand, resting it on the spot of the mattress where he would have been lying.

Still warm and toasty.

He must’ve gotten up mere moments ago. The door to the loo is open and dark, so Steven’s not in there. He’s not anywhere, and Steven wouldn’t have left the flat without telling you. Must’ve been Marc then, gone wandering off into the night again.

Your neck prickles.

And all of a sudden you’re wide awake, realisation slamming into you like a runaway lorry.

Oh bloody hell, that wasn’t a dream. It was real.

Marc was really here.

He really–

Oh god!

Shoving the comforter away, you leap to your feet. The cold draft in the room punches the air out of your lungs, but you ignore it and focus on trying to find your clothes and dress as quickly as possible. In your haste, you ricochet off one of the bookcases and have to clumsily pat things back into place to avoid an avalanche of Steven’s mess, picking the first pair of boots that is within reach and your coat. Then you’re out of the front door with a loud slam behind you.

~ Continue ~

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow @astroboots-writes and turn on notifs 🤡💖🤡

#oscar isaac #moon knight #marvel #marvel mcu #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant #marc spector #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fic #moon knigh fanfiction #jake lockley #steven grant x you #marc spector x you #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you #cici writes

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milgram-tournament · 5 months

Text

MILGRAM Best Song Tournament, Round 1, Match 2 BRING IT ON vs. AFTER PAIN

Propaganda for both options under the cut!

Propaganda for BRING IT ON:

"Reasons why Bring it On should win:

- Just by starting the song, the instrumentals are BANGER. Like his more rock style is very cool, even better than After Pain’s more mellow style - Arthur’s voice (Futa’s va) had bills due because have you HEARD his singing?? His raspier voice fits Futa so well - It feels so explosive and like a call to action in a sense, which very much matches Futa’s mentality during trial 1. He also wasn’t playing victim like a CERTAIN girl… (jk, love you mu!) - SAA HAJIMEYOU USOTSUKI KARIDA - UNDEAD HEROOOI YES SLAY KING HIS HIGH NOTE HERE IS HEAVENLY - His scream at the end. Oh my god. HE LITERALLY ATE THIS NOTE. AFTER PAIN COULD NEVER. BRING IT ON FTW 🔥🔥🔥" - His range goes WAAAAAY higher than Mu. She would end up like PHG if she even tried hitting any of his high notes in the last chorus /j

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- The vocals are amazing, those growls are so well done - You’re able to get Fuuta’s crime and motive pretty succinctly, only based on the visuals - But it still leaves a lot up to interpretation, like how he only attacked once in the final fight scene. It lead to some cool theories. - On that note, the game aspects are so cool!! Especially when paired with him going after people online, just good synergy with awesome style! - Fuuta’s scared face after he realizes what he did. The great contrast of other foes simply being knocked out then being met with blood splatter. - The tempo of the song changing with his mood is a really good touch as well. Make the song more chaotic which highlights his character traits well

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"propaganda for bring it on: the music FUCKS it genuinely slaps so hard listening to it. song style is incredible its perfect for fuutas personality and gamer vibes. also the way the mv frames everything as a game? the only time real blood and real gore happens being when killcheroy dies? the little details of all the usernames, the different monster designs, the generally distorted feel of everything being too lighthearted?

okay i could go on about the mv for hours but lets not. aside from that: the FEEL of the song!!! the vocals!!!! it really feels like fuuta putting his whole heart into it, into this point of view that both blows problems out of proportion and minimises them, and DEEPLY fucking up. my darling little hypocrite gamer boy twitter user. he makes his witch hunt genuinely sound like something that could sweep people up into it. also the instruments goddddd. the guitar and synth the bass and the drums the DRUMS. im relistening to it to write this propaganda and it keeps making me headbang when i should be writing. if you arent headbanging to bring it on you are LYING.

the way the lyrics are written is wonderful too!!!! they feel so brash and brave and powerful and like. cocky about it. and it fits PERFECTLY. its gets someone swept up into it and it FUCKS. vote bring it on im serious. lets go!! a victory march!! dan da dan!!"

Propaganda for AFTER PAIN:

"so here is why people should vote for AFTER PAIN !!"

Muu's vocals. Need I say more?

The bridge to it is absolutely wonderfully done, the way she softens her vocals to an almost creepy point is incredible

during the final chorus you can hear the desperation in her voice and it’s very well portrayed

The coloring in this music video were phenomenal

The overlapping vocals at the end of the song just have a really really nice effect

Its just a pure banger

In some parts of the song there’s the sound of a clock ticking in the background used as a sort of beatline… GENIUS??

Its just a banger

even with what we found out about Muu in her second trial, After Pain on its own portrayed bullying in a very realisitc and artistic way (from someone who deals with it regularly)

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"After pain propoganda: She just girlbossed too close to the sun and happened to be holding a knife at the time"

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"Gosh everything about After Pain... How can you NOT like it? It's literally such a good song and is very singable. The instrumentation is absolutely amazing and I've listened to it on loop so much."

#milgram #milgramtournament #fuuta kajiyama #muu kusunoki #(ooc: im voting for bring it on because i love his dumb stupid walk cycle. and also his evil little laugh at the beginning)

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bobluvbot · 2 years

Text

bonk!

pairing: bradley rooster bradshaw x f!reader

summary: in which fate uses a karaoke machine to lead the way for romance because you and Bradley are just too dumb and dense for it.

wc: 9k+ (sorry)

warnings: best friend!rooster, age difference, reader has a lot of insecurities like with body image (briefly mentioned, like one line only!) and self worth issues. implied sex so 18+ only! kinda beta’d. I *tried* to keep the angst at a minimum (i write angst but i am changing ok) but a LOT of pent up frustration. Still VERY fluffy though <3

A/N: Yeahhhhhhh. This started off as a single fluffy scenario with my beloved Rooster, but it kinda took a life of its own. Nonetheless, hope you enjoy!

Reader’s call sign is Indigo!

If there was someone to blame for all this mess, it should be Mav. More often than not, it’s always Maverick’s fault.

He brought up the idea first during one of those after hours of the Hard Deck.

If nothing much has been going on back in base, you and Rooster, sometimes the rest of the Dagger squad would stay behind to help him and Penny clean and get everything straight for the next day. You would do it so often that Penny, who was adamant in shooing you guys away claiming that she could handle it, gave up trying and now checks if you’re cleaning thoroughly.

“Pen,” he’d said in passing, leaning against the mop he was using. “You know what’d make this place better?”

“Are you saying it isn’t already?”

Mav stutters, now realizing how his words could’ve sounded differently than he originally intended, much to you and Rooster’s amusement as you listened in to the conversation. “No- I- you know I didn’t mean it like that, honey.”

“I know,” Penny laughs. “I’m kidding. What were you saying, hun?”

“We should bring in a karaoke machine.”

In retrospect, it was a good idea. Not everyone who’d drunkenly belt out lyrics to a song could hit the right notes without the background music, the jukebox has not been updated to have all the hit music the younger crowd wants to hear, and not everyone could remember the piano chords of their favorite song. And as much as it would please the public demand, the highly acclaimed Rooster Bradshaw and his Great Balls of Fire could not commit to a nightly residency at the Hard Deck due to his demanding day job of being a fighter pilot. Welcoming the machine seemed like a harmless decision, and placing it outside seemed to complete the often deserted outdoor seating area.

And for a while it did what was expected. It brought in an interesting crowd to the bar. The nights you were there, you had witnessed a group of stressed college kids out back, screaming their lungs out through Evanescence’s discography. Another time, a small group were hunkered down by the machine, seemingly on guard as their drunk friend sobbed through Adele’s Someone Like You and Roxette’s It Must’ve Been Love. You had been tempted to hop on in a session when a group of friends decided to have a 2012 night, from Justin Bieber and Taylor Swift to One Direction and Little Mix. It brought out a lot of emotions from the patrons of the bar and soon enough it became a regular fixture at the Hard Deck, that Penny had to whip out a reservation list just for the outside seating to keep people from fighting over the time limit each group has before the next can have their go. It somehow made the place even more chaotic, especially during weekends, but added more income so no one was complaining.

It became a problem when you and the rest of the Top Gun instructors gave in to the hype and had a go for yourselves. It started out as innocent, drunk fun. You and the instructors around your age were sick of hearing the oldies and their outdated playlists from the jukebox (Don’t let Rooster know about this) as they played pool, so you went outside and dared each other to grab the mic and pick a song that you used to cry to during your first heartbreak with the promise of a crumpled 20$ bill someone dug out from their pocket. From Lips to an Angel to The Reason to Perfect, your friends each gave their all for the sad bill. Determined to stand out, you decide on Taylor’s Teardrops on My Guitar as your magnum opus for the night. It was a perfect fit, and your friends groaned woefully as the nostalgia hits them. In your drunken haze, you wondered for a bit why you’ve avoided listening or singing this song for so long, but as the song continued, you figure out why.

—

It was 2007, the summer before college, and you had just gotten your dream iPod in pink as a gift from your grandparents for getting into Columbia. You already had a list of all the albums and singles you were going to download on the back of your physics notebook, and the first off that list would be Taylor Swift’s albums. It was nice that you were the same age, you could relate to each song if you tried hard enough, but your lack of non-fictional boyfriends and romantic conquests were a huge setback back then. You were halfway through your second listen when your grandmother asks you if you can bring the casserole she just finished making next door, and because you didn’t have the heart to say no after getting your iPod, you agreed and made your way to your neighbor’s house.

They seemed to have someone over, judging by the number of bikes strewn across the lawn and an inconspicuous blue Bronco parked in their driveway that you didn’t recognize. More reasons to drop off and go, you’d thought, so you rang their doorbell while you thought of a good excuse to speed off. No one responded despite the commotion you could barely make out from the inside, so with an exasperated sigh, you reached out to press the bell again.

You remembered freezing, with your outstretched hand retreating back to the handles of the pan as you made contact with the one who answered the door. He didn’t have blue eyes like Drew did from the music video, nor was he called Drew for that matter, but god, you found yourself breathless and in constant awe like Taylor when you realized who it was.

He broke out in a grin, greeting you with that wretched nickname he and his cousins gave you when you were young. Bradley Bradshaw— the boy that taught you how to hang upside down from the monkey bars at the park because your friends (his cousins) thought you were too heavy to do so, the boy you got so attached to every summer when he came to stay next door because he included you whenever the cousins played Pokemon cards or Super Mario on the playstation and would let you off easy and debt free whenever you played monopoly, the boy who shared your love for aviation and would drag you along with their family trips to the flight museums nearby, and it would take years more for you to realize but he was also the same boy you looked for in the sea of faces at school, in hopes to find someone remotely close to who he was, which just left you terribly single— was back, visiting from college. He was still breathtakingly beautiful, and the crazy beating of your heart as he dragged you by the hand inside to see the family should be the telltale sign that you were going to be ruined before you escaped to college.

Catching up after dinner, you learned there was a girl. There was always someone— he was interested in, confessing their feelings, seeing, crying over him. You should’ve gotten used to it at this point. Bradley was a light that everyone was just naturally drawn to. Maybe you could chalk up the blame to the angsty fanfic you’ve read earlier that day or to the sad Taylor Swift songs you decided to dwell on before you brought the casserole, but goddamn it stung. It hurt when it shouldn’t be hurting in the first place. Bradley was one of your childhood friends, the kind big brother you always wanted to have. You’re sure that if he was around more, he would’ve helped you scare away your bullies or have even posed as your date to prom so you wouldn’t feel as left out as you did. It was in between your third or fourth bite of the cherry pie Bradley’s aunt had given you for dessert when you realized you saw him in a different light now, and it didn’t take long for you to see that he didn’t.

Later that night, you found yourself clutching your teal guitar, Love Story’s chords long forgotten, blasting Teardrops on My Guitar on your alarm clock speaker at 10pm, with only the moonlight and your pink wallpaper witnessing your tear-stricken face.

–

“Oh my god, is Indigo crying?”

“She is, fuck. Hurry, we gotta record this!”

Before your friend could point the camera flash on your face, you kick his shin before whipping out your middle finger, turning away from them to hastily wipe the tears that betrayed you on your sweater.

Despite the waterworks, you were determined to finish the last line of the song perfectly, because this is the last time you’ll be singing this for the next thirty or so years.

“Drew looks at me,” you start, and the doors swing open to welcome an amused Rooster and the rest of the gang into your group outside.

Locking eyes with you, you sing, “I fake a smile so he won’t see,” smiling.

Yeah, at least the sting lessened to a quiet twinge now.

—

The oldies have infiltrated the karaoke machine once they saw how much fun you guys had that night. Soon after, they’d come in early and just play one round of pool before Fanboy drags you and Payback outside quickly, reserving the machine before the bar’s crowd comes in. People would think this is unfair because you were allowed in earlier and would have the advantage to hoard the machine all to yourselves, but they didn’t want to risk disrespecting you guys and buying a round for the entire bar so they kept quiet.

It wasn’t long till Rooster had migrated his trademark song from the piano to the karaoke machine, deeming that it was hard to remember the chords when he’s had a few drinks. You’d still have your turn singing throwback songs with the gang, but once Bradley gets a hold of the mic, you might as well head home because it’s either he sings five songs in a row or a five minute song (there’s no in between). It gets especially worse when he’s got alcohol in his system, the mans will hog the mic for himself. You once got into a fight because of it and it only ended when Hangman snatched it from both of your hands and used it for his own song, much to both your chagrin.

—

“No, absolutely not.”

Those were the last words you register before your phone gets snatched from your hands. Mere seconds ago, you were on Amazon, comparing prices of those bluetooth karaoke microphones that had built in speakers and had just added the highest rated one on your cart.

You’ve grown attached to the bar’s karaoke machine and would look forward to it after a long day dealing with your new array of Top Gun students. You found that belting out Fall Out Boy relieves more tension from your back than your regular chiropractic appointments so you’re determined to still have your karaoke session one way or another. But apparently, your best friend had other ideas.

“I’m relaxing, Bradshaw, but I won’t hesitate to kick your nuts if you don’t give back my phone.”

“Let me just—,” he mutters, tapping on your device that seems suspiciously like removing something from your cart.

You immediately spring into action and he raises his arms above your reach in response. Damn him and his height. You resort to climbing up his limbs, and when that didn’t work, you gave a mean pinch his side. This seemed to do the trick as he hissed, folding over in pain, and you take the opportunity to grab your phone back.

God, you were glad you were on your break and none of your superiors or students were around to witness two of their instructors tackle each other outside one of the hangars.

“I can’t believe you’d betray Penny like this, Y/N.”

“What the hell are you on about?” You ask, shooting him a mean glare while wiping his fingerprints off from your screen on your suit.

“You getting your own karaoke mic means you won’t go to the Hard Deck anymore to sing and that’s just incredibly selfish and I can’t allow that.”

“Well,” you start, “I wouldn’t be getting one in the first place if someone here plays fair and doesn’t hog the mic for himself.”

He scoffs. “You talking to yourself?”

You gasp, appalled. “How dare you. That was one time! It’s not my fault All Too Well’s ten minutes!”

“Uh huh,” he gloats. “I’m just gonna pretend we didn’t listen to the album together and I totally didn’t see that there was a five minute version you could’ve sung.”

This prompts a teasing smile from your lips. “Oh, so you were paying attention to the album. I thought you hated it because it was cheesy teen music.” You say, using air quotes while mocking how he had complained when you took out his Temptations cd from the Bronco’s stereo and replaced it with your new Red album the moment you got it from the mail.

“I had little to no choice on the matter, Y/N. You chose the longest car ride to play that album on repeat,” he responds exasperatedly, rolling his eyes.

You smirk at the memory. You both were off that day and you persuaded Bradley to drive from base to downtown Los Angeles for this dumpling restaurant you saw on Yelp that offered an AYCE for their opening day. It wasn’t easy to get him off his couch during his offs (understandable), but you bribed him with the promise of a full gas tank and a car wash. He did sulk for a bit, but you knew he couldn’t resist free things (or you whining for that matter).

“Don’t distract me from the real issue here. Just don’t get that mic, Y/N. Fighting over that karaoke machine at the Hard Deck makes it more fun.” He says a matter-of-factly.

“Fun because no one has the balls to snatch the mic from you.” You grumble, checking your watch and seeing your break time was almost up. “Whatever,” you say in passing while wiping off some sandwich crumbs that stuck to your suit. “I’ll just order it when you’re not around,” you sneer, sticking your tongue out at Rooster as you start to walk back to the main building where your classes are held.

He catches up to you quick, a smirk on his lips. Does this man ever run out of comebacks? “You’re forgetting the fact that that’s my Prime account you’re using.”

You halt, appalled, your eyes following his figure as he ignores you and continues his walk. “I pay for my half, you ass! That’s our account!”

He doesn’t say anything as he looks back at you, only a knowing expression on his face. You know there’s no escape from this. Because when you’d try to order it later, he’ll just cancel it on his end when he gets notified of the purchase. Frustrating. “I hate you.”

He hums in response, and you try to suppress the tingly feeling you’d always get when he does that. “Still up for dinner later?” He asks when you reach his side.

You feel the weight of disappointment and dismay from your ancestors as you mutter a yes to the man before you separate ways. Doesn’t matter how much Bradley Bradshaw riles you up every chance he gets, you’d always say yes to him.

—

“Just let me take you to lunch, please.”

You had tried your best to keep a respectable distance from your superior but it got increasingly hard as Rooster grabbed your arm and situated himself in front of you, his bulky figure blocking your way. Getting caught was one thing, but having all the feelings for this man you’ve kept in a box stowed away in some hidden part of your head unravel because of how close he is to you right now was another issue you’re not ready to face.

In fact, mere days ago, the thought of him hadn’t even crossed your mind. Renewed determination and excitement coursed through your veins as you started your advanced flight training. You worked your ass off to get to this point, and it’s only a matter of time before you get your wings. That alone kept your head above water. You might’ve taken the long route with your engineering degree, but it surely did wonders as you sped through most of your earlier classes in training. Soon enough you’ll be doing what you’ve always dreamed of as a kid. And nothing will stand in your way to fly.

Well, you didn’t account for having Bradley Bradshaw temporarily stand-in as your flight instructor for a week, so that’s oversight on your part.

You had looked around, relieved to see the hallway was deserted, before you hissed, “You’re too close! If anyone sees us, they’re gonna assume the worst and I’ll be dead.”

“Let them.” You glared at him and he took it back immediately. “Okay, fine.” He had said, taking one step away from you. “Lunch, with me,” he repeated again, as if you hadn’t been listening to him ask for the past few minutes. “I’ll let you order anything you want off the menu. On me.”

He knew your affinity for free stuff, and you never wanted to pluck that knowledge off his head than right now. You sighed, resigning. “You’ll leave me alone after?”

“I–,” he’d stuttered, caught off guard. “C’mon, Y/N, don’t do me like this. I haven’t seen you in so long. We gotta catch up.”

“It’s just,” you said quietly, avoiding his gaze. “It’s different now, Bradley. You’re my instructor and I’m one of your students—”

“Only for a week,” he interrupted, and you gave him a scowl. “Sorry, go on.”

Sighing, you continued, “Don’t get me wrong, I wanna go with you. It’s just that people might get the wrong idea when they see us outside and I’m this close to graduating and I don’t want anything to hold me back, you know?”

He noticed your anxious expression and he’d ran a hand through the length of your arm to comfort you. “I understand, you know I do.” Despite the thick material of your flight suit, his touch left a trail of goosebumps on your skin. The effect he had on you is daunting.

He paused to think for a second. “Hey, what about this. Let’s change out of these uniforms and then I’ll wait for you outside base. We’ll blend in perfectly. That sound good?”

A small smile had creeped into your face as you nodded gingerly. God, you missed him so much.

“I got you, don’t worry. Plus I already told some of my colleagues that you’re a family friend so they leave us alone.”

He probably meant that in a sweet, genuine way, but it still stung. You went through so many changes during the years you spent apart. You worked hard on your appearance and became more confident in the way you deliver yourself, something that you weren’t before. You’d never admit it but in some small part of you, you wished Bradley saw you like the girls he’d go crazy over.

You mustered up a tight smile for him. “Okay, See you in a bit.” You say before walking away.

A single thought remains in your mind: Still not good enough.

—

Lunch went surprisingly easy despite of what had happened earlier.

You’ve imagined this moment with Rooster so many times while you were away for college. Like what would your first meeting as adults would be, if you would ever cross paths again.

Would you have a meet-cute like the movies where you bump into each other unexpectedly, or where you’d trip and he’d catch you, literally sweeping you off your feet? And would it be a new beginning for both of you, finally seeing each other after years of being apart?

Would love just come naturally, fate tired from seeing you both struggle to see it?

Even if this isn’t as grandiose as what you’ve dreamed of, you and Bradley munching through breakfast for lunch and early dinner at Denny’s while catching up seemed like how things should be.

Just his mere presence made everything better (for your heart) and worse (also, for your heart) at the same time.

You didn’t tell him that running thousands of miles away from home didn’t do shit because all you’ve ever searched for was him and anything remotely similar to how he’s made you feel, nor how you’d always check next door first to see if that blue Bronco’s parked in the driveway again when you’d come home for breaks. Instead you told him good (boring) things about college, because those were the safest. It didn’t warrant any additional questions, questions that could prod at your already flaking defense and one wrong step could have him see how much you’re pathetically struggling to keep it up.

He in turn, tells you stories from college to his current naval career, and you listen. Or you try to, as you hyperfocus on how he looked; how this clean cut hair made him look more serious, far from the mop of curls he sported throughout high school and college to how his lips still looked plump and pretty, and you get reminded of how much you liked to sneak looks at them whenever he speaks from that one summer.

This is probably the closest you could be with him so you take advantage of it, marking the features you loved from the old Bradley that remained the same from the new ones you’d get to know from afar.

You manage to catch the important things: how attached he’s been to the California sun ever since he got stationed there and how he’ll take you there to visit once you graduate because he’s that sure that you’ll love it as much as he does, how he’s thinking of growing a mustache, and that he didn’t even consider taking up this job but he’s now happy he did.

He made a point that you know how proud he is of you for following your childhood dream like he did. He swore he’ll take care of you, making up for all those years he hadn’t been around.

You’d hate it later that night because you knew better, but after years of just bottling up all the feelings you felt for him, maybe today was the day you could indulge in the affection he gives you.

Even if it’s ill placed. After all, it would just be today.

Until you realized he meant what he said.

It got hard to remain level-headed in the mist, especially when he became the first person you’d want to call just to tell him about both exciting and frustrating things you got to do from training because you knew he’d understand perfectly, or when he had shown up late to your graduation because he drove for an hour to get you a big bouquet of peonies (your favorite), or when he took you to San Diego and introduced you to his friends who all welcomed you with fondness, finally giving you a sense of belonging and community in this stage of your life.

It was arduous to keep up when even after getting assigned to bases across the country, you’d randomly find packages of random food items that you’ve been craving mentioned in passing through facetimes and texts, or when he would have time to visit, you’d suddenly find that broken bedroom doorknob you’ve been ignoring fixed, the change oil light from your car finally turned off, and you’d always get dropped off in front of Target’s entrance while he finds parking in a busy lot.

Punishing to bear in mind when it’s been custom to have each other pick one up after deployment, when he trusts you enough to park his beloved Bronco at your place and even take it out for eventual maintenance checks, and when you’d lean on his chest when it gets too crowded and his arms find its way around you, tucking you in, and at once there’d be comfort in chaos.

This still isn’t what you hoped to be with Bradley; but you were given something greater, far more than that silly little crush you’ve ever daydreamed about, and suddenly, something you’ve been certain of ever since that day you handed him that casserole wasn’t as clear now. Risking all this for a confession of years of love and adoration didn’t seem worth it anymore.

Perhaps, this was okay. This was how things should be.

—

So you didn’t quite understand why you were fuming, and all that filled your head was hurt, hurt, hurt.

The scene unfolded like a usual Saturday night for everyone: Tipsy Rooster throws his hand across your shoulders, making you sway with him to the opening rhythm of Great Balls of Fire (his third song in a row), leaning close to your ear where his mustache tickles your skin and unsheaths a million goosebumps at its wake, to say that he promises, like pretty promises, to let you sing the last verse and chorus with him as a peace offering for hogging the mic yet again. And you believe him.

Not because the few drinks you’ve had impeded your better judgement, but because it wasn’t like Rooster to break promises. Neither a wash of alcohol nor adrenaline could waver that man’s conviction to a promise.

You relent, plopping yourself beside a warm Phoenix, who was busy playing an intense card game with Bob, Fanboy, and some other pilots. Through the windows, you could spot Hangman’s animated head bob along as he charms two women by the pool table while Coyote and Fritz played beside him. It had been a busy week for all of you back at base, so everyone was just out and about, eager to be distracted from the events at work.

You had felt yourself get dizzy after taking two swigs off your nth beer, so you closed your eyes for a bit, leaning your weight on Nat’s back as you listen to your best friend croon his heart out and have his karaoke moment. Music had always calmed Rooster down, and as much as you’d love to have your overdue turn to sing, you’re always willing to wait for him (even if you’ll never admit it out loud).

So when he finished the second chorus and the piano solo kicked in, you had willed yourself to come back to consciousness. It had been a while since you sang this song, and you’ve never shared a duet with Rooster before because both of you would just be too busy fighting for the mic. You might not have the best singing voice when tipsy but you’re singing with your best friend, and it was okay to be embarrassing with him.

But you never hear your name called, and you open your eyes just in time to witness everything. The door leading to the outdoor area opened and out it spat a woman you remember seeing in passing inside when you went to get a refill from Penny. She was beautiful and of course, she had eyes only for Rooster. Considering the recognition in her face as she saw him plus the sure steps he made towards her, you knew they have had history.

You couldn’t hear what they were saying but she was laughing, obviously sending the fuck me gaze in Rooster’s way, and you could tell he was chuckling too by the careen in his shoulders.

The piano solo gave you an insulting background music as you watched tensed up. Knowing this song by heart, you count the seconds and notes while staring at the two of them.

‘Anytime now, Roos will bid her goodbye and he would call me next to him and we would finish this song together,’ you thought, assuring yourself. ‘He promised.’

Except when the solo ended, he pulled her close, put his arm on her shoulders, handed her the mic, and they sang together.

He didn’t even bother looking back at you. It was as if you weren’t there in the first place.

You should really lay off on alcohol. Something about it makes you act childish and irrational.

Because here you were, a grown woman, an Ivy League and Top Gun graduate, trusted to fly big expensive planes through challenging and stressful situations, yet all you wanted to do was to throw things and wail right then and there because you didn’t know how to quiet the pounding in your chest or to silence the reverberating words in your head: hurt, and in a smaller voice, that should’ve been me.

Despite the open around you, it felt like the air was getting punched out from your lungs, and you just had to get out. Standing abruptly, you forgot the drink perched on your lap and it spills, the cold liquid soaking through denim. Wanting to slip away unnoticed was far gone because your clumsiness just managed to attract unwanted attention from Nat and the rest.

A chorus of startled and worried questions erupt at your wake, but they get swept up in the night breeze as you squeeze past them, muttering something sounding like an apology while your feet takes you down the patio steps and into the sand of the beach, your boots sinking on the sand with your laden steps.

It seemed like the faster you run, your feet get heavier and harder to drag off the sand, making your dash to the parking lot achingly slower. The world was mute, the once noisy bar with all its music and chatter, even the relentless crashing of waves to shore were absent. The biting November wind clings to your frame and to the wet trails left on your cheeks. You didn’t even notice you were crying, but you just hope they didn’t spill when you were squeezing past your friends. They didn’t have to see how pathetic you really were behind your collected front.

But here now, by the unlit back wall of the bar where no wandering eyes could see you, maybe you could let some tears flow to keep the dam from overflowing again. You have always prided yourself in being able to keeping your emotions in check. With a job like yours you couldn’t guarantee a day or two where nothing unexpected occurs, no one gets hurt, or no one treats you unfairly, so you had to learn how to let your work be work, and not let it bleed through your personal life. Same as with Bradley. Your longing for him was met in this friendship and had let yourself get used to that. You knew to turn away when he spots someone that sparks his interest in the bar, you learned to tune him out when he raved about this person he met, you had a set of answers to give when he asks you advice on what to wear for a date or what gift to give.

Because your needs were being met. You have a best friend, a confidant, a partner in him. You have made a joke of yourself, your feelings to keep the man you loved close. You could sleep at night before. You were okay before. You could pretend this didn’t happen tomorrow like before, so why doesn’t it work now?

You cry for the wasted years of devoting yourself to someone who wouldn’t even bat an eye for you when occupied with others that haven’t, or wouldn’t even attempt to do things you’ve done for Bradley, to make him happy, to keep that fucking smile on his face, to keep that light in his eyes burning bright.

You cry for all the times you have rejected or ignored people that expressed interest in getting to know you because you were too enamored and convinced that no one could make up for what he was in your life. And you’re not wrong. No one could make you insecure like he does whenever you act or dress like what he says he seeks for in a partner but he’d still look the other way. No one could be as dense as he is. No one could make you cry about a fifteen year old song like he does and make you feel like your teen self isn’t as different as you were now.

You wonder if you could’ve just given the guy who pursued you for a month with clear intentions and a kind heart a chance, a date, a night to prove himself to you, would you still be crying uncontrollably with your hand muffling your sobs, the rough wood patchwork on a dark corner of the bar the only thing keeping you from curling up into a ball as the years of regret catch up to you on a Saturday night?

Almost the entirety of your life devoted should be enough. It was time to quit Bradley Bradshaw.

Only it had to wait until sunrise to start. Because upon reaching the parking lot, you were smacked with a terrible realization: you rode with him to the Hard Deck.

You had sobered up from tears a little bit, but you feel another sob threatening to bubble out of your throat. Why were you so stupid?

You want to kick the Bronco’s wheels out of frustration but the baby didn’t do anything to deserve it (also because you had paid to get the car washed earlier that day). It was just an innocent bystander to your stupidity and unconditional love to its owner, so you drop down and hug your knees tight, shielding your face from the lights of the lot.

Maybe if you could sleep like this, you’d wake up back to this morning and this will all be a simple nightmare. And the exhaustion from the week and your sadness and anger were all too convincing for you to try it out, if it weren’t for the voice calling out your name in worry, the footsteps quickly coming towards you, and the strong arms that wrap around your frame, willing you to speak.

“Y/N, hey,” Bradley says softly, hand rubbing circles on your back. “Let’s get you somewhere warm, m’kay?”

Managing to muster up some strength, you push him away, or at least a sorry attempt to. Your palms were no match against his hard chest, and they just slide down hopelessly to your sides.

Grumbling, you say, “I can do it myself.”

“Okay, careful.” His voice remained soft, devoid of any annoyance or exasperation. This annoys you more. You wanted nothing but to hate this man to the guts but he makes it hard by being like this, like he actually cares.

You refuse to meet his eyes but you know they’re on you, watching as you hoist yourself up using the concrete as leverage. He had his hand outstretched to catch you if you stumble, and for a second you were tempted to grab it, but you resort to the side of the Bronco to keep your balance and the hand retreats.

Training your eyes to the ground, to anywhere except his stupid face, you explain, “I just need my bag,” gesturing at the lump on the passenger seat of the car. “So I can just catch an uber home.”

“No, I’ll drive you home,” he quickly refuses, fishing out his car keys from his back pocket. You wanted to lunge and steal it from him, but that’s just going to cause unnecessary contact with him. It’s best to avoid touching anything of him because you don’t know what it’ll do to the wall you’ve hastily built against him.

“Don’t bother. Last thing I want is to ruin your chances in getting laid tonight.”

Your words earn a quick eyebrow furrow from him and a miniscule wave of satisfaction runs through you. And you figure it out: if you can’t be happy tonight, no one near you can be.

A desire to cause a cascade of anger through him continues to consume you but he stops there. Face still laced with concern, he shakes his head and sighs, “Alright, let’s get you home.”

You watch him as he opens your door and waits for you to climb in while you remained standing where you were.

“Y/N.” He says it with a tonality he almost exclusively uses at work, when he has to put his instructor hat on or when he has someone to reprimand. “Please don’t make me carry you inside.”

You want to say he wouldn’t dare, but you knew he could easily do it. And even if you scream bloody murder, people knew you two always bicker like this so no one would think anything’s amiss. So you glare at him before noisily climbing up his car and shutting the door on his face. Whether it may be through words or actions, you were adamant to express your frustration to him, to this car, to this entire situation.

You could tell by the slump in his shoulders as he walked to the driver’s seat that he was bothered by how you’re acting but you can’t bring yourself to care. You just want to leave him troubled as you are, with his heart wrung tightly he couldn’t breathe.

The next words come out after a while of driving quietly through dark, empty streets. He was letting you calm down but your mind was far from it. You occupy yourself by counting the streets left to cross before you reach your apartment from the passenger window, wanting nothing but to get the fuck out of there and sleep.

“Y/N,” he starts. “What happened back there? Did anyone cause you trouble? Tell me what they look like so I can tell Penny and Mav about it tomorrow.”

You were thankful you had your hands tucked in, arms crossed over your chest, because you were certain if it had been anywhere else he could easily reach over and touch, he would.

When he was answered with silence, he tries again. “Were you hurt, Y/N? What did they do to you? Please tell me.”

“God, shut up. You’re making my head throb even more.”

“I will when you answer me. Even Phoenix doesn’t know what’s up with you back there. She says you just got up and left.”

“Maybe it’s just that.”

“I know you enough to know that it isn’t. Something happened that made you this upset.”

“Why do you care so much, Rooster? Dealing with you is suffocating.”

His mouth gapes incredulously, and if the car was stopped in a light he would’ve stared at you in disbelief. “Wha–,” he stutters. “Y/N, come on. Don’t be like this.”

“Like what, Rooster? Like a bitch?” You snort. “I already told you earlier I just needed my fucking bag. I didn’t ask for you to come drive me home. I’m only here because you insisted.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I–,” “I don’t want you to go home alone and upset. I hate seeing my best friend like this and not being able to help. I’m sorry.” There it was again, best friend. An affectionate word, even an achievement to have for others, but you never had a word that triggers so much hate in you as much as that. It sends your temper bubbling higher.

You scoff.

“Y/N, I’m sorry. If you’re mad at me, at whatever I did, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not letting you buy the bluetooth microphone. I’ll get you a new one personally as soon as we get home.”

Now you really laugh, insulted, like salt being thrown haphazardly on your fresh scars. You should’ve cut this man off ages ago. “All this, and the best you can think of is that I’m fucking upset over a microphone. God, I’m really seeing everything tonight, am I?”

“Then help me out, Y/N! I’ve been sitting here going through tonight and yesterday night and the last week, wracking my brain for anything I’ve said or did that made you this upset with me.” He breathes, trying his best to calm himself down.

In a leveled tone he begs, “Please tell me what I can do to make this right.”

“You actually saying that unprovoked just proves everything I’ve realized tonight about you, Roos. I just feel stupid now trying to convince myself that you weren’t dense and selfish when it’s really all about you, isn’t it? You only get bothered when someone lashes out on you. Then you self reflect. You only care about your feelings, about your happiness. You don’t give a shit about anyone else!”

“What? You know that’s not true, Y/N.”

“Knowing you forever says the opposite, Rooster. You have the world in your hands and God forbid anyone upset you and ruin your night—”

“God, Y/N, I’m sorry that I can’t read what’s on your mind! If you can just tell me what the hell I did that got you this pissed so I can apologize for it, instead of saying cryptic and hurtful shit that I know you don’t mean then we’d have a better conversation, don’t you think?”

“Wow, so now you’re telling me the things I mean and don’t mean. You sure you can’t read my mind, Roos?”

“I know you’d never say those things to me because you know who I am. You think I’m shallow? Okay. That I’m narcissistic, fine. But saying I don’t give a shit about anyone, about you,” he pauses. “You know better than that, Y/N. I know you do after everything we’ve gone through—”

“So now you want to compare the shit we did, shit we sacrificed for each other during this fucking friendship? Alright, I’m down. Go ahead.”

“What— no! Fuck, Y/N, please. I know what you’re doing, you’re trying to hurt me, making me feel the way I made you feel.” He pleads, his voice getting hoarse from all the screaming. “Just please tell me what you want me to do to fix this. Please.”

“I want nothing to do with you.” It came off so easy from your tongue it’s hard to believe you held this back for years.

It surprised him too, so much so that he gave up trying to make you admit you didn’t mean it. The certainty in your voice scares him enough to believe as soon as he heard it. “Why?”

“Because I fucking hate you.”

You see shock, anger, and sadness and all sorts of emotions you can’t catch because of the tears blocking your vision flit on his face quickly. With a morose expression, he shakes his head in disbelief, blinking some tears away, willing them not to fall. You knew he’s trying to think you didn’t mean it.

But now with tears falling freely, you know you finally do. “Because you make me become someone that I’m not and I hate it. You make me jealous, you make me spiteful of the girls that come near you, you make me hateful and bitter that I can’t make you smile like you do with people who barely know you. And I know that’s so petty and immature and I know better than that but you just make me stupid and irrational.

You make me dependent on you for things that I can do myself. I can drive myself home I can do my own groceries I can take care of myself when I’m sick but now that you’ve weaseled yourself in my life these things aren’t the same without you. I hate that I got attached to this fucking car that eats up gas so fucking quick. I hate seeing your stupid Hawaiian shirts you always forget to iron. I hate your stupid fucking mustache and how long you take to fucking shape them.

I fucking hate how I get so weak when I’m with you that I get all the feelings I know I should’ve given up on ages ago and I know, I have fucking known for years that you’ll never feel the same way I do and yet here I am. I hate that I can’t quit you after all these years I’m still here and I love you and I can’t do anything about it.”

You also hate that unlike the confession scenes in movies have the heroine crying but still look beautiful, you had tears and snot dripping on your shirt and jeans and you only found out when you tasted some while sputtering and spewing out all the words that haunted you for years on Bradley.

Finally everything was on the table. You’ve crossed the point of no return and instead of feeling relief you felt spent, exhausted, and widely aware that you don’t have strength to face your best friend anymore. In fact, you’re sure you just lost yours.

Tears have blinded you to what you were facing and you could barely breathe from the snot build up in your nostrils, so you pull up your sweater to wipe and sneeze into until—

BONK!

A searing pain erupts from a specific point on your forehead and you clutch it while curses flow from your mouth, tearing up again because it fucking hurt and it made your headache ten times worse. Bradley must’ve hit you with something and you’re mad but you also understand why he’d do that.

But as you blink some tears away you see him cradling his forehead as well, groaning and cursing in pain, mirroring your actions.

What the hell just happened? Did he just headbutt you?

Turns out you’ve thought that one out loud. “I didn’t, you dumbass. You keep on fucking moving.”

He grabs your face, encasing it with his big hands forcing you to look at him. You stare at each other for a second and after everything you’ve exchanged in this car you want it to last until it couldn’t, because you knew this would be the last time you’d have Bradley this close. Even if his beautiful features are marred with pain and frustration and other emotions you couldn’t name.

He groans, pulls on the sleeve of his thermal shirt and wipes the snot and tears off of your nose and mouth haphazardly.

And then he leans in for a kiss.

There was a blink, a split second of silence, before the chorus of voices erupt in your head: your five year old self disgusted that you’re kissing that snotty Bradshaw kid; a ten year old you guilty and scared that Ms. Carole will get mad at you for not asking permission to kiss her son; thirteen, appalled that you were basically making out with someone that’s clearly not Emmett Richmond from Legally Blonde; seventeen year old you screeching, screaming ‘FUCKING FINALLY!’ and immediately searching for a Taylor Swift song to accompany this moment; and a twenty six year old Y/N more confused than ever that you’d still end up here, living your adolescent fantasy instead of finding someone new and better.

Yet amidst the chaos, you find yourself mute. In the moment, yes, you were hopeless against Bradley’s lips, yours following his lead like a teenager on her first kiss because you haven’t had (or probably refused to get) enough practice to do this thing properly, but you found it graceless, like trying to walk in shoes that were one size too big— not quite right. Like you couldn’t give yourself fully to the moment because something hefty still lingers in the air, left unsaid.

So against your past selves’ wishes, you pull away. Looking down, you refuse to look at him, afraid that his eyes will confirm your worst fear. “Please,” you whisper nervously. “Please don’t kiss me because you feel bad. That’s… that’s mean.”

An exasperated sigh escapes Bradley and two fingers tilt your chin to face him properly. There wasn’t any trace of guilt nor contempt on his flushed face. Just pure exasperation for all the things you’ve done tonight but you can’t let yourself be so sure. No falling for anything without full certainty and a vocal confirmation. You had enough of your fair share.

“God, you’re the smartest girl I know but you’re also incredibly dumb. I kissed you to shut you up and let you know I do feel the same thing because I know if I just say it you won’t listen because you’re too fucking stubborn.” He huffs.

Locking eyes with you, he quirks an eyebrow waiting if you have another protest to make. If you weren’t in this situation, you would’ve laughed at the ridiculous irked face he’s making. Maybe he is telling the truth, you tell yourself. Maybe this time, it’ll be right.

Deeming your silence and waiting, parted lips as an answer, he says sulkily, “Now, can I continue this without getting interrupted?”

You hit his arm as you nod. Your lips meet again, the kiss deeper this time around judging by the arm that now encircles you, attempting to pull you closer to him but failing miserably.

“Fuck this shit,” he grumbles.

“Language, Bradshaw, damn,” you chuckle, watching him slide off his seatbelt, putting the car on park and the hand brake on.

“My right foot fell asleep because I was stepping on the breaks this whole damn time.”

Now you really laugh. What a giant dork.

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves you off as he reaches towards you and slides off your seatbelt. “Wonder whose great idea it is to confess feelings in the middle of a goddamn street.”

You didn’t get the chance to reply in between hysterics because he swiftly carries and maneuvers you around so you were straddling him, surprised at how comfortable it was. You never had him this close before and you sober up quickly into a mesmerized silence, just admiring how beautiful he looked this close, how the streetlight outside lands square on his face and you could see the speckles of green in his brown eyes, and how all of this is yours. God, saying that feels so foreign but right.

He lets your soft fingertips graze the contours of his face, from his lips to the tip of his nose before one finally settling lost in his curls and the other on the nape of his neck. You don’t know this yet, but he also had dreamed of this moment longer than he could remember.

Suddenly you get hit with a familiar wave of the longing in your pit for Bradley, only this time you can act up on it. So you did, crashing your lips onto his.

Like the other things you’ve imagined with him, this was certainly never in consideration. You’d imagine a spacious park, branches of a leaning tree lined with soft fairy lights that made both of you glow as he leans in, lips melding into yours perfectly as soft music crooned in the background. Instead you get a steamy Bronco two streets away from your apartment, and probably more odd locations in your place. Not that you’re complaining though.

—

You were going through some papers that needed to be graded on one of your students’ desk after class when you feel the presence of three amused pilots approaching you.

Even if you didn’t look up, you know by their steps that it was Fanboy, who took a seat in front of you, Phoenix, that sat next to you, and a snickering Hangman who opted to stand beside you, looming over your hunched figure.

“What did my kids do now?” You say, not bothering to greet them. Even if the students you had also took classes with some of them, you were adamant in calling them your children because despite of how much they annoyed you sometimes, you’ve gotten close to this batch and they to you. Some of the instructors would even ask you to sit them down and discuss about the mistakes they made in their other classes so you could work with them to do it better. Not without them holding you responsible when they act out (sometimes. It can’t be helped) of course.

“Oh nothing. They’re great, actually,” Nat replies. “We just wanted to see the beautiful face of our great Indigo today.”

Mickey pipes up. “Yeah, we didn’t even get to see you at lunch today.”

Moving onto the next paper, you say, “I was busy. But didn’t you guys visit my class earlier?” It was just Hangman and Fanboy casually walking across the back of the room, claiming to grab something very important (a random HDMI cord). They scooted out fast but not before getting a good look at your confused face. You thought you had something stuck to your teeth but you didn’t have your phone with you so you just tried to clean them with your tongue.

“Yeah. We did.”

“Uhuh. Need another cord?”

“No, we just need you to look at us, darlin’.”

You almost didn’t, half expecting Hangman to have a plate of whipped cream ready to smack your face, but food isn’t allowed beyond the cafeteria so you reluctantly raise your head to meet the expectant and scandalous looks on your friends’ faces.

No face smashing occurred, only a mesh of hollers, high fives, and nods of agreement.

“What am I missing?”

“Oh, nothing. We’re just happy you had fun last night with Rooster.”

“Took you guys too fucking long,” Mickey drawls, clutching his head in exaggeration. Phoenix joins him in agreement, grinning at you proudly like she’s your mom and you just got a medal for being a top student in class.

A sweat starts to break out of your forehead. You and Bradley didn’t tell anyone that you were together last night, hell, you didn’t even had time to discuss what you guys were now. The last thing you want is for people to make assumptions and you can’t tell them otherwise because you don’t know where you stand. ‘We just fucked all night in every hard surface you could think of, no big deal.’ won’t be an acceptable answer, especially when this reaches Maverick and Penny.

“Wha—,” you stutter. “I wasn’t with Rooster last night! Stop making up bullshit, Bagman.”

Jake just gives you that god awful smirk and nod combo that tells you he knows you’re full of shit right now.

You turn to Nat, desperate for your friend to back you up. ‘’Nat, I wasn’t with him last night I swear.”

She makes her way to your lap and hugs you sideways. You know you could always count on your wingman. “Oh, my sweet Indy,” she coos. “No need to explain. The same bruise you and Rooster have on your foreheads tell us everything we wanna know.”

#rooster #rooster x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x oc #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x oc #rooster x oc #rooster imagine #rooster fluff #bradley bradshaw fluff #top gun maverick #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #miles teller #it’s maverick’s fault

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bloodpen-to-paper · 1 month

Text

QSMP Awards 2024 Summarized

-The audio was scuffed for the first half. I don't mean a little crispy. I don't mean with a slight echo. It was fucked in every way imaginable. The audio sounded like it was going through a blender. Then it kept getting too loud, then too quiet (so much so we couldn't hear), all while being way too crispy. Charlie Slimecicle monologued to the audience while the team was trying to fix it but since the audio was both too crispy and too quiet we couldn't actually understand anything he was saying. This carried on for about 7 minutes with him holding two microphones, neither of which was working, before the stream crashed (again)

-All the staff are apparently Cucurucho, with one of them being a "main Cucurucho"

-Missa wore a "Quackity my beloved" shirt. I could not explain to you what the blazer over it was supposed to be.

-Everyone else at the ceremony was shown through discord call. I'm convinced Charlie has never seen German or Lenay's faces cause he did not know it was them until Quackity said their names

-The screen was supposed to switch between showing all the people on the discord and it kept switching between the same four people. If I have to hear Q, Charlie and Missa chant "Foolish" or "Pol" ever again-

-Mariana showed up and Charlie immediately went into bitter ex mode. He also hit on Mariana. Multiple times.

-We got a patented Ironmouse "coño" and chat lost their shit over Luzu existing, as expected

-Mariana looked like Michael Jackson, Bad's background could've been the set of Breaking Bad, Roier had a ski mask, lots of people learned what Lenay, German and Vegetta's looked like for the first time, and Mike had a kawaii filter

-Somehow Bad didn't even get nominated for Best Cucurucho Jumpscare, showing that even non-red carpet events can produce award snubs (congrats to Bagi!)

-Though I yearned for Maximus getting nominated for his Eh Vegetta prank, we all knew the win had to go to Vegetta for the mines

-The audio eventually became bearable but the echo never fully left. At some point there were like three or four overlaps of Vegetta giving his acceptance speech

-Acau won for Best Death from getting killed by an enderman (in my heart Foolish's accidental death by Pomme's sniper that got him eliminated from the elections won, but we did get Quackity dying to a fly as a nom so I feel complete. Also congrats to Acau!)

-The Qsmp shop is officially open! We got eggie merch :]

-Quackity forgot to roll clips for the Best Purgatory 2 Moment nominees and almost read out the winner before we got the montage (Wuant won! It was the clip of him being told he lost and he accidentally did a flip. They weren't able to get the acceptance speech on stream so we saw it from Quackity's phone)

-Funniest QSMP Moment nominees were all fucking hilarious, its hard to pick just one but Maxo winning for when he respawned after a lore-heavy moment in Pierre's bed to his own moans being remixed into a song absolutely deserved the win

-Saddest QSMP Moment was unnecessary and the admins will be hearing from my lawyers for making me relive Dapper's first lost life, Dia de los Muertos and the end of Purgatory 1 (Jaiden and Roier saying bye to Bobby won, Roier changed his screen to black and white and held up what looked like a mini Cucurucho being used as a cross)

-Best QSMP Original Song was played prematurely when the category was Best Language Exchange, and we got a spoiler for the winner (YD and Hugo's exchange won and YD's audio was muted so we just saw her Vtuber model getting excited)

-The aforementioned Best Qsmp Original Song had Gordinho Gostosinho looping aggressively over Charlie singing the Juanaflippa song, which I hope to god gets clipped cause it was hilarious (I'm glad the Roier and Cucurucho rap got nominated). Charlie was very confused why they had him announce his own win.

-Best PVP unsurprisingly went to Etoiles for his colosseum Code fight, after all he is the Best🔥 (the other noms were great too, we had Philza vs Tubbo in Purgatory, Bad and Maxo eliminating El Quackity from the elections, and a cute sparring session between Pac and Richas)

-Best Qsmp Fails went to Fit for that time Pac's internet cut out during their date (of course he bragged about his Brasilian boyfriend after learning he won for best loser)(also if it was up to me Quackity's fly deaths would've been added to this category just sayin')

-The audio problems were revealed to have been roleplay the entire time. Yep. All part of the lore.

-Speaking of, most of the winners who were in the discord call could not be heard so they had to give speeches through Quackity holding his phone up to the mic

-Best Roleplayer went to Roier for his Doied arc (the screen prematurely showed him before they could read the announcement, and his speech was him kissing the camera)

-Worst Server House went to Mariana accompanied with the classic clip of him reacting to the admins roasting his started base; Mariana was part of the discord call but left at some point so he couldn't give a speech, to which Charlie jumped on the opportunity to roast his absence like a shark smelling blood (they rightfully nominated Quackity for his clip of Acau reacting to his failure of a starter house, and apparently Carre's base is just his bed on a dirt plot)

-Most Iconic Clip went to Pac for stealing the Qsmp Logo (the other lovely noms included Foolish and co. accidentally closing their house door after a creeper came in an attempt to shut it out, and Tina reacting to a mob giving Felps a blowjob)

-The Most Bankrupt Islander went to Niki for being broke, we stan (during the nom montage we got a passa tudo mention)

-The Creator Who Spent the Most Time on the Server Award went to Bad, which was shocking to no one, although they did use his Barbie Girl clip for the nom montage (they also used Fit wearing a wig for his clip)

-The Qsmp cake for the one year anniversary had the text "FELICIDADES ALBERTO". We do not know who Alberto is. Pol was losing it.

-Tubbo won for The Creator With the Most Deaths (106), while The Creator With Fewest Deaths went to Philza (he only had 1!). Philza was able to be heard through stream but the hosts didn't know this so they would hear him from Quackity's phone and repeat what he was saying even though we could hear him

-Everytime the camera cut back to the hosts Charlie, Quackity and Missa had more cake on their faces

-Most Distance Traveled (in Minecraft) went to Etoiles (6,000+ km jfc)

-Creator With the Most Mob Kills went to Pierre (162,960 mob kills. what the fuck.)

-They accidentally read the award for Creator With the Most Damage Taken (Foolish) during the Best Builder announcement, confusing the shit out of everyone, especially cause the screen showed Mike instead of Foolish. I am still unclear who won Best Builder

-Creator With the Most Blocks Placed went to Mike!!! (MIKE WIN VAMBORAAAAAAAAAAA🇧🇷🇧🇷🇧🇷)

-We had to uncomfortably sit through Missa feeding Charlie cake (and just Charlie in general)

-There was an In Memorium segment of the passed eggs (Quackity shat on a grieiving Charlie for Flippa only lasting 11 days, but in Charlie's words, "to you it was 11 days; to her it was a lifetime"). Charlie commentated and had nothing to say about Trump because he didn't know jack shit about Trump (though he did make a wall joke which is exactly what Maxo would have wanted godbless🙏)

-The stream ended with the discord people saying goodbye, while Roier was holding up the mini Cucuruchos and didn't move the entire time. I know he wasn't frozen because he blinked.

-Maxo sent in his acceptance speech video last minute and Quackity hyped it up as a mysterious final entry but Charlie guessed it was Maxo and spoiled it on accident

-Speaking of, Maxo's entry was him walking around heaven looking for Trump </3

-Charlie gave a heartfelt speech about the people he met through the Qsmp, all while looking like ate out frosty the snowman <3. Missa simpy thanked Alberto (we still do not know who Alberto is)

-Tubbo wasn't present in the discord call because he thought him streaming meant he couldn't join. After the stream Quackity called and Tubbo realized he was allowed to join the whole time

-We ended on a montage of various moments, with a message of excitement looking forward to the next year!

And of course, here are the screenies I managed to nab of the hosts slowly deteriorating into cake

#this is how i return to regular posting #i say to myself in the mirror #anyway its been a month how yall doing #liveblogging #mcyt #qsmp #qsmp recap #qsmp awards

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angel-of-the-moons · 2 months

Note

I'm back again since it's been about a month since I last requested. I hope you don't mind me asking another story. So I was thinking of another Hobie one. There is honestly not enough stories about him and I love the way you write him. I was thinking of a more fluff type thing or possibly head cannons. You decide. Regardless about living with Hobie or just spending some downtime with him. Just a chill little thing I wanted to put out there. Thank you. I love your works and appreciate you 😘

Ilysm!!! I am sorry these asks have been rotting in my inbox! I'm finally working on them!!!

Ice Cream

Hobie Brown x Reader

TW/CW: Marijuana usage

Hobie is obviously aged-up in this

🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸

• When Hobie isn't rocking out with his band at pubs, or fighting the regime™ or working to save the multiverse with the Old Man, he's at home with you.

• He often slips into the window because he refuses to use the front door like a normal person (even if you live on the fifth floor)

• Hobie would find you wherever you were, on the couch, in the kitchen, in bed or in the bathroom; and would immediately wrap his lanky arms around you and breathe deep and relax every muscle in his body

• "Where've you been?" You tease, easing his spiked vest off his stiffened shoulders.

• "Dealin' with the Old Man and his nonstop bitchin'." Hobie said, clicking his tongue, leaning over to rest his chin on the top of your head, holding you against him once more as you carefully ease the rest of his punk paraphernalia off of his person.

• You lead him to the bed, and pull him down on top of you, using your remote to turn on the sound system, playing some of his favorite music tracks on a low volume for background noise

• "You're a goddamn angel, y'know that, luv?" Hobie sighed, closing his eyes as he listens to the soft patter of your heartbeat

• "Mmh, I try." You chuckle, your fingers idly fluffing his wicks and toying with them as you feel his breathing even out

• And in no time, he's out like a light, sprawled out over you like a lanky starfish

• Forget moving this man, despite his thin physique he somehow finds the magic in him to weigh as much as his old, beat-up van

• You're stuck in bed, so the only thing left to do is give in and join him for a nap

• When you two wake up, you work on your usual routine.

• Hobie helps cook, making homemade chips while you batter and bake some fresh chicken

• Once your lunch/dinner is finished, you both cuddle on the sofa and watch some shitty movie on your telly

• He 100% has gutter humor, as well as a perverted sense of one

• Is also very big into physical humor. I'm talking shoving tissues into his nose and pretending to be a walrus kind of physical humor. Whatever it takes to hear you laugh

• Totally plays his guitar for you, singing punk versions of almost any kind of song (except American country. That shite is a travesty upon the music industry!)

• Will often split his pot with you, either rolling joints or using a bong, he'll always offer you a hit if you need or want it

• If you can't handle it, he'll FaceTime you while he smokes on the roof. That way, you're still together and he isn't negatively affecting your health/personal preferences with his smoking

• If you're sick, Hobie will full on hit the breaks to whatever he's doing to take care of you (provided it's a possibility that he can do that)

• This includes sending a selfie with a middle finger to Miguel telling him to not bug him til you're better

• 100% a master at making simple comfort foods when you're sick. Cheese toasties, chicken noodle soup, vegetable soup, even homemade ice cream. He does it all for you

• Runs you a nice hot bath with some eucalyptus and Epsom salts to help your sore muscles and clear sinuses

• If you're nauseous, he'll put peppermint oil in the water with you and run to the market for some ginger pop to ease your stomach, maybe some ginger root tea while he's at it

• Will also buy you some of your favorite digestives just to make sure you get something solid in your tummy

• Will totally fake threaten you about blabbing to anyone about his "secret soft side" and "ruining his image"

• Everyone already knows, he's just blind as hell and doesn't notice lmao

• This man is 100% loyal. If any gal/pal/guy flirts with him, he will flat out shoot em down

• "Nah, mate. I already got the best partner in crime a guy like me could ever ask for. Nobody c'n compare to that!"

• Always makes sure he never worries you (or at least tries to)

• If Hobie is sick or hurt, positions are reversed and you become his personal nurse

• Totally doesn't pretend to be sick sometimes just so you'll spoil him

• You know he's full of shit when he does though, but you just humor him because he's cute about it

• Yeah, you both put up with each other's shit, but you'd never have it any other way

• However... Hobie definitely knows when he's in trouble.

• "Hobart Brown!" You'd shout.

• Yeah, Hobie could easily feel his blood chill when you use his government name

#🌙 answered #hobie brown #hoboe brown x reader #hobie brown x you #hobie x reader #hobie x you #atsv hobie #hobie spiderverse #spider punk #spider punk x reader #spider punk x you

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farfromstrange · 10 months

Note

Hey can I make a Matt Murdock request. It's Matt and reader's wedding day, and Matt remembers how you met in st. Agnes , the little adventures you had and how sister Maggie caught you trying to sneak out which sometimes worked out

I want to apologize for taking so long to write this! I'm so sorry. I just spent the past four hours pouring my whole soul into this because this request was just so beautiful... Like seriously, I have tears in my eyes. I listened to a lot of love songs while writing this, and I hope I could match up with your expectations. Thank you for your request and enjoy! <3

You Are The Best Thing That's Ever Been Mine | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: On the day of your wedding, Matt thinks back to your time together at the orphanage.

Warnings: None. Tooth-rotting fluff. (not proofread though)

Word Count: ~6.8k (oops)

The church bells play an all too familiar tune. It echoes off the high walls that are adorned with colorful paintings and stone sculptures that are as old as time. Clinton Church stands taller than he is, but he doesn’t feel suffocated by it, not today.

Matt Murdock grew up on religion and has lived by his faith in God ever since. He fell into several dark holes over time, but he crawled out of them and he picked himself up again. He played this tiring game for a while. He never felt like he truly belonged anywhere. He was lost. And then you stepped back into his life.

After his father died and he was taken in by the St. Agnes orphanage in Hell’s Kitchen, Matt had more than just his grief to deal with. The accident that blinded him a year prior turned his life upside down and no one knew.

His father knew he was blind, of course, but no one knew about how he could suddenly smell or hear much better than before, and that it was worse than the usual enhancement of one’s senses after becoming blind. His senses became heightened to the point he could pick up everything around him with his ears, nose, and hands alone.

It has been the most exhausting experience, especially as a little boy, he thought about giving up many times because it confused him and it made him bitter, and then his father died and the only person he could trust was gone, too.

He felt so utterly alone, he had nightmares, he was traumatized and the children at the orphanage didn’t like him much, either. He was a broken boy, and he had no one to turn to but the sisters taking care of him. But after a while, even that support stopped when more children arrived, and he chose to fight this battle on his own. He didn’t want to bother anyone. He was lonely, but he accepted that he just wasn’t that important and that sometimes, life goes a certain way.

Matt told himself God blinded him for a reason. He tried to find a purpose in his heightened senses and whatever else came with the accident and his father’s wrongful death, but with each passing day in this small bedroom with the church bells ringing in the background, causing his head to spin with their audacity, he lost more and more of the hope he swore himself he would keep. He wasn’t just alone, he adopted this feeling of loneliness and ran with it, turning more and more into an outsider. But he also had nothing to show for himself as the other kids did. He was blind, he was different, and that was never appreciated.

One day though, after spending most of his time hiding away in a corner, listening to the people around him and judging them in his own way, a set of small footsteps approached where he was sitting in the garden behind the orphanage.

He remembers the way your dress brushed against your tights, a sound he found annoying and painful at first, but he quickly got used to it. He remembers how you walked up to him with almost determined steps after Sister Maggie showed you the way and dropped you there for you to explore. He remembers your little sigh when you realized how far away he was from the other kids, but you didn’t turn around and leave when you noticed his black-rimmed glasses or the cane next to him.

You stopped in front of him, and Matt did not once forget the sound of your voice when you first spoke to him, “Is this seat taken?” he remembers you asking, and you sounded a lot nicer than the other children.

He frowned, at first, because he wasn’t used to being talked to. He figured you must be playing with him. But you didn’t stop there.

You chose to sit down next to him, and you smiled when you said, “I like your glasses, by the way.”

He remembers turning his head in your direction, signaling he was listening. You took that as an invitation to introduce yourself. Your name rolled beautifully off your tongue, and he stored it away instantly, along with the sound of your voice.

“I’m Matt,” he chose to tell you.

You smiled even brighter and took his hand, shaking it. “Nice to meet you, Matt,” you said.

Eight years, that’s how long you stayed. And during those eight years, you became inseparable. He confided in you about his heightened senses, and when Stick came around and left as fast as he had appeared, you were the one who picked up his broken pieces.

The first field trip you took together was to Central Park. The sun was shining brightly that day. Sister Maggie and some of the other nuns accompanied your group, and you quickly found your spot next to Matt. It was the first time he wasn't stuck with an adult during a day out, and he was so flustered, he remembers forgetting his words when your cheery nature found a place next to him.

Your heart has always been a steady sound in his ear, and back then, it grounded him whenever he had to face situations that made him uneasy. Field trips held so many different sensations that overwhelmed him, and he often felt as if his disability wasn't taken very seriously, but with you by his side, he could actually feel the sun on his skin rather than the heavy lump in his throat. He didn't want to cry on the way there; he listened to the beautiful sound of your voice, your laughter, and your excitement both infectious enough to make him smile, and it's something he swore he would always cherish. You had a talent, and he was the only one you used it on.

“Hey,” he remembers you saying when he was hiding away at the back of the group once again. You reached out to gently take his hand. “Don't worry, I'll be your guide today,” you said.

It wasn't pity, you actually enjoyed doing this for him. Even though it was hot outside, he ignored the sweat simply to hold your hand.

“What if…I get lost?” he remembers asking you, and you laughed at that-

You squeezed his hand reassuringly. “I've got you. Trust me.”

As you strolled through the park, you described everything you saw. You walked him through it the way you saw it, and he imagined how the world looked like through your eyes.

“The sky is so blue, Matt,” you said, pointing upward. “It stretches out like an endless canvas. And the clouds are little white specks of color that take different shapes wherever you look.”

Matt tilted his head, a small smile gracing his lips. “I wish I could see it.” It was the first time he actively admitted it to you, and your heart broke a little.

“But you can feel it,” you instantly tried to make him feel better. “The warmth of the sun on your skin, the gentle breeze ruffling your hair. You can smell the flowers. It's all there. Sight is so overrated, anyway.”

He stored your advice for another day, knowing that you weren't wrong. Next, you stopped near a bed of colorful flowers. You crouched down and reached out, picking one. The scent seemed familiar.

“Close your eyes and breathe in,” you instructed, holding the flower near his nose.

Matt followed your guidance, inhaling the sweet scent. “It's… it's beautiful,” he said.

“You see, Matt,” you said, “Beauty isn't just in what we see. It's in the little things we discover along the way.”

For someone who lost so much, you were a true optimist. You breathed fresh air into his life.

With each step, you continued to describe the vibrant colors, the rustling leaves, and the laughter of children in the distance. Matt's trust in you grew, and he found solace in the world you painted for him.

Of course, he could hear, smell and feel everything down to the smallest detail, but the way you described it was so different from the picture he had painted before, and he let you change his perspective. Your view of the world was much more beautiful than his, and he rather lived in a fairytale than take everything too seriously. With you, he could be himself. That was the first day he came to that realization, and his loneliness slowly started to die out.

That day, as you explored the park hand in hand, Matt realized that his blindness didn't define him. With you by his side, he discovered a newfound appreciation for the world and the beauty that could be found in even the smallest details.

The months passed by and turned into years, and you grew closer as friends. During the times you were allowed to play together, you never left each other’s sides, much to some of the nuns’ dismay, but Sister Maggie was the one who encouraged Matt to tie himself to you so he wouldn’t be as alone, and he gladly did it every time. She saw something in you that he could feel with every one of your fleeting touches and the sound of your voice, and your friendship became a lifeline he kept holding onto. But he was yours, too, which you told him many times before, and he told you he would be more than happy to show you the world through his senses. He made you feel seen and appreciated in a way no one has before, a job he took seriously enough to somehow take permanent residency in your life–but you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

The summer sun beat down on the small group of children from the orphanage as you made your way to a nearby lake. Sister Maggie never struggled to control the group and she was one of the nicer sisters who allowed you to do silly things others didn't, so you often used that to your advantage.

Being friends with Matt for three years, you gradually figured out who he is, and in return, you revealed parts of yourself. You were the duo most kids feared, which was one of the reasons why the boys stopped picking on him, and the girls had never even dared to say a bad thing about you. Still, you were the weird outcasts who always hung out together; you both prided yourself on that title and often made fun of it.

Laughter filled the air as you excitedly chatted about the day's adventure. Matt walked beside you, his cane tapping gently on the ground. His other hand rested on your arm. He didn't need it, he once admitted to you, but he still felt safer and more grounded, knowing he could hold onto someone in case something happened.

As you approached the shimmering lake, you couldn't help but notice Matt's hesitance. You turned to him with a mischievous grin.

“Hey, Matt,” you said, nudging his arm playfully. “Remember the promise we made when we were little? That we'd jump in a lake together someday?”

Matt's lips curled into a shy smile. “Yeah, I remember. But… I can't swim,” he said. “What if something goes wrong?”

You patted his back reassuringly. “You're not alone, are you?”

With newfound determination, Matt nodded, placing his trust in you once again. The cool breeze kissed your cheeks as you waded into the lake, the water lapping at your feet.

You turned to Matt, splashing water playfully. “Come on, Matt! The water feels amazing!”

He remembers the goosebumps on his skin, the eagerness in your voice. His uncertainty melted away when you reached out to help him inside somewhere he could stand, and he felt a little less scared about his ability to control the setting. With hesitant steps, he followed you, the soft sand beneath his feet giving way to gentle ripples in the water.

As you both ventured deeper, you guided Matt's hand to your shoulder, urging him to relax and float. “Just trust me,” you said.

Little did you know that he trusted you with his life already.

He took a deep breath, his body relaxing as he felt the water supporting him. A surge of joy filled your heart as you watched his confidence grow. You took his other hand, spinning in the water together, laughter echoing across the lake. He might have been standing on the sandy ground of the lake, but it still reminded him of the times his father took him to the pool. Sharing this moment with you felt… different, but in a good way, and he slowly started to warm up to the idea of enjoying a day in the water. You were always careful with him, and he knew you would never let him drown.

Time seemed to stand still. The world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you and the tranquility of the lake. The other children moved into the background, and Sister Maggie's pleas for you to be careful or even better, get out, met deaf ears as you got lost in each other's eyes. You were only twelve then, but it was like that day changed a lot in the way he felt about you, which is why he remembers that day vividly, still. You made him feel so alive that day, and it's a feeling he still gets whenever he looks into your beautiful eyes.

Matt's voice broke the peaceful silence, barely above a whisper. He said your name softly, something that always managed to make you smile. “This feels… it feels like a dream,” he said.

The warmth of the sun on your face mirrored the warmth in your heart. “No, Matt, this is real,” you told him. “This is our moment. And it's ours to keep.”

As you floated side by side, surrounded by the serenity of the lake, you both realized that this connection, this friendship, was something precious and unbreakable. Life without you seemed like an impossibility to him.

One month turned into twenty-four. You were teenagers, he remembers when your mischief took on a new size. You would appear in front of his door at random hours of the night, tapping on his door three times, before leaning against the wall. He would put on his shoes and grab his cane before making his way outside.

The first time it happened, he hissed at you, “Are you insane?! What if we get caught? Sister Maggie would ground us for the rest of our lives! Oh God–”

You cut him off with a giggle and told him, “We only live once, Matthew, and I am tired of spending every last minute of my life in this place. I wanna live! Please, just trust me. I have a plan.”

And from there on, you would sneak out any other night. You always found spots in nature for you to sit down and talk without people around. You shared stories, laughed, and cried together, and it worked as glue. You became even more inseparable.

Sometimes, you would take him to the lake, sit down with him and describe the night sky to him. You would point out constellations, tell him the meaning behind them and fantasize about life beyond what you could see. He was quick to dispute it because there could only be one God, so there couldn’t be any other universes out there, and once again you only laughed.

You both had a different take on religion; he’s always considered you a dreamer, and you never changed, which he found endearing because you believed in what you wanted to believe in, always. And you made sure you always got what you wanted.

You always snuck past Sister Maggie’s room and made it back in time. It worked almost always, except for the days when someone else was in charge of supervising you, and then you would have to wait until everyone was asleep to tap a steady rhythm against the thin wall of your dormitory.

The sole reason you learned Morse code was to communicate with Matt, knowing he could hear you wherever. In a time before everyone had a cell phone, it was your way of staying in contact.

A few more years passed. You both started maturing, growing up, and going through changes. Life became harder, but you stayed together. Your friendship blossomed, you continued to sneak out, and the one-time Sister Maggie caught you, she simply rolled her eyes and sent you back to your rooms.

That one pivotal night though when you were both sixteen and carefree, the night shimmered with an air of excitement as you sat by the peaceful lake by the orphanage, engrossed in Matt's animated storytelling. His voice had dropped sometime over the past year and it was a sound that would always send shivers down your spine.

He was full of enthusiasm as he shared the details of his latest discovery while he was doing research for a school presentation. You found yourself focused on his hands and his lips rather than the story, and the sound of his voice sent shivers down your spine. When you looked into his eyes, his glasses long discarded, you seemed to realize something, and the silence from your end alarmed your friend.

Amidst the excitement in his voice, a new realization took hold. Matt was more than just your best friend; an undeniable connection went beyond friendship.

Caught amid this realization, you found yourself lost in the features of his face, your mind spinning. Matt's voice trailed off, and he noticed your gaze fixed on him, a puzzled expression crossing his face.

“What's wrong?” he asked. “Is there something on my face?”

Your mind raced to catch up with your feelings. Without uttering a word, you leaned forward, closing the distance between you, and pressed your lips against his. It was a spontaneous and slightly awkward first kiss, but Matt remembers every last second of it.

For a moment, the world paused, and you both froze, the realization of what had just happened sinking in. Uncertainty hung in the air, but then Matt's hand gently cupped your cheek, his touch gentle and comforting. He traced your features, and they were so vulnerable and delicate that night.

He remembers swallowing, the panic that sent the blood rushing to his cheeks, and the strange change in the rhythm of your beating heart. “I, uh…” Matt tried to find the right words, but his mind was blank. Your lips left a tingling sensation on his own, and he somehow couldn't comprehend what was happening to his body. It was confusing. “That was… unexpected,” he said.

You felt mixed emotions swirling within you, but the desire to explore this newfound connection outweighed any awkwardness. Without hesitation, you leaned back in and kissed him again, this time more confidently, allowing yourself to get lost in the moment.

The awkwardness quickly melted away when Matt finally realized what he wanted, too. Your lips moved in harmony, exploring the tender and unfamiliar territory you found yourselves on.

The touch of Matt's lips against yours sent electric currents through your veins, and the world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you.

Eventually, you pulled away, breathless and wide-eyed.

“I… I don't know what to say,” he confessed.

You smiled at him. “Do we need to say anything?” you retorted.

Matt remembers the exact moment he realized that he fell fast and hard for you; it wasn't the kiss that proved his feelings for you, it was what happened after. You looked at him, brushed a strand of hair out of his face, and told him, “You're beautiful, Matthew. Inside and out.”

And that was the moment he first knew he loved you more than just a best friend. He would have walked through fire for you, and it was never a doubt in his mind. The realization hit him hard, but he somehow never questioned it. He realized he loved you, and from that moment on, he rolled with it.

Matt remembers that he only acted after hearing you say those words. He told you, “Says the most beautiful girl in this godforsaken place.”

He gently pulled you back into his embrace, his lips finding yours once more. You couldn't even berate him for the blasphemy because he was right, and you smiled against his lips; this was the day you both finally found a home.

A few years had passed since that fateful night by the lake, and your bond with Matt grew stronger.

On this particular night, you found yourselves drawn to the library. The quiet stillness of the space provided a temporary escape.

As you settled into a hidden corner, the soft glow of the moon filtered through the window. You found solace in each other's arms, curled into a corner on the window sill. Matt's arms were wrapped around you and he held you as tightly as he could.

His lips ghosted over yours and you kissed back. He sighed into your mouth, his large hand on your cheek holding you right there. “I wish I could stay with you,” you murmured.

He nuzzled his nose against yours. “You know that's not a good idea,” he said.

“Why though?”

“For one, we'd get caught and two,” his hand stopped at your neck, feeling your pulse jump and he sighed, “I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off of you.”

Your cheeks flushed a bright red, and just as you're about to kiss him again (damn his silver tongue), he stops you with the same hand that's on your throat. “Sister Maggie,” he said.

Your heart skipped a beat as you turned to see Sister Maggie standing at the entrance of the library, her expression a mix of surprise, disappointment, and disapproval. The realization of the rules you were breaking washed over you.

You shot up into a sitting position and Matt followed suit. You had never been so ashamed in your entire life.

Sister Maggie's eyes flitted between you and Matt. The disapproving silence hung heavy in the air before she finally spoke.

“You two,” she said. “What on earth are you doing?”

“We, um…” You bit your lip. “We weren't doing anything, I promise!”

Matt quickly adjusted his shirt and agreed, “We're so sorry, sister.”

He remembers faintly how she lifted her finger. “I expected better from the two of you,” she continued. “As young adults, you should understand the importance of adhering to the rules and maintaining appropriate behavior within these walls. And in front of God? I taught you better than that! Up, both of you!”

Neither of you hesitated to get off the window sill. She approached you both. “Now, I suggest you both leave this library immediately and return to your rooms. There will be no further discussions about this matter.”

Her words cut deep, but you tended to forget where you were living sometimes. You exchanged a glance.

“You're lucky it was me who found you,” she said. “Now go! I don't want to see either of you wandering these walls at night ever again, are we clear?”

You nodded wildly. While you said, “Yes, Sister Maggie,” Matt found himself at a loss for words.

Without uttering another word, you followed Sister Maggie's order, slowly making your way out of the library. Each step felt like a punishment, he remembers.

Her actions had made it clear that the boundaries between friendship and romance were not to be crossed within the confines of the orphanage. You had to live with that.

Though once you were out of her earshot, your giggles filled the hallway, and Matt pinched your arm. “It's not funny,” he whispered.

You couldn't help but giggle again. He's always loved how you could laugh about everything. “I know, I know,” you said to him, trying to stifle your laughter. “But the look on Sister Maggie's face… I can't help it.”

Matt shook his head. “You're going to get us into even more trouble if you don't stop.”

You sobered up, realizing the truth in his words, and you both fell into a comfortable silence as you walked back to your rooms. The echoes of Sister Maggie's disapproval still lingered, a reminder of the boundaries that governed your lives.

As you reached the hallway that led to your respective rooms, you paused, facing each other. The dim light from the hallway cast soft shadows on your faces. You longed for him. Just one night with him would have fixed both of your sleep habits and it would have done you good, but you knew you had to part ways. It hurt, but it was a reality you came to live with.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again. “I didn't mean to get us into trouble.”

Matt's expression softened as he reached out to gently touch your cheek. He made sure no one was around so he could touch you one last time, at least. “It's not entirely your fault,” he said. “We both got carried away.”

You nodded. “We should be more careful. We don't want to risk getting separated, do we?”

Never, he remembers thinking. Getting separated had sounded like torture then. “You're right,” he agreed. “We'll have to be more cautious from now on. It's not worth putting our future at risk.”

A mixture of disappointment and longing settled in your heart as you prepared to part ways for the night.

You hoped your relationship could survive this.

With a lingering touch, you both turned and retreated to your respective rooms, the weight of the night's events etching themselves into your memories.

You both knew the boundaries were in place for a reason and though it pained you, you were willing to respect them. You had to. You grew up there. The stolen moments and the unspoken promises would have to find solace in the hidden corners of your hearts until the time was right to let them flourish fully. At least that was what you told yourselves for the following 365 days.

When you turned eighteen and finished school, everything changed. Matt remembers that day as trauma, and maybe it partly was.

One day, as you returned from school, Sister Margaret approached you with a warm smile, handing you an envelope.

“Congratulations, dear,” she said. “A letter from Stanford arrived for you today.”

You froze.

Entering your room, you found Matt sitting on your bed, his head turning toward you as you entered. He sensed the strange weight in your hands, the unshed tears in your eyes, and his smile faded. “What's in your hands?” he asked.

You took a deep breath, summoning the courage to speak. Your heart dropped, he could hear it. And that was when you told him, “It’s a letter from Stanford.”

Silence hung in the air as Matt absorbed your words. This wasn't what you had planned together, and his world seemed to stop right then and there.

“Why didn't you tell me you applied?” Matt's voice held a touch of hurt.

Your heart sank, knowing that this was a conversation you couldn't avoid. “I didn't know how to bring it up,” you admitted. “I was scared… scared of what it would mean for us.”

His brows furrowed. “What does it mean for us? Are you planning to leave? We said we’d go to Columbia, why–Is this no longer something you want? Us? You and me, going to college together?”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you rushed to explain, “No, Matt, it's not like that! I love you, and I want to be with you. But Stanford… it's an opportunity I've always dreamed of. I don't want to live with regrets if I don't even try. It's… it's a full-ride scholarship, Matty. It's not just an acceptance letter, it's an offer.”

He was happy for you, and in hindsight, he should have reacted differently, but he was so hurt. He looked away, his fingers gripping the edge of the bed. “But what about us?” he asked. “What about the plans we made? We made all these plans for the future…”

Unshed tears glisten in his unfocused eyes, and he could tell it broke you just the same to tell him.

“I don't want to lose you, Matt,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. The letter weighed heavy in your hands. “But I also can't ignore my dreams.”

“I won't ask you to give up your dreams for me. You know I wouldn't, but… I can't help feeling like you're just going down a path so far from mine, and… it scares me.”

The room filled with a heavy silence. The realization that a difficult decision lay ahead threatened to tear at the fabric of your love. You were so young, so naive, but you have always known just exactly what you wanted.

“I don't want to lose you,” you whispered, repeating your previous sentiment. “Maybe… maybe we can make it work, despite the distance.” Your eyes lit up, but the hope felt tainted. “We can try, right? We can promise to support each other and keep our love alive, even if we're apart.”

Matt's gaze softened. “I want to believe that,” he said, “but it won't be easy. We'll have to fight against the odds. Are we strong enough for that?”

“We'll never know if we don't try,” you said. “We owe it to ourselves to give it a chance.”

He took a deep breath, then opened his arms for you as so often and held you as you cried, not sure if out of sadness or excitement, but that stupid letter to Stanford was bound to change everything.

When you moved away to college, leaving New York and Matt behind, the contact you promised to keep up faded eventually. He got into law school, you made a living for yourself, your calls eventually stopped, no more letters or gifts, and after one particularly rough night of partying, that was it. You ended it.

Eight years washed down the drain because life has funny ways of breaking people apart. At first, Matt was sad, but he learned to move on and eventually became a lawyer, found friends, and moved on the same way you seemed to have done all those years ago.

But there came a time when he least expected it, and you promptly bumped into him in a courthouse in Hell’s Kitchen. Matt recognized you almost instantly from the sound of your voice alone, and even though he grew up and aged like fine wine, you called his name the second you looked into his red glasses.

As you locked eyes, the memories of your past came rushing back for both of you. It was pouring rain outside. Your hair stuck to your face as so did his, but he was still the same Matt from before, only older, and you also hadn't changed much.

“Matt?” you whispered in disbelief.

A flicker of recognition crossed his face, his hand resting on your arm. “Is it really you?” he asked after calling your name.

A bittersweet smile graced your lips as you nodded. “It's me,” you replied softly. “I never thought I'd see you again. How- how have you been?”

He told you about his practice, he remembers, and you listened closely. You told him you were proud of him and then you told him about med school and how you were a resident now, but a slot opened up in Hell's Kitchen for a fellowship and you chose to move again. It was fate, almost.

His gaze softened as he listened to your breathing, feeling your soft skin under his fingertips, and the feelings he had pushed down for so long resurfaced. “I thought about you often,” he remembers dropping on you the second he caught his breath again

“I'm sorry,” you whispered back to him. “I let life get in the way, and I let go of something so special. I will never forgive myself for how we ended. I… we… I cared about you, Matthew. It wasn't just some stupid childhood fling for me.”

Matt's hand reached out, his fingers gently brushing against yours. “We both made mistakes. We should have worked harder, it's not…You're not the only one who fucked up, so…”

You licked your lips. “We were too young,” you said.

“Yeah,” he instantly agreed without missing a beat, “We were. And a little dumb, maybe.”

You chuckled, tears welling up in your eyes as you looked into his eyes. “I've missed you,” you confessed. “I've missed us.”

“I've missed you too. Us. But especially you.”

The courthouse buzzed with activity around you, the hustle and bustle of lawyers, judges, and clients filling the air. But at that moment, it felt as if time stood still, and it was just the two of you. It reminded you of your childhood when you would spend time at the water together, whispering hushed promises underneath the night sky.

“Let's start over,” you suggested. And then you reintroduced yourself, telling him your name with that wonderful smile of yours, and he was enchanted all over again.

A smile tugged at the corners of Matt's lips, too, as he reached out to take your hand. “Matt Murdock,” he said. “Nice meeting you.”

That was the day everything changed. To think that day lies three years in the past now is something he still hasn’t wrapped his mind around, but fate brought you back together, and after months of pining and him hiding who he truly is to no avail, you finally took the first step.

You accepted that he is Daredevil without second-guessing or being mad at him. You walked through hell with him and you came out on the other side stronger than before, and Matt realized soon enough that he could never love someone as much as he loves you.

And on a beautiful Saturday in June, he asked you to marry him at the same lake you used to hide out as kids. You said yes, of course. He feared for a moment you wouldn’t, but you jumped into his arms as soon as he got on his knees, and the deal was sealed.

Matt can’t see, that is no secret. He thought it might ruin your wedding experience, but you reassured him you didn’t care about whether or not his eyes fell out of his head when you would walk down the aisle. He wishes he could see you in your dress, but he has made peace with the fact he couldn’t.

As he’s standing in the small room hidden away in Clinton Church now, nervously fiddling with the flower stuck to his suit jacket, he can’t help but recall all the little moments you shared while you were growing up, and how fate brought you back together when you both needed it the most. You picked each other up, and you saved each other’s lives.

You asked one of your bridesmaids to tell him to wait right there, and he has been standing there, looking out of the window at the small lake in the distance for a while now. He wonders what you’re doing, but Foggy told him to be patient, so he tries to swallow his curiosity and waits some more.

He never thought he would get married, but he remembers thinking one night as a boy that if he ever got married, he would only get married to you.

As the anticipation builds up, Matt's heart races with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. He can hear the distant sound of footsteps approaching, followed by your heartbeat. You smell like flowers and vanilla, and the fabric brushing against your legs sounds soft, almost like his silk sheets.

The door to the small room creaks open, finally, and he holds his breath, bracing himself for the sight he would never be able to see. And then, there you are, standing at the doorway. Your dress, carefully chosen and adorned, flows elegantly around you. It's silk with lace adorning the top, but you made sure that it would feel nice to him and look good on you, still.

Matt's senses heighten when you enter, capturing every detail he can possibly perceive. Most of all though, he memorizes your heartbeat once again and takes a good whiff of the beautiful scent you carry with yourself. You are one hundred percent yourself and he has never been more in love.

Today, you don't have to sneak around or hide away, even though it still feels like it, in this room secluded from everyone else, and his heart races faster when he thinks about how full circle this moment feels.

You take a step closer, your footsteps soft against the floor. You're wearing heels, but you seem to walk comfortably in them. Matt's heart skips a beat when he hears your voice. "Matthew," you breathe. "I'm here."

With a gentle smile, you extend your hand. Matt reaches out, intertwining your fingers. You close in on him until you're right in front of him, and he blinks as if he can't believe it. You remove his glasses, tears already forming in his eyes from how many emotions crash into him, but you don't feel much better. Seeing his brown eyes search yours, you swallow the lump in your throat, and you try not to start sobbing right then and there.

Your pulse jumps under his fingers; he chuckles because it seems ironic that you're more nervous than him, so beautiful and innocent. You're his everything, his world, the reason he's still alive, and he can never repay you for all you've done for him.

His fingertips graze the delicate fabric of your dress. He traces the intricate patterns, feeling the smoothness and intricacy, the silk and the lace. You guide him a little, building up his confidence. He feels the slit that runs down your leg, the garter belt you're wearing, and he swears he might puke. Your face is next, and with that, he takes his sweet time. You close your eyes and let him explore. He cradles you so delicately, almost as if you're a porcelain doll.

His breath shudders. "Fuck," he murmurs. The reality of the moment hits him. The first tear escapes his left eye. He never thought he would have the opportunity to experience something like this, and now he is experiencing it with you, the love of his life. It feels so surreal, he can't breathe.

His voice quivers as he speaks. "You're breathtaking," he says. "I can't even…Jesus, you're amazing."

You choke up too, your lips curling up into a smile. "Don't make me cry," you retort. "You're gonna ruin my makeup, Prince Charming."

He joins in, his hand remaining on your cheek as he takes in the person that you are through his other senses. You feel so much closer like this. You're his and he is yours, forever.

You step closer. Matt's arms envelop you in a warm embrace, holding you tightly against his chest. He always knows what you want, what you need, and he is more than willing to give it to you unconditionally.

"I love you," Matt whispers into your ear. "I've loved you since we were kids, and I'll love you until the end of time."

You swallow the tears that threaten to fall. "I love you too. With every beat of my heart. I fell in love with you the second I saw you sitting there all alone," you say. "You're never getting rid of me."

He chuckles. "Oh, sweetheart, that's the reason we're here today in the first place. You don't get one without the other." Matt brushes a loose strand of hair out of your face. "You're mine and I'm yours. Always and forever. I promise."

Just as you are starting to get lost in each other's eyes, the door creaks open, and Foggy's voice breaks the moment. "Am I interrupting something here, lovebirds?" he chirps.

You turn to see Foggy standing at the doorway, a playful smirk on his face. Matt releases you from his embrace, and the two of you share a sheepish smile.

"Not at all, Foggy," you reply, wiping away the remnants of your tears. "We were just having a moment."

Foggy chuckles. "Well, don't get too caught up in the moment. Remember, Matt, you can't kiss the bridge until the ceremony. That's what you told me to tell you," he says. "So, take a step back."

Matt rolls his eyes but follows his instructions. "Better?"

Foggy shakes his head. "Further."

"You want me to wait outside? You know this is my bride, right? And I can't even see her."

You laugh. Turning to your husband-to-be, you gently tug at his arm. "Guess you'll have to contain ourselves until then," you say.

“How will I ever manage that?” Matt retorts. “I only waited over a decade to get you back.” Followed directly by a dramatic sigh.

“Exactly,” you and Foggy say at the same time.

You glance at Matt, a silent understanding passing between you. You faced so much together, hand in hand, and this moment would be no different. You’ve never been big on traditions, anyway.

You turn back to Foggy. "We're ready,” you tell him. “And we've decided to walk down the aisle together.”

Foggy's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but a smile quickly spreads across his face. "Well, I'll be damned!" he quips. "Leave it to you two to make things even more unique. Less work for me, I suppose. Let's get this show on the road then."

And as you take those first steps together, Matt realizes that you chatting him up all those years ago at St. Agnes was just the beginning of your story.

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