aryn !!

Ი𐑼 yeah so it’s short , just a little thought and concept but I will definitely write a longer fic about this <3 I’m not prepared for the person I’m going to become when the movie is out … I’m already freaking out from the trailer 🤓

You remember the very first one you wrote. Your first love letter. 

Although, it wasn’t a love letter in a traditional sense. It was a ‘I need you to stop consuming my thoughts, so I’m writing it all down on paper and then sealing it away forever’ kind of love letter. And it was never meant to be seen by anyone else’s eyes but your own.

You wrote 3 in total, and all of them were coincidentally for boys with the same name: Peter Parker.

You knew the universe had a funny sense of humor with that one. Thankfully, they all had nicknames to avoid any confusion.

The first letter you wrote was for Pete. He was a few years older, with beautiful blue eyes, perfectly combed hair, and a smile that was worthy of being plastered all over a dental ad. Pete was your classic boy next door, always riding his bike to school, the local Y.M.C.A to volunteer on the weekends, and to Joe’s Pizza for his after-school job. You met him when you signed yourself up for science tutoring sessions your freshman year. He was a senior then, and your tutor for that entire semester, but even after that, he would still always say hi to you in the halls. 

He was sweet and soft-spoken and always encouraged you, even going as far as supporting you at the freshman science fair when it was senior skip day at school.

“You didn’t have to come, you know. You’re only a senior once,” you say bashfully, looking down at your display table to keep him from catching the heat rising to your cheeks. 

“And miss out on you destroying your competitors? Not a chance,” he says, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like his attendance didn’t mean the absolute world to you. “I mean, biodegradable alternatives to plastic? That’s life-changing stuff.”

You chuckle, flashing him a grateful smile. “Well, I did have the best tutor. If it weren’t for you, this would be the 8th volcano entered today,” you say, and Pete laughs. 

“I always knew you were smart. You’re capable of anything you set your mind to,” he says, and your heart swells. 

You ended up placing second, and you’ve never forgotten the way he cheered for you when you were presented with the big blue ribbon. He even treated you to pizza afterwards.

It was almost impossible not to have a crush on Pete. He was perfect. 

Right before he left for college, however, you knew he would take your crush with him. So you decided that the proper way to let him go was to write him a letter that you would never send.

Dear Pete…

And in that letter you described everything you felt for him. The way your breath caught in your throat every time he leaned in closer to you to gently correct an answer you got wrong on a worksheet. How seeing him clap and smile for you at the science fair made you feel like the luckiest girl in the room. How all of Midtown High was obsessed with him, but he still always had time for you, and it made even the hard days easier. You wrote until the all-consuming love you had for him no longer felt all-consuming. 

You wrote your second letter 2 years later. 

You met Peter in your second period economics class. He was a total boy genius, the first-place winner of your freshman year science fair. He knew the answer to every question, aced every pop quiz, and the worst part was that he was always humble about it.

Worst, because it was one of the reasons why you inevitably fell in love with him.

Aside from being ridiculously smart, he was also the kind of cute that made butterflies flutter in your stomach, with puppy dog eyes and fluffy brown hair. You would chew through pens just staring off at him during class, something that your friend, MJ, had to regularly snap you out of.

“You’re literally drooling,” she whispered to you, and you felt your face heat up as you tried to compose yourself.

You even went as far as joining the academic decathlon team that year so you had a chance to spend more time with him. The problem was, you sucked, but Peter, being the good guy that he was, never made you feel bad about it.

It started with him inviting you to ‘brush up on those decathlon skills together’ right before your club meets and soon turned to homework at the library, Star Wars marathons with him and Ned, and hitting up the bodega to split his favorite sandwich together every Wednesday after school. 

On one particular Wednesday, you had sat together at a bench in the park, making up conversations and scenarios for the people who walked past you, a little game you both would play often.

“You see, I really must go; I left a pot roast in the oven, and it’s burning as we speak,” Peter says in a high-pitched voice, mimicking a lady who was pulling at her poodle’s leash, very obviously trying to eject herself from the conversation with a man beside her.  

“Your pot roast? I’ve had it before, trust me, you're better off letting it burn,” you say in the deepest voice you can muster, voicing the man next to her who looked completely over the conversation himself, and you both fall into a fit of laughter.

Peter turns to you, eyes seemingly catching something as he leans in close.

“Oh wait, you got mustard on the side of your mouth,” he said, and you still remember the way his thumb gently wiped at your skin, a trail of heat left behind.

He stares at you for a moment, cheeks flushing before letting out a nervous laugh, shaking the strands of hair away from his forehead.

“S-sorry.”

You had to practically force yourself to wash your face that night. Wanting to keep his touch forever on your skin. You were absolutely smitten with him until the day he confessed to you. 

“I like someone,” he says, and for a moment you think it’s actually you until you see the faraway look in his eyes and droopy smile on his face. “Liz Allan,” he says, and your heart breaks with it.

Peter asks Liz to the junior prom that year, and you decide that an unrequited crush was not how you wanted to spend the rest of high school. So you write him a letter to release him once and for all.

Dear Peter…

It details the very truth of your feelings for him. The way your stomach did flips whenever he smiled, how you admired the twinkle in his eyes whenever he passionately expressed his interests, the love you felt for him beyond just that of a friend. How you wanted him to touch your face again, the way he did that Wednesday afternoon at the park. All of it, until it was finally out of your system. 

Your 3rd love letter, and your last, was written in your first year of college. 

You had Peter B. for your photography class, but you remember first seeing him riding his skateboard towards the school building. When you entered the class, you pinpointed him immediately; Tall and effortlessly cool-looking, with a face that made him look like he could model if he wanted to. He wore an oversized army jacket, and you wondered what it would be like to wear it. 

For how handsome he was, it didn’t seem like he knew it, because he mostly kept to himself. You and Peter B. didn’t interact as much, but in the moments that you did, it was all you could think about for days at a time. 

Can I borrow a pen?

Hey, do you know when the next assignment is due? 

I forgot my 50mm lens at my dorm; do you mind if I borrow yours real quick for this shot?

So maybe that last one was just you looking for an excuse to talk to him, but each interaction made your heart flutter. There was something about Peter B. that was mesmerizing to you. In the soft way he spoke, in how he skillfully glided on his board around campus, in his quiet wittiness. 

Falling in love with Peter B. was unlike the past two Peters, because unlike them, it wasn’t fast and all-knowing. It was quiet and snuck up on you, like time or growth. In fact, you wouldn’t have even thought you were in love with Peter B. until one night, right before the holiday break. You were tipsy at a dorm party, and all the tightly pressed bodies and loud music made you queasy, so you stepped out of the building for some fresh air. 

Your teeth shattered as your hands crossed over your arms, rubbing them up and down to create some kind of heat. In the distance, you spot something zooming at you. You raise a brow as the mysterious figure makes it close enough for you to distinguish them; Peter B. landed in front of you, foot extended out as he stopped his board. He pulled his headphones off his head and hung them around his neck.

“If it isn’t my pen savior. What are you doing out here so late, Mother Teresa?” he asks, and you spot a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. 

“Shh, don’t blow my cover, but I’m actually undercover as a typical college student. The current assignment is to get drunk at a party inside of a dorm that’s too small for the amount of people stuffed in there. I’m taking it very seriously,” you say, and he chuckles, and you almost want to puke from how giddy it makes you.

“Noted. Wouldn’t there be something in the rules about not drinking on the job though?” he shoots back.

“Not if you’re the one who made up the rules in the first place,” you state with a wink, earning another chuckle from him and another stomach flip for you. 

“Giving and funny. Careful, you're after my heart there,”  he says, and you have to stop yourself from thinking you had enough liquid courage to say, ‘And what if I am? Would you give it to me?’

He spots a shiver run through you and immediately shrugs his jacket off, gently laying it over your shoulders.

And now you knew what it was like.

The action was soft and innocent, but it made your heart beat rapidly in your chest. He ended up walking you to your dorm after that. Or, well, you stood on his skateboard as he held your hand and guided you there. 

Your hand felt like it was tingling the entire night.

You wanted to know more about Peter B., but sadly, you never had the courage to. That night was all you had to show for it. 

So you wrote him a letter to put an end to it, as it looked like it would never begin in the first place.

Dear Peter B.…

It detailed the rush of emotions you felt for him. How the way he viewed the world through a lens left you in awe. How you craved more from him, but the lack of understanding didn’t take away from the beauty you already saw within. How he should really stop wearing his glasses on a whim because it made him look unbearably attractive. 

And that was the last and final letter you wrote.

You were now a graduate of Empire State University and worked as a journalist for Vanity Flair, a pop culture and fashion magazine with an office located in the city. You lived in a two-bedroom apartment with your best friend since high school, MJ, and you were the proud owner of a fiddle leaf fig, regifted from your boss Ms. Felicia Hardy, who hated taking care of any living thing. 

Another thing Felicia hated? Uninspired magazine articles. Which she now claimed all of the ones you had just pitched to her were. 

“It’s not interesting. It’s not exciting. I want people to be inspired when they read our magazine. Not bored to death,” she spat, looking at her sharpened fingernails.

You process her words, trying to keep your composure. “I agree, Ms. Hardy. I was also thinking maybe I can write about trend predictions? Like how fashion moves in 20-year cycles and maybe the next style trends would be-”

“You know what people love reading about?” Felicia questions out loud, interrupting you unapologetically. 

You remain silent because you knew she already had the answer. 

“Love,” she answers. “I want you to write about that.”

Your eyes just about bulge out of your head. “Ms. Hardy, I-I don’t know much about that…”

“You know, you’ve survived 3 months here already, so I'm gonna give you some advice in the hopes that you can survive another day. What I want most out of the people who work for me is growth. This magazine is all about elevating yourself. I’m not hiring one-trick ponies to bring out whatever comfortable party trick they’ve mastered over the years. I want versatility. Just like the readers, I want to be excited. So either bring me something that does, or clean out your desk. I expect either decision by tomorrow’s morning meeting,” she states, and you can pretty much see your hopes and dreams burst into flames. 

You can even picture a mini version of yourself screaming and running around with her hands up at the chaos, 4 years of student loans and a journalism major down the drain…

Well, there goes your future. 

That night when you get to your apartment, you make a beeline for your room, ignoring MJ, who was cooking in the kitchen, the smell of something tomato-y filling your shared space. You push the door open and immediately flop on your bed, head first.

“Tough day?” you hear her call out, and you groan into your pillow. 

You feel eyes on your back, so you turn over and see her leaning on the door frame, wooden spoon in hand. “You know what we said about wallowing. We’re not doing it in the big 2026 anymore. We’re adults now. We fix our problems. And…” she leaves the door for a moment, voice trailing, before returning with a bottle of wine. “We use wine to help.” 

Getting wine drunk on a Tuesday evening was nothing new for MJ and you. In fact, ever since working for Felicia, you found yourself participating in it more often than not. But it was all in good fun, and MJ always made you feel loved and supported, and at the end of it you felt as carefree as the $8 grocery store wine could get you.

“Felicia is such a hardass. She acts like y’all are writing for The New Yorker or Foreign Affairs. You guys once had Ariana Grande’s dog as the cover for your magazine. Like, sans Ariana Grande,” she says, and you burst out in laughter, your wine glass jiggling in your hand.

“No, for real! Her expectations are absurd. She also couldn’t have picked a worse person to give this assignment to. I literally have zero experience with love,” you state, grabbing handfuls of chips from your shared bowl.

“Oh, come on. It’s not zero. You’ve dated a couple people,” she says, rolling her eyes at you.

You shove the chips in your mouth, messy as you shake your head and muster up a ‘Nuh uh’ before swallowing. “I mean. I’ve dated, yeah, but I was never in love with any of them. And the only times I felt like I was ever in love, like, for real, all I did was write them a letter. And I never even sent them,” you confess, the wine transforming itself into truth serum. 

At this, MJ snaps her head towards you. “Letters? What?” she asks, intrigued.

You hiccup, nodding. “Yup. Like old-fashioned, handwritten, tied up with a bow and everything. To the three boys I’ve fallen in love with,” you say, licking the salt from your fingers.

“Shut up,” MJ says, arms crossed. “Proof or you're lying.”

You raise a brow at her. “Proof? Like you want me to pull out these letters?’ you ask, and MJ nods.

“Or else it’s total bullshit,” she says with a challenge.

You laugh, swatting the air. “Well, you’re in luck ‘cause I’m a memory hoarder and I’ve kept them after all these years,” you say, standing up from your cross-legged position on the couch. “One sec,” you say as you practically bounce over to your room, heading straight to your closet.

MJ laughs, yelling out a “No way!” from the living room as you open your closet door and stand up on your tiptoes, grabbing a shoebox from the very top. The shoebox was decorated in pink wrapping paper featuring delicate-looking white swans; An old elementary school Valentine's Day box you made to stick all your cards in.

You then race back into the living room and present the box to her. “Madam,” you say playfully as you bow and hand her the box. 

MJ stares at you, hand over her mouth as she eyes the box. “Stop. You’re totally not kidding, are you?” 

She takes the box from your hands and practically tosses the lid open. Inside were several cartoon Valentine cards from the past, but at the very top were 3 pastel colored envelopes. One was a light yellow, another a baby blue, and the third a soft pink. All three were tied in white ribbon and lace. 

“Dudeeeeeeee!” she practically squeals, grabbing the 3 envelopes out of the box.

“Now why would you think I made this up? This is like real heart-yearning stuff. I've never told anyone about this,” you say, and MJ looks up at you.

“Oh my gosh. It’s like the plot of a rom-com. Letters to boys that you love? That you never sent?”

“You wanna know the worst part?” you say, biting your lip. MJ nods vigorously. “They all have the same name.”

“SHUT UP!” MJ yells, slamming her hands on her thighs. 

You crack up at that, nodding as you flop on the couch, hands in your face, embarrassed. “Yup. I couldn't make this up even if I tried.”

“Wait, wat, wait,” MJ says, crawling over to you, head resting on the couch seat next to you. “Who are they?” she questions, and you shake your head.

“No, absolutely not.”

“Oh come oooooon. You can’t do that to me. You just gave me like the juiciest secret ever and only shared, like, half of it. You might as well just reveal the whole thing.”

You pry the hands away from your face and look at her. “Ok, fine. So two of them actually went to our high school. The first letter was to a guy who was a senior when we were freshmen. It was before you and I became friends. His name was Peter Parker,” you state, bracing yourself, because you knew that with one name, MJ would immediately figure out who the next letter was for. 

MJ stared at you, wide-eyed, before collapsing dramatically on the floor. “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh. Peter Parker?! Golden boy Parker?? Shut up!” she says, and you squeal, both embarrassed and giddy at finally confessing.

You nod. “Yeah. He used to be my science tutor. He was a pretty great guy.”

“Wait, so if you sent a letter to Golden Boy Peter Parker, then that means,” and she lifts herself up like a zombie being resurrected, wide eyes on you. You form just the beginning of a nod before MJ collapses once again, yelling, “Lover Boy Parker!! OH MY GOSH, YES! You were literally drooling for that kid!”

You try to shush MJ through your fits of laughter, face on fire. “I know. I had it bad. So embarrassing,” you say, pressing the cold wine glass to your cheek in an effort to cool it down.

“Wait, so we have Golden Boy Parker, Lover Boy Parker, and… there’s seriously another Peter Parker on this planet that you wrote a letter to?”

You nod, biting your lip. “First year of college, a guy in my photography class. Peter. B. Parker,” you say, and MJ’s eyes look like they're about to fall off her head.

“That’s literally insane. Like, Twilight Zone level of insane,” she says.

You lean over and grab the envelopes from her hand. 

“Golden Boy Parker, AKA Pete,” you say as you lift the yellow envelope up.

“Lover Boy Parker, AKA Peter,” baby blue envelope.

“And….” you pause, thinking for a moment before continuing. “We’ll call him Skater Boy Parker, AKA Peter B.,” pink envelope.

As you're now face to face with each envelope after years of storing them away, you feel the emotions rush back to you. There were only three boys that you’ve ever loved in your entire life, and it was like they were face to face with you now; each envelope holding a moment in time inside of them.

“Well, there’s your article,” MJ says, snapping you out of your nostalgia.

You look at her, brows furrowing. “What? Write about my letters? Isn’t that like… juvenile? Like for a sophisticated magazine like Vanity Flair?”

MJ snorts. “Vanity Flair. Sophisticated. Sure,” she says sarcastically before proceeding, “Anyways, this is juicy stuff. If Felicia was all on you about an ‘exciting love story’, this is it.” 

You take a moment to process her words.

An article about love letters written to the boys of your past, who all share the same name, whom you've never even sent them to.

“And if you're scared about them finding out, though I doubt any of them would be spending their time paroozing through Vanty Flair, you can just keep the names out,” she continues, and maybe it was the wine or the way MJ was very persistent about this, but you jump out of your spot on the couch and fetch your laptop from your room. 

To: VF Felica Hardy

CC: VF Editors 

Subject: Love Letters I’ve Never Sent (Article Idea)

═════════════════════════════════════════════

The next morning you wake up hungover with yesterday's mascara crusted on your lashes and half a chip inside your shirt. Your head pounds as you shower and get ready for the day, tiptoing around a snoring MJ who had passed out on the couch after last night's escapades. You pour yourself a cup of coffee before a sudden memory makes itself known to you, and you gasp as you immediately fish your phone from out of your pocket.  

There it was.

The email you sent. The one that detailed how pathetic your love life truly was. The one with pictorial evidence of your letters, so you couldn’t even say it was made up out of desperation.

Nope, you were just authentically that desperate. 

You let out a deep breath as you closed your eyes, hoping and praying that Felica would be gentle with you when you entered the meeting room today. You knew she would rip into you for thinking that idea was even good enough to send to her at 1 am, let alone to cc the editors, a step only made when it was ready to be edited for publishing.

Your career at Vanity Flair was officially over. 

You wondered if Felicia would ask for the fiddle leaf fig back. You grew to really like that plant.

You entered the meeting room that morning like you were walking to your death sentence. You were one of the first few people who arrived, so thankfully you wouldn't be eaten alive for being late as well. You watched as the rest of the staff trickled in, and finally Felcia, with her long white curls and another perfectly tailored business suit.

The meeting goes off without a hitch. Talks about the rollout for the upcoming issue, suggestions for future celebrity features, and details on next month's Vanity Flair gala.

No mention of your email.

You think it's some kind of miracle you were gifted. Maybe the universe did you a solid, seeing as you’ve dealt with so much already. But once the meeting is adjourned, and Felicia tells you to stay behind, you know why she waited till the very end; she wants to destroy you in private.

No witnesses. Smart move.

“Yes, Ms. Hardy?” you ask, acting like you had no idea whatsoever why she would want to talk to you.

Pathetic.

“So I got your email last night. At 1 am, was it?” she says, and you feel your stomach climb up your throat.

“A little unprofessional if you ask me. Lucky for you, however, I was riddled with insomnia and was going over my emails when lo and behold, I see a very interesting subject matter.”

Interesting, ok. Not a bad word. Not offensive or horrible or ludicrous. You could live with interesting.

“‘Love letters I’ve never sent’,” she quoted, an eyebrow raised as her eyes never left yours.

You braced yourself.

“Absolutely brilliant,” she says, after leaving you hanging for a few seconds, and you feel yourself immediately regain the ability to breathe. “It’s intriguing and authentic and just the right amount of sad and pathetic to reel people in. And most importantly, it’s exciting,” she says, a smirk on her lips, the closest you'd ever get to a smile.

You couldn’t believe it; MJ was actually right. You make a mental note to stop by the cafe after work to get her her favorite drink and pastry as a thank-you gift. 

“I'm not going to lie, however, I was prepared for you to disappoint me. But you really came through with this article. So much so that I sent it to print expeditiously so that it can come out with this month's issue.”

You stiffen for a moment. Eyes wide. “Oh really? W-wow, that’s really fast. I mean, the issue is coming out next week.”

“No need to thank me. I mean, you did already tag the editors on the email. Something I would refrain from doing again in the future, by the way, but even you knew you struck gold here. Why wait a month when we can feed the hungry now,” she states, and you nod in agreement because whatever Felicia wanted, she got. 

“Oh, and we’re keeping the names.”

And your stomach immediately drops. “I’m sorry?”

“Yeah, the anonymous thing just doesn't work for this story. And part of its charm is the fact that you fell for not one, but three Peter Parkers? I'm sorry, but that's the selling point of this article,” she states unapologetically, and you immediately gnaw at your bottom lip.

“So, you’re saying everything in my letters will be published in the magazine next week. Including the real names of the real people I wrote real love letters to?” you say out loud, trying to process the reality of it.

Felicia gives you a wink. “Get ready. You got a hit in your hands,” she says as she grabs the portfolios on her desk and struts her way out of the meeting room.

You remain in your seat, unable to move as you mentally go through a quick slideshow of everything that has transpired in the past few hours. 

The feelings you kept hidden away in letters for years were now going to be exposed for the whole world to read in just a few days' time. 

Dear Y/N…

Quieter.

Smaller.

The skyline sat lower against the sky. The rivers cut through the city like silver ribbons. And at night, when you’re able to slip out for just a moment in the midst of your shift and you stand outside for a breath of fresh air with aching feet and hospital coffee still lingering on your tongue, you could see stars.

Actual stars. 

That was still strange.

But maybe strange wasn't always bad.

Maybe strange could become familiar.

Maybe that was what you were learning...

It was far from the place you had imagined yourself to be...in fact it had never once popped up into your mind as a possibility, not until recently.  

Far removed from the life you had grown up knowing. 

Far from the streets you knew like the back of your hand. 

The restaurants. 

The little cafes tucked in alley ways, the one chinese place you’d always pick up take out from and the pizza joint on the corner where they remembered your order.    

The shops, the ones you’d always frequent and the little op shop where the owner used to keep things she thought you’d like tucked away for you.  

You’d miss the people. How in a crowd of thousands you’d never fail to make new connections. Never failing to cross paths with a new friendly face…despite the sea of assholes and dipshits, there was always at least one nice person to brighten up your day.

But now you’d be far from all of that. Far from the unpredictably predictable chaos of the life you had led up until now. 

Far from the life you had known…

Far from your family. 

Far from your friends…

Ned, MJ…Peter…

No longer would you all be able to simply hang out, build lego, watch some old sci-fi film or simply lounge around together….

Now they were a 6 hour drive away…

The familiar faces and loving embraces all now simply voices and faces on a screen…

And yet. 

Despite your initial trepidation. 

The initial pit in your stomach…

You couldn’t help but be excited by it all. 

Be thrilled by the new environment. 

By the opportunity. 

You would be lying if you said you weren’t just a little happy with the change in scenery. With the change in pace. 

You knew New York inside out – perhaps a little too well…

With a knowledge for a few of its best kept secrets, hidden and tucked away within the cracks and crevices of the city. 

But when you were able to take the opportunity to go to Pittsburgh to continue your studies…

You had taken it. 

You needed a fresh start, a place where you could breathe. 

A place where you wouldn't be reminded of some tragedy or bittersweet memory at each corner…

You needed somewhere new. 

A place where you could learn just where you fit into this big wide world without being held back by the memories of the past. 

So you grasped the chance with both hands, and had taken a leap. 

And moved your life to Pittsburgh. 

Far smaller, and less chaotic than the streets of New York. In fact you couldn’t even begin to compare the two. 

Both, so unique. 

Both, so different. 

And yet both were so very alike. 

You had loved New York City, with the entirety of your being. With the entirety of your heart…

But you were starting to get used to Pittsburgh.  

Get used to the way it ticked. 

How it moved. 

And flowed. 

…You could call it a bit of an adjustment. 

A big adjustment. 

The air somehow smelled crisper – fresher. The way the light reflected off the buildings felt different. And the stars that littered the night sky. 

That wasn’t something you’d see in the city that never sleeps…

You were starting to grow fonder and fonder of the place you were now starting to call home. 

…

“Fucking shit,” you had muttered, a yawn slipping out, whilst you rub your eyes. The glaring sun shining up above, while you read the message popping up on your phone, you huff, “It’s too early for this shit.” 

Feet dragging you along the footpath, a sense of urgency in your step. 

Chugging down the hot coffee in your hand, hoping that it would make up for your sleep being cut short. 

Cars fly past, the sounds of sirens echo in the near distance. 

Kayla: Hey sorry! Was meant to txt you earlier Kayla: My boyfriend just asked me to move in with him Kayla: So I won’t be moving in  Kayla: sorry! x

Great…

The universe had apparently looked at you and thought:

Let's make this interesting.

You click your tongue, annoyance simmering within. Should’ve trusted your gut. You knew she was flaky…

Now you were left without a roommate…

Which wasn’t the worst thing in the world–it’s just that you hated looking for one. All the questions, the meet ups, having them come to see if they liked the place or if you both got along…

It was exhausting. 

The hospital coming into view, the ambulance bay already banked up, a reminder of why you were here. 

Normally you wouldn’t have come in so early. 

Normally you would’ve still been tucked into bed catching a few more hours of shut eye…

But on a normal day there wouldn’t be a shooting at the Pittfest event. 

On a normal day the ER wouldn’t be calling in for extra help. 

On a normal day, you wouldn’t even be here until 7 pm. 

But today wasn’t normal. 

Anything but. 

Shoving your phone into the depths of your pockets, you hurry into the ER. Passing Lupe at the front with the slightest of waves as she ushers you in.  

You have been here barely a week. Had started your work as a med student in one of Pittsburgh’s busiest ERs, thrown into the depths of the midnights. 

It had been a week since you had been indoctrinated into the ‘weirdest and wildest’ shift. 

Your eyes scanning all around you, a habit you had not lost in the move from New York. Always on the look out. Always vigilant.   

Eyes lighting up the moment you catch your attendings’ eyes. 

“Jack,” you greet cooly with a nod of your head, 

“Well if it isn’t Spitfire–help me out, would ya?” he gestured, moving medical supplies into the behavioral rooms. Preparing for the many more patients that would inevitably pass through here. 

Nodding, lips pulled thin whilst your mind drifts vaguely back to the messages you had just received. Whilst you fall into step beside him grasping at the supplies. 

His brows dip and furrow, noting your less enthused self. Granted there was a mass shooting–but typically you were more chatty. 

“Anything wrong?” 

“Hm?” you blink, shaking your head, “No–nothing. It seems silly compared to all of this–”

“Go on, I’m sure you’ll feel better if you say it–can’t have you distracted,” he encourages a little further. 

Sighing, maybe he was right, it might be a little helpful…

“I just found out my roommate is no longer going to be my roommate”

“That sucks”

“Tell me about it–the last thing I want to do is try and find a new one, especially working night shifts, I barely picked the last one and even that was a stretch,” you groaned. 

“Chin up,” he offers with a sympathetic smile, “I’m sure you’ll figure something out, you’re pretty resourceful”

You offer a tight lipped smile, tilting your head, “Are you always this optimistic?” with an arched brow, noticing this glint in his eyes.

A glint you recognised all too well–the indication that adrenaline begins to kick in. Begins to course the veins.  

He only shrugs, “I wouldn’t call it optimism”

“Right,” you agreed sarcastically, before shaking your head with a small click of your tongue, “I honestly can’t deal with this right now–”

And truthfully. 

None of you had the time to deal with that. 

Not as the room began to fill, beds began to be filed in, fitting patients into every space possible. Always scanning, keeping an eye on them even if they weren’t critical. Just in case. 

The Pittfest shooting changed the hospital.

Changed the air.

People moved faster. Voices became sharper. Coffee went cold before anyone remembered they had made it.

You had only been there a week, but nobody treated you like you were new anymore. There wasn't time for that.

You simply became part of the machine.

And the same could be said for all the new staff who had only just started today…

Quite the welcome. You had thought whilst you watched them handle the cards they were dealt with. 

In the midst of the chaos you had barely been able to properly meet any of them. Except for one of the other new med students–Whitaker–you think his name was. 

“Wish it were under better circumstances–but it's nice to meet you,” you had said whilst your hands moved swiftly to treat the patient before you. 

The young man, with golden curls and bright sage green almost blue eyes stammered in a little shock at your fluid movements before moving to work alongside you. 

“Same here–I’m Whitaker,” he greeted. 

Throwing him a quick glance you nod, “L/N”

He was diligent, if not a little awkward in the way he worked. But you could see that he cared. Could see that he wanted to help. To make a difference…

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t warm your heart. Just a little. 

Despite being thrown into work on the worst day imaginable. You had to give all the newbies some credit. 

They were keeping their shit together as best as they could. 

And that was something to be admired whilst you all worked together, adapting, doing the best you could with the limitations you had. 

Brows furrowing when you catch a glimpse of someone familiar. 

“Trinity?” you questioned in slight surprise.

“Oh–hey Drowsy,” she nodded with a slight grin, the little nickname she’d given you slipping in, “Hope you slept enough”

You let out a dry laugh, “Fancy seeing you here”

“Is it though?” she quipped, “I did tell you I was working at PTMC–”

“Must’ve slipped my mind,” you added. 

“Was that before or after your mid day snooze,” she retorted. 

You roll your eyes, “You know I’m working nights–I literally have to have a mid day snooze” 

She waves you off. 

Whilst you sigh with a small smile. 

It was nice seeing a familiar face. 

Even if that face was of someone you had only recently been acquainted with just a few weeks ago when you had moved into the apartment next door to hers. 

She was a little prickly. A little rough around the edges. 

But you could see she had a good heart. 

A determined soul. 

Fearless. 

And a razor sharp wit that always kept you on your toes. 

She was simply fun to be around–and definitely someone you wanted when in the midst of a crisis such as now. 

You had no idea that the beginnings of this friendship would soon cause you to find a new roommate.

Would soon result in your spare bedroom being taken up. 

Would soon result in you gaining not only Trinity as a friend. 

But also another someone would come into your life. 

For the better. 

…

Now, you knew Trinity had a big heart. 

Way beneath her steely exterior and prickly behaviour. 

She was as soft hearted and as caring as they come. 

…You just didn’t think that her bleeding heart would result in her knocking on your door just a few days after Pittfest. 

You had just finished a shift. 

Had finally dragged yourself into your apartment, ready to collapse on the nearest surface and sleep. 

It didn’t even have to be a bed!

You could’ve easily fallen asleep on the floor if your mind didn’t remind you of the stiff neck you had woken up with the last time you had done that.

Your brain felt like soup.

When Santos had appeared before you with tea, a bag of fresh pastries and a look on her face that instantly made you suspicious.

"No," you said, eyes narrowing at the sight of her. Prepared to shut your door, before she wedges her foot to prevent you from doing so. 

"I haven't even asked anything,” her brows furrowed. 

You scrunch your nose, examining her, before gesturing to her face, "You've got that face."

"What face?" she feigned innocence. 

"The one that says you're about to involve me in something."

Santos grinned, "Okay, maybe,” she lifted the bag of pastries before you, “Could I tempt you with a little pastry and tea before you shut the door in my face again?”

You sigh, before moving out of the way to let her in, grasping onto the bag, and setting it down. Taking the cup of tea, whilst looking at her expectantly. 

“Now what did you want?” 

“Well–”

And that was how you found out that Dennis Whitaker needed somewhere to stay. Temporary, Santos had said. Just until he figured things out.

And–

"Before you say no," Santos had added quickly, "You have a spare room. He needs a room. It makes sense."

“And you can’t keep him?” you asked. 

She shook her head, “I would, but honestly my place is way too small. And he’s cramping my style–”

“You said he was a good roommate,” you argued. 

“Yeah–just not good for me,” she remarked, “Besides you were the one complaining that you didn’t have a roommate” 

She did have a point…

As far as you knew. Whitaker was polite. Nice. Courteous….he would make a good roommate. And it definitely helped that he worked where you did. You suppose–

“So you’ll take him?” she says eagerly. 

You furrow your brows letting out an incredulous laugh, “You’re asking me as though he were a puppy you were trying to get adopted”

“Dennis is basically a human golden retriever,” she agrees. 

"...That's a weird sales pitch."

"And yet accurate."

You rub the back of your neck, still thinking it over, “And he knows you’re asking this?”

“More or less,” Trinity shrugs. 

“More or–He doesn’t know, does he?” 

“I mentioned it briefly,” she says before adding whilst gesturing around you both,“But I don’t think he’d mind–clearly your apartment is bigger”

…She did have a point. The space was definitely too big for just you. And you were dreading to look for a new roommate…

It seemed like the perfect solution to both of your problems. 

You drop your head in your hands with a sigh, worn down by her insistence, “Fine–”

“Yes!”

“–But you have to make sure he’s ok with this” you say with a pointed look, “I don’t want him dropped at my front door with a stunned look on his face because he’s been kicked out by you”

She nods exaggeratedly, “Yeah, course, no problem” 

And that was how Dennis Whitaker. 

Became your unlikely roommate. 

…

"Are you sure?" Dennis asked, standing in your apartment doorway with two duffel bags and an expression that suggested he expected you to change your mind at any moment.

The thing about Dennis Whitaker was that saying no to him felt impossible.

Maybe it was the hopeful look in his eyes when Trinity brought him over to see the apartment.

Maybe it was how awkwardly he stood in your kitchen, hands shoved into his pockets.

Or maybe it was because, in a city that was still new and unfamiliar, he looked just as lost as you felt.

Your apartment wasn't huge.

But it was nice.

Three modest bedrooms.

Big windows.

Plants that you were desperately trying not to kill.

And a view of the city that was especially beautiful at sunrise.

…The apartment may or may not have been taken care of by a certain Tony…

Who had insisted upon it once you turned down his offer to pull some strings to keep you studying in New York…

It was the least he could do, he had said. Leaving no room for argument. 

"I mean," you said, leaning against the kitchen counter, "You seem less terrifying than some of the people I've seen online looking for rooms."

Dennis laughed quietly, "I'll try not to disappoint."

And somehow–

Somewhere between that moment and three months later. 

You became friends. 

Good friends. 

Falling into a comfortable routine. 

It happened gradually.

Small things.

Little things.

The sort of things that sneak up on you.

You would make breakfast before your night shift. 

From little quiches, breakfast muffins, and even overnight oats. Always with plenty spare so that Dennis could enjoy them the next morning before his shift. 

And when Dennis would come home, he would cook dinner. 

Pasta. Stir fries. Soups. 

Things that could be reheated for when you would get home in the morning. 

A simple synchronicity. That worked for the both of you. 

You'd stumble into the kitchen at four in the afternoon to find containers in the fridge with little sticky notes. 

Made extra.

Eat this before work.

Don't survive on coffee.

One time there had been a smiley face.

A very terrible smiley face.

You kept the note.

…Not that you admitted that.

And in those rare occasions when your days off would line up. 

It meant that there were mornings often ending up at Trinity’s apartment.

Or yours.

Three exhausted healthcare workers sitting around a kitchen island. Smashed avocado on toast. Too much coffee.

Complaining about attendings.

Telling stories.

Laughing.

It reminded you, a little, of home.

Of MJ.

Of Ned.

Of Peter…

Of sitting around tables and talking about absolutely nothing and somehow everything at once.

Only now–

Now it was Trinity throwing grapes at Dennis when he said something stupid. Dennis rolling his eyes. And you laughing so hard coffee nearly came out your nose.

And then. 

Overtime, as your friendship with Dennis developed. 

After evenings of roping him into watching your shows and movies. 

Film nights.

Arguing over what to watch.

Dennis insisting old westerns were classics.

You insisting science fiction was superior.

Santos somehow appearing halfway through with snacks despite not being invited. And long into the late hours of the evening, you would somehow, without fail, fall asleep with your head tucked onto his shoulder…

After nights spent learning more about him–what he liked, what he didn’t. 

After grocery shopping together. Soon shifted into simply spending time together, not out of obligation as roommates but as friends. 

After sharing stories of your lives. 

After he had mentioned that he grew up on a farm, in the middle of rural Broken Bow, you had mentioned that you had never once stepped foot on one. 

And that confession had led him to bringing you along to Amy’s farm. 

Which had been–an experience. 

New York had never prepared you for that. Had never prepared you for what farm life involved.

You learned how to feed animals.

How to drive a tractor badly.

How to identify plants.

How quiet the world could be when you were standing in open fields with no sirens, no traffic, no endless noise.

Just wind.

And birds.

And Dennis standing beside you.

It was a peace you had never known. 

And Dennis–

Dennis tried not to notice things. Tried not to notice how your laugh lingered in his mind after shifts. How he'd started buying your favourite snacks without thinking. How grocery shopping somehow became the best part of his week.

How you still looked over your shoulder in crowded places.

How New York lived inside you, even now.

He noticed how you smiled at strangers. How you remembered everyone's coffee orders. How you made spaces feel warmer simply by existing in them.

Without meaning to–

Without trying–

He had started looking forward to hearing your key in the door.

Started making extra food because he knew you would forget to eat.

Started thinking about you.

A lot.

He tried not to notice how easy it felt.

Because easy could be dangerous.

And besides–

You were roommates.

Friends.

He wasn't going to make things weird.

Absolutely not.

Unfortunately for Dennis–

Trinity existed.

…

In the midst of handover, whilst Dennis was coming into work alongside Trinity. He had caught your eye, offering a small wave and a gentle smile. 

“Hey–I made some pesto pasta last night, there’s leftovers in the fridge,” he had told you. 

Smiling brightly up at him, doing your best to keep the fatigue at bay, “Thanks–I always love your pesto, I don’t know what it is, but you always manage to make it so creamy,” you sigh with a smile. 

“Oh, it’s just adding a few extra pine nuts into the mix,” he explains whilst a flood of heat crawls up his neck, bashful from your compliments, “and some pasta water”

You smile at him, eyes shooting over to your side at the sound of your little nickname. 

“C’mon Spitfire–the sooner we’re done with handoffs, the sooner you’ll be home eating pasta,” Parker grins with a knowing look in her eyes as they dart between you both. 

Nodding before looking back at Dennis, “If I don’t see you before I go–have a good shift,” you say before walking away falling into step by Parker’s side. 

Parker leaning into you, muttering quietly with an amused smile, “So you and Whitaker seem pretty close”

You furrow your brows, eyes flickering up to her, “What do you mean?” blinking in confusion. 

She shakes her head with a small shrug, “Nothing”

…You didn’t need to know that the entirety of the ER currently had a betting board in place counting on whether you and a certain farm boy would get together…

Parker was counting on it happening in four weeks…Shen was convinced it’d be in two. 

Dennis sighs, eyes lingering after your retreating figure.

Even now after a whole nights work you still had his heart racing–

“What’s up Huckleberry?” Santos sidles up beside him, whilst he practically jumps out of his skin. 

Blinking rapidly, he stammers out a rushed, “Nothing!” almost squeaking it out. 

Her brows knit together, observing him closely before flicking over to where he was once looking. 

Mouth forming an oh–in realisation. Whilst Dennis does his best to busy himself by looking at the current patients notes. 

"Oh my God."

Dennis looked up from his work, "What?" Before walking to the breakroom to pour a cup of coffee. Hoping that she wouldn’t follow…

"You like her,” she says with a smug grin, following after him. 

"No."

She folds her arms over her chest with a raised brow, "That wasn't convincing."

"I don't,” he says a little more defensively. 

"You absolutely do."

Dennis sighs, "You are exhausting,” evading her accusation, taking a sip of his coffee. 

"And you're in love with your roommate,” she leans in with a wide Cheshire grin. 

He nearly choked on his coffee.

This was not good for Dennis. 

Not good at all. 

As soon as the fixation had cemented in Trinity’s brain. She couldn’t let it slip past. Not for a single moment. Finding any and all opportunities to try and push you both together. 

She’d have been lying if she said this wasn’t a possibility she had pictured when she first pushed you to take Dennis into your home... 

And so. 

With a glint in her eyes. Plans set into motion. 

Plans to push little miss Drowsy and Huckleberry together.

And in one of Trinity’s many attempts, one of them included a night out, dragging you, Dennis, Samira and Mel on a night out for some late night karaoke. 

“C’mon Y/N, you should get up there–we’ve all been, it’ll be fun,” Samira said, smiling widely while she elbowed you lightly. 

Shaking your head fervently. 

Remembering the last time you went out for karaoke…it was not your finest hour…

“No way,” you had said. Laughing softly whilst you took a sip of your drink. Already feeling its effects as it warms your body. 

But you should have known something was wrong the moment Trinity disappeared for ten minutes.

You should have known.

Instead, you found yourself holding a drink while Dennis stood beside you looking vaguely confused.

And then the host spoke, "Next up–Dennis and Y/N with Islands in the Stream!"

Silence.

You looked at Dennis.

Dennis looked at you.

Before both of you twisted to look at Trinity with a sharp look. 

She was simply cackling, not even trying to hide her involvement, before ushering you both onto the stage. Whilst Mel and Samira tried their best to hide their amusement. 

After doing all that you could to avoid it…You both ended up on stage.

Laughing.

Completely off-key.

Dennis missing half the lyrics.

You nearly dropping the microphone because you were laughing too hard.

And for one brief moment–

Under cheap coloured lights and terrible karaoke music–Pittsburgh didn't feel strange anymore. 

Beneath the dim lights, and crowded room. You swaying side by side with Dennis. Laughing and smiling. You couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes gleamed beneath the light. 

The way it caught his features, making them shine brilliantly. 

The gentle curls on his forehead slightly sticking down from sweat. The bright smile spread across his face…

For a flickering moment. 

He seemed undeniably handsome. 

A heat crawling up your neck and finding its place upon your cheeks. You wave the thoughts away, trying to chalk it up to the alcohol. 

But even as the hours drag on. 

While you, Dennis and Trinity file into the back of an uber. Stumbling up to your apartment, your arm slung around his shoulder while his arm, his strong arm, wrapped around your waist for stability. 

Your thoughts can’t help but drift to the way Dennis' smile makes your chest flutter. Makes your mind race…

How had you never noticed…

Your eyes drift close the moment your head hits your pillow. 

The very next morning, you awake with a start, frantically grasping at your clothes, only to pause. Glancing back at your clock and the date…

No work today…

Sighing in relief, you sit back down onto your bed, shoulders slump while you pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to subdue the growing headache. 

Peeling your eyes back open you squint to glance at your phone once more. 

Doing your best to focus, and stop the words from blurring together. 

A small smile seeps onto your lips at the notification at the top. 

Petey: hey! Hope ur good Petey: how do you feel about me visiting for a bit?..

You noticed it had been sent only a few minutes earlier, grasping onto your phone you quickly type out with a wide smile on your face. 

You: I’d love that

Before you could set down your phone it pings once more. 

Petey: I got accepted into an internship in Pittsburgh Petey: I was hoping I could stay with you over the Summer?

And without an inkling of hesitation you send your response. 

You: Of course! ♥️

You had no idea what was to come. 

You had no idea that by saying yes. 

That this Summer.

Would be one you wouldn’t forget anytime soon...

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed the first part! (btw, I totally picture that the reader knows a fair few vigilantes from back in NY, including Peter of course, Matt Murdock and Frank Castle too. And because of her friendship with Peter she knows Tony Stark. And sure, I'm ignoring pretty much the blip and most things infinity war onwards) loved starting to build the foundations of yours and Dennis' friendship/relationship...Not much Peter Parker in this part, but just you wait until the next one 👀 Let me know what you thought or if you'd like to be added to the taglist✨

Peter Parker comes to town! A blast from the past, and perhaps a few more feelings are set to brew...throwing a bit of a wrench into PTMC's betting board

Read the Next Part: Something Familiar here!

Comments, Reblogs and Likes are welcomed and appreciated 💕 If you enjoyed, consider checking out my Dennis Whitaker x Former Army Medic!ReaderTread Lightly Series Or check out my Dennis Whitaker Masterlist here

You were on a mission with Walker when the transmission came in from Bucky. A small little antiterrorist job that kept the government happy and maintained public appearance for the team.

You had no idea what was happening, “strange ship entering atmosphere, finish and return asap” is all Bucky had said before clicking the comms off.

You and John exchanged a confused glance before swiftly finishing the mission.

The elevator door swooshed open and you walked in beside John Walker, both of you coughing.

“Really?” Yelena sighs as she approaches you and brushes ash from your shoulder, “every mission.”

“It was one minor explosion,” you cough out, “Buck said to hurry.”

“It was more than ‘one explosion’ and you know it,” John added, brushing the soot off his bent shield and still coughing.

Bucky walks past the two of you carrying his tablet, “glad you made it back in one piece,” he says without looking up.

You roll your eyes.

“Now, please stop the bickering, we… have guests,” he says hesitantly.

You furrow your brow, you would hardly consider Sam and Joaquin guests.

Sam is already standing in the conference room when you walk in behind Bucky and Yelena. Both him and Joaquin are wearing their suits, the tone of the room is more off putting than usual, to say the least.

You had managed to get most of the soot off your face by the time you find a spot at the long table.

Alexei has his feet perched on the table, acting completely casual, “you are late," he announces.

“You don't even know what time the meeting started, you were probably just hanging out in here,” you quipped back.

He shrugged, called out but not caring nonetheless.

Your accent was not nearly as thick as his or Yelena’s, but it still rang through most times you spoke, especially to them.

He simply grunted in response.

Suddenly, the room was silent. Joaquin and Sam sat across from you, looks of concern on their faces. Bucky cleared his throat and Ava sat next to him looking uninterested.

Before you could ask what was going on, the elevator doors slid open.

Four impossibly attractive people step out. Followed by Thor. They walked towards you all in what seemed like a formation, in matching blue and white suits. One seemed to be… a rock?

“I've seen weirder,” Yelena whispers under her breath. She is sat between you and Joaquin, so both of you hear it.

“I haven't,” Joaquin says, shaking his head in disbelief.

The tall blonde one immediately catches your eye. His broad shoulders and bright blue eyes look like they command any room. His eyes were laced with worry but even through that, you could tell he was the confident type.

He gives a tiny nod your way before following the others and gathering around the table. You were definitely staring.

You quickly look away, trying not to blush and praying to some higher power that no one saw that.

Introductions are painfully formal, your worst nightmare.

“I'm Reed Richards.”

“Sue Storm.”

“Ben Grimm.”

“And I'm Johnny Storm.”

Of course he says it like he's introducing himself on a movie premiere carpet, with a smirk and wave. Like they didn’t just admit they are from a different earth.

Definitely cocky.

You immediately decide he's probably insufferable, because that’s easier than actually getting to know someone. You have spent your entire life reading people to filth, and he was no exception.

You were caught up in your own thoughts, fiddling with the pen in front of you on the long conference room table.

“And this is—” Sam gestures toward you.

You straighten automatically. Scanning the strangers in front of you that you didn’t trust yet. Your jaw ticked, you could feel the new found tension in your body that happened on instinct.

The Red Room had taken your name before you could claim it as yours, before you could morph it into your own identity.

Yelena noticed, she always does, she reads you like a book every time. The only person that manages to see through your layers since Natasha.

"This is my sister," she says before you can answer, she follows with your name.

You glance toward her, she has an easy going smile on her face, one that doesn’t match her energy or her internal monologue that you know is murderous. She was looking around at the strangers.

"She's one of the best fighters you'll ever meet,” she said knowingly, “besides me of course.”

Some of the tension releases from your shoulders at the joke, which you knew was her goal.

Johnny's eyebrows lift, “really?"

You shrug, not giving them any more information or support on the accusation, they can find out on their own time that no one, not even the winter soldier can beat you on the training mat.

He smiles again, and it’s too easy for the tension that is hanging in the air.

You refuse to smile back.

The meeting lasts for over four hours.

Most of it sounds like another language to you. You were smart, yes. But the physics being explained by Dr. Banner and Reed Richards were on another level.

Multiversal frequencies. Anchor realities. Incursions.

Reed fills whiteboards with equations and Bruce nods in understanding to every single one.

They have lost the attention of almost everyone in the room besides Sue, Sam, and Bucky.

Johnny has somehow managed to claim the chair on the side of you that was vacant.

At one point he quietly leans toward you, “do you know what they're talking about?”

You shake your head, but don’t look away from the scientists. You’re pretty sure Alexei is snoring and that’s why he put his sunglasses on.

“Thank god,” Johnny adds, “I mean I rode here with the guy and I still have no idea how we managed to do that.”

You accidentally laugh. Normally, the most you can do is a small smile. You don’t like to show your emotions, years of training and desensitization make it more difficult to express your emotion than to not.

The laugh is small, and barely audible. But it’s loud enough to make Yelena whip her head towards you with a look of confusion and disgust,

He grins like he won the lottery, “well, there it is.”

“What?” You asked flatly.

“Your smile,” he says quietly.

Yelena is still looking at you like she’s trying to figure out if you have a brain injury from your mission earlier.

You look back toward Reed before he can see the corners of your mouth lifting again.

Cockiness confirmed.

After several hours of discussing the new found threat that had Franklin, a game plan was concocted and training began right away.

Bucky and Sue agreed that if we were going to face the threat together, we needed to fight like a team, or at least try and understand one another.

You eventually end up opposite Johnny.

“All I ask is that you don’t set me on fire,” you said, extending your hand for him to shake.

He took it gently, and you were met with immediate warmth. His hands were much softer than you expected, “I was going to ask you not to throw me through a wall.”

“That I won’t promise,” you said.

He laughed, “so you’ve got jokes.”

You shrugged, “and knives, so be careful.”

“Dare I say, that’s even hotter?” He quipped back.

You froze, nearly choking on air.

He freezes, eyes widening in realization of what he just admitted, “did i just say that out loud?”

You nod and he simply shrugs in response.

You both enter your stances before you begin.

Bucky groans from across the room, “oh my god.”

“What?” Yelena asks, pushing her hair out of her face.

“I’ve known him for like five minutes,” he grumbles.

“And…” Yelena pries.

“And he’s trouble, I know the type by now,” Bucky says.

“Because you’ve been alive… one thousand years or so?” Yelena joked.

Before Bucky could joke back, Johnny stops sparring with you and turns to face them.

He places a hand dramatically over his heart, “I'm wounded.”

You furrow your brow, unable to hear them from where Bucky and Yelena are standing.

“Okay so, super hearing confirmed,” Bucky says, “you'll survive,” he says sarcastically back to Johnny.

The Fantastic Four have been staying with you all for a little over a week now. It was all training, meetings, late nights, tracking, and learning how to work together.

The late night meetings have become routine. Sleep became more and more foreign and coffee became a necessity at all hours. The anxiety and worry eats away at all of you. Thor is in and out, he says he needs a team and he is going to travel the universe to find it.

Johnny has quickly become something equivalent of a friend, at least you think, you don’t have many to compare it to. You find yourself telling him things you have never even said out loud. When you lay in bed at night you replay your interactions and even find yourself smiling.

You teach him the ways of your earth, some of which was foreign to you until Natasha helped you escape, so you know the confusion he is feeling when you explain certain things to him.

You watch Sue and Reed worry in a way you had only seen on television. You had never had parents, you had never known love like that could be real. You bring them food when they are in the lab at night, leave fresh towels in their room, and make sure the coffee pot is always full. You aren’t sure how else to aide them.

You find yourself wandering into the kitchen around two in the morning.

Johnny is already there, standing on the counter.

You pad over to where he is standing and crane your neck to look up at him, “what are you doing?”

He yelps and jumps, making you flinch.

”God, has anyone ever told you you’re quiet?” He asks, gently jumping down.

You shrug, “I am kind of a spy, so, that’s kind of our thing.”

He chuckles, “I couldn't find the mugs.”

You turn, reaching up and opening the cabinet where the mugs live, you take one out and hand it to him.

He sighs, “thanks.”

”So, why are you up?” He asks, gracefully moving to pour a cup of coffee.

You shrug, “I don’t sleep much on good days… let alone when the end of the world is near or whatever.”

He chuckles again, no one had ever found you funny before, you wonder if it’s because he doesn’t know you well yet, doesn’t know where you come from yet, what you’ve done.

”Woah, where did you go there?” He asked, waving a hand in your face.

You hadn’t realized you had zoned out, you shook your head, “no where.” You said firmly, leaving no room for discussion, “why are you up?”

He sighs, “every time I close my eyes, I think of Franklin. I see his blonde curls and his laugh and then I have horrible images of where he might be and I can’t sleep.”

”If anything you guys have said about him is true, then he’s going to be okay,” you reach out hesitantly, putting your hand on his wrist and squeezing, “he has all of us looking for him, we’ve got this.”

He looks at your hand on his wrist, and looks up to meet your eyes, giving you a small, sad smile.

You weren’t even sure if you believed yourself, but in that moment all you wanted to do was take any ounce of his pain away.

You decide to pour yourself a mug of coffee and join him at the kitchen counter.

He starts explaining his world to you, and more specifically who he is in his world. He starts telling you about the sunscreen advertisement and you can’t help but laugh.

“So, now Ben has to see my ass every time he goes to his favorite bakery,” he laughs with you, “I had to pay them to do it, I literally had to pay them, but it was totally worth it.”

You’re bending over laughing at his story, you hate to admit it, but he is unbelievably funny.

“I love your laugh,” his voice catches you off guard and makes you stop laughing.

“What?” It takes everything in you not to go rigid and hide the vulnerability you have been showing him.

“Your laugh lights up a room,” he says quietly, “especially when you’re actually happy.” He’s smiling at you like you hung the moon just for him to look at.

You look down, “I don’t even know if I know what being happy means.”

His smile falters.

“I,” you begin quietly, “I wasn’t really,” you pause to search for the words, “I wasn’t raised… normally.”

He shrugs, not in a dismissive way, but in a nonjudgemental one, “I know.”

You shake your head, “no, you don’t.”

You stop yourself and stare at your hands.

How do you summarize stolen years?

How do you explain that the school assignments were to kill people without flinching?

That bedtime stories were combat drills?

That affection was something used against you?

“My sisters and I,” you smile softly, “not by blood, but in all the ways that matter.”

“Yelena,” he said softly.

You nod. “We grew up in Russia, we were nothing more than weapons,” you sigh.

Johnny's smile disappears, “sisters.”

You look up at him, “…yes.”

”With an ‘s’,” he presses.

You nod again, “Natasha, she died a few years ago, she was the oldest.”

He doesn't interrupt you and you appreciate that.

You take a deep breath, “you make me feel human. More human than I ever have, and it scares me a little.”

You hadn't expected the tears, but you couldn’t help but feel so painfully normal around him, in the best way.

“You make me feel human too,” he says softly, “and if you ever want to talk about her, Natasha, I’d love to hear more.”

There is not an ounce of pity in his voice and you appreciate that in your moment of vulnerability. You aren’t sure what’s making your heart crack open in front of him. All you know is that every time you touch his skin it feels like you’re on fire. And not because he runs hot, but because it sends a spark though your body that makes you dizzy. And when he’s close enough and you can smell him you need to sit down. When he laughs you look for him and when you meet his eyes you blush.

“I still look for her sometimes, I think of something funny, or Yelena does something,” you laugh sadly, “and then I remember she sacrificed herself for the world. And then I feel selfish, that I want her back or I wish she didn’t do it.”

Johnny's voice is barely above a whisper, “I don’t know what I would do if I lost Sue, but you’re not selfish. And you’re incredibly strong.”

He reaches out and intertwines his fingers with yours, just enough that you feel an immense relief at the affection. For a moment, you let yourself feel everything you are constantly avoiding, and you don’t feel so alone with Johnny sitting across from you.

The next morning, you are barely able to keep your eyes open when Bucky corners you before breakfast.

“So, you like the fire one?” He asks accusingly.

“Bucky, I haven’t even had coffee,” you said exhaustedly, “and I don’t know what you’re on about.”

He placed his hands on his hips, you knew he was studying you for any change in your expression, “you smile with him.”

You shrug, “I smile,” you say, trying to sound convincing.

He raises his brow.

“I smiled yesterday,” you said knowingly.

“You smiled because Yelena glued Alexei's boot to the floor while he napped,” he said.

You smiled at the memory, “because watching him wake up was funny.”

“I agree,” he crosses his arms, “but you like him.”

He walks away shaking his head.

You watch him go, “I do not like him. I don’t even think I know how to.”

Bucky waves you off as he continues to walk away,

Johnny catches your eye from across the living room, sitting on the couch with Sue and Ben.

Without thinking you smile back, which falters the second you realize Bucky may have been onto something.

But Bucky sees it, and gives you a smirk over his shoulder before disappearing down the hall, making you groan.

The briefing room has never been this quiet.

Reed stood in front of a holographic projection of fractured realities, the blue light reflecting off all the tired faces. The plan was complicated enough that Bruce had stopped simplifying it halfway through and just started drawing diagrams.

There was no room left for optimism, only preparation and focus.

You tightened the straps around your forearms, fingers moving automatically, letting the muscle memory calm you and ground you.

The room buzzed with restrained anxiety that there was no time to address.

“If this works,” Reed finished, “we separate the realities before the incursion reaches critical mass and we retrieve Franklin.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Joaquin asked, voice shaky.

It felt like everyone in the room stopped breathing.

“The universe collapses, we probably won’t even feel it,” Bruce said quietly with a shrug.

The Quinjet was unusually silent. There was usually teasing between John and Yelena, or at least a cynical joke from Ava, but today there was nothing.

Yelena sat beside you, sharpening a knife that didn't need sharpening. She glanced sideways, “you’re brain, it is very loud.”

You roll your eyes, “I don’t even know what that means.”

“I can see it in your eyes,” she said.

You sighed, “what if this doesn’t work?’

Yelena stopped sharpening her knife and slid it into the holster, “you remember when we were little?” she asked.

You laughed softly, “that is a vague and dangerous sentence.”

“Ohio,” she clarified, “we used to make bets on everything,” she continued.

Silence settled between you, then she nudged your shoulder, “you like the flame boy.”

You groaned immediately.

“You smile every time he walks into the room,” she said in a sing-song voice, “you cannot lie to me.”

You looked down at your gloves, “that’s why I’m not denying it the way I did to Bucky.”

She smirked.

“I've never…” the words seemed to get caught in your throat, “I don’t know how to…”

Love someone. Be loved by someone. Neither sentence left your lips.

Yelena understood anyway, nodding, she knew exactly what you were trying to say.

Her expression softened, “you think because nobody loved us correctly, that maybe you cannot be loved or do the love thing?”

Your eyes stung, “I don't know what I'm supposed to do.”

She shrugged, “you do nothing.”

”What?” You asked, confused by her advice.

“If he is right for you… then you just let him, if he knows you, he will know what you need,” she smiled softly. “And back to my original point,” she points her finger dramatically, “if we survive, I mean… when… you ask flame boy out, maybe even kiss him.”

“Is that your idea of a bet?” You asked.

“Da.” She said with a proud nod.

“That’s pretty one sided,” you reply.

“Well, other side is we die, so,” she says, making you both laugh.

The battlefield looked impossible. The sky was split apart, revealing pieces of other worlds bleeding through the clouds, the lights were blinding and the ground was dangerous.

Reality itself seemed to shudder.

Doctor Doom stood at the center of it all.

His green cloak whipped violently in the wind. Based on what Thor had told you all, nothing about this felt possible in the moment, standing before all his destruction while he waited for you all like cows being led to slaughter.

Reed ran through the plan again, but your ears were ringing. You were already checking your blades, trying to remove yourself from the tornado of anxiety swirling around your head.

Johnny stepped beside you, “me and you.

You looked up at him, craning your neck slightly because of how tall he was, “what?” You hadn’t realized how just by looking at him you felt the anxiety settle into something more reasonable.

“Team assignment, the plan. You’re with me,” he explained.

“Right, right,” you gave him the best smile you could, but you knew he caught that it wasn’t anywhere near your eyes.

The jet slowly emptied until it was just you and Johnny. You were tightening your boot strap when you looked over at him, “ready?”

He looked strangely nervous, but Joffre.

You moved, about to make your way to your spot when he lightly grabbed your wrist, turning you towards him. You let him, facing him and holding his gaze. The wind blew around you and thunder cracked in the distance.

He opened his mouth to speak and frantically searched your face, “if we survive today,” he took a breath, “when we survive today,” he took a deep breath.

The wind from the open jet door was pushing his hair up and somehow making him look more attractive, while you felt like a disheveled girl caught in a wind tunnel.

”I’m sorry, you look so beautiful right now,” he said, a small smile daring to grace his lips.

You could feel the heat crawling up your neck, and you could not believe he was making you smile at a time like this.

“When this is all over, I don't really want things to go back to the way they were, I don’t want to keep pretending.”

Your heart started beating faster, “what pretending?”

He took one small step closer, so that you were barely an inch apart.

“Pretending I don't look for you every morning. That my favorite part of every day has been seeing you and making you laugh,” he inched even closer, “pretending that through all this bad, I think I’ve found the best person I’ve ever known. Not to mention that you have the most beautiful smile I have ever seen.”

You suddenly forget how to breathe, and he’s so close that you’re sure he feels your heart beat through your suit.

His voice softened, “I’m done pretending… that I'm not completely gone for you.”

Everything around you disappeared, your comms were cracking to life, thunder was roaring, but all you could feel was where his chest was brushing yours, and all you could hear was the sound of his nervous breathing.

He was looking at you like you were something precious, something worth loving, and it made your head spin.

Your voice came out almost as a whisper, “Johnny, I don't know how to do this. You’re all going to leave after this—“

“I know,” he interrupted you, “and we don’t have to have all the answers right now, but i just need to say it. I need to go into this knowing I put it all out there.”

Your eyes dropped to the floor, “I don't know how to let someone…”

Love me. You couldn’t say it again. His gloved hand came up and caressed your cheek like you were made of glass, not the weapon you always felt like.

“You don't have to know,” he said, “we’ll learn together… if you’ll let me.”

Your throat tightened. “I think,” you laughed nervously, “Johnny, I think I'm falling in love with you.”

He blinked, but his lips twitched at the corners, “you think?"

“I've never done this before,” you shrugged.

He laughed, his voice dropping, “I'll take 'I think.'”

His forehead rested lightly against yours, “I've wanted to do this since the first meeting.”

Without another word, he closed the last inch between you. His lips pressed to yours passionately, the kind of kiss two people in a movie shared when they thought the world was ending. Your heart hammered against your ribs and you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer.

When he pulled back, neither of you moved very far.

His thumb brushed across your cheek, “When we save both our worlds, I’d really like to take you on a proper date.”

You blinked, not moving away from him, “I’ve never been on a date.”

“I know,” he tilted his head slightly, “I’d like to be your first.”

Your heart felt impossibly full, “okay.”

He stepped back, reaching down to hold your hand, he squeezed it gently.

Sam's voice echoed through both your comms, “go time!”

Johnny reluctantly stepped beside you, “I’ll meet you in position?”

You nodded, still smiling. He ignited in brilliant orange flames, the heat somehow never reaching you. He offered you one last look of reassurance before taking off.

You watched him for only a heartbeat before hopping on the bike and riding after him. Right in the direction of Doctor Doom, towards the end of the world. And, if the two of you had anything to say about it, towards your very first date.

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Tags (all): @ilocuras24 @nyxmoretti @kmc1989 @destinyg237

the first thing you learned after moving onto the walter ranch was that there was nowhere to hide.

the house was too loud. too full.

someone was always shouting from downstairs, someone was always chasing someone else through the hallway, and someone was always stealing food they swore wasn't theirs.

privacy simply didn't exist.

if it wasn't nathan blasting music from his room, it was lee and parker arguing over video games. if it wasn't one of the younger boys running through the kitchen covered in mud, it was katherine calling everyone to dinner before the food got cold.

you'd never lived anywhere like it.

back home in new york, silence had become normal and expected. sometimes unbearable.

here, silence almost felt... suspicious, which was exactly why, by noon, everyone had realized something was wrong.

you hadn't come downstairs for breakfast. you'd ignored danny when he'd knocked on your door asking if you wanted pancakes. you hadn't wandered into the kitchen for coffee.

you hadn't even answered when isaac shouted from downstairs that someone needed another player for basketball.

the walter house noticed absences almost as loudly as it noticed noise.

alex noticed first. he wasn't sure why. maybe because he'd gotten used to seeing you every morning before school.

it had started by accident during your first month on the ranch.

you'd wandered into the kitchen one morning looking half-asleep, still wrapped in one of katherine's sweaters, only to find alex already sitting at the island with a physics textbook open beside his cereal.

"you study before school?" you'd asked, sounding horrified.

he'd shrugged. "it helps."

"i admire your dedication."

"you sound sarcastic."

"i absolutely am."

he'd laughed.

then the next morning, you'd wandered in again. and the morning after that. eventually, neither of you questioned it anymore.

some mornings you talked. some mornings you simply existed in comfortable silence while he worked through calculus problems and you drank coffee slowly enough that katherine joked you were treating every mug like a fine wine tasting.

it became your thing.

quiet mornings before the rest of the house exploded into chaos.

alex liked routines. he liked knowing what to expect, so when your chair sat empty that morning… he noticed.

he didn't say anything. not yet.

by lunch, everyone else had noticed too.

"have either of you seen her?" katherine asked while setting sandwiches on the counter.

"she's probably hiding from cole," danny offered.

"i heard that," cole called from the living room. "you were supposed to." danny called back.

alex looked up from the textbook resting beside his plate.

"she wasn't at breakfast." katherine frowned. "really?"

alex nodded. "and she hasn't answered her phone."

"you texted her?" cole asked, a grin tugging at his mouth.

alex didn't even look at him. "yes."

"ooh."

"it's not like that."

"sure."

alex sighed. "it's literally about homework."

cole raised an eyebrow. "did she answer?"

"...no." that got katherine's attention.

she wiped her hands on a dish towel. "i'll go check on her."

"i'm already going upstairs," alex said quickly.

every head turned toward him. his ears immediately turned pink.

"i mean-" cole smirked. "go on."

"i have to grab another notebook."

"you keep notebooks in the girls' hallway now?"

"i don't-"

"you seem awfully concerned."

alex closed his eyes. "can i just-"

katherine smiled knowingly. "go check on her."

alex left before anyone else could say another word. he ignored the chorus of teasing that followed him up the stairs. 

mostly.

"you owe me five bucks!" one of the twins yelled from downstairs. "i told you he'd go first!"

alex groaned. "they're impossible," he muttered to himself.

he stopped outside your bedroom door. normally, he'd knock twice.

you always answered after the second knock.

today… nothing.

he waited. knocked again. still nothing.

his stomach tightened. "you okay?" he called gently.

silence.

then "...yeah."

the answer came after several long seconds. it didn't sound convincing.

"you sure?" another pause.

"i'm just tired."

alex frowned. you were a terrible liar. not because you weren't convincing, but because whenever something was actually wrong, your voice became quieter. smaller, like you were trying not to take up space.

he rested his forehead briefly against the doorframe. "you don't have to open the door."

no answer. "i just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"...i'm okay."

"you don't sound okay."

the silence that followed felt heavier than before.

eventually… "i'm fine, alex."

the words were gentle, but final. he knew enough not to push. "okay." he hesitated.

"if you need anything..." nothing. "...i'll be downstairs."

he walked away. halfway down the hallway, he heard your sniffle.

his hand tightened around the banister. you'd been crying. he was sure of it.

and somehow… that felt worse than if you'd opened the door.

alex spent the rest of the afternoon trying, and failing, to focus.

he reread the same paragraph in his chemistry textbook four times.

he answered a question in history class incorrectly even though he'd known the answer.

danny nudged him with an elbow. "dude."

"what?"

"you've been staring out the window for ten minutes."

"i have not."

"you absolutely have."

alex sighed. "i'm thinking."

"about?"

he looked outside. "...nothing."

danny followed his gaze. "...is this about her?"

alex didn't answer. which was answer enough.

"you like her."

alex looked offended. "i never said that."

"you didn't have to." danny laughed.

"you have the exact same face you made when you spent three days figuring out how to ask your eighth-grade lab partner to homecoming."

"i did not."

"you absolutely did."

alex groaned. "i just..."

he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. "i don't know."

"what don't you know?"

"she's been sad lately."

danny’s expression softened. "and you don't know how to help."

alex looked down. "...yeah."

"you could ask."

"i did."

"and?"

"she said she was fine." danny snorted.

"so she's definitely not fine."

"exactly."

the final bell rang before either of them could say anything else. alex packed his bag automatically.

as everyone poured into the parking lot, he remembered something. something you'd said months ago.

it had been spring. the apple trees near the edge of the property had just started blooming.

the two of you had been sitting on the fence watching the horses while he'd attempted to explain a particularly impossible calculus problem.

you'd stopped listening halfway through. instead, you'd been watching wildflowers sway in the breeze. "they're pretty," you'd said absentmindedly.

alex had looked over. "the flowers?"

you nodded. "my mom used to buy these every chance she got."

he'd glanced back toward them. "i didn't know they grew around here."

"they don't."

you smiled a little. "not these." he waited.

"they're..." you'd laughed softly. "actually, forget it."

"what?"

"it sounds silly."

"tell me."

you'd plucked a blade of grass from the fence rail. "my favorite flowers are peonies."

"peonies?"

"they're ridiculously expensive."

"so?"

"so i only ever got them on birthdays."

you'd smiled to yourself. "our kitchen always smelled like them."

you'd looked toward the mountains. "i think that's why i love them."

alex had nodded. then, as usual… he remembered.

he always remembered.

the rest of the day didn’t get easier.

it never really did, once the idea had settled in alex’s mind that something was wrong and you weren’t letting anyone help.

he tried, though. he really did.

he tried to act like he wasn’t replaying your voice from behind the bedroom door over and over in his head. but every time he closed his eyes, he heard it again.

“i’m fine, alex.”

except you weren’t. he knew that now.

by the time he got back to the ranch, the sun was already starting to dip behind the hills, stretching long shadows across the driveway.

the house was loud, as always.

lee and parker were arguing about something involving a soccer ball and a broken lamp.

cole was laughing at something on his phone that definitely shouldn’t have been funny.

katherine was calling from the kitchen, telling someone to take their shoes off before tracking mud inside.

normal chaos. familiar chaos.

alex walked straight through it. “alex!” one of the twins called. “you gonna help us fix the fence later?”

“maybe later,” he said automatically. “that means no!” someone shouted back.

he didn’t stop. he couldn’t. his hands were already slightly sweaty around the small paper bag he’d been holding since he left town.

he almost convinced himself it was stupid, but then he’d thought about your voice again.

you hadn’t come downstairs all day. you hadn’t even been to school. that part hadn’t changed.

alex stood outside your door again. same silence waiting on the other side.

he knocked once. then again. this time, your voice came quicker. “…yeah?”

still soft. still too small. he exhaled.

“it’s me.” a pause. “…alex?”

“yeah.”

another pause, longer this time. then, quietly “...you can come in.” he opened the door slowly.

you were still curled up on the bed, blanket pulled halfway over your legs, hair messy like you’d been lying there for hours without moving.

your eyes were red. you tried to hide it the second you saw him, but failed immediately.

alex closed the door behind him. he didn’t say anything at first. he just looked at you. really looked, like he was trying to memorize the exact shape of your sadness so he could figure out how to carry it for you.

“hey,” he said finally. “hey.”

silence.

you sat up a little straighter, like posture could fix everything. it couldn’t.

he stepped closer, then stopped at the edge of the bed like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to take up space there. “i brought something,” he said.

you frowned slightly. “you didn’t have to-”

“i know.” he held up the paper bag.

then, almost awkwardly “...you were sad so i got you some of your favorite flowers.”

the sentence landed between you both like something fragile being set down very carefully.

you froze. “alex…”

he pulled the bouquet out slowly and there they were.

peonies mixed with soft white blooms and pale pink flowers.

your breath caught. “you remembered,” you whispered.

he blinked. “yeah.”

like it was obvious. like there had never been any question.

your fingers tightened around the blanket. “i told you that once.”

“i know.” you looked down at the flowers, then back at him.

something in your chest cracked open in a way that didn’t feel sharp. just… heavy.

“it was months ago.”

“i know,” he said again, softer this time.

you laughed a little, but it broke halfway through. “why would you even remember that?”

alex frowned slightly, like the question didn’t make sense. “because it was you.”

that was it. so simple like that explained everything.

your throat tightened. you looked away quickly, blinking hard.

“i’ve just been… off,” you admitted quietly. alex nodded once, like he already knew that part. “yeah.”

you swallowed. “it’s stupid.”

“it’s not.”

you hesitated. the words felt stuck somewhere deep, like if you said them out loud, they’d become real in a way you couldn’t take back.

alex didn’t rush you. he never did. he just stood there, patient in that quiet way of his, like he had nowhere else to be.

finally, you said it. barely above a whisper. “it’s the anniversary.”

he didn’t ask of what. he didn’t make you explain immediately. he just nodded slowly.

“... i understand."

somehow that made your chest loosen more than anything else had all day.

you exhaled shakily. “i didn’t want to make it everyone’s problem.”

alex’s expression shifted immediately. not angry. just… certain. “it’s not a problem.”

you looked at him. he stepped closer then, careful, like approaching something fragile.

“you don’t have to do this alone.”

your eyes burned again. “i didn’t know how to say it.”

“you don’t have to know how.”

a beat. then, quieter “you can just tell me.”

your grip on the blanket loosened. “i didn’t think anyone would notice. there is so much else going on all the time.”

alex sat down on the edge of the bed then, slow and deliberate, like he was making a choice to stay. “i did. i noticed.”

he looked at the flowers in your hands, then back at you. “i always notice.”

that did it. something in you finally gave way. not dramatically, just quietly. almost like a held breath you didn’t realize you’d been keeping.

you leaned forward, forehead briefly pressing into his shoulder. alex didn’t hesitate. his arm came around you immediately, steady and warm.

no hesitation. no awkward distance. just there.

you held onto him like it was the only solid thing in the room. “…thank you,” you whispered.

“for what?”

you let out a shaky laugh. “...for the flowers.”

he exhaled softly, like he’d been holding his breath too. “you like them?”

you nodded against him. “yeah.”

a pause. then, almost teasing despite everything “you did good.”

you felt him smile faintly against your hair. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

silence settled again, but this time it didn’t feel empty. just full.

outside, the walter house kept being itself. loud, chaotic, alive. but in here, for once, everything was still. and alex stayed.

“Thanks,” You whispered, hands resting on his chest, his heart was beating just as fast as yours.

Cole nodded, looking pained as he still didn’t move, though you both knew he should have by now. Instead, you caught him looking down at your boobs, jiggling as you breathed heavily. He looked back up at you, a tense moment lingering before you were kissing.

You couldn’t say who’d kissed who, but it was messy, hot and wet as lips, tongues and teeth clashed hurriedly. Years of tension rising to the surface as you looped your arms around his neck, pulling Cole ever closer.

He took charge, leading you blindly back towards the very sofa you’d just been lounging on. You wasted no time, knowing you likely didn’t have long. Neither of you wasted time in discarding shirts, simply pulling your summer tank top below your breasts so Cole could cup them, flicking your nipple with his thumb.

You broke the kiss to let out a little gasp, arching your back when Cole doubled down, pinching and twisting it almost painfully.

“Shut the fuck up,” He hissed, attacking your neck with bites and kisses, “The barn doors are still open.”

Cole kissed his way back up to your lips as his hands strayed lower, popping the button of your long denim shorts and shimmying them down your legs. He wasted no time in touching you over your panties, observing your reactions to give you the most pleasure.

“Cole, please,” You whimpered, bucking your hips.

“You want more?” He asked, circling your clit over the thin fabric and laughing meanly when you nodded hysterically, “If you make another sound, I’ll stop.”

Cole held intense eye contact as he slowly entered one finger into you, patient as you tried to contain your reactions. Your fingers threaded through his hair, gripping tightly as you tried to stay silent, breaths hiccuppy and irregular.

Two more fingers pushed into your hole, stretching you out deliciously as you reached blindly down to Cole’s jeans, pulling the zipper and yanking them down along with his boxers.

You jerked each other off, your pussy making an obscene squelch around Cole’s fingers, pistoning in and out of you.

“Need more, Cole,” You begged, teasing the tip of his dick until his hips stuttered of their own accord.

“Yeah? You want my cock?”

You nodded aggressively, grinding against the air as your desperation grew.

“Pathetic,” He laughed, manhandling you onto your knees, elbows leaning against the back of the sofa, facing away from him.

Cole wasn’t gentle when he entered you, plunging in all at once and groaning alongside you.

“Fuck,” He leant down so his mouth was beside your ear, snapping his hips against you, “Been thinking about this for so long, my little brother’s hot best friend.”

You pushed back against him desperately, dripping at his confession. Of course, you’d fantasised about Cole; it was the oldest cliché in the book. Curses slipped from your lips as he filled you up, cock stretching you like you’d never experienced. Cole grabbed your chin with one hand, pulling your upper body against him easily.

“Had to watch you spend summers at our house in those fucking bikinis, prancing around like you wanted me to fuck you in front of everyone,” He groaned, abusing your nipples as you jerked and writhed beneath him.

Your hands snuck up to grab his hair, bucking your hips against him with wild abandon.

Then, the barn door creaked, and you both stopped on your tracks, Cole’s dick still inside you. You looked at him with fear, the idea of being caught by any of the Walters a literal nightmare.

Footsteps crunched on the hay of the barn, a few tools clanging together. You didn’t know who it was, and you didn’t want to wait to be caught. You moved to pull yourself off of him and grab your shirt, but Cole gripped your waist harshly, shoving you back down so you were leaning against the back of the sofa. He followed you down, his voice a husky whisper in your ear.

“Guess you’re just gonna have to shut the fuck up, huh?” He pushed back in slowly, shoving his hand over your mouth as you tried to muffle your moans. Cole seemed to be trying his best to make you break, reaching around to rub tight circles around your clit, sending quivering pleasure all through your body.

You’d just made peace with Cole fucking you, thinking you could stay quiet enough that you could escape unnoticed. Of course, he had to make things harder.

“Hey,” He called down, evil glint in his eye.

“Cole?” Alex asked, unseen, and the terror almost overwhelmed your pleasure, “What are you doing?”

“Just cleaning the loft. Your friend’s coming later, isn’t she?” He moved in and out of you slowly, letting you feel every ridge of his dick.

“Yeah, she’s supposed to be here any minute.”

Cole was being cruel — making faces at you like he had no idea that he was the root of your struggle. He kept talking, engaging Alex in casual smalltalk as tears brimmed in your eyes, the pressure of a building orgasm mounting.

When it was becoming too much, arms trembling as you tried to hold yourself up, you reached to where Cole’s hand covered your mouth to tap three times. A warning.

“Alright, bud, well, hope she gets here soon,” Cole all but cut his brother off, sending him out of the barn in a rush.

As soon as the creaky door swung shut, Cole picked up the pace again, shoving your head down with his fingers threaded through your hair.

“Such a good girl, aren’t you?” He cooed, an obscene slapping sound filling the loft as you were both brought closer to climax.

“Yes, fuck, Cole. Please!” You cried, breaking into a high-pitched, breathy moan. Pleasure overtook your senses, unable to control your volume even though Alex could very well have still been outside.

Cole pulled out, spilling over your back with a strangled groan, hands gripping tight around the fat of your hips. You came down together, Cole slumping down beside you on the couch, breathing heavily.

You looked at him, a sheen of sweat coating your skin.

“What was that?” You asked, suddenly shy despite the fact that he’d seen your most intimate state.

“Been dreaming of that for a long time,” He admitted, shimmying back into his jeans.

“So it’s… not just a one-time thing?” You couldn’t contain the beam of hope that had burst through your heart, the idea of finally having your best friend’s brother in reach earth-shaking.

You crept around to the Walter’s front door with a pep in your step, thoroughly thrilled with the events of the day. It wasn’t at all how you thought a standard summer reunion was going to go, but no one would hear a complaint from you.

After being welcomed by all hundred of the Walter family members, Alex led you upstairs, already talking your ear off about what you’d missed while you were away.

“And,” He slammed the door shut, giving you both privacy, “I just walked into the barn to feed the horses, and I’m pretty sure Cole was fucking some girl up there.”

⋆˙⟡

"You love him?"

Alex speaks it into the quiet, past the sound of the wind and past the lump in his throat. Jackie, telling his brother she loves him so easily, no hesitation or question about it, like it's so certain that she feels it course through her, after it'd taken so long to say it to him. Jackie, right outside the house, not bothering to hide from anyone who could potentially see, about to kiss his brother, cheat on him with Cole, again.

He'd fallen into her the first time last year, felt himself mix with her until he wasn't quite sure what was him and what was hers—and then lost himself the summer after she left like all of him was hers and she took it all when she went back to New York.

Then she came back, brought the sweet, nerdy version of him with her, and he felt himself come back when he took her back.

And now she's cheating on him with his older brother again? Well, she can take what she wants, but she can't have him again.

She spins around, guilt all over her face. "Alex, it's—it's not what it looks like—"

"It's looks like you're about to kiss my brother. Again," he spits. His nails dig into his palms as he clenches his hands into fists. This angry feeling that makes his chest burn forms a lump in his throat. He doesn't like being angry. He wasn't an angry person before Jackie.

"Alex—"

"Save it." Red crescent moons in his skin when he releases his fists but he doesn't care. He's choosing to let it go—which is why he turns back into the house and leaves the pair outside, shocked. Everyone's in the living room back inside. "I'm going to my room," he announces gruffly, and instead secretly snatches the car keys on the kitchen counter on his way back upstairs.

He just got his license, he can go anywhere he likes

He just got his license, he can go anywhere he likes—and there's no way he's staying here.

In his room, he grabs his wallet off his nightstand and listens for the sound of the front door opening, of Jackie and Cole asking where is, if he's ok, before opening the window and crawling out.

He's starting to realize that he didn't really think this through. He's parked in front of the sidewalk behind your house listening to the soft hum of the car to keep the engine warm, looking up at your bedroom window. Occasionally, he glances down at his phone to see if you've replied to the text you've left on delivered yet:

alex // 11:35 PM in ur backyard can u sneak out? need u

He's been waiting here for the past 7 minutes now because he had the genius idea of only messaging you once he got here, not bothering to check if you're even still awake before he left the house.

Alex sighs, beginning to give up. His head's too loud now that he's just been sitting here, either he's here to pick you up and driving off or he's just driving off. He shuts his phone off and tosses it onto the passenger seat, hand going to the gear to switch from park to drive.

No music, no voices, no Jackie, no Cole. And if he can't have you, then nothing. Just him, some empty, open dirt road that he'll find, and the sound of the wind whipping past him. Yeah, that sounds nice. That's what he needs.

A hand pressing against his chest to try and keep his burning heart rate down, he's really trying to just convince himself that he can get through what's starting to feel like a panic attack on his own, that he won't end up with his dad's truck parked around a tree, that he doesn't need your voice to ground him. He pushes the gear shift into drive with his chest swelling up in pain—then deflates when he sees the reflection of you sneaking out your window in the side-view mirror.

Your walk across your backyard turns into a light jog when you see him staring at you through the passenger side window and you climb in next to him when you finally make it to the car.

"It's weird that you're picking me up in a car now," you grin. You shift to sit with your back against the door and put your legs in his lap meanwhile he's not driving. He's wearing his burgundy hoodie. You know he likes his bright red hoodie more, but you're wearing it. "Before, you'd just walk all the way out here because you're, you know, insane."

He lets out a weak laugh, eyes on his lap as he squeezes one of your ankles. He could almost laugh if his chest wasn't so tight and if he wasn't trying to not cry: you're wearing the crocodile slippers he got you as a gag gift for your birthday. "Needed to see you now. Walking seemed like a waste of time," he mumbles.

Your back lifts off the door as you sit up to cup his cheek in your hand, he leans into your touch. "Hey, what's wrong?" He just shakes his head, turning in your hold to kiss the heel of your palm.

"I just . . . ," he starts, breathing trembling, ". . . wanna drive. Away, get out, and I wanna take you with me."

You gulp. "Ok." You pull away from him and sit up straight in the passenger seat, pull your seatbelt across your chest and click it in. "Ok, drive."

You close your left eye and hold up Alex's new driver's license next to his face, close enough to you that his picture is in line with his head. "You look cute," you say after a while. You're parked at the edge of a cliff, overlooking dark fields. Buried deep in the trees, a perfect clearing to see the moon. He hasn't talked about why he's upset yet, just let you mess with his license. "Most people. don't. I look horrible in my ID. But you don't. You look cute."

And he really does. Alex's resting face consists of wide eyes, a soft face, and the tiniest twitch of the corners of his mouth that make him look like he's constantly smiling.

Even now, with his sad eyes, you can see his mouth turning into a soft smile. "No, I don't," he mumbles, pushing your hand down so the driver's license falls with it.

You huff. "You wanna talk to me now?"

He reaches out for your wrist and tugs. Needs you, needs you, needs you. "Jackie, she, um," he sniffles, only realizes he's started to cry when he wipes a tear away. "She cheated again." Your heart drops and your jaw goes with it. You're about to say something when he lets out a bitter laugh and adds, "With Cole. Again. My girlfriend cheated on me with brother. Twice."

You sigh, eyes heavy and sad. He lifts your wrist to press the heel of your palm against his cheek. He looks like a kicked puppy. "I'm so sorry, Alex. What do you need?"

"You. Just . . ." He still hasn't let go of your wrist, and he maneuvers your arm to kiss your pulse. ". . . You."

You watch quietly as Alex kisses up your arm for a moment, his eyes closed. Your heart is beating hard against your chest, you're very aware of your breathing, shaky air rattling into your shallow lungs. You have to think just to breathe, it's hard to focus when your attention is all on the fact that his lips are up to the crook of your elbow. "Alex—" you manage.

Alex finally flutters his lashes open, looks up at you all teary-eyed. "Can I have you?" His voice is a whimper with the inflation of a whine, and you can see just how much he needs it. You find yourself nodding, mindlessly, rendered weak by the sheer begging just on his face. Another whimper, he pulls you across the console, from the passenger's seat to straddling his lap on the driver's and buries his face in the crook of your neck. "Thank you," he mumbles against your skin.

Wet kisses on your throat and his hands gripping your hips, you let him grind you into his growing bulge and go pliant on him, allowing him to use your body for comfort.

"You're so pretty, you know that? So pretty, so nice to me. You're the best best friend . . . So pretty, so nice, so perfect . . . ," he rambles into your skin. it doesn't sound like he's thinking about it, defenses down as he kisses across your skin and tugs on the waistband of your pajama pants.

"You're real talkative now," you quip breathlessly. Your stomach is starting to twist in a hot know, hands trembling. You put them on his shoulders to contain yourself. This is a version of Alex you've never had before but that you've always craved.

"It's all true." His hand skirts just into your pants. "Can I . . . ?" You nod and he taps your hip as a silent 'lift'. You do, and he helps you work your bottoms off. He groans when he sees your underwear, head falling back against the headrest. They're nothing too special, just white with a strawberry pink and a little pink bow, but oh, does it work for him. "God, you're so hot."

You gulp as his hands glide up your sides slowly, bunching your hoodie and shirt up and over your chest. He's pulling them both off you all at once when you ask, "Alex, are you sure this is what you need?"

Even as you're asking, you feel his boner straining against his jeans on the inside of your thigh. He dives in, both hands gripping your tits over your bra and licking a stripe across your collarbone. "So sure."

"We could talk about it—"

Alex unclasps your bra and lets it fall. "I'm done talking. I just wanna shut my brain off." He takes a moment to admire your body: the curves of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the swell of your hips into the thick of your ass and the plush of your thighs . . . he doesn't realize that his mouth is open, or that he's starting to drool, or even that he's biting his lip now. You feel hot under his gaze, under his darkened eyes, and your face flushes. "You seriously are perfect. I should've just gone for you instead of taking Jackie back."

His clothes come off next, and then you're both in the driver's seat in just your underwear. Hot skin on hot skin, you run your hands up and down his defined biceps. He threw himself into the farm and the horses this summer after Jackie left, got all muscular—well, more than he already way. Anyway, he's looking up at you like he wants to devour you as you do. "If this is about making you feel better, are you sure you don't want me to just go down on you? Focus on you?"

He has to admit that the thought of your warm mouth wrapped around him, you on your knees for him, worshipping him makes his cock twitch in boxers, but that's for another time. Intimacy, that's what he wants. Not just pleasure. He shakes his head, wraps his arms around your waist, pulls you in chest to chest. "No. I just wanna feel close to you."

The kiss you give him is soft, sweet. He caresses your thighs, his hands run electric up your skin. "You deserve so much better than Jackie," you say against his mouth. "i could treat you so much better if you'd let me."

Alex pulls your underwear to the side. "Yeah? You wanna be good for me?"

Oh, fuck. If you weren't already wet, you definitely are now. He feels it when he runs his fingers up your folds, you draw in a sharp breath. "Let me be good for you," you say breathlessly.

He pulls his boxers down just enough so his dick springs out and presses against your cunt. "Up," he instructs. You do as he says and lift up, he lines up with your entrance and you sink down on him. Alex whimpers—fucking whimpers, and grips your hips with both hands for purchase. "Jesus christ, you feel so good—" His voice is strained, his brows are knitted deep in pleasure.

You wrap both hands around the back of his neck to pull his face closer to yours, nails going into his hair to lightly scratch his scalp. "Can I move?"

"Please."

You raise your hips and sink back down. Up, down, up, down, up, down . . . You build a steady pace as you ride him, one that has him chewing on his bottom lip hard to try and contain his noises. Still, little moans and whimpers escape anyhow. The car rocks with your movements, creaking. You're getting wetter the more his thick cock rubs against the spongey spots inside you that have your eyes rolling to the back of your head—it's all soft grunts and moans and squelching in here now.

"Shit, you make me feel so full—" You grind down on him in a certain way and he groans, a hand skirting to grope at your ass. "You're so hot, you know that? I've been into you for years." You tug at his hair, pulling his head up to look at you.

God, he's fucking gorgeous. His face is all furrowed up, fucked out in pleasure. That look is a silent 'your pussy is fucking lethal.'

"You're so tight—so wet—" He can't even manage a full sentence, every other word is followed by a desperate moan. he's trying so hard to contain himself, you can feel it in the tight grip he has on your ass and your hip—and then his hips involuntarily buck up to meet yours.

You gasp, dropping your forehead against his. You kiss him and realizes fucking up into you works, and keeps doing so. A good thrust makes your mouth fall open, little moans slipping out. You don't really speak, just let your hot pants mingle and your desperate eyes do all the talking. The window is fogging up with humid heat building up from your hot fucking, and when your hand launches out to press against the cold glass just to support yourself, it slides and squeaks against the condensation, leaving behind a stretched hand print as evidence of your sin.

Your thighs are starting to cramp up but you don't care. You're close, real close, and when his hand on your hip moves down and starting toying with your pulsing clit, you let out a surprised moan in the form of a high-pitched, "Oh!" You tighten around his doc, he groans and squeezes the plump skin of your ass again. "Alex," you whine, he whines your name back in response.

"I'm—I'm gonna cum," he whimpers, giving you sloppy but almost feverish, strong thrusts.

You nod, digging your nails into the back of his neck. Midnight blue acrylics creating little pink crescent moons in the nape of his neck. "Yeah, me too. Give it to me."

You pull him into a hard kiss to muffle both of your noises as you both cum. He twitches inside you, you tremble against him. He holds you close to him, sweaty chest to sweaty chest, and offers a few weak thrusts to ride out your highs before you both just . . . flop. Heaving.

Alex, brushes your damp hair back from your face and then cups your face, just looking at you. "Thank you," he pants.

Quiet, until his phone starts buzzing. He groans, more so when you climb out of his and he's no longer inside you. You're in the passenger's seat and putting your bra back on when he fishes his phone out of his jeans on the floor of the car.

You catch a glance at the name—Nathan—when he answers the call on speaker and sets his phone down on the dashboard. "Yeah?" he asks. There's a bitter quality to his voice, and audible eyeroll, like he just can't bare the fact that someone would dare interrupt your moment.

"Hey, where are you? Mom and dad just got home. I told them you're already asleep but . . . And they'll probably notice the car's gone too, soon."

You're both dressing now. Alex sighs, hoodie over his head. "Um, I went out with Y/N. Just, like, I don't know, wanted to clear my head. I'll be home soon."

You sit there quietly, drawing senseless shapes in the condensation on the window, pretending like you didn't just do the most intimate thing you've ever done with anyone with your best friend.

Alex ends the call and pockets his phone. You're both dressed, the car smells like sex, and you're not looking at him. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asks.

"Nothing."

"Look at me." And you do, even if you're feeling all shy now that you've both come down. "You wanna talk about what we—?"

You shake your head, pulling the seatbelt across chest and clicking it in. "No, it's ok. We have to get home now, anyway."

You can see the hesitation in his eyes, the way he's mulling it over in his head before finally giving in. "Yeah, ok." He turns the key in the ignition, the engine revs to life.

You're just about to fall asleep when your phone buzzes on your nightstand. You groan, reaching a lazy hand out to check the message.

alex // 2:07 AM it wasnt just sex btw i hope yk that i really do want u

You grin to yourself, typing up a response before going back to sleep.