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every year after fourteen , part four
part one / part two / part three
CW: Heavy relationship angst, emotional dependency, verbal conflict, pregnancy, unhealthy relationship dynamics, infidelity, abandonment issues, and discussions of childhood trauma.
PAIRINGS: childhoodbsf!rafe x sweetheart!reader ➜ frat!rafe x sweetheart!reader➜military!rafe x sweetheart!reader ➜ frat!rafe x sweetheart reader ➜ husband!rafe x sweetheart!reader
a week later, neither of them knew what they were which was impressive considering they were technically married.
and technically still together. and technically wearing wedding rings. yet somehow everything felt broken anyway.
they hadn't officially broken up. nobody said the words, not even topper or kelce but after vegas, something cracked. not shattered. cracked. the kind of damage you can feel every time you touch it.
for seven days, they barely spoke. not because they wanted to but because every conversation felt dangerous. every text turned awkward. every call ended too quickly. every silence stretched too long.
it was miserable. absolutely miserable. because for years, losing rafe had always looked dramatic. screaming matches slammed doors. months of silence.
she never realized the worst version was this. slow and quiet: watching somebody drift away while still technically belonging to you.
day three he texted her:
you eat today?
that was it. nothing else. no good morning. no i miss you. just: you eat today? she stared at the screen for almost ten minutes because somehow it hurt. it sounded like somebody trying not to care too much and knowing rafe, that was most definetly the case.
yes.
his response came immediately.
good.
and that was the entire conversation.
day five, she saw a photo online. some frat event in a group picture. rafe stood near the back. arms crossed and expression blank. wedding ring still on his finger.
her stomach twisted instantly because he looked terrible. not physically. emotionally like somebody trying very hard not to feel anything.
day six, she woke up at 2:47 a.m for no reason. just suddenly awake. heart racing, feeling wrong. then her phone lit up. rafe. calling.
her stomach dropped and yet she answered immediately. "hello?"
silence. just the sound of both their breathing. for a second she thought the call dropped. then quietly: "...hey."
his voice sounded wrecked. completely wrecked like he hadn't slept in days. she sat up immediately. "rafe?"
"i can't sleep."
god. the sentence nearly broke her because he sounded exactly like he used to after military school, the same when he crawled into her window when they were kids. just a lonely little boy alone with his feelings, holding himself together by threads. she swallowed hard. "what happened?"
he laughed softly. "nothing." she heard movement on the other end. then: "you still wearing it?"
her hand immediately found the ring on her finger. cold metal. "yeah."
she realized — he'd been checking. every day probably, looking at his own ring. wondering if she'd taken hers off. wondering if this was already over. "you?"
his answer came instantly, too fast as if he'd been expecting her to ask it. "yeah."
of course. of course he was still wearing it. rafe would've cut his own hand off before taking it off first.
day seven, it rained hard. the kind of storm that turned roads silver.
she got home around seven, exhausted and missing him in that dull aching way she'd gotten used to. then she opened her apartment door.
and froze.
rafe sat outside it, on the floor. soaked. absolutely drenched. hoodie dark with rainwater. hair dripping into his eyes, looking like a man who'd lost a fight with himself.
for a second neither moved. neither spoke. she just stared and rafe looked up slowly.
god. he looked awful. dark circles. red eyes. heartbreak. pure heartbreak if she'd ever seen it. "hi."
the word came out small. she dropped her bag immediately. "what are you doing?"
rafe laughed once. "honestly?" his eyes lowered briefly. then lifted back to hers and suddenly she saw tears sitting there. actual tears. "i think we're breaking up." he looked down at the ring on his finger, voice cracking. "and i don't know how to stop it." and somehow that hurt even more than if he'd said he wanted to leave.
not that he thought they were breaking up. not that he was crying. not even that he looked completely devastated sitting outside her apartment door.
it was that he sounded defeated like somewhere during that week, rafe had stopped believing this was something they could fix and if there was one thing she'd learned over the years — it was that rafe could survive almost anything except hopelessness.
the second she saw his face crumple, she moved. immediately with no hesitation, no thinking. just instinct. she dropped to her knees in front of him and wrapped her arms around him so hard it probably hurt.
rafe made a sound she'd never heard before. not a sob. not a gasp. something worse. something broken and then suddenly his arms were around her too.
tight. desperate. almost crushing, like he was trying to hold onto her through sheer force. the impact nearly knocked the breath out of both of them.
neither cared.
she buried her face in his shoulder, that soaked hoodie and sniffed the familiar scent of him underneath it all.
and god. she'd missed him. even though it had only been a week. she'd missed him like he'd died. rafe's hand found the back of her head immediately. holding her there, holding her close. holding her like he always did when he was terrified.
and then he started crying. actually crying. not silently. not hiding it. crying. she felt it in the way his shoulders shook, felt it in the uneven breaths he couldn't control anymore. felt it where his forehead pressed desperately against her neck.
rafe never cried unless something inside him had finally reached its limit.
"baby," she whispered. his grip tightened immediately almost painfull like hearing the nickname hurt or helped. she couldn't tell anymore. maybe both. "baby, look at me."
he shook his head instantly. no. absolutely not. if he looked at her, he'd completely fall apart. they both knew it.
"rafe."
another shake of his head. harder this time, like a petulant child. and suddenly she realized, he was terrified. not of losing her but of seeing the confirmation on her face that he'd already lost her.
"i don't want this," she whispered through tears.
rafe laughed and the sound was horrific. completely heartbroken. "neither do i." his voice cracked badly.
"then why does it feel like it's happening anyway?"
silence. the question sat between them. neither had an answer. sometimes relationships didn't die because people stopped loving each other. sometimes they died because love wasn't the problem. sometimes the problem was fear. sometimes the problem was timing. sometimes the problem was two people carrying wounds they didn't know how to stop bleeding on each other.
rafe's face pressed harder into her shoulder. his voice muffled now, small. younger somehow like the frightened little boy she'd met all those years ago. "i don't know how to do this."
her chest physically hurt because she knew exactly what he meant. not dating. not marriage. not commitment. being loved. he meant being loved. he still didn't know how to do it. after all these years. after military school. after growing up. after her. after the age of fourteen he still looked terrified every time somebody stayed.
she wrapped her arms tighter around him, as tight as she could, like maybe if she held him hard enough she could stop everything from falling apart.
stop the years. stop the damage. stop whatever invisible force kept pulling them toward heartbreak. but even while she held him — she knew. and rafe knew too.
she felt it in the way he clung back. the way he wasn't trying to fix anything, wasn't arguing, wasn't promising, wasn't fighting. just holding her.
for the first time in years, neither of them were pretending. they both knew this hug wasn't going to magically solve anything. it wasn't going to erase the fears or the arguments or the fact that rafe still expected abandonment like a weather forecast.
it wasn't going to fix how exhausted she was from proving she loved him over and over. it wasn't going to make them healthy but they held each other anyway.
crying quietly on the floor outside her apartment. wedding rings still on their fingers. arms wrapped around each other like shipwreck survivors.
even if it changed nothing — even if tomorrow they had the same fight again — even if this relationship was collapsing under the weight of everything they'd carried into it — there was still one terrible truth neither of them could escape. if this was the end — they both knew they would spend the rest of their lives looking for each other in other people.
and never finding it.
the first sign was coffee which was ridiculous because she loved coffee, lived on coffee, would probably have coffee intravenually if science allowed it.
and yet one morning she took a sip and immediately had to run to the sink. that should've been the moment she figured it out. it wasn't because her life had been such a disaster lately that she blamed everything else first.
stress. lack of sleep. the fact she'd spent the last two weeks emotionally imploding with her technically-husband, technically-boyfriend, technically-soulmate, technically-ongoing-psychological-crisis. all reasonable explanations.
until she was standing in a pharmacy holding a pregnancy test. then three. then five. apparently one wasn't enough when your entire future might be changing.
she took them alone which, in hindsight, was maybe the first mistake. there are certain moments in life that shouldn't happen in silence and that was one of them.
positive.
positive.
positive.
positive.
positive.
for a long time she just sat on the bathroom floor staring at them. unable to move. unable to think. unable to breathe properly.
pregnant.
pregnant.
pregnant.
the word didn't even feel real. it felt like something happening to somebody else. some girl in a movie. not her. not now. not when her relationship was already hanging together by threads.
her first instinct was rafe. always rafe. even when he was the problem. even when he was breaking her heart. even when she wanted to scream at him.
he was still the person she wanted first so she called him. immediately. he answered on the second ring.
which was unusual. "hey."
his voice sounded tired. she closed her eyes, suddenly terrified. "can you come over?"
immediate concern. "what happened?"
"just come over."
he arrived twelve minutes later. she timed it. panic makes people weird. the second she opened the door, rafe's eyes searched her face. looking for injury. looking for tears, looking for catastrophe.
he found all three. just not in the way he expected. "baby." his voice softened immediately. "what happened?"
she couldn't say it. suddenly she couldn't physically force the words out so instead she handed him the tests. rafe frowned. looked down. looked back up. looked down again.
nothing happened for a second. then another, then another and she watched realization arrive. slowly. horribly. his face went completely blank.
"rafe?" he didn't answer. "say something."
still nothing. she felt cold because this was rafe. rafe always had something to say even when he shouldn't. especially when he shouldn't. but now? nothing. his hand came up and rubbed across his mouth. once. twice. again. "rafe."
"you're pregnant." the words sounded distant like he was reading them off a piece of paper.
her stomach dropped. "yeah."
silence. then: "fuck."
her chest tightened. "okay."
"fuck." he said it again, louder, running a hand through his hair. starting to pace.
suddenly she was angry because she'd been terrified all day, alone, and the first thing he was giving her was panic. "that's your response?"
his head snapped up. "what?"
"seriously?"
"i'm trying to process this."
"by saying fuck repeatedly?"
"what do you want me to do?"
there it was. the spark. the beginning because neither of them knew how to handle fear without turning it into something uglier. "i don't know, rafe." her voice shook. "maybe not act like your life just ended."
his eyes flashed immediately. "that's not what i'm doing."
"no."
"because that's sure what it looks like."
he laughed. "unbelievable."
"what's unbelievable?"
"that i'm standing here finding out i'm gonna be a father and somehow i'm already the bad guy."
that hit. hard. she stood abruptly. "you think this has been easy for me?"
"i didn't say that."
"you didn't have to."
his jaw tightened. "i came here as fast as i could."
"and immediately freaked out."
"because i'm scared!" the shout echoed through the apartment because he almost never admitted fear anymore. not directly but he was now. his breathing was uneven, eyes wild, hands shaking slightly. "i'm terrified."
the confession should've softened her. on any other day, it would've but today it didn't because she was terrified too and right now fear was making both of them cruel. "well congratulations." she laughed bitterly. "so am i."
"don't act like you're the only one carrying this."
that detonated immediately. "excuse me?" wrong thing, very wrong thing because suddenly months of exhaustion came rushing out. "you're right." she laughed again, angrier now. "i'm only the one who's actually pregnant."
his face fell, but they were moving too fast now to get over it. "that's not what i meant."
"then what did you mean?"
"i meant i'm scared too!"
"well maybe stop making me feel like i ruined your life!"
"I NEVER SAID THAT!"
"YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO!"
both breathing hard now. both crying. both furious. rafe looked completely devastated. "you think that's what i think?" he asked quietly.
uh oh. that voice was always worse because now he was hurt. not angry. hurt. "you really think i look at you carrying our baby and think you ruined my life?"
the words landed heavily. our baby. neither had said that yet. his voice cracked. "baby, i'm panicking because i don't even know how to take care of myself half the time." her anger faltered. just slightly. "i don't know how to be somebody's dad." there it was. not fear of the baby. not fear of her. fear of becoming ward. rafe looked sick, absolutely sick. "what if i turn into him?" he whispered.
suddenly she understood. every bit of panic. every bit of fear. every horrible reaction. rafe wasn't thinking about diapers or money or college funds. he was thinking about a little kid looking at him someday the way he'd looked at ward.
and that possibility terrified him more than anything else on earth.
the baby didn't ruin them. that would've been easier because at least then there would've been something obvious to blame. something concrete, something they could point at and say: there. that's where it all went wrong.
instead, it happened slowly. the way most tragedies do. months passed, the pregnancy progressed. life continued and somehow, despite loving each other desperately, they started missing each other entirely.
not physically. emotionally. fear changed rafe and responsibility changed her.
suddenly every conversation became practical. appointments. money. the future. housing. plans.
things neither of them had ever been particularly good at. somewhere underneath all of that — the relationship started starving.
rafe worked constantly. she understood why, she really did. every extra shift, every opportunity, every exhausting day. he was trying, trying so hard. but sometimes she'd wake up at midnight and realize she hadn't actually spoken to him all day. they'd exchanged information. not feelings and that wasn't the same thing.
"did you eat?"
"yeah."
"appointment tomorrow."
"i know."
"okay."
"okay."
and somehow they could spend entire evenings talking without actually saying anything. the irony was brutal because for years she'd wanted stability from rafe. consistency. reliability and now she had it except it felt lonely. he wasn't showing her fear anymore. or sadness or panic. he'd locked all of it away, convinced himself that being a father meant becoming invulnerable.
nobody realized before it was too late that rafe had mistaken emotional absence for strength.
the first time she noticed how bad it had gotten was at twenty-eight weeks. they were sitting together on the couch. she couldn't remember what movie was playing, only that suddenly she looked over and realized rafe seemed very far away.
not physically. emotionally. his hand rested automatically against her stomach. gentle and protective but his eyes looked empty, completely exhausted.
"what are you thinking about?" she asked quietly.
rafe blinked like he'd forgotten she was there. "nothing."
lie. always lie. "rafe."
his jaw tightened. "i said nothing."
"you're doing it again."
silence. "doing what?"
"shutting me out."
his expression changed instantly, anger flashing briefly. "i'm not shutting you out."
"then talk to me."
"about what?"
the question hit harder than it should've because it was genuine. he truly didn't know anymore. months ago he would've told her everything. every fear. every insecurity. every ugly thought.
now? nothing.
somewhere along the way he'd decided protecting her meant carrying everything alone and she was beginning to hate him for it. "anything."
his laugh was tired. so tired. "baby, i'm exhausted."
and there it was. just tired. the kind of tired that kills relationships, the kind that makes people stop reaching for each other, the kind that turns conversations into obligations.
she looked away first and neither of them noticed how much that mattered. for years she'd always been the one to fight harder. always and now she was getting tired too. which was terrifying because if rafe stopped reaching and she stopped reaching — what happened then?
months later, neither of them wanted to know. the apartment felt different now. quieter and heavier. filled with things for the baby. crib, clothes, tiny socks.
evidence of a future approaching whether they were ready or not and somehow all of it made the distance worse. one night she woke up around 3 a.m. the bed beside her was empty.
again. not unusual anymore which was maybe the saddest part. she found him sitting on the balcony. alone, staring at nothing wirh rain falling softly outside.
he didn't even notice she'd opened the door. that hurt. once upon a time rafe noticed everything about her. everything. now he looked lost in a place she couldn't reach.
she stood there for a moment, watching him and suddenly realized something horrible. he looked exactly like ward. isolated, distant and alone with his thoughts.
a man sitting by himself because he didn't know how to let anybody help him.
the realization made her feel sick. it wasn't fair. rafe had spent years trying not to become his father yet somehow he was recreating the same loneliness anyway without meaning to.
she almost walked over. almost sat beside him, almost tried again. instead she just stood there. too exhausted, too sad, too angry and for the first time in her life she let herself wonder what it would feel like not to love him anymore.
the thought lasted less than a second but it happened. years ago, losing rafe felt impossible. now? it felt possible. that was so much worse.
the thing about betrayal was that it never arrived the way people imagined. there wasn't some dramatic reveal. no instinct, no warning.
just an ordinary tuesday and then suddenly the entire shape of your life looked different.
she found out by accident. nobody ever thinks they're about to discover the worst thing that's happened to them.
rafe was in the shower. his phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. once. then again, then again.
she wouldn't normally look. despite everything, she'd never been that person. not even when things got bad. not even when things started falling apart.
but something felt wrong. maybe it was the distance. maybe it was the exhaustion. maybe it was the fact that for months she'd felt him slipping through her fingers like water.
the screen lit up again. a name she didn't recognize. followed by:
are you going to tell her?
her stomach dropped. immediately, violently, and suddenly she knew before she even opened it, before she even looked, before she even read anything else.
she knew.
because there are some fears that live inside you for so long that the second they become real, they feel familiar.
by the time rafe walked out of the bathroom, she was sitting exactly where he'd left her. phone in her hands. completely still.
he took one look at her face and froze.
immediately. because he knew too. the color drained from him. "baby—"
"don't."
his eyes shut, just for a second, like somebody had punched him and suddenly she hated him for that too. because he looked hurt and he didn't get to be hurt. not right now.
"how long?"
rafe looked like he physically couldn't breathe. "it wasn't—"
"how long?"
his jaw tightened. "a few weeks."
a few weeks. a few weeks. she laughed and the sound scared even her. "i'm fucking pregnant."
the words slipped out before she could stop them. not because he'd forgotten but because she couldn't understand it, couldn't fit the pieces together.
"i know." his voice cracked instantly. "i know."
"then why?"
silence. the longest silence she'd ever heard. there wasn't a good answer.
"i don't know."
"bullshit."
his eyes squeezed shut. he knew it was bullshit too. she stood up so fast the chair nearly tipped over. "don't you dare."
"baby —"
"don't call me that." that one hurt him. she saw it. good. for once, good. tears burned down her face. "why?"
his expression twisted. guilt, shame, self-disgust. all of it. somehow none of it mattered. because he'd still done it. finally he whispered: "because i was drowning."
her heart hardened instantly. "oh, fuck you."
"i'm serious."
"so am i."
his voice got louder, desperate now. "i wasn't thinking."
"clearly."
"i was scared all the time."
"SO WAS I." the shout echoed through the apartment and rafe flinched. good. good. she was tired of being the only one hurting.
"i was terrified every single day," she cried. "i was carrying our child. our relationship was falling apart. i felt alone all the time."
his eyes filled immediately. "i know."
"no." she shook her head. "you don't."
because if he knew, he wouldn't have done it. he just wouldn't have. rafe looked destroyed now. but he kept talking because once the truth started coming out, he couldn't stop it. "i felt like i was failing." silence. "at everything." his voice shook. "at being a boyfriend." another breath. "a husband." another. "a father." his eyes dropped. "every time i looked at you, i felt like i wasn't enough."
she stared at him, disbelief flooding through her. somehow — he was still making this about himself. "so you cheated."
rafe physically recoiled. hearing it said plainly sounded uglier than the excuses. "i know."
"you felt inadequate, so you cheated."
"i know."
"you felt scared, so you cheated."
"i KNOW." he looked seconds from coming apart. "i know what i did." his voice cracked violently. "you think i don't replay it every second?"
she didn't answer. she didn't care.not right now. rafe dragged both hands through his hair. pacing, panicking. the old rafe. the one who unraveled instead of communicating. "it wasn't because i didn't love you."
that almost made her laugh. almost. what a useless sentence, what a pathetic thing to say. she looked at him through tears. "do you know what hurts most?"
his face crumpled immediately. he wanted to know, wanted the punishment, wanted something.
"i would've stayed through everything." silence. "everything."
his eyes filled completely. "i know."
"i stayed through your anger." another tear. "your drinking." another. "the military." another. "the panic attacks." another. "all those years of you being convinced nobody could love you."
rafe looked sick. actually sick.
she was right. she had stayed. every single time. "and the one thing i never thought i'd have to survive was you."
the reality of what he'd done, the realization that after spending his entire life terrified of becoming the person who hurt the people he loved — he'd done exactly that. and this time there was nobody else to blame.
summary : he would do anything for you, even hide a puppy in his closet to surprise you on their anniversary . . .
cw : domestic fluffy. rafe being soft(ish).
wc : 2.3k
Rafe Cameron was fucked.
Not in the dramatic, world-ending way he usually invited—like when he’d snort too much, punch the wrong guy, or crash one of Ward’s boats just to feel something—but in the stupid, domestic way that made his skin crawl. The kind of fuck-up that came with trying to be… good. Or at least good-adjacent. For you.
He was sprawled across the foot of his bed in nothing but black boxer-briefs and a thin silver chain that always got caught in his chest when he got sweaty, one arm flung over his eyes, the other lazily scratching at the faint trail of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband. The AC was blasting, but the room still felt thick, humid, like the Outer Banks never really let go of summer even when October tried to creep in. His buzzed scalp prickled with the cold air; he liked it that way. Kept him sharp. Kept the thoughts from getting too soft.
You were sitting cross-legged on the floor near his dresser, barefoot, wearing one of his sweatshirts that swallowed you whole. The hem pooled around your thighs, the sleeves bunched at your elbows because you’d pushed them up to scroll through your phone. Your hair was loose today, falling in soft, messy waves over one shoulder. You looked small. Fragile in a way that made something ugly twist in Rafe’s gut every time he noticed it—because he knew exactly how breakable you really weren’t. You just carried it like you were.
He’d been watching you for the last ten minutes without saying anything. Just letting his gaze drag over the curve of your neck, the way your collarbone peeked out from the stretched-out neckline, the soft freckles scattered across the bridge of your nose like someone had flicked cinnamon on your skin. You were humming under your breath—some Sabrina Carpenter song he pretended to hate—and every once in a while your eyes flicked up to him, shy and bright, like you were checking if he was still looking.
Four days. Four fucking days he’d kept the secret.
The puppy (a fluffy gray-and-white Husky with blue eyes, all needle teeth and clumsy paws) had been living in the walk-in closet like some kind of furry hostage. Rafe had lined the floor with old beach towels, set up a water bowl, tossed in a couple of chew toys he’d panic-bought from the pet store in Chapel Hill two towns over. He’d even started leaving the door cracked at night so the little shit could breathe fresh air, but during the day? Door shut and locked. Silence all day.
Except it wasn’t silent anymore.
It started as a whine. The kind of sound that could almost pass for the wind rattling the old window frames. Your head tilted, eyebrows furrowing in slight confusion at the sudden small noise. “Rafey.... did you hear that?”
Rafe’s stomach dropped like he’d just missed a step on the stairs. He didn’t move his arm from his face, trying to sound casual even though his heart was beating at 100 km/h right now. “Hear what?”
Another whine. Longer this time. Needier. You frowned, pushing yourself up onto your knees. “That. It sounded like… I don’t know. A baby? Or a cat maybe?”
He forced a laugh. “Babe, we don’t have a cat. And there sure as shit ain’t a baby in here.”
You gave him that look. The one where your brows pinched together and your lips pressed into a little line, like you were trying to decide whether he was lying or just being an asshole for fun. Usually it was the second one.
“I swear I heard something,” you murmured, already turning toward the closet.
Rafe sat up fast—too fast, that his blood pressure even dropped a little. The mattress creaked under him. “Hey. C’mere.”
You paused, glancing back over your shoulder. “What?”
He patted the bed beside him, trying to look casual, like his heart wasn’t slamming against the back of his ribs. “Just come here for a sec.”
You hesitated for maybe twenty seconds, then you crawled up onto the mattress, knees sinking into the comforter. When you got close enough he hooked two fingers in the front of his sweatshirt and tugged you forward until you half-fell against his chest. Your palms flattened on his pecs for balance.
He wrapped one arm around your lower back, fingers splaying wide over the dip of your spine, thumb brushing the elastic of your underwear through the thick cotton. He buried his nose in your hair for a second, just breathing you in, trying to buy time.
The closet was quiet again. Maybe the puppy had gone back to sleep. Maybe it was fine. Maybe—
A sharp, high-pitched yip. You stiffened in his arms. Rafe’s grip tightened involuntarily, the moment of relief quickly broken again by the puppy's treacherous pleas.
“What the hell was that?” you whispered, pulling back just enough to look at his face. Your eyes were wide, pupils blown in the dim light. “Rafe. That was not the wind.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. His brain short-circuited for a second—every lie he could think of sounded dumber than the last. “I… uh…”
Another yip. Then a soft, frantic scratching against the inside of the door. Tiny claws on wood. The unmistakable sound of a tail thumping against the frame.
Your gaze snapped toward the closet. “There’s something in there.”
Rafe scrubbed a hand over his buzz cut, the short hairs rasping against his palm. “It’s nothing.”
“Rafe.”
“It’s not—”
“Rafe Cameron, open that door right now or I’m doing it myself.”
Fuck.
He exhaled hard through his nose. “Fine. But don’t freak out, okay?”
Your brows shot up. “Why would I freak out?”
Because I’m an idiot who thought he could surprise you and instead I’m about to look like a lunatic who’s been hiding a live animal in this closet for four days like some kind of psychopath.
He didn’t say that. Instead he slid off the bed, every muscle in his back flexing under the low light as he crossed the room. The floorboards creaked under his bare feet. He could feel your eyes on him the whole way. He stopped in front of the door. Hand on the knob. Heart in his fucking throat.
One last glance back at you. You had slid to the edge of the bed, legs dangling, hands gripping the mattress on either side of you thighs. You looked both nervous and excited.
He twisted the knob and the door swung open.
And there, sitting in the middle of a nest of crumpled towels, was the fluffiest, bluest-eyed little monster you had ever seen. Its tail wagged so hard its whole back end wiggled. It let out one more excited yip, then launched itself forward—straight at Rafe’s shins.
He caught it on instinct, scooping the squirming ball of fur up against his bare chest. Cold nose pressed to his throat. Tiny paws scrabbling against his skin. Wet tongue swiping across his jaw in one long, sloppy stripe.
You gasped. Rafe looked up at you through his lashes, smirking, but still a little terrified of your reaction. “Surprise,” he muttered. “Happy early fuckin’ anniversary, baby.”
You didn’t move at first. You just stared.
The puppy was still wriggling in Rafe’s arms, tiny paws slipping against the sweat-slick skin of his chest, tail whipping back and forth so fast it blurred. A soft, excited whimper bubbled out of its throat every few seconds—like it couldn’t decide whether to bark or cry from happiness. Its blue eyes locked onto you immediately, like it already knew you were the one it had been waiting for.
Rafe shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the floor creaking under him. He was trying to look chill, but the way his jaw ticked and the faint flush creeping up the side of his neck gave him away. He wasn’t used to this—giving something real, something vulnerable, and then having to stand there and wait for the verdict.
Your lips parted. No sound came out. Your hands were still fisted in the comforter on either side of your hips, knuckles pale. You blinked once. Twice. Then your eyes filled up. Not dramatic, movie-style tears. Just… water. Slow and quiet, gathering at the lash line until one slipped free and tracked down the curve of your cheek. You didn’t wipe it away. Didn’t even seem to notice.
“Rafe…” Your voice cracked on his name, barely above a whisper.
He swallowed hard. The puppy nosed under his chin, and Rafe absently scratched behind its floppy ear while keeping his gaze locked on you. “You said you wanted one,” he muttered, rougher than he meant to. “Back when you were talking to Rose. About that dream you had. The one where you had a dog that slept at the foot of your bed and followed you everywhere. I… I remembered.”
Your throat worked. You pressed your lips together like you were trying to hold everything inside, but it wasn’t working. Another tear slid down, then another. Your bottom lip trembled and it hit Rafe square in the solar plexus.
He wasn’t good at this shit. He wasn’t good at softness. He was good at breaking things, at yelling, at taking what he wanted and leaving wreckage behind. But this? This quiet, trembling girl looking at him like he’d just handed her the moon?
It fucking terrified him.
“You’ve had it… here?” you asked, voice small and thick. But there was amusement too, as if the idea of Rafe hiding a puppy in his closet was funny and kind of impossible to imagine. “In your closet?”
“Four days,” he admitted, grimacing. “Thought I could pull off the big romantic surprise tomorrow. Anniversary and all that. But the little asshole decided to start serenading us early.”
The puppy chose that exact second to let out a tiny, indignant yip, like it was offended by the nickname. Rafe huffed a laugh despite himself.
Your eyes flicked from the puppy to Rafe’s face and back again. You slid off the bed slowly, bare feet silent on the hardwood. Every step you took toward them made Rafe’s pulse kick harder. When you were close enough you reached out, fingertips brushing the soft fur along the puppy’s back. The Husky immediately twisted in Rafe’s hold, stretching toward you with a desperate whine. Its pink tongue darted out, swiping at the air inches from your hand.
You let out a shaky laugh and cupped the puppy’s face with both palms. The fur was baby-soft, like velvet, still smelling faintly of the pet store shampoo and the newness of life. The puppy’s eyes half-closed in bliss as you scratched gently under its chin, right where the fluff was thickest.
“Oh my God,” you breathed. “He’s… he’s so little.”
“She,” Rafe corrected, voice low and affectionate. “Little girl. Figured you’d want one that’d grow up mean enough to keep the Pogues away from you.”
Your laugh bubbled up again, wet and bright. You looked up at him through damp lashes, cheeks flushed, eyes shining like sea glass after a storm. “You got me a girl?” you whispered, like that detail alone was enough to unravel you.
“Yeah.” Rafe’s throat felt tight. “Thought… maybe she could be yours. Ours. Whatever. I don’t fuckin’ know. I just—” He broke off, jaw working. “I wanted you to have something good. Something that wasn’t… me being a dick all the time.”
Your hands stilled on the puppy’s face. You stared at him for a long beat—long enough that Rafe started to feel exposed, raw, like you could see straight through the bullshit armor he wore every day. Then you stepped even closer. Your body brushed his—soft curves against the hard planes of his chest, the puppy squished gently between you two. You had to tip your head back to meet his eyes, and when you did, the look on your face made something inside Rafe crack wide open.
You rose onto your tiptoes, one hand still cradling the puppy’s head, the other sliding up to curl around the back of Rafe’s neck. Your fingers threaded into the short hairs at his nape, nails grazing his scalp in that gentle way you sometimes did when he was spiraling.
“Thank you,” you whispered against his mouth. Not quite a kiss; just your lips touching, breathing each other in. “Thank you, Rafe.”
He closed his eyes. Exhaled hard through his nose. The puppy wriggled happily, licking at both your chins in sloppy alternation.
You pulled back just enough to look at the little gray-and-white face between you two. You pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the top of the puppy’s head—right between the ears—then looked back up at Rafe with that same trembling smile.
“What’s her name again?”
Rafe’s mouth twitched. “Was kinda hoping you’d pick. I’ve just been calling her ‘Trouble’ in my head.”
You laughed again and the sound loosened something in his chest he hadn’t even realized was knotted.
“Trouble,” you repeated, testing it. Your gaze dropped back to the puppy, who was now trying to climb Rafe’s shoulder like it was a mountain. “I think… maybe Luna? Like the moon. Because of her eyes. It's so pale, like moonlight.”
Rafe considered it, looking down at the squirming bundle currently attempting to chew on his earlobe. “Luna,” he said slowly, tasting the word. “Yeah. Luna fits.”
You beamed and it was like the whole damn room got brighter. You leaned in again, this time pressing your forehead to his. Their noses brushed. Your breath fanned warm across his lips.
“I love her,” you murmured. “And I love you too, Rafe Cameron.”
Rafe froze instantly.
You said it sometimes, but he never said it back. Not because he didn’t feel it. Because the words felt too big, too dangerous, like if he let them out they might burn everything down.
But right now, with your body pressed to his and Luna’s tiny heart beating frantically against his sternum, with you looking at him like he was something worth keeping…
He swallowed once. Then, voice so low it was almost lost in the hum of the AC— “Love you too, baby.”
✮ Mission secure a date with you.....COMPLETE !
ft: dad!rafe x teacher!reader :3
“what are you doing?”
you stop halfway through unfolding a plastic tablecloth.
the gym is chaos already.
parents carrying trays of baked goods through the doors. teachers trying to figure out where everything is supposed to go. somebody's kid is running around with a balloon animal despite the event not even starting for another forty-five minutes.
and somehow, standing right in the middle of it all, is rafe cameron.
you look at him.
then at the bright yellow volunteer sticker stuck to his shirt.
then back at him.
“volunteering.” he says, proudly.
you narrow your eyes. “why?”
“because i care about the children.”
“your daughter told me you bribed her with ice cream to convince her reading is fun.”
“and it worked.”
“that's not the point.”
“sounds like the point to me.”
you sigh. the day hasn't even started and your brain has started an automatic ‘how-many-times-you-sigh-in-front-of-raf’ counter.
rafe smiles like he's won something at the sound though, completely shameless. he does that a lot around you. you notice.
it's irritating. mostly because you're starting to smile back.
later…..
“where d’you want these?”
you don't even look up from the cash box you're counting.
“over there.”
“where's over there?”
you point.
“be more specific.”
you slowly lift your head, eyes narrowing as you look at him. rafe is standing there holding two massive boxes of cookie trays. completely capable of figuring it out himself.
he's doing this on purpose. you know he's doing this on purpose.
he knows you know if that stupid grin on his face is of any use.
“the table with the giant sign that says cookies.”
“oh.”
“cameron.”
“just checking.”
you stare.
he grins.
you’re mentally kicking him.
he’s mentally jumping in joy.
and by the time the sale ends…..
you're exhausted. your feet hurt. you’re exactly twenty three minutes away from having a psychotic break. there's frosting on your sleeve that you stopped caring about three hours ago. and somehow, despite spending an entire day around dozens of parents, teachers, and children, the person who has drained your social battery the most is rafe cameron.
you've sent him away at leeeeeeast seven times.
he. keeps. coming. back.
like a particularly attractive stray cat.
you're crouched beside one of the folding tables, packing leftover cookie containers into a cardboard box when a familiar pair of sneakers appears beside you.
you don't even look up.
"no."
"you don't know what i'm gonna ask."
"coffee."
there's a beat.
"okay, yeah. coffee." he admits sheepishly with a grin you know thats on his face without having to look at him.
you shake your head, trying to hide the smile threatening to appear.
all day. all damn day. every conversation somehow circled back to coffee with him.
you mention being tired?
coffee.
you mention grading papers?
coffee.
you mention having plans?
coffee another day then.
it had become less of a question and more of a recurring nuisance.
"you're persistent."
"i prefer dedicated."
"i prefer annoying."
"that too." he smirks.
you finally glance up. he's sitting backwards on one of the folding chairs now, arms folded across the backrest.
watching you. just watching. and that's somehow worse.
because the teasing is easy to deal with. the stupid pickup lines are easy. the way he keeps finding reasons to stand next to you is easy.
it's when he looks at you like that that things become a problem.
like you're the only person in the room. like he genuinely enjoys being around you. like getting your attention is the highlight of his day.
it's idiotically unfair.
"one coffee.” he tries again.
you snort. "rafe."
"one."
"you've asked me like ten times."
"eleven."
"that's not helping your case."
"i think it is."
you laugh despite yourself and then immediately regret it when his face lights up.
because that's the thing.
every single time he manages to make you laugh, he looks ridiculously pleased with himself. like he's won something. like that's what he was aiming for all along.
you drop another container into the box.
"y’know, most people would've taken the hint by now."
"good thing i'm not most people."
"that's one way to put it."
"so that’s a yes?"
you sigh dramatically. he grins immediately.
"that wasn't a no."
"rafe."
"that wasn't a no." he repeats like a blonde parrot.
you point at him. he points right back.
which is absurdly childish for a grown man, especially one with a six-year-old daughter.
"you're impossible."
"i've heard that."
"a lot, i bet?"
"mostly from you."
another laugh escapes before you can stop it. his grin widens. and something in your chest does an annoying little thing.
because you've spent weeks telling yourself that he's just charming.
just friendly.
just persistent.
except friendly doesn't remember how you take your coffee after hearing you order it once.
friendly doesn't volunteer for school events they have absolutely no reason to attend.
friendly definitely doesn't spend an entire saturday hauling boxes around just to spend twelve hours talking to you.
you look at him. reaaaaaaaally look at him.
at the hopeful expression he's trying very hard to hide. at the way he's pretending not to care about your answer while very obviously caring. and suddenly the whole thing feels a little ridiculous.
because you're pretty sure you've wanted to say yes for a while now. you were just being stubborn about it.
"...fine."
rafe blinks.
"fine?"
you hate how hopeful he sounds.
"one coffee."
for a second he just stares.
then a grin spreads across his face so wide it almost makes you laugh again.
"seriously?"
"don't make me change my mind."
"i'm not."
a pause.
"i'm thinking about celebrating, though."
you roll your eyes.
"it's coffee, not a marriage proposal."
"feels bigger than coffee."
the words slip out before he can stop them.
and for the first time all day, he actually looks caught off guard by something he's said.
you just shake your head. smiling despite yourself. and judging by the look on his face, that smile might've been worth more than the yes.
WARNINGS: toxic relationship dynamics , emotional dependency / codependency alcoholism / , heavy drinking self-destructive behavior , physical violence / fighting bruises / blood / injuries verbal fighting / screaming matches abandonment issues panic / anxiety themes , possessiveness / jealousy , unhealthy coping mechanisms emotionally manipulative behavior , intense angst , fear of becoming abusive like a parent parental , emotional abuse , / neglect (ward) implied depression self-loathing / low self-worth obsessive love themes , crying / emotional breakdowns , unstable mental state themes , military enlistment against emotional wishes / coercive family pressure
PAIRINGS: childhoodbsf!rafe x sweetheart!reader ➜ frat!rafe x sweetheart!reader (military!rafe in the next part...)
SUMMARY: as rafe slowly unravels under the weight of love, anger, addiction, and abandonment, reader becomes the only person who remembers who he was before he learned how to turn pain into cruelty.
after that night, they started orbiting each other again in the worst possible way. not together, never together. just constantly close enough to hurt.
she saw him everywhere after that. on campus lawns surrounded by frat boys yelling over football games, outside bars at two in the morning with some gorgeous girl hanging off his arm, in lecture halls wearing hoodies and sunglasses like he hadn’t slept. and every single time, rafe looked at her like she’d interrupted his breathing.
it was unbearable because no matter who he became around everybody else: cocky, drunk, reckless, mean — there was always that split second where he looked at her exactly the same way he did at eight years old like finding her calmed something inside him.
and then immediately afterward, he’d ruin it.
“you dating him?”
she looked up from her drink. rafe stood across the kitchen watching her too closely.
she frowned. “what?”
“that guy.” his jaw tightened slightly. “the one touching your back all night.” there it was. that possessiveness. older now and yet uglier. the kind frat boys disguised as confidence.
“why do you care?”
“just asking.”
“you don’t get to ask.”
“why not?”
she stared at him in disbelief. “because you disappeared.”
the room felt quieter suddenly even with music blasting downstairs. rafe looked away first which honestly scared her more than if he’d argued. he laughed once under his breath. empty. “yeah,” he muttered. “there it is.”
“there what is?”
“the part where you realize i’m exactly the asshole you thought i became.”
her chest tightened painfully. because the worst part was he kept saying things like he wanted her to disagree, like every cruel thing out of his mouth was secretly a test she kept failing.
another time, she found him outside a party at three in the morning bleeding from the mouth. again. he sat alone on the curb while everybody else inside screamed lyrics to music through open windows.
his knuckles were split, eyes glassy. she stopped in front of him silently. rafe looked up slowly and smiled. god. that smile. not charming anymore, just wrecked. “hey sweetheart.”
“you’re bleeding.”
“observant.”
“what happened?”
he shrugged. “don’t remember.” lie.
she crouched in front of him anyway. same as always. same stupid instinct. rafe watched her closely while she wiped blood from the corner of his mouth with her sleeve.
his breathing changed instantly. slower like her touching him still did something catastrophic to his nervous system.
“you always come find me,” he said quietly.
she froze because he sounded so young suddenly. not twenty-one. not frat king rafe. just the lonely boy from the dock. she swallowed hard. “you make it hard not to.”
his eyes dropped to her mouth immediately. still. after all these years. still. “that’s cruel,” he whispered.
“what is?”
“taking care of me like this.”
her chest cracked straight down the middle because he looked genuinely in pain. “rafe—”
“seriously.” he laughed weakly. “you gotta stop doing that.”
“doing what?”
“making me think there’s still something good left in me.”
silence. the wind moved softly through nearby trees, bass vibrated through the pavement beneath them. and then quietly — so quietly— he admitted: “i don’t think i survive you loving me halfway.”
she stopped breathing for a second. because suddenly she understood everything. all of it. the disappearing. the cruelty. the girlfriends. the drinking. the distance.
rafe wasn’t trying to stop loving her. he was trying to survive it. and he couldn’t. another timeskip. another version of him, twenty-three and somehow worse.
the call came at four in the morning. unknown number. she almost ignored it. almost. then: “hey.”
her entire body went cold because no matter how many years passed she would always know rafe’s voice. even ruined. she sat upright immediately. “rafe?”
silence crackled through the phone. then a laugh. “still answer for me.”
her stomach twisted violently. he sounded drunk. or exhausted. or both. “where are you?”
“don’t know.”
“rafe.”
another silence. then quietly: “i think i’m becoming somebody really bad.”
the sentence shattered something inside her because he didn’t sound dramatic. he sounded terrified. in the background she could hear waves, a lighter clicking repeatedly, his breathing uneven through the phone.
“talk to me,” she whispered.
he laughed again and she hated the sound instantly. it sounded like somebody giving up. “remember when we were kids?” he asked softly. “and you said there wasn’t anything wrong with me?”
her throat closed. “yeah.”
another pause. then: “think you were wrong.”
tears burned instantly behind her eyes. “don’t say that.”
“why?” his voice cracked suddenly. “it’s true.” she heard him inhale shakily. “i hurt everybody.” another breath. “i drink too much.” another. “i get angry and i don’t even know why anymore.”
he sounded horrified by himself. small like he was confessing to being born wrong.
“rafe—”
“and the fucked up part?” he whispered. “every time something bad happens, i still wanna call you first.”
she physically pressed a hand over her mouth because somewhere between fourteen and twenty-three, loving rafe cameron had stopped feeling romantic.
it felt biblical. like being doomed by god personally.
she found him an hour later. of course she did because rafe could call anybody when he was falling apart. but he called her. always her. the beach was almost empty at five in the morning.
she spotted his truck first, parked crooked near the dunes with one headlight still on. then him sitting in the sand alone. for a second, she just stood there looking at him.
and god time had happened to rafe cruelly. he was beautiful in the way ruined buildings were beautiful. all sharp edges and visible damage. his shoulders looked broader now, heavy beneath a gray hoodie soaked dark at the sleeves from seawater. tattoos crawled down his forearms in black ink she didn’t recognize. his hair had gotten longer again, falling messily over eyes shadowed deep with exhaustion.
he looked older than twenty-three. not physically but in the soul like life had been dragging him behind it for years.#
she started walking toward him slowly. rafe heard her immediately. always did. his head lifted slightly, eyes finding her through the dark with terrifying precision. and suddenly he looked scared.
not surprised she came. he’d known she would. scared because she actually had. “hey,” he said quietly. his voice sounded shredded.
she stopped a few feet away. up close, she noticed bruising along his jaw. split skin across his knuckles again. the faint smell of whiskey soaked into his clothes.
he looked like somebody had tried to kill him. or like he’d tried to kill himself slowly.
“what happened?”
rafe stared back out at the ocean. “got into a fight.”
“with who?”
a shrug. “don’t remember.”
lie. always the lies except now they sounded tired instead of defensive. she sat beside him carefully, leaving space between them. rafe noticed that too. his jaw flexed once. “you don’t gotta sit so far away,” he muttered.
“you’re bleeding.”
“yeah.”
“and drunk.”
another shrug. she swallowed hard before looking at him fully. “you scared me.”
that finally got his attention.
rafe turned toward her slowly, the devastation on his face loud and fucking clear. “i know,” he whispered.
the wind pushed through them violently. somewhere nearby, waves collapsed against the shore with enough force to sound angry. rafe rubbed both hands over his face roughly before laughing under his breath. “god, you should hear myself lately.”
she frowned slightly. “what?”
“every time something goes wrong, i think about calling you.” his eyes stayed fixed on the water. “every good thing too.”
her chest tightened painfully. “rafe —”
“it’s pathetic.”
“it’s not.”
“it is when i’m still doing it after all these years.” his voice had gone rough again. frayed at the edges like every sentence hurt to say aloud. she looked down at his hands. blood dried across his knuckles. small scars littering his skin now.
there had always been anger inside rafe. but this looked like anger turned inward like he’d started losing fights against himself. quietly, she asked: “are you okay?”#
rafe laughed instantly. not because it was funny because it wasn’t.
because maybe nobody had asked him that sincerely in years.
“you know,” he said softly, “i used to think if i got enough people around me, i’d stop feeling lonely.”
his eyes flicked toward the distant lights from campus parties still glowing miles away.
“turns out you can stand in the middle of a hundred people and still feel like you’re rotting.”
the words settled heavily between them. she didn’t know what to say anymore because this wasn’t the same boy she used to patch up after schoolyard fights.
this was somebody unraveling in real time. he knew it. rafe leaned forward suddenly, elbows braced against his knees. “do you ever wonder if some people are just…” he swallowed hard. “…made wrong?”
her throat tightened instantly because he sounded exactly like nine years old again. sitting beneath that oak tree. asking if something was wrong with him. all these years later and he was still asking the same question. just in different words.
“no,” she whispered immediately.
rafe smiled faintly. sadly. like she was saying something sweet to a dying person. “you always answer too fast.”
“because i know you.”
that hit him harder than expected. she watched it happen, his entire expression tightening painfully before he looked away. “that’s the problem,” he admitted quietly.
“what is?”
his voice nearly disappeared beneath the ocean. “you know me.” he looked at her fully. and she almost wished he hadn’t. because no one had ever looked at her the way rafe did when he was hurting. like he was starving. like she was home. like he hated himself for needing her this much. “you know every bad thing about me,” he whispered, “and i still can’t stop wanting you to stay.”
the tears hit her instantly. his face twisted the second he saw them. “shit,” he breathed. “don’t cry.”
she wiped at her eyes angrily. “i’m not.”
“you are.”
“well whose fault is that?”
that made him flinch. actually flinch. and suddenly she realized something horrifying: nobody hurt rafe more effectively than she did. because nobody else’s opinion still mattered this much.
rafe looked down at his bloody hands again. voice hollow now. “i think i’ve spent my whole life becoming somebody impossible to love.”
the sunrise finally started breaking across the water then, cold gold spilling over his face. and for one devastating second, she saw every version of him layered together: the eight-year-old with crooked bandaids. the fourteen-year-old kissing her like he was terrified of it.# the frat boy bleeding outside parties. the man sitting beside her now looking like he hadn’t slept peacefully in years.
all the same person. all still looking at her like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to earth.
“you know what i think about a lot?” his voice came suddenly, quiet enough that she almost missed it beneath the waves.
she swallowed. “what?”
rafe rubbed his thumb against split knuckles absently then laughed once under his breath. “that night in my room.”
her entire body went still instantly. of course he remembered. she should’ve known. rafe remembered everything about her. “rafe…”
“i mean, seriously.” he shook his head slightly. “that was almost ten years ago and i still think about it like it happened yesterday.”
she couldn’t breathe correctly anymore. the ocean suddenly sounded too loud. “you said it was a mistake,” she whispered.
that got him to look at her immediately. and god — the regret on his face nearly killed her. “yeah,” he said softly. “worst mistake i ever made.”
her chest cracked open all over again.
rafe looked exhausted suddenly like carrying this around had worn him down for years. “i was fourteen and already ruining everything i touched,” he muttered. “you really think i was gonna let myself have you too?”
“that wasn’t your decision to make.”
“yeah?” his eyes searched hers desperately now. “and if i fucked it up?”
“you did anyway.”
silence. pure silence. because they both knew she was right. rafe inhaled shakily before dropping his head back toward the sky. “i used to replay it constantly,” he admitted quietly. “that kiss.”
her heartbeat stumbled violently. “why?”
a hollow laugh escaped him. “because it was the first time in my life something felt good and scared the shit outta me equally.”
the wind curled through them softly.
she looked at him carefully. at the exhaustion carved into his face. the bruises. the years. “i kissed you back,” she whispered.
rafe’s eyes shut immediately like hearing it out loud physically hurt him. “don’t say things like that.” his voice sounded wrecked.
she stared at him in disbelief.
“you brought it up.”
“yeah, well.” he laughed bitterly. “i also drove drunk here tonight. i’m clearly making bad choices.”
“rafe.”
“what?”
“look at me.”
he didn’t. which terrified her more than if he had. rafe had never been afraid of confrontation. but vulnerability? that was the thing that made him run.
slowly, she reached toward him. her fingers brushed his wrist lightly. and his entire body reacted. she felt it immediately the sharp inhale, the tension locking through his shoulders, his pulse jumping violently beneath her fingertips. like even now, after years apart, her touching him still undid him instantly.
rafe finally looked at her then and the expression on his face was almost unbearable. wanting, grief, hunger, fear. all at once. “you gotta stop doing that,” he whispered.
except he didn’t pull away. her voice came out smaller now. “doing what?”
“touching me like you still…” he swallowed harshly. “…like you still could.”
the space between them tightened dangerously. she could feel it happening again. that same pull from fourteen. that same awful gravity.
rafe’s eyes dropped to her mouth slowly. instinctively like they always did. his voice lowered. rough. “you know what really fucked me up?”
she barely breathed. “what?”
“nobody’s ever felt like you.”
the words shattered through her completely. she knew he meant them. every reckless girl. every frat party. every relationship. none of it mattered. not really. rafe looked at her like she was still the first thing he’d ever loved.
and maybe the last. her hand was still around his wrist. his heartbeat felt violent now. then slowly rafe lifted his hand toward her face. hesitating right before touching her. like he still thought she might disappear.
his knuckles brushed her cheek softly and she saw it happen. the exact moment he lost the fight against himself. his breathing unsteady, eyes half-lidded, mouth parting slightly as he leaned closer without realizing.
the air between them felt electric. dangerous. she could smell saltwater and whiskey and him. their foreheads almost touched. one more inch.
that was all it would take.
rafe stopped. completely. his eyes shut hard like he was in physical pain. “i can’t,” he whispered. the words sounded devastated.
she felt her heart drop instantly. “why?”
rafe laughed shakily under his breath and when he opened his eyes again, she saw something awful there: certainty. “because if i kiss you again,” he said quietly, “i’m never gonna survive losing you twice.”
the next morning felt unreal like neither of them had actually sat on the beach before sunrise almost kissing each other into oblivion.
campus moved normally around her anyway. people laughed. professors talked. some guy skateboarded past blasting music too loud. and somewhere between walking to class and pretending to listen to lectures, she started convincing herself maybe she imagined all of it.
maybe rafe only got emotional when he was drunk and bleeding and lonely. maybe daylight would turn him cruel again.
she got her answer around noon. she spotted him across the quad and immediately wished she hadn’t.
rafe sat sprawled against the fountain with a girl in his lap. blonde, tiny skirt, laughing too loudly at something he said. his sunglasses hid his eyes, but she knew it was him instantly anyway.
people gathered around him naturally. 8drawn in. rafe thrived in daylight differently than he did in darkness. at night he unraveled. during the day he performed and he was performing now.
loud grin. lazy posture. arm wrapped around the girl’s waist possessively like the boy from the beach didn’t exist.
her stomach twisted painfully. she should’ve walked away immediately. instead she froze. and somehow — somehow —rafe sensed her looking.
his head turned automatically. their eyes met across the quad. everything changed. the grin faded slightly, his posture stiffened and that familiar intensity snapped into place.
for one horrible second, she thought he might actually get up and come after her. instead the girl grabbed his face and kissed him.
and rafe kissed her back.
immediately. hard.
like he had something to prove. the worst part? he kept looking directly at her while doing it.
her chest caved inward. because suddenly she understood exactly what this was. punishment. for wanting him, for almost kissing him again, for making him feel weak enough to need her.
and maybe punishment for himself too. she looked away first then walked fast. before he could see the tears already burning behind her eyes. she made it exactly to the side path near the library before hearing footsteps behind her.
heavy. fast. “hey.” she didn’t stop walking. “seriously?”
still walking. a hand wrapped around her wrist. gentle enough not to hurt. firm enough she couldn’t ignore it. rafe turned her toward him immediately. his breathing was uneven, eyes furious. “what’s your problem?”
she stared at him in disbelief. “my problem?”
“yeah.”
a humorless laugh escaped her. “you are unbelievable.”
“what the fuck does that mean?”
“you kissed that girl while staring at me.”
his jaw tightened instantly. caught. “so?”
something inside her broke a little. “god, you really are cruel now.”
“don’t.”
“don’t what? tell the truth?”
“you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“then explain it to me, rafe.”
his breathing sharpened. students moved around them obliviously while tension pulled tighter and tighter between their bodies.
“explain why you spent all night acting like you still loved me and then did that five hours later.”
silence. rafe looked furious suddenly. not at her. at himself. which honestly made it worse. “i don’t know how to do this,” he admitted harshly.
“do what?”
“you.”
the word came out wrecked. desperate. she felt tears sting instantly. “that’s not fair.”
“nothing about us is fair.” his voice cracked slightly and suddenly she was exhausted. so exhausted.
“you know what the worst part is?” she whispered. “i still would've chosen you.” she watched it happen in real time. his entire face collapsing for one split second before he grabbed her suddenly.
and kissed her.
hard. desperate. nothing like fourteen.# this kiss carried years inside it. years of missing each other, wanting each other, punishing themselves for it.
rafe kissed like a drowning man.
one hand tangled in her hair while the other gripped her waist tightly enough to shake. his mouth moved against hers almost angrily at first — all frustration and grief and hunger he’d buried too long.
then suddenly — soft. devastatingly soft like he remembered exactly who she was. she made a small broken sound against his mouth and rafe nearly lost it completely.
she felt it. the way he melted for her instantly, the way his breathing staggered and the way he kissed her deeper like he’d been starving for years. and maybe he had.
because rafe always loved like deprivation. like if he couldn’t consume something entirely, he’d die wanting it.
she started crying. actually crying. right there against his mouth.
rafe pulled back immediately. “shit.” his entire face changed. panic replacing everything else instantly. “hey — hey, no, baby —”
the nickname slipped out accidentally. tears blurred her vision as she shoved at his chest weakly. “don’t kiss me like that after kissing somebody else.” the horror on his face was immediate because suddenly he understood. all of it. she wiped angrily at her cheeks. “i can’t tell if you’re kissing me because you love me or because you can’t stand the thought of anybody else having me.”
“both,” rafe said instantly.
too instantly. his own answer seemed to wreck him too. she laughed through tears, heartbroken. “that’s the problem.”
rafe looked like somebody had ripped his ribs open barehanded. “i don’t know where the obsession ends and the love starts anymore.”
he looked wrecked after he said it. people always thought rafe’s cruelty was the sharpest thing about him.
it wasn’t. it was this. the moments where he dropped the performance entirely and let somebody see how profoundly wrong he thought he was inside.
she stepped back from him slowly, tears still burning down her face. students passed around them without paying attention, backpacks slung over shoulders, conversations blending into meaningless noise.
the world kept moving. hers didn’t.
rafe’s chest rose unevenly. “say something.”
she shook her head immediately. because what could she possibly say to that? i love you too? you’re destroying me? i’d still let you ruin my life if you asked nicely enough?
instead she whispered: “you need help.”
the second the words left her mouth, she regretted them. not because they weren’t true but because of the look on his face afterward. rafe went completely still, all emotion wiped clean instantly.
god. she knew that look. it was the same expression he wore at fourteen when she called him mean. the same one he wore as a child whenever somebody confirmed the worst thing he believed about himself.
his voice went flat. “okay.”
“rafe, that’s not—”
“nah, it’s okay.” he laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. “should’ve figured eventually you’d see it too.”
her chest tightened painfully. “see what?”
his eyes met hers then. cold on the surface but bleeding underneath. “that there’s something seriously fucked up about me.”
“i never said that.”
“didn’t have to.”
she reached for him instinctively and rafe stepped back. that hurt more than it should have because despite everything rafe always came toward her. always.
until now.
“don’t leave.”
the sentence shattered something inside her because suddenly he didn’t look twenty-three anymore.
he looked young. terrified. like every version of rafe existed at once inside the same body. the abandoned child. the angry teenager. the reckless frat boy. all of them expecting to be left eventually. she swallowed hard. “i’m trying not to.”
“yeah?” his eyes dropped briefly to her mouth again before dragging themselves away. “well i’m making it pretty impossible, huh?”
silence. the wind pushed through the trees above them softly. rafe rubbed a hand over his face roughly, jaw tight enough to ache. “i shouldn’t’ve kissed you.”
her stomach twisted. “don’t say that.”
“why not? it’s true.”
“no,” she whispered. “it’s not.”
that got him really got him.
she watched the impact physically hit his body. his shoulders tightening, breathing faltering slightly because for all his self-destruction, rafe still reacted to tenderness like starvation.
“you know what the worst part is?” she asked quietly.
his eyes stayed fixed on her. “what?”
“i think i would’ve waited for you forever.”
“don’t say shit like that to me,” he whispered.
“it’s true.”
“yeah, well.” his voice broke slightly. “that makes one of us.”
she frowned. “what’s that supposed to mean?”
rafe looked away toward the quad. toward students laughing in groups.
toward normal people living normal lives. then quietly: “i think i’ve spent years hoping you’d stop loving me.”
somehow that hurt worse than hearing he loved her back. he laughed bitterly under his breath.
“every time i saw you after we stopped talking, i kept thinking: this’ll be the time she finally looks at me and feels nothing.” another hollow laugh. “never happened.”
the tears came back instantly. rafe noticed. “fuck,” he breathed softly.
he looked tortured by it now like her crying physically injured him. which maybe it did. “c’mere.”
the words slipped out instinctively. gentler this time: not demanding but pleading. she should’ve walked away. she knew she should. instead she let him pull her toward him slowly and the second she was close enough, rafe folded around her like collapse.
his arms wrapped around her carefully at first then tighter, tighter like he was afraid she might disappear if he loosened his grip. she felt his face press against her hair. his breathing uneven near her temple.
she realized rafe was shaking. barely noticeable.
still there.
“i’m trying so hard,” he whispered against her softly.
the words nearly killed her because nobody else would understand what a confession that was coming from him.
rafe never admitted weakness. ever. but she could feel it now in the way he held her.
all that anger and ego and recklessness stripped away until he was just— tired.
“of what?” she whispered back.
his arms tightened painfully. “not becoming my father.”
she forgot how easy it was to fall back into him. that was the dangerous thing.
not the fights, not the jealousy, not even the heartbreak. it was how natural rafe still felt after everything like her body remembered him before her brain could argue.
after that, things blurred. not officially together. god, no. that would’ve required honesty, stability and trust. things neither of them knew how to hold properly around each other anymore.
instead they slipped into something quieter. more intimate and more damaging.
rafe started showing up at her apartment randomly.
sometimes at midnight, sometimes at four in the morning and always looking exhausted. he’d climb through her window like he used to as a teenager, except now he filled the space differently — broader shoulders ducking beneath the frame, tattoos disappearing beneath rolled sleeves, expensive watches glinting under dim bedroom light.
older. harder but every single time he saw her, that same look crossed his face relief. pure devastating relief like he’d been holding his breath all day.
one night she found him sitting on her kitchen counter drinking straight from the orange juice carton. “that’s disgusting.”
rafe looked over lazily. “good morning to you too.”
“it’s three a.m.”
“exactly. morning.”
she rolled her eyes before moving between his knees to grab the carton from him. rafe went still instantly. because she was close now. really close.
his hands settled automatically against her waist without thinking.. she felt his eyes on her immediately. always intense and always too much. “you’re staring again,” she muttered.
“can you blame me?”
“yes.”
“mean.” his voice had softened, that happened around her sometimes like pieces of the old rafe still surfaced accidentally.
“you’ve gotta stop fighting people.”
“they should stop pissing me off.”
“rafe.”
he sighed dramatically. “baby, violence is basically my love language.”
the nickname didn’t even shock her anymore. that probably should’ve concerned her. she shook her head before stepping away from him. rafe’s hands lingered against her waist for half a second too long before falling.
he watched her move around the kitchen quietly. something unreadable settling over his face.
“what?” she asked eventually.
he looked away immediately. “nothing.”
liar. always a liar but tired now. less defensive than before like he was slowly running out of energy to keep parts of himself hidden from her.
another night rain hammered violently against her windows while rafe lay beside her on the couch half-asleep which honestly felt miraculous. rafe never slept deeply around people. even relaxed, there was tension built into him like his body forgot how to feel safe years ago.
she sat tucked against his side reading while some terrible movie played quietly in the background. and for once he looked peaceful. his head rested against the back of the couch, eyes closed, one arm heavy across her waist instinctively.
beautiful.
that was the problem. rafe had always been beautiful enough to make people overlook the damage. then quietly, without opening his eyes: “you still awake?”
“mhm.”
silence. then: “you remember when we were kids and i tried to build that raft?”
she snorted immediately. “you almost drowned.”
“in my defense, i was an innovator.”
“you tied pool noodles to plywood.”
“exactly.”
she laughed softly and rafe smiled faintly without opening his eyes. god. that smile nearly ruined her every time because it reminded her too much of before.
before frat parties, before bloodied knuckles. before he started speaking about himself like he was already gone. his fingers brushed absentmindedly against her hip. “think that was the last time i remember being happy.”
the confession came so casually it almost slipped past her. “rafe…”
“what?”
“don’t say stuff like that.”
his eyes finally opened slowly. blue and tired beneath dim lamp light. “why?”
“because it’s sad.”
“yeah.”
she closed her book carefully. “you’re happy sometimes now.”
he just looked at her. that was it. just looked at her. and somehow that answer felt worse than if he’d said no because suddenly she realized: she might actually be the only thing left in his life that still made him soft.
the only thing not poisoned yet. and that kind of love — that kind of dependence — terrified her.
a few weeks later, he disappeared again. not fully. just enough to hurt. his texts got shorter and calls less frequent. something in him pulled away subtly, like tides shifting before storms.
she noticed immediately because of course she did. loving rafe had turned her into an expert at detecting absence.
then one afternoon she showed up at tanneyhill unexpectedly. and froze.
ward stood near the driveway speaking sharply into his phone while rafe leaned against his truck nearby smoking. except rafe wasn’t arguing back. he just stood there expressionless. empty.
defeated. that alone made panic crawl up her spine. because rafe always fought. always. then ward noticed her. his face shifted instantly into polite southern charm. “well hey there.”
she barely answered him. her eyes stayed on rafe. something was wrong. deeply wrong. he wouldn’t meet her gaze. “rafe?” she asked quietly.
his jaw flexed once and hard.
ward smiled too easily beside him. “your boy’s gonna be leaving us for a while.”
her stomach dropped immediately. leaving? she frowned slightly. “what?”
rafe finally looked at her then. ward clapped a hand against his son’s shoulder firmly. too firmly. “figured it was time he learned some discipline.” he laughed lightly. “military’ll straighten him out.”
the world went silent and suddenly she understood why rafe looked like somebody standing at his own funeral.
“what?”
the word barely came out and yet ward kept talking anyway. something about structure and responsibility. direction.
she couldn’t hear him anymore because rafe still hadn’t looked away from her and there was something horrifying in his expression like this had already happened to him long before she found out.
“you enlisted?” she whispered.
rafe’s jaw tightened. ward answered for him. “best thing for him.”
the way he said it made her stomach turn like rafe was a problem to solve. a dog too violent to keep in the house. she looked back at rafe immediately. waiting for him to laugh.
to say ward was exaggerating. to tell her he wasn’t actually leaving. instead he just looked tired.
so unbelievably tired.
“can we talk?” she asked softly.
ward checked his watch dramatically before nodding. “don’t take too long.”
rafe flicked ash onto the driveway before speaking first. “you should yell at me now.”
her chest hurt. “why would i yell at you?”
he laughed quietly because they both knew why. because disappearing was easier for him than honesty and because he’d been pulling away for weeks and now she finally understood why.
“when were you gonna tell me?” she asked.
rafe looked away toward the trees lining the driveway. “wasn’t.”
“why?” another shrug. god. she wanted to shake him. “rafe.”
his expression hardened slightly, defensive now. “what do you want me to say?”
“the truth.”
that made him smile. small. humorless. “you really picked the wrong person for that.”
“stop doing that.”
“doing what?”
“acting like none of this matters.”
something flashed across his face instantly. “you think this doesn’t matter to me?”
“i think you’re pretending it doesn’t.”
his breathing changed. “because if i don’t pretend, then what? you know what everybody keeps saying?” he asked quietly. “that this is good for me.”
his laugh cracked slightly. “like i’m so fucked up they gotta send me away to fix me.”
“rafe—”
“my own father looked at me and decided i needed military school before i ruined my whole life.”
the words sounded poisoned like he’d swallowed them too many times already. she stepped closer instinctively. “that’s not true.”
“isn’t it?” his eyes searched hers desperately now. almost violently. “look at me.”
she saw all of it at once: the way he carried loneliness like a second skeleton beneath his skin. but she also saw him. the little boy who built rafts out of garbage.the teenager who kissed her like he was terrified of loving her. the man who still crawled through her window at three a.m. because sleep only came easier beside her.
“i am looking at you,” she whispered.
rafe’s face twisted painfully because somehow that hurt him more. “yeah,” he muttered. “that’s what scares me.”
the wind moved softly through the trees around them and everything suddenly felt too quiet. too final. “when do you leave?” she asked.
“three weeks.”
her heart stopped.
three weeks. that was nothing. that was no time at all. rafe watched the realization hit her face and immediately looked away. coward. he always looked away when he caused pain he couldn’t fix. “say something,” he muttered.
she laughed once in disbelief. “what exactly do you want me to say, rafe?”
his voice dropped lower. rougher. “anything.”
the desperation in that one word nearly broke her because suddenly he didn’t look like frat rafe anymore.
he looked young. too young like somebody pretending not to panic. she swallowed hard. “are you scared?”
“yeah.”
she’d never heard him admit that before. not clearly. not directly. rafe looked down at his hands. scarred knuckles with shaking fingers. “i don’t know who i am without…” he stopped himself.
“without what?”
his eyes lifted back to hers slowly and there it was again. that awful devastating honesty he only ever gave her. “without you.”
the tears came instantly. rafe cursed under his breath the second he saw them. “fuck, don’t do that.”
“then stop saying heartbreaking things!”
his expression cracked completely then. all the composure gone. “you think i wanna leave?” he snapped suddenly. “you think i wanna go somewhere they shave my head and scream at me until i turn into somebody else?”
“then don’t go!”
the second she said it, silence hit because they both knew it wasn’t that simple. ward had decided. money had decided.
years of disappointment had decided.
and rafe had never learned how to believe he deserved saving enough to fight for himself properly. his voice came out exhausted now. “baby, i don’t think i know how to stay.”
“stop saying that like it’s romantic!”
the words exploded out louder than intended. rafe flinched slightly. not because she yelled, he'd grown up with that all his life. no, because she was right.
“i’m serious,” she said, tears burning hot down her face now. “you keep acting like destroying yourself is inevitable and everybody’s just supposed to stand around watching it happen.”
“you think i want this?”
“i think you stopped fighting!” she saw it instantly in the way his entire body went rigid.
“y/n,” he warned quietly.
“no, seriously, rafe—what the hell happened to you?”
his eyes flashed dangerously. “what’s that supposed to mean?”
“you used to care!”
“i still care.”
“about what? getting drunk? punching people? seeing how far you can ruin your own life before somebody gives up on you?”
“fuck you.”
the words came fast. violent. but underneath them — pain. she could hear it. “see?” she laughed brokenly. “that’s exactly what i mean!”
rafe started pacing suddenly, hands dragging through his hair aggressively. “you think this is easy for me?”
“i think you make everything impossible!”
“because everything is impossible!”
his voice cracked across the driveway loud enough to echo. rafe breathing hard. eyes wild. and god — he looked so much like ward when he got angry it terrified her. maybe it terrified him too because immediately afterward, shame flooded his face.
“shit,” he muttered.
but she couldn’t stop now.
years of grief and anger and loving him too much came spilling out all at once.
“do you know what it’s like watching you become somebody i barely recognize?”
that wrecked him instantly. she saw it. right there.
his expression collapsing before hardening again defensively. “yeah?” he snapped. “try being me.”
silence. dead silence. because suddenly she realized something awful: rafe genuinely believed nobody suffered more from him than he did himself. he laughed bitterly under his breath. “you think i don’t know i’m fucked up?”
his voice shook now. anger barely holding grief together. “you think i don’t wake up every day feeling like there’s something wrong with me?”
her chest tightened painfully. “rafe—”
“my dad looks at me like i’m a fucking disappointment every time i walk into a room.” another step closer. “people love me until they actually know me.” another. “and you—”
his voice broke. actually broke. “you look at me like you still remember who i was before all this.”
tears blurred her vision instantly. “because i do.”
wrong answer. she knew it immediately. rafe’s face twisted like she’d stabbed him. “that’s the problem!” he shouted suddenly. “you keep loving this version of me that doesn’t fucking exist anymore!”
“that’s not true!”
“it is!”
his breathing turned uneven. rage and heartbreak tangling together so violently he looked seconds from unraveling completely. “you wanna know why i’m leaving?” he asked harshly. “because maybe everybody else is right.”
her stomach dropped. “what?”
“maybe i need fixing.”
the sentence came out hollow like he hated himself for believing it.
“don’t say that.”
“why not? look at me!”
he gestured wildly toward himself now. the bruises. the scars. the exhaustion bleeding from every inch of him. “all i do is hurt people!”
“that’s not all you do.”
“yes it is!”
his voice cracked so hard it nearly sounded like a sob underneath. and suddenly she realized rafe wasn’t yelling because he was angry. he was terrified. terrified she was finally seeing him the way he saw himself.
“you know what the sickest part is?” he laughed shakily. “i still want you to ask me to stay.”
“then stay.”
rafe froze. the world seemed to stop breathing around them. his eyes locked onto hers immediately. hope flashing across his face so suddenly and vulnerably it nearly killed her.
then — gone. just like always. he shook his head slowly. “you don’t understand.”
“then explain it to me!”
“i can’t!”
“why?”
because i’m scared. because i’m angry all the time. because if you love me long enough you’ll realize everybody else was right. instead he whispered: “because if i stay, i’ll keep needing you.”
the confession landed between them like a gunshot and rafe looked horrified after saying it out loud. like dependence on her was the one weakness he could never survive admitting.
her voice came out shaking. “is that really so bad?”
WARNINGS: emotional manipulation , toxic relationship dynamics , childhood trauma parental emotional abuse/neglect , alcohol/drug use , violence/fighting , possessiveness/jealousy , self-destructive behavior, abandonment issues , anxiety/panic responses , unhealthy attachment/codependency , degradation of mental health over time eventual dark themes depending on later eras , would estimate as a 10k+ word count
PAIRINGS: childhoodbsf!rafe x sweetheart!reader ➜ frat!rafe x sweetheart!reader
SUMMARY: as rafe slowly unravels under the weight of love, anger, addiction, and abandonment, reader becomes the only person who remembers who he was before he learned how to turn pain into cruelty.
the thing about figure eight was that everybody already knew who you were before you got the chance to become it.
the pogues grew up barefoot and loud, saltwater drying on their skin beneath the sun. the kooks grew up behind gates and golf carts and houses so big they echoed when nobody was talking.
and the camerons were the richest people on the island. which meant they were also the loneliest.
ward cameron owned half the coastline, or at least acted like he did. people lowered their voices around him at country clubs and charity dinners. adults smiled too hard when he shook their hands. every magazine spread about wealthy families in the obx somehow circled back to the camerons eventually — their boat, their house, their perfect christmas photos where nobody looked directly at the camera for too long.
from the outside, they looked untouchable. inside the house, it was quieter than a church especially after their mother left. nobody talked about that part: not openly, if you were in your right mind.
not in the way kids are supposed to ask questions when something disappears.
sarah adapted first. she smiled easier, learned how to make herself lovable in ways people understood. wheezie became invisible whenever possible. and rafe became loud. not all at once.
at eight years old, it existed in flashes. slammed doors. quick tempers. the way his jaw locked whenever ward spoke too sharply but before he became difficult, before people started describing him with words like troubled or angry or unstable, he was just a little boy who hated being alone.
which was how she ended up in his life.
her mother worked events sometimes. catering mostly. planning if people paid enough.
summer parties on yachts. fundraisers. country club dinners where rich women wore linen and diamonds at the same time which meant, occasionally, she got dragged along.
she remembered the first time she saw tanneyhill like something out of a dream. white columns, massive windows, golf carts lined in the driveway. the smell of ocean air curling through expensive perfume.
she’d been seven, sitting in the kitchen with a cup of sprite somebody handed her while adults rushed around carrying trays.
“don’t wander,” her mom warned. “and don’t touch anything.”
she lasted maybe twelve minutes.
the camerons’ house was too big not to explore. hallways stretching forever, framed paintings staring down at her, polished floors she nearly slipped across in sandals.
and somewhere upstairs, somebody was yelling. not screaming, just enough to make her stop walking. a man’s voice first, sharp.
then another crash. she should’ve turned around. instead, she kept going. the upstairs hallway was colder somehow, air conditioning biting against sunburnt skin. one of the bedroom doors sat halfway open, and through the crack she saw a blond boy shoving clothes angrily into a closet.
he couldn’t have been much older than her. maybe eight and yet he noticed her immediately with the awareness of an adult, blue eyes snapping toward the doorway. “who’re you?”
she froze. “nobody.”
“then why’re you in my house?” his tone wasn’t mean exactly. defensive, maybe. like a dog growling before deciding whether to bite.
she should’ve left. instead she pointed behind him. “your lamp’s broken.”
the ceramic lamp beside his bed lay shattered across the floor. the boy looked at it for a second before shrugging. “yeah.”
“are you gonna get in trouble?”
“already did.” he said it casually. too casually for a kid. then he squinted at her. “you’re not a kook.”
she frowned. “what’s that supposed to mean?”
“means your shoes are dirty.”
“your attitude’s dirty.”
for one horrible second, she thought he might actually get mad. instead, his mouth twitched. just a little, the beginning of a smile. “what’s your name?”
she told him. he nodded once. “i’m rafe.” like she should already know that. truthfully, everybody on figure eight probably did. there was another silence after that. awkward in the way only children could make things awkward — too honest to fake politeness yet. then, downstairs, somebody shouted: “rafe!”
his entire expression changed instantly. shoulders stiffening, mouth flattening, something shuttering behind his eyes so fast it almost didn’t look real. “you should go,” he muttered.
she hesitated. “okay.” she turned toward the hallway.
“wait.” when she looked back, rafe was digging through his desk drawer. he pulled out a handful of candy — probably stolen from downstairs — and walked over before dumping it into her hands.
a peace offering or maybe a bribe for silence. “don’t tell anybody you saw me.”
she blinked. “why?”
another yell from downstairs. louder this time. rafe looked toward the door and for the first time, she realized he looked scared. not of getting caught with candy. not of breaking the lamp but of whoever was downstairs. “just don’t, okay?”
she nodded slowly. “okay.”
that was the beginning of it. not dramatic, not fate and certainly not love at first sight. just two lonely kids inside a house too big for either of them.
after that, rafe started appearing everywhere. not in a creepy way but more like a stray cat deciding somebody belonged to him.
the next time her mother worked at tanneyhill, she found him waiting near the driveway with scraped knees and a tennis racket dragging behind him. “you came back.”
she frowned. “i don’t really choose that.”
“still counts.” he said things confidently even when they didn’t make sense. before she could answer, he grabbed her wrist and started pulling her toward the backyard. “c’mon.”
“where?”
“you ask too many questions.”
“you’re rude.”
“yeah, well.”
he didn’t finish the sentence. she noticed he did that a lot. started thoughts and abandoned them halfway through like he didn’t know what to do with them once they became real.
the backyard looked like a resort.
pool glittering bright blue beneath the sun. huge stone patio, private dock stretching into the marsh. she slowed near the edge of the pool. “are we allowed out here?”
“it’s my house.”
“that doesn’t answer the question.”
rafe snorted. “you sound eighty years old.” that made no sense, and before she could ask, he dropped onto one of the lounge chairs dramatically, legs hanging off the side because he was still too small for it.
“my sisters are inside doing dumb rich people stuff.”
“what’s dumb rich people stuff?”
“sarah’s making wheezie play wedding with her again.”
“that sounds normal.”
“they made me be the dog last time.”
she stared at him. “the dog?”
“exactly.”
she laughed before she could stop herself. a real laugh, loud enough that rafe blinked at her for a second like he hadn’t expected it then he grinned too and suddenly he didn’t look like the angry boy from upstairs anymore.
he looked eight. just eight. sunlight in his hair. freckles across his nose. swimsuit half untied at his hips because apparently rich kids never wore clothes correctly.
“you wanna see something cool?” he asked.
before she could answer, he stood up on the lounge chair. “rafe—”
he launched himself into the pool like a missile and water exploded everywhere. she yelped as cold droplets soaked her shirt while rafe surfaced laughing hysterically.
“oh my god!”
“did you see that?!”
“you splashed me!”
“because you were standing too close!”
“because you JUMPED AT ME!”
full-body laughter, messy and uncontained. she realized then that rafe cameron laughed like somebody who didn’t get to very often. he swam toward the edge of the pool, blond hair dripping into his eyes. “c’mon in.”
“i don’t have a swimsuit.”
“so?”
“rafe.”
“what?”
“normal people don’t swim in their clothes.”
“normal people are boring.”
she crossed her arms. “easy for you to say. your dad owns this pool.”
for a second, his smile faded but then he shrugged one shoulder. “he doesn’t really care what i do.”
the words sounded exciting at first like freedom but something about the way he said it made her stomach twist. before she could think too hard about it, rafe reached out suddenly and grabbed her ankle.
she screamed as he yanked. “RAFE —”
she hit the water fully clothed while he cackled loud enough for birds to scatter from nearby trees. when she surfaced sputtering, he was grinning so hard his dimples showed. “you’re the worst person alive.”
“yeah, but now you’re swimming.”
she shoved water at his face. he splashed her back immediately. and somehow that became the rest of the afternoon. swimming until their fingers wrinkled, arguing over nothing. rafe trying to hold his breath underwater long enough to “die dramatically.”
her timing him while sitting at the edge kicking her feet into the water. it felt easy.
which surprised her because most rich kids on figure eight treated people like her strangely — either invisible or temporary but rafe talked to her like they’d known each other forever like it had already been decided.
at one point, they ended up laying on the dock side by side, drying beneath the late afternoon sun.
“you ever think about running away?” rafe asked suddenly.
she turned her head toward him. “what?”
he shrugged, staring up at the sky. “i dunno. somewhere else.”
“why would you wanna leave here?”
“because everybody’s annoying.”
“that’s not a real reason.”
“is too.”
“where would you even go?”
he thought about it seriously. “california.”
“why california?”
“they surf there.”
“people surf here too.”
“yeah, but in california nobody knows your dad.”
that quiet feeling returned again. the weird one. the one that always showed up whenever ward cameron entered a conversation. she glanced toward him carefully. “is your dad mean?”
rafe went still. not visibly, not enough for most people to notice but she did because kids notice things adults think they hide well. his expression flattened toward the sky. “sometimes.”
she waited. eventually, he mumbled: “mostly when i screw stuff up.”
“everybody screws stuff up.”
“not like me.” he said it matter-of-factly like he already believed it completely. before she could answer, he sat up abruptly. “wanna go steal ice cream from the freezer?”
the conversation ended there. that was another thing about rafe. even as a kid, he knew exactly how to run from things before they could catch him.
by the time summer ended, rafe had decided she was his person. he never actually said it like that.
eight-year-old boys didn’t have the language for things that deep yet.
instead, he showed up at her house unannounced with sand all over his feet and demanded she come outside immediately because he “found a dead stingray and it looked cool.”
or he called the landline six times in a row just to ask if she thought sharks could smell fear through boats. or he sat way too close to her during movies and stole food directly off her plate while acting like it was legally his. it happened gradually enough that neither of them noticed it becoming permanent.
until one day everybody else did.
“that cameron boy likes you.” her mother said it casually while folding laundry. she nearly choked on her juice.
“he does not.”
“mmhmm.”
“mom.”
“he called here three times today.”
“because he’s annoying.”
“sweetheart, he asked if you were sick because you didn’t answer.”
she groaned dramatically and buried her face in the couch cushion. secretly, she liked that rafe noticed when she disappeared. most people didn’t.
school started again in september. figure eight elementary mixed kook kids and pogues together just enough for rich parents to pretend they cared about community.
rafe hated school immediately. not because he was bad at it. actually, because he was actually smart. that was the problem. he got bored fast.
he finished worksheets too early and started bothering everybody else afterward. teachers constantly told him to sit still, lower his voice, stop talking back.
he treated authority like a challenge. especially the male teachers and especially when they raised their voices. “rafe cameron, hallway. now.”
their third-grade teacher sounded exhausted already. rafe slumped back dramatically in his chair. “i didn’t even do anything.”
“you threw an eraser at timothy.”
“he was talking.”
“so were you.”
“yeah, but i’m interesting.”
half the class laughed. the teacher pinched the bridge of his nose. “hallway.”
rafe stood slowly, muttering something under his breath before grabbing his notebook. on the way out, he glanced toward her, winked, like getting in trouble was funny.
except she noticed the way his shoulders tightened once the classroom door shut behind him. noticed how he stopped smiling the second adults couldn’t see him anymore.
he came back from lunch with a split lip. small and still fresh enough to shine red. she stared at him across the table. “what happened?”
“nothing.”
“rafe.”
he peeled open his milk carton aggressively. “tripped.”
“you don’t get punched-looking lips from tripping.”
“you don’t know that.”
she narrowed her eyes as he refused to look at her. finally, he muttered: “some fifth grader shoved wheezie.”
her anger disappeared instantly. “oh.”
“so i shoved him back.”
“and?”
“and apparently fifth graders hit hard.” he said it proudly like losing the fight didn’t matter because he’d fought at all.
she studied him quietly. “did you win?”
rafe grinned then, bloody lip and all. “kinda.”
that was the first time she realized rafe would throw himself into a fight even if he knew he couldn’t win it especially for people he loved.
october brought storms to the obx, the kind that rattled windows and turned the ocean mean.
she hated thunder yet rafe found this hilarious. “it’s literally just noise.”
“okay, then you sit outside in it.”
“i would.”
“you absolutely would not.”
“would too.”
another crack of thunder shook the house hard enough to flicker the lights. she jumped violently from where they sat on the living room floor.
rafe burst into laughter. “you looked like a cat.”
“i hate you.”
“no you don’t.” he said it immediately. without thinking and maybe that should’ve scared her a little — how sure he always sounded about her staying — but instead she just rolled her eyes and threw popcorn at his face.
another boom echoed outside. this time closer. her smile slipped and rafe noticed instantly. he always noticed instantly. perks of being someone with a father that a mood he always had to manage.
without saying anything, he scooted closer across the carpet until their shoulders touched. then, quieter: “it’s not gonna hit the house.”
“you don’t know that.”
“yeah i do.”
“how?”
“because if it did, my dad would sue god.”
she laughed despite herself. mission accomplished. rafe leaned back against the couch afterward like he hadn’t intentionally comforted her at all but a few minutes later, during another loud crack of thunder, she fel his hand tap twice against hers on the floor.
still there.still here. safe. even then, rafe loved through contact. small touches. shoved shoulders. knees bumping under tables. messing with the strings of her hoodie while pretending to listen like if he kept physical proof of people nearby, they couldn’t disappear unexpectedly.
sometimes she wondered if that started when his mother left. sometimes she wondered if he even remembered a version of himself before that happened.
that winter, ward cameron forgot to pick rafe up from school. at first, rafe acted like he didn’t care.“he’s probably busy.”
he kicked at the curb while everybody else slowly disappeared into cars and golf carts around them. thirty minutes passed, then forty.
the office secretary kept glancing outside with tight sympathy adults got when they didn’t know what to say. “we can call your house again, honey.”
“don’t.”
too fast, too sharp. she looked surprised. rafe swallowed. “he’ll come.”
except his voice sounded smaller now. eventually her mom arrived instead. “c’mon,” she said gently. “i’ll drive you home.”
rafe immediately shook his head. “m’fine.”
“rafe.”
“i said i’m fine.”
anger flashed across his face so quickly it almost looked painful. not at her. at himself like embarrassment curdling into fury before anybody could pity him. her mother ignored it completely. “okay,” she said lightly. “then i guess i’ll have to eat all the mcdonald’s fries myself.”
silence. rafe blinked. “you got fries?”
“yep.”
another pause. then: “large?”
“obviously.”
he got into the car after that quietly and halfway through the drive, while rain tapped softly against the windows, she noticed him holding the fry carton in his lap like something fragile like nobody had remembered to take care of him all day.
winter on figure eight always made everything feel emptier. the tourists disappeared, the beaches went gray. even tanneyhill looked colder somehow, stripped of summer light and party noise.
and rafe changed during winter. not completely. just enough for her to notice. he got quieter after christmas break started. moodier. sometimes she’d come over and find him sprawled upside down on the couch watching television at full volume, talking a mile a minute like he needed noise filling every corner of the house.
other days, he barely spoke at all. those were the bad days. the house felt different then too. stiffer.
rose smiled too brightly. wheezie stayed upstairs. sarah vanished to friends’ houses whenever possible. and ward became impossible to miss.
he wasn’t loud all the time. that was the strange part. sometimes he was perfectly charming. laughing at dinner, asking questions, resting a hand on rafe’s shoulder like a normal father.
those moments confused her more than the angry ones because rafe would spend the entire time trying to earn them.
sitting straighter, talking faster, watching ward’s reactions like they held the answer key to his entire existence. it made her chest hurt in ways she didn’t understand yet.
one friday afternoon, she found rafe outside near the dock skipping rocks violently across the water.
well. trying to skip rocks. mostly throwing them hard enough to sink immediately.
“those are supposed to bounce.”
“i know that.”
“clearly not.”
“shut up.”
she smiled a little and sat beside him anyway, pulling her knees to her chest against the cold. for a while, neither of them spoke. wind curled across the marsh grass. somewhere far off, a boat engine hummed. rafe picked up another rock. threw it hard. splash.
“you’re bad at this,” she informed him.
“maybe the water’s stupid.”
“yeah. definitely the water.”
another rock. another angry splash. then suddenly: “my dad thinks i’m an idiot.”
the words landed strangely between them. casual tone serious meaning. she looked over slowly while rafe kept staring at the water. “he didn’t say that.”
“did too.”
“when?”
he shrugged. “not exactly.” another rock. “but he thinks it.” kids weren’t supposed to sound that certain about things like that.
she frowned. “you’re not an idiot.”
“you kinda have to say that. we’re friends.”
“i don’t have to do anything.”
finally, he looked at her. blue eyes sharp even at nine years old. “then why do you?”
she opened her mouth. closed it again because she didn’t actually know how to explain it.
that being around rafe felt like standing too close to lightning sometimes — unpredictable and bright and dangerous in ways you couldn’t describe yet.
that even when he was mean or loud or impossible, she still understood him better than anybody else seemed to. that she worried about him constantly. instead she just nudged his shoulder with hers. “because somebody has to.”
his expression changed for half a second. softened. small enough that she almost missed it then he looked away again quickly, jaw tightening like he regretted letting her see anything real. “my dad says i get emotional over stupid stuff.”
“well your dad sucks.”
rafe barked out a laugh before he could stop himself. a real one but it faded fast. “don’t say that.”
“why not? it’s true.”
his face closed immediately. “just don’t.”
there it was again.
that invisible line nobody in the cameron house crossed. ward could yell. ward could forget him. ward could make rafe feel two inches tall with one look but nobody else was allowed to notice.
a week later, she learned what happened when someone did.
she’d come over after lunch, shoes damp from rainwater, only to hear shouting the second she stepped through the front door.
not normal arguing.
worse. the kind of yelling that made the entire house hold its breath. ward’s voice thundered somewhere upstairs. “you embarrass me constantly!”
silence. then rafe shouting back. not words she could understand.
just anger. another crash echoed through the hallway.
rose appeared almost immediately. “sweetheart,” she said too quickly, intercepting her near the stairs, “why don’t you wait outside for a little while?”
she hesitated. upstairs, something shattered. her stomach twisted. “is rafe okay?”
rose’s smile strained painfully at the edges. “of course he is.”
another lie adults expected children to accept. she backed toward the front door slowly and right before she stepped outside, she heard ward yell: “why can’t you be more like your sister for once?”
the silence afterward felt worse than the shouting. she found rafe an hour later sitting beneath the big oak tree near the edge of the property. knees pulled up, hoodie sleeves covering his hands.
he looked up when she approached. one side of his face was red, not bruised just flushed enough to make her chest tighten.
“rose said you left.”
“she lies a lot.” his voice sounded flat.
she sat beside him carefully. “what happened?”
“nothing.”
“rafe.”
“drop it.”
normally she would’ve argued, teased him until he cracked and waited him out but something about him felt different today. too still like all the loud parts of him had collapsed inward. so instead she just sat there quietly beside him while wind rustled through the branches overhead.
minutes passed. finally, rafe spoke without looking at her. “do you ever feel bad all the time?”
she blinked. “what?”
he picked at loose thread on his sleeve. “like even when nothing’s wrong.”
her heart hurt suddenly because no nine-year-old should know how to ask that question. “sometimes,” she admitted softly.
“how do you make it stop?”
she didn’t have an answer and maybe he knew that already because he laughed once under his breath. bitter in a way kids shouldn’t know how to be. “yeah,” he muttered. “me neither.”
another long silence. then, quietly: “my dad says there’s something wrong with me.”
anger flashed hot in her chest. “there isn’t.”
“you don’t know that.”
“i do actually.”
for the first time all afternoon, rafe looked at her fully. his eyes were red around the edges not crying now which somehow meant he already had. “how?”
she swallowed. because the truth was simple. because even at nine years old, she already knew this with terrifying certainty: if something was wrong with rafe cameron, it was because the people around him kept teaching him he was impossible to love.
by thirteen, rafe cameron had learned two important things:
anger made people listen. and pretty people got forgiven for almost everything. he grew into himself unfairly fast after twelve.
all sharp cheekbones and long limbs and sun-bleached hair falling into blue eyes that looked softer than they actually were. girls at school started orbiting him without meaning to. teachers gave him too many second chances. parents laughed nervously at things that weren’t funny because ward cameron’s son smiled afterward.
he carried himself differently now too.
less frantic. more dangerous like he’d discovered exactly how much space he could take up in a room if he wanted to.
and still he showed up at her window throwing pebbles at two in the morning because he was bored.
some things never changed except she changed too. not suddenly more like the island itself shaped her over time.
summer-browned skin, saltwater-soft hair, hoodies stolen from friends and tied around her waist. a laugh people turned toward before realizing they were staring.
she became prettier in the quiet kind of way. the kind that snuck up on people. boys started finding excuses to talk to her at school. older girls copied the way she did her eyeliner. people remembered her name now instead of just recognizing her face beside rafe’s.
and rafe noticed all of it immediately.
every glance. every lingering conversation. every boy who stood too close. he never said anything directly. instead, he’d appear out of nowhere draping an arm across her shoulders while staring somebody down lazily. or interrupt conversations with: “you ready to go?” even when they’d arrived separately.
at first, she thought he was being annoying on purpose. then she realized rafe looked genuinely irritated afterward. which honestly made it funnier.
“you know you act insane, right?” she told him one afternoon after he scared off another freshman boy from talking to her outside school.
rafe blinked innocently from where he leaned against his truck. “what’d i do?”
“you stared at him like you wanted to kill him.”
“maybe i did.”
“rafe.”
“what? he looked annoying.”
“you didn’t even know him.”
“didn’t need to.”
she rolled her eyes, but secretly, part of her liked that rafe still looked for her first in every crowd like no matter how much they changed, some instinct inside him still circled back to her automatically.
except that instinct was starting to become something else now. something sharper. harder to name.
“if my dad catches you out there, he’s literally gonna kill you.”
she whispered harshly, shoving the window open anyway. rafe grinned from where he stood balanced on the roof outside. “nah. he likes me.”
“that’s because you lie to adults professionally.”
“thank you.”
“that wasn’t a compliment.”
he climbed through the window like he owned the place, smelling like seawater and expensive cologne he definitely stole from ward. “c’mon.”
“rafe, it’s two in the morning.”
“exactly.”
“normal people sleep.”
“normal people are boring.”
he’d been saying that since he was eight. only now it sounded different coming out of his mouth. less childish and more intentional.
she narrowed her eyes at him. “where are we even going?”
“the beach.”
“for what?”
“you ask too many questions.”
“and you answer none of them.”
he just smirked and grabbed her hoodie off the chair before tossing it at her face. “move, princess.”
the beach at night felt enormous. waves crashing black against the shore. cold wind tangling through their hair. rafe walked ahead of her barefoot, carrying a six-pack he’d stolen from somewhere with casual expertise that concerned her deeply. “you know beer tastes disgusting, right?”
“you sound eighty.”
“you sound like you’re trying too hard.”
that got his attention. he glanced back over his shoulder. “trying too hard at what?”
she shrugged. “being cool.”
he scoffed immediately. “i am cool.”
“rafe, you got suspended last week for setting a paper towel dispenser on fire.”
“allegedly.”
“there were witnesses.”
“snitches.”
she laughed despite herself and for a second he smiled too — real and easy, dimples flashing briefly beneath moonlight. then it vanished again.
that happened more now. moments where she saw the old rafe before he covered him back up. they settled near the dunes eventually. rafe sprawled across the sand dramatically while she sat beside him pulling her knees against her chest.
for a while, they just listened to the ocean. comfortable silence. their version of peace.
then: “kelly morgan asked if i’d hook up with her.”
she snorted. “you’re thirteen.”
“and?”
“that’s disgusting.”
“you’re just jealous.”
“of kelly morgan? absolutely not.”
he laughed quietly at that. then took a sip from the beer before grimacing. “this tastes like shit.”
“wow. shocking development.”
“shut up.”
she smiled a little but when she looked over at him again, he’d gone distant. staring out at the water with that familiar tension in his jaw.
“what?” she asked softly.
“nothing.”
“rafe.”
he rubbed a hand over his face and suddenly he looked older than thirteen. “my dad’s been on my ass lately.”
there it was. always circling back to ward somehow. she leaned back onto her hands. “about what?”
“everything.” he kicked sand aggressively. “grades. golf. sarah getting into honors classes.” his voice sharpened slightly. “breathing wrong probably.”
she stayed quiet because by now she understood that interrupting rafe when he actually talked about real things usually made him stop altogether.
he scoffed under his breath. “he keeps saying i’m wasting potential.”
“that’s not the worst thing someone could say.”
“you didn’t hear how he said it.” the words hung there.
she looked over at him carefully. “you know parents are supposed to make you feel good about yourself, right?”
rafe barked out a laugh and not a happy one. “according to who?”
she didn’t know what to say to that. because honestly the older they got, the more obvious it became that something inside rafe was changing.
hardening.
he got angry faster now. meaner sometimes. more reckless. last month he’d bloodied a kid’s nose at a bonfire because the guy made some joke about sarah. afterward, rafe laughed while his knuckles bled like violence had thrilled him more than scared him.
that terrified her a little. mostly because part of him had looked relieved during it like hurting somebody finally matched the chaos already living in his chest.
“hey.” she blinked. rafe was watching her now. closely. “where’d you go?”
“nowhere.”
“liar.”
“you literally lie for sport.”
“yeah, but i’m good at it.”
she rolled her eyes and then, before she could stop herself: “sometimes i worry about you.” silence. the ocean crashed somewhere behind them. rafe’s expression went unreadable immediately. guarded. she regretted saying it almost instantly. “forget it.”
“why?”
“because.”
“because why?”
she looked away. “you’re different lately.”
the words came out quieter than intended. rafe went still beside her. “different how?”
dangerous question. she could feel it immediately like stepping onto thin ice. “i dunno,” she said carefully. “angrier.”
he stared at her for a long moment then smiled except it wasn’t really a smile. more like something sharp pretending to be one. “maybe you just didn’t notice before.”
her stomach twisted.
because somehow that felt true. and worse: some small part of her thought rafe wanted it to be true like if he convinced everyone he’d always been this way, nobody could mourn the version of him that used to be softer.
after that night, things between them shifted slightly.
not enough for anybody else to notice just enough for her to feel it. rafe started looking at her longer than he used to like he was trying to figure something out.
sometimes she’d catch him staring from across bonfires or hallways at school, expression unreadable until she noticed him — then suddenly he’d smirk or say something sarcastic to cover it up. other times he got weirdly irritated over nothing.
especially boys and especially when they touched her. “why was he hugging you?”
she blinked at him across the gas station parking lot. “because i’ve known him since kindergarten?”
rafe leaned against his truck with his arms crossed. “looked unnecessary.”
“it was literally a goodbye hug.”
“yeah, well. i didn’t like it.”
she stared at him. “you hear yourself, right?”
“all the time.” he said it without shame. that was the dangerous thing about rafe. he rarely hid the uglier parts of himself once they surfaced. he just smiled like daring people to call him on it.
that spring, he got into his first real fight.
not schoolyard shoving. not roughhousing. a real fight.
it happened at a beach bonfire packed with high school kids trying too hard to look older than they were. somebody brought vodka. somebody else brought fireworks. music blasted from cheap speakers while people stumbled through the sand laughing too loudly.
she found rafe near the waterline already drunk enough that his words blurred together around the edges.
“there y’are,” he said immediately when he saw her, grabbing her wrist. “been lookin’ for you.”
“you smell awful.”
“that’s mean.”
“you stole ward’s liquor again, didn’t you?”
“allegedly.”
she rolled her eyes then noticed blood on his knuckles. her stomach dropped. “rafe.”
he glanced down lazily. “oh. yeah.”
“what happened?”
“nothing.”
“you are literally bleeding.”
he shrugged like it was boring. “some guy was talking shit.”
“and?”
“and i told him to stop.”
she stared. “you punched him over talking?”
“nah.” a grin spread slowly across his face. “i punched him because he touched you earlier.”
silence. the ocean roared somewhere behind them. her chest tightened painfully. “what?”
rafe looked genuinely confused by her reaction. “he had his hand on your waist.”
“that doesn’t mean you get to hit people.”
“felt like i did.”
the words should’ve scared her more than they did. instead she just looked at him standing there beneath bonfire light — pretty and drunk and bleeding and looking at her like this all made perfect sense like she was something that belonged to him instinctively.
“you’re insane,” she whispered.
his grin widened. “yeah.” but then his expression softened slightly. just for her. “he shouldn’t’ve touched you.”
there it was again. that terrifying sincerity underneath all the arrogance. she hated how much it affected her. later that night, she sat beside him in the bed of his truck while everyone else ran through the surf screaming over fireworks. rafe leaned back against the cab beside her, shoulder pressed against hers.
drunk quieter now. thoughtful. his knuckles were swollen. she cleaned them anyway using napkins and water from somebody’s cooler.
“ow.”
“stop being dramatic.”
“i could be dying.”
“unfortunately you’re surviving.”
he laughed softly under his breath then went quiet again. she focused on wrapping one of his scraped fingers carefully.
“you know,” he said eventually, voice rougher now, “you always do that.”
“do what?”
“take care of me.”
her hands paused briefly. rafe stared out toward the ocean. not looking at her. “even when i’m an asshole.”
she swallowed. “you’re not always an asshole.”
“yeah?”
finally, he turned toward her. blue eyes heavy beneath half-lowered lashes, windswept hair. mouth split slightly at the corner from fighting. beautiful in the way storms were beautiful. “what am i then?”
the question felt bigger than it should’ve. she looked at him for too long because she honestly didn’t know anymore.
you’re my best friend. you’re exhausting. you’re lonely. you’re angry all the time. you’re still that little boy waiting upstairs for someone to come back for him.
instead she just tied off the makeshift bandage around his hand and muttered: “trouble.”
rafe smiled slowly at that. “yeah,” he said quietly. “probably.”
and for one dangerous second, sitting there beneath exploding fireworks and salt-heavy air, she realized something terrifying: she would probably love every version of him. even the ones that hurt her.
summer hit the obx hard that year.
everything felt overheated. the air. people’s tempers, her friendship with rafe. especially rafe.
because fourteen-year-old rafe cameron became impossible to ignore. he shot up another two inches over the summer, shoulders broadening, voice roughening unexpectedly. girls stared openly now. older girls too. waitresses smiled at him too long. boys either wanted to be him or punch him.
and rafe noticed every second of it. he started carrying himself with lazy confidence that didn’t quite fit yet, like he was testing out versions of himself to see which one people reacted to best.
some days he acted almost academic — sprawled beside her with books open, explaining random facts he’d memorized just because he liked the look on her face when he knew things she didn’t. “did you know sharks can smell blood from like a quarter mile away?”
“why do you know that?”
“because i read.”
“that’s deeply nerdy of you.”
“shut up.”
he’d grin afterward, all bright and boyish again. other days he became something sharper. louder, cockier and reckless in ways that made adults nervous.
he liked attention now. needed it, maybe. especially hers and whenever he didn’t have it he got mean.
“you flirting with him?”
she looked up from her towel on the beach. rafe stood over her dripping seawater, surfboard tucked under one arm, expression already irritated.
she blinked. “what?”
“that guy.” he jerked his chin toward some tourist boy she’d spoken to for maybe thirty seconds while buying drinks.
“i ordered a coke, rafe.”
“you were smiling.”
“people smile during conversations.”
“not like that.”
she stared at him incredulously. “what is wrong with you lately?”
his jaw tightened immediately. there. that switch, always so quick now. “nothing.”
“you act insane every time i talk to another guy.”
“maybe they should stop talking to you then.”
she laughed once because honestly what else was there to do except rafe didn’t laugh back. he looked serious. completely serious and suddenly the joke stopped being funny.
“rafe…”
“forget it.” he grabbed his board again before turning toward the ocean. angry now. at her, at himself, at things he didn’t know how to name.
she watched him paddle out too aggressively through the waves and felt something cold settle in her stomach because lately every conversation with rafe felt like standing near exposed wires. one wrong move and everything sparked.
the kiss happened two weeks later which was honestly the problem.
there was no lead-up, no confession, no grand realization like she'd seen and learned to yearn for in those movies her mom loved. instead, it was just years and years of something building quietly until one reckless moment cracked it open.
it happened at tanneyhill. ward and rose were hosting another party downstairs — music echoing through the massive house, adults drinking expensive wine while pretending their marriages worked.
rafe hated those nights.
she found him upstairs in his room sitting on the floor beside his bed with a physics textbook open beside him and music blasting through headphones.
“you’re studying voluntarily?” she asked dramatically.
he looked up immediately and softened. he always softened for her first. “failed my last test.”
“nerd.”
“bitch.”
“language.” she kicked his foot lightly before dropping beside him on the floor. for a while, things felt normal again. safe. he explained formulas while she doodled nonsense in the margins of his notebook. occasionally he’d shove her shoulder when she distracted him on purpose. easy.
until downstairs ward started yelling. muffled through floors but still loud enough. rafe went completely still. it happened instantly like somebody pulled all the warmth out of him at once.
she looked over carefully. “you okay?”
“mhm.”
lie. downstairs, another burst of angry voices echoed upward. then silence. the worst kind. rafe ripped his headphones off too harshly.
“i swear to god,” he muttered.
she watched him stand abruptly and start pacing. “rafe—”
“he’s drunk again.” his voice carried no surprise, just exhaustion.
“maybe don’t go down there right now.”
“it’s my house.”
“and he’s angry.”
“he’s always angry.”
the words snapped out sharper than intended. she stood slowly. “okay.”
rafe scrubbed both hands down his face and suddenly he looked young again. not the cocky beach boy. not ward cameron’s golden son just a kid trapped inside a house that never felt safe. “sorry,” he muttered quietly.
“you don’t have to apologize.”
another shout downstairs. rafe laughed once under his breath. empty. “you know what his problem is?” she stayed quiet. “i’m never enough for him.”
her chest tightened painfully. “rafe—”
“seriously.” he looked at her now, eyes bright with something dangerous. “i could get straight A’s, play golf, act exactly how he wants, and he’d still look at me like there’s something rotten inside me.”
“that’s not true.”
“it is.”
“it’s not.”
his breathing had gone uneven, agitated. he paced once more before stopping directly in front of her. “then why does everybody leave?”
the question hit like a slap because suddenly this wasn’t about ward anymore. it was about his mother, every fight, every bad thing he believed about himself. and somehow it was about her too. she swallowed hard. “i’m still here.”
rafe stared at her. really stared like he was trying to memorize the sentence. then his eyes dropped to her mouth. everything changed after that.
the air, the room, the space between them. she should’ve stepped back. instead she froze. and rafe looked terrified. not of her but of wanting something.
his voice came out rough. “you can’t say stuff like that to me.”
“what stuff?”
“that.”
before she could answer, he kissed her. messy, impulsive. too intense for fourteen. all the things rafe was becoming shoved into one moment. his hand cupped her jaw too fast, like he thought she might disappear before he got there. his mouth tasted faintly like mint and anger and summer.
for one impossible second she kissed him back because of course she did. she’d loved him in every version already. little boy rafe, angry rafe, lonely rafe, beautiful disaster rafe.
all of them.
his breath caught immediately when she kissed him back. a tiny sound, wrecked, like nobody had ever chosen him first before. and then the door downstairs slammed violently.
ward shouting. glass breaking somewhere below. rafe jerked back instantly like he’d been burned. his entire expression changed. panic replacing softness so fast it hurt to watch. “shit.”
she blinked at him, still dazed. “rafe—”
“we can’t.”
her stomach dropped. “what?”
he started backing away from her immediately. hands in his hair. breathing hard. “that was a mistake.”
the words hit harder than they should’ve because he looked like he meant them. or worse — like he needed to mean them.
“okay,” she said quietly, even though it wasn’t okay at all.
rafe looked sick suddenly. “i just—” he swallowed harshly. “you’re the only good thing i have.”
her chest cracked open because she understood immediately. he thought loving him would ruin her eventually. the worst part was that she wasn’t sure he was wrong.
after that, rafe disappeared for almost a week. not physically. she still saw him at school sometimes. hallways, parking lots, across classrooms but he acted like there was suddenly glass between them.
he stopped calling. stopped showing up at her window. stopped looking at her for more than half a second at a time which honestly hurt worse than if he’d just been angry.
because this felt deliberate like rafe had decided she was something dangerous now.
by friday, she was furious. she found him behind the gym after school sitting on the hood of his truck smoking a cigarette badly. he looked up when he heard her footsteps.
and for one split second relief crossed his face. raw and immediate then it vanished replaced by that careless expression he’d been practicing lately. “you stalking me now?”
she stopped in front of him. “what is your problem?”
he took another drag from the cigarette even though he clearly didn’t know how. “don’t have one.”
“rafe.”
“what?”
“you kissed me and then started acting like i died.”
his jaw tightened immediately. there. that panic underneath him now. “keep your voice down.”
“why?”
“because.”
“because why?”
he jumped off the hood abruptly. “can you stop doing that?”
“doing what?”
“making everything into a thing.”
she stared at him in disbelief. “you kissed me.”
“yeah, and it was stupid.”
the words came too fast, too rehearsed like he’d been trying to convince himself all week.
anger flashed hot through her chest. “wow.”
“you know what i mean.”
“no actually, i don’t.”
rafe scrubbed a hand over his face aggressively. he looked exhausted with those dark circles beneath his eyes, shoulders tense like he hadn’t slept properly in days. “i just…” he exhaled sharply. “i can’t do this with you.”
“do what?”
“this.”
he gestured wildly between them. helpful. “you’re my best friend.”
the sentence should’ve sounded sweet. instead it landed like a warning.
“and?” she asked quietly.
rafe looked at her then and suddenly all the anger drained out of his face, leaving behind something much worse: fear. “and people leave when i fuck things up.”
her breath caught. because there it was.
the real reason. not embarrassment and not regret. terror. pure terrified certainty that if he loved her the wrong way, he’d lose her completely.
“rafe—”
“don’t.” his voice cracked slightly. he looked away immediately afterward, ashamed of it. “i can’t lose you too.”
too. the smallest word possible and yet still devastating. she swallowed hard. “you’re not going to.”
“you don’t know that.”
“i do.”
“how?”
because i stay. because i always stay. because i think i would let you break my heart forever if it meant you kept looking at me like that. instead she whispered: “because i’m here.”
rafe’s expression twisted painfully. for one dangerous second, she thought he might kiss her again. he stepped closer instinctively, eyes dropping to her mouth.
then somebody laughed nearby from the parking lot. the moment shattered instantly. rafe stepped back so fast it almost looked violent. walls up again. “forget it.”
she felt something inside her snap. “stop saying that.”
his eyes flashed. “saying what?”
“forget it. nothing. doesn’t matter.” her voice shook now despite trying to stop it. “you do all this shit and then act like i imagined it.”
“i’m trying to fix it.”
“fix what?”
“us.”
she laughed then. because suddenly she understood something awful: rafe thought loving her would destroy everything and he was so terrified of becoming the kind of person who ruined her that he was ruining her anyway.
“you know what?” she said quietly. “you’re becoming kinda mean.”
silence. wrong thing to say. immediately she knew it. rafe went completely still. his face emptied in that terrifying way he had now sometimes — all emotion disappearing at once instead of exploding outward. “mean?”
she hesitated but she was already here now. “yeah.”
his tongue pressed hard against the inside of his cheek. “right.”
“i didn’t mean that —”
“no, it’s fine.” except it very obviously wasn’t fine because suddenly he looked exactly like the little boy sitting on the dock asking if something was wrong with him. only now he was older and angrier and better at hiding the wound. “that’s what everybody thinks anyway.”
her stomach dropped. “rafe, that’s not what i said.”
“close enough.”
he grabbed his backpack roughly off the ground. she reached for his wrist instinctively. “wait.”
rafe froze. her fingers wrapped around his skin felt too familiar now. too intimate after the kiss. for a second neither of them moved and then quietly, without looking at her, he said: “you know the worst part?”
her throat tightened. “what?”
his laugh came out hollow. “i was actually trying really hard to be good for you.”
and somehow that hurt more than anything else he could’ve said. because if this was rafe trying his hardest what would happen when he stopped trying altogether?
they stopped talking in november. not all at once because that would’ve been easier. instead it happened slowly enough to feel like dying by inches.
first came the distance. missed calls. shorter conversations. days passing without seeing each other. then came avoidance. if she walked into a room, rafe found a reason to leave it. if she sat beside him in class, he suddenly needed to talk to someone else.
the absolute worst part was that she knew he was doing it on purpose because every now and then she’d catch him looking at her when he thought she wouldn’t notice and he always looked wrecked like avoiding her hurt him too.
he just kept doing it anyway. by fifteen, people started talking about rafe differently. not: “ward cameron’s son.” not: “that rich blond kid.” instead:
“did you hear what rafe did?”
“apparently he got suspended again.”
“he was wasted at the boneyard.”
“he punched somebody.”
“he hooked up with—”
his reputation arrived in rooms before he did now. and rafe leaned into it viciously. he started partying older, drinking harder, smiling meaner.
girls loved him. boys followed him around like satellites hoping some of the danger rubbed off. teachers gave up trying to “reach” him. even ward stopped pretending disappointment would fix anything.
sometimes she’d see rafe at parties surrounded by people and somehow looking lonelier than he ever had as a child. that hurt most because she remembered the little boy who used to wait by her driveway barefoot asking if she wanted to look for crabs on the beach.
and now he looked at people like he was daring them to leave first.
they officially stopped speaking after graduation. not because of a fight because by then they barely knew how.
she saw him once that summer at a gas station near figure eight. he leaned against a motorcycle smoking with two frat-looking guys beside him.
all broad shoulders now, gold chain around his neck, sunglasses hiding half his face. beautiful in a way that almost made her angry. he noticed her immediately.
of course he did. rafe always noticed her immediately. for one horrible second, everything around them seemed to pause. she saw it happen in real time: the old instinct.
his body straightening slightly. eyes tracking her automatically. that microscopic softening in his face.
then his friends said something and rafe smirked. just like that the wall slammed back into place. she looked away first. he never called after her. that night she cried so hard she made herself sick.
three years later, she saw him again and it felt like getting hit by a fucking monster truck.
unc chapel hill was crawling with boys exactly like rafe cameron. rich, loud, drunk on inherited money and cheap beer except none of them were actually like rafe because nobody else walked into rooms carrying that much destruction inside them.
the party was already packed by the time she arrived. music shaking the floors, girls in tiny dresses stumbling through crowds, frat boys yelling over pong tables.
she almost left immediately. until someone shouted: “yo, cameron!”
and suddenly every nerve in her body lit on fire. she turned before she could stop herself and there he was. older. god. older.
twenty-one looked devastating on rafe. his body had fully grown into violence now. broad chest beneath a half-unbuttoned polo, thick forearms veined from lifting, rings glinting beneath red solo cup light.
his hair was shorter. his jaw sharper. his eyes colder and people moved around him differently. carefully like they sensed something unstable underneath all the charm.
girls touched him constantly. guys laughed too hard at his jokes.
someone handed him another drink before he even finished the first.
he looked like every frat fantasy rolled into one and also like somebody moments away from setting himself on fire.
then he saw her. everything stopped. not around them. just inside him. she watched it happen. the shift.
his smile fading slowly. eyes locking onto hers across the crowded room. that terrifying intensity she remembered too well crawling back instantly.
for one second, one tiny awful second, he looked exactly like fourteen again. wrecked, hopeful and fucking terrified. then one of the girls hanging off his arm whispered something in his ear and frat-boy rafe came back immediately.
he grinned lazily. looked away first like she meant nothing. that should’ve hurt less after all these years. instead it felt surgical. she made it exactly forty minutes before he cornered her in the kitchen.
of course he did because rafe had always found her eventually. always.
“well,” he drawled, leaning against the counter beside her, “this is fuckin’ weird.”
his voice had deepened. rough now. whiskey-soaked around the edges. she refused to look at him directly. “hi, rafe.”
“that all i get?”
finally she glanced over. big mistake. he was even prettier up close which honestly felt unfair considering the emotional damage. his nose slightly crooked now from fights, faint scar near his chin, expensive cologne mixed with alcohol and smoke.
he looked like every bad decision a girl could make wrapped into one person and he was staring at her like he wanted to devour her alive. “what do you want me to say?” she asked quietly.
something flickered across his face. hurt maybe that was gone instantly.
“damn.” he laughed under his breath. “still mean to me, huh?”
the audacity nearly made her dizzy. “you stopped talking to me for three years.”
“yeah?”
“yeah.”
he took a long sip from his drink. then: “you stopped trying.”
that landed directly between her ribs because the worst part was part of her still carried guilt for it. for eventually getting tired. for letting him go. for not fighting harder against the tide dragging him under.
rafe watched her expression carefully. always observant underneath the chaos. always smarter than people realized. “there she is,” he murmured softly.
“what?”
“that look.”
her throat tightened because suddenly he sounded familiar again. not frat rafe. not party rafe. her rafe. the boy who used to know every emotion crossing her face before she said a word.
“you still do that thing,” he said quietly.
“what thing?”
“look at me like you’re mourning somebody.”
silence. the music downstairs pounded violently through the floorboards. neither of them moved.
rafe watched her for a long moment.
frat house lights flickered gold across his face. music thundered downstairs. people laughed somewhere beyond the kitchen like the world wasn’t ending quietly between them.
then he smiled, wrong around the edges. “you keep looking at me like you’re mourning somebody,” he said softly. her throat tightened. rafe’s laugh came out hollow. “you keep looking for the kid i used to be, but i think he stopped existing a long time ago.”
silence pressed hard between them. he took another sip from his drink without breaking eye contact. “you wanna know the fucked up part?” he asked quietly. “i think i became exactly what everybody expected.”
the words hit like bruises.
because standing in front of her was every version of rafe at once: the lonely little boy. the angry teenager. the beautiful disaster everybody wanted pieces of and somehow none of them looked happy.
“everybody here thinks i’m having fun,” he continued, voice rough now. “you’re the only one looking at me like you can tell i’m drowning.”
her chest physically hurt. rafe swallowed hard before laughing again under his breath. “i spent three years trying to become somebody who wouldn’t miss you this much.” another pause. “didn’t take.”
she looked away first because she couldn’t breathe correctly anymore. and quietly — so quietly she almost missed it — he admitted: “i think losing you made me meaner. i think,” rafe said slowly, eyes glassy beneath frat house lights, “you’re the only person who notices how bad i got.”
what about and just hear me out mac comes out with his new song breathe and reader and the girls are in his music video and idk luke is jealous again bc im a fein for jealous luke
texts with frat!luke castellan
good friend
— 💌 a/n: this turned into breathe promo im so sorry but i just had way too much fun imagine luke not being able to read whatever he's trying to study cause his phone keeps on chiming (he has notifs on for y/n) and his feed is just full of macy/n photos lmao
Bullshit repeats itself / Is that how the saying goes? / Been here a thousand times / Selective memory though
You say we're drifting apart / I said "yeah I fucking know" / Big deal we've been here before and we'll be here tomorrow
Overview: A headass couple: people acting in a "slightly delusional, somewhat cheesy bubble," oblivious to how cringy or ridiculous they appear to others.
For some reason, you'd thought yourself to be the untouchable exception to the rule that all relationships eventually hit a rough patch. Peter and you were perfect, best friends first, and then dating. There wasn't a better match than the two of you. Except, of course, until there was. Your perfect image is shattered as you realize he's hiding more from you than you'll ever know. After a rough breakup, only one person seems able to cheer you up. A certain webbed viglinate. But, wait... why does his voice sound so familiar?
a/n: There will be the occasional ridiculous name/reference; if you catch them, they're all real (including Jumbo’s Clowns)
wc: 10.0K
They say that the best foundation for a relationship is built on friendship. And you used to believe that. When you first met Peter, it was like coming together with a missing piece of yourself. Even before the romance, the dates, the sex. When it was nothing more than something wonderfully platonic, you thought everyone was right.
But you were delusional. Your head had been too far up your ass to realize the truth of your relationship. You weren’t soulmates. You weren’t any more special than anyone else dating their best friend.
You would think, though, that being friends with someone for years would build enough respect for them not to blatantly mistreat you. To not lie to your face when they hide where they are at night. Sure, maybe other couples who didn’t know each other lied. But not you and Peter.
That’s what you thought, at least. Shows what you know.
Two Months Earlier
“Hi,” Peter rushes into your apartment, breathless and flustered as always. You get a firm kiss to the cheek before he disappears into your bedroom.
Laughing slightly, you peer around the corner and try to get a glimpse of him. “Everything okay, Petey?”
You get a slight hum of acknowledgment before he goes back to what sounds like rustling through papers. Shaking your head, you bring the popcorn bowl over to the couch and wait for him to reemerge.
It doesn’t take longer than a few minutes until he’s strolling back toward you, a slightly cocky pep to his step. You narrow your eyes at him but fail miserably at holding back a grin. “Whatcha up to, Parker?”
“Who, me?” He shrugs, playing dumb as he jumps over the back of the couch, landing on the cushion beside you. You spot something folded in his hand before he tries to hide it.
With little warning, you lunge forward, reaching for his hand. “Hey!” He jumps back, unable to hold in his laughter. “That’s cheating, you know?”
You don’t acknowledge him, grunting in frustration as he holds his hand further and further away from you. “Alright, well, what happened to no secrets?” You push, slightly embarrassed at how breathless you sound.
“Oh, wow,” his hand comes up, cupping your jaw as he pulls your face closer to his. “That’s playing dirty,” he whispers. You can’t subdue your smile, inching closer until your noses are brushing.
“You like it when I play dirty.” Peter’s eyes widen, a visible flush on his face as your lips just barely brush together. The whisper of a kiss. He was so focused on that, he failed to notice you ripping the paper from his hands.
He groans as you lean back on the couch with a triumphant grin. “You’re too easy, Parker,” you tease.
He props his chin on your knee, “Only for you.”
“Oh God, you are so cheesy.” He opens his mouth, a stupid grin on his face. You pinch his lips together and laugh, “Don’t say it again. For the sake of our relationship, please.”
You release him and he presses a quick kiss to your hand before leaning back. “Well,” he nods toward the paper in your hand. “Don’t you want to see what you’ve won?”
Excitement bubbles inside you as you unfold the small piece of paper. The print’s slightly smudged from your wrestling match, but when you bring it closer, you can’t help the sharp gasp that escapes you.
“Peter!” He’s smiling widely, posture relaxed and completely smug as you gush. “I can’t believe you managed to get tickets.”
“One of the guys in my lab knows someone at the museum. He owed me a favor,” he shrugs it off like it’s not a big deal. Like he didn’t just get you into one of the most exclusive exhibitions in Queens.
He lets out a slight grunt when you toss yourself at him, arms wrapping like a vice around the back of his neck. You can feel the exhale of a laugh as he buries his head in the crook of your shoulder, arms quick to wrap around your waist.
“Thank you,” you whisper, pulling back slightly to get a proper look at him. He keeps his grip firm, reluctant to let you get much further.
“You know I’d do anything for you,” he tells you and he has all the conviction of a man who really believes it.
“That’s a big promise,” you smile. “Sure you can keep it?”
“‘Course I can.” When you lean in to kiss him this time, you make sure it's real. Not the whisper of a touch, but something deeper as he pulls you into his lap completely. You don’t think you’ll ever get over how wonderful it is to be loved by Peter Parker.
“Christ,” you blow into your gloved hands and hope some of the warmth bounces back to your face. You knew it was going to be cold today, but you hadn’t thought it would be a problem. Peter had said he was going to meet you outside the museum, but it’s already been fifteen minutes and you’re losing feeling in your nose.
He does have a mind going 100MPH most days. Usually, you like to give him a leeway on timing. But it’s absolutely freezing today and snowflakes have just started falling. If you were with your boyfriend, this would be like a scene out of a romcom.
Instead, it’s about to be a nature documentary on wild stood-up girlfriends freezing in Queens tundra.
Pulling out your phone again, you bite the thumb of your glove and tug it off. You’ve sent Peter about twenty messages, none of which have even so much as gotten a ‘read.’ You try calling him this time, tucking the phone between your shoulder and ear as you hurriedly tug your glove back on.
“Hey, this is Peter, you know what to do.”
You roll your eyes at his voicemail. “It’s your girlfriend, Pete. But, I swear, if you make me wait any longer in this damn snow, I’m going to be your ex.”
“Good thing you don’t have to wait.” With a squeak, you whip around to find Peter standing behind you. You slap his shoulder and he bounces back with a laugh. The tip of his nose has been nipped red by the cold and his cheeks aren’t much better.
“You’re lucky I like you,” you snap.
“Extremely,” he agrees, not an ounce of sarcasm in his voice. It softens you slightly. When you can feel your fingers again, you’ll consider forgiving him. He throws his arm over your shoulder, struggling slightly with the scarf triple-wrapped around you.
Glancing down to hang up the call, you see a little news notification pop up.
Spider-Man & Molten Man Spotted in Times Square
“What’re you looking at?”
You shake your head, tucking your phone away. “Nothing.”
You send him a smile that he returns eagerly. He passes the staff your tickets and opens the door for you as you step into the museum. You’d like for the first thing you appreciate to be the gorgeous mural on the wall in front of you. But you are far more interested in the blast of heat coming from the vents above.
“Oh, thank God,” you grumble, blocking the door as you greedily soak up all the warmth you can.
“Come on, bug,” Peter laughs, tugging you along so the line of people can get by. “We’ll get you an overpriced coffee at the cafe.”
“You’re paying,” you tell him sternly. “I still can’t feel my nose.”
“Deal.” Peter doesn’t hesitate, just leans down and presses a quick kiss to the tip of your nose. It’s the type of thing you used to see others do in public and gag.
You’d think about how you would never be one of those touchy-feely couples. Peter makes it feel so natural, though. As if you’ve been together all your life and this is just another one of your daily routines.
The giddy smile on your face is wide and can’t even be hidden behind your scarf as you lean into him. He chuckles as he pulls you closer, taking you toward the cafe. “What do you want to see first?”
“I read online that they’ve got a bunch of Monets by the south entrance, we’ll go there and then circle back to the front.”
“You’ve had this planned since you saw the tickets, haven’t you?”
You laugh and shake your head. “Since I read about the exhibit. Remind me to thank you again when we get home.”
Peter glances down, brows raised with a cheeky look on his face. You snort and push his face away. “What? I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did,” you tease. Peter laughs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as you get in line for a coffee. You don’t even feel like you need it anymore. You’ve been warmed inside-out just by Peter’s presence.
God, when did I become such a cliche?
9:50
where the hell are you
they keep talking about distillation columns and thermo-something
you know I don’t understand nerd
Checking the time on your phone for the nth time, you feel your leg begin to bounce. Something uncomfortable has tied itself around your stomach, squeezing until you can’t stand one more sip of your beer.
Peter’s labmates celebrate around you. They keep jostling each other’s shoulders, talking in technobabble. You have never felt as stupid as you did when Marcy asked you what your thoughts were on a plug flow reactor. Whatever the hell that is.
You’d just said, “Oh, yeah, they’re great.” She’d smiled and slowly backed away, eagerly jumping into the next conversation.
It’s not that they’re not nice people, but this clearly isn’t where you’re meant to be. Not without Peter, at least. You’d promised to come thinking, oh, you know, that your damn boyfriend would be here.
10:30
Peter
Please
I feel so stupid
Nausea is thick in your throat as you hunch over the bar. Peter’s friends have all moved to a table, but you didn’t feel like following. It’s not like they were talking to you anyway. They didn’t know how and you didn’t either.
“This is so stupid,” you mutter, dragging your hand down your face. You push away your empty beer and find yourself drawn to the TV, looking for any sort of distraction.
It’s the news and, of course, Spider-Man’s swinging around the city again. His suit is bright against the night sky, and there’s an odd shape on his head that’s catching the snow. Leaning forward slightly, you snort when you see he’s wearing a red beanie.
“Of course, New York gets the weirdo for a hero,” you mutter. You grimace as you watch Spider-Man get punched down by a man who looks like he’s made himself a megazord. Pulling back the sleeve of your blouse, you sigh at the time.
There’s a tight pinch in your chest as you slide off the barstool.
11:02
I’m going home
You debate saying anything else but decide not to. Tugging on your winter attire, you stop by the others’ table and bid them all goodnight. They’re nice enough to say bye, but you’re pretty sure they thought you had already left.
The wind pushes against the bar’s door as you make your way outside. Snowflakes are quick to whip at your cheeks, landing in your lashes and melting into your scarf. You pull the scarf tighter and trudge forward.
The cold isn’t bothering you any more than your absentee boyfriend is. You’ve always been gracious with Peter about being late. It’s a chronic sickness for him at this point and you’ve been around it the majority of your life.
But it feels different now that you’re dating. Waiting outside an arcade or a restaurant for a friend isn’t a big deal. But when you’re sitting on your own at a table in a crowded restaurant, that’s absolute humiliation.
He’s been dropping the ball a lot more lately and that hurts. But he hasn’t given you any other reason to worry about the state of your relationship. So, despite the sting, you’ve resolved to just swallow down the embarrassment and keep on going.
You hear a small thud behind you and your hand instinctively goes to your purse. Swallowing thickly, you keep walking, hoping it’s nothing more than your paranoia. Then you hear the crunch of snow behind you, the clear footsteps matching your pace. Your hand wraps around the mace Pete bought you and you whip around on them.
To your absolute horror, Peter’s standing behind you. He throws his hands up and lets out a nervous laugh. “Okay, an hour late is really bad, but please don’t mace me.”
You tilt your head and give him a flat look. “Two hours, actually.”
His face screws up and you cross your arms. “Sweetheart, I am so sorry.”
You shake your head and turn back around. “Forget it, Pete. Just go celebrate with your friends.”
Peter jogs to catch up with you and darts in front of you, a frown on his face. “Wait, no, come on. Why don’t you head in with me?”
You let out what can only be described as a guffaw and push past him. “And suffer through more questions about plug flow-whatever’s? Pass.”
“Plug flow reactors?”
You glare at him over your shoulder and he fails horribly at hiding the amused look on his face. “Trying to speak nerd with them was humiliating, Peter.” His face softens at that and he reaches forward to pull you closer.
Out of pure stubbornness, you should resist. But standing outside in the cold is making you desperate for Peter’s insane body heat. “Come inside, just for a little while,” he brushes a hair off your cheek and smiles softly. “I swear, I’ll teach you all our science jargon.”
You roll your eyes, but he knows he’s won when you sink into him. “You’re way too persuasive,” you snap. Peter does his best to lace your mittened hands together as he turns you back toward the bar.
“Yeah, but you love me.”
“Unfortunately,” you glare at him, but your smile gives you away.
For once in your relationship, you’re the one running late. Something you know Peter is about to take far too much joy in. He’s already sent about fifteen texts. The majority of them bemoan being all alone and then asking if this is how you always feel. Those were followed by an influx of apologies.
You’re not thinking about the texts, though, as you jog down the street. You spot Peter waiting outside the diner, leaning against the wall. He’s got his phone in his hands, fingers moving rapidly across the screen.
Sure enough, you can hear your phone ding with yet another passive-aggressive text. “Would you quit it?” You demand, completely out of breath, as you stop in front of him.
He tosses his head back dramatically and groans. “God, finally. I thought you were just going to leave me out here to freeze.”
“Would serve you right,” your brows furrow. “When’d you get this?” You flick the edge of the red beanie shoved over his hair.
Peter shrugs and readjusts it. “I dunno, I’ve had it forever.” You frown, biting your lip as you think. You swear to god you know it from somewhere, but you must’ve just seen Peter in it before and forgot.
He holds the door of the diner open for you and lets out a relieved breath as you both step into the warmth. You would feel bad for him if he hadn’t done this to you five times within two weeks.
“How come you wanted to…” The go to this place so bad trails off into a laugh. You should have known when he kept badgering you about coming here.
Plastered floor to ceiling are comic book characters, clips from the stories, and various forms of memorabilia. You’re absolutely surrounded by a hundred different fandoms, and you’re honestly surprised Peter hasn’t had a heart attack yet.
“I really should have seen this coming.”
Peter laughs and leads you over to an empty table. A busty woman with a purple leotard stares you down from where she’s painted on the wall. You give Peter a flat look and he flushes.
“I mean… the name is Strips.”
“Oh, seriously, Parker. Why would my mind immediately go to comics? I was worried you were taking me to a strip club or something.”
Peter wrinkled his nose and frowned. “That’s way too on the nose. I’d take you somewhere classy like Jumbo’s Clown Room.”
Your lips part and you just shake your head. “I don’t want to know if that’s a real place. And if it is, I don’t want to know how you found out about it.”
“Blame Flash,” he mutters as a waitress comes over with a coffee pot.
You smile and thank her as she walks away. “Oh, I don’t think I’ve gotten a chance to tell you about this, yet.” Peter perks with interest and a wide smile blooms on your face. “You know how I was trying forever to be Professor Beeter’s TA. The position never opened but,” you trail off slightly as the people behind you start getting loud.
“Oh my god, he is wrecking this place!” Frowning, you glance over your shoulder and take a look at what they’re watching. Someone’s phone is propped in the middle of the table and you see yet another ridiculous villain punching through the Chrysler building.
Rolling your eyes, you settle back in your seat. “What was I saying?”
“Um,” Peter’s leg bounces under the table and his gaze shoots toward the door. “I’m not sure.”
You frown, watching him warily as he grows more antsy. “Oh, it’s about Professor Beeter. He offered me a-”
“Sweetheart,” he interrupts you and jumps to his feet. “I’m so sorry, but I just remembered I promised I would help May today.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head.
“What? Peter! You wanted to come here!” He’s already running out the door. You watch, astounded, as he races past the window like hell’s nipping at his heels. You sink back into your seat with a stunned expression and your heart aching.
Clearing your throat, you look up to find your waitress giving you a pitying look. She offers you a sympathetic smile that only makes you sick to your stomach. Grabbing your bag and coat, you jump out of the booth, rushing outside.
What the hell is going on with him? You think, glaring down the street where Peter had gone. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you swallow down a lump in your throat and decide to just head back home.
After his abrupt exit, you haven’t heard from Peter all day. You’ve sent him a few texts, checking in on him and asking about May, but you only got one answer before he went AWOL.
You:
Everything good with May?
Petey:
Yeah
Her pilot was out had to make sure she had heat
After that, you’ve gotten nothing from him. Also, as far as you’re aware, May doesn’t use gas for heat. Peter hooked her up with better appliances forever ago.
It’s as you’re dialing May’s number that you have to try and convince yourself you haven’t gone total psycho girlfriend. It’s perfectly normal to want to check on your boyfriend. Especially after how he was acting today. The line only rings a few times before she picks up.
“Hello?”
“Hey, May.”
She says your name and you practically hear the smile in your voice. “Hey, sweetie. How are you?”
“Fine,” you answer quickly. “I just wanted to be see how Pete’s doing?”
She’s silent for a moment too long. She clears her throat and you frown at the pitch of her voice. “Oh, yeah, Pete’s fine. I’d let him talk to you, but he’s busy right now.”
You hum, fingers twisting your hoodie (Peter’s hoodie) strings as your stomach ties itself into a knot. “Right. Uh, what’d he say he was helping you with, again?”
“Cleaning out the gutters. Apparently, it can be a fire hazard or something, I’m not sure.”
Your body goes cold while something venomous rushes up your throat. “Okay,” you can barely hear your own voice. “I’ll let you go, then.” You hang up before she can respond, phone slipping from your hand and clattering to the ground.
“Oh, my god,” you let out a panicked whisper, smoothing your hands over your hair as you try to think of a reasonable explanation. But there are no anniversaries, no birthdays, nothing special coming up that he might be lying about for a surprise.
You’re honestly more shocked that May would lie to you. Growing up, she’d always seemed like the type of woman to protect a girl from sleaze-bag boyfriends.
So maybe that means Pete isn’t doing anything bad. Maybe she’s covering for him for a good reason.
So, why can't you think of one damn reason May would lie to you?
You don’t want to start spiraling for no reason. People lie, not just boyfriends, and not always for insidious reasons. Plucking your phone off the floor, you call Gwen. She’s usually good at pulling you out of your head when you start getting bad.
The phone rings a few times before she finally answers. “Hey, what’s up?”
You frown and cross your arms across your stomach, trying to keep the nausea down. “Why do you sound so out of breath?”
“What?” She clears her throat but that only makes her sound worse. “No, I’m not. Did you need something?”
“Uh,” slightly taken aback by her tone, you struggle to find the right words.
“Gwen!” Your heart beats ruthlessly against your ribs as your entire body stills.
“Is that Peter?” You know it is. You could pick his voice out of a crowd if you were blindfolded.
Gwen lets out a tense hum. “Yeah, it is. Uh, he was helping me with some chem stuff. So, I gotta go. Call me later, yeah?”
She’s hanging up before you can say anything else. Your hands are trembling as you set your phone on the table. Squeezing your throat to try and keep the lump back, you shake your head.
There’s a reasonable explanation for everything. Right?
The nausea’s still coiled tight around you by the time Peter gets to your apartment. Your eyes are staring blankly at the wall, the only light coming from your window. You’re not sure how long you’ve been lying there. Trying and failing to sleep as you consider all the reasons Peter might have lied to you.
Why he would be with Gwen instead of you.
You hear him padding through the hall and shut your eyes, tugging the blanket slightly over your head.
“Bug?” He calls softly. He’s quiet as he approaches the bed. He brushes a hair off your cheek and leans down to press a kiss to your temple. “You awake?”
Part of you wants to tell the truth. She wants to spring up and start laying into him, demanding to know why he lied. And the other half, she’s a coward. So, you stay curled into a ball, eyes closed, and pretending like you’re not falling apart.
Peter lets out a low groan as he settles in your bed behind you. It takes everything in you not to jerk away when he wraps his arm around your stomach, pulling you into his chest. The last thing you want right now is to have him touching you. But saying that requires being awake.
And that’s more painful than a sleepless night.
Peter wakes up slowly, his body aching after last night. He’s not sure who decided a “living robot” was a good idea. But his ribs are paying the price.
Stretching, he ignores the twinge of pain along his side. His arm gropes blindly along the sheets, searching for you, for your warmth. When his fingers brush against the wall, he reluctantly opens his eyes.
He frowns when he realizes you’re not in bed beside him. Turning toward the rest of the apartment, he doesn’t hear you. You’re not in the shower or humming in the kitchen.
With something cold settling inside him, he gets out of bed. “Sweetheart?” He calls out, hoping to hear you answer. It’s Saturday, and while it’s never been something you’ve both spoken aloud, traditionally, you spend all day in bed together. Just crashing from stressful weeks and overloaded uni schedules.
“Bug?” He tries again, wandering through your apartment. He already knows, deep down, that you’re not in here. But he doesn’t want to accept it. He’s barely had any time for you this week and he was really looking forward to just being lazy with you all day.
In the kitchen, pinned to your fridge, he finds a pink note with his name on it.
Prof. Beeter asked me to come in. Someone messed up last week’s research log
Should be home for lunch <3
The only thing stopping him from spiraling is the little heart at the bottom of the note. He knows it’s silly, but he’s slightly worried that you’re mad at him. He can’t explain where the feelings are coming from, but it's gnawing along the back of his mind.
Peter glances at the clock and groans. It’s only 9, and lunch to you is usually 2 O’Clock. He’s not sure if he’s patient enough to last that long. Peter glances at the note again and leaves it on the counter to go get dressed.
He had Professor Beeter last semester and they got along pretty well. He’s sure the older man wouldn’t mind Peter bugging you for a little while.
Still heavy with the feeling that he’s done something wrong, Peter brought along your favorite sweet treat from the cafe on campus. Hopefully, that will soothe his worries and give you a boost for the day. He knows you look forward to Saturdays just as much as he does.
Peter’s heading toward the lecture hall when his brain finally catches up with the rest of your note. What research were you talking about? You hadn’t told him you were a part of any projects.
He’s always yapping to you about his labs. He figured you would do the same. Maybe it’s new, he thinks.
Pushing open the door, he spots you immediately. You’re at a desk, papers and books piling all around you. There are three other people with you, each of whom he has a vague recollection of.
“I mean, I don’t even know how we’re supposed to salvage this.” Your voice sounds strained, completely pulled taut. Peter frowns, wishing he could just take your problems and shoulder them for you.
“It’ll be okay,” one of the girls assures you.
You finally lift your head from your hands. “Twelve pages with zero references, we’re going to be at this all damn day.” Peter draws back slightly, suddenly wondering if this is such a good idea.
He knows how testy you can get about school. Especially major projects. Sometimes just leaving you alone seems to work better than smothering. But, then, before he can back out, one of the girls, he thinks her name’s Mila, catches sight of him.
“Peter?” She calls out. Your eyes instantly snap to him. If he thought you were angry at him before, he does not feel any better now. Your gaze is sharp, lips in a flat line, and there’s absolutely nothing on your face except perpetual irritation.
“What’re you doing here?” You snap and your voice is way sharper than he was expecting. Holding his hands up slightly, he approaches slowly. He doesn’t want to treat his girlfriend like a stray dog, but you look ready to go for someone’s jugular.
“I thought you might want something to eat. Figured you didn’t have any time before you left to get something.”
Mila and the other girl both aw over him and it gives him the briefest amount of hope. But then you’re shoving out of your chair and storming toward him. Peter swallows roughly as you approach. He almost wishes he were fighting that living-fire guy right now.
You snatch his sleeve in your hand and drag him back toward the door. “Peter, why are you here?” You demand, voice lowered so the others can't hear.
He frowns and shrugs helplessly. “It’s Saturday, we always spend Saturday together.”
You cross your arms, a sharp, derisive look on your face. Okay, definitely mad. “Oh, so you can remember dates now? What’s next? Are you going to show up on time for once?”
“Hey,” he objects, hoping to lighten the mood. “I was on time yesterday.”
Your eyes narrow and something on your face goes blank. He can’t place it exactly, but it’s like there’s a wall where he can usually read you so well. “Yeah, doesn’t count if you ditch me ten minutes later, babe.”
The venom in your voice makes him take a step back. He looks down, knowing you’re right. But he doesn’t want you any more mad than you are, instead of addressing it, he nods toward your desk.
“What’s going on here?”
“We’re working on the dementia research project with Professor Beeter.”
Peter wants to light up, to hug you, and congratulate you for finally getting an in with the professor you’ve been trying to work with since last year. But you deliver him the news so flatly he feels like you’d only get more mad.
“You didn’t tell me about that,” he says instead. Which is very clearly the wrong answer, by the way you back off with a sharp scoff.
“I’m not sure when I would have, Peter. I got placed two weeks ago and I haven’t seen you for more than an hour since then. Besides, when I tried to tell you yesterday, you fucking bolted to May’s.” You pause, and your lips curl up into something cruel. “Or was it Gwen’s place? Sorry, I can’t remember which lie you bullshited your way through.”
Peter feels his heart drop to his feet. It’s like a film goes over his eyes as his mind scrambles for any explanation that isn’t ‘I was busy beating up a robot with a weird, creepy human brain in it.’ Because he’s pretty sure that would be grounds enough for you to dump him right now.
You really don’t give him a chance, either way. You snatch the bag from his hand and the smile drops from your face. “Thanks for the visit. You can go now.” You turn back toward your teammates without another look at him. “Hungry?” You call out to Mila.
She gives a hesitant nod and you toss Peter’s pastry at her. “Dig in.” Even when you sit down, you don’t look up from your books. Not even a twitch as he opens the door.
Peter walks out, still slightly numb from the whole… argument? Did that even count as an argument? Or was that just you finally calling him out?
You’ve let him get away with a lot and maybe he took advantage of that, but he’s worried you might have the wrong idea. He doesn’t know why you would bring up Gwen, but the tone of your voice was so accusatory that he feels sick to his stomach.
Yes, he was at her house last night. But that’s because he needed to be stitched up. She’s known about Spider-Man since high school. It was either bleed out or have her use her beginner's sewing kit.
Peter lets out a shaky breath and runs his hands through his hair restlessly. You’ve both gotten into worse fights before. It’s not like you were a perfect couple. Surely, you could find a way to get over this. He just needs a half-decent excuse for his lying.
Peter perks up as he hears you step into the apartment. He glances at the clock and grimaces. You’re going to be pissed that you had to stay there until 6, fixing someone else’s screwup. When you round the corner and see him, he hears you let out one of the most exhausted noises he’s ever heard from you.
“Peter,” he finally turns to meet your eye. “Why are you here?”
His chest clenches as he forces a smile. “I figured you would be hungry.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Are you ever at your own place?”
Ouch. “I just wanted to make you dinner. I’ll be out of your hair as soon as it’s done, bug.”
You shrug off your jacket and take a seat at the kitchen island. Peter takes your silence as agreement and goes back to stirring the pasta. When you speak again, his ears practically touch his shoulders. This dreadful feeling in his stomach has just been mounting all day. He feels ready to vibrate out of his own skin.
“Peter, where were you last night? I want the truth.”
Peter’s hand clenches around the spoon and he keeps his back to you. “Went over to May’s to help around the house and then I saw Gwen.”
You let out a loud scoff and your hands slap against the counter. “Did you all get your stories straight? Am I hearing the right lie, now?”
Peter drops the spoon and turns to face you. He expects anger, maybe sadness. But you’re not giving him anything. You’re just… cold and Peter hates it. He’s seen you use that look before. It’s always been directed at people you don’t care about. You don’t hate them, you don’t love them, you just… don’t care. He doesn’t want to be someone you don’t care about. He can’t be.
“Look me in the eye,” you command. “Tell me the truth.”
Peter takes in a steadying breath, doing his best not to make it obvious. “Sweetheart, I swear, I went to help May with the heat and the gutters. Gwen called and she needed my help on her chemistry project. I’m sorry that I got home late-”
“I can’t,” you clear your throat and the way your voice cracks makes his heart ache. “I can’t believe that you’re just going to stand there and lie to me.”
He shakes his head and takes a desperate step forward. “No, bug, I’m-”
You hold your hand up and his jaw snaps shut. “You’ve talked Peter, now it’s my turn. I have put up with a lot from you. If anyone treated me the way you do, you know what you would tell me?”
He opens his mouth and you shoot him a look that makes him shrink into himself. “Do not answer that, I am still talking. You would tell me to cut them out. If someone doesn’t respect my time, my dates, if they lie straight to my fucking face, then that’s not someone who deserves to be in my life. You are never on time, if you even show up at all.”
He wants to object, he really does, but he knows you’re right. Still, you must sense his apprehension. “Scroll through our texts from the past two months. It’s just a block of me asking where you are and telling you how stupid I feel. Then you show up, make everything better, and I just let you get away with it. Because I have known and loved you for so long, I let you disrespect me. I can handle missing dates, I can handle not being on time, always being at my place and never letting me over at yours. But I can’t do this, I can’t just swallow down you lying straight to my face. Getting your aunt and my best friend involved in this is sick, Pete. What do you expect me to think when Gwen’s lying about why you’re at her place?”
“No, sweetheart,” he finally speaks, rushing toward you, voice breaking on something desperate. He reaches for you, but you jerk back and he swears something cracks open inside him. “I would never.”
“Yeah,” you whisper. “Why would I ever believe you?”
Peter flounders. He tries to think of anything. Anything that isn’t a lie and isn’t the truth about who he is. But his mind is blank. The panic flooding through him is overriding anything that might get you back, might get you in his arms again.
You suck your teeth and give him a jerky nod. “Why do I feel like I’m losing you?” He whispers, afraid that if he speaks any louder, he might actually cry.
“I think this has been happening for a long time, Peter. It’s just your first time realizing it.”
No, no, he can’t handle that. He can’t handle knowing that this awful, barbed feeling ripping through him is how he’s made you feel for so long. But he can’t just spill his guts and tell you everything.
Right after Gwen had discovered him, it was like the bad guys had a missile lock on her. She kept getting thrown into danger, nearly dying, because of him. He can’t be the reason you get hurt. He can’t live with that.
But he’s hurting you either way and for once, he can’t think of a way to make this all smooth over.
You take in a sharp breath and turn away from him. You walk to the stove, turning off the burner as the food begins to smoke. “I think you should go, Peter.”
“Bug,” but he doesn’t have anything to say and you still won’t look at him. He just wants you to look at him. He feels as if you did, if you saw how sorry he was, something here might be fixed.
“I’m going to take a shower. When I’m done, I expect you to be gone.” You toss the pot in the sink and head down the hall, not another word spared for him. And Peter…
He just spirals. Every mistake, every time he showed up late, just pummels into him as he realizes this is all his fault.
You turned off your phone yesterday. The missed calls and texts from Peter were bordering on obnoxious and you couldn’t take it anymore. Even Gwen kept trying to call you. Kept texting you that it’s not what you think.
But did they ever offer any other explanation?
No, they fucking didn’t.
So, not only did you lose your boyfriend, the man you’ve been in love with as long as you’ve known him. You also lost your best friend.
Best. Week. Ever.
Sick of being sad in your bed, you decide to go be sad outside. Maybe just grab a pint of ice cream from the bodega and lock yourself inside your apartment for the rest of your life. That sounds like a decent plan.
Leaving your phone, you grab your keys and some cash. It’s still cold outside, though the snow has calmed down a little bit. It soaks through your tennis shoes, now, seeps along the hem of your sweatpants. No part of you can be bothered to care about that as you trudge toward the shop.
It’s unusually quiet as you walk inside. Usually it’s a lot busier this time of night. Maybe the universe decided to give you a break.
Digging through the freezer section, you frown when you don’t see your favorite flavor. You turn toward the shop owner, Al, who has gotten used to you coming down here the past few days. “You guys don’t have any more Turtlesaurus Rex?”
Al’s silent and you frown, finally turning to fully face him. A man in a black jacket lingers by the counter, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. Al gives you a tense smile, and your brows furrow as dread picks at you.
“All out. Maurie down the street might have some.” There’s something about how wide his eyes are that’s making you think you probably should have brought your phone. Especially because you definitely just saw the handle of a gun in that man’s jacket and you really need to call the cops. (Even though they probably won’t do anything.)
“Yeah, I’ll go check over there.”
“Have a good night.”
You try not to sound stiff as you return the sentiment. But you’ve barely made it to the door when you hear the distinct sound of a hammer being pulled back.
“You think I’m stupid?” What a wonderful time this would be for a freak in red and blue spandex to show up.
You turn slowly and shake your head, absolutely zero idea how to defuse this.
“I think the lady’s just being polite. Personally, I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone encapsulate the term ‘mouth-breather’ so well.”
Your eyes widen, and you whip around to see Spider-Man standing at the entrance of the bodega. What the fuck is your life?
“Hey, jackass,” you hiss, and his head whips toward you. “Who’s he pointing the gun at?”
Spider-Man shrugs, “What gun?” You barely have a second to blink before a thick white string is twhip-ing past you and jerking the gun out of the man’s hands.
“Smartass,” you mutter under your breath.
“I think you mean, ‘thank you, Spider-Man for saving my life,’” you shoot him a flat look and walk out of the bodega. Maybe it’s time to just accept that you’re not meant to be in the outside world. You’re better off cocooned in your bed.
There are no robbers there. No cheating boyfriends and conniving best friends.
About a minute later, you hear rapid footsteps approaching. “I don’t have a purse, phone, or wallet.”
“Wow, great mugger-deterrent. I totally don’t want to rob you now.”
You plant your feet in the snow and hear Spider-Man let out a sharp breath as he skids around you. “I thought you were the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Not the quippy, neighborhood pervert who follows girls around at night.”
Spider-Man lets out a noise that can only be described as a guffaw. “I’m making sure you get home safely. Since clearly you don’t care. I mean, who walks around this late at night without mace at least?”
“Me,” you tell him flatly.
“Pretty girls shouldn’t be walking around here on their own.”
Your lips curl and you gag as you continue toward your apartment. “Okay, first of all, totally not helping with your creep angle.” He groans and you almost laugh at the defeated sound. “Also, I’m fresh off a break-up, so keep the compliments to yourself.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Spider-Man quickly jumps in front of you and you frown as he blocks your way. “Breakup,” his voice is pitched so high, you swear it almost sounds familiar. “You broke up with someone?”
“Uh… yeah.”
“R-really?” He tries to lean against a lamppost, slips, and then straightens awkwardly like he meant to do that. “Because you know sometimes people think that it’s just a break and not a breakup, you know? Big difference. Are you sure this isn’t just a break?”
He’s talking so rapidly you can barely understand him. It doesn’t help that he’s got that mask on, so you can’t try to catch the words on his lips to decipher them. You think you might have gotten half of that word-vomit.
“Well, I’m the one who did it. I feel like I should know.”
“Does he?” He holds up his hands, quick to correct himself. “Or she? Spider-Man doesn’t judge.”
“Oh, good to know, he’s a pervert, but at least he’s an ally.” You push past him. “Look, if he doesn’t know, then he’s a lot stupider than I gave him credit for.”
You hear a low, “Ouch,” behind you and figure you might be being a tad harsh about Peter. But what the hell would Spider-Man care?
“You know,” Spider-Man continues after you.
Jesus, he’s like a damn dog.
“I’ve always believed that everyone deserves a second chance.”
You glare over at him and swear you see the eyes of his mask turn down. You’ve never seen a mask emote before; it’s incredibly bizarre. “Do they deserve a second chance after sleeping with your best friend?”
Spider-Man shrugs, throwing his hands in the air. “Do you have evidence that it happened, though?”
“Dude,” you snap. “What do you care? And what other evidence would I need besides the fact that he wouldn’t tell me the truth? If there was nothing to hide, why would he continue to hide shit?”
You hear his inhale of breath and shake your head, holding your hands up. “No, you know what, no. Alright? I didn’t get my Turtlesaurus Rex and I am not going to listen to some weirdo in a unitard give me relationship advice.”
“Unitard?” He scoffs. “I’m not a weirdo.”
“Oh, yeah?” You call over your shoulder. “Then stop following me home!” It takes a few minutes to believe he’s actually gone and you can finally breathe again. What weird ass fever dream was your life turning into?
You sit on the ledge of your roof’s building, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. You’re scrolling through all the texts Peter’s sent you in the last three hours. There are at least fifty of them. But it’s the one at the end that really catches your eye.
Is this really it? Are we done? Bug-
You stop reading at the nickname and put your phone down. Reluctantly, Spider-Man’s words from the other night pop into your head. Some people think it's a break, not a breakup.
How could Peter not have gotten the message by now?
“Fancy meeting you here.”
You let out a screech and jolt forward. Arms winding wildly as you try to regain your balance. The city tilts below you until something’s latched onto the back of your shirt and you’re suddenly being pulled into a firm chest.
“Why would you sit on the edge?” Again, his voice gets an impressively shrill pitch.
Shoving away from him, you whip around and slap his shoulder. “Why would you scare someone sitting on the edge?”
You can hear his sharp intake of breath before his argument fizzles out. “That’s what I thought Spider-Boy-”
“Man.”
“Whatever.” You walk back to the edge and rewrap yourself in your blanket. With a pointed glare over your shoulder, you hop right back on your perch. Spider-Man lets out a world-weary sigh before he jumps up beside you.
“You know,” he drawls. “Most people say thank you when a superhero saves you.”
“Oh,” you laugh. “Is that what you are, now? A superhero?”
“Dude. What is your problem?” His voice goes so flat, all humor sucked out of it, that, for some weird reason, it’s the first thing he’s said to get a real laugh out of you. He seems just as confused as you are if the way he tosses his hands up means anything.
“I cannot figure you out.”
You shake your head and brush a stray curl from your eyes. “It’s not you, Bugboy-”
“Rude.”
“It’s life,” you spread your palms out, gesturing to the sprawling city across from you. “Just broke up with the love of my life. Lost my bestie. The research project I’ve been trying to join for a year is falling apart at the seams. Oh, and I almost got shot yesterday.”
You point your face to the sky and let out a dramatic sigh. “God hates me.”
There’s a light nudge on your arm and you look over to see that Spider-Man’s moved closer to you. “God doesn’t hate you.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. Because I didn’t let you get shot. I’d say that’s pretty damn lucky.” You snort and from the mask, you think he’s… pleased? It’s really hard to tell.
“I guess that’s fair.”
Spider-Man lets out a satisfied hum as he turns to the city. “You gotta stop being so hard on yourself, bug.”
Your entire body goes still. Your eyes widen as they stare down at your lap, adrenaline rushing through your blood as you turn toward Spider-Man. “What’d you say?” You ask, voice so low you’re surprised he even registers it.
He shrugs, “I said to stop being so hard on yourself.”
“No, you called me something. What’d you call me?”
“Bug,” Spider-Man drawls and you swear you’re going crazy because that voice is painfully familiar. “You called me Bugboy, I thought it would be fair.”
It’s too hard to distinguish whether this swooping feeling in your stomach is relief or disappointment. And you hate yourself for not knowing which one you want it to be.
“Right,” you scoff and rub your eyes. “I’m going crazy, now.”
Spider-Man lets out a long sigh as he watches you. “You kind of seem like you’re having a mental breakdown. Maybe, I don’t know, get off the edge of the very tall building.”
“Oh, don’t tell me Bugboy’s got a crush.”
Your lips curl at his scoff. “You’re impossible.”
Feeling only slightly guilty for the hell you’ve given him, you slip off the edge and get your feet planted firmly on the ground. “Better?”
He surveys you suspiciously before nodding. You pick your phone up off the ledge and, for some reason, are compelled to open up the texts with Peter. You should have guessed how nosey Spider-Man was going to be about it.
“That the ex?”
You shoot him a flat look as he kicks his legs over the ledge. “Yeah. That’s the ex.”
“So, what are you going to tell him?” He motions toward the last text. “Break or breakup?” Your mind snags on how Peter called you bug and Spider-Man’s weird slip-up before you force yourself to dispel the thoughts.
“Breakup. I guess I should have made it more clear.” Your fingers hover over the keyboard before you shoot Spider-Man a look. His back has gone weirdly tense and you frown. “Hey, you’re a guy. How’s the nicest way to tell him it’s done.”
“Don’t.” His voice is clipped, almost angry. “He’ll get the hint. Trust me.”
Your brows furrow as you eye him warily. “Are you okay?”
“Gotta go. Superhero business, you know?” You shrug, but he doesn’t seem to care. He’s already leaping off the ledge, thwip-ing his way to the building across from yours.
“Weirdo,” you scoff.
You figured that after Spider-Man’s abrupt departure on the roof, that would be the end of it. But, no, it’s only gotten worse for you. He’s everywhere now. He’s somehow more consistent than your ex ever was.
Walking home from late research sections, look who wants to be a walking buddy.
Heading to the bodega for a midnight snack, somehow, Spider-Man had the same idea.
Your life is now a Sunday comic strip in the paper. It’s like there’s some sadistic artist out there exploiting your misery for humor. It’s not just him, either. It’s the month. In all your drama with Peter, you’d failed to keep up with the dates.
Now, freshly single for the first time in a couple of years, you sit alone preparing yourself for the next week. Valentine’s Day is Saturday, which means suffering through pink streamers all over campus and girls walking around with gift baskets lovingly curated by their boyfriends.
“I don’t like how often I find you on this ledge.”
You spare a glance over your shoulder and smile. “I don’t like that you still haven’t learned not to scare me.”
“Touche,” Spider-Man breathes out, taking quick strides toward you. “You seem tense. Feel like sharing? I’m a great listener.”
“Nothing big, just Valentine’s Day. I’ve had a boyfriend for so long I forgot how bitter and annoying it is for single people.”
“Tell me about it,” he sighs.
“Really? The Spider-Man is single?”
“I appreciate the surprise in your voice, no matter how forced it is.” You let out a wry chuckle and you swear you can hear a smile in his laugh.
“Probably a good thing, though. I can’t imagine any girlfriend would be happy with the amount of time you spend on this ledge with me.”
“No,” he agrees, “probably not.” The next noise he lets out is soft, tired in the kind of way that resonates with you. For the most part, your interactions are shallow. There’s banter, stupid quips, and then he’s off. You don’t usually hear something so real from him.
“Freshly single?” You ask. His head whips toward you and you shrug. “I recognize the misery of your sigh. It resonates within my withered heart.”
Spider-Man swats your shoulder lightly and you grin. “Yeah, it’s fresh. I still don’t think I’ve accepted it.”
You prop your chin in your hand and smile at him. “What level of not accepted are we talking here? Stalking? Or just crying over Instagram posts?”
Spider-Man goes quiet and you pull back. He recognizes the suspicion on your face and waves his hands. “No, no, no, this doesn’t count as stalking. Not really. I mean, it’s consensual?”
He sounds more unsure of himself at the end than you did. “Let's just not talk about that,” you offer. “I don’t think I want to know what your idea of consensual stalking is.” Spider-Man snorts and you shake your head.
A billboard across from you catches your eye. It’s Gwen’s favorite band, an announcement that they’ll be coming through soon. There’s a sharp ache in your chest when you remember you can’t just text her about stuff like that anymore.
“Gwen would love that,” you say, almost without thinking.
But what’s worse is when the man beside you doesn’t think either. “Oh, yeah, she would.”
Consensual
Stalking
Oh. My. God.
Your entire body stiffens as you turn to Spider-Man/maybe your ex-boyfriend. He doesn’t seem to realize his slip-up and that just makes you freeze up. You don’t know what to do. You can’t just blindly accuse him of being Peter. If you start hinting at secret identities, he might stop talking to you.
Loathe as you are to admit it, you’ve begun to enjoy his company. The main reason being he reminded you of how it was with Peter before you guys started dating.
Oh, Jesus, you’re gonna throw up off the ledge of your building. When the pavement below seems to swim up to you, it’s time to slip off the ledge. Slowly, fighting off the vertigo of your discovery, you drop back to safety.
Spider-Man watches you, head tilted in question. “Um, I have to go.” You search for an excuse, but none comes. “Yeah, I have to go.”
“Oh,” he seems taken aback, but doesn’t comment. “Alright. I’ll see you later?”
You let out a noise between a hum and a squeal as you rush back into your apartment building. Your mind is racing while you scramble through the door of your apartment. Like a detective, you flit through different memories, red string connecting each one as you start to line up Peter’s disappearances with Spider-Man's greatest hits.
Every missed date, every time he showed up late, it was all right there. But you never thought to connect it because… Well, why would you? Peter is Peter. He’s not a superhero. He definitely doesn’t have webs. Please, don’t let him have webs.
Scrambling for your phone, you dial the first number you can think of. It’s barely ringing before it’s getting picked up. “Gwen,” your voice is incredibly shaky as you try to calm yourself down. “I’m going to ask you something and if you don’t tell me the truth, we’re never talking again.”
Spider-Man/Peter Parker/ex-boyfriend-
No, no, too many titles. Peter has not been around in the past week. Not as his alter ego, and not at his lectures. Unfortunately, a lot of your schedule seems to intersect and the majority of your day is spent hiding in a hoodie and trying not to make eye contact.
But there hasn’t been any of that at all this week.
Maybe Gwen told him you know. He’s probably losing his mind right now.
But, no, she swore she wouldn’t and you know she’s not going to risk hurting your friendship again. Though you did profusely apologize for ever thinking that she could do that to you. And then she berated you about thinking she would ever be attracted to Peter.
Which… Ouch.
It’s Saturday, which used to mean days spent with him. Instead, it now means watching people get all mushy on Valentine’s Day. That used to be you, disgustingly in love, kissing way more than you should in public.
Now, you watch it all on the subway with that same old glare you used to have before Peter. You’re thinking about him a lot more than you want to. Especially given that he’s supposed to be an ex.
After your long speech on respect and boundaries and honesty, you should be completely over him. But it sort of makes sense now. Especially after Gwen told you what happened to her when she found out about him.
Peter wanted to protect you. You can understand that. But it doesn’t just erase all of the pain you felt while you were in the dark. You let out a low groan, ignoring the people around you as you walk home. You just keep going in circles over and over again.
The streets around you begin to thin out the closer to home you get. You’re still so deep in thought, you don’t notice the man dangling in front of you until your forehead is smacking into his.
“Ow,” you hiss, pressing your palm to the bruise that’s probably already forming. Backing up, Spider-Man, Peter, is dangling from the small overpass, upside down, as he waits for you.
“Dude,” you drawl. “How long have you just been hanging out here?”
He shrugs, “An hour, maybe.” Only in Queens would people pass by a dangling man in spandex and not question a thing.
One of his hands is tucked behind his back, and the other is holding onto his webbing. “Here,” he says. “I’ve got something for you.”
He untucks his free hand and passes you a bright pink, smothered in glitter, Valentine's Day card. You can hear his proud smile as he asks, “Be my Valentine?”
Narrowing your eyes at him, you shake your head with a low laugh. This is the dork you fell in love with. The boy you swore you would follow anywhere. It’s not his fault he’s such an idiot, not really.
Something soothes the ever permanent ache in your heart as you imagine the smile he’s probably got plastered on face. God, you bet he’s so proud of himself for this silly little Valentine.
A deep longing echoes through you and you reach up, going for the edge of his mask, when he reels back. “What’re you-”
“Relax, Parker,” you whisper. He goes completely still and you take hold of the mask.
“Did Gwen tell you?”
“You did, dumbass. You know, you’re really bad at the whole secret identity thing when it comes to consensually stalking your ex.” He lets out a low groan as you peel down his mask, just enough for his lips to be visible.
Pulling back, you take his face in your hands and smile. “Do you want me as your Valentine, or not?”
“What do you think, bug?” With a soft laugh, you lean forward and press your lips to his. It takes a second to get the angle right, what with his chin brushing your nose and all. But you don’t need perfect, you just need him.
Pulling back, he’s got a goofy grin on his face and you smirk. “Parker?” He hums as you fix his mask. “If you ever lie to me again, I’ll cut a hole in the crotch of your unitard. Or, worse second option, I’ll tell Jonah Jameson where you live. Got it?”
He goes still and you raise a brow. “You’re not joking?” You shake your head, expression flat. “Yeah, I got it, sweetheart.”
Smiling, you press a kiss to his cheek and step back. “Be home by six,” you tell him. “And bring some takeout.” You walk around him as he swings himself back up to the top of the overpass.
“I love you!” He calls after you.
“I know you do, Bugboy!”
𝘞𝘦 𝘈𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘉𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘜𝘱 𝘈𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘓𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘕𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵
𝘚𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘢 𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 ♥︎
⇄ ◁◁ I I ▷▷ ↻
⁰² ⁰⁸ ━━━━━━━━━●━ ⁰⁰ ²⁵
💿 We've been here before and we'll be here tomorrow 💿
a/n: this was meant to be angstier but, well, I started writing him in the Spider-Man “voice” and folded like a wet paper towel
drunkenly ranting to a frat guy about how much ex!rafe sucked, only to realize halfway through the conversation that the stranger listening to every word is rafe himself.
“you sound familiar,” she laughs, words slurring slightly as she leans against the sticky kitchen counter. the frat house is loud, bass shaking through the floorboards, but his voice cuts through it anyway.
“do i?” he asks.
“mhm.” she squints at him, pointing lazily. “you’ve got the same voice as my ex boyfriend. which is unfortunate for you because he was literally the worst person alive.”
he chokes on his drink a little. “damn. harsh.”
“no, you don’t get it.” she grabs his arm like she’s telling him a secret. “rafe thought he was so charming. all backwards hats and stupid smirks. god, i hated him.”
“sounds like a dick.”
“exactly!” she says, delighted he understands. “wait—” her eyes narrow again. “you even laugh like him. that’s freaking me out.”
“maybe everyone in fraternities is the same guy.”
she gasps. “that’s so deep.”
he laughs harder this time, and she groans, covering her face. “stop doing that. it’s actually scary.”
“sorry.”
“whatever. at least you’re nicer than he was.” she pokes his chest. “rafe used to disappear at parties and leave me alone.”
his smile fades just slightly. “yeah?”
“yeah.” she looks down at her cup. “i think he loved being loved more than he actually loved me.”
for a second, he just stares at her. then quietly, “you really think that?”
she shrugs. “doesn’t matter now.” another crooked grin spreads across her face. “besides, i’m talking to you. frat boy clone number six.”
“number six?”
“maybe seven.” she tilts her head. “wait.”
his heart jumps. she steps closer, eyes scanning his face with drunken concentration. “oh my god.”
“what?”
“you even have the same cologne.”
there’s a long pause. then she bursts out laughing. “if you turn around and tell me your name is rafe i think i’d actually throw up.”
“…that would be pretty bad.”
“right?” she says, missing the way he’s already smiling. “anyway, what’s your name?”
he looks at her for a long second, like he’s debating whether to ruin the moment. then, “matt.”
“matt,” she repeats suspiciously. “that’s such a frat guy name.”
“you’re at a frat party.”
“fair.” she sways a little, nearly losing balance before he catches her elbow automatically. she blinks up at him. “see? rafe never caught me when i almost fell.”
“maybe rafe sucked less than you think.”
“absolutely not.” she points at him again. “don’t defend him. that man ghosted me for twelve hours during formal.”
“i was throwing up behind the hotel.”
“he didn’t even text me!”
“my phone died.”
she narrows her eyes. “you are weirdly invested in this story, matt.”
“just trying to see both sides.”
“there were no sides,” she insists. “he was terrible and i was adorable.”
“that part’s true.”
she freezes for half a second at the easy way he says it. “you flirt a lot,” she mumbles.
“only with girls who compare me to their ex boyfriends.”
“well maybe i have unresolved issues.”
“maybe.”
she studies him again, slower this time. his face is half-shadowed by the shitty colored lights strung across the ceiling, but something about him keeps tugging at her memory.
“have we met before?” she asks softly.
his expression shifts. “i don’t know,” he says carefully. “have we?”
“your eyes are familiar.”
“that so?”
“mhm.” she steps closer until she’s practically pressed against him, squinting with intense drunken focus. “and your nose.”
he laughs under his breath. “my nose?”
“don’t laugh.” she reaches up and touches the bridge of it lightly. “i know this nose.”
his hand catches her wrist gently, mostly because he thinks his heart might actually stop. “you’re really drunk.”
“a little.” she looks at him through her lashes. “you’re really pretty.”
that catches him off guard enough that he actually looks away. she smiles triumphantly. “ha. made you nervous.”
“impossible.”
“matt,” she says seriously, “if you end up being secretly evil i’m going to be devastated.”
“what if i said i already know you?”
“i’d say that’s creepy.”
“fair.”
she tilts her head again. “wait.” there it is. that same almost-recognition. his stomach flips. “oh my god,” she whispers.
“yeah?”
“you stole rafe’s face.” he stares at her. then she frowns. “that sounded smarter in my head.”
he laughs so hard at that he has to look away.
and that’s what does it.
the laugh.
not the voice, not the eyes, not the stupid cologne she kept noticing — the laugh. the exact same laugh that used to wake her up at 2 a.m. in his dorm room when he was watching dumb videos with the volume too loud.
her smile slowly drops.
“…rafe?”
his laughter dies immediately.
around them, the party keeps moving. somebody yells from upstairs, music rattles the walls, cups clatter in the kitchen sink. but suddenly it feels weirdly quiet.
she stares at him like she’s trying to sober herself through pure force.
“oh my god,” she says again, except this time it comes out horrified.
“hey—”
“you asshole.” she smacks his arm hard enough to make him wince. “you let me talk shit about you for, like, twenty minutes!”
“in my defense, it was kind of entertaining.”
“rafe!”
“okay, yeah, i deserved that one.”
she covers her face with both hands. “i told you you were pretty.”
“still thinking about that part, actually.”
“i’m going to kill you.”
he grins despite himself. “you also said you were adorable.”
“because i am.”
“true.”
she groans loudly and leans forward until her forehead hits his chest. he catches her automatically, hands settling at her waist like muscle memory.
that makes both of them go still.
she notices it first, probably. the way he still holds her like nothing changed. like they didn’t spend months pretending not to exist to each other on campus.
quietly, muffled against his shirt, “you really threw up behind the hotel?”
he snorts. “violently.”
she starts laughing before she can stop herself, shoulders shaking against him. “you could’ve texted me from the bathroom, idiot.”
“i know.”
“i thought you were cheating on me.”
his smile disappears. she lifts her head enough to see his face properly then, and the guilt there hits harder than she expects.
“i never cheated on you,” he says softly.
the drunken haze in her brain dulls around the edges. “i know that now.”
for a second neither of them says anything. then, because she can’t handle sincerity for more than ten consecutive seconds, she pokes his chest. “still can’t believe you introduced yourself as matt.”
“panicked.”
“that’s not even close to your name.”
“could’ve been worse.”
“what, chad?”
“i could pull off a chad.”
she laughs again, and he swears it feels exactly like getting something back he thought he lost for good.
Inevitable (Alex Summers x Reader)
Reader Insert: she/her pronouns
Word Count: 13,014
Warnings: violence, angst, fluff, death, injuries, mentions of unable to have children, sad ending, implied sexual actions
Spoilers: I guess the plots of X-Men First Class, Days of Future Past, and Apocalypse but the films have been out for years so don't at me.
This is the story of Y/N L/N and Alex Summers - of Aura, the girl who could turn invisible and manipulate energy around her, and Havok, the boy who could generate and blast plasma from his body. A boy destined for destruction, and a girl who could prevent it.
Their story was always inevitable.
I'm going through an X-Men rewatch and I forgot how much of a chokehold some of these characters had me in, especially from the First Class era. As you can probably tell from my previous stories, I have an soft spot for the tragic ones, so here is my little story of Alex Summers who bloody deserved better.
1962 - C.I.A. Mutant Division
Y/N looked around at her surroundings as she followed Erik and Charles down corridor after corridor. She'd never met C.I.A agents before, let alone stepped inside one of their facilities. But Erik and Charles aren't C.I.A., she reminded herself as she took in the bland concrete walls and cold, harsh lighting above her. They were like her - mutants.
She hadn't believed them at first when they'd told her just a few hours ago inside the cafe she was closing up for the day. It had been a busy day and she hadn't had time for a drink of water let alone any reasonable break. She thought she was hallucinating when the two had entered the cafe, prattling on about how they knew who she was.
It was only when she demanded they prove it - that they were like her - and the taller one (Erik) had lifted every piece of dirty cutlery in the store and had them float into the foaming sink to be cleaned that she believed them.
That was almost seven hours ago, the drive from New York to Virginia giving the men more than enough time to bring her up to speed on what they were doing and why: they were gathering other mutants like her to stop another war from starting.
As she followed the two men through the facility, only now did she start to have doubts about their intentions. For all she knew, she was going to be experimented on and tortured, possibly killed.
'If we'd wanted you dead, we would've made sure of that back in New York,' Charles suddenly said without looking as he and Erick led the way.
'What? How did you-' Y/N started to ask, but cut herself off as she remembered what Charles' gift allowed him to do.
Y/N noticed her surroundings starting to change. Instead of a war bunker, the corridors started looking more home-like and the lights grew warmer. As they approached a big orange door, Y/N heard voices speaking and laughing in the room beyond. They sounded... happy.
Finally, Charles looked at her and spoke, but not with his mouth. I promise you, Y/N, he said into her mind, freaking her out a little bit, you don't have to be scared here. You don't have to hide who you are from the people beyond this door. Here, you can be free. Happy, even.
Y/N looked between Charles and the door for a moment, imagining whose faces belonged to which laugh, which voice. She imagined herself doing those same things, and that was what convinced her that she was in the right place.
'Are you ready to meet your new family?' Charles asked aloud this time, to which Y/N nodded and Erik opened the door.
Y/N was met with six people sitting around a coffee table chatting and laughing while having a few drinks. She took a moment to admire them all - a short girl with dark hair and visible tattoos all along her shoulders and arms; a red-head who seemed to be doing a lot of the talking in the group; a man with charcoal skin and broad shoulders in a tight grey vest-shirt; a boy with glasses who looked really shy next to a gorgeous blonde girl who could very well have been a super model; and a blond boy in a dark t-shirt and leather jacket who had the smoothest smile Y/N had ever seen.
They were the perfect picture - how could she possibly interrupt that? Y/N was about to leave when suddenly Charles called for everyone's attention and that smooth smile from the blond was now aimed at her. Her heart thudded in her chest, embarrassment at being caught flooding her cheeks and she just had the visceral response to hide, hide, hide.
'Everyone,' Charles started proudly as he motioned to Y/N, 'this is Y/N. She will be- Wait, where did she go?'
Y/N watched as everyone looked around the room even though she she hadn't moved. Both Charles and Erik looked at her, but they didn't seem to see her. That's when she looked down at her hands and found her entire body covered in a translucent light only she could see. And that could only mean one thing.
'Sorry, I'm right here.' Y/N concentrated hard on revealing herself and when she could no longer see the translucent light, she knew she could be seen again.
'Whoa,' the red-head said, his mouth gaping in shock.
'That... is wicked cool,' the broad-shouldered man exclaimed.
'As I was saying before,' Charles said, sounding sheepish at forgetting her ability, 'this is Y/N. She will be joining you all and her gift... Well, we will leave that to her to discuss that with you all. Erik?'
'Yes,' Erik replied, and then the two of them were gone, closing the door behind them and leaving Y/N standing all alone.
Y/N was usually a confident person - she had to be as a waitress - but having six pairs of eyes staring at her so intently had her wanting to hide again. The beautiful blonde stood up from her place on the white couch and sauntered over to her. Y/N found herself looking up at the woman, who seemed to have legs for days and the most beautiful smile as she approached.
'I'm Raven,' she said, holding a hand out in greeting. When Y/N shook her hand, she gestured to the couch. 'You've come at the best time. We were all just about to discuss our gifts with one another.'
Y/N was quickly dragged to the couch and plunged into an in-depth conversation with the six. After only a few minutes, Y/N felt as if she'd always been there, talking and laughing and joking around and becoming more confident. Although, she couldn't compete with the blond boy with the smooth smile from earlier, now known as Alex Summers.
In the short time she'd heard him speak, she'd deduced he was the cockiest man in every room ever. No wonder he was put into solitary confinement, she thought when he mentioned he was picked up by Charles and Erik at his army base. He's probably been the instigator of more than one fight.
'We should think of some code names,' Raven suggested enthusiastically. 'We're technically government agents now. We should have code names. I want to be called Mystique.'
'Damn, I wanted to be called Mystique,' Sean, the red-head, groaned in fake misery, causing everyone to laugh.
'Well, tough. I called it,' Raven said, then her voiced changed as she physically did, eliciting gasps from the group as she now sat as an exact replica of Sean. 'And I am way more mysterious than you.'
The group gave her a round of applause as she morphed back into the beautiful blonde, but now that she'd revealed her gift, Y/N wondered if what she showed everyone now was her true form or just another disguise.
One by one they went around the room, showing off their abilities and coming up with names for each other. The mood somewhat soured when Angel asked Hank who he wanted to be.
'How about Bigfoot?' Alex jested as he took another sip of his coke. His condescending laughter communicated that it wasn't a nice joke, and that didn't sit well with Y/N.
'Well you know what they say about guys with big feet,' Raven said, eyeing his own feet before she continued, 'and, um, yours are kind of small.'
Alex's smirk dropped instantaneously as the group laughed and oohed at Raven's burn. Except for Darwin, who rounded the group back to the topic at hand.
'Okay, okay, settle down now,' he said. 'What can you do, Alex. What is your gift?'
'How about being burnt by women?' Y/N murmured just loud enough for the group to hear, earning another round of laughs and a hard glare from Alex. Y/N held his gaze with a smirk in challenge, taking a sip of her own drink. He might've been top dog back in army bootcamp, but Y/N didn't like bullies, especially if they were meant to be teammates.
Alex eventually dropped his glare, his whole demeanour changing as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. 'Um, it's just... It's just that... I can't do... I can't do it in here.'
'Can you do it out there?' Darwin asked, and when Alex hesitated to answer, the rest of the group started goading and pleading him to show his abilities. Y/N even found herself intrigued. What could Alex do that he needed open space for?
The group cheered victoriously as Alex gave in to peer pressure, put his drink down and climbed through the broken glass courtesy of Sean moments before. As Alex set up outside, Y/N joined the others who leaned out the broken window to watch him.
'Get down when I tell you,' Alex said as he lined up in front of the bronze statue that's head still smoked - courtesy of Angel's fireball during her demonstration.
'Get back,' Alex said, and Y/N leaned back with the rest of the group, but they all apparently were too intrigued and so they all leaned out from behind the wall to watch him.
Alex went to make a move until he realised the group hadn't listened to him. 'Get back!' he warned again, but when no one moved, he faced the statue again. 'Whatever.'
Y/N found herself gaping at Alex as he seemingly powered up, red rings of plasma rotating around him until he slung them out into the open space but uncontrolled. The last one hit the statue, slicing it on a diagonal that had its head and part of its torso falling to the grass in flames.
The group erupted in rounds of applause as Alex walked back to them. He appeared more confident now as his teammates applauded. Y/N figured he wasn't used to that. Perhaps that was why he'd been in solitary confinement as much as he had been.
'Well, I'm glad you did that out here,' Darwin said, looking at the wreckage slightly worried. 'You've caused... a bit of chaos.'
'I can't control it, unfortunately,' Alex said, looking at the damage he'd caused. 'I'm hoping that might change one day.'
'Don't be ashamed of your gift, Alex,' Raven said, resting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 'You're amazing.' She looked to the rest of the group. 'We all are.'
When Raven did that, Alex's attention fell onto Y/N again, a skeptical look on his face. 'So what about you? Do you do anything useful or do you just disappear when you get a little embarrassed?'
Y/N's cheeks heated with anger. Who the hell was he to judge her? He didn't even know her.
'At least I don't cause havoc with my gift,' she bit back, motioning to the flaming buildings and statue.
Where a normal person would look at the damage and wince with remorse, Alex had the audacity to look at his handiwork and laugh in amusement. 'Havoc. I like that. Maybe that should be my code name, except change the c to a k so it looks cooler written down.'
Y/N rolled her eyes while the others complimented how good a name it was. But she had to admit it was a fitting one, just a shame he turned her insult into a name for a hero.
Y/N released a sigh then held out a hand to the fires in the courtyard, concentrating on grasping the energy in the air. After a moment, small bubbles of white energy appeared and Y/N was vaguely aware that her new friends had gone quiet as she forced the bubbles to encapsulate the fires. With a flick of her fingers, the bubbles started shrinking, depriving the fires of oxygen and eventually extinguishing them.
When Y/N turned back to the group, she found them all gaping at her in wonder and shock.
'Well, that was cool,' Angel said, earning hums of agreement from the others.
'What exactly did you just do?' Hank asked.
'I don't really know what it is,' Y/n answered honestly. 'But, I think I can manipulate energy or something like that. I can create those force fields, and as you saw before...'
Y/N let the energy hide her, and she relished the shocked faces of her friends as they could no longer see her. Feeling cheeky, she ran at Alex then dropped and swiped his legs out from underneath him, sending him sprawling to the ground.
He landed with a resounding thud, his breath escaping him in a loud, 'Oof,' as he did. Only then did Y/N reveal herself, looking down at him with a smug smile.
'...I can turn invisible.'
The others clapped in appreciation of her demonstration while Alex looked up at her in annoyance. Y/N offered her hand to help him up and surprisingly he took it and together they pulled him to his feet.
'So what, you can control, like, the Force, or something?' he asked.
Y/N rolled her eyes. 'This isn't Star Wars, asshole. It's more like... I can feel the aura of the energy around me and I connect with it and then use it to my will.'
'That's it!' Angel exclaimed suddenly. 'That's your name!"
'What is?' Y/N asked, confused.
'Aura!'
'Aura.' Y/N tried it on her tongue. She had to admit, it had a nice ring to it.
'Aura, Havok, Banshee, Darwin, Angel...' Raven said each of their new code names as she looked at them, grabbing a drink for herself from the table. She looked to Hank. 'We'll find one for you soon, Hank,' she reassured, then pointed to herself. 'And Mystique.' She raised her drink high and everyone else did the same. 'Here's to our new life. Here's to being our true selves.'
'Here, here,' Sean said as they all clinked their drinks together in solidarity.
'So, what do you think?' Alex said just to Y/N as seperate conversations between the others started. Angel switched on some music and her and Raven jumped on the coffee table to start dancing.
'About what?' Y/N asked.
'Are you going to be your true self here? With us?' he asked, and there was a little challenge in his question, as if he really wanted to add Or are you going to hide away?
Y/N had so far lived her life in constant fear. But Erik and Charles said they needed her, that the world needed her. Perhaps it was time to stop hiding.
Y/N flashed Alex a small smile, reflecting his challenge in her own eyes. 'I don't think you could handle the true me, Havok.'
Alex's grin widened devilishly. 'Try me, Aura.'
1962 - X Mansion, pre-Cuba
It had been weeks since the C.I.A Mutant Division facility had been attacked by Shaw, that Angel had chosen his side, that Darwin had sacrificed himself in the effort to save them all, Angel included.
Egos bruised and hope extinguished, Charles had brought those who remained back to his mansion to train for the upcoming battle with Shaw. Which is what Y/N was doing with Raven when Charles entered the gym requesting her presence in the war bunker.
'You want me to what?' both Alex and Y/N exclaimed together in the bunker, gaping at Charles because he'd clearly lost his mind.
'You heard me,' Charles said nonchalantly, walking to stand in the middle of the room. 'I want you two to spar while you, Y/N, protect me. Expand your range of concentration so you can control different energies at once, manipulate numerous fields doing different things simultaneously. Alex now has the tools he needs to control his power so he won't be as volatile as he once was.'
'Hey now,' Alex said, clearly offended.
Charles offered a mediocre apologetic smile before readdressing Y/N. 'You have to push the limits you have set for yourself in order to become stronger. I can sense your full potential hasn't even been scraped at yet. How about we try today.'
Y/N looked between Charles and Alex, who also looked at Charles like he was crazy. But there was an air of truth to his demands. Shaw was no novelty mutant, and neither were Angel and the other mutants following him. If Y/N didn't do this, she would be their next victim, and what kind of teammate would she be if she died too early?
Y/N eventually nodded her agreement. 'Okay, let's do this.'
'You sure about this?' Alex asked her.
'Aw, is big old Alex Summers worried about hurting me?' Y/N taunted, though she didn't really know why. His concern was sort of sweet.
It disgusted her.
Alex's concern scrunched up in annoyance on his stupidly beautiful face. 'No. I just... Oh, screw this. Fine let's spar, L/N.'
Y/N went to stand at one end of the bunker and Alex at the opposite end. Charles planted himself right in the middle of the two, looking too casual for Y/N's liking. Did he really have that much faith in them?
'Whenever you two are ready,' Charles called out, rocking on the back of his heels in anticipation.
'Okay,' Alex said hesitantly as he fired himself up. His new chest plate helped him to control his plasma so he surely would hit the professor if Y/N didn't do something.
Just as Alex fired, Y/N placed a force field over Charles and the plasma blast bounced off it and straight back at Alex. Alex had to duck quickly as his own blast came hurtling back at him, and Charles let out a small laugh as the blast made a small dent in the wall behind Alex.
'Well this is going to be fun,' Charles said, and the fight truly begun.
Alex would sling shot after shot at Y/N and the professor, but Y/N deflected every shot and held the force field around the professor soundly. At one point, Y/N managed to to turn in visible while Alex was distracted and landed a few blows.
But Alex managed to knock her back, the blow forcing her to reveal herself. She had no time to worry about being exposed however, as Alex powered up for what seem to be one giant blast. Y/N managed to bring up a force field around her as the blast connected, but instead of bouncing up off it, the plasma seemed to sink into the force field.
Y/n looked around in confusion, feeling the energy flowing stronger through the force field and increasing with every second. She was vaguely aware of someone calling her name - it sounded like Charles - but the energy was becoming too much to hold up now.
Y/N let out a cry as she released the force field, and the shockwave it sent through the bunker sent both her and Alex flying to opposite ends of the bunker.
Y/N smacked into the solid brick hard, sending an intense throbbing through her head as she hit the ground. Her vision blurred and she felt drained of power like never before. Two blurry figures were in front of her, their mouthes moving but not saying a word. She thought they were saying her name.
After a few more seconds, her hearing came back to her as well as her vision, showing Alex and Charles kneeling beside her with worry on their faces.
'Y/N, can you hear me?' Charles asked, scanning over her body for any injuries.
'Are you okay? Can you hear us? Say something,' Alex said, eyes searching her face for any sign that she understood anything they were saying.
Y/N hummed in reassurance and his worry dissipated into relief. Alex quickly helped her into a sitting position as she gathered herself. 'Well,' she breathed out, giving Alex an amused smile, 'that was... fun.'
This elicited a laugh out of both men as they helped her to her feet. Y/N was very aware of Alex's hand holding her steady on the small of her back as they both listened to Charles.
'My! You two create quite the show,' he exclaimed with an enthusiasm that kind of scared Y/N. 'Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant work, you two. You have both grown in leaps and bounds these past few weeks. I daresay you will both be quite powerful when you fully master your gifts. Now, take the afternoon off, possibly head to Hank in the lab for some patching up and look overs. I will see you both first thing tomorrow.'
'He sounds like a professor talking to students,' Alex muttered after Charles had left.
Y/N shrugged. 'Well, we kind of are students, so I guess that would make him our professor.'
The two shared a small laugh and both their eyes slipped to his arm, which was attached to the hand that still pressed gently against her back. Alex quickly dropped his hand and Y/N took a decent step away from him. Well now it's awkward.
'G-Good fight,' Alex finally said after seconds of silence, unable to meet her eyes. He did the thing where he rubbed his neck and Y/N's stomach did a little flip at how cute the gesture was.
Quit that, she told herself, then realised she hadn't responded to him. 'Y-yeah. You too. Sorry... for sending you into the wall.'
'It's okay. I've been hit harder,' he said, and his cocky smirk was back. Something about his statement rubbed Y/N up the wrong way, like he was undermining her ability. That was a pretty decent fight they just had.
Y/N just huffed and stormed out of the bunker. 'Whatever,' she muttered as she left him behind.
'Hey,' Alex called out as he ran to catch up with her. 'What's wrong? You want me to apologise too? Okay, I'm sorry for sending you into the wall, too. There? Happy?'
'You know,' she started, stomping up the stairs that would take her to the first floor of the mansion, 'you can be such a jerk, Alex.'
'What are you talking about?' he asked, and he had the audacity to sound genuinely clueless.
At the top of the stairs Y/N finally stopped to let Alex catch up. She didn't care that he was taller than her, she looked up at him with annoyance in her eyes. 'You can never admit that someone could be better than you, let alone that they could be your equal.'
His face screwed up in confusion. 'What? That's not what I meant. Where did you get that impression from?'
'You think yourself superior to us all, and for what? We all have gifts, Alex. We are all special and useful and powerful. Yet you make fun of Hank, you belittle me. What is your problem?!'
Alex stepped towards Y/N, closing what little space there had been between until she felt his breath brushing her heated cheeks. 'You know, I was just about to pay you a compliment but forget it.'
'I wouldn't want a compliment from you, Alex. They're more like insults than anything,' Y/N said then stormed off.
'Princess!' Alex called out after her in a last ditch effort to have the last word.
'Jerk!' she answered over her shoulder.
'Coward!'
'Asshole!'
Y/N finally entered the lab and Hank was already looking at her crossed arms.
'You know, you two really need to take your fights outside,' he simply said, already reaching for his equipment to check her health.
Y/N raised a brow in a silent question, to which Hank responded, 'The walls and floors to this place aren't as thick as they appear.'
Downstairs where Y/N had left Alex smouldering, a certain telepath entered Alex's mind. Well that's an interesting flirting tactic.
'Oh, piss off,' Alex hissed aloud as he walked in the opposite direction towards his assigned bedroom. Y/N was the most aggravating person in existence. Flirting with her was the last thing on Alex's mind.
I don't know, I think you two would make a rather nice couple, Charles interjected again.
'I said piss off!'
1962 - Cuba Beach
Y/N was locked in a fight with Riptide when she saw Alex and Sean crash onto the beach, Angel having shot them down. As she went to attack, Alex shoved Sean out of range as he unleashed his uncontrolled plasma rings, his chest plate missing.
He caught her wings, slicing them in half and sending her flying to the ground, but as Alex helped Sean to his feet, Y/N spied Angel get to her feet, rage in her eyes and fire burning in her mouth.
Alex's back was turned. He would never see it coming.
Y/N, rejuvenated by the threat, turned back to Riptide and conjured up a large energy wave and sent it hurtling at Riptide. He tried bringing up a wall of wind to counteract it, but the wave was stronger and sent him into the side of the uprooted submarine. He fell to the sand with a hard thud and didn't move.
Y/N immediately ran for Alex and Sean, hands raised and conjuring up a force field around her friends just as Angel spat fireball after fireball at the two of them. The fireballs bounced right off the force field, angering Angel even more as she turned her attention to Y/N.
Before she could attack, Y/N trapped Angel in another force field, raised her off the beach, and sent her out over the ocean where she finally let the force field drop. It hurt her to hear her old friend's scream as she fell into the deep water, but Angel had done this to herself.
Y/N turned back to the boys. 'Are you two okay?' she asked, looking over them for any injuries. All she could find was Alex's bare chest and a hole in Sean's wing suit.
'We had it covered,' Alex said, his tone annoyed.
Y/N scoffed. She couldn't believe it. He was still being a self-righteous jerk in the middle of a battle?
'I just saved your life, asshole,' she said, stepping towards him in anger. 'Maybe you should be thanking me instead of complaining like a little boy.'
'Get down,' he said, his eyes on something over her shoulder, but she didn't care. He wasn't listening, but she would make him.
'Don't you tell me what to do you self-righteous jerk-'
'I said get down!'
Before she knew what was happening, Alex was pushing her behind him as he sent plasma rings at Riptide, who Y/N obviously hadn't knocked out entirely and was lining up to attack her from behind.
Riptide saved himself from being sliced like the statue back at the C.I.A. with a small tornado, but the impact from the plasma rings sent him flying over the submarine and out of sight.
'And I just saved yours,' Alex said as her tuned back to a shocked Y/N. He was panting heavily, obviously not used to exerting so much energy in such a short time frame. 'Now we're even.'
The way his words were haggard from his lack of breath made his voice raspy and Y/N hated how much the sound tingled up her spine pleasantly.
Y/N opened her mouth to retort at him - tell him how stupid and reckless and irresponsible and idiotic he was - but she couldn't find anything to say, and so snapped her gaping gob shut in indignation. The two just stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, eyes locked as so many unspoken emotions passed between each other.
Until Sean walked in between the two of them, shaking his head in disbelief. 'Damn, get a room, you two,' he said, his tone both disgusted and amused as he started walking back to Charles and Moira still on the crashed jet.
'We're not-' Y/N started.
'It's nothing like-' Alex interjected at the same time, but Sean was already out of earshot.
Y/N and Alex looked back at each other, both their cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
Alex was the one to finally break the silence. 'We should...' he trailed off as he gestured after Sean.
'Right,' Y/N immediately answered, grateful for the change in subject. They still had a fight to win, otherwise the whole world would fall into another war.
Y/N and Alex followed Sean swiftly, happy to leave the awkward interaction behind them. But even after the fight, Y/N didn't know about Alex, but maybe there was a little truth to what Sean's words implied. It wasn't that Alex was unattractive. He was just... infuriating.
But he had saved her life, put his body on the line protect her. That meant he cared for her in some capacity... right?
1967 - X Mansion
'You're what?!' Y/N exclaimed, standing up from her seat in the middle of Charles' office.
'I'm sorry, Y/N, but I have no choice,' Charles said, his voice sad and exhausted.
Y/N should've seen this coming. She'd seen the signs. How Charles had let his hair grow out, how the shadow of a beard grazed his jawline. How he lounged in his wheelchair instead of sitting with his usual perfect posture. And the hope and colour of his eyes had faded to loss and hopelessness.
'Yes, you do,' Y/N argued, slamming her hands on his desk. 'You can choose to keep fighting. You can choose to keep helping and teaching. You can choose hope, Charles.'
'There is no hope left, Y/N,' Charles replied, dejected as he looked anywhere but Y/N's eyes. 'Erik was right. The world is not meant for mutants. The world does not want mutants.'
Y/N walked around the desk to kneel before his wheelchair. 'You can't truly believe that, Charles,' she said trying to catch his gaze. 'After all you have done, after everything we've been through, you cannot believe that. Look at what you've achieved!'
She gestured to the room, but she meant the school as a whole, whose corridors buzzed with students who possessed unique powers. Admittedly the numbers had dwindled significantly because of the Vietnam War, with most of the teachers and the older students being drafted. Y/N had managed to not be drafted so far, and had dedicated every second she had to teaching. She was now in her late 20s and had learned all she could as a student. It was her turn to teach the next generation what it means to be a mutant.
But regardless of numbers, there were still children who needed help. They couldn't close. They just couldn't.
'Please, Charles,' she said, placing a gentle hand on his cheek to guide his eyes to meet hers. He looked in so much pain - a pain Y/N couldn't see but she could certainly try to understand. 'There is still hope. There is still good in the world. We just have to find it again.'
Charles didn't say anything at first, and Y/N took that as a sign that maybe she'd gotten through to him. Since beginning her teaching career, Charles had become like an older brother to her. He hadn't given up on her when she didn't believe in herself all those years ago, she wasn't going to give up on him now.
But Charles gently took her hand away from his face and turned his chair so he faced away from her. 'Hope is a human error. I've already made up my mind, Y/N. I suggest you forget about all of this and go live what life you have left. God knows society won't allow you a full one.'
Y/N remained crouching, too shocked to argue, too horrified to be angry. As Charles turned his back on her - busied himself with his bookshelf - Y/N left the room in a daze, still unsure what had just happened. That's how she felt for the rest of the day as she taught and supervised, students constantly asking her if she was okay as she usually wasn't as silent as she was.
Y/N easily deflected the questions, but she couldn't ignore the breaking of her heart every time she spoke with a student, saw them master an ability, ask a question. How would she break the news to them? A more accurate question would be how could she? They looked up to her, to Charles, to all of them. Some of them had no homes to go back to, no families that accepted them or no families at all.
By the time the last bell rang, Y/N was on the brink of breaking down.
It was now late at night, the children well and truly asleep. But Y/N remained awake, walking the mansion, dreading breaking the news tomorrow during the assembly. God knew Charles was in no condition to break the news himself even though he was the headmaster. And Hank hated public speaking despite being a teacher. No, she had to do it, but she'd be breaking hundreds of hearts in the process.
As she reached the front foyer, looking around and remembering her first few days there, remembering the first few days of the school opening and it being full of enthusiastic and excited children, tears welled up in her eyes.
They'd just started to slip when the front doors clanged open. Y/N immediately went into defensive mode, her hands lighting up as her mutation activated
Alex threw his hands up in faux surrender. 'Whoa! Easy Y/N, it's just me!'
Y/N breathed a long sigh of relief as she let her hands drop. 'Jesus, Alex. You mind knocking next time? What are you even doing here? It's two in the morning.'
Alex was also a teacher at the school, but he sometimes slept off campus as his family home was just a few suburbs away. He usually didn't slip back in until just before class though so this encounter was a little surprising.
'I needed to see the professor,' he said, then his face scrunched with worry as he looked over Y/N. 'Were you just crying?'
Y/N quickly turned her back to him to wipe away the tears that had escaped. 'I'm fine. It's nothing.'
'No it's not,' Alex said, and he took quick steps until he stood beside Y/N. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and managed to turn her to face him. He looked down at her with such concern Y/N felt more tears welling up.
He was a dick. From the day they'd met he'd solidified that for himself. But the past five years had seen him mature, grow, change in ways Y/N had no idea he was capable of. She saw how gentle he was with the children, how fiercely protective he'd become of them.
And while they still clashed and fought like cats and dogs, they'd found comfort in each other more than once. They would always laugh on the terrace late at night as they had a nightcap, downloading their days to one another; Y/N would occasionally bring Alex food when she knew he hadn't made it to lunch because he was so busy with work; and Y/N would wake up sometimes from nightmares to Alex comforting her.
Out of all the original X-Men group, those two had become the closest. With Charles busy running the school, Hank busy with his lab, Raven, Erik, and Angel off recruiting for their Brotherhood, and Sean deciding to go see the world, Alex and Y/N only had each other.
'What's wrong?' Alex asked so gently. 'What happened?'
Y/N couldn't get a word out, her heartbreak finally bubbling to the surface as tears and sibs wracked her body.
'Hey, hey, hey,' Alex said as he pulled her tight to his chest, arms wrapping securely around her, hands rubbing up and down her back soothingly. Y/N clung to him for dear life, the only part of her body she could control as she continued crying. 'It's all right. I've got you.'
They stayed like that for a few minutes before Y/N had no more tears to cry. When she finally pulled away, there was a dark patch of tears staining his white t-shirt that he wore under a plaid overskirt. 'Sorry about that.'
'Don't be. Ever,' he said, and Y/N had never seen him so serious before. 'Now, what's wrong?'
'Charles is closing down the school,' she said, voice dejected.
'What?' Alex looked up the stairs then back to Y/N, confusion and anger morphing his features. 'I'm gonna go talk to him.'
He made to run up the stairs and no doubt give Charles a piece of his mind, but Y/N quickly grasped his wrist and halted him. 'You can't,' Y/N said. 'He's already made his mind up.'
'Like hell he has,' Alex seethed, making to leave again but Y/N pulled him back.
'Alex,' she pleaded with him, 'believe me if I could change his mind I would be up there right now doing so. But... he has no hope anymore. The war has dwindled us thin. He doesn't see the good in the world anymore. That's not something we can give back to him. He has to find that again on his own.'
Alex looked ready to argue, jaw clenching as he looked between the stairs and Y/N. But Y/N slipped her hand into his and squeezed it gently and his features softened. He rubbed the back of his neck - as he always did - as he let out a defeated sigh. 'So I guess there isn't any point in informing him that I've been drafted for the war?'
Y/N's eyes bulged and her heart rate spiked with fear. 'You what?' she asked, but she'd heard him correctly.
His jaw clenched as if he didn't want to elaborate. 'Got the call this morning. I'm just surprised it's taken this long for them to find me again.'
That's right. Y/N sometimes forgot he had been in the army just before they met. 'When do you leave?' she asked.
'Two days from now,' he said regrettably.
Y/N never considered herself an emotional person, but tears welled up in her eyes again. 'It's just not fair,' she said, breathless as she tried to keep the tears back. 'You deserve to be free. You deserve to be happy, Alex.'
'Hey, hey,' he cooed, using both hands to cradle her head and neck, forcing her eyes to meet his. 'I'll come back. I promise. And who says I haven't been free and happy?'
He swallowed thickly as his eyes scanned over Y/N's face, hesitating on her lips before looking back at her eyes. Y/N felt then something change. In the air, between them, possibly both - she couldn't quite tell. But the way he was looking at her, how he held her so preciously, had her heart racing.
'The past five years here have been the most free and happy I've ever been,' Alex admitted. 'Training and teaching with Charles and Hank... and you. You have given me a home away from home, a new family. You've protected me when no one else would; you've laughed and cried and fought with me, for me...'
He leaned in closer now, as if there was a gravitational force pulling them together. 'I will come back, Y/N. To you.'
Alex Summers was a dick, but he was also a kind and loyal man. A man silently laying out his heart before her despite their previous disagreements.
'Promise?' she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
'Promise,' he said, and with that confirmation Y/N stood up on her toes to lock her lips with Alex's.
His hands cradled her face still as he held her to him, their lips melding harmoniously as they kissed. This had been building in Y/N since day one when he'd flashed her that smooth smile that sent her stomach into somersaults. Every fight (verbal or physical), every conversation, every drink they shared, every looked that passed between them, it had all been leading to this.
They finally pulled apart but pressed their foreheads together as they caught their breaths.
'I've been wanting to do that for a long time now,' Alex admitted, his words breathless.
'How long?' Y/N asked, curious.
'Since day one,' he answered, then let out a small chuckle. 'I didn't know it at the time, and when I finally did I never wanted to admit it. I think Charles and everyone else knew before I did.'
'It was the same for me,' Y/N assured him, and Alex smiled brightly before he pulled her in for another kiss.
The rest of the night was spent catching up on lost time. Y/N was thanking Charles that all teachers' rooms were at the other end of the mansion to the students' rooms. Y/N and Alex managed an hour of sleep before the rays of dawn warmed them awake.
'We probably shouldn't have done that,' Y/N said, tracing a finger along Alex's toned stomach.
'We were pretty quiet, I thought,' Alex said, stopping threading his fingers through Y/N's hair to press a kiss to the top of her head. 'Though, you did get a bit loud when I-'
'Shut up, asshole,' she said, giving him a slight shove that sent the both of them into a quiet giggling fit. Once they'd both calmed down, Y/N returned to tracing Alex's abs. 'I mean, we shouldn't have done that because you're leaving in two days.'
'Yeah, we certainly have great timing, huh?' Alex tried joking but when Y/N didn't laugh, he sat up in bed bringing her with him. 'Hey, I told you I will come back. Nothing's going to stop that.'
'You can't assure me that,' Y/N countered.
'What was that whole thing about having hope?' Alex questioned, and when Y/N couldn't find an answer. 'I believe in us, Y/N. I have hope. You taught me that. I will come back. I promise.'
Y/N still had her doubts but she allowed herself to play into the fantasy that it would all end up okay, and she leaned in for another mind-melting kiss.
'Okay, Alex,' she conceded. 'But just know you're still an asshole.'
'And you're still a princess. But you're my princess.'
As the two got ready for the day, Alex asked, 'So what are you going to do? When the school closes down.'
Y/N had been thinking about it since Charles told her and hadn't been sure if it was the right thing to do, but she had to try. 'I heard that Raven has broken off from Erik and is going about their cause on her own. I'm going to go find her and bring her home.'
'That's going to be dangerous,' Alex said, his tone worried.
'And going to war isn't?" she countered. 'Raven is like my sister. I've got to help her. There is good in her, she's just angry at the world. You're right. I have to keep hoping, even if everyone else has lost it. Because we are worth it.'
She walked up to Alex to cradle his face as he had done so many times the night just gone. 'We are worth it,' she whispered.
Alex placed a hand of his own over hers, pressing it closer to his face which had only gotten more handsome over the years. 'You're amazing, you know that right?'
Y/N just smiled before bringing him in for another kiss. When they broke apart she took a moment to contemplate his face then laughed.
'What is it?' he asked, an amused smile on his lips.
'We're just two idiots, aren't we?' she said, her tone bordering on sad. 'All that time wasted on arguing. All seems stupid now in the face of danger and death.'
'I disagree,' Alex said as he took her hand and headed for the bedroom door. 'I wouldn't change that time for the world. I am who I am because of that time, and you were always so cute when you were mad.'
'Hey!'
1973 - X Mansion
Y/N breathed a sigh of contentment as she stood out the front of the mansion, all tidied up and ready to reopen.
'I forgot what it used to look like without the overgrown weeds and dusty windows,' Charles admitted as he looked over the entrance too.
'Now whose fault would that be?' Hank asked with a smug smirk on his lips, but it quickly dropped with Charles' side eye.
Y/N smiled at the familiar banter. It had been a long six years full of struggle and pain and loss since Charles officially closed the school. But a man called Logan from the future had convinced Charles of something Y/N had been unable to, and while Y/N hadn't be able to bring Raven home, she'd been able to help their future and bring Charles back to life.
It had taken a few weeks to clean the mansion up with just the three of them. They had no one else to ask. Logan was missing, Raven too. Erik had gone into hiding, and Sean and Angel and most other mutants had been subjected to and killed by Trask's cruel Sentinel trials. None of them had a chance to say goodbye, and that very thought haunted Y/N even now.
And Alex... Last time Y/N checked, Raven had freed him and other mutants in the army who'd been locked up from the rest of the soldiers for some reason. No doubt for experiments. Y/N had been on base that day, but she'd gone to another bunker with other mutants. Her and Raven had stayed behind after that; Y/N never got even a glimpse of him, but Raven said he was okay and that he missed her.
'That doesn't matter now,' Y/N said. 'What matters is we're doing what we were meant to be doing all along. Speaking of which...' Y/N turned to the two men kind of sheepishly. '...I actually can't start teaching again just yet. I have to go.'
'What?' Hank asked. 'Why? We need you here.'
'I know, and I have every intention of coming back,' Y/N hastily reassured. 'I just... I need to go find someone.'
'Who?' Hank asked, but Charles was looking at her knowingly.
'It's Alex, isn't it,' he asked, but it wasn't really a question. Besides, he'd probably read her mind.
Y/N nodded. 'He used to call me from base every two weeks, send letters once a month. But then the calls stopped coming about a year ago, and so did the letters. I didn't even know if he was alive until Raven and I went to his air base. But I didn't see him, and now I need to find him to see if he did make it home after all.'
Charles looked at her and he smiled, the action caught somewhere between pride and sadness. 'You really love him, don't you?' he asked softly.
Y/N found the same smile stretching across her lips as she nodded. 'Very much so.'
Charles chuckled softly as he looked away, then somewhere over her shoulder. 'Very well then, off you go. But... something tells you'll find him closer to home than you think.'
Confused, Y/N turned to follow where he was looking over her shoulder and saw a black Cadillac pulling into the driveway. It wasn't until the driver pulled up in front of the building and stepped out that Y/N realised what Charles meant.
Alex Summers stood facing her from the driver's door, smiling smoothly at her as he pulled off his aviators. 'Hey, princess,' he said, his tone somewhere between his usual swagger and pure relief.
Y/N flew down the front steps and over to him. He held his arms out expecting a hug, but all Y/N saw was red as she lined up to slap him square across his face. The sound was crisp and cut through the air, silencing even the birds.
Alex was stunned as he turned back to her confused. 'What the heck was that for?'
'How long have you been home' Y/N asked, ignoring him.
'Um, like, a month? I don't really know-'
'And you didn't call me? Let me know you were okay?'
'I was kind of busy consoling my family since I've been gone for like six years,' he argued, rubbing his cheek. 'And you seemed to be busy too. You know, saving the world and all.'
Y/N couldn't argue with that, but she still wanted to be mad at him. He had her all worried for nothing. 'You still could've called me.'
'I'm here now, aren't I?' He reached a hand out to clasp hers and she allowed him to puller her closer with it. 'Trust me, there wasn't a day that I didn't think of you, wishing I was back here with you. I'm sorry if I made you worry.'
His genuine tone softened her anger until it was nothing but relief and joy at seeing him. She pressed her forehead against his own and smiled. 'Like you said: you're here now, right?'
With that, the two connected in a long awaited kiss that reflected all their longing and love for one another. They were so enthralled with one another that they didn't hear a word of Charles' and Hank's conversation happening just a few steps away.
'Wow,' Hank said, trying not look at his long-time friends making out in front of him. 'Alex and Y/N. Not going to lie, did not see that coming.'
'Oh, I did,' Charles said smugly, though his eyes reflected the happiness he had for his close friends. 'From the moment they met, I knew they were inevitable. You didn't need to be a psychic to see that coming.'
1978 - Alex and Y/N's house
Y/N sighed as she unlocked the front door to her and Alex's house. They'd moved in together about a year ago, hating constantly going between the school and Alex's old apartment. He hadn't returned as a teacher to the school after the army as she had, and so found a place of his own. But one night they'd both realised they didn't want to keep figuring out whose place they would spend the night at. They wanted a place for themselves, and the rest was history.
Y/N kicked off her sneakers, grateful for the relief she felt as she walked into the lounge room where her feet sunk into the carpet. Alex seemed to have had an early mark from his office with the U.S. Military, as he was in the kitchen cooking. His soldier days were thankfully over, but he'd been promoted to a desk job which didn't really suit him but it paid well and he could actually try and make a difference from there. For both humans and mutants enlisted into the army.
'Hey, princess,' he said, stirring up some sauce that had Y/N almost drooling for.
'Hey, baby,' she said tiredly as she came up behind him and cuddled him, breathing out a content sigh as she attempted to meld into his back.
'Wow,' he said with a chuckle, 'no asshole today? You've definitely had a bad day.'
'Don't push it,' Y/N warned, but it was an empty threat as she didn't move a muscle. Alex was always so warm, and now that it was winter she craved his presence even more. 'You didn't have to make dinner.'
'I know,' he said nonchalantly, continuing to stir the delicious smelling sauce. 'But I figured if you weren't home by five, you'd had a hard day.'
'Aw,' Y/N cooed, squeezing his torso slightly tighter. 'Alex Summers, you can be so thoughtful, you know that?'
'Besides,' he said, finally putting the sauce bowl down and turning in Y/N's arms to face her, a cheeky smile on his lips, 'you take forever to cook and I want to eat at some point tonight.'
Y/N's smile dropped. 'I take it back. You are a jerk.'
'That's nothing new,' he said as he pulled her in for a loving kiss. Y/N really enjoyed their more fervent kisses - the ones that left her breathless and hungry for more because she just couldn't get enough of him. But this - the gentleness, the care, the love transferred between their lips - calmed and grounded her. Reminded her she was at the best place in the world: home.
'Why don't you go have a shower, relax, and I'll have dinner ready by the time you come out?' Alex asked after they ended their kiss, rubbing his hands up and down her arms in comfort.
Y/N shook her head. 'While that does sound like a wonderful time, I'd rather help you cook the rest of dinner.'
'You sure? It's nothing special or hard. I can handle it-'
'Alex,' she interrupted, heading for the drawer with all their aprons, 'I have spent all day at a desk or in a classroom looking at paperwork and marking grades. I want to help. I want to spend time with you. It's treat enough that you're home before the sun sets.'
She tied her apron up, rolled up the sleeves of her dress shirt and reached into the pantry 'Now, let's get this pasta cooking.'
The rest of the night was relaxed, with Alex and Y/N chatting about anything and everything while they cooked. They continued chatting during dinner, and Y/N laughed at Alex spilling red pasta sauce all over his cream shirt. Before they knew it, bed time had fallen upon them.
Y/N was just brushing her teeth as she was explaining how her day was going to go tomorrow. 'Now remember, I'm going on an excursion with the kids tomorrow to the national history museum so I won't be home until six, I think.'
When Alex didn't answer, Y/N asked, 'Alex? Did you hear me?' He didn't answer again, and so Y/N spit out the toothpaste and hurried back into their bedroom.
'Alex? Why aren't you-'
Y/N's heart almost stopped as she was met with Alex Summers on one knee, holding a delicate but beautiful ring up to Y/N.
'Believe me when I say I had a different plan in mind for this,' he said, eyes hopeful and the twitches of a fearful smile pulling at his lips. 'I had it all planned out and was going to do it when we go on our trip next month. But those places don't mean anything to us: here does. In our home.'
To Y/N's surprise, Alex's eyes welled up with tears as he continued his speech. 'Tonight was perfect, and I realised... that I want to have a night like tonight every night. You are too good for me, Y/N. I can be a jerk and an asshole and self-centred and rash - but you take it all in stride and put me in my place and I thank you for that.
'I love you, Y/N. And I want to love you - fight with and for you, explore with you, live with you - for the rest of my life. So, Y/N L/N... will you marry me?'
Alex never cried, so seeing him get emotional opened the floodgates in Y/N's own tear ducts. Y/N clasped her mouth as both sobs and joyous laughter escaped her, leaving her a blubbering mess.
Y/N wiped away her tears and flashed Alex the most loving smile she could manage. 'What do you think? Of course I will marry you, Alex Summers.'
Alex breathed a sigh of relief and his tears of joy finally fell as he stood up and embraced Y/N. Y/N couldn't hold him any tighter it seemed, couldn't pull him close enough even when there was no space left to close between them. But finally they parted and Alex slipped the delicate ring onto Y/N's finger. It shimmered in the low lamp light coming from their bedside and Y/N couldn't imagine anything more fitting.
'It's beautiful, Alex,' Y/N said, still sniffling.
'Anything for my princess,' he muttered into her hair as he held her close.
Y/N laughed into his chest before craning her neck back to look up at him. 'You're locked in now, asshole. No take-backsies.'
Alex laughed. 'Don't you know?' he asked, leaning down to capture her lips in another loving kiss. '...I was always in it for the long run,' he said after breaking away, warm breath fanning across Y/N's cool skin.
1983 - X Mansion
Y/N was just leaving her classroom when four students came flying by.
'Hey!' Y/N called out, and the four students stopped.
'Sorry, Mrs. Summers,' Jubilee said, a bashful expression on her face.
Y/N eyed who else was with Jubilee. Jean Grey, and the two new students: Kurt Wagner and her brother-in-law Scott Summers.
Y/N placed her free hand on her hips as she looked at them skeptically. 'And where are the four of you off to in such a hurry at this time of day?' she asked, noting how it was the middle of the day.
'Uh...' Jean started, looking unsure.
'We were just off to the library,' Scott interjected, his voice confident and full of bravado. 'To study.'
Y/N narrowed her eyes on Scott. Scott was not the studious kind, and usually she could read Scott like a book. But since his mutation kicked in and he'd had to wear the ruby quartz glasses, it was hard to tell what he was truly thinking.
'That's right!' Kurt added over-enthusiastically, and the others nodded in agreement.
Based on their adamant responses, Y/N knew something was up. But she released a sigh and waved them off. 'Okay, but don't study too hard then.'
'Yes, Mrs. Summers,' Jean and Jubilee said together, then grabbed Kurt and headed around the corner and out of sight.
Scott was just about to do the same when Y/N called out to him. 'Hey, Scott.' He stopped and turned, his lips pulled down in a frown, possibly worried that he'd been caught out. But she just smiled and said, 'It's nice to see you've made some friends already.'
Relief and genuine appreciation split his lips into a smile. 'Yeah. Me too,' he said, then he took off after the others, their laughter bouncing off the walls of the old mansion.
It genuinely made Y/N happy to see Scott making friends. He was usually the reserved type, making small rebellions but certainly not as loud as his older brother. He used to be the kid that got picked on at school, so to see him actively engaging with other kids was promising.
It was the changing period between classes and so all the students were milling about the halls as Y/N made her way down the steps to the front foyer. She had a free period so she was in no hurry.
What she didn't expect to see, once the children had cleared, was Hank and Raven of all people standing together in the foyer.
'Raven?' Y/N said in disbelief, a baffled smile adorning her lips.
Raven and Hank seemed to have been engaged in a serious discussion, but she returned Y/N's smile and opened her arms for an embrace. 'Hey, Y/N.'
Y/N accepted the offer and embraced her long-time friend tightly. 'Oh, it is so good to see you, Raven. It has been too long.'
'Yeah, since seventy-three I believe.' The two women pulled apart but held hands. Raven ran her fingers over Y/N's hands and her fqace changed to shock and happy surprise. 'Oh my God, you got married?!' she exclaimed, bringing Y/N's left hand up to inspect the delicate diamond.
'Yeah. Alex and I just celebrated five years,' Y/N said, her words taking on a sad tone.
'Five years...' Raven dropped Y/N's hand, a sad expression on her face. It was then Y/N recognised that Raven was in the skin she'd worn for years to fit in with society, not her natural blue. There was slight betrayal and hurt on Raven's face too.
'We tried finding you, Raven,' Y/N said, grasping tight to her friend's hands. 'I wanted you there. Truly. You just... Well, since D.C. I imagine you've been busy.'
Raven's betrayal morphed into shame. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I would've loved to have been there. For you.'
Y/N knew she meant it, and so she flashed Raven a smile and said, 'It doesn't matter now, though. You're here now, and it is so good to see you. Speaking of which, why are you here?'
'I came to speak with Charles about Erik,' Raven admitted, the two women finally releasing each other's hands. 'I think he's in some trouble.'
'I was just telling her Charles and Alex were out,' Hank added.
'Well, they should be back in the next hour, I think,' Y/N said. 'Why don't we wait in Charles' office until then.'
As they all waited, Y/N and Raven decided to catch up. They discussed everything from the school to Raven's personal missions as a vigilante for mutants to Y/N and Alex's marriage.
'I must admit, I always knew you two would end up together,' Raven commented, a knowing and cheeky smile on her face.
'No you didn't,' Y/N argued. 'Did you even know Alex and I back then? We fought like cats and dogs!'
'Still do, depending on the day,' Hank muttered as he drank his tea.
Y/N flashed him a hard glare before turning back to Raven.
'Oh come on, it was practically inevitable you two would end up together,' Raven countered, laughter dancing on her words. 'But I'm happy to hear you two are happy. You're some of my oldest friends and you deserve happiness.'
'Thank you, Raven,' Y/N said softly.
'So, how many do you have?'
Y/N raised an eyebrow in confusion. 'How many what?'
'Kids. I can only assume you've got an army waiting for you at home...' Raven quietened as she noticed Y/N's demeanour change. Her smile dropped and she sunk back into the couch more. 'Did I say something wrong?'
Y/N shook her head and tried smiling for her friend, but tears welled in her eyes. 'No, you didn't. It's just... Alex and I found out we can't have children about a month ago.'
'Oh, Y/N.' Raven didn't know what to say or do. She just reached a hand out was a grateful that Y/N took it for support.
'We've been trying since we got married,' Y/N explained, wiping the tears away before they even fell. 'When nothing was happening, we decided to go see a specialist. But I guess even being a mutant doesn't make us immune to human genetic failure.'
She gestured to the closed doors that led from Charles' office to the school beyond 'Besides,' Y/N continued fondly, 'I have hundreds of kids already to deal with,. Children of my own would just complicate that probably.'
Raven just hummed in agreement, but said nothing more. No doubt she could sense or even see Y/N only meant half of what she said. Y/N truly loved each and every kid at the school, but it broke her heart to know she'd never have a daughter or son that had her eyes or Alex's smile, her wit or Alex's bravery.
Before they could dwell on the sad matter any further, the doors to the office opened and in came Charles, Alex, and someone Y/N thought she'd never see ever again.
'Moira?' Raven said as the three entered the room, standing to her feet in shock.
'Raven?' Charles asked.
'I'm sorry, have we met before?" Moira asked, cluelessly smiling at Raven, then Y/N and Hank.
Soon enough, Raven and Charles needed to converse privately and so Y/N, Alex, Hank, and Moira stood in the foyer awaiting their decision. Hank took one for the team and took Moira for a bit of a tour around the school while Y/N and Alex stayed in the foyer to talk.
'Never thought I'd see you step inside these halls during school hours again,' Y/N said cheekily.
'My brother and Charles are the exceptions,' he said, and when Y/N pouted he added quickly, 'and of course my beautiful wife.'
'Hmmm, sure asshole,' she said, before allowing him to kiss her briefly.
'You know you can be so mean sometimes,' he said as he pulled away.
'That's why you love me though, right?' she asked.
'Hmmm, sure princess,' he mirrored her earlier comment, earning a light slap to his shoulder as they devolved into laughter.
'So, how's Scott doing?' Alex asked, genuinely concerned for his little brother.
'Don't worry,' Y/N reassured him. 'He's fitting in just fine. Although he said he was going to study just before...'
'Oh, he's definitely doing something he shouldn't be then,' Alex said.
After a moment of silence, Y/N said, 'I was talking to Raven just before... about us not being able to have children.'
The topic always made Alex more protective, and so he placed his hands on her arms and started gently rubbing them up and down slowly. 'You okay?'
'Yeah I'm fine, but it did get me thinking... why don't we look at adopting?'
Alex looked halfway between shocked and happy when she said it. 'Are you sure?'
Y/N nodded. 'Why not? There are so many kids in this world that have no homes, no families. We could be that for them.'
Alex smiled brighter than he ever had as he embraced her so hard he lifted her off her feet with joy. 'I love you,' he said as he finally put her down, then looked at her as if she was the light of his life. 'We're gonna have a family.'
Y/N nodded then pulled him into a short kiss, just as Hank and Moira finally came back to the foyer and Charles' office doors opened. 'Y/N and Hank, you are dismissed from classes for the rest of the afternoon,' he said. 'We have to find Erik.'
~~~
It all happened so fast.
Someone hijacked Cerebro and controlled Charles momentarily, taking over the world for just a split second. Raven, Hank, and Y/N were finally able to wrench Charles free of the power and then Charles commanded Alex to destroy Cerebro.
The incident left the whole group, except for Moira, panting and drained as they exited the flaming room. Charles was unconscious in his chair, giving no signs that he was okay.
Y/N sensed a change in the area's energy force, and looked down the hallway to where a portal was opening. 'Uh, guys...'
The rest of the group followed her gaze to where five figures stepped out of the portal, one notably being an old friend.
'Erik,' Raven said softly, realisation dawning on her face too late. He was not here to be friendly.
Before anyone could react, Erik reached out to Charles' chair and brought him in to their portal which was firing up again.
'Charles!' Raven called out.
The winged figure protected Charles as the others stepped in front of him as barriers. Not that any of Y/N's group chased after them - wait, one person did.
'Alex, no!' Y/N said as her husband ran past her. When he didn't listen, she chased after him.
'Alex!' Hank called out behind them.
'Hey, asshole!' Alex called out to the blue man standing out the front of Erik's group.
The portal reopened around Erik, Charles and the other figures, the blue man stepping out in front to say, 'All will be revealed my child.' His voice was haunting, echoing all around them in a way that emanated power. He was not a standard level mutant.
But Alex still ran, and Y/n sensed he was charging up to fight.
'Alex, don't!' Y/N was almost there, could reach him in another few steps.
'Wait!' Hank called out, but Alex was lining up, red plasma already bursting from his chest. 'Stop!'
Y/N finally realised Hank's fear. While she was trying to stop Alex from chasing after mutant much stronger than all in the room, Hank was more concerned as to what was just beyond the doors Erik and Charles stood before.
Y/N's fingers just grazed Alex's shoulder when he let out a powerful plasma blast. But Erik and Charles disappeared into the portal before the blast could reach them, instead allowing it to burn through the metal doors that lead into the jet hangar.
Y/N pulled Alex behind her as the explosion happened. She threw up her hands and conjured a force field that surrounded the entire hangar just as the fire was about to reach her face. The strain was immediate as well as the heat, and Y/N almost crumbled as the explosion bounced and rolled around in the bubble.
'Y/N!' Raven called out, and Y/N felt hands on her arm and shoulder as Alex came into view.
'Baby?' he asked, eyes apologetic and frightened.
'I'm okay,' Y/N managed out, breathing deeply as the strain increased. 'Get everyone out. Now.'
'We can't just leave you here,' Hank argued.
'We won't,' Alex answered. 'I'll stay with her. Let me know when everyone is out.' When Raven and Hank didn't move, Alex said, 'Go!'
Once they'd gone, Y/N said, albeit with a strain, 'You should go, too.'
'I'm not leaving you,' he said, the weight of his hand on her back ever present. 'Hank and Raven can get the kids out themselves.'
'I'm not just talking about the kids.' Y/N managed to tear her gaze from the swirling explosion just beyond her force field to look Alex in the eyes. 'Go find Scott. Make sure he's okay.'
'I trust Hank and Raven,' Alex said.
Y/N's hands shook and so she turned her attention back to the force field. 'Alex, I don't know how much longer I can hold this. And I'd rather you not be here in case-'
'Don't say that.' Alex moved more into her vision so she didn't have to break her concentration. 'I put you in this mess, I will see you through it. You're the toughest person I know, Y/N. If anyone can hold this, it's you.'
Y/N saw on his face he truly meant it, but her hands shook harder now and the fire was pushing against the field more. Y/N swallowed a groan because as much as she didn't agree with Alex, she had to try.
Every second counted.
But every second was torture.
In reality, it was only five minutes before Hank notified Alex that the school had been cleared. But Y/N's vision was starting to spot black and her entire body now shook. Sweat rolled down her face and exhausted tears threatened to spill over.
Alex's phone buzzed and he answered the incoming call. 'The kids are all out,' Hank said, his crackling due to the horrible service of the lower levels. 'We're coming back for you.'
'Don't!' Y/N strangled out, groaning as the strain increased. She was aware of Alex's gaze on her so she turned slightly to look him in the eyes and saw something that she didn't want to see.
Hank kept talking. 'What? No, we're coming back down-'
'It's okay, Hank,' Alex said calmly, his eyes never leaving Y/N. 'Just... keep them safe.'
'Alex, wait what-'
Alex ended the call and Y/N could've screamed with frustration. 'No,' she whispered. 'You're not staying with me.'
'You never planned on getting out of this alive,' Alex stated. 'Did you?'
'I've made my peace,' Y/N explained. 'You need to be here for Scott.'
'You are my wife, Y/N!'
'And he is your brother!' Tears finally spilled as her powers began to wain. 'He is young and scared and he needs his brother so please Alex, go!'
Pain and indecision whirled in Alex's eyes as he looked from her to the doors that would save his life. Y/N couldn't hold on much longer, but she'd make sure he would get out. Tears spilled down his gorgeous face. Even after all this time he still looked as he had when him and Y/N first met, apart from the hair of course.
Resolve and love and apology was on his face as he finally looked back to Y/N, and he said, 'Scott will understand.'
He was really doing this. He was really going to die with her.
'I can't protect us once I let this field down,' she strangled to say, tears and pain and regret threatening to overwhelm her. 'I have nothing left, Alex.'
'You've done enough,' he said gently, then manouvered himself to stand between her arms so he was face to face with her. He cradled her face in his hands then pulled his lips to hers for one final kiss. 'I'm sorry,' he whispered, tears streaming down his face.
'I'm not,' Y/N replied, and despite their situation she smiled as brightly as she could. 'We had a pretty good run, didn't we?'
That finally brought a smile to his face. 'We sure did, princess.' He looked into her eyes, his gaze unwavering and the way he held her was heavenly. 'I love you.'
'I love you,' Y/N answered, then her energy emptied completely and she fell into Alex's arms.
They held each other as fire engulfed them and the mansion exploded, unable to be torn from each other even at Death's door.
1983 - X Mansion, post Apocalypse Battle
Scott Summers stood before two headstones with X's on them that had been put up in the school's courtyard. Both had his last name.
Alex Summers
Havok
1941-1983
Husband, Brother, Friend, Hero
Y/N Summers (neé L/N)
Aura
1942-1983
Wife, Teacher, Friend, Hero
Scott took his glasses off to wipe his tears. He hadn't been able to fully process his loss thanks to Apocalypse, but now that the school was rebuilt and he was back at school, he was more than aware of Alex and Y/N's absence.
He felt a hand slip into his, and he put his glasses back on to find Jean smiling sadly at him. 'I'm so sorry, Scott,' she said, and he didn't need to be a mind reader to know she truly meant it. 'I never met your brother, but Aura - Y/N, spoke often of him and their heroics at our age. He sounded amazing.'
'He was,' Scott said, looking back to his brother's and sister-in-law's graves. 'He was my hero.'
'They both were heroes.'
The two teens turned to find Hank, Raven, and Charles - now bald from the battle - strolling and wheeling into the courtyard respectively. Charles didn't speak again until the three of them reached the teenagers. 'Even as children, I knew they would be heroes. And in a society where mutants weren't trusted, even feared... They saw the best in the world. Always.'
'They gave everything they could to this school,' Hank added, eyes watering behind his glasses as he looked over his friends' graves. 'They were some of the best people I know, even now.' Hank allowed a tear to fall but he laughed. 'Even if your brother was a bit of a dick, sometimes.'
'Only sometimes?' Scott said, and the group laughed and the weight of grief on Scott's shoulders lifted slightly.
When it grew silent once more, Jean said, 'But is this to be our fate? Where we fight for a world that doesn't want us? Is a premature death only inevitable?'
'Death is always inevitable, Jean,' Raven said gently, and walked up to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder. 'But if Alex and Y/N proved anything to us all is that it doesn't matter what time we have on this earth; it's what we make of it. While we can, we will fight for a better future. For all of us.'
Jean nodded then turned back to the graves along with everyone else. Resentment and pain and loss roiled within Scott as he looked down at where his brother and sister-in-law rested. 'I wished he hadn't died,' he admitted, because that's all he truly wanted.
'Me too, Scott,' Charles said, wheeling up beside him. 'He loved you very much, though. Always spoke about you - about how you were to do great things with your life. I truly believe that, you know.'
'At least he died doing what he loved,' Scott said as he gestured to the rebuilt school. 'Protecting mutant kind.'
The group was silent for another few minutes, just reflecting on their times with the two people in the ground. Then Hank ushered the two teens back to class, and after sometime Raven left to go teach also.
Charles remained for a while longer, unable to leave his friends that he'd buried, that he'd gotten killed. Some small part of him wished he'd never sought them out to join the X-Men. They could've lived quieter lives, safer lives. But we wouldn't have been happy, Charles could practically hear Y/N say with that hopeful smile of hers, and Charles smiled at the thought.
And besides, if he hadn't recruited the two, Alex and Y/N wouldn't have met. And wouldn't that have been a true disservice to his students to never have witnessed such hope and love.
Or maybe they would have. After all, like he'd said, they'd been inevitable from the start.
And maybe Jean was right; possibly, a mutant's life was to inevitably end prematurely. But Raven was also right.
Charles touched Alex's headstone, then Y/N's, tears pouring down his face. 'Thank you, friends,' he whispered tearfully. 'Rest well. You've earned it.'
As the years went on, and the school took on more students and the gardens grew higher and wilder, Charles sought to personally keep his friends' graves clean and tidy. He told each student the tales of his fallen friends, the ones he was unable to bury as well. He made sure that the First Class of X-Men were not forgotten, and that their dream of a better future lived on in the next generation.
Sometimes, as he grew older, Charles saw a little bit of Alex and Y/N when he saw Scott and Jean. It broke his heart to know that Alex would never see his little brother become an excellent hero such as Alex, or that Alex and Y/N wouldn't grow old alongside him and Hank and Raven.
But their spirit lived on anyway, and maybe that was the inevitability of it all in the end.
Description: When Johnny is sent to investigate suspicious steam coming out of a sewer, he doesn’t expect a woman from another dimension to climb out of it. You look at him like he’s your knight in shining armor, and he realizes very soon you possess the ability to completely derail his life.
Inspired on the movie Enchanted ✨
Tags/Warnings: whimsy!reader, fluff, humor, cheeky references to other characters and universes, yearner!johnny being down bad for women out of this world.
Notes: I’ve been feeling whimsy lately and it’s all thanks to my dear @vividxpages, so this one is dedicated to her 🤍 I’ve also missed writing our dramatic prince Johnny, and ended up giggling a lot while writing this. Enjoy 🫶🏼
Masterlist
Johnny had just walked out of the shower when his Fantastic Watch™ beeped. Wrapped in only a towel from the waist down, he steamed the remaining water off his body as he reached for it.
‘Steam rising from a sewer system detected in Midtown, please go check it out – Reed.’
He chuckled. The situation seemed a little bit dramatic to call a whole superhero, but Johnny Storm never missed a public appearance if the opportunity arose. He quickly got dressed in his blue suit, making sure his hair was fully dry before smiling to his reflection, and stepping out into the living room.
Ben, who was reading a book on one of the large couches, watched Johnny stroll to the kitchen island to snatch a fresh Maisie’s cookie from the batch H.E.R.B.I.E was putting on a tray, giving him a little pet in the process.
“Hey, J,” Ben called, just as Johnny reached the balcony and burst into flames. “If you find anything weird down there, try not to flirt with it,” he teased without looking up, and a robotic giggle was heard from the kitchen.
Traitor, Johnny thought, narrowing his eyes at Herbert.
Ben thought he was so smug ever since the whole Herald fiasco. But Johnny, ever the sweet summer boy, just gave him a pearly white condescending smile before finally taking off into the night.
A few minutes later, Johnny lands in the middle of a street in Times Square, where traffic has stopped and a crowd has gathered around a rattling sewer lid. There’s indeed thick white clouds coming out of it, and Johnny can feel the high temperature as he lands next to them.
People gasp when they see him, then cheer and whistle because salvation has arrived.
‘Human torch!’ ‘What’s happening?’ ‘I told the mayor he needed to check on the system ages ago!’
“Alright everyone, back up,” he puts on a smile, shooing people away with his arms. “I got it covered–”
A loud metal sound makes him turn around, and the manhole cover blasts upward landing on top of a car nearby with a loud crash. People scream and scatter away, and Johnny flames on instantly, absorbing all the heat that pours out of it.
The white steam subsides, replaced by some lilac, glittering particles that make Johnny cough a few times, swatting at it with his gloved hands. Once Johnny can see clearly again–or maybe not–he notices there’s something peeking out.
Is that…a hand?
A hand comes out to grab the edge of the sewer, but he sees no claws or scales or weirdly colored skin, no…it’s a woman’s hand wrapped in delicate lace gloves. Then the other hand comes out, clearly trying to prop themselves up.
Johnny’s fire dies when he sees no imminent danger, and he frowns at the small coughs coming from inside, stepping closer to see when something finally emerges from the sewer.
You emerge.
“Oof,” you say, using all your strength to climb out of…whatever you were in.
The puffy white gown you’re wearing spreads around you as your heels finally touch the ground, layers upon layers of sparkling fabric drag through the glittery pavement when you straighten yourself up. You brush away dust from your giant skirt, too lost in your own world to notice that the crowd around you has gone dead silent, and Johnny looks flat out bewildered.
That is, until a car blasts its horn, making you jump so hard you almost fall back into the sewer.
Strong, warm arms wrap around your waist, catching you immediately. You yelp, clinging to your savior, and that’s when your eyes finally meet. Your breath hitches, but all you needed was one look to that perfect blonde hair and those bright blue eyes to exhale in relief.
“Oh, thank goodness!” you say giddily, “Is this the Barbie Kingdom?”
Johnny doesn’t answer because quite frankly, what the fuck?
You don’t seem to mind, your melodic voice keeps spilling out excitedly. “My bad, Ken. I know it’s not a kingdom anymore! That democracy thing you have going on is spectacular, I really admire–” your enthusiasm dies out a little when your eyes dart around, realizing there’s zero pink in this place, only strangers, a bunch of weird colored lights, and the guy you’re holding onto for dear life is looking at you like you’re insane. “But this…doesn’t look like Barbieland,” you add with a nervous laugh. “Are you…a prince?”
Barbieland. A prince?
(I mean, he’ll take the compliment, but ????)
Johnny’s confused gaze darts all over your face, then down to your dress. A wedding dress. There are actual sparkles woven into it, and he’s sure your skirt alone weighs more than him. The white fabric is pristine and you smell like flowers, not like you just crawled out of a sewer.
And you just called him Ken. Thank God Ben is not here.
“Umm, kind sir?” You snap him out of his trance, still gripping his forearms. “Can you please tell me what kingdom is this?”
He looks at you, then at the crowd that’s just as confused as him, before replying hesitantly.
“...Manhattan?” He says, and it does very little to calm you down. He clears his throat, finally releasing you from his grip so you feel more comfortable. “You can call me Johnny, by the way,” he says, giving you his best trademark smile.
You smile back at him, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.
“Well, Johnny of Manhattan,” you say, wrapping your arms around yourself and trying to avoid making eye contact with the people whispering around you, and the noise of those weird metal boxes with wheels. “Do you know Andalasia?”
Even with all the extensive space knowledge Johnny possesses, he can’t really point out a place in the universe named like that.
“Is that your planet?” He asks, making you chuckle softly. Johnny delights in the sound, he feels like any moment now birds will wake up to surround you and start chirping.
“It’s my world,” you say, your voice turning more nostalgic now. “I was meant to marry The Bat Prince Edward today, my Eddie, and now I’ve fallen into this terrible place...”
“…Right.”
Johnny tries to consider all options.
Maybe you hit your head? Or you were some junkie? A very dedicated theater kid? Method actor? Or maybe, crazy idea, you were telling the truth. He doesn’t get much time to dwell on it because your laced gloved hand suddenly reaches for his.
“Please, can you help me go back?” You ask desperately.
Johnny looks where your hands meet, and decides to ignore the creeping blush on his face and the intrusive thoughts. She’s engaged. She’s probably crazy. But she’s so beautiful–no! Stop it, Johnny.
The last time he had a crush on a woman that showed up unannounced on his planet, things had not ended well.
“I know someone who might,” is all he says, avoiding your eyes. Since when does Johnny Storm get shy?
You squeal immediately, practically leaping into his chest to give him a hug he certainly wasn’t expecting. Johnny laughs surprised, trying not to get lost in your sweet perfume. A white flash suddenly blinds you, and your eyes widen in panic at the crowd closing in.
‘Johnny, who is she?’ ‘Another Herald?’ ‘Is this for a movie?”
Without thinking you cling tighter to Johnny, who you’ve decided is the only person you can trust in this weird place, and that does something alarming to his stupid little heart. Red flag, red flag–whatever, he decides to step up to the role, shielding you from the photographers.
“Alright, show’s over everybody!” He announces with a smile, never losing that golden boy persona, before turning back to you. “Okay, princess, you’re coming with me,” he says, pointing upward.
“...How?” You ask, staring up at the sky with a frown.
“You just hold on, and try not to scream,” he winks at you, and before you can react he’s picking you up bridal style, bunching the skirt of your dress so it’s not on the way. “I’ll try not to scorch it, but no promises.”
“Scorch it? What do you mea–oh my god…”
The night sky glows with fire coming out of this man’s body, as he flies you across the Manhattan realm. Truth to be told, coming from a world of magic and curses, this may not be the craziest thing that has ever happened to you.
You land on the balcony of a tower that looks absolutely nowhere near the ones made of stone back home. And thank the universe you’re too busy gawking at the view, because Johnny is able to sneakily pat the ends of your dress that caught on a few flames without you noticing.
“Oh wow…” you whisper, placing your gloved hands on the railing, overwhelmed by all the movement and lights and floating things. “Your world is strange, Johnny of Manhattan,” you laugh softly.
Johnny chuckles, and wow, this is not what he thought his night would be like. But then you gasp, pointing at the sky.
“We have the same moon!” You exclaim, placing your elbow on the railing and your cheek on your palm as you stare longingly at the sky. “Don’t you like it, Johnny? Knowing she’s always there?”
Johnny smiles, but he’s not sure it’s because of the celestial body he’s admired since he was a little boy, or the way you seem completely mesmerized by it.
“I’ve always loved her,” Johnny says fondly, stepping next to you with both hands on the railing, but he doesn’t look up. His eyes stay on you. He watches you sigh dreamily, and it makes him smirk. “Is this the part where we start singing about our heart’s wishes?”
“What? Noo,” you chuckle, without taking your eyes off the moon. “It just means home must be close if we can see the same stars…”
Right, home. Johnny forces himself to take his eyes off you, and as he peeks inside the empty living room, he notices Ben is no longer there. Perfect.
“Come on, let’s go inside, princess,” he says, and you turn to him with a smile.
He bows to let you go first, and you do a little bow in return. Your enormous skirt barely manages to cross the threshold with a few tugs. The black fabric at the ends, courtesy of the human torch, drags across the carpeted floors as you slowly take in every detail. He guides you into a big metal box, and presses a panel. You extend your arms for balance as the thing begins going up all of a sudden.
“Fascinating,” you whisper.
Johnny watches you with a smile and pride blooming in his chest. The Baxter Building is a marvel even for normal people, to you? It must be mind blowing. The innocent awe in your face makes Johnny feel that familiar flutter of butterflies in his stomach he hasn’t felt in a long time.
Bad Johnny.
“Okay, number one rule,” he clears his throat, compensating by the thing he does best: joking. “We’re going into the ogre’s swamp, so you’re better off not touching anything.”
He feels proud of it, at least until you look at him horrified and recoil in fear.
“An ogre? Oh no no no no…” you shake your head, reaching for the panel and pressing it frantically until the thing stops moving. “I don’t like those, absolutely not.”
“No, wait, sorry,” Johnny apologizes. “It was just a joke. We’re going to my brother in law’s lab, and he’s a bit…particular,” he explains, and only presses the button to keep going up when you nod. “Just uh…follow my lead, and you’ll be fine,” he says, when the elevator comes to a stop.
He stretches his neck, bouncing slightly on his feet and giving himself a small pep talk you can’t really understand. Then the doors open to another colorful, open place that makes your eyes go wide. Johnny strolls in first, and you follow behind like an anxious lost puppy.
“Reed!” he calls out dramatically, to a figure leaning over a counter. “I bring gifts from my mission!”
The man–not ogre, thank the stars–Reed, doesn’t even look up from what he’s doing. His intention to ignore Johnny doesn't last long though, because he hears a pair of heels clicking on the floor that definitely don’t belong to his brother in law. He lifts his gaze, and his eyes immediately land on you.
“Why is there a bride in my lab?” He deadpans, looking at you up and down. “For the love of God, Jonathan, don’t tell me you–”
“Uh-uh,” Johnny cuts him off, holding a finger in the air before spreading his arms in a flourish to gesture at you. “I present to you: the steaming sewer.”
“Hiii!” You smile politely, waving at Reed. “Are you the ruler of this realm?”
Reed now looks at Johnny, exasperation written all over his face. “Explain yourself.”
“She came out of the sewer,” Johnny shrugs, looking too smug for his own good. “Dress and all.”
“I did,” you nod enthusiastically, not really helping at all.
Reed sighs, rubbing his eyes with the tips of his fingers, but by the time he opens them again, you’ve already wandered to one of his old models with a curiosity that reminds him of his own son.
“Oooh, what’s this?” You ask, reaching for a red lever.
“No, don’t touch–“
You gasp in delight as the lights flicker when you pull on it, but Johnny catches your hand just in time before you pull the whole thing and cut the power of the entire building. He gently guides you away from the counters, smiling apologetically at Reed’s resting bitch face.
Ogre, indeed.
The doors of the metal box you arrived in open again, and a woman storms in carrying a child in her arms. He doesn’t even look a year old.
“Not only are you working late, but you’re messing with the power while I’m trying to put Franklin to bed and I–” The woman stops in his tracks when she sees you standing in the middle of the lab. Her eyes go to Johnny, and she only has to raise her eyebrows for him to look like a scolded child.
“Sue, I can explain. Don’t panic, she’s just a–”
“Pwincess!” The baby in her arm babbles, clapping his little hands together.
You coo at the baby, but stay put where you are, not wanting to crowd the woman narrowing her eyes at you. You gather the fabric of your dress and give them a little curtsy.
“Thank you, little bean. But I’m not a princess yet,” you say, pressing one hand to your chest.
Sue notices the way you clutch the fabric of your dress nervously, and curiosity gets the best of her.
“Did you escape from your wedding?” She asks, but there’s no real malice behind it.
“I didn’t escape,” you shake your head, looking down to the floor. “I believe someone may have tried to kill me and I ended up here instead.”
“Oh honey,” her expression softens, not entirely sure why she believes you’re harmless to her family. At least at this moment.
Johnny does, and he sighs, because now you’ve activated Sue’s mom instincts. How is he supposed to not get attached?
At least she won’t be telling him to kill you.
“Where exactly did Johnny find you, sweetheart?” She asks, bouncing little Franklin on her hip.
“Johnny says it’s called a sewer!”
Sue just nods, looking between Reed and Johnny but the latter just smiles with a shrug. A sudden blue light washes over you, but before you can panic Johnny shows you it’s coming from a little device Reed is hunching over.
“He’s just scanning you to see how we can help,” Johnny explains reassuringly, and you nod as the light keeps going all over you.
“Fascinating,” Reed says after a few minutes, walking away from the thingy to circle you. “No traces of chemical intoxication. Her body has adapted to survive in our environment, but her clothing fibers are unlike anything I’ve seen on this planet.”
“Oh! My dress was hand sewn with the help of my friends. Mouses and rabbits are very talented when it comes to special fabrics,” you say matter of factly.
“Mouses and rabbits.” Reed repeats and you nod happily. Jesus Christ.
“H.E.R.B.I.E told me you were all here. What’s going on?” A new voice echoes across the lab as the doors open again. ”Uhh, is Johnny getting married and didn’t tell us?”
You turn around to see a tall man made out of orange rocks and your shoulders sag in relief. Finally, someone normal around here. But before you can ask him if he knows how to get to your kingdom, Reed is already gesturing for him.
“Perfect timing, Ben. Team gathering. Now.”
Ben obeys, following him without taking his eyes off you. Sue walks past you, and Franklin giggles when he tries to grab one of your puffy sleeves and fails. Reed motions them deeper into the lab, and Johnny walks backwards to look at you.
“Don’t touch anything,” he mouths, and your eyes drift immediately towards another lever device on the counter. “Especially that!” He whisper-shouts, and you nod innocently, clasping your hands behind your back.
He flashes you a grin before jogging to meet the others, who are already explaining the situation to Ben. You can hear the whispering, but you can’t really make out what they’re saying, so you distract yourself with your own dress.
On the far corner of the lab…
“She came out of a sewer, and you believe she’s a princess?” Ben asks, biting back a smile as he watches Johnny roll his eyes.
“She could be delusional. Experimenting a psychological episode perhaps.” Reed says.
“Then why didn’t your scans show anything?” Johnny crosses his arms.
Reed hesitates, because the machine may not show physical abnormalities, but your mental state is a different thing.
“My love?” Reed asks the person he trusts the most in the room.
“She looks harmless,” Sue shrugs, shifting Franklin who’s starting to fall asleep on her shoulder.
“She is harmless,” Johnny says immediately.
“You've known her for like twenty minutes,” Ben teases.
“Yeah, and in those twenty minutes she’s been overwhelmed, yet polite enough to ask for our help. After all we’ve seen lately, I think we’re safe–just…look at her.”
They all glance back.
You’re standing exactly where Johnny left you, carefully lifting the edge of your gown and gasping in visible distress when you notice it has turned black.
“Oh no…my dress…”
Johnny mentally slaps himself when you look at the singed fabric with a sad face. Okay, maybe flying in flames while carrying a hundred pounds of magical tulle had been a bad idea.
“So who’s the lucky fella?” Ben whispers, nudging his arm to get his attention.
Johnny takes a second too long to take his eyes away from you, before turning back to the group with the answer.
“She said she was marrying some prince named Eddie,” Johnny explains, trying to sound as casual as possible. “But I don’t trust him, what if he’s the one who sent her away?”
“Or…maybe you just want to steal his bride,” Ben says without hesitation, making Sue snort. Even Reed’s mouth twitches.
Johnny groans, stepping back to point between them defensively.
“No, no, no. I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong! Absolutely wrong,” he defends himself, but his family has the audacity to laugh in his face.
“Johnny–”
“No! This isn’t another Shalla-bal situation,” he insists, crossing his arms. “That was months ago. Besides, can you really blame me? She was gorgeous.”
“And do you think the princess is gorgeous?” Sue asks with a knowing smile.
He glances at you once again, and it’s a bad idea, because Herbert has rolled into the room too and now you are bending slightly so you can pet his weird head. You were actually petting him. The droid is complimenting your dress, and you thank him giddily because you somehow understand what he’s saying.
“I fear the gown may be ruined, though,” you add with a small laugh.
“It still looks pretty on you,” Johnny blurts out loudly from his spot.
You straighten up to look at him, and your flustered face makes it difficult for him to not smile like a lovesick puppy. What the hell is happening to him?
When he turns back around, everyone is staring at him. Johnny closes his eyes with a grimace, sighing.
“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”
“I say you’re toast already,” Ben says, amused, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Good thing you can handle some heat–“
“I’m not handling any heat–“
“Alright!” Reed shuts them up. “Until we understand what happened, we can’t exactly send her anywhere,” Reed says, exhaling in defeat.
That makes Johnny perk up immediately with a smile that’s nothing but trouble.
“So we’re keeping her?” He says.
“We are letting her stay temporarily because she clearly needs help,” Sue corrects, giving him a warning look. “And you are going to behave.”
“Yes, absolutely!” Johnny nods, way too fast and completely unconvincing. Sue narrows her eyes at him. “Your mistrust wounds me, sister. I’m always on my best behavior.”
She glares at him one last time, before gesturing with her head at the group to walk back to you. She notices H.E.R.B.I.E has stuck to your side, and seems to be charmed by you as much as Johnny is. Which is another positive point in your favor.
“You can stay with us until we figure things out,” Sue says with a reassuring smile. “We’ll do our best to find your home.”
Your eyes go wide, the relief washing your face makes you look even brighter. Johnny has to keep himself from clutching his chest dramatically.
“Oh, I’m eternally grateful to all of you,” you say, lifting the fabric once again to do a full curtsy. “But especially to you, Johnny of Manhattan, because you were the one to trust me enough to bring me to your castle,” you add with a smile, straightening up and walking toward him to pressing a soft kiss on his warm cheek.
Johnny stills on his spot as your lips delicately graze his skin, before you pull apart a walk alway like nothing happened. His hand lifts instinctively to touch the spot you kissed, and this time his family’s snickers are inevitable.
Maybe Ben was right. Maybe he’s toast. Burned toast.
As he watches you obliviously hum a little tune for Franklin, who’s drooling away on Sue’s shoulder, acceptance hits him like a train.
He was absolutely doomed the second you climbed out of that sewer.
Thank you for reading this small fairytale! Feedback is always appreciated 💗🦇
Your infatuation with one firefighter brings you to the station every day. That is, until you hear him call you a handful.
▸ PAIRING & WC: Firefighter!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader — 3K
▸ WARNINGS: Hurt/comfort, fluff, miscommunication!!!
▸ A/N: i was reading dear @heldbybarnes' delicious firefighter bucky and got hit with inspo to write this in an hour at 2am. just my good ol friends miscommunication and yearning! hope you enjoy, any comments, reblogs, and likes are appreciated <3
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You meet Bucky by accident. Setting off the fire alarm in your building when you’re reverse searing a steak that billows smoke like it’s nobody’s business until it touches your finicky little thing. The alarm blares loud, waking up the entire building judging by the way your neighbors are complaining through your walls — even the ones above you.
You’re wincing in apology as you open up your windows and your door, standing on one of your rickety dining chairs and attempting to shut the damn thing up.
That’s when he comes in.
Sharp lines, blue eyes that could cut you like a diamond. Shoulders that could probably body you to the ground — and you’d thank him for it. “Are you alright, ma’am?” Oh, and that goes straight between your legs.
You’ve never really been in love before. You’ve never even really dated. Your college life was spent with tearstains on your textbooks and essay papers until each piece of work contained a fat, red ‘A’ and added up to your perfect GPA. Countless hours networking with people to wriggle yourself into your dream job and now those hours are wasted behind a desk with a career that gives you carpal tunnel.
Point is — when you set your mind on something, you obsess over it until you achieve it.
Your current target? One Sergeant Bucky Barnes from FDNY Engine 205.
From the moment he stepped in and delivered that question, to the second he looked into your eyes and grinned, those sapphire eyes twinkling as he said — “That dinner looks delicious, what I’d kill for a homecooked meal,” you knew you were done for.
Ask and you shall receive.
Now, on your work breaks, you find yourself stopping by with a platter of something new you’ve whipped up. Whether it’s a hearty protein-topped salad or a smoked barbecue selection or an array of sweet treats, you bring it as an offering to the local station.
Every. Single. Day.
The first day, one guy looks at you reluctantly at your foil-covered container and you had to stand there in shame as he told you that they couldn’t accept it due to health and safety concerns.
Your cheeks were hot as you held the tray closer to your chest, ready to hightail out of there before you can embarrass yourself further, when that familiar voice came.
“Steak alarm.”
Your gaze lifted to find Bucky standing there. He’s wiping his hands on a dirty dishrag, tight shirt clinging onto his body with the sweat and… general fit of the fabric, as he made his way towards you.
He lifted the foil and his gaze widened. It felt like you were taking a nosedive straight off a cliff into the Pacific — and you enjoyed every second of it.
“Now that’s a meal.”
Then he was summoning the rest of the station to take a gander at what you’ve prepared and suddenly they’re all picking away at it and thanking you for the first proper meal they’ve had in days.
And when Bucky once again flashed you that charming smile, one that would probably set off all the alarms in this station, it was over for you.
You should be embarrassed with being so obvious — some of the other firefighters have caught on to your teensy crush. Natasha, who’s probably the most badass person you’ve ever met, shoots you lopsided smiles every time you stare at Bucky. Sam and Steve are a little less subtle as they make comments like “your wife’s here, Barnes!” and you have to flail and panic until Bucky damns them with warning glares.
It’s not as if you talk to him. They’re much too busy for that. One of those days, you walk in and they’re actually gearing up to leave. Bucky had apologized profusely before he hopped in the truck and was on his way.
Instead, you yearn silently. You tell yourself it’s enough that you can see Bucky smile every day, that you can watch him devour whatever new thing you’ve made.
But the more you see him, the greedier you get.
When he does have time, he talks you through the mechanics of his job or describes the truck in great detail — until Sam yells at him, “Nobody wants to hear about your damn truck, Buck!” Then he’s flushing and saying sorry for boring you. You tell him in honesty that he could never bore you.
Suddenly, your days seem a little brighter. Instead of the humdrum life you’ve crafted for yourself, your pulse skips every time you think of something new to make for the station. You think of them as new friends. All of them know you by name and welcome you in with no hesitation.
It feels as if you’re making strides in getting to know Bucky, in getting him to actually like you. Not necessarily in a romantic way, just as two people becoming friends.
However, as you’re approaching the station late one day (your oven was being difficult), you find that the team is already on the upper level of the base having lunch. You reach for the stairway when you hear it.
“Come on, Buck, you know she’s got a crush on you,” Sam teases. The others titter in agreement.
Heat floods your cheeks.
“Quit it, Wilson,” Bucky growls.
“What? She too much for you?” Sam presses with a chuckle.
“She’s a handful, that’s for sure,” you hear Bucky mutter.
You hear your heart hit the ground. Laughter ripples through the space but there’s a ringing in your ears and your feet are moving before you can think twice.
Handful. A handful.
All this time, you thought you were doing something nice, but you didn’t realize you were actually bothering them. The street before you blurs as tears prick your eyes. Your breaths come out shallow as you trudge all the way home, the baked goods in your hands suddenly feeling like deadweight.
It’s only when you’re in the safety of your apartment that you allow yourself to breathe. At least as much as you can. You end up clearing out that tray on your own that evening with a depressing movie on screen.
From that point, you can’t imagine coming in to face them. You can’t bear the thought of pitying looks from the team or how Bucky is probably forced to smile to welcome you. Public servants and all. The last thing you want to do is inconvenience them when they’ve got a lot on their plates.
So you stop coming. You instead bury yourself in work, taking on more responsibility to keep your mind distracted — far away from the thought of being a handful. There are some nights when that melancholy morphs into irritation, how you wish you could spite him for not telling you the truth sooner. And then you realize that it’s not on him; you chose to do this. He was simply being kind.
You had mistaken that kindness for something more.
It’s been a few days since you last came and none of them have said a thing. It’s not as if you ever traded phone numbers. At least this will be a clean slate. You can forget this fluke ever happened.
You’re trying a new chicken recipe, frowning at your box of butter, when a knock sounds on your door. Your instinct is to sniff the air, wondering if the scent has permeated through the halls and your neighbor Mr. Tilman is here to complain again.
Wiping your hands on your kitchen towel, you swing the door open to find… not Mr. Tilman.
Instead, Bucky stands at your door.
He’s still in his fire station t-shirt.
He still looks delicious.
Those eyes that you’ve grown to adore light up when they see you. He smiles softly, “Hey.”
Your throat is dry. “Uh, hi.”
He looks you up and down and you realize now your disheveled state. Hair a mess, your oversized shirt is ratty and ends at your thighs. You reach up instinctively to try and fix yourself.
“You open your door to everyone like that?” His gaze flicks to your bare legs before going back up, cheeks a little pinker.
“Um, I thought you were Mr. Tilman. He doesn’t like it when I use too many spices.”
“You open your door to Mr. Tilman like that?” Bucky cocks an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth quirked up in amusement.
You fight back a smile and shake your head. “No, not usually. I was still distracted with my cooking when you knocked. Can I help you with something?”
Bucky shifts a little nervously then and you finally notice the crinkling plastic bag in his hands. “I haven’t seen you in a while. I thought you were sick so I brought over some chicken soup. I can’t cook for the life of me so I bought it. I can promise it’s safe.”
Dammit. How are you supposed to get over this man when he does things like this?
“Oh, thank you,” you swallow thickly.
“You don’t look sick though.”
“I’m… not,” you say slowly, unsure of how to approach this situation.
Your feet shuffle closer together as you look down at them instead of him. “Yeah, it’s been busy.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
You look up and laugh awkwardly. The lie goes straight past your teeth. “No, no. Just work.”
Bucky’s eyes narrow, lips tightening. He knows. You should’ve spent the past few days learning how to fib instead of moping. “Is something wrong?”
“What? No. Why would something be wrong?”
Real smooth.
Saved by the bell, your fire alarm begins beeping aggressively. You’ve forgotten your chicken. A curse slips past your lips as you hurry back in but Bucky beats you to it. He’s switching off your stove, telling you not to touch the pan, and reaching over to toggle with the alarm.
And now the two of you are in your kitchen, standing side by side watching as the oil pops in your pan and your chicken is completely burnt to a crisp.
“Well, guess that recipe didn’t work,” you joke to break the tension.
Bucky is silent for a moment before he asks quietly, “Did I do something?”
“What?” You whip up to face him.
“Is work really the reason why you haven’t been coming around?”
Your heart slams against your ribs. “Yeah,” you choke out a laugh again, “of course.”
The smile he gives you is almost sorrowful. “You’re a terrible liar.”
Flinching, you shift your gaze away this time.
“If I did something, I want to apologize. I’d appreciate it if you told me so I can properly say sorry and so I don’t do it again.”
“No, you didn’t do anything wrong,” you shake your head, “believe me. It’s fine.”
“Then why?”
Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, teeth sinking into your bottom one. Bucky’s gaze falls briefly again to your mouth before it returns to you. “I just don’t want to be a bother.”
His eyes flicker in surprise. “Why would you be a bother?”
“You guys are obviously busy and I don’t want to intrude—”
“You don’t— you could never intrude,” Bucky interjects softly, “what would give you that idea?”
You clear your throat and shrug.
“I lo—” he stops, flushing lightly, “We love having you there. All of us. We look forward to your visits, you know. Sam won’t shut up about everything you make. We might’ve taken you for granted and I am sorry for that, but I want you to know that you could never be a bother.”
“Thank you,” you murmur softly. “I’ll, um, come by tomorrow maybe.”
“And you don’t have to bring anything all the time. You must be busy with work too. Could just swing by to chat with us. Steve also hosts weekly game nights with Nat and you’re more than welcome to join us.”
Now it’s your turn to be flustered as you wave him off. “No, no, that’s for your team.”
“People bring their plus ones too, it’s very casual.”
“Yeah, but I’m not really anyone’s plus one,” you laugh lightly.
Bucky digs his fingers into his pockets and you see that his neck and ears are stained red. His gaze shifts around the room before they fly back to you. Honest blue eyes. “You could be mine.”
Your heart skips.
“I mean, you don’t have to— I just, you know, it would be nice. Of course, you don’t have to be my plus one. You could be someone else’s — scratch that, you could be the team’s overall plus one, but I think it would be nice if you were mine…” Bucky trails off and his usually tanned skin flushes a deeper and deeper shade of scarlet.
You’re not sure how to respond to this. Just days ago, you heard him call you a handful. You thought you were too much. You don’t know what to make of this.
Is he just being kind? Maybe he feels bad that you’ve spent weeks coming around and now he wants to repay the favor.
“You know you don’t have to feel bad and invite me,” you gently say.
“I don’t—” he looks taken aback, “I’m not inviting you because I feel bad. I’m, shit, I’m inviting you because I want you there.”
“Why?”
Bucky rubs his face aggressively, groaning silently to himself. “I feel like I’m going about this the wrong way. I… really like you.” Your heart stutters again, your breath hitching in your throat. “I wanted to ask you out properly, but I wasn’t sure if that would cross any professional boundaries, given how we met. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. If I’ve misinterpreted anything you’ve done, please let me know. I just— you were coming around and the team was saying that you came around to see me — and I guess I got my hopes up.”
You’re silent, and your nonresponse makes him squirm.
Why would he— this doesn’t make any sense. You heard him loud and clear at the station, right?
“But I thought you thought I was a handful,” you whisper.
“What?” He blanches, “What would make you think that?”
“I heard you,” you admit shamefully, “last time I came around the station. I thought— I figured I was being a nuisance so I didn’t want to overstep anymore.”
The gears are turning in his mind as he seemingly retraces his steps. You see the moment he remembers. His face pales. “Oh, fuck, oh god. No, shit. No, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s okay! Look, it’s totally fine. I get it. I can be intense and I don’t want to put that pressure on you.”
Bucky takes a deep breath, his eyes are kind and stern at the same time as he delivers his explanation. “I only said you’re a handful because you do so much and I don’t know if I could ever do enough to return the favor. I’ve been thinking about asking you out and I haven’t really… dated in a while — or ever for that matter — and I wanted to do it right. I wanted to do right by you. Fuck, I didn’t mean handful in that way, I swear.”
“Oh.”
“God, I’m an idiot,” Bucky moans, “I’m so sorry. Shit, you must’ve thought— I’m sorry. I never want you to think you’re a bother. You’re not. You’re the best part of my day. Every day, I look forward to coming into work knowing I was going to see you in the afternoon. I prayed so that we wouldn’t get called out during those hours.”
Your lips part.
He takes a deep breath, “That first day you didn’t come, I was worried that something happened, but the others thought I would be too much if I stopped by. Not to mention, incredibly inappropriate since I know your address from that first time. But shit, I missed you that day. I didn’t realize how much I loved seeing you every day until that first day. Then you stopped coming and I couldn’t stop worrying so Nat finally unofficially greenlit me to check on you and I came straight here. But then I thought that you were sick so I stopped by to get soup and— now I’m rambling. You didn’t ask for all that. I just need you to know that you could never be a bother to me. Never. Even if you were a handful, I can’t imagine anyone else taking care of you— I don’t want to imagine that.”
“Bucky—”
“And that makes me really selfish right? But I want to be the first person you call if anything happens. If something good or bad happens, I want you to tell me first. Because I like you so, so much. I should’ve made that clear earlier. But, again, if all this makes you uncomfortable, then tell me. I’ll leave. No hard feelings.”
“Bucky!”
“Yes,” he shuts up.
“I—” you realize now that you should’ve prepared what to say, but how are you expected to respond to that? “Thank you, um, for clarifying. I don’t even know what to say. I can confirm that I was coming around mainly to see you,” you say, embarrassment written all over your face at your confession, “you’re the best part of my day too. I should’ve just talked to you instead of jumping to conclusions.”
His face is marred by a wince as he offers you an apologetic look. “No, I understand why you did. I should’ve phrased it better.”
“Well, at least that’s cleared up,” you smile, “but I do… like you too, that is. Professional code be damned, I would’ve said yes if you asked me on a date.”
The smile he gives you is blinding and you vow then and there that you would spend the rest of your life making sure he keeps that expression on his face.
“Well, since your dinner is… unsalvagable,” Bucky begins, glancing briefly at the mess on your stove, “how about I take you out for dinner? As a date.”
