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desertduality · 5 months

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HELLO soo I was inspired by @stiffyck and the most recent secret life episode to write some tcd angst set in secret life <33 Enjoy :D

Link to Ao3 if you prefer to read there

———----

Scar, despite all odds against him, does hold his own for a little while. Gem is after him, bloodthirsty and intent, for reasons that Scar doesn’t know. She traps his base, she shoots at him, stabs at him — and he survives it all, up until he doesn’t. There are four of them by then, and they hunt him down and pick him off. And he dies.

These games are fun, is the thing. They get together and they make silly little groups with playful rivalry’s and eventually someone wins. It’s fun. Scar has fun, usually.

None of them know about the world he came from. That lonely, ravaged, barren world. The zombies had been everywhere, fast and stubborn. Scar had been young and hurt and alone, and had learned to run on broken legs before he learned how to read.

It’s been a long time ago, now. The memories sneak up on him far less often than they used to, and he’s better. This though, this thing with Gem and the others, it’s hitting him in places that still hurt; places that will always hurt.

Scar is fresh off his first death, still reeling from being hunted down, and Cleo and Grian are telling him he can’t stay.

“You’re not one of us,” Grian says, and they’re just playing a game, but Scar is confused. He’d been invited, hadn’t he? But then Cleo had taken it back.

“Scar!” Bdubs is a distance behind him, sitting atop a horse and calling his name urgently. “Scar, we need to talk to you.”

Scar goes, and hears whispering behind him, something about zombies and spreading. It makes a bit of nerves flare up in his stomach, but he ignores them. He is far enough removed from the past that hearing the word won’t send him into hysterics. He’s even recovered enough that he can handle the sight of a few zombies, even if his heart rate elevates until they’re gone. He’s better, he is.

Bdubs takes him back to the others, and they explain to him what’s been going on. It’s Gem’s task to spread the Boogeyman curse, one by one, to everyone. He suddenly feels a little bad for trying to burn the book earlier, because this sounds like a good time. Causing some chaos, killing some people, making each other laugh — it's what they’re all here for. It’s why they play the game.

(There’s a small but persistent inkling of unease living behind his rib cage at the fact that they’re comparing themselves to zombies, to an apocalypse, but he ignores it. It’s not important enough to mention it, and he doesn’t want to ruin everyone’s fun.)

They get Etho, and Gem praises him for it, and Scar tries not to compare the fortress the others are defending to the bunkers he used to raid. His brain still makes the connection, as much as he wishes it didn’t. The memories trickle in slowly, making him more and more on edge as the day goes on. It will be over soon, Scar tells himself. Then he can rest, and go back to being better.

Joel has a zombie spawner to farm XP. Scar has used it, has been inside it. He’d been expecting zombies, then. He doesn’t expect it when Joel throws down sixty-four zombie eggs in a row.

The thin and fraying thread tying him together snaps.

Everyone is screaming and yelling, running, chasing after Joel. There are zombies as far as he can see, in groups and alone, groaning and gurgling into the night. It fills his ears, wraps itself around his mind like a vice, catapults him back to when he was just a kid, fighting the world with his teeth bared and no one at his back.

Everything goes fuzzy and distant, the noises muffled beneath his heartbeat and heaving breaths echoing endlessly in his ears. He slows to a stop, chest heaving and eyes wide, skin going cold and numb with terror. Nothing makes sense. Everything is wrong.

There’s something in his hand, and he looks at it, panicked tears prickling at his eyes. He’s holding a sword, and an anguished, confused noise rips itself from his throat. Where’s his gun? Guns are better, guns are safer; guns mean he doesn’t have to get close.

The moaning of the undead is growing louder, they’re coming for him, and he stumbles forward with gasping breaths, eyes flitting around wildly as he searches for a place to hide. The ground is filled with craters, zombies in every direction, and he blinks desperately to clear his blurry vision, pushing forward with all the desperate agony of a man living on borrowed time.

He thinks he hears someone call his name, but it can’t be real, it’s just a memory, it’s just his stupid, persistent hope manifesting itself at the worst possible time. He has to get back to his base, his bunker, but nothing looks familiar, no direction looks like the correct way to go—

He runs anyway, passing by a giant stone statue and weaving around holes in the ground and slashing blindly at anything that looks like it’s moving. He spots a tower in the distance, oddly shaped and oddly colored, but a structure nonetheless, and he runs for it. The zombies are here and they never left and he never left and he runs.

He only makes it halfway.

There’s a zombie in one of the craters, and Scar doesn’t see it, is too wrapped up in his tunnel vision, and it grabs at his ankle as he walks by. He hits the ground, hard, his knee hitting first before everything else. He hears a sharp crack, and knows it’s broken.

He twists his head around wildly, tearing his leg out of the zombies cold grip with a yell of pain, dragging himself out of reach just in time for others to bear down on him. His vision becomes a swirling kaleidoscope of hands and teeth, of skin and claws, and he opens his mouth and screams.

(He won’t know until later, but everyone near spawn hears it. Everyone hears it, and freezes, and turns to look. It sounds like pure terror, like the final cry of a dying man. None of them will ever forget it.)

He swings his sword wildly, slashing and scrambling to get away, but his knee hurts and they’re pushing him down, he can’t get up—

He hears yelling, distantly, but that still can’t be right, no one else is here, no one else can save him—

Scar rolls to the side, and falls into one of the craters, dirt and pebbles sprinkling down on top of him when he hits the ground with a dull thud. He shouts through clenched teeth as the landing jostles his leg, but still pushes himself up and back until his back hits the solid side of the hole. Grass and dirt is still clinging above him, forming somewhat of an overhang. They can’t attack from directly above. Scar grips his sword in violently shaking hands and waits for the hoards to find him.

He still hears the voices, but he shouldn’t be hearing voices, he’s alone here, he hasn’t heard a human voice not his own since he was six, and he closes his eyes tightly for a few seconds, willing himself back to reality. Something drops to the ground in front of him, and Scars eyes wrench themselves back open, landing on the shadowed figure of a person coming his way. He has both hands on his sword, and he points it at the approaching zombie.

It speaks. It says his name.

“Scar,” the figure says, a deep, frantic concern in their voice. “Are you— What happened? Are you okay?”

The cloud that had been blocking the moon slowly drifts away, and Scar gets a good look at the figure — the person — in front of him. He’s human, he’s alive, and Scar knows him, he knows who it is, but he can’t be here, he’s not supposed to be here. This is the world where Scar is young and alone. No one else belongs here.

The past and the present collide angrily in his head; he doesn’t know what’s real. He doesn’t even know this person's name. The person is crouching a few feet away, empty hands extended imploringly, worry plain in his eyes. Scar’s eyes catch on his shirt, black with gold accents, and can’t help but think that something’s missing. A letter, he thinks, but can’t quite remember which one.

It doesn’t matter. He’s not really here.

He must’ve said some of that out loud, because the man’s face drops, something heartbroken pinching at his eyes. Scar feels bad, and doesn’t know why.

“I’m here, Scar,” says the man, voice trembling. “I’m real. You’re okay.”

The man is a liar. Scar shakes his head, a trembling exhale shaking his tense frame. The sword remains steady.

“No,” Scar says, voice strained and breaking. “No, you— you can’t be. Not here.”

“Scar—“

“Stop saying my name,” Scar begs. “I don’t know— I don’t know who you are.”

It’s only half true. He recognizes him, knows he’s a friend, but his brain is rebelling against the very thought that he could exist in a place like this. In the place Scar grew up. No. Everyone was either dead or undead, here. Everyone but Scar. This person with sad eyes and gentle hands does not belong.

“Impulse!” Another voice is calling down at them, and Scar looks up, catching a glimpse of bright orange curls and mismatched eyes. Nothing makes sense. “Is he okay?”

The man — Impulse — looks at him, and then looks up. He can still hear the zombies, everywhere and far too many.

“Get Grian,” Impulse says, and the person above them freezes for just a moment, and then disappears.

Grian, Scar thinks. Another name he knows. Another name that doesn’t make sense to be hearing in a world like this. His mind scrambles, his eyes sting, the zombies groan and shriek above him. Nothing makes sense.

Grian will, some distant and muted part of him says.

Grian will.

—————————

Grian is on top of their cobblestone tower — laughing at the sheer amount of zombies and chaos in the distance — when Gem comes tearing up the slope at high speeds, something frantic and determined in her eyes.

“No zombies allowed!” Grian calls down, grinning, though it dims when she looks up at him. There is something serious and desperate about her gaze.

“Grian!” She slides to a stop at the base of their castle, face dotted with sweat and panic. “You need to come with me, something—“

“You’re just going to kill me,” Grian says, confused and faltering. “Why would I—“

“It’s Scar,” Gem interrupts, a harsh concern clipping her words. “He’s— Something’s wrong with him, a zombie got him and he screamed.”

Grian tilts his head. “Scar screams all the time.”

“Not like this,” Gem says, sounding genuinely shaken. “Not like this, Grian, please.”

She doesn’t even have her sword out, standing at the base of their fortress with wild eyes and a desperate plea. Something’s wrong with Scar. Something bad enough that everything else has gone out the window. Gem’s not here asking him to play the game. She’s here begging him to pause it.

“Okay,” Grian says, a new bubble of panic growing in his chest. “I’m coming, let’s go.”

Gem nods at him when he emerges from the tower, and then she takes off running, leaving Grian with nothing to do but follow. It seems to take forever to get there, weaving around hoards of zombies and craters left over from the wither attack. The other server members are mowing through the hoards with swords and axes, and what seems to be extreme prejudice. They all look a bit shaken. The coil of nervous worry in Grian’s rib cage grows.

Gem stops them at a random crater, and nods. “Down there,” she says, and then throws herself back into the fray, cutting through any undead limbs that reach for her. The surface is a battlefield.

Grian drops down, and Impulse turns to look at him, grim concern pressing his lips thin. He looks relieved when he sees him, and Grian looks behind him and realizes why.

Scar is there, hunched against the wall and shaking like a leaf, sword held in trembling hands and fearful eyes flickering between them. Grian’s stomach drops, and he inhales shakily. Scar looks lost, and so very, very afraid. He’s never seen him like this.

“It’s the zombies,” Impulse says, quietly. “They set him off somehow, I— He barely recognizes me.”

Grian remembers, distantly, Double Life. Scar had fallen into a pit of zombies, and they had both died that day. He hadn’t quite understood why their shared heart had been beating so fast for so long after; he never knew the reason for Scar’s shell-shocked eyes above his trembling smile when they met back up. He still doesn’t know why, but now he knows for sure. Scar is afraid of zombies.

“Get rid of them,” Grian says, equally hushed, even though everyone has already started. Impulse just nods, one hand on his sword, and climbs out of the crater. Grian turns to Scar.

“Scar,” Grian starts, voice carefully relaxed. “You’re safe, okay? We’re getting rid of them.”

Scar shakes his head, moonlight catching on the tear tracks on his face, and Grian aches.

“You can’t be here,” Scar says, turning pleading eyes towards him. “You— You can’t be here.”

Grian gets a little closer, and crouches down, doing his best to appear non-threatening. “Why not, Scar?”

“It’s wrong,” Scar says, sounding all of ten years old, terrified and unsteady. “I’m supposed to be alone, you can’t be here.”

“Why are you supposed to be alone?”

“It’s just me, it’s always just me,” Scar insists, and then he inclines his head upwards, to where the zombies are still groaning. “Me and them.”

Grian swallows, feeling out of his depth and worried. The only reason Scar would have a reaction like this is if it had once been true. Once upon a time, it really had just been Scar and hoards of zombies. And in Scar’s mind, that’s where he was. He’d never left. Grian’s stomach rolled.

“We’re not there,” Grian says, still unsure where there was. “We’re in Secret Life, Scar. We’re playing a game.”

Scar shakes his head again, violently, and starts trying to stand up. A muffled whine escapes his throat when he puts weight on his knee, but still he stands. Grian wants to grab him and shake him and then wrap him up in several blankets.

“You’re hurt,” Grian says, a note of pleading in his voice, hands hovering, wanting to reach out. “You shouldn’t be walking, Scar.”

“I’ve walked on worse,” Scar says vacantly, and twists around to look behind him, making a noise of frustration. “My backpack, where’s my— I need—“

“Backpack?” Grian repeats.

“I need morphine,” Scar says, voice tight with pain and panic. “I need to get out of here. You need to get out of here. You can’t be here.”

Morphine. Scar’s plan is to numb the agony of a broken knee and run on it anyway. Scar says it like it’s normal, like there’s no other choice, like this is the only way. Maybe it was, once. Grian wants to scream and cry and pull the universe apart with his hands. Instead, he grabs Scar’s wrist in a gentle hold.

“I am here,” Grian says, soft but firmly still, and Scar freezes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Grian tugs at his wrist making Scar meet his eyes, trying to ground him. Scar blinks at him, hazy and distant, chest heaving. Grian reaches out slowly, and takes the sword from Scar’s hand.

“Do you remember,” Grian begins, “asking me to be your friend?”

Grian remembers. Scar, with grey skin and crimson eyes, hiding a sheepish grin behind a bouquet of poppies and lilacs. Something like recognition flickers across Scar’s face, and Grian keeps going.

“We had a llama called Pizza.”

“I blew you up on accident.”

“The moon was falling and you built a rocket upside down.”

“You were my soulmate, of course it was you—“

“You made fun of our bread bridge.”

“You were actually a pretty good mayor, you know.”

Grian lays their memories out between them, holding Scar’s wrist gently in his hands, and doesn’t stop until Scar looks at him and finally seems to see him. His face crumples, awareness flooding his expression, and Grian lowers them both to the ground when Scar’s knees give out.

“I’m sorry,” Scar says, voice cracking, and he gives an awkward little laugh that makes Grian’s heart twist sharply. “That doesn’t— That hasn’t happened in a while.”

“It’s okay, Scar, don’t apologize,” Grian says, adjusting his grip to hold Scar’s hand loosely. “Do you feel better?”

“I feel like I ran a marathon,” Scar answers, exhaustion in his tone. “I don’t— Thank you. For bringing me back.”

“Of course.” Grian hesitates. “…Where did you go?”

Scar takes a shaky breath, eyes going tired and sad. Grian’s eyes catch on a scar peeking out beneath his collar.

“I was stuck in a hardcore world when I was a kid,” Scaf says eventually, resigned. “I was the only player in a zombie apocalypse. I had to… let myself die, to get out. But I spent years there.”

Grian stares, quietly horrified. He imagines Scar, so very young and so very alone, running on broken limbs and killing things that once were people every day, and still finding the willpower to survive for years and years. That Scar had grown up in a world without light and still come out of it with a personality bright enough to blind them all — it was nothing short of miraculous. Brilliant, mischievous, stubborn Scar, with enough skeletons in his closet for all of them and the uncanny ability to make them laugh until they were out of breath.

“You never said anything,” Grian says, careful to keep any accusation out of his voice. He understands. He still wishes he had known, somehow.

“It’s not fun to hear about,” Scar says, and stares at his broken knee. “And it’s…not easy to talk about, either.”

“I know,” Grian says, squeezing his hand. “But if you ever want to, I’m here. I don’t want— I don’t want this to happen again.”

The zombie sounds have died down, the others having done their damn best to kill them quickly. It’s quiet but for their breathing, slowly slowing down.

“I’m a lot better,” Scar says, brow furrowed. “That was just, a lot more than I was expecting.”

“It’s okay,” Grian says. “It’s… You don’t have to be better all the time.”

Scar glances at him, his mouth lifting just a bit, looking a little lighter. “Thanks.”

“And you can talk to us.” Grian smiles back. “We can help you when it’s hard.”

Scar lets out a long, slow breath, the shake in his hands finally down to something manageable. Grian is relieved for all of two seconds, and then something mischievous flickers in Scar’s eyes. Grian sighs, because he knows what’s coming—

“That’s what she said,” Scar says, quick and unapologetic, and Grian smacks his shoulder with his free hand. Scar laughs, and Grian just rolls his eyes and grins.

Yeah. He’ll be fine.

#hope u like it if u read it !!!#my writing #goodtimeswithscar #grian #the crafting dead #desert duo #gtws #secret life smp #actual post

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ladysroom-zaza · 11 days

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can you write about sub!reader x pussydrunk!giselle? how she’ll go down on reader anywhere and everywhere, especially at the beach if somehow readers bottom gets undone “out of the sudden” iykwim — and if reader has a strap she’ll eat/please the other hole before riding reader and stuffing her/your face in her/your boobs

Two things are sure in life: death and Giselle eating you out at any chance she gets, and on the first one I have doubts. No, but seriously, the girl is obsessed by your pussy, I don't if it's the taste or the scent, but she can't live a day without doing it at least once.

And she's so obsessed that she has done it everywhere: at your house obviously, at her dorm, at her company, in an empty street, in a museum...do you get what I mean, right? She doesn't give a fuck, when she's the mood (always), she will just spread and use her tongue to give you pleasure.

Aeri loves summer tho, and the reason has to be that she can look at your gorgeous body in a bikini and literally go crazy. She will get real touchy. "Mmh, baby, let me help you with the sun cream" or "Baby girl, let me give you a massage" are just some of the most comment excuses she used to touch your body.

And as if it was magic, every single time your bottom gets undone. You just sighs, knowing that in a couple of seconda Giselle will make her move. And in fact, her tongue is already lapping around your pussy, her hands to keep your legs widened and still.

As a sommelier of wine, she will gets her time, savoring your skin, your folds and finally your inside, touching every cm with her tongue, eventually getting drunk on it, not stopping even if you already cum 4 or 5 times. Her hunger for your pussy is not something that she satisfy quickly.

And when you'll beg her to let you rest, a grin will appear on her face. "Fine, but can you take something from my bag? I brought a toy for me", she asks you, giving you candy eyes. You nods, everything is good to get a bit of peace.

But it was actually a trap: the moment you lean forward to get the strap, her tongue attacks again; this time is the turn of your ass. Spreading your cheeks, Gigi will start another session of savouring.

Her expert tongue once again is able to make you cum, also with the help of her hands, rubbing against your pussy, until your legs just quit. Now, you are really exhausted, so tired that you don't even notice the japanese girl while makes you wear the strap.

"Come on, sweetie, I still want to have fun", she teases you, while slowly sitting on that huge strap. You let her do, still breathless from too many orgasms, but once again, you have difficulties in recovering and we all know who's to blame.

Given that riding your strap was not enough for Giselle perverted mind, she decide to choke between her boobs. "Ohh, baby, suck my tits, be a good girl", she whines, pushing with strenght your head in her chest.

And it's such a sweet pleasure to stay between those two soft pillows, that are continuously hitting and slapping your face. "Baby, I'm cummiiiing...", she moans loudly, finally stopping her madness and laying on your body, your face totally covered by her boobs. Your girlfriend is definitely a pervert, but you won't change for anyone in this world.

#kpop thoughts #girl group x reader #kpop smut #kpop x fem reader #girl group smut #kpop girls #aespa smut #aespa x fem reader #aespa giselle #giselle x fem reader #giselle smut

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yerimbrit · 1 month

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lovergirl : m. danielle

synopsis: even after she left you, you still came crawling back.

# : pairing ! danielle marsh x gn!reader

# : tags ! angst with a happy?? ending, this is set in like 2026, i'm... sorry(?)

# : wordcount ! 3.6k

# : warnings ! none i think just swearing

do you know why you're at the airport?

you're 21. she's probably 21 around this time too, since her birthday was last month. you wonder where she is now, if she's doing well. but knowing her, she's probably thriving, unlike you, stuck behind deadlines and finals.

you see her everywhere. not just on billboards, advertisements, and songs, but also in the little things around your neighborhood. the small candy shop around the corner, where your parents took you and her when you behaved. the local family-owned diner, where you and her stopped by on the weekends. the playground that connected to the park in the heart of the city, where you and her played on the swings after curfew.

instead of elation that hit you when you saw these things, though, it was bittersweet nostalgia.

...she didn't even say bye before she left.

it's not like you could blame her, though. she knew that you would convince her to stay, to not leave you alone because she was your everything. that you would take her hands in yours and look at her like she puts the stars in the sky, whispering sweet nothings into her ears like the world was going to end after midnight.

she wasn't there for graduation. or at least, you didn't see her there—she was promoting her first comeback album, or so you've heard. you'd muted nearly everything that had to do with her. it was cruel, you know that, because she hasn't even done anything wrong. but it was for the sake of your heart. you never did get to confess to her properly.

sheltering your heart was the least you could do, in the process of recovering from your heartbreak. but if you knew if you saw her again, that shell would be broken instantly.

so no, you don't know why you're at the airport, on the way to seoul to go to some fansign that you heard about just two weeks ago.

the air of the crowded gate is suffocating, a reminder of how you felt whenever a video of her showed up on your for you page before you blocked the fan account and muted all the tags.

you breathe in, hearing a familiar-sounding laugh behind you, and you whip around only to see two random strangers talking to each other.

'not good,' you grit your teeth. if you saw her right now you would've broke down.

cacophonies of conversation between the crowd rang in your ears, and you groan, covering them. you couldn't wait to get on the plane so you could put on the noise-canceling headphones that you'd bought specifically for this 14 hour flight.

thankfully, your wishes were granted, and you were allowed entry onto the plane. it was a cheap economy seat—you were still a student, after all. your parents offered to pay when you told them you were going to korea, but by then you'd already bought the ticket.

two hours in and it hits you that you're an idiot. a big idiot. you know nothing about the group she's in. buying multiple albums to go to a fansign for a group known worldwide, without even knowing the names of the members?

you pull up their page on kprofiles and start reading, assimilating yourself with the world of... kpop. yeah. you've never bothered with kpop, even though she was an idol. it's not like you hated it, you just didn't bother getting into it. plenty of your friends were avid listeners, pouring details after details about their favorite groups to you, and that was fine. you didn't mind.

'kim minji,' you read to yourself. 22, the oldest... representative animal is a bear... yeah, you can see it. the next was hanni, the vietnamese-australian member of the group. two aussies? what a coincidence.

you read on, studying each member thoroughly before moving to the next. you make a note to watch videos on youtube about them when you get to the hotel. you read about haerin and hyein, the youngest members, then scroll back up to the member you skipped.

'danielle marsh.'

you knew what she looked like already because of how popular the group was, but…

'she still looks the same after all these years.'

the same smile, the same eyes. you wonder if anyone else has ever seen the way her eyes twinkle under the moonlight after dark.

'hobbies: drawing, listening to music, swimming... guess she's the same girl after all.'

your seatmate nudges your shoulder, and you almost jump. "hey, are you interested in newjeans?"

he looks at you excitedly. he seemed about the same age, maybe a bit younger than you. figured there'd be at least one of their fans here. why'd you have to get seated next to one of them?

"um," you hum, "something like that."

you don't bother to tell him about your past with one of the members, or the fact that you bought albums for a chance to see them without any knowledge of who they were, because it was none of his business. god knows what would happen if you told him the truth.

he starts blabbering about how he was a fan since debut, and you tune him out, closing your eyes and putting on your headphones. it's not like he noticed, anyway. maybe you can catch up on some sleep you missed while studying.

you dream of her during your impromptu nap, waking up with tears in your eyes. the guy next to you stopped talking too, fortunately. at that rate, you thought he would've continued after the flight.

you check the time on your phone. surprisingly, a few hours have passed, and the flight is almost over. you must've passed out completely once you shut your eyes. the flight attendant comes by to remind you to unplug your phone from the power outlet, and you patiently wait for your plane to land.

one look outside and you could see fluffy white clouds perfectly set in the air, like a painting or piece of art you could find on social media. you swear you see a rabbit shaped cloud. or maybe you've been staring too hard.

("look, y/n! doesn't that one look like a bunny?

"nah, it's definitely a cat. where are you getting bunny?"

"where are you getting cat? it's most definitely a bunny!"

"okay, okay, fine. you're right, it does look like a bunny, dani."

"see? told ya!")

'fuck,' you shake your head. you try to think about something else. the seat in front of you. the loud sound of the airplane taxiing on the runway. the aircraft marshaller directing said plane.

breathe in. one, two, three, four, five. breathe out. one, two, three, four, five.

you and your seatmate get up to exit the plane, and he flashes a polite smile at you. you offer a tight-lipped one back. the aisleway is cramped, as it always is when you fly economy, and you bump into some people. there's a gross spark of electricity every time you brush shoulders with someone, and you shiver, suddenly reminded of the need to shower when you check in to your room.

the first thing you notice when you step into the airport from the ramp is that there are many products with an idol's face plastered on the front. twice on a candy bag, bts on a bag of chips, le sserafim on a sports drink... the list goes on. it's like they worshipped these people.

...whatever makes them happy.

a crowd comes stampeding towards your direction, causing your survival instincts to kick in. you take refuge in a nearby gift shop to avoid them. the airport was already loud, but the noise increased once the crowd came bursting through.

"minji-ssi, look here!"

"hanni! i love you!"

"please do a heart pose with haerin, danielle!"

"hyein-ssi, over here please!"

your hand twitches. it's not like they were going to see you, but you inconspicuously make your swift escape anyway. there's a bittersweet twist in your stomach at the mention of her name.

instinctively, you whip your head around just in time to make eye contact with her. her mouth is agape and her eyes are widened, and she looks as if she were going to say something, but you turn back around and start power walking to the nearest exit.

does she still remember you? maybe she does, considering the expression she made when you two met eyes. and you can't help but to think, 'does she miss me?'

does she think of you the way you think about her, 24/7, 365 days a year? does she remember the memories you made together, all those years ago? and does she treat them like precious jewels in a well-kept box, or like a constant reminder of what could've been, like you do?

but you also can't help but to think about how beautiful she looked. she's matured, something that you could only sense outside of the pictures provided by the internet. and she holds herself in a poised manner with an air of elegance, but also with a sense of cheeriness and innocence well-placed.

it has been 6 years since you have seen danielle in person.

6 years since you have lost the light of your life.

and you would do anything to change that fact, but, alas, it would never come.

you think you've memorized all the members by now, binging videos of them for three days straight. of course, you went out and explored, since you were in a foreign country, but even when you were out you were still trying to learn everything you could about the group that she's in.

the night before the meeting, you don't sleep well. you wake up on your back, sweating, because you've just had a nightmare. a nightmare where you reunite with her, but she said that she never liked you, and walked away. with every step you took, the distance between you two only increased.

wiping your sweat, you take a few gulps of water from the bottle on the nightstand, taking deep breaths to try and calm your heart. it's around 7 am, looking at the digital clock on the table. the meeting starts at 12, and you have to get there by 11 before it gets too busy for you to even get in.

you walk over to the bathroom with a sense of dread, intending to take a refreshing shower to clear your head.

(it did not help. your mind remains clouded with thoughts of her. impending doom awaits you in four and a half hours.)

not knowing what else to do since you woke up too early, you get dressed and go for a walk. there's a nice, humble café two blocks down the street from your hotel, and you get a warm welcome when you walk through the doors of the establishment. the bells chime in a familiar tune, lifting your spirits ever so slightly.

of all the places you've been to since landing in korea, more than half of them have played at least one newjeans song as background music. and, lucky for you, this one is not. although it is a bit jarring to hear smooth jazz rather than the energetic voices of the girls you've been seeing everywhere.

the café is mostly quiet, aside from the clacking of the dishes and the soft chatter of the few customers also spending their morning here. you mark it as somewhere to visit again, if you ever come back to korea.

with every sip of coffee, there's an added chill to combat the blazing heat that the sun is emitting outside. the sun reminded you of her, who shines just like the sun that breathes us life. the moodmaker between the two of you, who cheered you on even on days where it felt hopeless.

but the iced beverage also filled you with energy, giving you confidence to make it through the big obstacle of the day. (and also the entire reason you even came all this way) you could face her. it's been 6 years. and, well, if it doesn't go well, then at least you'll have an excuse to never come back.

with newfound courage, you exit the café with long strides and return to your hotel room, preparing for the journey ahead. a charger, cash, and a water bottle are all secured in your small crossbody bag.

it's 10:15.

your uber comes in around 10 minutes, and you decide to wait outside in the front to save time.

the drive from the hotel to the venue is about 30 minutes. during that time, you listen to the playlist full of newjeans songs that you made on the day you landed, and take a brief power nap. 'hurt' is the last thing you hear before you drift off to sleep.

you don't feel like you belong here. there's dozens, maybe around a hundred fans talking amongst themselves. from your limited korean, you could tell they were talking about their excitement for the fansign that's about to start in 15 minutes. you really wish you could share the feeling, even though you tried to get into them for three days straight.

a fan approaches you, tapping your shoulder, and you jolt. what is with people and sneaking up on you?

"hey!" oh, they're speaking in english. that makes this easier for you.

"hey," you echo, waving to them. upon closer look, you could see that their tote bag is decked out in merch, from keychains to stickers and a... hanni photocard? you think it's hanni. it's hard to tell when they change their hair colors every comeback.

they notice you staring, and smile at you. then they reach into their bag and pull out a clear goodie-bag containing some stickers and a lomo card.

"would you like one? i ran out of the others, sadly, but i do have hanni and danielle," they say, pulling out another bag which you presume has the other member mentioned.

the iridescent glow of the transparent bag shimmers in your eyes, and you blink. "oh," you start, "i think i'll have hanni."

the goods are handed to you, and you exchange friendly goodbyes. you wistfully look at the card inside the bag, mixed feelings swirling in your gut. it's for the better.

you have a couple more interactions with other fans, some giving you freebies like the first one, and some enthusiastically chatting to you about the group. your initial feelings of discomfort, are, admittedly, still there, but there's an added layer of pleasantness on top now.

weaving through the crowd to get to your assigned seat, you clutch the strap of your new tote bag containing all the things fellow(?) fans have given you.

the tote was another one of the things given, and you think the design is pretty neat, with a nicely placed logo and slogan in a chic style. you might actually use it after today, too.

the announcer calls for the fansign to commence, and five girls file in from a side entrance, their managers and bodyguards following alongside. immediately, the venue erupts in cheers from the audience, shouting affectionate phrases to the members, similar to what happened at the airport.

influenced by the majority, you cheer as well, although it was cut short when you realized that internally you were so out of place.

the group begins with some simple conversation starters, such as 'how are you' and 'have you eaten?' with as much energy as when they came in. you don't exactly know what's happening, so you sit and wait patiently for the event to start. everything seems so daunting.

finally, after around 5 minutes of greetings, the actual signing is starting. you're seated in the middle, which works out in your favor; not one of the first ones to come up and have to face her, but also not one of the last ones and lose your courage. you watched the interactions, the delusion-inducing actions that each of the girls provided, and the poses that they did together. the people around you were either taking videos, pictures, or excitedly talking to their friends beside them.

as the amount of rows in front of you remaining to go up and talk to the girls dwindles down, your heart sped up, thudding against your chest. an even bigger sense of dread instills in you, legs unmoving when the row directly in front of you comes back to sit down. you get nudged by the person next to you to move, and you shakily bring yourself to apologize and get a move on.

what would her reaction be? would she be shocked? happy? maybe mad, because if she actually wanted for you to be involved in her life all this time she would've said goodbye to you, or kept in touch. maybe you should just leave. you got yourself in this whole predicament, anyway. no one even told you to do it.

your palms are sweaty as you make your way down the velvet stairs, and you wipe your hands on your pants in nervousness and fear. eventually, the line slows down once your row reaches the table that the girls are sitting at, and you take it as a chance to try to relax.

breathe in.

five things you can see. seats, the person in front of you, the ground you are standing on, the album that you're holding to get signed (in your extensive research, people usually brought theirs to be signed on), and the table that seems so close yet so far from you. okay.

breathe out.

four things you can touch. the album, your shirt and jacket, and the bracelet on your wrist.

in...

three things you can hear. the increasingly obnoxious whirring sound of the air conditioning, the buzz of the audience, and...

fuck.

"hey, how are you?" a somewhat familiar voice asks. you say somewhat because you've only heard her voice in videos. you find yourself now kneeling in front of minji, the oldest member of the group. she's a lot prettier up close, all of them are, but it's a bit jarring to suddenly see her with your own eyes.

you clear your throat, blinking rapidly to try to focus yourself on the girl. "i'm, i'm gooth-"

...you bit your tongue. you try to laugh it off, awkward giggles slipping from your lips, and thankfully she joins you in laughing.

"that's good," she smiles, and it puts you at ease. no wonder people idolize these girls. she signs the front of the album, asks about your life, and you tell her about your school and how you're a newer fan. she waves at you with another gummy smile once your two minutes are up.

the next is haerin, who is the more reserved and quiet member of the group. there's a pair of cat ears sitting on her head, probably a gift from one of the previous fans, and she blinks at you owlishly, almost like she knew you, before a small smile settles on her face.

it is slightly unsettling, but the more you converse with her the more that feeling dissolves. she really is reserved, and the two of you exchange witty remarks with knowing grins. she signs your album just before the two minute mark.

hyein is super friendly, very high energy. you feel like she'd be a great person to be around on any given day. your conversation with her is mostly centered around food, and how she wants to visit australia again once you mentioned where you're from. she signs the album in the middle of your discussion about the best korean foods to try during your stay.

your time with hyein ends with a staring contest. (she won) and you give her a handshake after, joking about how you would win the next time. you think the sparkles in her eyes are very endearing.

hanni signs your album as soon as you set it down on the table. she's a very likable person in general; you think you could've been friends with her if she went to the same school as you. you also share the same music taste, spending your time together talking about the latest sza album and comparing hand sizes (yours were bigger, unsurprisingly)

but nothing could prepare you for the girl at the end of the table. her laugh rings in your ear from diagonally across from you, and you get a splitting headache. you mask it well enough for hanni not to notice, though, and you're able to finish the interaction smoothly.

how could anyone ever hate danielle? definitely not you. as much as you had reasons to hate her, you just couldn't bring yourself to do so much as dislike or be angry towards her. instead, you just drowned yourself in your sorrow and confusion.

she's perfect. the exact opposite of you, and yet she stayed with you until she didn't. those memories that you have together, they're so engraved in your mind, and you don't even know if she feels the same.

you slide over to the next slot, keeping your head down as you placed your album back onto the table.

heartbeat thudding in your chest. cold sweat running down your cheek. teeth biting your lip. is this the end for you? because it sure does feel like it.

when you finally do look up, and make eye contact with danielle, it feels like time has slowed even though it's really only been five seconds. her expression is mirroring yours: widened eyes, lips slightly parted. you gulp.

tears well in the corner of her eyes, and fuck everything, because you made her cry.

she blinks them away, and clears her throat, taking a second to regain her composure, and timidly calls out to you.

"y/n?"

a/n : 🤗 not the best at writing angst i hope this is ok !

#newjeans x reader #newjeans #danielle marsh x reader #danielle x reader #mo jihye x reader #danielle newjeans #danielle marsh newjeans #gxg #girl group imagines #girl group x reader #newjeans imagines

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kiyoomi-levin · 3 months

Text

here for you (yan!Suna RinatroxF!reader)

a/n this has been a wip for so long... enjoy! i'm working on a atsumu [nsfw] fic so be on the lookout for that next (unless adhd takes over and i start working on a different one instead)!

summary:: As a pro athlete and model, he's nice enough. And yet...there’s something in your gut that says you should stay away. word count:: ~4.4k warning(s):: non-con (no smut/SFW), suna's a grade A creep/stalker, yandere!!, isolation, stockholm syndrome, horror??(i tried to make this scary but it's really not lol) Music rec:: joke's on you - charlotte lawrence

As an aspiring journalist, your dreams had all but come true when you were hired as an intern at the most prestigious sports media center in Tokyo.

You get to shake hands with athletes you see on television daily and most importantly, you had received an actual assignment.

Gone were the days of running around to get your manager coffee and spending the day shredding documents. Instead, you had been tasked with creating an in-depth piece into the most popular athlete of the year— Suna Rintaro of EJP Raijin.

You still vividly remember your first time meeting him.

You’d been star-struck— a tall, gorgeous man you had only ever seen through a screen was standing in front of you.

Smiling. Holding out his beautiful hand for you to shake.

Despite his casual demeanor, there was something off about him. Maybe it was your nerves, or the cold air circulating in the office, but there was a tug in your stomach that was warning you.

At the time, you had plastered an excited grin on your face and scolded yourself.

But looking back— his eyes were quite cold, weren’t they?

You just can’t explain why you feel sick whenever you see him. In fact, despite the great task ahead of you—interviewing and writing up an article on Suna— you had been avoiding him.

There’s just something in you that dreads looking into his sharp green eyes.

It doesn’t help that in spite of your best efforts, you strangely run into him everywhere-- on and off the court.

“Suna?”

Your voice comes out squeaky and clearly nervous.

Are your eyes deceiving you? Why would he be here, in the middle of the cereal aisle, at the small grocery store next to your dingy apartment? You have to do a double take before you can confirm that yes, it is in fact him.

It’s late, and it’s only you, Suna, and the tired store manager. Though, at this moment, it feels like it’s only the two of you in this world.

“Oh. Hey, y/n,” Suna says casually, flashing you his famous smirk— the one that has his fans screaming and crying. He’s on his knees, reading the back of a granola cereal.

Suna turns back to the aisle in front of him, finally placing a box into his basket. Your brain registers it as your favorite flavor (the unhealthy, chocolate-y type that you’re sure athletes shouldn’t be eating).

What a coincidence.

“What are you doing here?”

You live on the edge of Tokyo, an unfortunate 30 minute subway ride to get to the sports arena you’re working at. And you know, from Suna’s player profile, that he lives in a luxurious high-ceiling apartment only a few blocks away from there.

“What do you mean?” Suna asks, frowning. He seems genuinely confused.

Are you the crazy one?

“Oh, it’s just… so random, you know?”

Your throat is tightening now and you feel unable to even swallow.

There are alarms blaring inside of your head, as if every fiber is irrationally telling you to run.

Suna glares at you, sharp eyes studying your smaller stature.

God. Another reason why you don’t like this man— he’s just too difficult to communicate with.

“You live quite far away, right?”

Seconds pass and you’re beginning to worry you’ve said something wrong or offensive when Suna finally stands, sighing as he turns toward the registers.

“No. I just moved to Kamikitazawa.”

You feel that tingle again.

“What a coincidence!” You say, recovering quickly.

Fuck. You sound especially stupid right now.

But could you help it? Suna, a multi-millionaire, moved into your apartment building? The one inhabited by broke college students and poor retirees?

Was he struggling financially? Did he have a secret child like some rumors alleged? Wait, is he—

“I’m not sure what you’re thinking, but whatever it is, you’re wrong.”

Suna and you are standing at the cash register now, and he turns to gently smile at you. You feel yourself softening.

Why were you scared, anyways? He’s a world-famous athlete and model.

Your premonitions have been wrong in the past— like when you thought your boss, Kuroo, would be upset with you accidentally deleting his PC files.

“I see,” you murmur, “well… the apartment is kind of… there’s a lot of problems, you know?”

The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. You sound like a broken radio.

There's an awkward silence as you and Suna both try to find the words to say.

This is why you hate talking to him, he expects you to do all the work!

"You should know that the third elevator isn't that good. It always gets stuck on floor two. And the garbage chute at the end of every hall is kind of hard to open. You have to," you make a pulling motion, "really yank, ya know?"

Silence. Suna stares at you blankly.

You're just an absolute loser, aren't you?

He's gonna cringe, or worse, tell your advisor that you're being overfamiliar with him, an athlete 5 years your senior…

As you stand in your cheap winter boots, shivering, Suna suddenly laughs.

It's not the quiet chuckle you see him release when he's joking with Komori, but a head-throwing, mouth widening laugh.

"Uh..." you stutter, nervous.

It takes a full minute before he finally stops, silently pink at the face.

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind," he says, lifting his shopping basket.

You nod repeatedly, nerves subsiding.

"Wanna walk back together?" Suna asks.

You hesitantly nod. Why not? It's late and dark, and though the neighborhood is calm, it never hurts to have a walking buddy.

On the walk home, to your surprise, Suna begins to talk about his team and compliments you for your article on the top liberos. You’ve never seen this side of him. There’s a reason why he’s so beloved— he’s a mystery.

You’re nearly zoning out as the two of you reach your apartment complex.

"Am I boring you?" Suna suddenly asks.

It's such an unexpected question, you falter for a second.

"No! I'm just... I feel relaxed. I like hearing your voice," you say, surprised.

Suna lets out a sigh of relief as he punches in the door code to the building.

"So. As I was saying, you want me to give you a ride tomorrow?"

"What?”

"A ride. To the arena." He says, enunciating every word as if you're a child.

"It's okay," you start, “I—”

"Take the subway, yeah. But it's a hassle, right?"

No, it's not. In fact, it's pretty nice, seeing strangers off to their desired destinations.

But it's as if he can read your mind.

"I’ll give you a ride."

It's not a question anymore.

"Alright," you murmur.

The short journey to your floor is now awkward, and you’re wishing you had turned down his offer to walk together.

The two of you are almost at the end of the hallway now, at your apartment door. To your horror, Suna doesn’t continue walking.

Instead, he simply turns around and reaches for the doorknob of the apartment just across from you.

Strangely, you’re just now noticing just how narrow and dark this hallway is.

Under the cheap fluorescent lights, you can only see the man in front of you. Suna’s pale hands flex as he easily readjusts his heavy grocery bags, reminding you he could take you out in a moment.

“Wow. Looks like we’re neighbors, huh?” Suna says, stepping into his flat.

You’re blinking up towards him, breath cut short.

“See you tomorrow, y/n.”

Funny. He didn’t sound surprised.

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

You're just tying your hair when the doorbell rings.

"y/n, you ready?"

Who would’ve imagined hearing the Suna Rintaro’s voice at 9 AM.

You sigh as you take a final glance into the mirror. You couldn’t completely hide the dark eye circles from your lack of sleep— who’d be able to sleep after learning a celebrity lives practically next door?

Taking a deep inhale, you push open your front door.

You instantly feel yourself healing as you take in Suna. It’s a similar effect to watching your favorite idols perform on stage— good looks work wonders on your tired body.

Suna leans against the wall, wearing a pair of black sweats and a thin blue hoodie. With a start, you can't help but notice it's almost a couple set with your blue sweater and black skirt.

"Good morning," he says, sliding his phone into his pocket. You nod in response.

As you walk down the hall together to the elevators, you can't help but flush. Is this what it'd be like to have a boyfriend? As a student dedicated to her craft, you’d never felt the urge to date, remaining single your entire life. You can’t help but wonder what it’d be like to be Suna Rintaro’s.

“Oh! What’s this!” Kiana, a middle-aged woman, calls out as you and Suna wait for the elevator.

“y/n! You never told me you got a boyfriend! And such a handsome one, too! Oh, if I was only a little younger…”

You and Suna make eye contact and you blush, quickly turning towards the smiley woman, ready to retort.

“We’re—” You barely make out a word before Suna suddenly takes your hand.

“Good morning, ma’am. I’m Suna Rintaro, y/n’s boyfriend. I just moved into apartment 306.”

At his words, both your and Kiana’s eyes widen.

Yours in confusion, hers in wonder as she recognizes the handsome stranger.

“I know you! I know you! You’re Suna, from that team! Oh, my son is such a fan! I can't believe you're living here! He’ll be so excited."

As Suna and Kiana make small talk, you try to discreetly shake your sweaty hand out of Suna’s grasp. To your bewilderment, he continues gripping onto it, so hard you can feel his short fingernails digging into your soft skin.

To your relief, the elevator chimes, and as Suna waves goodbye (you do too, out of habit), you gasp as he yanks you into the elevator.

"What was that?" You ask, nervously looking up at your ‘boyfriend.’

Suna’s eyes are hard as he stares down at you, but he’s glowing all the same, as if he’d just received a gift.

“Saying we’re a couple. What was that about?”

Suna hums innocently.

"I just thought it would be most convenient to tell her that. People will see us together from now on."

No, they won't.

“It would confuse them to have to explain you’re an intern.”

Was that so complicated?

But with his mischievous smirk and the way he taps his foot against the elevator floor, you just can’t find the courage to refute.

“Alright… but could you let go?” You ask uncomfortably.

"Ah, right," he says, letting you free.

You rub your hands together, easing the circulation back.

Strangely, it feels especially cold without his grip on you.

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

"Wake up."

Awakening with a start, you rub your eyes.

You can't help but admit you could get addicted to free rides with Suna.

His car is just too nice; the seats are fluffy and he turned on the heater to just the right temperature and there's soft piano playing from the speakers.

How long have you been out?

Taking in your surroundings, you're surprised to find you're already at the Tokyo Volleyball Arena. You almost jump in shock as you realize what’s warming your lap— a box of your favorite strawberry waffles.

“What’s this?” You question as Suna wordlessly hands you a fork.

"I thought you might be hungry.”

Suna slides a cup into your open hand— matcha.

So he is a nice man, after all.

“Wow, Suna! Let me please pay you back!”

Your stomach grumbles as you take a bite of the sweet breakfast.

“No, no, it’s on me.”

How could you make it up to him? Maybe you should bake him cookies or something… you shift in your seat, frowning as you realize your bare thigh is strangely damp. Rubbing your thighs together, your eyebrows furrow.

“Oh,” Suna says, biting into his scrambled eggs, “sorry. That was me, I got some coffee on you while you were sleeping, so I wiped it away," he says sheepishly, gesturing towards the pack of wet wipes in the glove compartment.

He looks embarrassed, avoiding eye contact, so you don't push it any further.

He's kind of cute, you think.

It kind of feels too perfect– the plush comfort of Suna’s luxury car, the sweetness of the waffles, and the delicious matcha, albeit slightly salty.

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

"Hey, y/n, which movie should we watch?" Suna calls from your couch.

You're in the kitchen, preparing popcorn in your small microwave.

"Studio Ghibli!" You shout back, stirring the hot chocolate, “I have a whole bunch downloaded, just choose one.”

It's become a regular occurrence for the two of you to spend much of your free time together. At first, Suna had gently coaxed you into spending time with you under the guise of doing more research for the article you’re writing about him, but now you’ve grown to genuinely enjoy his company.

From morning rides to office lunches to casual dinners, it's like your life has been consumed by Suna. Your gut had been wrong, after all, because Suna treats you like a girlfriend— although you’d long shook away that silly thought— he’d never see a younger, broke student that way.

But despite your brain knowing everything is just fine, your heart has yet to be rewired. It still pounds with discomfort, as if it knows that fundamentally, something’s wrong.

You just can’t identify or place a label on that problem.

More recently, you’ve been getting hit with strong deja vu from that one night at the grocery store months ago.

As if it’s only the two of you on this planet.

Sighing, you take your place next to Suna, glancing at your phone. It remains still, screen dark.

“What’s wrong?” Suna asks, frowning. He pushes up his black glasses, running his fingers through his damp hair.

You hesitate. It’s fine to share this, right? After all, it feels like Suna’s all you have right now.

“Well… I’m not sure why, but I think my friends are mad at me. For the past few months, they’ve been silent. They don’t really respond to me anymore, and when they do they just say they’re busy.”

Suna nods, reaching for your hand. You welcome the warmth of his fingers, blinking back tears.

“And even worse, my family hardly contacts me. I used to call my mom basically everyday. I think there’s something really wrong, Suna, I’m really worried.”

“How long has this been going on?” Suna has the movie paused now, full attention on you. He gently strokes your hair and the kind gesture has tears pooling in your eyes.

“For a few months… maybe… four? I didn’t realize it at first because of how busy I’ve been at work and with the article I’m writing on you,” you mumble, allowing Suna to embrace you.

He’s gently rocking you back and forth now, rubbing your back, whispering kind words into your ear, telling you it’s okay and they’re probably just busy too…

Minutes pass before you finally look up, eyes widening as you take in his facial expression.

Despite his sweet words, Suna’s eyes are completely blank and there’s a questionable, small smile on his face. You barely recognize him.

“y/n?”

You blink, and take in an inaudible breath as you stare at Suna.

He cocks his head, confused. He looks at you with nothing but affection and concern, thin lips pressed into a frown.

Your heartbeat slows as you realize that, yet again, you’d just been seeing and feeling things wrong— whenever you’re around Suna, it’s as if you lose sense of your surroundings.

Smiling, you sniffle as you wipe away your tears.

“Sorry for getting emotional at movie night.”

Suna grins, giving you a final gentle hug before turning back to the television.

“Don’t be. I’m always here for you, y/n.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Q: Suna, this question has been long requested by your fanbase. How do you express love?

A: Dedication. I give my all to my lover, no questions asked.

Oh, and I don’t like to share.

There’s suddenly a knock at your door, causing you to jump. You put down your laptop, where your open article draft sits nearly complete.

The lightning storm outside has you shaking and you just wish Suna was here, holding you and laughing at his silly responses to your even stupider interview questions.

Another knock at the door.

Strange— Suna’s practice runs for extra long today for his upcoming tournament. Maybe he finished early.

“Suna, why didn’t you call before practice finished? We could’ve gone out for dinner,” you scold as you pull open the door.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Standing in front of you is your furious older sister, drenched from the rainstorm outside.

“Oh my god! Come in!” You say, alarmed. You reach towards her wrist, but she remains planted in place.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

She’s angrier than you’ve ever seen her.

“How could you tell us to fuck off? You really think your journalism is that important? Your writing isn’t more important than family, you asshole! It’ll never be important!”

Taking a deep breath, your sister lets go, immediate regret evident on her face. She opens her mouth to apologize, but you’re not having any of it.

Anger is coursing through your body now and you shove your sister away, causing her to stumble against Suna’s door.

Your family has never supported your career— from when you were just a child, you’d had to work hard for your own future.

So this is why they had shunned you? Because they can’t stand seeing you successful? Because you had moved away from the countryside to make something out of yourself in the city?

Tears stream down your face as you tremble.

“My writing is important,” you whisper. Your sister nods quickly, opens her mouth again—

“Don’t come by anymore. Don’t consider me a part of the family anymore.”

“No, I’m sorry— I think there’s a miscommunication, y/n! Wait!”

Slamming the door on her shocked face, you stumble towards the couch.

It feels as though you’re going to die— the room spins as your lungs strive for air and your vision is becoming increasingly blurry.

The sound of rain and your sister pounding on the door intertwine, and as you bury your head into a pillow, you really just wish Suna was at your side.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“y/n?”

Someone’s tugging at your sleeve, and you glance up, blinking uncomfortably at the bright lights of the living room. There’s dried tear streaks on your face and you’re sure you look like a miserable ogre, but Suna looks at you with nothing but compassion as he hugs you, alarmed.

He’s slightly damp—probably a combination of sweat from practice and the rain outside—but you hold onto him eagerly as he eases you onto his lap.

“What happened?”

You shake your head, explaining what had happened in the few hours when he’d been gone.

Suna’s furious on your behalf, jaw tight and fists clenched.

“Thank god I told your sister to fuck off. She was standing at your door, yelling curses and threatening to call the police,” he mutters.

Tears spring to your eyes again. This only confirms the reality of your life now— your family (and probably friends, too) absolute despise you.

“Don’t worry, y/n. I’ll always be here for you,” Suna whispers.

His words are somewhat like a relaxant to you. Taking a deep breath, you lean into his chest, sighing.

“I don’t think I can write anymore, Suna. I don’t want to. What have I been working towards my whole life?”

Suna remains silent for a moment, studying your sorrowful face, before leaning in to brush his nose against yours. Your eyes shift, admiring his gorgeous olive ones.

“Your journalism is amazing, y/n. And… if you hadn’t worked so hard, we might’ve never met, right?”

You smile sadly.

“I guess…”

“y/n, how about you wrap up your article tonight? You’re almost done, aren’t you?”

You gesture towards your open laptop on the coffee table.

“It’s done, but it’s shit. My sister’s right, it’s not worth anything,” you say, embarrassed. You’ve always known you were talentless, which is why you’ve always worked harder. But it amounted to nothing in the end.

You press your cold hands against your burning eyes as Suna picks up your laptop, skimming through what you’ve written about him.

If even he hates it… that’s it. You’re not sure how you’re supposed to go on.

“y/n, will you look at me?”

Suna’s gently tugging at your hands covering your face. Biting your lip nervously, you let him take your hands into one of his.

“Want my honest opinion?” He asks, placing the laptop onto your lap. You nod, staring down at the bright screen.

“This is the best thing anyone’s written about me.”

You close your eyes, shaking your head.

“Don’t lie.”

“y/n. I’m serious. This shows exactly the side I wanted the public to know about me. It’s intimate, but written formally enough to be taken seriously by the media.”

When you don’t respond, Suna sighs sadly.

“I guess you don’t want the opinion of a dumb athlete, though…”

Frantically, you look up, shocked.

“Of course not! Suna, your opinion is everything to me!”

Relief settles in your stomach as Suna grins, eyes shining.

“Really?”

“Of course! Thank you… That really means a lot to me.”

Suna nods, rambling about how much he loves that sentence here, the use of punctuation there…

“What’s wrong?” He asks, noticing you look down again.

“I… just feel like I have nobody but you, Suna.”

Suna smiles at you, waving towards the polaroids of your friends and family hung on the wall.

“I’m sure they’ll come around again, y/n.”

Your nose crinkles as you cringe at the photos. You want them gone. You want all of the references towards them gone.

You want to get out of here.

“I hate this apartment, actually. They helped me decorate it and everything,” you sigh.

“Well then, how about we move out together?”

You fiddle your thumbs, headache threatening to return.

“I don’t have that type of money,” you say, frustrated. It’s easy for a world-class athlete like him to just up and leave, but you’d never be able to, not unless you dropped out of school and found a job elsewhere.

“y/n, I’ve just remembered. I have an apartment near our stadium, right? How about you move there for the rest of your internship?”

You hesitate. Intruding into the home of a man you’re not even in a relationship with? While the offer is tempting…

“Don’t worry about anything, y/n. Don’t think too hard about it.”

Suna’s gently rubbing circles onto the side of your hands and you feel like melting away, exhausted.

All that crying and anger has truly taken a toll on you. Your eyelids flutter as you finally nod.

“Okay.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Are you sure?”

Now that it’s come to actually burning the photos, you’re hesitating. Aside from the few photographs on the walls, your apartment is completely bare, all of your belongings now residing in Suna’s luxury condo.

“y/n. You don’t need them anymore.”

You pause, the lighter in your hand feeling heavier by the second. With this, you’re truly erasing all parts of your former family and friends. Just then, your phone buzzes— you barely need to look at it to know it’s a string of curses from your ex-best friend.

Suna grimaces as he deletes the message, examining you out of the corner of his eye.

“You’re right, Suna. I don’t.”

You watch as the pictures go up in flames, holding back tears.

Looking around your now empty apartment, Suna wraps his arm around your shoulders.

“I always thought your walls would look better bare.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

In and out.

There’s something so comforting about the way you breathe.

You’re lying motionless on Suna’s large bed, curled into a ball.

Adorable.

Sighing, Suna collapses next to you, admiring your eyebrows, the curve of your nose, your lips…

When was the last time he’d felt this content? Reaching out, Suna gently tucks your hair behind your ears, admiring the small s shaped earrings adoring them.

Bringing you here was the best option. It’d taken him a little longer than he’d hoped, but now you were truly in the palm of his hand.

He’d almost slipped up a few times (your gut was much smarter than you) but everything had worked out, hadn’t it.

Since the day he’d first met you nearly a year ago, Suna knew you’d be his.

He’s not sure why, but there’s this thing about him— sometimes, when he sees something, he wants it.

And he’ll do anything to make sure it’s entirely his.

You mumble in your sleep, rolling over to face the large windows that present the city of Tokyo below his feet.

He has it all now.

His phone vibrates— messages from your concerned father.

Rolling his eyes, Suna silently reaches over to your phone, which lies innocently next to your small hand, and unlocks it (the password being his birthday, obviously).

Without hesitation, Suna begins wiping out all traces of the code he’s implanted into your phone.

There would be no more reason to reroute your messages to himself anymore.

Next, Suna makes sure all of your family and friends’ contacts are blocked.

Ensuring your safety is a top priority of his.

He squeezes your device in his large hand, wondering if he should just break it.

If Suna had it his way completely, he’d rather you not have a phone at all.

Tossing your phone back onto your side of the bed, Suna smirks as he unlocks his own device.

Desperate messages from your sister pop up, warning you of your tall neighbor, he threatened to kill me if i didn’t leave y/n please get away from him and go to the police!

Suna slides his thumb across the screen, removing the messages from his screen, and disconnects his phone from yours.

After all, you wouldn’t be getting contacted by those nuisances anymore.

Almost done, then he can sleep peacefully with you—Suna sends the email he’s been working on: a PDF attachment of your final draft of your article on him and a short message of your resignation as an intern, written by yours truly.

Turning over, Suna locks the bedroom door, smiling.

There’s no need for anyone else.

Not when he’s always going to be here for you.

#haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fic #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu #suna x reader #suna rintarou #suna rintaro haikyuu #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintaro x y/n #suna rintarō #suna rintaro x you #suna rintaro yandere #haikyuu yandere

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judysxnd · 8 months

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Hiiii again

I was wondering could you please write one with pedro where the reader's ex is a singer and he makes an whole album about her and it's EVERYWHERE and pedro is kinda mad and jealous.

I wrote this surprisingly very easily. I thought I wouldn’t be inspired, but it went on naturally. I find it short but I like it that way.

I’m using this gif again because, mama, he’s just O.O, the angle, the shoulders, the wet hair, I mean, just him.

And I remind you again, I do not take requests anymore

———————————————————————————

Being a celebrity isn’t easy. Having relationships is worse, especially when the relationship is made official and shown. That’s what you tried to avoid in your current relationship with Pedro. It’s going great for now, no one knows. Of course there are some rumors but nothing big, so you can finally breathe a little.

You both wanted to stay private, but you wanted it more than anything because of your past relationship. You made the mistake to show your relationship everywhere, so when it ended, everything took a turn. Your ex is a singer, you’re an actress, so both of you are famous. You posted pictures and stories of each other on Instagram, went to events together, wandered the streets at any hour possible together, you were not afraid to be seen.

The breakup was long and awful. He was the one who wanted to quit but you were the one receiving backlash more than anything. You had a hard time recovering but then you met Pedro. He helped you recover, as he was going in slow with you at the same time. From both your past experiences you decided to take it one day at a time but more especially stay private.

So you did. You had the greatest year together. You were evolving and it showed in your career. It’s crazy how you can see toxic relationships, how you could see your mind was closed while dating your ex, no big opportunities, friends growing apart and such. You noticed everything after a year of dating Pedro. It helped you find closure, finally recovering. Haha, that’s what you thought.

One glorious Saturday morning, you woke up to a million texts from everyone. Instagram notifications, your agent sending you links and such. You ex released his album. And much to your regret, it was about you. From love and sensual songs, to sad ones, all emotions were described in there. As if your past relationship wasn’t public enough, he explained and showed too many details that you wished never saw the light.

You were alone in bed when you woke up around 10am. Pedro was already up, and you could hear him making coffee. You decided to ignore the news, leaving your phone in the bedroom when you joined him. It could wait. Nothing would change, what is done is done, you can deal with it later.

When you arrived in the kitchen, Pedro was pouring himself a cup of coffee. He noticed you but didn’t say anything nor turned. You placed yourself behind him, holding him from behind.

“hey” you softly said

“Hey” he answered, but in a dry tone

“you okay?” You asked sensing tension

“hm hm” he said before taking a sip of his coffee. You pulled away, keeping your hands on his waist, forcing him to turned around. His eyes were showing anger.

“what’s wrong?” You asked him innocently. You hoped it wasn’t what you were thinking about. He stared at your eyes, searching if you knew why he was mad.

“nothing” he said walking away from you

“Talk to me” you said before turning around

“how about I sing to you” that’s when you clearly knew. It was about what you thought. You sighed.

“So you heard”

“Of course I heard, the entire world heard, and I’m pretty sure I’ll keep hearing about it for a while” he suggested as he knew the songs would blast on every radio and in every shop possible.

“It’s just songs”

“Have you heard them?” You shakes your head. “Let me give you a taste” he said, putting his cup on the counter, pulling his phone out. He searched for something. “She feels so good, so tight, eating me like food, we go all night, moaning, it’s echoing” he said reading the lyrics from one of the songs “and I don’t even want to keep going because it gets worse” he said more upset than before, almost throwing his phone on the counter

“It was before”

“I know, but it was real”

“Pedro” you didn’t really know what to say. The songs seemed pretty graphic.

“How do you think it makes me feel? While he sings about the sex you had together? To the entire world!”

“Do you want to know how it makes me feel?” You scoffed “having my entire life, the most intimate moments exposed just like that, just cause he can?” You were getting mad too. “Let’s not fight about that please, it’s not worth it”

“I don’t want to fight, I just don’t like it”

“I don’t like it either”

“No one else should know how you are in bed or-” he took a deep breath “I’m sorry, I just think it’s very inappropriate”

“I couldn’t agree more” you said slowly getting closer to him “but it’s the past, it’s just a memory for him”

“Yeah but now, every people that will see you will think about that. I don’t want them to think about you that way, and I don’t want him to think about you that way” he sighed “I just hate it” you were standing in front of him

“Yes but you’re the one actually doing what they think about” his gaze went on you

“Doesn’t make me feel better” you wrapped your arms around his waist “no one knows about us”

“I think this album is a proof that it is a good thing” he rested his hands on your shoulders

“I’m sorry, it’s way harder for you and I just snapped at you”

“It’s okay” you hugged him “I actually like that possessive side of you, makes me feel protected” you smiled against his chest

“At least one of us like that side”

“You haven’t seen mine” you joked. You pulled away from him, looking at him with a big smile. “Dame un beso” so he kissed you

“I love you”

“I love you too”

You were about to have a rough few months as every step you both took outside was a torture. Your ex’s songs were blasting everywhere, and it was very difficult for Pedro to be on the side, not being able to do anything about it. Especially when people were mad at you when you didn’t do anything wrong. Got to love being famous huh?

#pedro pascal #fanfic #imagine #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #oneshot #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal preferences #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x you #pedro x reader #pedro pascal one shot #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x female reader #pedrostories #pedro pascal x famous!reader #Pedro pascal x actress!reader

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xoxo-author · 10 months

Text

What happens in Vegas, does not stay in Vegas

Hello! I am back! Work and the real world have been kicking my ass. not to mention writer's block! Anyway, here's a little story that I have been daydreaming about forever.

Jake Seresin x FemReader

Warnings: Language, shitty writing, mentions of drinking, suggestive, made up laws

There were four things I was sure of before I even opened my eyes this morning.

1. I was going to have the worst hangover in the history of hangovers.

2. I was never drinking again.

3. Number 2 is a lie

4. I need to ask the hotel where they got their blankets because they seemed to be heated and weighted so I need one.

I couldn't remember what I drank, how much I drank last night. or what we even did.

There was no doubt that coming to Vegas for a bachelor and bachelorette party would be crazy, I knew that as soon as I saw where we were going, but I didn't think we'd end up straight out of a scene from The Hangover.

I lay there for a little while longer, trying to get up the nerve to open my eyes. I knew that once I did, my headache would set in and I don't think I was ready for that.

After a few minutes, I felt myself starting to fall back asleep but before I could, the weight on top of me began to move. Panic rises through me as I thought it was a weighted blanket this whole time.

Once my eyes adjust, my gaze lands on a very hungover, possibly still drunk, Jake Seresin sitting up on his knees. His hair was all over the place, nothing on but a pair of Calvin Klein briefs, hands rubbing his eyes.

"What the fuck did we do last night?"

Jake startles, head whipping up to look at me, but recovers quickly. A smirk slides onto his face and he opens his mouth to say something but I quickly hold up my hand to stop him. I was in no mood to hear one of his comments. Taking in his attire, or lack thereof, my mind begins to race.

My eyes widen as I quickly pull up the blanket that was covering my body. I was in one of Jake's t-shirts so that was a good sign but my relief was short-lived as I came to see that my underwear has seemingly gone mia.

I push myself up to a sitting position, throwing my hands up to cover my face, "Do you remember anything from last night?"

"You mean, did we have sex?"

Rolling my eyes behind my hands, "Yes, Hangman, did we have sex or not?"

I didn't have to look at him to know that he was smirking, "Can you walk?"

My hands fall away from my face, giving him the most confused face I could muster, "What does my ability to walk have to do with anything?"

Leaning back on his hands, "Princess, if we had sex last night, there's no way you'd be able to walk this morning."

Closing my eyes, I let out a huge sigh, "Now is not the time for games, Hangman."

"I'm just telling you the truth, ask any of the girls I've taken home."

I open my eyes to look at him, "There's not enough time in the world to go through that list."

He rolls his eyes but says nothing else.

As the silence rolls over the room, I let my eyes wander around. I was definitely in Hangman's room, his stuff was thrown everywhere, it smelled like him, and it had a different view of the strip than mine did. My attention is brought back to Hangman as he drags a hand down his face. My eyes are drawn to his fingers, specifically his ring finger, "Hangman, what's on your finger?"

His eyebrows furrow as he pulls his hand away from his face to look, "Is that a wedding ring?"

A black shiny band wraps around his finger. His ring finger.

"Who the hell did I marry?"

A sinking feeling settles in my stomach as the words leave his mouth. Slowly, I look down at my hands that rested on my lap. I turn my hand so I could see the back of my hand, my eyes are immediately drawn to the ring that rested on my finger. My ring finger.

I look back up at Hangman, whose brows were furrowed and whose gaze was locked on the ring on my hand, "This is a joke right?"

Hangman didn't say anything, just continued to stare, so he was useless at the moment.

Flinging the blanket off, I throw my legs off the side of the bed and push myself up. I head over to the dresser and begin to open the drawers, "Hangman, where are your underwear?'

Glancing over my shoulder, Hangman still sat on the bed staring at my empty spot. "Hangman!"

He turns to look at me, a very confused look on his face. "I need a pair of underwear to wear so we can go find our friends who will hopefully tell us that this was just a joke and that they snuck in here and placed the rings on our fingers while we were sleeping."

He points over to the closet but doesn't say anything. I rush over and throw the doors open, quickly grabbing a pair of his boxers and pulling them on before heading to the bathroom. I put some toothpaste onto my finger before quickly "brushing" my teeth.

Hangman had pulled on a pair of sweats and was pulling on a t-shirt when I walked out of the bathroom.

Neither of us said a word as we made our way towards the front door where we find a note from Bob, saying to meet them in the buffet room.

All but throwing open the door, I quickly make my way down the hall and towards the elevator with Hangman trailing behind me.

The words from my ex repeating in my head, if you get with anyone else I'll have no choice but... my thoughts were interrupted by the ding of the elevator.

The elevator ride seemed to go on forever. Neither Hangman nor I said anything to each other. It was like Hangman and I hated each other but we weren't friends either. I was introduced to the group through Coyote. Hangman had tried his usual tricks to get into my pants and I didn't fall for it. I think I was the only one who didn't fall for him and he wasn't used to it.

The lobby was already busting with people by the time we got here, I couldn't tell if people were going or if their night had just ended.

Hangman and I begin to make our way towards the buffet room but we didn't get very far, "Mr. and Mrs. Seresin!"

I turn my head and see the front desk lady looking in our direction. I stared at her for a few seconds before bringing a finger up to point at me. She nods and enthusiastically waves us over.

I grab Hangman's arm and begin to drag him over to the front desk.

"Mr. and Mrs. Seresin! Good morning!"

The lady's smile falters for a brief second but returns to its over-the-topness, "I was just about to give you a call! The chapel called and they requested that I copy of the marriage license be mailed to the address in San Diego and that it was successfully filed this morning!"

**********

The lawyer sets the marriage license down before leaning back in his chair, running a hand over his face, "To be honest, there is nothing we can do."

I'm pretty sure my eyes about fell out of my skull.

"There are laws in place here in San Diego, specifically towards those who get married in Vegas and shotgun weddings. Basically, to not waste the court's time, those who get married like you two did have to be married a full year before they can file for divorce."

I take a deep breath in, leaning my head against my hand, "So we can't get divorced for a year?"

Nodding, the lawyer leans forward, glancing back and forth between Hangman and me, "You will have to prove that you two really gave it a shot, and if at the end of the year, you don't feel the same then you will be granted a divorce. You do have to do the things married couples do like live together, attend therapy, go out, and whatever else they do. You will have random visits by a court-appointed person to ensure that you both are giving this a go. Any questions Mr. and Mrs. Seresin?"

#Jake Seresin #Hangman #Top Gun #Top Gun Maverick #TGM #Jake Hangman Seresin #TGM fic #tgm imagine #Jake Seresin x reader #Hangman x reader #jake seresin fic #Hangman Fic #Hangman top gun #Hangman series

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safedistancefrombeingsmart · 4 months

Text

What did John say in his letter to Sherlock? We never find out and I regularly wonder what John could have written. Here's my version of John's letter.

(Also, this is my 1st time writing anything, so this is a bit nerve- wracking stressful. Not a native speaker, not beta'd/ britpicked, and so on.)

Warnings: nothing too bad, just a bit lot of angst.

Broken

You broke me, Sherlock. You broke me in so many ways and I don't know if I can ever recover from it.

I have been damaged before. By Mum and Dad, by Harry. Bit by bit, piece by piece I rebuild myself, every time. Then came Afghanistan and it broke me more than anything before, inside and out. It took away my career, my future and I was certain that I could never fix what the war took from me. I was ready to end it all, on my own terms.

But then I met you and to my surprise you could repair what I could not, not on my own. You gave me purpose and brought back joy to my life. I felt alive. Needed. Happy. I don't think I've ever been this happy before, and I am sure I never will be again. I was convinced that you would never do anything to harm my happiness. But you did.

You broke me, shattered me when you jumped off that damn roof. You crushed my heart into a million pieces when you leapt into inevitable death, when I saw your skull cracked open and your dead eyes and the blood. So much blood. I didn't know that it was just a magic trick. A lie. Why did you have to lie to me, Sherlock? Not trust me enough to take me with you? I would have gone everywhere with you, done everything for you. Everything. I think that's what hurt the most. You not trusting me. I trusted you. With everything I had. And you broke that trust by not trusting me.

I don't know how I managed not to fling myself off that same roof. Oh, I've thought about it. Many, many times. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't do this to Mrs. H. or Greg who had already lost a son (or close enough) and a friend. I could not be that selfish. Yes, I thought you were a selfish bastard. Doing that to us. To me. Even made me watch. Cruel doesn't even come close to describe what you did. Did you know that I don't dream about Afghanistan anymore? I dream about your Fall and the cracked skull and the dead eyes and the blood. And how I failed to save you. You never needed saving, but I didn't know that and it haunts me to this day.

I don't know what Mary saw in me. I was a grieving, broken man with no purpose. But she insisted that she liked me and I couldn't convince her that I wasn't worth her time. She distracted me from the grief and in a way she saved me, not unlike you did when we first met.

And then you came back. And I should have been happy, right? The miracle I had asked for so many times. But you treated your return like a joke, like it didn't matter -like I didn't matter- and you ridiculed me and something else inside me broke and this time I broke something of yours in return. Sorry about the nose, but I was so FUCKING angry and you kept talking and you kept being an enormous prick and it made me so angry.

Mary thought she talked me around, to see you again, to talk to you again. The truth is: I needed no one to talk me around. I could have never stayed away from you for too long. As soon as (most of) my anger had vanished, I was drawn back to you like a moth to the light. And I thought that, maybe, I could be happy again. With you AND Mary by my side. And a little girl on the way.

And then you got shot and I nearly lost you. Again. My heart shattered to pieces, again, while I waited for news at the hospital. And as if it wasn't bad enough with you nearly dying, it was bloody Mary who tried to break me this time by breaking you. How could you not see who she really was? The world's only Consulting Detective and the smartest man I have ever known, and you didn't bloody know??? I could not leave her, not with Rosie on the way. I didn't want my little girl to grow up without a father. I promised her to be a better father than my own and I could never break this promise. Not before she was even born. But you made me break that promise. You didn't pull the trigger, that day in the aquarium, but you might have as well. You SWORE to protect Mary so my little girl would have a mother and she still died. I cannot care for Rosie, not on my own. I can barely take care of myself.

I am a broken man, Sherlock, I am not the man I want to be. Not anymore. I am a washed up soldier and doctor, a single father who can't take care of his daughter, a son and brother being only 1 step away from following his father's and sister's footsteps and becoming a full blown alcoholic.

I can't be near you anymore. Not until I get better. And I don't know if I ever can. I do not trust myself, with all the anger and sadness and guilt and broken promises. Maybe this time I am broken beyond repair.

Do not contact me. Do not follow me. Do not spy on me (same goes for you, Mycroft!). Don't even think about me. Do not! Sherlock, I mean it. This time it has to be my way, not yours.

I don't know when I can bear to see you again, if I can bear to ever see you again. And this thought breaks whatever is left of my already broken heart.

John

(AO3 link)

#john watson #sherlock holmes #sherlock bbc #bbc sherlock #fanfic #sherlock fanfic #sherlock fandom #my fics

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amberlynnmurdock · 6 months

Text

Blind Faith (Ch. 15)

Chapter Fifteen: Sunday

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: You and Matt wake up on Sunday and talk about what's happened and where to go next.

Warnings: 18+ content, smut, unprotected sex.

A/N: Thank you all for being here since I started this fic in July. This has been my favorite Matt Murdock fic I've written because of the time and planning I put into it. If you've left a like, or reblog, or a comment on here, THANK YOU. It means the world to me to write fanfic and share it with people who want to read <3 Here is the final chapter of Blind Faith. I hope you like it!

Ao3 Link

Hell’s Kitchen

You stayed with Matt the whole weekend, and the whole weekend seemed to go by just as fast as it had come. One moment, you’re on your way to a date. The next, you’re blacked out and waking up in your savior’s apartment which actually turned out to be your boss’. Yeah, you could say you’ve had a long weekend.

Your body felt fully recovered from the drug’s side effects, but it was your mind that still needed healing. Despite being saved from that terrible nightmare, you now were taking what you experienced with you everywhere. If it wasn’t you who poured a drink, you wouldn’t have it.

Sunday.

Bright and dry. Unlike the previous day’s weather of wet, stormy, and dark.

And of course, the breaking news on Saturday morning.

You didn’t want to spend more time than you needed to on him, but when you saw the breaking news flash across WHIH’s channel, your heart dropped. Zack was found by police and arrested for illegal drug possession. It occurred to you that you hadn’t seen him since the start of that dreadful night, so to see the footage of him knocked unconscious and bloody, tied to his dining room table, you froze. As soon as the image came on, Matt shut the TV off.

Now, Sunday, you lay in Matt’s bed, with Matt beside you. Sunlight shone through his windows and onto the bed, lighting up the bottom half. You stretched under his silk blankets.

Your legs felt sore from all the sex you had with Matt, which was going to be quite unforgettable once you’ve left. You looked around his living room through the half-opened sliding door and put it to memory: the brown, ratty leather couch. A mismatched dark blue chair. A light gray patterned rug. The brick walls. This bedroom that you’ve committed to memory of how soft his silk sheets felt on your skin just as you’ve committed to memory of the way he kissed your entire body.

You felt your heart flutter at the memory of Matt pulling you roughly against his body the night before. His hands tangled in your hair and pulled gently for his lips to find their way to your neck. Matthew, whispering in your ear that he’s wanted this for so long—he’s wanted you for so long.

And there he was, doing it all over again.

“Come here,” he murmurs half asleep, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close.

He didn’t leave your side once this weekend, and you didn’t want him to. Mostly because you weren’t sure if you’d ever have another weekend like this. A weekend with him. Being with him in general.

It was a question the two of you were avoiding after that first night: where do we go from here?

You’ve certainly spent most of the time thinking of this. And you were afraid too much had happened for you and Matt to take things any further. But you haven’t said this to him…because you thought you wouldn’t be able to get the words out.

You’re damn near close to tears even thinking of it. And you know Matt can sense them in the air. He doesn’t ask you why you’re crying. He just pulls you even closer to his chest and kisses your head. He brushes his fingers through your hair. And you want him, just one more time. Once more, before Sunday is over.

Matt slowly drags his fingers down your back, slipping under the blanket. He traces over your ass and presses one finger on your wet pussy, a way to ask permission.

You nod your head against his chest, gripping his shoulders.

Matt gently pushes a finger inside your velvety wetness, feeling your pussy tighten around his finger. He pushes deeper inside you, wiggling his finger to find your sweet spot. He knows he found it when you squirm in the bed and shudder against him.

“One more time,” you whisper.

You’ve wrapped your legs around Matt’s waist and straddled him in one swift movement. The silk blanket slips off your body, exposing yourself in front of Matt again.

Matt gasps as he feels your wetness coat his lower abdomen, not quite where he needs you most. His cock is swollen hard under the sheets, and he can hear his own heart beating hard in his chest. You lower your face and kiss him deeply, letting his tongue enter your mouth and lick your teeth. He places a hand on your neck and you place yours on top of his, encouraging him to squeeze lightly, and he does. You move the same hand over your right breast, and he feels how hard your nipple is against his palm. He moves his hand in a kneading motion.

Matt can feel and smell your wetness in the air, it makes him feel an intense need in his chest. You slowly inch your way down and rub your soft pussy over the length of his hard cock. Matt rocks against you and grabs a fistful of your hair, gently tugging.

You reach for his cock and line it with your pussy. Bracing yourself for the pain, you slowly inch down the length of him, feeling his size stretch your tight pussy until you were completely wrapped around him. You feel full and feel a familiar tightness in the pit of your stomach.

“Oh, God,” you whine as you feel Matt’s cock fully inside you. You begin to rock back and forth on his cock, the more you do, the more you need to feel him all around, like an itch needing a desperate scratch. Matt bucks his hips up into you, bucks his cock hard into your pussy, feeling you clench his hardness.

“You feel like heaven,” Matt breathes out, letting you bounce on his cock fast and then slow. You slowly lift your pussy off before coming back down hard and feeling the tip of his cock touch that spot deep inside you. And you keep doing it again, and again, and again, bouncing as much as you need to feel him.

“Mm,” you moan feeling your pussy clench tightly around Matt’s cock. You tilt your body backward and Matt reaches his hands to cover your breasts. He kneads them and bucks his hips into you, pushing his cock deeper.

“That’s it,” Matt says in a guttural voice.

He knows you’re about to come by the way you’re moaning and breathing so fast, so fast he almost doesn’t hear you asking him to come inside you again.

“Matthew,” you say breathlessly as you keep bouncing on his cock.

Matt places his hands on your waist and rocks you back and forth on his cock for you, as you’re losing pace from going too fast. You come all over his cock and moan so lightly, it causes Matt to finish at the same time, filling you with his hot come, and feeling it gush inside your pussy. He holds you still as he feels his cock pump come one, two, three, four times so deep, you shiver and fall against his chest.

“God,” Matt moans against your ear, feeling your pussy squeeze his cock for one last drop inside you. It feels so good to come in you, to feel that tightness in the pit of your stomach, to feel Matt’s warmth fill you. It leaks out a lot, you spread your legs and feel Matt slide out of you and the familiar empty feeling of his size leaving you. You practically collapse on the bed again and watch as Matt finds a towel to clean you with.

You’re shivering in the bed from your orgasm, and Matt takes no time in holding you against him again, as you come down from your high.

“Was this all a good idea?” You find yourself asking breathlessly against his pillow. Matt’s next to you, pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“What?”

“What we just did.”

“You mean, what we’ve been doing all weekend?” He smirks. You want to wipe it off, but you feel a shiver down your spine as you imagine him covered with a black mask. It was still strange that it was him.

“Yes,” you say. You’ve come to peace with Matt being your savior, but you weren’t sure it was something you could live with. Perhaps, now was the time to ask Matt: where do we go from here?

“Doesn’t seem like it was necessarily a bad idea,” Matt says lowly, referring to your wetness. You move to lay on your back, staring at the ceiling.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have found out what we would miss,” you simply say.

Matt’s gaze moves to you, his brows furrowed. He reaches over to caress your chin, to guide you to look at him.

“What do you mean?” He asks. But deep down, Matt knows exactly what you mean.

“Tomorrow is Monday, Matthew,” you state plainly. “Tell me, do Karen and Foggy know you’re Daredevil?”

“Yes,” he answers.

“Do they know I didn’t know?”

After a small pause, he nods. “Yes.”

“How in the world do you expect me to walk into work tomorrow after a weekend like this? After they find out about us?”

“They won't think of you differently,” he shakes his head. “They’ll think of me differently.”

“Matt,” you bite your lip, looking at his hazel-brown eyes. There was a time you were dying to know what his eyes looked like behind those dark red glasses. There was a time you were dying to know who he was behind that mask. “Think about what’s happened—what I’ve been through. We’ve been having this affair since the beginning of summer. We didn’t talk for a month, except at work, before I knew you were you. Friday, I was drugged and you saved me.”

Matt clenches his jaw at the memory of Friday night. It makes him want to bring you closer to him again. But he doesn’t.

“Then, I find out the man I’ve been seeing in secret was right under my nose all along,” you explain. “This is a lot for me. I can’t just pack it up and move on,” you reach over and gently run your fingers along his jawline, because this may be the last time you’ll ever be this close to Matt Murdock.

“So what does that mean for us?” Matt asks, although he knows the answer inside.

“It means, after today, that’s it. I’m going to resign from Nelson & Murdock tomorrow. I’ll write Foggy and Karen a letter and say—“

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll tell them.”

“They should hear from me,” you gently argue.

“They will. But I will tell them everything.”

“Okay,” you sighed, “that saves me the awkward part of telling them I’ve been hooking up with you.”

Matt smiles a little, but it quickly fades as your words echo in his ears. After today, that’s it.

“Is it really over?” Matt asks. “After I finally reveal myself and we have this weekend, that’s it?”

“Think about what it took for you to finally reveal yourself, Matt,” you whisper. “Look at how we ended up here.”

As much as it pained him, it was true. What right did he have, after everything he’s put you through?

“Okay,” he nodded. “If that’s what you want.”

“It’s not that I want this to be the end,” you said in frustration, wishing he would understand what you were trying to say. “You’re all I’ve wanted this entire time.” You covered your face with your hands, feeling tears brimming your eyes. Why did it have to hurt so much, to make a tough decision like this?

“I just—I don’t have the same faith I once did before,” you cry softly. “And I want you so bad. I want more weekends like this, I want to be with you, but—“

“Too much has happened,” Matt finishes your sentence, trying to remain composed. “I understand. You don’t have to explain yourself. It’s okay.”

“Then why am I still crying? Why does it feel like this?” You wipe your tears away and look around his room again—your safe haven for the weekend. You didn’t want to go.

“Because what I did to you wasn’t fair,” Matt says softly. “I ruined what could’ve been for us. I have to live with that. Not you,” Matt reaches over and places his hand on your cheek, urging you to look at him. He wipes a tear away with his thumb, caressing your cheek. “Not you.”

⠋⠁⠊⠞⠓

After your conversation, the two of you lay in his bed for a few more hours until you decided the longer you stayed, the harder the goodbye would be. You took a shower in his apartment and changed into the clothes his nurse friend left for you. When you finally gathered your things, Matt was waiting quietly on his couch.

“Ready?” He asks.

“You don’t have to take me home, Matt,” you said, sucking in your tears. “I think it’s best I get a cab.”

“I want to make sure you’ll be safe.”

“I will,” you promised. “Please, Matt. Don’t make this harder for me.”

Matt nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Let me walk you to the door, then.”

You wanted to smile at his attempts, but it only hurt your heart even more. With every step to his door, you slowed down your pace. Just as you reached for the knob, Matt did too, and your hands touched for a brief moment before Matt is taking your hand and gently pushing you against his wall.

You close your eyes and let him do what he wants, because you want this, too. He leans down and gently presses his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses touching. Matt’s strong hands are on either side of your waist, and you’re taken back to all those times he’s held you on your roof, under a black mask. His lips ghost over yours, and it takes you to gently nudge him for him to fully press his lips onto yours.

Matt holds you still as he kisses you deeply, more deeply than he ever has before. He takes this moment to remember your scent, your heartbeat, your breathing because he’s not sure when he’ll be able to be around you again. This is all he has to remember you. This moment that having blind faith has led him to—both of you. He kisses you again and holds your face in his hands. He pulls back to kiss your jaw, to kiss behind your ear, to kiss your neck. Matt will never forgive himself for this.

“I love you,” you whisper. “I have to go.”

“I lied to you, that one night,” Matt says with pain in his voice. “I do love. I love you. And I don’t want you to leave. But if it means anything, it’s the most intense feeling I’ll ever have to hold on to be left by you.”

And with one last kiss, you’re out the door, out of his apartment, out of his life for a long, long time.

When he hears you get inside a cab, Matt charges up his phone that’s been out of battery the entire weekend and calls Foggy to tell him everything that’s happened.

TAGS: @starry-night-20 @sumsytee @queerqueenlynnn @mattmurdocksstarlight @marvelcinematiquniverse @hailey-murdock @yeonalie (please let me know if I missed you!)

P.S. There will be an epilogue!

#matt murdock #daredevil #charlie cox #marvel #matt murdock x reader #blind faith #matthew murdock #daredevil born again #daredevil: born again #charlie cox x reader #the defenders #foggy nelson #karen page #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock fan fic #matt murdock x you

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warabidakihime · 1 year

Text

One More Day

★ characters: dazai x reader | fluff x smut x comfort

★ plot summary: Another day, another opportunity for you and your boyfriend, who is equally broken, to conquer the world.

★ content warnings : mentions of su!cide, can be psychologically triggering, smut.

It's three o'clock in the afternoon, and a serene silence has engulfed the whole workplace of the armed detective agency. All you can hear is the sound of fingers tapping away on the keyboard, fresh breezes passing by through the half-open window across the room, and, last but not least, Kunikida and Dazai's never-ending banter.

You're at your desk, as usual, finishing a report that Kunikida had asked you to do on his behalf as his plate is already full. He and Dazai just completed handling a very complicated case, and now you're just summarizing everything for documentation purposes, as required by the client.

They didn't exactly impose a timeframe, but knowing Kunikida, he wants to accomplish the work as quickly as possible so you can proceed on to the next one.

As you continued to type on your computer, you felt a shadow fall over you and two hands on your shoulder.

You didn't have to turn around to see who it was, so you continued on with your work without pausing.

As your lovely boyfriend proceeded to indulge you with a shoulder massage while watching you work diligently, a smile slowly dawned on your face.

“Aren't you working way too hard, Y/N-chan? If you keep up this pace, you'll become a second kunikida."

Kunikida glared at Dazai from his desk. "Shouldn't you be working? Have you finished your report?"

"Nope!" said the flamboyant investigator, to which his colleague scowled at him as a reply.

"You really should stop procrastinating, you know?" you joked, and then your boyfriend dramatically recovered his hand and placed it over his face as if he were in a theatrical play.

"Oh, Belladonna, why must you subject me to tedious labor?"

"Because it's part of your job, dumbass; did you even start?"

"Nope," Dazai said with a huge smile, to which you deadpanned.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Atsushi doing the same thing, which caused you to giggle.

"You're hopeless; I have my own pile to attend to, so I won't be able to assist you this time."

"Can you resist me, though?"

"Occasionally," you said, with a knowing smile on your face.

Dazai mimicked your smile, caressed your face, and squeezed your cheeks, one of the few mannerisms he picked up after you two started dating.

"Only occasionally, because oftentimes you can't resist me and my charms."

He's not wrong, but you're not going to admit it, or it would feed his already huge ego.

The man knows he's hot, and he knows the effect he has on people, particularly you.

"Go back to work, Osamu; if I finish my report early, I'll try to help you with yours; in the meantime, be on your best behavior at your workstation," you say, not glancing away from your laptop.

That seemed to have satiated your very needy boyfriend as he practically skipped back to his desk, but instead of behaving like you asked him to, he moved on to the next unfortunate person to bother, which is Atsushi, the newcomer.

He was the weretiger that you looked for everywhere for weeks. It was Dazai who found him. According to your boyfriend, the poor boy was kicked out by the caretakers of the orphanage he was staying at.

As someone with a similar background, you instantly felt attached to the boy and immediately took him under your care.

Dazai was initially perplexed as to why you showered so much attention on him. He is aware of your past, but it surprised him that you would be so proactive in caring for Atsushi. A little part of him is even jealous of the fact that another person has your undivided attention.

"I guess I'll let it slide," Dazai joked after seeing you hold a weeping Atsushi after the Port Mafia attacked your headquarters for the umpteenth time. He was somewhere else when it happened, so when he returned and spotted you being intimate with someone else, he was stunned to say the least.

Curiosity got the best of you when you heard Atsushi whining as your partner annoys him to no end. You then made the decision to take a glimpse at them. You couldn't help but laugh as you watched the two, since they're so entertaining to look at right now. Dazai was obviously playing the "annoying older brother," character while Atsushi was his victim of the day.

Night came, and everyone else had gone home to their respective dorms except you and Dazai. Fortunately for him, you managed to finish your report, and so here you are, instead of relaxing at home, you’re helping him with his report.

Despite being exhausted from all of your mental gymnastics today, you still have a lot of energy.

The biggest reason could be that you get to spend some alone time with your boyfriend. Though you'd go on dates regularly and you'd interact with one another at work, you cherish every moment you get to spend with him.

Even more so when it's just the two of you.

"Are you finished yet?"

"Almost."

"You can write whatever you want; Kunikida-kun won't notice."

"I mean, if you want to have your ass whooped, be my guest," you chuckled.

Dazai chuckled, and since his chin was resting nicely on your shoulder, his breath tickled you a little bit. You instinctively reached out to him and caressed his cheeks before going up to his hair, to which your golden retriever of a boyfriend leaned towards your touch.

"What do you want for dinner?" You asked him softly

"Hmm... let's just buy something from the convenience store. My treat, take it as a thank you for finishing my report."

You rolled your eyes playfully, turned to look at him momentarily, and muttered, "Gee, thanks."

"You're welcome." He replied merrily.

Time passed quickly, and before you knew it, you were through with the report. After being nearly stuck to your chair all day, you let out a whimper as you stretched from your seat. The only times you stood up were when Yosano invited everyone to Uzumaki Café for a much-needed coffee break and for your bathroom breaks.

While you were tending to your sore joints, you heard sounds of clapping. Slightly out of your mind due to fatigue, you thought an intruder had entered the ADA headquarters, but when you whipped your head to see who it was while getting into a fighting stance, you saw your idiotic boyfriend clapping as he emerged from the restroom.

You deadpanned, "What are you doing?"

"I'm giving you applause for a job well done!"

Tired of his childish jokes, you scowled at Dazai and said, "Gee, thanks. Hurry up, I want to go home and sleep."

Dazai approached you with eager, long strides and wrapped his long arms around you, his hands resting comfortably on each side of your hips.

His voice brimmed with mirth as he murmured, "If looks could kill."

As soon as he began stroking your sides with his mischievous hands, you felt yourself loosening up in his grip.

The bandage-wasting detective effortlessly unraveled your neatly tucked-in dress shirt. You closed your eyes unconsciously and smiled softly. "I thought an intruder had broken in."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, so don't scare me like that; I could have roundhouse kicked you."

Dazai dipped his head and nestled in between the juncture of your neck, making you gasp slightly. Even more so after feeling his gentle lips touch your skin in a kiss: "That could have been bad, no?"

"Yeah?" you said, mimicking his voice, to which your boyfriend replied delightfully by nibbling on your neck, knowing fully well that it's one of your sensitive spots.

And as soon as a moan erupted from your lips, a smirk dawned on Dazai's face; he was obviously satisfied with his handiwork as per usual.

"Yeah."

At this point, the detective has you caged between your desk and him, and one of his hands has shamelessly found its way under your pencil skirt, squeezing your thighs.

"Stop being a tease." You whined at your boyfriend, whose fingers continued to ghost over your underwear, to which he replied with a dark chuckle, "I thought you wanted to go home?"

"No," you replied in haste. You then grabbed his face and reeled him in for a searing kiss. "Overtime's not over yet."

"So?"

"So, what?"

"How was today?"

Despite how much time has passed, you and Dazai have not gone home yet. Instead, the two of you are sitting on top of a bridge, your legs dangling over the city river.

This is one of your routines as a couple. From time to time, you would go to this particular bridge to either kill some time or wallow in each other's deepest, darkest thoughts.

It came as such a surprise to Dazai when he heard your response to him when he first invited you to his infamous "double suicides".

He genuinely didn't expect you to ride along and actually accept his offer. And ever since then, you have caught his interest, and at first he thought it would soon pass, but as he spent more time with you, he became more enamored with you.

You were like the flame, and he was the stupid moth.

And then he learned about your story; he found himself falling deeper, and when you almost died in action, something in him snapped.

Images of Odasaku and his final moments flashed in his mind.

The thought of cradling you in his arms while you were drenched in your own blood as he failed to save you scared the living shit out of him.

Never again.

He thought to himself.

But despite being smooth with other women, he found himself stumbling stupidly in front of you. He didn't know how to act, because in a way, it was his first time pursuing someone not out of any self-serving motives but rather out of a genuine desire to win your heart and become your significant other.

And because everything was pretty much new to him, he liked the challenge, and by extension, it made him feel alive.

You basically gave him a reason to live and look forward to tomorrow.

Your boyfriend looked over the big night sky and took a heavy sigh, as if it were one of his ways of relishing the day he'd had today.

"I guess you could say the look on your face while I was fucking your mouth will stay etched in my brain for a really long time."

You snorted, "Same goes when I rode you on Kunikida-san's chair."

"That was your best performance yet."

You could only roll your eyes at your boyfriend and his silliness.

“Glad I could amuse you.”

The chilly breeze continued to howl in the distance, stroking both of your hairs.

After a moment of silence, you got to your feet on the edge of the bridge and peered down at Dazai, who was still gazing thoughtfully into the horizon.

"Is this the day, or do you wish to live one more day with me?"

The former Port Mafia executive didn't say anything; instead, he stood up and held your hand.

"Well, committing double suicide could very well be a fantastic way to end this wonderful day, but the sex was too good, so I'll have to decline your offer today."

You broke off into a melodious laugh at your boyfriend's reply.

"Who knows? Maybe we can have amazing sex in hell too?"

Dazai shook his head and pulled you off the bridge with him, and right after that, he enveloped you in another embrace.

"Maybe next time, Y/N."

You gladly returned the hug, and this time, it was your turn to dip your head into his neck and inhale his scent.

"So, one more day?" you asked him

"Yes, one more day.”

And maybe, just maybe, for all of eternity.

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ironspiderfics · 10 months

Text

hush little spider

by @iron--spider for @whimsicalethnographies

Tony dreams of clouds.

No, a bubble. A bubble that’s wispy and purple and green and he’s inside it and he’s floating and it’s hard to breathe. The world outside warps and they can’t hear him. He’s high above New York and he’s a spectacle but they still can’t hear him.

He opens his eyes just the slightest bit and sees Pepper already dressed. He groans, and she laughs in that breathy way that she does and she leans over and kisses his cheek.

“No,” he grunts, still half-asleep. “Nope. Canceled. It’s canceled, I’m canceling it.”

“I’ll be back tonight,” she laughs, kissing the corner of his mouth this time.

“Pete’s still here, right?” Tony asks, struggling to keep one eye open.

“Yeah,” Pepper says, stuffing a few things in her purse. “He and Ned—actually fell asleep in the lower lab, something I’ve never seen anybody else do—ever—how strange…”

Tony snorts, closing his eye again. “Only the occasional…similarity…”

He hears her zipping her purse, and she kisses his cheek again. “Sleep in—sleep in for once in your life.”

He turns his face into the pillow. “We’ll see,” he says, not anticipating sleeping any later than seven or eight, because the only times he does that are when he’s nearly been killed or some shit. Maimed beyond repair. Worrying about Rhodey so much he passes out, recovering from watching Spider-Man nearly die, things like that—

But sleep is already dragging him back down again, as if it wants him, as if it’ll let him stay a while.

And he dreams again. Dreams about almost losing his left arm, and his dream morphs reality and his false worries together like bad patchwork—arm, no arm, iron arm, half an arm, iron man, no arm, arm—he sees himself in bed he sees himself hobbling around he sees the line of suitors outside his door, all the people he knew loved him, all the ones he thought didn’t, everyone ready to start over with no qualms no teams no past mistakes, and he can hear his own voice strung up like Christmas lights saying it wasn’t just me. It wasn’t. But they’re here for him. They’re here to thank him. Here to comfort him.

His dream is a flipbook of that time—things that happened twisted with things that didn’t, the kid saying he wasn’t going on that Europe trip and Tony’s secret relief, Pepper scaling the side of the newly acquired tower, which was re-acquired but definitely not scaled, at least not by her—Happy starting to date May, yes, and Tony sees an array of dates he never saw but some he heard about, and the twenty-two or so pizzas feels fake, too.

His dreams are wacky sometimes—most of the time—and this feels like a play, almost, and he’s the only audience member, and he feels like something shuts down—

And there is a stage. Shakespeare in the Park, and he’s standing in the rows of hard chairs and Peter is on the stage alone.

“Pete?” Tony calls to him. “You okay?”

“I’m playing Hamlet,” Peter says, and he’s wearing a top hat.

“You’re not supposed to say that in a theater,” Tony says, even though they’re not really in a theater, because he can see the sky. The stars. There’s grass under his feet.

Is that right? Hamlet? Not allowed? Is it him that’s not allowed? Dreams are wrong. Dreams are facts that aren’t facts.

He hears something shutting down. The wind stops and all the trees go still.

“Did you hear that?” Tony asks, glancing up at Peter again.

Like a computer shutting down the wrong way. He heard it plenty of times in college, in his many impatient moments.

It sounds like it’s everywhere. In his ear canals.

“Pete, did you hear that?” Tony asks, starting to walk down the middle aisle.

Peter looks at him, and shakes his head, and he’s standing under a spotlight now. “I don’t hear anything,” he whispers.

Tony startles awake, and the air feels stale.

He can tell the power’s off immediately.

He says Friday.

Except he doesn’t say it.

He looks around, eyes narrowed. The room is dark, the blackout shades still enabled, and he says Friday again, except he doesn’t say it.

He sits up in bed, his heart hammering. He rubs his throat a little bit, and tries to clear it. He can hear that, and he does it a few more times, and then he says Friday, but still, he doesn’t say it, the word doesn’t come out, his mouth moves and he shakes his head and tries to enunciate but still, no word, just silence.

He sucks in a couple frustrated breaths, and he pulls himself over to the bedside table and picks up his phone.

It’s dead. He tries to turn it on again and it’s dead and it’s fucking plugged in, and still, dead, and he unplugs it and tries to turn it back on, two, three, four times, and then he’s tossing it onto the bed and leaning back against the pillows.

He stares off. He feels insane. Maybe he’s still dreaming.

He pinches his arm and puts that to bed, and his heart starts speeding up again.

He closes his eyes. Tries to calm down.

He says Friday.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t say it.

His voice is gone.

He can’t fucking talk, the power is out and his phone is dead.

And he’s not sick—he wasn’t screaming, there’s no reason for it—

This is an attack. It has to be.

He runs his hands over his face, heaving a sigh, trying to—catalog things in his head.

Why did this happen who did it is he still here what’s been compromised how did he do it is he more than one person and if so how many can they turn on backup power without their voices can they get out of the building easily or are they trapped who is inside right now who stays here overnight who was still working who could have—

Shit. He says it, but he doesn’t say it, because…because.

How the fuck—

Peter is here. Peter and Ned.

Tony wants to curse and shout but he gets out of bed and moves for the closet.

Peter wakes up to someone hitting him. He narrows his eyes and sits up from his very uncomfortable sleeping position on the workbench, and Ned is hitting him and hitting him and hitting him.

It’s dark in here, he can barely see, what is going on—

Peter says hey but the word doesn’t come out, and Ned hits him and hits him and hits him again. He’s not hitting him with any real force but he’s like a very panicked butterfly, and Peter tries to say his name but that word doesn’t come out either.

He clears his throat but before he knows it, Ned is grabbing his chin.

Ned’s mouth is moving very fast, but he’s not making any words either. He points to his own mouth and then Peter’s mouth and he shakes his head. He lets go of Peter and walks over to the desk and picks up both of their phones, holds them up and wiggles them around, and puts them down again. He points to the computers and the workstations and makes an X with his arms, and Peter stares at him.

Peter tries to say Ned but nothing comes out of his mouth but air.

Ned glares at him. He points up at the ceiling and he covers his eyes, and he does that three times. It feels like a really weird game of charades.

No lights. No power. Phones off too…

A little bit of fear creeps into Peter’s gut, and he sucks in a breath. He tries to say hello hello, but it doesn’t work, and Ned throws his arms up and they hit his legs.

Peter does it back at him.

They stare at each other in the darkness.

This is bad. Tony is here somewhere and Pepper could be too—and a bunch of other people probably—

He needs Tony’s help, Tony can figure this out, they can figure it out together—whatever it is—

Peter swallows hard and puts his fingers together to mime writing with a pencil. Ned just stares at him, and Peter widens his eyes and does it again, with more dramatic flair, and he starts searching through the desk. He doesn’t know the last time he’s seen Tony actually write anything down.

Ned is still just standing there and staring at him, so Peter huffs a sigh and slams his arms down on the desk and makes a very exaggerated scene of pretending to write, and Ned sort of goes oh without saying it, because—they can’t, for some reason—and he starts to help him look through the drawers.

Ned nudges Peter with his elbow. Peter nudges him back, and they’re sort of pushing back and forth for a second like they’re five years old at the watercolor table and not two adults in a situation.

Who the hell could do this? What is going on? How could someone steal their voices?

They look for five minutes before they find a stash of paper and a few pencils in the desk by the wall. The dark is starting to hurt Peter’s eyes, and Ned snatches a piece of paper out of his hand, and Peter scoffs and throws the second pencil at him.

They both hurriedly write out their messages.

Peter holds his up.

WE NEED TO FIND TONY AND WE NEED TO SEE IF WE CAN GET OUT OF THE BUILDING AND WE NEED TO SEE IF THE TECHNOLOGY SITUATION IS AFFECTING MY SUIT THE ONLY ONE I HAVE HERE IS THE NEW SCARLET SPIDER ONE TONY AND I WERE WORKING ON AND IT’S IN THE LAB ON LEVEL 14 SO WE ALSO HAVE TO CHECK OUT THE ELEVATOR SITUATION AND SEE WHAT IS GOING ON FROM THERE AND THE LIVING QUARTERS ARE ON LEVEL 42 SO WE ARE REALLY IN A SITUATION AND WE HAVE TO BE CAREFUL WHEN WE LEAVE THIS ROOM BECAUSE ANYTHING COULD BE OUT THERE SO JUST STAY BEHIND ME

Ned stands there and squints and reads the whole thing. He steps a little closer and finally finishes, nodding, and he swallows hard.

He holds up his paper.

so this could be aliens

Tony doesn’t like not being able to use his voice. His voice is his greatest weapon, and one he uses often, in every situation, whether he’s quipping at a giant purple asshole trying to bring the world to its knees or bargaining with Pepper about the need for cookie dough ice cream.

And he keeps forgetting he can’t use it, and he keeps almost yelling out as he surveys the halls—empty, mostly, up here, because he guesses the kid stayed down in the lab all night with his buddy. Rhodey is supposed to show up tomorrow, and Happy might have been out of the tower already before whatever the hell happened…happened…and Natasha is in Chicago with Clint and his family and Thor is still off-world and Steve is in Brooklyn for that anniversary thing—Barnes and Wilson might be here, somewhere, maybe. They’re here sometimes. Tony really needs to get better at keeping up with who’s here and when. He knows Friday knows, but Friday is out of commission, and whatever the hell is going on with his voice is keeping him from resetting her and the system.

Purposeful. Smart. Too smart.

He arrives at the main stairwell and sees—it’s caved the fuck in. Like a controlled explosion, and he can’t go down or up, and he peers over what’s left of the railing and sees a few of the other stairwells look the same.

Who the hell is blowing shit up in here and he didn’t hear it? How would he not hear that?

He wants to say shit and he tries but he fucking can’t and he rushes over and hits the wall next to the elevator instead. Not even hard enough to make a dent, and he sighs and presses the button a bunch of times. He knows it won’t work, but he does it anyway.

And then the whole building groans, like the unmistakable sound of a wounded Titanic slowly sinking, and Tony stands still, eyes cutting around manically.

He has a horrible thought that they’re trying to bring the building down, whoever the hell ‘they’ are, but why all the theatrics? Why the shit with his voice? Is that happening to everyone? Is that happening to Peter?

Tony sets his jaw, the thought of the kid bringing things back into focus, and the metallic moaning and groaning stops.

No matter what’s going on, there are innocent people in this building, and Peter is one of them. Tony has to start making his way down, and maybe he can find a suit he can activate manually. Maybe this tech crash didn’t affect his suits, but he won’t know until he finds one, and they’re down where Peter is. Slim chance, but it’s something to shoot for.

He feels like he can hear footsteps. On this floor, on others, and it’s underlined in the silence, in the lack of screaming for help.

He’s gotta get to the back stairwell and see if that’s intact, and he swallows hard and heads that way. He weaves around, and he feels like he’s thinking more now that he can’t talk out loud—

—gotta find the kid gotta see if we can get out cover the exits try to make contact with anybody else on the team might be here gotta find the manual overrides that don’t require voice activation and that’s probably zero considering my paranoia and there has to be backdoors for that to get around it and what if we’re stuck in the building because we probably are because who would go to all this trouble just to let us walk right out and thank God Pepper isn’t here that’s one less thing to worry about and if only Rhodey was a day early even though I don’t want him trapped in here either and Jesus who else is in here, it’s a weekend, who’d be staying, Jesus, gotta get to Peter, and Ned, Ned’s here too, can’t talk, can’t talk, it must be everyone—

—and this atrium is filled with sunshine from the long line of windows, and Tony jogs over there to see if—to see if—

He tries to say that’s not a cloud out loud but, of course, he can’t, just tiny newborn kitten mouth movements, and he huffs at himself and rolls his eyes and he’s seconds from a tantrum that he hope they’ll watch and laugh at on the cameras three days from now oh wait the cameras are fucking off—

—but either goddamn way the tower is surrounded by something greenish purplish nebulous…like they’re inside someone’s chemistry experiment—

This time, when he tries to say shit he tries to say it with such force that he gets out the rush of breath that would start the ‘s’, if not anything else.

So he races towards the back stairwell hissing and shushing over and over to himself like an angry librarian or an oncoming train.

Ned runs out of paper.

And Peter doesn’t know how the hell he did that—well he sort of does, because he’s been wasting the paper on dumb stuff, like worrying about aliens, and sure, that’s a completely normal worry, but how many times is he gonna write it? And then waste the paper? He’s gone back to pick up paper he’s dramatically thrown to the ground like eight times. As if they’re walking around in some post-apocalyptic wasteland and not Stark Tower.

Ned is tugging on Peter’s arm for more paper, and Peter turns around and holds up one finger at him. Ned shrugs at him and Peter feels like they’re not making any progress at all—they saw the screwed up staircases, and they could maybe get around those, maybe, and they saw the weird shit outside the windows which makes him think this is some magic spell or something—well, obviously, you can’t just steal people’s voices with a special remote—but he’s gotta see—he’s gotta see if he can get outside.

And he’s having crazy ideas about how to—do that.

If they just would have figured out how to teleport like in Star Trek then they wouldn’t be having this problem at all.

Peter sighs and then he sees one of the classrooms Tony carved out for team meetings, once he re-acquired the tower, and he has an idea. He points at the classroom to Ned, ignores his immediate defensiveness, and he heads over there.

Ned grabs onto his shoulder, and maybe Ned is missing the sound of his voice. Peter has to remember that Ned isn’t exactly used to situations like this, and he pats his hand, but then he turns around and indicates that he’s gonna knock down the door.

It only takes one hit, and the door slams to the ground, and Peter sees the whiteboard on the wall that he remembers Tony writing on, and Sam snickering at.

And within a minute or two, he’s ripped off two relatively equal squares of it, and found two dry erase markers. And when Ned catches on, they make two paperclip necklaces and hang the boards around their necks.

Ned immediately writes on his.

SO SMART PETER

Peter draws a big smiley face with a bunch of teeth. And then he writes.

THANKS. OKAY NOW I GOTTA TRY TO JUMP OUT THE WINDOW.

Ned’s face falls.

The building makes more noises, and Tony tries to determine if he thinks it’s actually moving. He hears banging, more footsteps, and he chalks that up to other people trying to get around, and he can’t count how many times he tries to yell out like a moron only to be met with more silence. He’s running down the stairs as fast as he can, his thoughts almost painting themselves outside of his head, in big bold read letters hanging in the air—

And he’s breathing hard and he feels like he’s hearing things by floor 35 and is he hearing—laughter? Who’s laughing? He can’t laugh, so he’s assuming—who would be laughing in this scenario except the person who caused it?

Here somewhere, in the shadows, lying in wait—

And the laughter seems to echo, and it sounds like it’s getting closer, and more intense, like this person laughing is everywhere and right next to him all at once—

And normally Tony would be shouting obscenities and trying to pump himself up with long soliloquies but he can’t do that, he can only breathe, and panic, and he thinks about the kid somewhere in this building, voiceless and in danger—

And he nearly trips on the landing to floor 34 and someone catches him—

And he pushes this person away and his heart is in his throat, beating and beating and choking him, and he doesn’t have a suit and he immediately drops into a defensive stance, one fist cocked by his face and the other outstretched, and Rhodey smacks his hand down and huffs at him.

Tony stares. So many words are on the tip of his tongue, held back by brick walls, and Rhodey huffs again and gives him a little smile and Tony grabs onto his arms. Rhodey grabs Tony’s too, and for a second they’re—jumping? Up and down? And they realize they’re doing it immediately and they stop and then Tony pulls him into a hug.

He rolls his eyes at himself, his face burning, but hey, Rhodey was doing it too.

They pull back, and Tony pats Rhodey’s shoulders. He points at him, throws his hands up, as if asking when the hell did you get here. Rhodey narrows his eyes at him, waves his hands through the air, backwards, as if trying to convey—who the fuck knows.

Tony still can’t believe he’s in front of him, and they need to get somewhere with more light. He points down, tries to tug him forward, but Rhodey shakes his head. He gets close to Tony’s face, and mouths words. If it was anybody else, Tony wouldn’t be able to interpret it, but it’s him, so he can.

CANNOT GET OUT OF BUILDING. TRAPPED.

Tony nods—he figured as much—but he tugs on Rhodey’s wrist anyway. He mimes shooting a web, does an exaggerated version of Peter’s swinging, and points down again. Realization dawns on Rhodey’s face, and he points down with raised eyebrows, and Tony points down too. Rhodey nods at him, and he starts down the stairs, linking his arm through Tony’s.

The silence doesn’t feel as heavy, with him here.

And they try to pass little messages back and forth, through hand gestures and lip reading, and Tony finds out that Rhodey put a couple people from payroll in a safe room on the 20th floor, barring the door that Friday would normally seal. The front and back exits are completely blocked, and one guy from marketing tried to get through and was unceremoniously bounced back inside by some unknown force. Rhodey’s been hearing the laughter too, and the building groaning, and he’s seen the shit outside the window. He thinks someone is here, waiting to pounce, or maybe more than one someone—

And they walk down to the 18th floor landing and Peter’s body is splayed out against the door in a mess of blood.

Ned underlines his NO. He makes it bolder. He shoves it in Peter’s face.

Peter sighs. He holds up his message again.

IF I CAN GET OUT I CAN CRAWL UP THE BUILDING—

Ned rubs away Peter’s message with his hand. Peter sighs, and Ned writes underneath his NO.

YOU KNOW THERE’S PURPLEGREEN JELLY OUT THERE OR WHATEVER THAT IS AND IT CAN EAT YOU AND ABSORB YOU MAYBE. AND IF YOU DO GET OUT UR LEAVING ME HERE.

Peter sighs again. He misses his voice, he misses both of their voices. He takes a few steps away from Ned, braces his board on the wall, and writes what he hopes is the kicker.

If I get out, I can climb down, and I will probably get my voice back, and I can connect to Friday from one of the remote facilities down the street, and I can turn her back on in the building, and then Tony will take over and save everybody and everything and find the bad guy inside. And I’ll come back and help!!!!!!

Ned reads it. He squints at it, and he does that every time, and it makes Peter think he needs glasses. He hasn’t ever watched him read this much.

Ned sighs.

Ned sighs pointedly.

Peter nods at him and hopes that’s the end of it, and they already discussed where he would go if this worked the way it’s supposed to, and it probably will, so he sighs again and hangs Peter’s board around his neck too, and grips both markers in his hands.

Peter hugs him, fast and tight, trying to soothe him and give himself some sort of confidence too, and he knows he can’t waffle around for too long—so he doesn’t make eye contact with Ned again, and he rushes towards the window, heading for it with his right shoulder.

And he bursts through—and he’s blasted through plenty of windows in his life so he’s not exactly surprised he’s able to do it—and there’s glass everywhere and he shields his face and maybe he should have thought this through a little more but the tower is hard to traverse right now to find shit, and he barely has any time to even breathe the outside air or perceive the weird gelatinous cloud before some otherworldly force is launching him back inside.

It’s like he’s in the palm of someone’s giant hand, and he can feel his voice on the other side of that purplegreen cloud, he can feel it, and it dies away as soon as he collapses back onto the floor at Ned’s feet.

Ned’s forgotten he can’t talk. His mouth is moving rapid fire, and he bends down in front of Peter and keeps not talking and Peter just stares at him, flabbergasted. Peter has cuts from the glass all over him, and the wind is whipping around through the newly created hole, and he feels like he can hear the purplegreen cloud. Wobbling and squishing.

He covers Ned’s mouth with his hand, still staring out the window, and it seems to jolt Ned back into their current situation. He quickly takes off Peter’s board, puts it back around Peter’s neck, and he shoves the marker into Peter’s hand. Then he takes off his own and starts writing on it.

OKAY it says, in shaky hand NOW I’M FOR SURE ABOUT ALIENS

Tony feels like he’s doused in ice, frozen in his tracks, unable to breathe. And he can’t talk and if he could talk he doesn’t know if he would be screaming and shouting or just like this—aghast, horrified, and he nearly trips down the stairs trying to get to him—

Even in the darkness Peter doesn’t look like he’s breathing—

And Tony drops to his knees beside him and—

He’s gone.

Peter disappears.

Tony stares at the empty spot, and the silence is so loud that he can hear his heart stuttering and speeding up, and he runs his hands over the spot where he was the spot the empty spot what the fuck what the fuck—

He hears Rhodey coming down behind him, and he hauls him to his feet. Tony’s heart is still beating a mile a minute and his eyes are starry but not in the good way, and he wants to say something he wants to say something, and that’s when he hears the laughter.

OH TONY a voice says, a fucking voice, and it’s everywhere and nowhere all at once, and Tony has a hard time not falling back against Rhodey completely. HOW WOULD YOU FEEL IF THAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED? WELL THAT’S WHAT I’M HERE FOR, TONY. MAYBE IT WILL. MAYBE I’LL TAKE RHODEY TOO. AND ALL YOUR LITTLE FRIENDS IN THE BUILDING. AND YOU WON’T BE ABLE TO HELP AND YOU WON’T BE ABLE TO SCREAM OR CRY OR ANYTHING. AND THEN I’LL KILL YOU, TONY. YOU’LL BE LAST.

He recognizes the voice, and it laughs and laughs and the laughter fades and seems to dissipate in the air.

It sounds familiar—

But he feels like he can’t fucking breathe anymore. And they haven’t found Peter yet, and Tony keeps imagining him dead, and it feels more dire than it did—

And he shoves forward, doesn’t look at the place where Peter’s body was, or whatever the hell—

And Rhodey follows him out of the stairwell. Tony stumbles into the main atrium of whatever the hell floor they’re on now—and it looks like Stark offices from the brief look he gets before he bends over and braces his hands on his knees.

He tries to breathe. Rhodey rubs his back and sighs a couple times and this is feeling more and more sadistic. Who the hell is this guy? How did he do this? Tony can still hear the laughter, even though it’s silent again.

Silent, until he hears a banging.

It’s not the typical bad noises he’s been hearing since this shit started, and he straightens up and looks at Rhodey. Rhodey nods, and he hears it too, and he motions towards—the railing, where they can look down and see the other floors. It’s like that, from the 38th floor down to the main lobby, and he rushes over, Rhodey on his heels.

He tries to hold himself back, because it could be this asshole tricking him—but the banging keeps on and gets more manic.

They very slowly peer over the edge of the railing.

Peter and Ned leap into the air when they see them.

And they’re wearing tinfoil hats on their heads.

Peter can’t believe it. He can’t believe it’s him. He just so happened to be looking up right at the right time to see Tony run out and he thought he might be going crazy but then he saw Rhodey and it’s them it’s actually them, and he and Ned jump and clap and Tony looks at him like he’s never seen him before. Peter’s hands hurt from banging on the wall to get their attention, but it’s worth it.

The building starts to make those noises again, moaning and groaning like it’s structurally unsound, but Peter doesn’t trust it, because if it was actually collapsing, or moving somewhere at its base, he’d be able to feel it.

Peter points at Tony. Left stairwell? They were going up the right one. That’s so crazy. He forgets he’s got a board around his neck.

Tony holds up both hands as if to say STOP STAY THERE and then he’s out of sight before Peter can respond. With…whatever response he would have had. Rhodey races after him, and Peter blows out a breath and turns around and looks at Ned.

He grimaces. He saw Tony and instantly forgot about the hats they made a couple minutes ago when they found the tin foil. Ned is so concerned with aliens and now they look stupid.

Peter snatches it off of Ned’s head, and then his own, and Ned’s mouth falls open in betrayal. Peter puts them on the ground and quickly writes out a message on his board.

LISTEN I’VE DEALT WITH ALIENS BEFORE AND THOSE WEREN’T GONNA WORK ANYWAY.

Ned stares at him, and then calmly claws away part of his message.

Peter sighs, and then the stairwell door slams open.

He turns around and Tony is striding towards him.

And Peter always wants to feel capable and he’s pretty confident he is, but he always feels safer when Tony’s around. Like he can…really figure things out. Like he won’t get hurt, because Tony won’t let him.

And Tony wraps him up in a hug that Peter melts into, closing his eyes. Tony holds him tight, squeezing his shoulder, and Peter just lives in it for a second. Tony pulls back but keeps a hold of him, and Peter sees Rhodey and Ned sharing a little moment behind him.

Tony pats the board around Peter’s neck, nodding. Peter nods too, and he takes out the marker to write something, but Tony gently takes it out of his hand. He writes on the board, and turns it around for Peter to see. His letters are blocky and messy, and so very him.

You alright?

Peter nods at him. He points at him, raises his eyebrows, and Tony nods too. Tony immediately clocks the few cuts Peter sustained in the window incident, and he thumbs over one on Peter’s forehead.

Peter shrugs.

IT’S FINE he writes. I TRIED TO JUMP OUT THE WINDOW BUT IT BLEW ME BACK.

Tony narrows his eyes. He keeps one hand on Peter’s shoulder and knocks Rhodey on the arm, and they have a couple seconds of silent facial communication the likes of which Peter has never seen. Ned knocks Peter on the arm, and looks at him like he wants to replicate it, but he just wags his eyebrows at Peter and Peter has no clue what he wants to say.

Peter looks across the atrium at the weird cloud through the window. He wonders how far it goes up in the sky—it can’t be too far, it’s probably just…a little taller than the building. Maybe.

Would it cover it completely, like a bubble? Or is there an opening at the top, the roof exposed to open air because nobody’s up there? Is it worth checking out?

Anything is. Anything that might end this.

Now he’s thinking…

Ned sighs at Peter, and Peter pats Tony’s shoulder. Tony turns towards him again, and somehow he feels even more fatherly in this moment, dipping his head down to give Peter his undivided attention, stepping a little closer and gripping his shoulder. He was clearly worried, and Peter never really wants to worry him, but it feels…nice. Something crazy and insane is happening and Tony Stark is worried about him. He should be used to it by now, after all these years and everything they’ve been through, but he’s not. He doesn’t know if he ever will be.

Peter tries to focus, starts to write.

Is it even worth it to try and get our suits? I know yours wouldn’t work, because they’re all tech, but would mine? Probably not, right? We need to get Ned to a safe place because I have an idea

And the tail of his ‘a’ is drawn out when the four of them are swept into the air.

And Tony doesn’t realize it’s a fucking mini tornado inside the tower until he’s inside it, and it’s huge and big and picking up everything all around them too—chairs and computers and long tables, and one of the tables knocks Rhodey and Ned completely away from them. They’re spinning and being thrown around and Tony can barely see—like there’s suddenly Saharan dust in here—and he grabs onto Peter’s ankle before he can be tossed away from him too.

And for a minute it’s loud rushing, flying through the air, and what feels like a fucking phone hits him in the head and he sees stars, and he lets go of Peter—

And he wants to yell out but he can’t, he’s still silent, and he has no idea what the fuck is going on here or who is doing this or how, and he can see other people and faces and bodies and they’re all contorted in the same silent scream, and before he knows it Peter is flying at him and they’re both hitting a pillar—

And Peter is smashed against him and Tony can tell he’s sticking to the wall, making it so they don’t get thrown around anymore—

And he’s gritting his teeth and the forces of the fucking tornado are so strong that he can barely lift his arm, but he does, trying to shield the kid’s head—

And then it all falls, abruptly, everything drops everywhere in loud crashes and bangs, and he can hear windows breaking and other shit breaking but still no voices.

And then there’s the laughter.

Tony grabs onto Peter and Peter grabs him, hauling him to his feet. Tony feels dizzy and off-kilter from how many blows he took, and the laughter is moving in and out like a warped Led Zeppelin song, and it almost hurts his ears.

TONY TONY TONY the same voice as earlier says, as Peter grabs onto Tony’s arm and hauls him over to the railing. I’M COMING FOR YOU TONY AND EVERYONE YOU LOVE—YOU SHOULD BE HAPPY LITTLE WIFEY ISN’T HERE, BUT WE’VE GOT THE BEST FRIEND AND THE LOVE CHILD, HUH? WHICH ONE FIRST? OR SHOULD IT BE YOU? THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU STEAL SOMEONE’S WORK, TONY…SOMEONE LIKE ME, I’M NOT GOING TO BE…RATIONAL…

Peter is breathing hard, panicking, looking all around. They’re a lot higher up now, and Tony can see other people on the lower levels—he looks up, and it seems like there’s only one level above them, so they should be on the 37th floor now. Jesus.

The laughter starts again, and it gets so loud that it’s almost ear-piercing, and Tony holds one of his ears and one of Peter’s, out of instinct, he doesn’t know—

And then he sees Ned, a few floors down, at the edge of the railing. He pats Peter’s arm, and points, and Peter nearly wilts in relief. And before Tony can start worrying about Rhodey, he sees him rush over to the edge, two floors above Ned.

They all see each other at the same time.

And it takes a few minutes of rabid communication, wincing, and hand gestures, because neither Ned or Peter have their boards anymore, but they’re able to get Rhodey to start heading to where Ned is. And Tony is able to convey—something, to the other people who see him. Everyone is panicking, but they’re somehow soothed by his presence—something he’ll never understand, but something he takes very seriously.

Jesus, he has to help them—

The laughter eventually tapers off and dies out, and the sinking ship sounds resume. Tony and Peter back up from the ledge, holding onto each other, and Peter pats Tony’s shoulder to get his attention. Tony is distracted by the new cuts, and the blood in the kid’s hair, and he hates himself for getting Peter into situations like this. If he didn’t know him, he wouldn’t be here right now, he wouldn’t have to deal with this.

But a world in which he doesn’t know him…well, Tony doesn’t want that either.

Peter points up. He raises his arm, and keeps pointing, as if to indicate all the way up.

Tony mouths roof and Peter nods at him. He obviously has an idea, they were starting to discuss it before the bullshit, and he knows the suits they have here are way below them, and most likely out of the picture now. Probably wouldn’t have activated, anyway. No voices, no tech. Tony nods at him again, trying to imagine what he might be thinking, and they start to head up there.

And Tony thinks about that voice. That laugh. The things he said.

Peter worries.

He worries that his plan is stupid, and it’s barely even a plan, it’s barely even an idea, and it might not even pan out if the purplegreen cloud is covering the whole building. They’re too far away from where their suits are now, and they could try to go down there but the suits probably wouldn’t work anyways. Tony’s is entirely tech, and Peter’s is voice activated. Everything is voice activated.

They grab a couple things from the living quarters when they get there—Peter asks for a Friday com, for his haphazard plan, and he nearly jumps for joy when they find a pair of webshooters in his bedroom that he’d forgotten were there. He practices, and they work, because they’re tech but they aren’t tech tech. But they don’t have a lot of webs loaded in, and he can’t find more and isn’t in the right place to make them, so he has to be careful. But the webshooters will make it a lot easier than trying to climb up the antenna and jump over the cloud without anything to help him.

And they get some more paper and pens.

I think this guy is this jerk I fired a couple years back Tony writes, after they get some water and grapes from the fridge. He was insane then and he’s clearly insane now. But more insane. End of the world stealing voices and trying to murder people insane. Earlier he showed me a projection of your dead body and he could do shit like that back then, the tornado, the voice throwing…I’m not even sure if the main stairwell is actually destroyed, he could be faking that with projection too. Everything but the magical aspects feel like him. But we’ve got a lot of magical assholes on our tails and he could be hooking up with them to get at me.

Peter reads it, drinking his water, and he nods, sighing once he’s drained the bottle. He leans over and writes underneath it, his letters small and close together so he has lots of space.

MY PLAN IS TO GO UP TO THE ROOF AND HOPEFULLY THE CLOUD DOESN’T COMPLETELY COVER THE BUILDING AND I CAN LAUNCH MYSELF OUTSIDE IT AND THEN SPEAK AGAIN AND CONNECT TO FRIDAY WITH THE COM AND RESET THE BUILDING AND SET OFF SAFEGUARDS TO START FIGHTING BACK. AND IF THE CLOUD COVERS THE BUILDING THEN I HAVE NO PLAN BUT I HAVE A FEELING IT DOESN’T BECAUSE HE CLEARLY THINKS HE’S GOTTEN RID OF EVERYTHING THAT COULD GET US UP THAT HIGH YOU KNOW?

He’s a little worried, watching Tony read, and worry feels where he lives right now. And Tony does straighten up when he’s done, giving Peter a look. There’s layers behind it—fear, uncertainty, worry, wanting to help, but he nods anyway, even though he looks like he doesn’t want to.

Peter smiles, softly, trying to be reassuring, but probably coming off as childish and stupid, and he sighs and leans over and writes again.

HE USED MY DEAD BODY TO UPSET YOU?

Tony reads, and makes a face at him, widening his eyes and grimacing. He nods, holding that expression. Peter mimes saying awww, and Tony scoffs, gently pushing his face away from him. Peter laughs, and draws a heart on the paper, and Tony snatches the pen and crosses the heart out with an X. But Peter is grinning anyway.

It feels good, not to…feel bad. If only for a moment.

And they head back up after that, with pens and paper and water bottles, Peter’s webshooters on his wrists. They have to keep changing stairwells, because of obstacles and shit this guy’s put in their way, and a few of them are solid and real, and a few of them are illusions, projected to confuse and reroute them. Peter decides to web up the elevator shaft for a while, holding a very irritated Tony along with him.

They climb out at floor 90, Peter peeling the doors open. He helps Tony to his feet, and the doors slam closed behind them once they’re all the way out.

Tony blows out a breath, and he claps Peter on the shoulder and bends his head down a bit to look at him. That look is asking if he’s alright, and Peter nods, and Tony nods back at him, already knowing he wants to ask too.

Peter gestures backwards, angrily, at everything, and he puts his hands together as if he’s choking someone and shaking them back and forth.

Tony points at his own chest, raising his eyebrows.

Peter brushes him off, mouths no, and he points behind them, meaning THAT GUY, and he gestures all over and throws punches and pretends to knee someone in the stomach and pretends like he’s choking and he rolls his eyes back.

Tony stares at him for a second, and then he grins, shaking his head. He throws up his middle finger, shakes his fist in the air, and they keep silently threatening as they walk.

They head for the stairs and Peter worries. He worries about Ned, about his half-baked plan, about his non-existent back-up plan, about May and MJ hearing about this and seeing what’s going on, and he’s worrying as they step into the stairwell to climb the final three flights for roof access.

He’s worrying when he gets shot in the shoulder.

And Tony drags Peter to his feet and they’re running, they’re running up the stairs, and he doesn’t feel like he’s moved this much outside of the suit since the fucking Mandarin situation—and the sound of whatever invisible force it is following them and shooting at them is undeniably a fucking drone. Probably two, from the buzzing.

Very clearly a Beck production—

And Tony holds onto Peter, and they keep running, and they zig-zag as much as they can in the narrow stairwell, and Tony hears ricochets and blasts inches from his head and he gets one in the back of the leg that takes him down—

And Peter pulls him up again, and Tony sees him turn around and fire a bunch of webs, and one of the drones, still invisible, slams against the wall, trapped.

They keep running, and there’s one left, and they can’t fucking see it, and they keep running and Tony is fucking hopping, and before he knows it Peter is hauling him behind a pillar.

And the shooting stops.

And Tony can still hear the drone, can hear it buzzing and ticking and searching for them, and Peter has his eyes closed.

And before Tony knows it, Peter is leaping out from behind the pillar, and Tony sees him grasp his hands together and slam down into open air. But it isn’t open air, and the drone becomes visible and crashes down to the ground, spitting out sparks.

Tony breathes hard through his mouth, and Peter stumbles back towards him, and grabs his arm again. Tony nods at him, trying to convey a good job, and Peter blows out a breath and shakes his head.

And they stagger up one more set of stairs and bust out onto the roof.

And—

The kid was right.

They can see it right away.

The purplegreen cloud is surrounding the building, and it goes up to just under the antenna. And that’s where it stops. Clear blue sky.

An opening.

It looks easy. He’s seen Peter do harder things. But Tony stands there, frozen, staring up at where the cloud ends while Peter drags over one of the random cement blocks up here and braces it against the door.

Tony tries to say his name, but he can’t. He still can’t, despite how close they are to the edge of the thing.

And Peter puts the com in his ear, ready to connect to Friday when he can.

And why the hell didn’t they take their phones with them maybe Tony could have hacked into them if he put his mind to it and why wasn’t he thinking properly and forming his own plans and why didn’t he just go back down and get a suit and make it like he made it in Afghanistan they could have withstood more of Beck’s bullshit if he just put his goddamn mind to it and—

Peter blows out a breath, and takes a step forward, shaking his arms like he’s trying to get loose. Then he aims one webshooter—

Tony grabs Peter’s arm, his heart in his throat. He feels insane, was the kid about to just go, just do it—

Peter turns around and looks at him. And they can’t say anything, even though there’s a million things to say, and Tony can never stand letting him go if he can’t go with him, because what if it goes wrong, what if he doesn’t come back—

And they’ve been trying to convey a million things without words since this started, and he just looks at Peter and tries to say it all with his face—I restarted the world because I couldn’t live in it without you so you better come back—and he cocks his head a little bit and really looks at him and his eyes hurt—

And Peter rushes into a hug, a big one, and Tony clings to him and cradles the back of his head and hates this whole goddamn thing. Then Peter pulls back, nodding at him, tears shining in his eyes—

And he steps forward, away from him, and shoots a web before Tony can say anything else—

“Well, look at him go,” a voice says.

That voice.

Tony spins around, and the man he knew was behind this is standing there. Right fucking behind him, Quentin Beck, in some goddamn jumpsuit, grinning from ear to ear.

He punches Tony square in the face, a move that Tony would have parried or dodged if he hadn’t been so fucking shocked to see the guy standing there when nobody was there a moment before, and Beck hits him again off the shock of the first hit—

And the pain bursts—

“God, you were always slow, Tony,” Beck says, and Tony is able to dodge the next one he throws, which makes the asshole laugh. “Oh, there he is! There he is! A little fight left in him—”

And Peter swings, latching onto the antenna and launching himself over the tippy top of the cloud, and the heel of his foot bumps it and that buoys him further up into the air, and he shoots another web and swings around outside of the spell, away from the building—

And he can feel his voice in his throat, building up, ready to be used again—

“FRIDAY!” he screams, shrill and childlike, but he doesn’t care. “FRIDAY, RESET YOURSELF IN THE TOWER ON ALL LEVELS! REBOOT THE TOWER. CAN YOU HEAR ME?”

And he swings around, in a curved arc, and he can see—

There’s a man, a man there with Tony on the roof, and they’re fighting, hand to hand—

And suddenly there’s so many of him, everywhere, the same man, all over the roof, and they’re all attacking Tony, and Tony falls to the ground—

And Peter can’t—Friday hasn’t yet—he can’t breathe he can’t think it feels like time is slowing to a halt—

“Resetting,” Friday says, in Peter’s ear, “and responding to an attack, Peter, do you need assistance?”

“Tony needs assistance on the roof!” Peter screams, and he shoots three more webs and swings around, and the cloud is still up but the tower comes to life inside of it, an energy blasting up and creating ripples, but the cloud doesn’t go away yet, not completely—

And all the multiples of the man disappear until there’s just one—

—and Peter sees him stab Tony in the stomach.

“No!” Peter screams, his heart in his throat, and he starts swinging back that way, dipping and weaving in the air, and he can hardly see through his tears. “Tony, Tony! No!”

And he reaches out to shoot another web, but nothing comes out—

He’s out—

No more webs—

“Shit!” Peter yells, plummeting, and he swings his arms and tries to get closer to the building so he can stick and the cloud is still rippling and breaking in pieces and if he hits it just right he won’t be bounced back—

Tony Tony Tony—

And before he knows it something is crashing into him, and closing him up inside it—

An Iron Man suit—

And it comes to life quickly, the heads up display bright and shining, connecting to two other suits currently on the grid—and he’s not falling anymore—

“Tony?” Peter yells. He tries to get acclimated, quickly changing his trajectory and heading back up to the roof. He’s only been in an Iron Man suit like, twice, and the first time was an accident. “Tony? Tony? Friday is he—Friday, where’s—”

And just as Peter takes off, the purplegreen cloud explodes, and it knocks Peter backwards, catapulting him back onto the roof of a building a couple blocks over. He hits the wall so hard—

And Peter dreams of clouds.

Dreams? Dreams? Is he dreaming?

Purplegreen—black—stars—voices—

“Peter?”

Beeping. Wind.

“Peter. I am flying you back to the tower.”

His eyes are shut. Flying?

“Peter. The spell has been broken. Doctor Stephen Strange was locked in the lowest level of the tower by the perpetrator, former Stark Employee Quentin Beck. As soon as you reactivated me countermeasures were taken, and Doctor Strange was able to find—”

“He took—down the spell?” Peter asks. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet. He’s flying. He doesn’t wanna see, his brain isn’t working.

“Yes, and—”

“No specifics,” Peter says, and he finally opens his eyes. He’s heading for the roof—the roof, the roof— “Brain hurts—Friday, Tony, is Tony—is Tony—”

“Mr. Stark is alright, save for a concussion and a blast wound on his leg,” Friday says, and Peter doesn’t understand, he saw—he saw that guy stab him—

And he’s heading for a landing, and he sees—Tony, and Rhodey, and Happy, and Ned is there too, and they’ve got this guy on the ground with his hands cuffed behind his back. Rhodey is suited up, and Tony’s nanosuit trickles away, forming a watch on his wrist.

Peter lands, and the suit opens to let him out, and he tumbles like Han Solo out of carbonite in Return of the Jedi.

Tony catches him. “Whoa whoa whoa,” he says, trying to gather him up. “There he is, took long enough—buddy, bud, hey, you okay?”

His voice his voice—

“He stabbed you,” Peter breathes, trying to get his feet solidly under him. “He stabbed, I saw—I saw it—”

“See, he fell for it,” Beck says, laughing from his spot on the ground. “I knew he would. I knew it, didn’t I say? Tony!”

“We need to gag him,” Tony says, pointing over in his direction. “He took my voice, I’ll take his, it’s only fair—Pete, I’m fine, hey—” Tony helps him stand up straighter, and geeze, he must have hit the wall really hard, even in the suit—he feels like jelly. “It was another one of his shitty tricks—when you turned Friday back on she started launching our countermeasures, we’ve got plans for magic too, she’s just gotta be on—Beck kidnapped Strange, took this shit out of one of his spell books or whatever the hell—well, Strange just—Friday helped Strange get out of the building without getting bounced back and he just—said his little spiel—”

“Okay,” Peter breathes, nodding. “I get it. I get it.” He holds onto Tony’s arm with one hand, and points over at Beck with the other. “You’re a dickhead.”

“You’re a dickhead,” Beck says, “and now I know who you are, Spidey Widey. Know your whole little identity and everything, what are you gonna do about that?”

“Rhodey, Hap, get him the hell out of here,” Tony says, waving them away.

“Yeah!” Ned says, as the two of them haul Beck to his feet and start him towards the roof door. “Yeah, what are you—I mean, you’re getting out of here, idiot, you’re—you don’t even know what’s coming—”

And Peter watches as Ned actually follows them out, letting the door close behind them, still in the middle of his tirade.

“I’m fine Ned!” Peter yells. “Thanks for asking!”

“He’s just trying to play coy,” Tony says. “He’s been worried as hell—took you about ten minutes to get back, he was asking where you were every minute or so—”

Peter nods. “Yeah—but what are we gonna do about Beck, you know, uh—knowing—knowing me?” he asks, looking at Tony, already worrying about May and MJ—and Ned, who Beck clearly knows personally…

“It’s fine,” Tony says, shaking his head. “He’s done. He’s a terrorist now, like, by definition—he’s lucky nobody died, but attempted murder is on there, and there were absolutely…multiple attempts—”

Peter nods again, trying to focus. He remembers the stabbing clear as anything, and he’s never felt so far away and so close at the same time. Too far to help, swinging through the air like a moron, but close enough to see the look on Tony’s face.

It was too real.

Peter sighs, and feels dizzy again remembering it, and he straightens up and pulls Tony into a hug. Tony sounds surprised, laughing a little bit, and then he starts rubbing Peter’s back.

“Are you okay?” Peter asks, closing his eyes.

“I’m okay, buddy, he didn’t stab me. All good, stab-less. What about you, huh? You okay? Savior of the tower, the one voice that rose up when the others were silenced—”

Peter snorts, squeezing him for a long moment before he pulls back. “I’m okay,” he says, tentatively.

“We gotta get Helen to look at you—she’s coming, she’s on her way. May too, and MJ, they were at the coffee shop across the street—they noticed the cloud before the news did. And they knew something was wrong when they didn’t get their morning Peter texts.”

Peter shakes his head, glancing back, just to…make sure the cloud is still gone.

And it is. Clear skies.

He looks at Tony. “Maybe we’re a little bit too reliant on technology.”

Tony wraps his arm around Peter’s shoulders. “You think? I don’t know, I don’t think it’s…unhealthy—”

“Our entire world was just completely upended because everything needs voice commands,” Peter says, as they gingerly, half-limp to the roof access door.

“Listen, Strange’s ancient text also needed a voice command to break the spell,” Tony says, holding the door open and following Peter inside. “What’s that mean, huh? That’s caveman shit, and yet—”

“Well, he should—keep his spell books, uh—more protected, I guess—”

“That too,” Tony says. “Though I guess the kidnapping and being left in the basement is his punishment. Come on, Pete, we gotta go—get taken care of, gotta talk to the goddamn reporters, call Pep, start the cleanup, take inventory, make sure everyone’s alright—you’re alright, right? You’re alright?”

“I’m alright,” Peter says, the last couple hours’ events feeling very strange and fake, even though they were very very real. He needs to decompress badly. But how do you decompress from someone stealing your voice and locking you in a tower with a magical spell and trying to kill you?

Just another day for Spider-Man and Iron Man, Peter guesses.

That’s a sentence that would have blown his eight year old self’s mind.

“Careful on the stairs here,” Tony says, trying to help guide him down, “feel like both of us probably have stair trauma for the rest of our lives—”

“Oh, I’m either swinging or using the elevator in the tower for at least a couple weeks,” Peter says, smiling back at him.

Tony snorts. “Noted. Okay, tell me a story, tell me your thought process throughout this whole ordeal, tell me your…next steps, ideas…just wanna hear you talk, buddy, that was way too long of a Peter Parker silence.”

And Peter’s face goes red, because that feels like one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to him, really, especially since his bad guys tell him so often how annoying his voice is.

Well, Tony Stark doesn’t think so, how about that?

And his main thought, when he realized what was going on, was that he had to find Tony, because they could figure it out together. Tony can do anything, no matter what, and he makes Peter feel like…he can do anything too.

“Okay, well,” Peter says, clearing his throat as they keep heading for the 90th floor, where the elevator is. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Start at the beginning,” Tony says. “When you woke up in the lab like a young Tony Stark might have…or an old one, couple days ago, either or—”

Peter smiles to himself. It is so nice to be able to talk again. He doesn’t think he’s ever gonna stop talking. It’s just nice that Tony actually wants to hear it.

So he keeps talking. “Okay, well, right away I wake up to Ned hitting me. And he’s immediately concerned about aliens…”

#irondad #iron dad #peter parker #tony stark #iron man #spider-man #works by iron_spider #irondad fic #iron dad fic #marvel fic #based on the buffy episode Hush

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moonspirit · 10 months

Note

Who do you think is more likely to be caught shamelessly eye-fucking the other at the LEAST appropriate time?

Okay okay okay, I'm inclined to say 'Both of them' but I've thought about this, so hear me out!

(Did I go overboard with this? Absolutely. Under the cut.)

In situation A: Conference room meeting with important politicians, ministers, other boring people - Annie.

Basically what happens here is that the proceedings are boring, it's a hot day and sweat is threatening them all - And Annie's wet for how Armin looks at the center of the table. She's on the seat diagonally opposite and she can't take her eyes off him! He looks so good going through documents and leafing through various papers, nodding his head, talking important words in his smooth voice and all she wants is to crawl over the table and make him eat her out. At some point he loosens his tie and she rubs her thighs together under the table. It really isn't fair, how he's just doing this to her and doesn't even suffer any consequences himself?

So, time to make him suffer.

The next time she catches his eye, she bites her lip with a small smile, enough for him to pause long enough to see her teeth sink into her lips. But he recovers, too fast, too soon, and that won't do, so she leans back in her chair with a sigh and he glances at her again. This time she carefully sweeps her eyes over him; his lips, his jawline, his delectable adam's apple, the hollow in his collarbone thanks to the loosened tie - and when he's seen her looking at him like that, she casually runs her tongue over her upper lip. She wants to put his throat to good use, in eating her out to heaven and back. She'll fuck up his hair. She'll ruin his shirt, he can never wear it again. She'll ride him so hard he punishes her for it with a hoarse throat. When he knows exactly what she's thinking - he loses his stream of coherent thought from this point onwards. He stammers, he forgets his words, he looks at her a little too long when she mouths "I need you to fuck me on this table" and drops his pen, red in the cheeks. Because it's hot and the sleeve cuffs are uncomfortable, he rolls them back, only to catch her mouthing "I want your fingers inside me" and he almost yanks the buttons out with how hard his grip is on the fabric.

And can she be blamed for any of this? Especially with how he'd been last night in bed? He'd watched her come undone with great pleasure - now it's her turn.

You all know how things are going to go after this meeting.

In situation B: Fancy party with dignitaries and world leaders! - Armin.

The people at this party are too important to ignore. They are people who Armin has to speak to carefully, listen to carefully, conduct himself with care and poise. They are people who cannot know that all he wants to do is to pick up his girlfriend who's at the other end of the room in her criminally low-cut silk dress and throw her into the bed upstairs.

And yet. Here he is, barely a word falling into his ears as he drinks his champagne, watching her talk with Pieck, completely oblivious to her effect on him.

Those straps are thin. Far too thin, how do they stay on her shoulders? How do they keep that dress up on her figure? How much pressure will it take to snap it in two? Will the dress pool around her stomach when he does? And then, what will he do next? Slide the silky fabric up her delicious legs, past her soft thighs, above her underwear, over her hips, so he can work on the panties next with his teeth, dragging them off her legs so slowly she begs him to be faster? He'd like that look on her. Stripping her bare for him at an agonizing pace, watching her fist the sheets in anticipation. And then? He'll lick her legs, ankle to inner thigh. He'll lick her neck and her arms. He'll lick her chest upto her navel where the dress blocks any further attempts. He'll lick her everywhere until her fingers are a little too rough in his hair.

And then, he'll make love to her -- make love, because she deserves to be tortured a little before he actually fucks her. He'll watch her carefully styled hair become a mess on the pillow. He'll watch her arch off the bed when he spreads her legs wider. He'll watch the dress wrinkle and pull and stretch around her taut belly.

He'll ruin the dress.

So as the politicians continue their rambling, he catches Annie's eyes. And he tells her all of this silently, over the rim of his champagne glass and watches her breath hitch because she can see the hunger in his eyes.

And she likes the hunger, she's told him before. Only, she's never been able to handle it.

(Not to say that Annie wouldn't be eye-fucking Armin at a party like this when he looks sooooo dashing in his tuxedo, but well, Armin's getting his way at the end of this one.)

#anon ask #aruani #aruannie #headcanon #smut

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punk4ndisorderly · 11 months

Text

light on

The one where Y/N is the daughter of a legendary Team USA coach and used to attend the development program with the boys. 8 years after they last saw each other in person, a reunion brings Jack and Y/N back into each other’s lives... and hearts.

if you keep the light on, i'll keep the light on

XIV XV - i do, i do, i do, i do, i do XVI

The grey curtains that kept the room dark after dawn were pulled back abruptly, revealing two sleeping bodies. The tiny woman had her back pressed to the much larger man’s chest, not even an inch of space separating them. His hand rested on the outline of her hips, over the covers.

“You need to get up. Now!” Cole pleaded, turning his back to the groggy pair and leaving, running down the hall knocking on Quinn and Alex’s room door.

Y/N practically jumped out of the bed, the lack of the warmth her body had provided giving Jack the encouragement he needed to push himself out of it as well, following her to their friends’ weekend accommodation.

“What’s going on?” the foctor asked, crossing her arms over her exposed chest as Cole pulled Quinn out of bed.

“River went rogue.”

“What?!” the foursome half-shouted, now completely awake and shocked.

“I slept with him downstairs because he wanted to follow tradition and Trevor stayed with David and Leo. When I woke up, he was gone. I’ve looked for him everywhere.” he explained, every bone in his body trembling with anxiety.

“If River doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be found.” Alex stated, yawning and stretching. “It’s useless to look for him.”

Y/N stared at them, still processing what was happening. River must’ve been really freaking out if he had fled the location on his wedding day. Something wasn’t adding up.

“Alright, here’s what we’re going to do: you…” she pointed to Alex. “Shut up. Jack, would you mind closing the doors David doesn’t find out his fiancé is MIA.”

The Devils' player obliged to her request, waiting for her to disclose the plan to recover the missing groom.

“We’re checking every room in this house. Cole, I know you did that already, but maybe he came back in the meantime. Then, we search for the Runaway Groom in our surroundings. Our last resort will be taking the cars and drive around the community.” Y/N instructed, certain her plan was bulletproof. “I think my brother didn’t go far.”

The five friends split, checking each division at the cabin before heading outside. An hour later, there was still no sign of River, which made them freak out even more.

“Oh god, what are we going to tell David?” Alex cried, running his hands through his hair.

“Turc, it’s going to be okay. You guys will get the cars and I’ll stay here doing damage control. They’re not up yet. Trevor could probably sleep through the end of the world, Leo was exhausted and David was sprawled all over the spare mattress the last time I checked.”

“Okay, so you just tell them we all went to look for Ginger because she ran away. We’ll take her with us, she’ll be our alibi. It’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for this whole mess.”

Jack listened intently to Y/N, who was attempting to keep everyone calm in the middle of a crisis. She always found a way to make things better, even when she was only making use of her words to do so.

He liked her but, above that, he respected and admired her strength and grace. Never had he met a woman that could quite compare to Y/N. His Y/N.

“The hair and makeup team will be here at noon. It’s currently a few minutes past eight. We need to get him here by eleven thirty, tops.”

“Got it. We’ll get Ginger.” Quinn offered, picking up his car keys and sunglasses.

“Aw, why do we have to get the dog?” Alex wailed, walking right behind him, dragging his feet.

Cole hid his face in his hands, muttering something under his breath before perking up and putting on a smile.

“Do you think this will fool them?” he asked, trying his best not to look stressed out.

Y/N pressed her lips into a tight line, a sympathetic look on her bare face.

“It’ll have to do. Jack and I will keep you updated, don’t worry.” the doctor assured her friend, holding him by the shoulders. “This wedding is happening.”

Cole simply nodded, wanting to believe her words more than everything, prompting the pair to begin their search.

Y/N put her sneakers on, throwing the man right behind her his car keys.

As they drove down the dirt road, the hockey player saw how worry was etched on her angelic features, taking his right hand from the steering wheel and squeezing hers.

“How much do you want to bet someday we’ll be laughing about this whole mess?” he said, earning a half-smile from his partner. “Hey, it’s just like you said: it’ll all be okay. River is probably just winding down somewhere and…”

The brunette man stopped himself mid-sentence, his face lighting up in realization. Y/N turned to him, her eyebrow raising, as if to ask him to voice the thoughts that were going through his head.

“I think I know where he might be.”

Pulling up to a quaint waffle house, Jack squinted, trying to locate the missing bride inside. He spotted him easily, sat in a booth, surrounded by empty plates and having yet another one set in front of him.

“Oh my god, there he is!” the doctor gasped. “I need to call Cole.” she added. “How did you know where he'd be?”

“There’s two things you need to always keep in mind when we’re talking about your brother: he has had the words to The Piña Colada Song stuck in his head ever since he first heard it and, when he needs to think, he finds the nearest place that serves sugary breakfast food and eats until he figures out what he's going to do… Or, you know, until be's stuffed.” he explained. “I lived with him for a while when I accidentally flooded my apartment, remember?” the Devils' player chuckled.

“Yeah, but that was like straight out of high school, I wasn’t expecting you to remember these kinds of details.”

“I never forget the tiny things about the people in my life. I still know the name of the perfume my first girlfriend used to wear.”

“You’re a rare finding, Hughes.” Y/N smiled, marveling in how endearing his personality was. “Alright, I’m getting our Julia Roberts. If he makes a run for it, tackle him. Not too hard though, he can’t be bruised or toothless on his wedding day.” she warned, swinging the door open.

“No, let me.” he requested.

“Are you sure?” Y/N checked, wondering how he was planning to deal with the situation.

“Yes. If I screw up, you’ll have to be the one to tackle him, though.” Jack joked, climbing out of the car.

River saw him the minute he walked in, taking another forkful of the insane amount of waffles he'd ordered into his mouth, giving his friend a thumbs up.

“Old habits die hard.” he grinned, sitting in front of him and grabbing the fork from his hands, stealing a portion of the chocolate covered delight he had yet to finish devouring.

“Seems like it, you still think I’m willing to share my food.” the designer smirked, snatching his fork back. “What are you doing here, doofus?”

Jack took a deep breath, fidgeting with his fingers and avoiding eye contact with the groom.

“Listen, I’ve been thinking long and hard about this and…. I think we should be together.”

The eldest Y/L/N got up immediately, reaching over the table to pinch his biceps the hardest he could repeatedly.

“What. The. Fuck. Is. Wrong. With. You?” River growled in between pinches.

“Ow! Ow! Jesus, stop!” he begged, the groom's assault leaving small red marks on his skin.

“I’m getting married today to a man I love unconditionally, I’m not going to leave him to be with you! Are you insane? This is exactly why you should never invite men to your wedding, or anywhere really, you never know when they strike with shit like this!” the designer rambled, fuming. “Unbelievable! You’re one of my oldest friends! Did you hit your head? Jack Rowden Hughes, you fucking dumbass!”

“Calm down, I was only joking!” Jack protested, rubbing his sore arms. “I just wanted to make sure you were still going through with it. Damn, you sure are stronger than you look.” he laughed.

“This is not funny, Jack! What gave you the idea it wasn’t happening and why in the world are you in pajamas in public?”

“Didn’t really have time to change. You left while everyone else was asleep, didn’t tell a living soul where you were going and you’re sitting here eating a ridiculous amount of food by yourself, only a few hours away from one of the most important events of your life.”

His friend stopped chewing, coming to his senses. It did sound like he had cold feet.

“My mother told me she spent her entire wedding reception going around talking to the guests and barely got anything to eat so I just figured I’d get as much food in my stomach as I could while I had the opportunity.” he confided, drinking the rest of his coffee. “Plus, Cole is like a human furnace, I couldn’t take spending another hour lying in bed with him using me as a body pillow.”

Jack let out a hearty laugh, imagining River trying to sneak out without waking up their friend. He smiled in response, signaling the waitress to bring him the check.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” the hockey player asked, reaching for the bill, taking his wallet out to pay.

“I know you remembered my stress eating habits.” he replied. “You’re a really good guy, Jack Hughes. Never forget that.”

He looked up at him, returning his sincere grin and placing money on the table.

“Thanks, Riv.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome. If you tell anyone I will deny it.” River joked. “Oh, and I am paying for my food, thank you very much.”

“Nonsense. I kind of forgot your wedding present at home so… I guess the heavy breakfast will have to do for now.”

“You don’t…” he began to protest.

“I know, but it’s my treat. Now, let’s get out of here. Brace yourself for a magnificent set of lectures from two very stressed people. Possibly three. Quinn's not happy with having been awoken by a frantic Cole.”

The minute they arrived back at the cabin, Cole grabbed River, almost choking him in a tight embrace, doing his best to keep her voice down so he wouldn’t catch the attention of the three men who were kept in the dark about the whole situation.

Ushering the groom inside, the blond man made it his mission to guard him.

“I made breakfast, it’s on the table. Hurry up, people, we’ve got a wedding to get ready for.” he yelled from upstairs, closing the master bedroom’s door behind him.

Jack sat Y/N Alina at the table, where David, Teevor and Leo had been eating for about ten minutes before they all walked in. The duo immediately treated themselves to the French toasts Cole had made, their stomachs growling with hunger.

“Did you find Ginger?” the groom asked, genuinely worried.

The pair glanced at each other, trying to decide what to say.

“Mmm… Yeah, Quinny and Turc found her.” the doctor said, clearing her throat.

As if on cue, the two friends made their grand entrance, with Quinn holding the pup in his arms.

“Did somebody call for the dog whisperers?” the curly-haired man crowed.

“I thought we agreed that sounded corny.” Quinn said through gritted teeth.

“Can I go pet Ginger now, uncle David?” Leo requested, still chewing his food.

“Take your plate to the kitchen first.”

“Thanks!” the little boy chirped, speeding up to the kitchen and quickly making his way back, taking the docile dog from Quinn. “She’s the best!”

“I want you to be upstairs for your shower in ten. Your mom and dad will be here in no time.” David warned, giving his nephew his pretend stern look.

“I know, I know.”

“Well, I should head up. I’m supposed to help River with the outfit and the stress.” Y/N chuckled, getting up and picking her plate up as the dog catchers relished in the deliciousness of the homemade breakfast. “Wait, the dishes still need to be done.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got plenty of time to do that.” David assured her, taking the piece of porcelain from her hands. “Go see my man.” he smiled.

“Alright, I’m off. Keep in mind once I step foot in that room I’m no longer your friend, I’m the maid of honor and I will act accordingly.” the coach's daughter joked, squeezing Jack's shoulder lightly.

The Devils' player resisted the sudden urge to cover her hand with his, not wanting her to leave but knowing full well she had to. After all, she had been entrusted with one of the most important tasks at a wedding: groom duty. Who was going to hold the bouquet? Y/N. Who was going to make polite conversation with family members to help the newlyweds escape them so they could mingle with other guests? Y/N. He knew how crucial the beautiful woman’s part was on her brother’s special day, so he couldn’t silently beg her to stay and talk until it was time. If only.

* The clock struck a quarter to four. Cars continuously arrived at the cabin, some having to park along the dirt road that had led them there. Chatty guests started filling up the seats reserved for them in the multi-tiered wooden amphitheater nestled in pine trees, overlooking the lake.

It amazed Jack how breathtaking the venue was. Weddings weren’t normally his thing. Crowded, potentially award events always made him uneasy. Except for this one. The Devils' player wasn’t thinking about an excuse to cut his stay short after the ceremony, not this time. At that precise moment, as he stood in the aisle, his hands buried in his pockets, he was wondering what the beautiful woman he had known for a decade was doing. Probably containing a scary version of the usually calm and collected River Y/L/N, he thought to himself, chuckling.

“I think you can only walk around with your bow tie undone during the reception. Wedding etiquette.” Y/N spoke from behind him, as if she had magically read his mind and decided to grace him with her presence.

Turning around, much like the eager groom as his bride arrives at the altar, Jack felt the wind being knocked out of him.

In a beige, gold-tone and multicolor silk blend fill loose coupé floral dress with a deep V-neck, sporting her hair in a cascading half updo that perfectly framed her face, Y/N Y/L/N smirked up at her friend, oblivious to the way the brunette man’s chin had almost dropped to the ground.

The short, sleeveless design, featuring a drawstring waist with a hanging tassel and pleated details, was nothing short of astonishing. Accentuating her natural curves and glowing skin, it seemed like it had been made specifically and exclusively for the doctor to wear. Now the image of that magnificent woman in that dress, under the afternoon sunlight that bathed the clearing where they currently stood, was permanently engraved into his brain.

“How do I look?” she inquired, goofily spinning around. “If I were at home getting ready for a party or something, Joey would be begging me to do the princess twirl.”

“You look… Hmmm…” he stuttered, struggling to find words that wouldn’t completely give him out as the dumbfounded mess he was.

“River demanded I’d wear something that would make me look ethereal, which I find to be totally subjective. Heaven doesn’t look the same to everyone, right?” I am totally rambling right now, but - ”

“You look mesmerizing, Y/N.”

The four words slipped off his tongue easily and they were both surprised at the smooth tone of his voice, exponentially steadier than it usually was around her. He couldn’t have said truer words even if he had tried.

Blushing slightly, the petite woman looked away, giving him a peek of the diamond rose gold asymmetric ear cuff she wore on her right ear. The sweeping wing motif evoked an enigmatic blend of fantastical creatures and angels, which only seemed appropriate for the occasion and the landscape surrounding them.

“What’s up with the bow, though?”

“I can’t tie it.” Jack admitted, his shoulders slumping down in shame.

The doctor shook her head, reaching up to grab both ends of his ow tie and starting to fumble around with the piece of fabric.

“How’s the groom?”

“I think my mom and dad might be freaking out more than he is. It’s funny, actually, I-”

“Y/N Y/L/N, where were you? You should be placing the baggies with the rose petals under the chairs! You know the wedding planner completely forgot about them.” Cole reprimanded, holding a basket full of what seemed to be small golden antique satin pouches in his arms.

“Don’t people usually throw rice or something?” a very confused Jack asked, knitting his eyebrows together.

“Not anymore. Apparently, it’s bad for the birds, so I guess we’re just going to have to make it through with the rose petals.” Y/N mocked, teasing Cole.

“There’s no time to joke around, young lady. And what the hell are you doing to the poor man’s bow tie?”

Jack merely looked down, seeing how Y/N had been merely trying to do the bunny ear trick to get the fabric in place. Their friend handed the basked full of bags to the doctor, fixing the mess she had made and signaling for her to follow him once he was done.

“I thought you knew what you were doing?” he shouted as she walked away.

“I never said I did.” Y/N shrugged, winking at him. “Buckle up, Hughes, we’re getting this show on the road.”

“Please be seated. Yes, I am talking to you two youngsters in the second row. Come on.” the officiant, Mr. Brennan, scolded jokingly, waiting for the dynamic duo to stop arguing over who got to sit next to who so he could begin the ceremony. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God, surrounded by family and friends, to join together River and David in holy matrimony.”

Jack stared down at his knuckles, remembering the years he had spent seeing a band much like the one he had seen Sean, the groom’s brother, store in his pocket a few minutes before, in Y/N's hand, in pictures he saw on social media or at their friends’ homes.

“If anyone can show just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, speak now or forever hold your peace.” the septuagenarian declared, looking around to make sure no one spoke or got up before he continued. “Very well, we’ll proceed with the ceremony then.”

Daring to catch a glimpse of the most beautiful maid of honor he had ever seen, the brunette man licked his lips as his eyes locked with Y/N's, managing to steal a cheeky smile from her.

“Marriage deepens and enriches every facet of life. Happiness is fuller; memories are fresher; commitment is stronger. Marriage understands and forgives the mistakes life is unable to avoid. It encourages and nurtures new experiences and new experiences and new ways of expressing love through the seasons of life. In his letter to the Corinthians, Paul wrote: love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing but rejoices with the truth; love bears all things, endures all things; love never ends.”

Y/N took in the priest’s words. Love never ends, but it suffers somewhat of a metamorphosis. We never stop loving someone, the love we feel just fits into another category. It turns into a different kind of affection. She’d somehow have feelings for Charlie, but she wasn’t in love with him anymore. She hadn’t been in many years. That was the difference. The doctor gazed at the wonderful scenery around her: it was perfect, something she could only assume had come out of one of Joey's fairytale books.

“Your relationship will take more than love. It will take trust, dedication, to stay open to one another, to learn and grow, even when it’s difficult to do so. And faith, to go forward together without knowing what the future holds for you. While love is our natural state of being, these other qualities are not as easy to come by. They are not a destination, but a journey. Marriage is a give and take between two personalities. You are mature enough to know the difference between dreams and reality. You also know that good times are sweeter when shared and that difficult times are less harsh when borne by two. Tomorrow can bring you the greatest of joys, but today is the day it all begins.” the officiant proclaimed, motioning for the couple to join hands.

Her warm eyes laid on the man that, in just a matter of weeks, had come back into her life and filled it with excitement, fun and, most of all, joy. The doctor knew something had changed between them but thinking about navigating through feelings she hadn’t experienced intensely in a long time scared her to death. Letting someone in scared her to death.

“These are the hands that are holding yours on your wedding day as you promise to love each other today, tomorrow and forever. These are the hands that will countless times wipe tears from your eyes, tears of joy and sorrow. These are the hands that will help hold your family together as one as you overcome adversity. These are the hands that will give you strength when you need it. These are the hands that will work alongside yours as together you build your future.”

Jack remembered the times his hands had held Y/N's, the way hers fit into his as if they were simply the last two pieces of a puzzle he had been waiting all his life to assemble. The Devil's noticed how her hands were shaking slightly as she held on to the bouquet.

“David and River, from this moment on, you will never be alone. You will carry with you the love of another person, giving you a renewed lightness. May your life together be immersed in love and excitement. May you strive to enrich each other in every possible way.”

“Yes! Go River and David!” Trevor hooted, pumping his fist up in the air.

Quinn immediately smacked his friend in the back of the head, placing a finger over his lips to get him to shut up.

“Thank you, young man. These two are very lucky to have you cheering them on.” Mr. Brennan chuckled, along with the couple and the rest of the guests. “With that being said… David, do you take River Y/L/N as your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse; for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”

“I do.” the groom replied, surely, as a nervous grin grew on his handsome face.

“And do you, Rover, take David Sawyer as your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse; for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”

“I do. I do. I really do.” the eldest Y/L/N stuttered, radiating happiness with a smile so big you could almost see the teeth in the back of his mouth.

Y/N let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding, taking her hand to her chest as she internally cheered for the couple while Jack gave her a thumbs up from his seat.

“Now, I understand the grooms have a few words to say to each other.” the septuagenarian divulged, turning to face River. “Go ahead, kid.”

Everyone’s eyes were fixated on the groom once again, but his bore into David’s, wanting him to know she meant every word she was about to say.

“We met at a time in my life where I had pretty much given up on the idea of finding you. You, a kind, smart, extremely funny man, who loves me endlessly. David, you took a man circumstance had turned into a skeptic and made him believe he could fall in love again without having to worry about the possibility of having his heart broken. You took the shattered pieces scattered over my chest and put them together with so much patience and love… I could never thank you enough for that. But I can try… And I will, for the rest of our lives.”

David drew a shaky breath, trying to keep the tears in his eyes from falling. Not because he was ashamed of crying, but because he still had his vows to proclaim and he knew once the first few droplets fell, he wouldn’t be able to speak.

“River…” he croaked, clearing his throat after as the blushing groom reached up and wiped the sneaky tear that had escaped his right eye. “Thank you for loving me when I’m happy, when I’m sad, when I’m annoyed and when I’m obnoxious, when I can’t stop talking about things I like and things I can’t stand. Standing here with you today, in the presence of our closest friends and family, I do not regret any of the time we spent together, not even the dumbest fights or that week we decided to break up a few years ago. In the end, we always ended up clinging onto each other, saying we’re sorry. No matter what, we always bounced back. Together. It was all worth it. The good, the bad and the ugly. We’re here. We made it, baby. I solemnly swear to never question your very questionable eating habits, or the reasons why you know the lyrics to every cringy song in the books. I vow to cherish and appreciate you as long as you’ll have me… And long after that because I love you more than words can say. Believe me when I say I do.”

“Beautiful, beautiful words.” the officiant noted. “Now… The rings.”

Sean pulled out a small black velvet box from his blazer’s inner pocket and Y/N looked at her thumb, where the ring that she had been entrusted with rested.

David’s brother handed him the open box, letting him take the stunning wedding band from it.

“Repeat after me as you place the ring on your groom's finger: with this ring, I thee wed.”

“With this ring, I thee wed.” David almost whispered, reluctantly letting go of his soon-to-be-husband's hand for her to get his matching gold band.

“River…” Mr. Brennan motioned to the designer with an encouraging smile.

The doctor took the band from her thumb and quickly gave it to her brother, grinning like a happy fool, letting out a tiny squeal only Jack seemed to hear, as he covered his face with his hands to stifle a laugh.

“With this ring, I thee wed.” River said in a sing-song voice, eager to hear the officiant's concluding words.

“By the power invested in me by the state of New York, I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may now kiss the groom!”

David stumbled back as his groom flung herself into his arms, kissing him passionately, while everyone around them cheered, clapping enthusiastically. You could feel the love that irradiated from the married couple and that brought happiness to their friends and family.

The maid of honor hurried to straighten up River's jacket he walked down the aisle with his husband, white rose petals falling over and around her beautiful figure. She looked… What was the word? Ethereal. Y/N was a fallen angel. Jack's heart sped up its pace when she looked his way and smiled, for the millionth time that day, scrunching up her nose the way only she knew how to.

He couldn’t keep it in anymore. He was undeniably infatuated with a woman he often held up on a pedestal. He had to say something.

In the end, we only regret the chances we didn’t take.

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