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ahqkas · 5 months ago

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♯ STARMAN ; remus lupin

PAIRING! young!remus lupin x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! during a snowy holiday at the potter residence, remus finds himself caught between the matchmaking ideas of his two best friends and his growing feelings for you

WARNINGS AND TAGS! fluff, idiots to lovers, kissing, james & sirius play the matchmakers, cursing + lmk

WORDS COUNT! 3k

NOTES! i posted this back on my old blog in 2022 / 2023 so if you’ve read this before no u didn’t❕ peter is absent in this ff , he’s spending the christmas with his own family

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

JAMES POTTER AND SIRIUS BLACK.

Good lads, great company, and even better matchmakers. Who wouldn't want to spend time with them? The two boys were always full of energy, their laughter infectious, and jokes just rolled from their tongues as naturally as breathing. You could be certain that boredom was a foreign concept in their presence.

That's what everyone thought.

Remus Lupin, however, isn't everyone.

To Remus, James and Sirius were more than just pranksters and school celebrities. They were his closest friends, brothers in all but blood, and the kids behind some of the most outlandish escapades Hogwarts had ever seen. Remus saw behind the facade of their shared humor and carefree attitudes. He understood the deeper layers of their cores — the loyalty that bound them together, the masked fears and insecurities, and the stupidity and courage that defined their actions.

James Potter, with his tousled hair and round glasses, had a heart as big as the Quidditch pitch. Sirius Black, with his roguish good looks and devil-may-care attitude, possessed a sharp intellect that clashed perfectly with his rebellious nature.

Yes, to the outside observers, James and Sirius appeared to be the life of the party (which they were) but to Remus, they were the definition of family.

Even though they certainly knew how to fuck things up.

ONE

"Just listen to us, Moony! This one will work out, me and James planned it for . . . one week, is it? Just trust us!"

Sirius Black's voice was brimming with enthusiasm, his gray eyes twinkling with the unspoken promise of yet another grand scheme. As these words left his mouth, Remus felt a surge of frustration well up inside him. His hands itched to do something else than the dishes — but he resisted the urge to punch the oldest Black brother. The sheer absurdity of the situation was almost laughable. This wasn't the first time his best friends came up with a plan to help him with one of his many problems. Some of their previous attempts had actually worked out quite well. But there were also unsolved problems that Remus had learned to live with, issues he simply couldn't — or wouldn't — allow them to meddle with. Like this one.

"Exactly, mate! We're not doing this just for fun, you know. We're doing it just for you, because as you can see, we know you don't have the courage to tell [Name] how you feel. And we wouldn't be suggesting this if we didn't think it had a real chance of working."

Remus nearly dropped the plate he was washing onto James' head. Did they really have to put their noses into his personal matters? It wasn't that he lacked the courage — he told himself that repeatedly — but the timing just wasn't right. And he had came over to James' house to enjoy the Christmas holiday in peace, not to snog off his best friend's face.

But once an idea comes into a marauder's head, it won't leave until it's out for the world to see.

Just Remus' luck.

The warm, soapy water cascaded over his hands as he resumed scrubbing the plate, trying to focus on the boring task before him rather than the frustration rushing through his system. Sirius's words carried in the air again.

"It was originally planned for Evans, but she wouldn't be as cool with it as [Name]. You know how they both are! Evans would try to hex James' ugly face first, then mine. And [Name]? Well, it seems like you just have to find out, mate."

You just have to find out, my arse.

"Look, why can't you just keep this thing as it was first planned? I'm sure Lily would appreciate the opportunity to snog James' stupid face," Remus said, his voice tinged with the frustration he felt. James made a noice that sounded suspiciously like a gasp and opened his mouth to protest, but Remus ignored him and kept going. "Okay, maybe not for the next ten years, but one day she surely would."

“For the record, my face is unbelievably handsome, thank you!”

The oldest Black brother crossed his arms across his chest, the rag he used to clean the dishes dangling from his hand and making a puddle of water beside him. James glared daggers at it. "You see, even if you politely declined our offer to bring some spice into your already boring life, we can't take no for an answer. We spent our free time searching up a single spell in the library. A bloody library, Moony! So, no. If you and [Name] don't kiss by the end of the Christmas, this prank will be considered unsuccessful, which is something the Marauders don't do."

Sirius' eyes held the same look of determination they had when Peter confidently told the rest of the group that he, Sirius Black, was going to win the snogging bet they made in their fourth year. Remus hadn't liked that gaze then, and he certainly didn't like it now, because he knew what it meant. Peter had won that bet. Which just means . . .

Remus saw his short life flash before his own eyes. This was not going to end up in the way he would like to. A bad, no wait, a horrible idea. But before he could do something to save himself from the coming catastrophe, the whole point of the prank entered the kitchen with a lopsided smile on your face. The boy always thought you were pretty. A pair of eyes that seemed to brighten up whenever your favourite topic is being talked about. A warm smile that makes Remus feel the comfort you gave to him. He wouldn't need to drink Veritaserum to admit that he fancied you.

"I just finished unpacking my stuff, so if you want to do something together . . ." you trailed off, looking into their eyes with an inviting gaze. Remus awkwardly moved his gaze away, heart pumping against rib cage.

James, being the little shit he is, nudged Sirius with a knowing smirk and nodded his head in the direction of his room. "Well, it looks like our job is finished here, doesn't it, Padfoot? We should help Moony here to unpack his trunk. Come on."

Before the werewolf could do anything to stop his two best mates, James grabbed Sirius by the crook of his elbow and ran into his room, leaving the pair of obvious friends alone in the Potters' kitchen.

You looked around, a little surprised by the sudden reaction of James and Sirius. Remus stood next to the sink, drying his hands on a rag. "That was new."

"Yeah, it was."

You leaned over the table, a playful glint was dancing in your eyes. "So, they left to unpack your trunk, huh? I wouldn't let them do it if I were in your place, because I know how much of a messy person James Potter can be. Sirius does look like one too. I've seen your dorm," you let out a laugh that Remus quickly joined.

"You're not wrong. Last time they helped me unpack, I couldn't find half my things for a week. They think it's hilarious to hide my socks in the most ridiculous places."

A playful twinkle sparkled in your eyes at the sudden memory. "Well, at least you know where to find them when something goes missing. I once found a pair of James' socks in the Astronomy Tower. Still haven't figured out how they got there."

"You know," the boy started, but his dark eyes caught the green and white blur above your head, and his breath hitched in the back of his throat. They really had the guts to do it! A spring of mistletoe hung precariously above you, clearly placed by James and Sirius.

Thinking quickly, Remus took your palm in his and met your gaze again. "You could help me unpack my things, so I know where they are and all that stuff you need to know about unpacking."

With a nod, you let him took the lead. "Okay, Remus. I'll save you from them."

Remus was going to kill these two.

TWO

The weather seemed to understand the friend group's wishes for snow, much to their excitement, prompting them all go out and mess around in the white blanket of cold snow. They couldn't charm snowballs yet, and the ice on the lake next to the Potter residence was a bit thin for their liking, but it was fun either way. Laughter and shouts of excitement filled the crisp air as they chased each other, fell into snowdrifts, and made the most of the wintry day.

When they returned home, it was already dark outside, and four mugs of hot chocolate were waiting for them, accompanied by Mrs Potter's cheerful face. The warmth and aroma of the sweet liquid welcomed them inside, melting away the chill from the frost.

James and Sirius, their energy finally exhausted, soon trudged off to bed after they finished their cups, leaving Remus and you to linger a bit longer. The house was quiet now, the only sounds the gentle cracking of fire and the occasional creak of the old wooden floors.

If only it could be like this every day, Remus thought to himself as he sat on the couch beside the fireplace. The flames radiated warmth, and with the mug in his hands, everything felt nice again. No stressing over studying, no thoughts for the upcoming war. He was in his own bubble, praying it wouldn't break at any given moment.

In his lap lay an opened annotated copy of a book you had given him as a Christmas present in your fourth year. He had read the book many times, and each time he found something new that caught his interest. It was like a never-ending story he never planned to finish.

"Hey, Remus."

The sudden sound of your voice and the feeling of your frame settling next to him, a knee brushing against his tight, made him shut the book with unnecessary force. The boy could feel your eyes on the side of his face so, he turned to meet your gaze, brown meeting [eye colour].

Remus had really pretty eyes. The rich brown seemed to melt in the warm room like the sweetest chocolate you had ever put on your tongue, with hazel sparks dancing in them. His eyes held something you couldn't quite put your finger on — a mystery, just like his person. But there was one thing you knew for sure: you would find comfort in them no matter the situation.

As you looked closer, you noticed faint freckles dusting his cheeks. Had they always been there? The gentle smattering of the constellation added to the roughness around his scars, making him appear even more breathtakingly beautiful. You found yourself mesmerized by the little details of his face, each one telling a story of its own.

Remus decided to talk first. "What are you doing here? Not that I mind, I'm just wondering. It's pretty late, you know," after those words left his mouth, Remus felt like a total fool. Merlin, talking with you was getting more difficult since he realized he liked you more than a friend should.

But when he saw your lips curving into a smile, he knew he hadn't messed up. "Can't sleep. It's hard to do so when you have to sleep on a different bed."

"Yeah, I can understand."

Once the comfortable silence fell upon the two of you, Remus wanted to stay like this as long as possible. Life with you in it, even after Hogwarts, would be like a dream come true. You could adopt a cat or a dog together. Remus had always wanted a pet . . . The thought of a future with you filled him with a warm, hopeful feeling.

Suddenly, you were standing on your feet in front of Remus, the book no longer in his lap. Instead, you were holding it open, reading the first words he had written on the front pages. He could feel his neck and ears start to warm up, and he was sure it wasn't from the unfinished hot chocolate.

"Nice book you got here. Must have been a nice present, don't you think?" You were teasing him, he knew it from the glint in your eyes, and you seemed to be enjoying it, too. So, he played along.

"Oh, I don't know, would you be surprised if your friends bought you a book when they see you every morning reading them?"

"This one must be your favourite, as the front is starting to lose its colour."

At the further mention of the book, Remus forgot about the teasing at took it from your hands. "You should read it, [Name], it's a really . . . ," he trailed off again, like he did yesterday, and it started to confuse you more and more. His eyes were looking at something above your head, too. Was the moving photo of little James framed behind you that interesting?

When you started to turn and look, Remus quickly turned you to face the direction of the kitchen and pushed the half filled mug with warm liquid into your palms. "I want more of that. Could you help me make it? Thanks, [Name]."

Remus was ready to push James and Sirius onto the thin ice tomorrow.

THREE

Remus didn't like packing. First, he needed to pack at least a day or two before leaving so he could sleep without overthinking, but he did overthink it anyway. Did I pack everything? I think I had more stuff when I got here . . . He usually spends half of the train ride worrying about things like this; the rest was joking around with his friends and saying goodbye for the summer. And second, he didn't like leaving. The places he went to — whether it was Hogwarts or the Potters' — had a special place in the depths of his heart. The only comforting thought in his head about it all was that he would come back.

With a sigh, he started to pick up his jumpers from the Gryffindor-themed rug James had in his room. They had spent their first Christmas together when they were twelve, and the boys slept in separated bedrooms to Mrs Potter's wishes. She wanted them to have their own privacy (they shared a dorm at school, after all), but as time went on and she realised her boys wanted to be together, the witch let them do as they wanted. You got your own room as this was your first holiday here.

As much as Remus thought about the task being annoying and gloomy, it was kind of relaxing to his mind into something else. James and Sirius hadn't tried anything on you two in the last few days, which worried the werewolf a bit. What were they planning? It wasn't like them, giving up on something they were so determined about.

At a knock on the door, Remus put his just-finished folded socks into his trunk and went to open the it. It couldn't be James and Sirius, and the adult Potters had gone for a walk into the village, which just leaves . . . you.

Oh.

Remus opened the door and revealed, in fact, your glowing face. His eyes took a look at you, and he found himself thinking how pretty you looked.

Your nose and cheeks looked like they were freezing, but it somehow made your face glow. Your beanie covered half of your forehead, and there was a huge spot of unmelted snow on it, probably thrown at you by one of the Marauders. But your eyes still caught his attention first. They showed your real emotions, and you were happy right now, which made Remus feel happy too.

Your smiled reached the corners of your eyes. Remus liked your smile. "Hi! Knew I would find you here. As you can probably see, we are having a snowball fight and I was wondering if you wanted to join me? James is being a git . . .”

Remus couldn't help but chuckle at your enthusiastic invitation. The idea of being outside with you, engaging in a playful snowball fight against his brothers, sounded far more appealing than packing his things. He also knew that if James was being a git, he'd have to intervene to keep the playing field fair.

He listened to you, he really did, but his attention was drawn by the green plant, dangling from the doorframe above your heads. However, this time you followed his gaze and saw what he was always searching for.

"Oh."

Before he could regret what he was about to do, his hands found your cheeks, and his eyes focused on yours, not bothered by the cold that started to reach his palms. "Can I kiss you?"

Your eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. The heartfelt laughter of James and Sirius outside faded into the background, leaving only the two of you in that small, shared moment. A soft smile played on your lips as you voiced your inner desires.

"Yes, Remus, you can."

You placed your hands on the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in the soft hair at the nape, and gently pulled him towards you. Your slightly cold lips met his warm ones, and the contrast sent shivers through both of you. The sensation was intoxicating, a rush of emotions and sensations that made your heart race. The warmth from his mouth spread through you, melting away any lingering cold from outside.

Remus's hands slid from your cheeks to cradle the back of your head, his fingers doing the same thing as yours, threading through your hair. You could feel the slightest tremble in them, a sign that he was just as affected by the kiss as you were.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads rested against each other, and you took a moment to catch your breath. Your eyelids fluttered open, and the look you shared was one of pure emotion. His brown eyes, now darker with desire and something deeper, gazed into yours with a mix of awe and admiration.

It felt like a core memory of your new found relationship was forming, one that will be forever treasured and reminded with nothing but adoration.

Remus was glad about the whole mistletoe prank but the boys will not hear a word from him about it. They were right, the Marauders won't let a prank go unfinished.

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pearlfeline · 5 months ago

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homesick

peter parker x fem!reader

word count: 2k

tw: none

a/n: i used to write for hp and i tried to start anew with this blog but it failed lol. (might still write for hp if i feel like it) but i luv peter and wanted to write for him so bad. i kinda didn't know how to end this but i thought it was fun to write anyway. thanks for reading.

"What can I getcha?" You attempted a decent smile, though Peter could tell you were tired. He knew tired. He IS tired.

Peter, blinking that thought away, snaps back into reality. He is in a small diner, and he took too long deciding outside the door if he wanted to go inside, so to avoid looking stupid he shuffled inside and sat down.

"Banana wheat cake... Is it any good?" He lets out a dry chuckle.

You press your lips into a thin line. "I know I work here but..." You bit your bottom lip, tucking your pen behind your ear. You drew closer to Peter so he could hear you. "It sucks. Get the breakfast combo." You winked, tracing a circle around the menu item. Peter unintentionally takes in a whiff of your perfume, giving him a hard time remembering what you just recommended.

"It comes with a free coffee." You flip open your notepad again, and as you grab the pen from behind your ear, a piece of hair falls to your face.

"I-I'll get that then." Peter closes the menu handing it back to you.

"Great. Bacon or sausage?"

Peter catches a lump in his throat. Almost as if words were filling to the brim and he couldn't say a word.

"Bacon." He smiles but keeps his gaze on his hands. They were almost uncontrollably fiddling with each other.

"Got it. I'll be right back with that."

Peter watches as you quickly let go of your charm to catch up with refills of coffee. You worked hard every day just to make rent but you never complained. Peter was never a customer until today, yet he could tell so much about you. His eyes couldn't help but follow you wherever you went.

His eyes followed you around the counter, grabbing a tray and putting his food on it. You were trying to keep him from waiting any longer and picked up the pace approaching his booth.

“Oh!” You slip, losing grip of the tray holding Peter’s breakfast.

Before you could react to the impact of the floor, you were pulled up. You opened your eyes and find Peter’s arm over your waist, successfully maneuvering the tray to grab everything that flew.

“Great reflexes.” You looked up at him with bewilderment.

“Thanks.” He shyly loosened his grip on your waist. You pull down and flatten your apron. “Whew. That was incredibly lame of me but surprisingly cool for you.” You let out a chuckle, making sure nothing was ruined on his plate.

“Why surprising?” He replied. “Do I look like a loser?” He suppressed a small smile.

“No you just look more… smart cool and maybe a possible ninja? I don’t know what else to call what you just did.”

Peter lets his smile crack a little, taking a sip of his previously airborne coffee.

“Don’t get me wrong, you’re not lacking physically because you’re a book smart type of guy.” You give him a quick once over cheekily.

Before Peter can panic and come up with a mess of a response, a disgruntled old man cuts the moment short. “Coffee! Hello?” He slams his mug on the table.

“Duty calls.” You gave him a small wave, quickly making your way to the opposite side of the diner.

Peter spent the remainder of his time quietly finishing his breakfast, stealing quick glances at you.

Watching you smile even though you’re probably overwhelmed and exhausted. The hardest part was deciding when to leave. He had to go eventually to avoid being a creep. He had finished his food ten minutes ago. Before he leaves, he folds a $20 dollar bill into an origami heart, leaving it on the table.

The next morning, Peter walked a little faster, posture a little straighter, and smiled a little more.

Peter wanted to see you again. He knew not to tell you about the past, but what would be so wrong just talking to you? He attempts a nonchalant glance through the windows, making sure you were inside before walking in himself.

Peter gives you a shy head nod, making his way to sit at the counter instead of a booth.

"There's the generous tipper from yesterday. Hi, I'll be right with you." You got up from speaking to your coworker and greeted Peter.

"Was my service that good?" You flip open your notepad.

"The best." Peter pretends to study your name tag. "...Y/N."

"Well, thanks..?" You tilted your head slightly.

"Peter."

"Ah, Thank you, Peter."

"I won't be her for long, I just wanted a coffee."

"And you came here?" You snickered. You only half meant that statement. You didn't know why, but seeing him a second time was making your dreary work day go by easier.

"Yeah, in case you decided to fall again today."

You gasp, being dramatically 'offended'. "I'll let that comment slide... Since you gave me that nice tip. Even though I was struggling to unravel it for a while in my car." You grab a pot of coffee, pouring it into a cup that says 'print design here'.

"Thanks." Peter chuckles.

"No sugar?" You asked.

Peter's gaze slowly reached yours. "How did you know?"

"Know what?" You raise an eyebrow innocently. "Nobody here drinks black coffee unless they're over fifty or a pretentious student. Oh, were you afraid to ask this whole time? Hold on." You reach and dig into the pocket of your apron.

"N-no, it's fine. I don't really drink sweet coffee anymore." Peter's face falls in defeat. Of course, you wouldn't remember his order. Peter had to remind himself that he was a customer and a customer only to you.

"So, you're a pretentious student huh? No wonder I got a big tip. Let me guess you're studying tech?"

Peter shakes his head. "Biochemistry. Though, I do have somewhat of a tech background. I-" Peter almost rambles on but catches himself. "I'm poor. Not really enough money to be pretentious." He sinks into his seat, taking a sip to cover his face.

"Dude, do you know how tipping works? You can't be poor and tip me $20 after a breakfast combo from a dingy part of the city."

"You work hard." Peter scratches his neck. "...At least from what I've seen." He sighs.

"Are you actually poor?" You start wiping down the counter to keep your boss off your back for being unproductive.

Peter sheepishly avoids your eyes.

"...I'm poor too." You smiled. "If that wasn't painfully obvious by how I look."

"No. Not at all." Peter took this opportunity to take in your appearance. You looked exactly the same. Even though it had taken months for him to face you again. It's like your eyes were waiting right where he saw them last, inviting you in.

Unknowingly, you take his one-sided reunion with you as innocent flirting.

"I get off at 5." You blurted out. Why were you so inherently flirty all of a sudden?

Peter straightens his posture as if that would help him hear you properly. He blankly stares at you as you do the same for a response.

“…Are you free..? Or interested?” You throw the towel over your shoulder.

“YE-yes. Yeah. I have no classes today I can come get you of course but I don’t have a car I just walked here but not from far.” He rambles.

You visibly relax your composure as that alone was enough evidence that Peter was just a nerd without the rich snob part. Though he kept the physique of someone who would visit his rich dad’s personal gym.

“Here's my number. I’ll get you an actual good meal.” You shyly look down at your feet, ignoring your ugly, work-approved kitchen shoes.

“Deal.” He pays for his burnt diner coffee, and leaves an appropriate tip this time.

You sneak in one last wave before he disappears around the street corner.

This shift couldn’t have gone any slower for you. The wait from 4:00 to 5:00 was the most excruciating pain of consecutive boringness.

When it was time to clock out, you rushed out the back, shoving your work shoes into your book bag and trying to fix your disheveled hair that had been put up by a pencil this entire time.

You rushed to the front of the diner while putting on your wrinkled sweater to mask the smell of butter off you at least a little.

You waited. And waited. And waited some more. 5:15. Why was he late? Did you scare him off? Is he never coming back to the diner? Was that big tip an accident? Maybe he took out the wrong bill and played along today just to avoid being awkward.

“Shiiit.” You groaned. You looked around the intersection. “Maybe he’s rushing towards me?” You thought. “He’s gonna come around any second and say sorry frantically like the nerd he is.”

He didn’t. He never showed. You waited for an hour more and just decided to walk home.

As you were walking along the dark and wet sidewalk, you were internally thanking yourself for bringing that sweater, but cursing because you wanted to take the scenic route and walk to work today.

“Hi miss.” A voice called from behind you.

You turned around to see Spider-man.

“Oh wow, hi?” You’ve never seen him this close before. The rainy afternoon gave his suit an exaggerated glimmer and despite his bug eyes, he didn't seem scary while approaching you.

“Why would a pretty lady like yourself be walking alone?” He starts walking beside you holding out an arm for you.

“Well, I was supposed to leave work an hour ago.. Something came up.” You take his arm cautiously. “I usually walk home anyway, nothing different today.”

Peter feels a lump growing in his throat. Even when he ditched you, you don’t insult him.

“Except… it’s an hour later. That means it’s an hour’s more worth of danger out here.” He jokes.

You nod, not really the response he was expecting. Spider-man was not getting the same treatment as Peter.

“Something wrong?” He felt wrong asking immediately. Yes something’s wrong. He was wrong.

“I just.. I’ve been feeling empty almost. Recently it’s like… It’s like I’m missing something. Not completely empty, but enough absence to feel hopeless. I had a date today and he didn’t show.” You almost continue until you looked up to realize you were talking to a bug man.

“Sorry. It’s dumb. I don’t expect you to understand or help.” You chuckled dryly.

Peter wanted to tell you everything so badly. He was already pushing it by seeing you again. Giving you a second taste of danger. But he burned for you. Maybe the first time was a sign. This was a new opportunity to keep you safe and he blew it. He crawled back to you desperately just for a glimpse of you. To see that you were okay. Now he’s knees deep in a new relationship with you and you didn’t even know.

“It’s not dumb.” He quietly answered. Peter on his way to get you, was leaving his apartment when he saw someone being robbed. “Maybe he ran late?”

You scoffed. “For an hour? More like he forgot.”

Peter knew convincing you to forgive him was bad. He knew doing the opposite was for the best. To tell you to forget Peter. But he couldn’t. He had you right here. Like he used to.

“Things happen.” He shrugged. “What if he got robbed?”

“Wouldn’t you have helped him?” You replied, unimpressed.

“Oh. Well I did help a really handsome dude and he got robbed. Was he like an attractive guy or..?”

“He’s cute." You admitted.

Peter blushes under his mask. Though you had said more affectionate things to him before, apparently he still gets giddy.

"Well, I'm sure he didn't forget someone as pretty as you."

You let out a scoff. "Did you drop down next to me to take me home safely or be stupid?"

Under the mask, Peter had a huge grin. He was proud of you. Still the same in how you always know how to avoid trouble. He rarely ever had to save you. You were too smart. No stranger was safe from you, not even Spider-man.

"Sorry." He says cheekily.

You both eventually reach your apartment though Peter had to act oblivious that this was your home.

"This is me. Thanks Spider-man." You tug on a zipper from your bag, reaching for something in the bottom. Gummy worms

"I don't know if you take payments but uh, I was going to share these with my date. It's my lunch I forgot about. Don't judge."

Peter feels a pang of guilt hit his chest. "Th-thanks... you really don't have to." He slowly takes the bag.

"It's okay really."

Peter sighed. "Look, if that guy is actually stupid enough to ghost you, just call me."

"How do I call you?"

"Like this; SPIDER-MAN SPIDER-MAN AGHHH THAT IDIOT NEVER CALLED ME BACK!" Peter ran around in a circle mocking a girl's voice.

"And you'd help me from wherever you are?" You raised an eyebrow.

"I have pretty good hearing." Peter comically dusts off his shoulder.

"Alright man, no excuses. Even if you're fighting off a giant monster or something you have to help me."

"Something tells me I won't need to. Y'know? One of my powers is basically a gut feeling that's always right." Peter puffs up his chest proudly.

You let out an amused exhale. "You're a nerd. See ya." You went inside, waving without looking behind you.

"See ya." Peter says quietly. As soon as he saw you disappear around the corner, he zipped to the top of a random building.

"hey y/n, so so so so so so sodsdo sorry for ditching you. PLS FORGIVW ME!!! had family emergency. wanna meet tmrw???" Peter mumbled along as he typed, two gummy worms stored in the side of his cheek.

"I sound so lameee haha." Peter thought. He goes to delete but presses send.

"Man."

#pearlfeline #peter parker #spiderman #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #mcu peter parker #mcu!peter parker x reader #peter parker x fem!reader #marvel mcu #mcu #mcu imagine #peter parker fluff #peter parker angst #peter parker x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you

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ssa-dado · 1 month ago

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16 - Sapphire

Aaron Hotchner x fem!teacher!reader Genre: fluff, but mostly whump and angst Summary: Hotch loses a significant bet to you, which triggers a visit to your apartment, where he is joined by his family. While there, Hotch picks up on your relaxed demeanor and her strong connection with his son, Jack. However, he also notices the absence of her engagement ring, leading to a deep conversation about your true desires and the life you're building with your fiancé, Peter. Warnings: heartbreak, mentions of CM cases (2X12, 2X15, 2X23)... why it’s always whumptober in this blog and never kinktober? Kind of unfair Word Count: 10.5k Dado's Corner: I'm so sorry. Feel free to send hate in my inbox or in the comments, I truly deserve it this time. @c-losur3 sorry for turning one of our brainstorming sessions in such a nightmare.

masterlist

That was the very first time Hotch had ever lost a bet against you… and it wasn’t even close.

You had finished the paperwork with time to spare, working steadily even in your own home office, while he was left scrambling to catch up. Over the years, the two of you had built a history of small wagers and playful bets, and though they never held any real stakes, this one was different. This one mattered more than any before.

It wasn’t about solving a case, or testing each other with some trivial challenge to see who could push themselves further. This time, it was about something deeper. For Hotch, it was about holding on, about keeping you close in a way that felt necessary, almost vital. The fear of losing you again, of watching you slip out of his life like you had once before, still lingered.

And it was about the electricity between you - the undeniable chemistry, the way you seemed to spark off one another when you worked together. He missed that energy, that connection that felt so natural, like you were in perfect sync.

He needed to win.

But he hadn’t.

Now, as Jack’s cries filled the car on the way to your apartment, the weight of that loss settled on Aaron, heavier than he expected. His hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, his jaw clenched in frustration. Haley, sitting next to him in the passenger seat, glanced back at Jack, her brow furrowed in concern. Jack’s wails were louder now, and every minute that passed seemed to make them sharper, more strained.

“Aaron,” Haley began, her voice calm but firm, “maybe we should cancel. Jack’s been upset all evening, and I don’t want to overwhelm him, or her.”

Aaron shook his head, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. "No," he muttered, quieter than usual, almost as if he were trying to convince himself. "She insisted. She already has everything prepared, and I need to pick up those reports anyway."

Haley’s lips pressed into a thin line, unconvinced, but she let it go. She knew better than to push when Aaron was like this - focused, determined. "If you’re sure…" she murmured, though her eyes lingered on Jack, who was still squirming uncomfortably in his car seat, as the rest of the drive passed in tense silence, broken only by Jack’s occasional hiccuping sobs.

By the time they reached your apartment building, Jack’s cries had escalated to full-blown sobs. Haley cast him one last pleading look, her expression full of concern. “Aaron, really. We don’t have to do this tonight.”

But Aaron wasn’t ready to turn back. "No," he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. "It’s going to be okay. She’ll understand."

Haley sighed softly, holding back her reply as Aaron lifted Jack from the car seat, gently cradling him against his chest. Jack’s small fists clutched at the fabric of Aaron’s shirt, his tear-streaked face flushed from crying. He bounced him lightly, whispering soothing words, but the child remained restless.

As they approached the door, Aaron could hear your voice drifting through the hallway, warm and light as you called out to Peter. “Hun, could you grab the door, please? They should be here any minute!”

When Peter swung the door open, his usual flamboyant confidence softened in deference to Jack’s distress. He greeted Aaron with an easy smile and a firm pat on the shoulder. "Aaron, my man. And Haley, it’s so good to finally see you again," he said, his grin widening as he took her in. "You’re even more beautiful than I remember. Motherhood clearly made you glow even more."

Haley smiled warmly at him, her eyes crinkling at the compliment. "Thank you, Peter. Always the charmer. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?"

Peter’s gaze shifted to Jack, who was still fussing in his father’s arms. His expression softened with sympathy. "And this little guy must be Jack. Poor thing. Rough night, huh?"

"Yeah," Aaron replied, his voice heavy with worry as he bounced Jack gently. "He’s been restless all evening."

Peter stepped aside, waving them into the apartment. "Come on in, make yourselves comfortable. She’s just in the kitchen, pulling the focaccia out of the oven."

The moment they crossed the threshold, the rich, savory scent of freshly baked focaccia enveloped them – rosemary and olive oil mingling in the warm air. The apartment had an undeniable coziness, from the soft hum of classic rock music playing in the background. It was definetely a stark contrast to the high-pressure atmosphere of the BAU. Everything here felt softer, more lived-in, more… home.

Before Aaron could fully absorb the warmth of your cozy apartment, you appeared in the doorway like a quiet breath of ease, your presence soft and effortless. An apron hugged your waist, and oven mitts dangled from your hands, tangible proof of the care you’d woven into the evening.

Your hair, usually held in careful precision, was loosely gathered in a low ponytail, yet a few rebellious curls had slipped free, framing your flushed cheeks like gentle whispers of imperfection, stirred by the heat of the oven. Those small, defiant tendrils danced against your need for control, quiet reminders that not everything needed to be perfectly in place to feel right.

A faint dusting of flour trailed up your arm, adding to the charm of the scene, as if this place - this life - was made for comfort, for easing the burdens of the world outside.

The moment your eyes found them, your entire face lit up with a warm, welcoming smile, one filled with genuine happiness at seeing them.

It was the kind of smile that could make anyone feel at home, and after the long, tense evening, you were exactly the kind of comfort they all needed.

"Aaron, Haley! You made it!" you said brightly, hurrying over to greet them, still wearing the apron tied at your waist. "I’m so glad you’re here. Sorry, I’m a bit of a mess, been running around getting everything ready."

Aaron found himself momentarily caught off guard, taking in this unexpected side of you. You looked different - more relaxed, more at ease, and there was a warmth about you that felt… disarming. It was a side of you he wasn’t used to seeing, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond.

Before Aaron could say anything, Jack let out a soft whimper, and your attention immediately shifted to him. You stepped closer, your expression softening as you knelt down to his eye level, your voice warm and soothing. "Hey there, Jack," you murmured gently, the soft lighting around you adding to the calmness in your tone. "What’s going on, little guy? What’s got you so upset?"

Jack’s sniffling continued, his tiny fists clutching his stuffed pine marten tightly, his wide, teary eyes staring up at you. For a moment, it seemed like he might burst into fresh sobs, but then something shifted.

The moment he heard your voice, his breathing slowed, his cries softened. His wide gaze remained fixed on you, and Aaron could feel the change, too - he could feel the tension slowly melting away from Jack’s little body as he began to calm down.

You smiled softly at Jack, your touch featherlight as you gently brushed your fingers over the plush toy in his hands. "Oh, the kuna," you said with a soft chuckle, glancing up at Aaron with a teasing glint in your eyes. "You weren’t kidding when you told me this was his best friend, huh?"

Aaron let out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, the weight of the evening’s stress finally beginning to lift. Jack’s tears had stopped, his body visibly more relaxed in his arms. He offered you a small, grateful smile. “Yeah,” he said, his voice filled with a mix of relief and exhaustion. "He doesn’t go anywhere without it."

Haley, standing off to the side, watched the scene unfold with wide eyes, her surprise evident as she took in how quickly Jack had settled in your presence. "Wow," she breathed, her voice low, almost in disbelief. "I’ve never seen him calm down that fast… not with anyone but Aaron."

Jack, now much calmer, gazed up at you with wide, curious eyes, his small body melting fully against Aaron’s chest. His tight grip on his father’s shirt loosened, his fingers relaxing around the kuna. You reached out gently, wiping away the last of his stray tears with a tender touch, your smile comforting and soft. “There we go, little guy,” you whispered. “All better now, huh?”

Peter, who had been leaning casually against the doorway, watching the interaction unfold with a knowing smile, let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. "You’ve got the magic touch, babe," he said, a teasing note in his voice, though the admiration in his eyes was real.

Peter crossed his arms, shooting Aaron a meaningful glance, his eyebrows raised. "Didn’t I tell you? She has a gift with kids."

Aaron, still processing how quickly Jack had settled down, offered a brief, tight smile, nodding slightly as his gaze flickered between you and Peter. Before he could respond, Peter’s expression softened, and he turned back to you with a more sincere smile. "You’d be such a good mom," he added, his voice full of affection.

For a moment, the comment hung in the air. You hesitated, the briefest flicker of emotion crossing your face before you waved it off with a casual smile. "Thanks, Peter," you said lightly, though there was a slight tremor in your smile that Aaron didn’t miss. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, okay?”

Peter chuckled softly, though the warmth behind his teasing was unmistakable. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking.”

With that, the evening eased into a rhythm that felt unexpectedly comfortable. Dinner was light and full of conversation, the kind that once flowed effortlessly between you and Hotch when you worked side by side. Aaron found himself watching you throughout the meal- studying your movements, catching glimpses of the person he knew so well but with subtle changes that felt unfamiliar.

That’s when he noticed.

Your engagement ring - it wasn’t there.

At first, Aaron told himself it was nothing. You might have taken it off to cook, or maybe it was being cleaned. But the more he observed, the more that small detail began to gnaw at him. Each time you reached for a dish or gestured as you spoke, your hand moved effortlessly, with no absentminded fidgeting or reaching for the ring that wasn’t on your finger.

If you had just taken it off for cooking, you would feel the absence. He knew that. But you didn’t, and that unsettled him even more.

The absence of that ring started to weigh on him, a small but heavy knot in his chest.

Peter, still unaware, smiled at you from across the table as he finished his drink. “We’ve been talking about it,” he said, his tone casual but with an underlying seriousness. “Maybe it’s time we think about having one of our own, you know?”

The words hit Aaron like a punch to the chest.

Every time he’d seen Peter since that night at the bar, his conviction grew stronger: Peter wasn’t right for you. But Hotch’s face remained composed; years of masking his emotions had made him an expert at keeping his true feelings hidden. His jaw tightened slightly, but outwardly, he stayed calm, choosing instead to focus on your reaction, watching closely for any sign of how you really felt.

You deflected with ease, a soft laugh escaping your lips as you glanced at Jack, who was happily babbling, completely at ease. “Jack’s an angel,” you said, smiling warmly. “But I don’t think he looks a thing like his father.”

The table shared a brief laugh, including Haley, who leaned over to rub Jack’s tiny back affectionately. "He definitely has his own little personality," she said with a smile. "But sometimes, he has that same intense stare as Aaron."

But Aaron didn’t join in the laughter. He was too focused on you - on the way you had brushed off Peter’s comment, your laugh just a little too quick, your deflection a little too smooth. He’d seen it a few times tonight, how you dodged certain topics, especially whenever Peter mentioned anything about the future. Something was off, and Hotch couldn’t ignore the way it gnawed at him.

After a while, the conversation drifted, as it often did when you were involved, to philosophy. Your eyes brightened as you began to speak about Plato, a passion filling your voice that seemed to draw everyone in.

"Fun fact," you began, your voice soft but deliberate, a small smile playing at your lips, "Plato believed that the world we live in is only a shadow, a reflection of something far more perfect. Everything we see, everything we touch, it’s just an echo of its true essence."

You glanced around the table, your eyes lighting up as you continued. "Imagine love," you said, your voice growing more poetic, "the love we feel here in this world is beautiful, yes, but it’s fleeting, imperfect. It can break, it can fade. Plato thought there was an eternal, perfect form of love - pure, unchanging. A love that exists beyond us, untouched by time or pain, an ideal we can only glimpse in brief moments."

As you spoke, your words seemed to hang in the air, captivating the room. Aaron couldn’t help but watch you intently, remembering how your passion for philosophy had always been so infectious. Even though part of him had once joked about its "abstract nonsense," he couldn’t deny how your enthusiasm pulled him in.

He felt the weight of your words, particularly the way you described love - an ideal so perfect that it almost seemed unreachable, a reflection of something distant and far from the everyday struggles of life.

You paused, letting the thought settle before continuing. "What we see here - whether it’s a chair, a focaccia, or love itself - are just shadows of something greater, something more real. In Plato’s realm of forms, that perfect love is waiting, eternal and untouched. It's something we can strive for, something we can long for, but never fully possess."

Peter, leaning back in his chair with a grin, shook his head lightly. "Only you could make Plato sound like a romantic," he teased, though his voice held a certain warmth, clearly caught in the flow of your words.

You returned the smile but didn’t stop, a deeper reverence creeping into your tone. "In a way, he was a romantic. Plato believed our souls long for that perfection, for the beauty and truth that we can only find in glimpses here. Every love we feel, every connection we make, it’s just a reflection of something pure that exists beyond our reach. But it’s that longing, that striving for the ideal, that gives love its meaning. Without that yearning, what would love be?"

Your words trailed off as Aaron, now smirking to himself, leaned closer to Jack. With a playful, conspiratorial tone, he whispered softly, “Jack, she said Plato,” his grin widening. He watched Jack closely, half-expecting his son to remember their little “deal” - to cry on cue at the mention of those philosophical names.

But Jack didn’t cry.

Instead, he stared up at you with wide, mesmerized eyes, his tiny face full of wonder and curiosity. It was as though, in that moment, Jack understood every word you were saying. His focus was absolute, his gaze unwavering, as if your voice held the answers to questions far beyond his grasp. For a one-year-old, it was almost eerie how captivated he seemed, his little brow furrowed in concentration, as if he were pondering Plato’s theory of forms alongside you.

Hotch stifled a chuckle under his breath, shaking his head.

So much for their plan. Jack was clearly enchanted.

Noticing Jack’s fascination, you paused, your expression softening as you leaned slightly toward him, your voice gentle and warm. “Oh, are you interested in Plato, buddy?” you teased, your smile widening as you addressed him like he was the only person in the room. “Looks like we’ve got a future philosopher on our hands. Aaron, are you sure he’s your son?”

Haley burst out laughing, covering her mouth as she tried to contain her amusement, and Peter joined in, shaking his head with a playful grin. "You might need to get him a children’s book on philosophy at this rate," Peter added, glancing at Jack. "He’s already hooked.”

Without missing a beat, you and Aaron spoke at the exact same time, your voices overlapping in perfect unison. “Hegel for babies.”

The way you and him had responded in sync, without hesitation, brought a rush of nostalgia for him. It was like stepping back in time, reminding him of all the moments you’ve always shared especially at work, finishing each other’s thoughts, operating with an effortless rhythm that required no words. That connection, that familiar flow between you, was still there, ready to rise to the surface as if nothing had changed.

But something had changed.

Even as Aaron enjoyed the easy moment, his mind couldn’t let go of the puzzle forming around you and Peter. Throughout the night, he kept discreetly watching, searching for subtle signals - anything to explain the absence of your engagement ring.

Aaron’s eyes darted between you and Peter, watching your interactions closely. Was it strained? Were you keeping something hidden behind those well-rehearsed smiles? The more he observed, the deeper his suspicion grew. The playful banter with him felt easy, real, but with Peter, there was a distance, subtle but present.

---

After dinner, as Peter and Haley’s laughter echoed faintly from the living room, you led Aaron into your office to collect the files. The space between you was tense, charged with everything unspoken that had been simmering throughout the evening. As Aaron followed in silence, his mind churned, trying to reconcile the image of you with the life you said you wanted.

Then he saw it.

Your engagement ring.

Sitting on the desk, carelessly placed beside a stack of papers, as though it were something you had tossed aside without a second thought.

For a moment, Aaron said nothing, his eyes fixed on the small band. His heart sank as everything he’d been suspecting solidified. He had convinced himself earlier that maybe you had taken it off for some practical reason, but now, seeing it here, forgotten or abandoned - it wasn’t just off.

It was discarded.

His pulse quickened. He could no longer avoid the truth staring back at him.

“You know,” Aaron began softly, the weight of his words heavier than he anticipated, “even though I didn’t win the bet, the offer is still on the table.”

You glanced up sharply, startled by the quiet intensity in his voice. A flicker of something -uncertainty, fear - crossed your face before you could mask it.

Your hands gripped the edge of the papers on your desk, as if trying to ground yourself in the familiar. “Aaron, we’ve been through this,” you replied, your voice steady but not as confident as you intended. “Teaching at the academy... it’s the only way I can settle down. With Peter, I can finally have a normal life. It’s what I need.”

The words fell from your lips, practiced, deliberate - but hollow. Even as you said them, they felt rehearsed. There was a tremor beneath them, a quiver that Hotch could sense immediately.

He didn’t need to be a profiler to see the cracks forming.

He stepped closer, his eyes unwavering as he searched yours. “Is that what you really want?” His voice was gentle, but there was no mistaking the depth behind his question. He wasn’t asking for surface-level answers anymore. He was asking for the truth, the one you’d been avoiding, even from yourself.

You bristled at the question, standing taller as if the extra inches could shield you from the vulnerability creeping up on you. “Aaron, I’ve made my decision,” you said, more forcefully this time, crossing your arms over your chest, protecting yourself. “Teaching is a stable job. Peter and I... we can have a life together. A normal life. Isn’t that what everyone wants?”

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating, as if the air itself had become too dense to breathe. Aaron’s gaze never left yours, piercing through the fragile facade you were clinging to. His eyes flicked down to the ring on the desk, lying there unwanted, untouched, as if even the symbol of this so-called “normal life” didn’t quite fit into the image you were trying to present.

And in that silence, he realized it fully: you were living a life constructed from rehearsed lines and half-truths. Your answer to him was almost identical to the one you had given earlier, only reworded, as if the questions he asked were catching you off guard, pushing you off the script you’d so carefully crafted.

Aaron would have let it slide if you’d been able to offer him some real, grounded reason for choosing teaching over the BAU. He might have accepted your words if you had taken a moment to explain why you needed distance from the relentless horrors of the cases, how the endless cycle of darkness had begun to wear on you, or even how teaching offered you a different kind of purpose, a safer way to make a difference.

But you hadn’t said any of that.

You hadn’t shared anything deeper.

It was as if you couldn’t bring yourself to commit to this life you claimed to want.

And then, of course, there was Peter.

If you’d taken a moment to talk about the life you were building together, if you had described it with real conviction - if you’d said that you wanted to marry him, that you wanted to have a family with him, that the ring lying unworn on the desk was a symbol of a future you were ready to embrace - maybe then Aaron would have believed you.

But you hadn’t.

Not now, and not at any point during the evening. Every time Peter was mentioned, every time the conversation grazed the topic of your future, you deflected. You laughed it off, offering vague, safe answers as if uttering anything more concrete might break the fragile illusion you had constructed for yourself. It was as though speaking those words aloud would make you confront a truth you weren’t ready to face.

You had spent the entire night avoiding anything real, anything that would force you to look at the choices you’d made, at the life you were building with Peter, and the pieces of yourself you were leaving behind.

If this life with Peter was truly what you wanted, then where was the passion, the excitement? Where were the words that could solidify the direction you were headed?

Every evasion, every empty laugh, only confirmed what Aaron already knew. This wasn’t the future you were running toward with open arms.

It was a future you were trying to convince yourself to accept.

The ring on the desk was more than just an oversight, it was a symbol of the disconnect between what you were choosing and what you truly wanted.

And he couldn’t hold back any longer.

“You hate your ring,” Aaron said quietly, his voice cutting through the thick silence that had settled between you. The words landed softly but cut through your defenses, each syllable chipping away at the fragile wall you’d so carefully built.

You stiffened, feeling the accusation burrow into you, your immediate response flaring with anger as you struggled to keep him from breaking through. “Excuse me?” you snapped, the words sharp, but your tone betrayed you, there was a quiver of uncertainty. You felt a wave of panic ripple through you as the walls closed in, as if the room itself were shrinking around you.

Aaron took a step closer, his gaze steady, his voice calm but laced with a gentleness that almost made his words sound like an offering. “You hate it,” he repeated, as if handing you a lifeline, as if he were daring you to take it. “And it’s not just because you took it off to cook or forgot to put it back on. You’ve been taking it off more and more, haven’t you? Because every time you look at it, every time you wear it, it feels… wrong.”

You forced a laugh, trying to brush it off, to slip back into that casual, deflective tone that had worked so well all evening. “Aaron, it’s just a ring-”

“No, it’s not,” he interrupted, his voice firmer, yet still soft, his gaze holding yours, unwavering. He took another step closer, so close now that you could see the resolve etched into his face, the sadness lingering in his eyes. “I don’t believe that. I don’t believe a single word of what you just said.”

Your breath caught, the air suddenly thick, pressing down on you as his words struck deep. His expression softened, his voice dropping almost to a whisper, yet it carried a quiet strength that made you feel exposed, vulnerable.

“It’s not just a ring to you,” he said, his tone so gentle it nearly unraveled you. “Nothing is ever ‘just something’ with you. You find meaning in everything. That’s one of the things I’ve always admired about you. It’s the way you look at the world, every little thing matters. You give meaning to things others would overlook, sometimes things they’d never notice. You find depth where others would only see the surface.”

You felt his words dig into you, reaching parts you had tried to bury beneath practicality, beneath a life you had convinced yourself you wanted. He wasn’t letting you hide, wasn’t letting you deflect with empty words or rehearsed responses.

“Even tonight,” he continued, his voice taking on a quiet, reflective tone. “When you spoke about Plato, about the meaning of love through his forms, you weren’t just talking about philosophy. You were talking about yourself. You said the love we feel in this world is a shadow, a reflection of something perfect we can never fully reach. You spoke of it as if you were making excuses for why your love with Peter could be flawed, imperfect, why it could never be what you long for deep down. It was like you were giving yourself permission to settle for less than what you truly want.”

His gaze held you, steady and unyielding, and you felt your defenses slipping, cracking under the weight of his words. He took a breath, and you could see the intensity in his eyes, the way he was letting his own walls down, the way he was stepping into a vulnerability he hadn’t allowed himself in years.

“I’m not a philosopher, I will never be a philosopher,” he said softly, his voice carrying a depth of sincerity that felt like a confession, “but I remembered every word. And I couldn’t agree more when you said that it’s the longing, the striving for the ideal, that gives love its meaning. You said it yourself, ‘Without that yearning, what would love be?’ So tell me-”

He continued, his voice steady, yet filled with a quiet urgency, “are you really reaching for something true, something that reflects that ideal, or are you just convincing yourself to accept a love that’s flawed because you think that’s all you’re going to get? Are you settling for something safe because it’s easier than admitting you might want something more?”

He paused, his words hanging heavily in the air, his eyes searching yours, cutting through every excuse, every half-truth you’d told yourself. “I know you, and I know that nothing is ever ‘just something’ to you. Not love, not life, not death and certainly not this ring.”

Your hands trembled slightly, and you quickly folded them over your chest, your gaze dropping to the floor. “I don’t want to talk about this,” you whispered, the words barely audible, but the trembling in your voice betrayed the flood of emotions swelling up, threatening to break through.

But Aaron didn’t stop.

He saw the tiny cracks forming, the way you were beginning to buckle under the weight of the truth. He recognized it - the way someone’s guard began to fall when they were too close to a truth they weren’t ready to confront. He had seen it so many times before, sitting across from suspects, unsubs. But this time, it was you, and that difference made this moment more personal, more agonizing than any interrogation he’d ever conducted.

He softened his tone, but his words were as precise and cutting as ever, his profiler instincts turned on you, searching, pushing. “You took it off because it’s become something foreign to you. ” he continued, the words gentle but relentless. “It’s been weighing you down ever since that night at the bar, when Peter overstepped your boundaries.”

The room felt impossibly small as his words hung between you. The memory of that night surged forward - Peter’s laughter, his casual dismissal of your privacy, turning it into something public, something you hadn’t even shared with the people closest to you. He had humiliated you, and you had buried the hurt because that’s what you always did.

“Aaron, stop-” you pleaded, your voice shaking.

But he pressed on, the profiler in him pushing past the walls you had built. “He outed you in front of the team. In front of people who, at that point, were practically strangers to you. For a story. And you didn’t confront him about it, did you? You let it go, just like you’ve been letting so many things go.”

You felt the weight of his words press down on you, your breath coming in shallow bursts as you turned away from him, gripping the back of your chair, desperate for something solid, something to hold onto. “We talked about it,” you said, but even to your own ears, the words sounded hollow, a poor attempt at keeping the cracks from widening.

“No, you didn’t,” Aaron countered, his voice low but unyielding, filled with quiet conviction. “You accepted his apology because it was easier than having the fight you needed to have. And honestly, Peter didn’t even know why what he did was wrong, did he? I had to point it out to him when we were alone at the bar, otherwise, he wouldn’t have noticed. He wouldn’t have realized how deeply he crossed your boundaries, how it made you feel. And now you’re standing here trying to convince yourself that this” he gestured toward the ring on the desk, discarded like something forgotten "is fine. That it’s just a piece of jewelry. But it’s not, and you know that.”

You felt the burn of frustration bubbling up inside you, your composure slipping, but it wasn’t just anger anymore. Beneath the frustration, there was a raw, unspoken hurt that you had kept buried for too long. It was beginning to surface, clawing its way to the forefront, and you couldn’t stop it. “Aaron, you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” you bit out, your voice sharp with desperation, your hands tightening into fists.

But Hotch didn’t back down. He stepped closer, his voice steady, yet full of conviction, a quiet determination that refused to let you retreat. “I know you better than you think,” he said, his eyes softened, but there was still that relentless force behind his words, the same precision he used when interrogating someone, when he was peeling back layers to get to the truth. “I’ve known you for years. I’ve watched you. I know how you move through the world, how you give meaning to things, how you choose things carefully, with intention. I know that Peter gives gifts that are meant to impress people, not you.”

You blinked, feeling your throat tighten further as you fought to hold back tears, but Hotch kept going, his words unraveling every defense you had put up.

He gestured toward the ring, his gaze unwavering, holding yours with a quiet intensity. “That ring? A thin band to make the stone look bigger than it is. -

It’s flashy.

It draws attention, but it’s not elegant.

It’s not thoughtful. -

It’s not you. You would have never chosen that ring for yourself. It doesn’t fit your style - yours is subtle, refined, timeless. You wear things that hold meaning, things that blend seamlessly into who you are. You need something sturdy, something with a thicker band, something that won’t get in the way because you use your hands every day.”

He took a step closer, his words steady, unraveling each piece of the life you’d convinced yourself you wanted. “You’re always writing, always creating, whether it’s notes for your students or lesson plans, or even cooking for yourself at home. You never thought you’d have time for hobbies, but now you’ve found them. You’ve grown, and you need something that can grow with you. He didn’t think about that, about how your hands are more than just hands. They’re an extension of you, of how you express yourself, how you care for others. You pour yourself into everything you do, with a quiet grace that’s always been there and that I’ve always loved about you.”

Hotch’s voice softened, though the conviction in it remained. “We’ve exchanged letters for years - six, to be exact. I’ve watched how, in those letters, your handwriting changes. I know when you let the ink smudge, it’s because the topic is close to you, and you can barely keep up with the pace of your thoughts. You don’t just write; it’s a way for you to let your true feelings flow, to put something of yourself onto the page. You need a ring that reflects that, one that fits the life you’ve built - not something that just looks good, not something that’s just there to be seen.”

His voice softened as he stepped closer still, his gaze locked on yours, searching your face. “That ring, it’s not practical for you. And Peter didn’t even think about that, did he? He didn’t think about how you would wear it every day, how you would feel with it on your finger. He chose something that would look impressive to other people, not something that would make you feel at home in it. And it’s not even your favorite stone, is it?”

You froze, your breath catching in your chest as his words hit you harder than you were prepared for. Your heart pounded in your ears, the weight of the truth pressing down on you, suffocating.

“You don’t even know what my favorite stone is,” you whispered, your voice so quiet, so fragile it barely broke the silence. The words were almost a plea, a final attempt to keep some distance between you and the truth he was forcing you to face.

“Yes, I do.” Aaron’s voice was soft, but the conviction in it was unshakeable.

“It’s sapphire.

Dark blue.

The exact shade of the ink you’ve used for years, the ink you wrote every single letter to me with.”

Your heart stuttered, the breath catching in your throat as his words hit something deep inside you, a place you hadn’t let anyone reach in a long time. You felt your hands tremble, and for the first time that night, you truly looked at him - saw him in a way you had been avoiding all evening.

His gaze was locked on yours, steady, relentless, and beneath the surface of his calm, you saw something raw. Something vulnerable. It was a part of him you hadn’t allowed yourself to see for years.

He wasn’t finished. His voice softened, like he was admitting something that had been buried inside for too long. “That color… it’s the only color you allowed yourself to have, especially at work. I’ve never seen you wear anything but black, except for the day you gave that guest lecture in Quantico. You showed up at the BAU afterward, after all those years of just exchanging letters, and you were wearing a light blue shirt.” His eyes flickered, a ghost of a memory crossing his face. “That’s when I realized. You used that color, blue, for everything that mattered. Everything personal. You made sure to keep it close to you, like it was a part of who you are.”

Your throat tightened, emotion pressing down on your chest like a heavy weight, and you couldn’t stop the memories from flooding back.

“Even when I gave you the anniversary pen,” Hotch continued, stepping closer, his gaze never wavering from yours, “the one I bought for you to commemorate the 200th day you failed to beat me to the office - you didn’t use it once for your everyday reports, did you? After a while, I noticed the ink in the pen was lighter than what you usually used. It wasn’t your blue.”

You swallowed hard, your voice failing you as he kept going, each word peeling back a layer of your defenses.

“But you still wrote with it,” Hotch said, taking another step toward you. “Maybe not for everything, but for the things that really mattered. Like my wedding speech… you wrote that with the pen I gave you. And it ran out of ink right at the last sentence. But you didn’t throw it away, even when it ran dry, did you?”

He glanced at the pen sitting on your desk, displayed carefully like an artifact from another time. His voice dropped, almost reverent. “It’s still here. You kept it, not because of its value, not because of how it looks, but because of what it represents. That pen means something to you, something personal.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle, and then his eyes flickered to the engagement ring sitting on the desk, gleaming in the dim light. “But that ring? It doesn’t mean the same thing to you, does it? You don’t keep it with the same care, the same tenderness. It doesn’t feel personal. It doesn’t feel like yours.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you were frozen, unable to move as his words sunk in. How had he noticed? How had he known? You had never consciously thought about it, but it was true. The color blue, it was the only piece of yourself you allowed into the world. It was a quiet reflection of who you were.

Dark blue ink.

A light blue shirt.

And now, with that ring, none of it felt right.

“What do you think you’re doing, Aaron?” Your voice wavered, your tone fragile and desperate as you tried to find solid ground beneath you. The weight of the conversation pressed down on you like a vice, tightening with every word he spoke. “Why are you saying all of this?”

Hotch stepped even closer, his voice filled with something heavy, something undeniable. “Because I care about you. Because I want you to be happy, just like you told me once, years ago. You told me I deserved happiness, and now it’s my turn to say it to you. You won’t be happy with Peter. Not really.”

His words hit you like a blow, knocking the air from your lungs. You swallowed hard, trying to push the emotions back down, trying to keep your voice steady. “You can’t talk to me about my happiness, Aaron. You’ve found yours. You have Haley, you have Jack. You don’t get to tell me what will or won’t make me happy.”

Aaron’s expression darkened, an intensity flickering in his eyes that took you off guard. His voice dropped, and it was filled with an emotion you hadn’t seen in him in years, something raw and unguarded. “Is that what you really think? That I have it all figured out? Do you want to know why I care so much about you being truly happy? Why I can’t bear to watch you waste your life with someone who doesn’t see you? You really want to go there now?”

You straightened, your defenses rising, your voice sharp as you threw the challenge back at him. “Yes, I do.”

The room fell into a tense, charged silence, a storm of unspoken words swirling between you, years of carefully avoided feelings suddenly laid bare. The air felt thick, heavy with everything you’d both been too afraid to say. And then, quietly, Hotch spoke the words that would change everything, words that broke through every wall you had built, that shattered the careful balance you had clung to for so long.

“I loved you.”

The words lingered, quiet yet devastating, tearing through you with a force that left you breathless. You could feel your heart splinter, every emotion you’d tried to bury rising to the surface, raw and exposed. You had spent so long convincing yourself that he had moved on, that you had made the right choice all those years ago. But here he was, laying everything bare, pulling back the curtain on a truth you hadn’t allowed yourself to imagine.

But he wasn’t finished.

“I loved you,” Aaron repeated, his voice soft, almost broken, like a man confessing to something he’d kept buried for too long. "I’ve loved you for years.”

The silence between you was deafening, the only sound your ragged breath as the weight of his words settled in your chest like a heavy stone. The pain that had been festering for years, the doubts, the regrets, they all surged to the surface at once. And before you could stop yourself, the words came spilling out, raw and trembling.

“You loved me?” you breathed, disbelief trembling on your lips before it hardened into something sharper. Years of hurt and anger bubbled up, mixing with the grief you’d buried for so long. “You loved me?”

Aaron’s eyes searched yours, and you saw the flicker of pain, the vulnerability in his gaze. But it wasn’t enough. Not after everything.

“You want to talk about love, Aaron?” Your voice cracked, the weight of eight years of silence breaking apart, spilling out as though you couldn’t contain it any longer. “The reason I took that job abroad was because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I needed to run from you, from us. I left everyone I knew, everything I loved, and threw myself into a life where I had to start over, day after day. I thought that maybe if I was far enough away, if I was alone enough, I could forget what we could have been. That maybe, somehow, I could leave all the ‘what-ifs’ behind. But it didn’t work. It never worked. It just made it hurt worse.”

Aaron flinched, his face tight with pain, absorbing each word like a fresh wound, but you pressed on, the anger burning in your chest, spilling over.

“And do you know what the worst part was?” Your voice cracked, thick with emotion. “It was your letters, Aaron. -

I lived only to read your letters.

They were my lifeline. Every time I saw your handwriting, it was like being reminded all over again of what we could have had. I read them over and over, hoping that maybe they’d help me remember why I’d made this sacrifice in the first place. But they only made it worse. Every letter, every single one, was a reminder of what I’d lost. And all I could think was, what did we really gain? What did all of this sacrifice really bring us?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, the words pouring out, your voice rough with unshed pain. “I loved working at the BAU. I built my entire life around it, Aaron. That job was my purpose, and I left it because of you. I spent years in Europe, moving from one city to the next, trying to outrun everything that reminded me of us. But as soon as I felt at home somewhere, it would all come flooding back - the memories, the regrets. I’d lie awake at night, wondering what we’d lost, what we’d thrown away. And then, eventually, I stopped. I had to stop. I couldn’t keep living on the hope of what might have been. That’s when I let Peter in, when I started to believe that maybe I could make a new kind of happiness. Not the one I’d dreamed of, but a real one, grounded and steady.”

Hotch’s expression shattered, but you didn’t stop.

You couldn’t.

“You think you know what love is?” you spat, your voice trembling. “I loved you more than I loved myself. I tore myself apart for you because I thought you’d be better off. I walked away because I wanted you to be happy, and I’ve never regretted it, I would choose your happiness over mine, every time. So don’t you dare stand here, six years later, and tell me you loved me. I’m over you, Aaron. I’ve been over you, for a long time now.”

Hotch looked as though he had been struck, his face etched with anguish, and for a moment, it seemed like he might crumble. His voice, when he finally spoke, was rough, barely above a whisper. “You loved me that much… and you just walked away?”

“Yes,” you continued, your voice hoarse with emotion. “I loved you enough to let you go. Now, Aaron, it’s your turn. Let me go.”

Hotch’s face crumpled, the pain in his expression morphing into something raw, almost desperate. His voice rose, his frustration breaking through, spilling out in waves. “But you’re still living a lie! You sacrificed yourself for me, and now you’re doing the same with Peter. You’re going to settle for a life that doesn’t make you happy because you think it’s what you need? You deserve more than this!”

The anger surged up, hot and fierce, and you stepped closer, your eyes flashing. “You don’t get to tell me what I deserve. You think Peter is less? You think I don’t know what I’m doing? I made my choice, Aaron. I’ve built a life with him, and you don’t get to judge that.”

He shook his head, his voice rough and bitter, the frustration rolling off him in waves. “He doesn’t know you like I do. He doesn’t see you the way I do. He doesn’t know how your mind works, how you pour yourself into everything you do, how you can’t sit still in a world that asks for mediocrity. You were never meant to live a quiet life in some corner of the world, pretending to be content with something less. You’ve always needed more. You deserve more.”

His voice thickened with emotion, his gaze hardening as if the truth of his words hurt him as much as it hurt you. “You deserve someone who understands that. Someone who knows you’re not the type to settle. You need someone who’s willing to love you fully, the way you deserve - someone who can see the fire in you and fan it, not extinguish it. Peter doesn’t see that in you. He can’t give you that.”

Aaron’s voice cracked, his frustration spilling into something closer to anguish. “You deserve someone who’s willing to love you as fiercely as I did back then, someone who truly understands how much you’re worth and knows the lengths you’ll go to just to be understood. You deserve someone who sees the way you challenge the world, who knows how hard you fight, and respects every bit of that fire in you.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his voice breaking with the weight of what he was saying. “You were strong enough to walk away all those years ago, to tear yourself apart so that I could have the life you thought I deserved. And if you were brave enough to do that, then you should be strong enough now to stop lying to yourself. You’re pretending, trying to convince yourself that settling with Peter is what you want. But it’s not who you are, and it never will be. You’re not the type to choose a life that asks you to be less than everything you’re capable of being.”

He took a breath, his eyes dark, intense, his voice a mix of longing and frustration. "I know you. Better than you know yourself right now."

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you forced yourself to stay steady, your voice low, laced with fury. “You think you’re better than Peter because you didn’t overstep my physical boundaries? You’re wrong, Aaron. Right now, you’re worse, you’re overstepping my emotional boundaries - I asked you to stop but you didn’t listen, not even once. You lost the right to tell me how to live my life the moment we walked away from each other. If you can’t respect that, if you can’t let me go, then I’ll make sure to erase myself from your life.”

His face crumpled, his hands trembling at his sides, his entire body taut with the force of everything he was holding back. He looked like he was going to break, like he was fighting a battle that he knew he was losing. He took a step back, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just wanted you to be happy,” he choked out, his eyes meeting yours, raw, vulnerable. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

His words tore through you, unraveling something deep inside. You saw the sincerity in his gaze, the desperation, the sadness. He looked at you one last time, his eyes lingering as if trying to memorize everything, his face filled with a pain that was almost unbearable to witness.

Finally, he turned to the door, his movements stiff, almost mechanical. He paused with his hand on the doorknob, his back to you, and for a moment, you thought he might turn around, that he might say something else, that he might reach out, one last time, to change everything. But he didn’t.

“If that’s what you want,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. “If you want me to let go, them -

I’ll let you go.”

---

Hotch hadn’t heard from you since that night.

The night that left him feeling hollow, stripped bare like a man exposed to a storm he’d never anticipated.

He replayed the words you’d spoken, over and over, each one twisting deeper like a knife, carving wounds he had no way of healing. You’d been his last constant, the one person who had seen him fully, who had known the side of him he kept hidden from everyone else.

Now, you were truly gone, more distant than you had ever been, even when the Atlantic had separated you. There would be no more letters, no careful, handwritten notes, no familiar roughness of paper bearing your looping, blue-inked script, only the echoes of what you’d shared, remnants of a partnership and friendship torn away from him.

And the pain of losing you was so much deeper because you were the one person he never thought would leave.

He was already disappointing Haley on the daily basis, failing to be the husband she deserves as he chose the demands of his work over the family they’ve always dreamed of. The guilt over Jack haunted him daily - the missed milestones, the countless nights he’d spent in hotel rooms instead of by his son’s side.

He had come to accept that his choices had cost him more than he’d ever anticipated, that his absences had created a rift in his family he could never fully mend. But you… you were the one person he’d believed would always stay, the one person who had somehow seen past the darkness and chosen to stand beside him.

And now, you had stepped away too.

The realization struck him with a weight so heavy it almost brought him to his knees. You, who had known him better than anyone, who had been his friend, his confidant, his solace through all of it, were now just a memory.

In some ways, it felt like the final blow, the one that shattered whatever hope he’d clung to that he might still have someone by his side who truly understood.

You had been his last anchor, and without you, he felt adrift, more alone than he ever had before. The pain of it made everything else - the failures, the regrets - seem even sharper, a brutal reminder that he had pushed away the very people who had mattered most.

And now, there was no going back.

With you gone, the work was all he had left to cling to.

But every moment he spent trying to bury himself in case files and late-night profiles only reminded him of what he’d lost. More and more, he found himself imagining how different things might have been if you had stayed - if that night, instead of saying goodbye, you’d agreed to return to the BAU, to stand by his side once more.

How the team would have flourished with your presence, how your calm confidence and unyielding strength would have held them together, even as they all faced their own private battles. And how he, too, would have found a sense of solace, knowing that his partner, his confidant, his best friend, his lost love was there to share the burdens he carried.

In the months since you left, Hotch had watched his team begin to fracture.

Derek, always the strongest among them, had been forced to confront the ghosts of his past. Hotch saw the hurt in Derek’s eyes, the way he hid behind a mask, shielding himself from those who reached out to help. Hotch had tried to be there, to offer words of comfort, but each time he spoke, he felt the words fall flat, hollow, unable to bridge the distance between them.

He knew you would have known what to say, that you would have sat beside Derek and quietly drawn him out, helping him face his pain. Nights after, Hotch would lie awake, wishing he could call you, just to hear your voice, to ask you what he should do.

But he couldn’t.

You weren’t there to reassure him, to guide him, to help him carry the weight he so often bore alone.

And now, you would never be there again for him.

Then there was Reid.

He would never forget the hollow look in Reid’s eyes after his abduction, the way he seemed almost lost, his usual sharp mind clouded with a fear and vulnerability that shattered Hotch’s heart. Reid had always been their anchor, his intellect a shield against the horrors they faced. But that shield had cracked, and Hotch found himself struggling to help Reid rebuild, to provide the guidance Reid so desperately needed.

He knew you would have understood Reid’s pain in a way Hotch simply couldn’t. He could picture how you’d take Reid aside, your quiet, wise words full of empathy, your presence soothing the rawness of his wounds. You would have known exactly what to say, using your own intellect to help rebuild his, weaving in those philosophical insights Reid cherished so much. You had a way of reaching him, grounding him with calm understanding, and speaking to him on a deeper, metaphysical level that only you could.

Without you, Hotch felt helpless, as though he were failing the very people he’d promised to protect.

And then there was Gideon.

Watching Gideon unravel had been like staring into a mirror, reflecting a grief Hotch knew all too well.

Gideon, the man who had faced countless horrors, who had weathered storms that would have broken anyone else, had finally crumbled under the weight of his own loss. Frank’s cruelty had robbed him of Sarah, just as Hotch had been robbed of you. He could see himself in Gideon’s brokenness, could feel the pain that Gideon bore in silence, the same pain that now echoed in his own heart.

You and Gideon had both been his beacons, the ones who had filled the shadows with a light he clung to, and now, with both of you gone, he was left to navigate the darkness alone.

He was left to stumble through the darkness, to fight battles he was no longer sure he could win, knowing that the one person who had truly known him, who had quietly loved him even when he couldn’t love himself, was gone.

Each case, each crime scene was a reminder of all the moments you’d shared, of the life you’d built together, only to watch it crumble. He clung to the hope that somehow, some way, he could find you again, that the life you’d left behind would come back to him. But deep down, he knew that hope was just another ghost, haunting him, whispering of things that might have been.

And now, standing in Strauss’s office, the weight of it all pressed down on him, so heavy he thought it might break him. He met her gaze, the sharpness in her eyes a harsh reminder of everything that had fallen apart.

She watched him, waiting for him to justify himself, to justify the team that had become the only thing he had left.

He could see the doubt in her eyes, the calculation. She saw him as a man on the verge of failure, and she wasn’t wrong. But she didn’t know the cost, didn’t know what it had taken for him to keep standing.

"As your superior, I am questioning your ability to lead your team.”

He took a breath, summoning every ounce of strength he had left. His voice was steady, but beneath it lay a trembling, a fragility that betrayed just how close he was to breaking. “My team?” he said, a hint of defiance hardening his tone. “Let me tell you about my team.”

He thought of Derek, his mind flashing to that moment in Chicago, the pain etched into his friend’s face, the way he’d borne the burden alone because he didn’t trust anyone enough to share it. “Agent Morgan fought to protect his identity from the very people who could save him - why? Because trust has to be earned, and there are very few people he truly trusts.”

He paused, a bitter taste in his mouth as he remembered how he’d failed, how he hadn’t been able to reach Derek in the way he needed. You would have. You would have known how to ease his pain.

“Reid’s intellect is a shield which protects him from his emotions,” he continued, his voice softening, a raw edge creeping into it as he pictured Reid’s broken expression, the hollow look that haunted his eyes. “And at the moment, his shield is under repair.”

Hotch’s chest tightened. Reid’s pain had become his own, a constant reminder of the fragility he’d seen in you, the way you’d fought to rebuild yourself when you’d come back from the edge. You would have been there for Reid. You would have known what to say. But now, without you, Hotch felt helpless, standing by as the people he cared about struggled to hold themselves together.

“Prentiss overcompensates because she doesn’t yet feel she’s a part of the team.” A flicker of pride crossed his face as he spoke of her, her fierce determination, her unyielding loyalty. “She needn’t worry.” He thought of how hard she worked, how much she wanted to belong. He knew you would have recognized it in her, would have encouraged her the way only you could.

He forced himself to continue, his voice growing firmer, even as the sadness in his chest grew heavier. “Every day, Agent Jareau fields dozens of requests for our team. And every night, she goes home hoping she’s made the right choices.” He thought of JJ’s quiet strength, the way she carried the weight of her decisions, never letting it show how much it cost her. He knew you would have admired her resolve, would have understood the strength it took to keep going.

“Garcia fills her office with figurines and color to remind herself to smile as the horror fills her screens.” He thought of Garcia’s laugh, the way she fought to keep the darkness at bay with her light. You would have seen the courage in her, would have understood that her joy was her shield, the way she protected herself from the horrors she witnessed every day.

But it was Gideon’s pain that hit him hardest, and he struggled to keep his voice steady as he spoke of the man who had once been his mentor.

“And Agent Gideon… In many ways, he is damned by his profound knowledge of others. Which is why he shares so little of himself, yet he pours his heart into every case we handle.” Hotch remembered the look in Gideon’s eyes, the emptiness that had consumed him since Sarah’s death. He had seen the same hollowness in himself, the same agony of losing someone you had let into your heart. Gideon had been undone by it, just as Hotch had been undone by you.

He straightened, meeting Strauss’s gaze with a fierce determination. “I stand by my actions, and I stand by my team. And if you think that you can find a better person for the job, good luck.”

Strauss’s expression remained cold, her eyes narrowing. She leaned forward, her voice a sharp blade, cutting through his defenses. “Agent Hotchner,” she said, her tone clipped.

Hotch’s response was immediate, his voice a quiet, simmering intensity. “How do I know you favor your son? I’m good at my job.”

He knew he was good at his job.

He had to be.

It was the only thing he had left, the one thing he could control in a world that felt like it was slipping away.

He’d lost you, just as he had lost so much.

But he wouldn’t lose this.

He couldn’t.

---

Dado's Corner pt.2: I always read this whenever my heart gets broken... To build something meaningful, sometimes we have to tear down the entire house and rebuild from the foundation up.

taglist: @beata1108 ; @cuddleprofiler ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @kyrathekiller ; @lorereid ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @todorokishoe24

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #hotch #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #criminal minds x reader

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buckys-little-belle · 8 months ago

Note

Hi!! I love your story’s and am always looking for little and daddy Bucky story’s!! I was wondering if you could do insecure reader who’s bigger. She has bigger thighs a bigger tummy and face. Could you do reader is scared to sit on buckys lap or for him to pick her up and carry her around the house. She’s too scared she’s heavy and will crush him and his legs. or that he will drop her because she’s too big. She also never cuddles and sleeps with him in his room always sleeping in her room after he puts her to bed because she’s scared about her breathing or how she sleeps.

Bucky gets her to tell him why and then comfort. Just fluff fluff fluff. If your not comfortable writing this I totally understand!!! If you do could you ad paci use? Thank you!!! Sorry for the rambling…

Strongest Man Alive

Bucky Barnes x Plus Sized!Little!Reader (She/Her Pronouns Used)

Notes - This is not my best work, and has been in my drafts for MONTHS, it's something cute, and a little angsty at the beginning, but it does get super fluffy at the end. It's a little bit different than my usual writting style, so I apologize for that, but I do hope you like it and if not I'm so sorry! I hope I did this ask justice, and I hope everyone is having a good week!!! <3

Warnings - Talks of reader being self conscious for being 'bigger', kept very vague as she uses the words "heavy" and "squishy" to describe her body type instead of more concrete descriptions, the use of a pacifier is very brief as it's something I'm not used to writing, though I would be willing to continue, mentions of reader eating food "snacks" and "sandwich" though never specified, FLUFF at the end, but there is a moment of angst, I DON'T KNOW IF THIS IS A COHEARANT STORY, it's from the drafts and I gave it a once over and I think it's 'good enough' so I apologize if it's terrible <3

SFW - Please keep all interactions with this post, and this blog, SFW.

. ☾ . ☆ . ☽ . ☆ . ☾ . ☆ . ☽ . ☆ . ☾ . ☆ . ☽ .

Y/n often spent their time at the Avengers tower sitting, standing, lingering around Bucky Barnes. It wasn't on purpose, the man just seemed to be the other half of some magnet imbedded deep in Y/n's heart. He just had some ability to pull her towards him.

Maybe it was the way he cut her sandwiches into perfect triangles, or the way his hand always found hers when she got scared. Maybe it was the way he seemed to be reserved around anyone but her that made her feel so connected to him.

He never sulked but always seemed to walk around with a frown stuck on his face, only ever changing it to a smile when she walked by his office or stopped by his room.

As much as Y/n felt like she was pulled to him, Bucky felt it multiplied by 100. His hands always aching to hold hers, his chest always feeling heavy when he began to think about her needing something and him not being around to help her.

The whole tower knew about Y/n's regression. Wanda and Peter often joined in, hanging out in little space and colouring in books Tony had provided, watching whatever new animated movie had just come out and sleeping over in makeshift tents in the living room.

Often other Avengers would help supervise activities, Steve loved playing action fighters in the common areas, Nat loved cuddle puddle on the couch, and Thor was always ready for a park day. Bucky on the other hand liked to stay in the shadows, buying stickers for the group of littles, making them lunch and dropping it off.

Bucky only stuck around if Y/n asked him to hang out with her. "Bucky can you hold my hand?" She had asked him when at the park, he of course grabbed her hand and helped her up the jungle gym.

"Bucky can you open this please?" She had whispered during a movie, her baggie full of snacks too difficult to manage on her own. He opened the baggie and held it in his own grasp, handing her a piece of candy anytime she had finished the previous one.

"Bucky will you colour with me?" She had yelled her ask one day when he was passing by the kitchen, Y/n sat at the island with markers scattered across the marble. He silently sat down and diligently coloured the page she had given him, helping her chase markers that had fallen.

He knew she was comfortable asking for what she wanted, and he knew she wasn't afraid of him ... so, it made his chest tighten every time she asked him to grab something from the top shelf instead of asking to be lifted like Wanda and Peter often asked.

He also felt off every time a little would come running out of their room after a nightmare, rushing into someone's room for a cuddle, yet Y/n's door never opened and neither did his.

Bucky was sure it was his fault she didn't seek him out for cuddles, he thought he had done something wrong when she never asked for a hug. Was it his arm? Was she scared he would turn on her? He couldn't figure it out.

That is until he realised she never asked anyone for a cuddle, or a hug. Nat, Wanda, and Peter would be all comfy on the couch and Y/n would be sat on the chair, a small frown on her face yet she never tried to find a spot next to her friends. And when she scraped her knee on the playground she declined Thor's offer of a "healing" hug.

"Y/n?" His voice was quiet but direct as he called out into the playroom, Y/n sat on the softly coloured rug, her stuffed animals scattered about.

"Hi Bucky!" She smiled, her pacifier tumbling out of her mouth and onto the ground.

"Hi." He sat down across from her, quickly pocketing the fallen pacifier before sought out the, now, dirty thing. "What are you playing?" His hands brushed a stuffed teddy, Y/n tilting her head in confusion as she looked around her.

"'m just dressen 'm up." She smiled at him, grabbing a stuffed unicorn and brushing it's fur back into place, shuffling closer to Bucky as she gathered a few other stuffed animals.

The moment her knees hit his she shifted back, so Bucky shifted his towards her again. Like clockwork she moved and left a small gap between them. "Y/n?"

"Mhm." She looked back at him, her smile one he could easily read through.

"Am I scary?" He asked calmly, not once loosing eye contact as she shook her head 'no'. "Do I smell?" He asked, this time with a laugh.

"No!" She giggled.

"Then why do you run every time I touch you." Instead of answering she bowed her head, hands running over the stuffed animal anxiously. "Why don't you hug Wanda or Peter?" He was worried that all the questions would make her want to run, but as she huffed and leaned into his space slightly he continued. "I know Thor was pretty sad when you declined his hug the other day." That one wasn't a lie, the man had gone on a rant about how he thought he had done something wrong, how he was sure Y/n hated him.

"I jus', I don' want them t' be mad." She admitted, huffing at the end of her sentence. "'m jus', 'm heavy, an' squishy. Wanda and Pete aren't heavy an' squishy." She admitted, eyes locked on the wall, the stuffed unicorn held a little closer to her body.

"What do you mean Baby?" Bucky asked, confused as to what she was alluding to.

"It's harder t' pick me up." She finally looked back at him, tears beginning to gather along her waterline. "And cuddling wif me wouldn' be th' same." She shrugged, trying to play it off like she wasn't bothered by her own words.

The tightness in Bucky's chest didn't ease up with his answer, his worry only growing. He had hoped it was an easy thing to fix, yet knowing Y/n didn't hug her friends, or him, because she felt too big made him hurt. "Baby," He began, not giving Y/n a second to doubt him, he picked her up and sat her in his lap. "you aren't 'too heavy' to pick up." He hated how quickly she curled into his chest, how clear it was that she was missing human connection. "I'm the strongest man alive, and you saying that you're too heavy is going to bruise my ego a bit, Baby." They both laughed, a few of Y/n's tears hitting the fabric of Bucky's shirt.

"I thought Steve was th' strongest man alive?"

"I let him win when we arm wrestle." Bucky admitted, causing Y/n to break out into a fit of giggles.

"'m gonna tell him!" She stood up, bolting for the door.

"Oh no you don't!" Bucky ran after her, lifting her off her feet in the middle of the hallway, Y/n pausing with a gasp, bracing for the two of them to fall, yet laughing along with Bucky as jostled her around, threatening to take her new colouring page off the fridge if she told anyone his secret.

After a pinky promise and some juice Y/n began to trust Bucky a little bit more. She let him pick her up at the playground, and gave him a hug before bed every night. She still worried her hugs were 'bad', that maybe no one would want to hug her because she wasn't 'little' but Bucky never once complained, instead asking for hugs in the morning too.

It took her a while to truly trust that Bucky wasn't lying when he said his back didn't hurt after picking her up, but eventually she became comfortable enough to run and jump into his arms, something she had always dreamed of doing.

It wasn't until a month later that Bucky woke up at 4 am to the sound of Y/n's hurried footsteps rushing to his door. Light creeping in from the opened door she didn't close as she ran to his bed. The sound of soft cries and whispers of "Nightmare" filling the usually quiet space.

Instead of letting her think too much about how she 'should' be cuddling, Bucky just scooped her up and tucked her into his bed, letting her know he'd protect her, and her stuffed animal. He liked having her in his room, it made him feel at ease knowing she was close.

After a few months of staying in Bucky's room, Y/n began to get out of her shell a bit more, hugging Wanda and Peter, and eventually accepting Thor's 'healing' hugs. She finally joined in during the weekly cuddle puddle, laughing along side Nat and her friends as they all got cozy on the couch. And for the first time ever she let someone else, the second strongest man alive, Steve Rogers pick her up. A pride filled movement the man would never forget.

Even though it took her a little longer than everyone else to be comfortable hugging and snuggling, she was happy to finally be apart of the group in ways she wasn't before. Bucky, the man who still often stayed in the shadows, helping from a distance, couldn't help but feel a little lighter every time he saw his girl get over her worries, knowing if anything got to be 'too much' she'd come running to him.

#buckys little belle #anon #age regression #little!reader #age regression fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x little!reader #bucky x little!reader #bucky

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amorchai · 2 months ago

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𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐌!𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐒.

written for my old blog but never posted!

pairing(s): tasm!peter parker x reader

words: 926

warnings/tags: established relationship, r is implied to have a period – however, not ultimately gender specific.

it had been early evening, the sun setting across the horizon of new york, a faded orange hue emitting in the small apartment window of your kitchen as you stand by the stove. you’re scrolling through your phone, trying to relocate the recipe with your ingredients waiting by the countertop.

however, from the moment you pour water into the large pot atop the heating hob, you jump at the sound of a tapping window. turning your head, you’re met with the masked face of spider-man, a dorky wave sent your way.

leaving your things to the side, you wipe your hands across your apron before walking towards the tiny window to push open, allowing peter to stumble into the room. “hey, baby,” his adorable voice starting as he tugs the backpack from his shoulders to place on the wobbly kitchen table which tilts upon impact, “still need to fix that,” peter notes to himself while pulling his mask off.

his spikey hair flops in front of his eyes as he discards the mask to the side, facing you with open arms who smiles at him warmly with the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen. peter places a kiss on your head as you melt into his chest.

“thought i’d find you in here at this time.”

“you know me too well,” you reply, mumbled against peter’s chest. he smirks, hands trailing up and down your arms softly while looking over your head to the array of ingredients, “what’s for dinner tonight?”.

pulling away from him, you walk towards the kitchen counter and back to the food ready to cook, allowing peter to follow you like a lost-puppy, arms swivelling so he can cuddle you from behind.

“noodles with veg, going to make some curry sauce,” peter hums approvingly, against your head. “that time of the month?” asks peter, knowing they’re two of your comfort foods merged together.

“yeah.”

“well, perfect timing, because in that case…” peter trails off, arms dropping from your side and allowing you to start cutting some spring onion, curiously listening for him to continue.

usually on days like this, he would stop by your apartment before going on patrol, leaving a bag of fresh clothes to change into when he would return to your side for night-time cuddles. however, tonight he has a thicker bag containing more things.

“what’s that, pete?” you ask curiously when the shuffling from behind stops, you turn your head to catch a glimpse of his face. he holds up three books under his chin with his eyes squished into an innocent, happy smile to show off.

“got you these,” his voice a murmur as his gloved hands moves the books into a tower while returning to your side to show you. cheesy romantic stories, laced with fake dating tropes or colleagues to lovers because it became a tradition to both read the same cliché books and talk about the scenarios afterwards.

you knew while he got you these, it was partly because he loves those categories himself and knew it would be up for grabs once you’re done. plus, you had little space left around the house for your endless books, mainly bought with or by peter himself, feeding the addiction.

but ever since dating you, finding your love in books appeasing and was able to take the time he lost when becoming spider-man to start reading again. your favourite date with your spider-boy being reading days in the café or under a tree during a warm summer’s day.

“thank you but you know more than anyone that i don’t need more books, pete,” you giggle and glance up at his proud and giddy expression as he dismisses your comment to show you the cover to the second book. “this cover reminded me of you, i really liked the purple background and illustrated flowers, plus this is also fake dating!”

you watch the way peter gushes, unable to look at the covers as you mainly focus on his reaction to his gestures so sweet but he considers casual. “are they all fake dating?” you ask with a grin, peter checking the third book before meeting her eyes, flitting between each one with his dorky smile matching yours.

“yup,” a pop in the ‘p’ while he responds.

“do you sometimes wish that you fake dated me first before we fell in love?” you ask in a teasing tone, watching as peter leans closer, nudging your nose as he shakes his head lovingly. “you didn’t give me time to, by the time you spilled the coffee on me i was already head over heels,” you scrunch your eyes at his response before he continued, “which is the cliché romantic meeting i’m more than happy to claim, we’re our own romance book, baby.”

with a kiss upon your lips, peter begrudgingly moves away with a displeasing groan while placing the books beside his bag, “gotta go on patrol, i’ll be back later, ‘k?”. you nod with a smile, turning back to the counter but watching peter as he moves to the open window, mask in hand.

“i’ll leave you some food in the fridge.” you comment as he slides the mask back over his face, leaning out the window but willing to respond normally, “thank you, baby. i better come back to you asleep with one of your new books.”

“you bet. be safe, spidey.” you reply, watching as he gives you a thumbs up before shooting a web at the building across, shouting while he jumps, “love you, baby!”

amorchai masterlist . taglist form

#— ꒰꒰ ➵ amorchai works ౨ৎ ꒱꒱#marvel┊ ➶ tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter parker #peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker imagine #tasm!peter parker fluff #tasm!peter parker x you #peter parker #tasm!peter #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!peter x y/n #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter fluff

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alisonwritesimagines · 2 years ago

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Naps in the Quinjet ~Peter Parker Imagine~

Requested by @manyfandomsfanvergent:

Peter Parker x female!Stark!reader

Reader and Peter getting back from a mission, on the quinjet, and the other avengers can't get over how adorable they are

Bc they are all cuddled, and how about Peter got a mild concussion so he's just snuggling int reader

Summary: After a rough mission, both you and Peter crash together in the quinjet.

Author’s Note: I got physically sick last night from being in charge of a family trip because no one understands a certain amusement park like I do.

Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: fluff, mentions of blood, mentions of concussions, injuries, reader gives out some Alex Russo vibes

Side Note: This is a secondary blog. If you comment a question down below, I will not answer since this is not the main blog. Please send the question to my inbox if you want a response back!

Do not repost this anywhere!

Your father was never fond of the idea of you joining the Avengers team. However, it was bound to happen since your father was non other than Tony Stark. So you were a target to most enemies.

When your father took in Peter Parker after the civil war fiasco, you two have been together like glue. You both were the same age, liked the same stuff, and you two had fought many enemies together side by side.

However, this mission was harsher than any one that you and Peter have faced. Your father had to carry you back to the quinjet before setting you down on a bench.

"You should've been more careful," your father scolded you.

"I was careful," you tell him.

"No you weren't. Because if you were careful, you wouldn't have a wound on the side of your body," your father tells you.

"It's technically a minor wound," you tell him.

"Minor or not, I'm still upset you got hurt," your father tells you. "And that goes for you to."

You looked over at Peter who sat next to you. Peter had a cut on his head that was making him bleed a little. You frowned a little as you stared at his cut. Natasha walked over to the two of you before fixing Peter up a little until you guys got back.

"You okay, Peter?" You asked him.

"I'll be alright."

"You two can be reckless, you know that?" Tony tells you two, looking at you both with a stern look.

"But we survived," you pointed out. Tony gave you a look, making you quiet.

"Let's head out already so the two can be checked out," Tony tells Clint and Steve.

"On our way," Clint told Tony as he began the quinjet.

"Peter?" You asked.

"Yeah?"

"Wanna take a nap?"

"Yeah."

Natasha noticed you both first. She smiled softly as you leaned your head onto Peter's shoulder with his arm wrapped around you. His head was leaned back against the wall, making him look up at the ceiling as he slept.

"Steve," Natasha said quietly.

"What?"

"Look," Natasha pointed over. He looked over and smiled at the two of you.

"Tony's gonna have a blast when he sees that," Steve chuckled.

"Hold on. Before you tell him or before he finds out," Natasha said before taking out her phone. She snapped a photo of the two of you before smirking at the photo.

"Okay, now he can see the two," Natasha joked.

"Hey, Tony," Steve called out to get his attention.

"What?"

"How do you feel about y/n dating?" Steve asked him.

"I'm not ready for her to date," Tony said.

"Well you might need to get ready soon," Natasha said as she looked over at the two of you.

Tony followed her gaze to see you comfortably sleeping on Peter. Both Steve and Natasha smiled at Tony's small look of disapproval.

"He's a good kid. Plus they always hang out. What will be the difference?" Steve asked Tony.

"Because I would need to see him as a potential threat to her," Tony pointed out.

"How is Peter a potential threat to y/n?" Natasha asked.

"Because she is my little girl and if anyone hurts her, I will throw them up in space without any oxygen," Tony told her.

"Oh please. For anything, it would be Peter to get hurt from y/n," Natasha told him.

"Let them sleep. They need it," Steve told the two.

Once you all made it back to the base, you woke up to feeling Peter's arm around you. You felt your cheeks heat up as you looked up at Peter.

"Peter. Wake up," you whispered as you gently woke him up.

"Hmm?" Peter asked as his eyes opened up a little.

"We're back. Let's go get fixed up. And then maybe later, we can watch a movie?" You asked.

"I would need to check in with my aunt first," Peter told her.

"Of course. But whenever you're available, we can have a movie night?" You asked.

"I'd like that," Peter said as he helped you over to the infirmary.

"I bet you ten bucks those two will get together within the week," Natasha tells Steve.

"Ten bucks says Tony is going to have a small fit over her dating," Steve added.

"You're on," Natasha smirked at Steve as the two shook on it.

Bonus:

"You two are dating?!" Tony asked in shock.

"Yes. And I am old enough to date. Don't make me remind you of your dating history," you pointed out.

"At least it's with Peter," Pepper pointed out.

"Thank you," you tell her.

"Just no kissing in front of me okay?" Tony said.

"No promises."

While you and your father argued about your dating life, Peter looked at Natasha and Steve confused on why Natasha gave Steve ten dollars. The three were sitting together while they watched you defend your relationship with Peter.

"Why did you give Cap ten dollars?" Peter asked Natasha.

"Don't worry about it kid."

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #spiderman #spiderman x reader #spiderman imagine #marvel #marvel imagine #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #alisonwritesimagines

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superblysubpar · 5 months ago

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<- part three | part five -> | series masterlist

chapter summary: Steve drives you to work all week.

the song: Smoke by Caroline Polachek

also for your listening pleasure: Do You Believe In Love by Huey Lewis & The News, We Are the Champions by Queen, and In Your Eyes by Peter Gabriel

6,475 words | please see masterlist for gen warnings / wearing steve’s clothing, but size isn’t mentioned / for the purposes of this fic, you drink coffee and you take it sweet / alcohol mentions/consumption - you are tipsy in this / brief descriptions of car accidents/injury with some blood/ slight descriptions of panic/anxiety happening to Steve | my blog is 18+

Hawkins, Indiana - Tuesday

You slam the alarm button down when it goes off on Tuesday morning, sitting on your bed, fully dressed, one hour too early.

Your knee bounces up and down, your teeth rip at the skin next to your thumb, and you stare at the clock, counting down, literally, to when your ride will be here.

Steve had offered, when he dropped you off last night, to pick you up all week. It was supposed to rain off and on till Friday, you shouldn’t have to bike so far, it was the least he could do all babbled out of him as you sat in his passenger seat still wearing his clothes.

What was the surprise, to both of you, is that you’d said yes to his offer.

He’d blinked at you, you blinked at him and he nodded, fingers fiddling with the radio dial as he murmured, “Cool, cool.”

You’d sat in his passenger seat in silence, both staring out the windshield at your apartment complex until Steve cleared his throat and looked at you with raised eyebrows.

“Oh!” You quickly snapped off the seatbelt and pushed the door open, pausing to look down at the clothes you had on and the wet ones in your hands. “Um, I’ll, I can change quick and-“

“No!”

He snapped his jaw closed and rubbed at his temple, blowing out a breath before he gestured, “I meant, like, don’t go to the trouble. It’s late, and, I’ll see you, and it’s fine, I don’t even wear those pants to sleep in because they’re too hot and-“

“Steve?” You interrupted, lips twitching against a smile.

“Yeah?” He replied limply.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Robin.”

“Tell me about it.”

He smiled. You smiled. Something was definitely wrong with your stomach and so, sure you were about to be sick in his car, you mumbled something about seeing him tomorrow and quickly closed the door, then climbed the stairs up to your front door.

Steve waited to back out of his parking spot until you were safely inside where he couldn’t see you fall backwards against the door with an exhale and you couldn’t see him rubbing his face at the exit of the complex mumbling the word ‘idiot’.

Which is what you felt like, when you woke up with the sunrise, still wearing Steve Harrington’s clothes.

And you were still feeling like it after you showered, scrubbing at your skin till it stung because you felt like you needed to wash off any evidence of the smell that clung to your body like it was supposed to. But somehow that didn’t stop you from spending longer on picking out an outfit, or taking more time to get ready. Reasoning with yourself that it was because you didn’t have to bike, that you woke up early, it’s nice to dress up and take care of yourself every once in awhile, it feels good to be put together for no one but yourself.

This is what you’re currently telling your reflection, avoiding eye contact with the sweatshirt as you stomp out of the room towards your kitchen.

But as you move down your hallway, something, or rather someone, outside the window catches your eye and you grab your bag and leave your apartment to figure out what he’s doing.

Steve’s crouched down next to your bike, large fingers working on something with the chain with a furrow between his eyebrows. He doesn’t hear you approaching, which is probably why he shoots up at the sound of your voice, the back of his head smacking right into the metal bike rack.

“Harring-“ his name cut off with a sharp empathetic wince as his eyes shut tight and his jaw pulses after he curses under his breath.

“Sorry,” you rub at your elbow, scuffing a converse on the ground as you squint at him, “Believe it or not, that wasn’t on purpose.”

Steve exhales what you think is supposed to be a laugh, as he blinks at the ground, “Yeah, I…”

His words get lost somewhere between his brain and his mouth somehow because all he can think now is:

Pretty.

The word makes his tongue feel too big for his mouth, like he needs to say it or it’ll just keep sitting there and he’ll suffocate as it swells. It’s not like he’s not thought that word around you before, he has. But the urge to say it hasn’t ever quite made him feel like this, like he’s gonna die.

“You…?” Your head tilts, eyes squinting to inspect him more, heartbeat thrumming faster as Steve stares at you intensely.

“Don’t,” Steve finishes, standing up slowly, your red helmet swinging in his fingers.

“You don’t?” The two of you blink at each other.

“Believe you,” Steve offers.

“Oh, right.”

You hate that you feel so warm under his stare, hate that you’re wondering if he likes your outfit. You hate-

“I, um,” Steve gestures to the bike, “I didn’t want you to feel like you had to say yes to me driving you. Since you, you know, hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

The words slip off of your tongue so easily, you bite down on it in fear that more lies will fall out.

The words to Steve are, however, exactly what he needed to hear to remember who the hell he is.

Steve grins, two freckles lifting as he asks, softly, fondly, “Yeah?”

“I,” you swallow, wondering if it’s possible that Steve Harrington possesses the power to erase ‘how to speak’ from your list of skills and abilities simply because he’s got nice eyes and smells good.

His grin settles, a smug smirk keeping his lips in a flat line before he whispers, “What’s the matter, baby? Cat got your tongue?”

Your eyes narrow, arms crossing over your Journey t-shirt as you snap, “I don’t hate you. I despise you.”

Steve’s gaze darts over your face, before golden iris’ are settling on yours. He takes a step closer, dangerously closing the gap between your bodies as he whispers, “Yeah? Well I detest you.”

His chest rises and falls, bumping your crossed arms, the toe of his Nike’s touching the tops of your converse. So close you can count freckles on his nose and see green in his eyes.

“Wow,” your words hushed, but dripping in sarcasm, “Another big brain word and it hasn’t even been a week. Would you like a prize?”

Steve’s eyes flash, his lips twist up as he leans in even closer, “Yeah,” murmured as the tip of his nose almost touches yours, mint toothpaste fanning over your lips, “I would.”

Your breath leaves your lungs, held somewhere so it can’t escape as his nose brushes the bridge of yours before it’s suddenly gone.

“Come on, we’re gonna be late,” spoken over his shoulder with a grin as he heads towards his car.

Steve faces his car again, biting the inside of his lip out of your sight as you close your eyes out of his.

Were you just going to let him kiss you?

Your legs feel wobbly as you make your way across the pavement towards the maroon car, and even more so when, nestled inside and buckled, Steve’s hand rests on the back of your seat as he says, “You look really pretty today, by the way.”

His forearm flexes in the corner of your eye as he looks over his shoulder to back out of the spot, spinning his steering wheel with the other hand effortlessly. The movement and skill makes your legs press together under your skirt, and you bite the inside of your cheek, adamant on ignoring what your body wants to tell you.

Steve fiddles with the radio dial as he comes to a stop sign.

“You know,” you bite, mad at yourself for falling for this, mad at him for starting it, just mad, “I haven’t forgotten that you have five days left to get me, of all people, to sleep with you. And as much as it pains me to say this, we’ve been in each others lives for quite awhile now, and I know you, Harrington. This isn’t working, it’s not going to work, and the fact that you think-“

He says your name roughly, tight, like the word burns his throat to say it. He leans over the console, ducking his head to catch your gaze causing a strand of hair to fall over his forehead.

“Have you ever thought, for one second, that maybe, just maybe, I’m not as much of an asshole as you think, but because I know you hate me, I’ve never even tried to give you a compliment because that’s just not what we do? Tell me, honestly, if I’d have told you that you looked pretty, before today, before this bet, you wouldn’t have bit my head off then too? Or, god forbid, would have believed me?”

His breath is sharp, his gaze pierces into you, making something in your chest spark and sizzle, it’s not unlike the swell of pride you get when you win, and it’s better.

It’s addicting.

A horn honks and Steve blinks, facing the windshield and moving the car forward again.

“I don’t hate you,” the words are a whisper, not as easily said as earlier.

“Right,” Steve clears his throat. He glances over at you with a small smile, then back at the road as he sighs, “Just despise.”

You hum a feeble agreement, and let Huey Lewis & The News fill the silence, asking if you believe in love.

Steve’s fingers tap along to the song, his lips part, every other word softly exhaled as he sings under his breath. Which makes it hard to convince yourself that his words were just words, they meant nothing, and yours weren’t true either.

Steve Harrington doesn’t think you’re pretty and you hate each other.

Despise.

Whatever.

Your hands rest in your lap, thumb catching on a loose thread in your skirt that you are indebted to now.

Not because Steve thinks you look pretty in it.

But, because, if you instead search for where the loose thread begins, that brain space cannot be occupied by trying to figure out other times Steve wanted to call you pretty, or how you would have reacted, or how there’s two coffees in his cupholders next to your elbow. Focusing perhaps on, how the snag happened in your skirt could even make it so you don’t think about how, somehow, the leather of the seats and the coffee in such a tight space only make his normal scent of something minty and woodsy better and-

“Before you ask, no it’s not poisoned, and no, this isn’t me trying to woo you or whatever.” He gestures to the coffee, as if he’s reading your mind, “Could you hand me mine? Think it’s the front one.”

You’re shocked to learn that one of them is for you, and even more so when he grabs the cup from you and sips, grimaces, then coughs.

“Ugh,” he licks his lips and holds it over to you, “That one was yours.”

You hand him the other cup, staring down at the one he handed back to you.

He bought you coffee and seemingly knows how you take it.

As he pulls into the Family Video lot, expertly avoiding the kids skating and running around in front of Palace Arcade already, he sighs.

“You know,” he puts the car in park and looks at you, “I don’t have cooties.”

Haven’t even thought of the fact that if you took a sip, your lips would be where his had been, your body warms at the ‘kiss through contact’ possibility like a thirteen year old girl with a crush, heartbeat erratic still from the gesture of getting you the coffee.

“Actually, I was wondering if you did in fact poison this, because you despise me.”

“Detest,” Steve offers quietly with a smile.

“Detest,” you agree.

“I took a sip of it though. How would it be poisoned?”

“Maybe you’re like Westley and built up some sort of tolerance to this particular poison.”

Steve stares at you, blinking in silence until finally he asks, “What?”

“The Princess Bride?” You unsnap your seatbelt as he starts to get out of the car, talking over the roof of it. “Harrington, you have to have seen The Princess Bride?”

Steve swings his keys on his finger as he follows you to the front door, squinting. Both of you loving to have something to discuss that feels like easily navigated territory again.

“Is that the one with Daisy?”

“Buttercup,” you correct immediately, stopping on the sidewalk to face him, “That’s our first movie today. No ifs, ands, or buts.”

“Fine,” Steve shrugs, but then nods to the cup in your hand, “If you take a sip and say thank you really sweetly.”

You scoff, “I don’t have to do shit, I’m the manager. And that was an if.”

Steve nods, holding his hand out. “Okay, then give me the coffee.”

“But...” you hesitate, the smell of cinnamon and vanilla wafting up to your nose.

He definitely knows your order.

“Thought you said no ifs, ands, or buts?” Steve grins.

Your lips scowl before you mutter, “Don’t be cute.”

“You think I’m cute?” He smiles wider than he has all morning, showing off perfect, dazzling teeth.

You roll your eyes and lift the cup to your lips. His eyes remain on yours, drinking you in just as much as you drink the coffee, gazes unwavering upon each other.

It’s hard to swallow the perfectly made to your specifications coffee when he whispers, “That’a girl. See, was that so hard? Now, what do we say?”

“Thank you,” you grit, but Steve’s hand stops yours from unlocking the door.

“That wasn’t very sweet…” he tsks, sing song lilt to his voice.

With his hand over yours on the handle, you sigh, focusing on getting to watch a favorite movie instead of the way it engulfs yours. Batting your eyelashes, you force out a cheery, “Thank you, Harrington.”

Steve smirks, shakes his head no. He leans in, just like he had at your apartment.

Just like when you almost let him kiss you.

“First name, honey.”

That sparking, sizzling, simmering feeling is happening in your chest again.

Steve’s breath in is yours out as you murmur, “Thank you, Ste-“

“Jesus Christ! Thank fuck you’re alive! I’ve been…”

Eddie’s shout drifts off as he jumps out of his van, his eyes darting between you and Steve who’s starting to stand up straighter, hand dropping from the top of yours.

You clear your throat as Eddie grins at you, then Steve, then you again as he steps closer.

Eddie’s gaze looks over your outfit and your cheeks warm as he hums, raising his eyebrows over bright brown eyes that see right through you.

“Well, don’t you look nice today.”

Hawkins, Indiana - Wednesday

He was already on thin ice, and now, you were planning to fully cut a hole in said ice and let him meet his demise in the cold, dark water beneath it.

Eddie doesn’t seem to care, as he winces with fake sympathy, and tosses an M&M in his mouth as you glare at him with your arms folded over your chest.

“What do you mean, you can’t take me anymore?”

He shrugs, but takes a step away from you, seemingly out of harms way.

Physical harms way at least.

“I have to go back into the shop, Wayne needs me. I’m really sorry, I’ll make it up to you?” He puts on a nice, big, Munson level show - hands folded in prayer, big pouty lips, and blinking sad doe eyes.

You stand in front of the counter, rubbing your temple from the fluorescent that’s been blinking all morning.

“I didn’t eat lunch, I didn’t pack a lunch, because you promised the diner, you made a big deal about tradition,” you start towards him, hangry and looking for vengeance.

Eddie quickly sidesteps around the corner, standing directly across from you as you both go in a circle around the main counter where Robin sits, typing at the computer.

“Beer, on me,” he pleads, quickening his pace, “Tomorrow. A whole pitcher, just for you. I won’t even make fun of you when you get a gutter ball every turn!”

“I don’t want beer, Munson! I want a strawberry shake and a damn cheeseburger!”

“I can take you.”

Steve’s quiet offer makes you freeze, Eddie grins and backs out quickly towards the front door, pointing, “What a wonderful idea Steve! I wish you both a lovely first date!”

“Eddie!” you shriek, stomping towards the door, but he’s gone.

The bell chimes as he dashes through it with a salute, Steve clears his throat while you stand frozen, staring at the closed glass doors.

After Eddie had found you yesterday, and thoroughly bothered you about your outfit, and what he didn’t interrupt, because there was nothing to interrupt, he’d shown up at your apartment with far too many questions and far too much of an opinion on your relationship with Steve Harrington.

Not a relationship. A friendship.

No.

A mutual understanding. A common ground. An agreement of ceasefire of your overt…hatred. A, maybe, slow ascent to friendship, one day, perhaps.

Which seemed to please the idiot who was betting against Steve winning, well into the night. So, he agreed to take you out to lunch the next day, honoring your tradition, yet assuring you that the conversation was in fact, not over.

Robin finally breaks the silence, calling your name, then, “You good?”

“Yeah,” you mumble, crossing your arms, “Just debating sleeping with Harrington so Eddie loses three hundred dollars.”

There’s a choking sound behind you, and you spin to see Steve’s mouth stuffed with Red Vines.

Your Red Vines.

“Are you kidding me? What did I say!”

You stomp towards him and he holds up his hands in surrender, talking around the candy, “Hey, remember me? Steve,” he swallows, backing away and tripping over his heels. “I’m the guy who brought you coffee two mornings in a row and has the ability to bring you to a delicious, cheesy burger, fast?”

You’re inches from him and he yelps, wincing before you even attack, then a shouted, “I’ll pay!”

Stopping in front of him, you snatch up the package of Red Vines and growl, “And a shake.”

Robin gapes at the two of you, then looks at Steve, “You brought her coffee? You never bring me coffee.”

Steve glares at her while he grabs the package of candy back and holds them high above your head, ignoring your protests.

“You can have these back when you learn to say please.”

“Can you pass the salt?” You speak around the fries in your mouth.

Steve sits across from you, eyebrows raised.

“Please,” you grumble.

You shake the salt over the basket sitting between the two of you after he hands it to you. The basket holding the fries he ordered immediately and flashed the waitress a smile and wink for so you got some food fast while you waited for burgers and shakes.

He watches your shoulders relax after a few bites, and decides he can attempt conversation, “Better?”

Your head nods, fingers covering your mouth full of food as you say, “Yeah. Thank you.”

Steve nods too, looking anywhere but you while you lick salt from your thumb or suck on the straw in your glass of coke.

“Glad I could help.” He risks stealing a fry for himself, his stomach grumbling in protest as it watches you eat and it gets nothing.

“Sorry,” you fiddle with the straw wrapper in your hands, shrugging, “I know I much more resembled a ravenous wild animal than a normal human being back there.”

“Glad you said it,” he mutters, ducking when you throw the folded straw wrapper at his face. He catches it, playing with it between his own hands, staring at the table. “You were pretty upset though, what’d you mean about tradition?”

You shove fries in your mouth, buying time to respond, wondering how much you should tell Steve.

“Um,” you cough into your fist, squinting out the window at the sky turning gloomy.

“It’s okay,” Steve waves it off, “I didn’t mean to pry. You don’t have to tell me.”

He shoves fries into his own mouth, right as the waitress brings two burgers over, sliding a strawberry shake onto the sticky tabletop. Steve’s chewing becomes frantic, holding up his hand and you’re saying the words before you can even register what you’re doing.

“Could he get some extra pickles please?”

“Of course, hon,” she sways off, delivering another shake at a different table while Steve blinks at you.

“What?” You avoid his intense gaze, looking at your burger as you lift it to your lips.

“Didn’t think you were paying that much attention to me,” he finally says, smiling at the waitress when she drops off a small container of pickles.

He looks at his burger, not you, so maybe that’s why it’s easier to keep talking about it.

“Kind of make it hard to not pay attention, Harrington.”

The pair of you sit in silence, chewing your burgers as rain starts to tap softly against the window, the red neon sign next to you flickering and making his yellow tshirt orange.

“Wish I knew you were watching sooner,” Steve looks up to find you already staring, “Wouldn’t have acted like such an idiot, maybe this would be a different story.”

Your heart thuds in your ears, too warm under the softness of his eyes.

“Acted?” You manage to push past your lips, tilting your head.

Steve smiles, and grabs for the shake, waiting for you to protest him putting a second straw into it. When you don’t, you surprise yourself by offering up, “It’s from the night we met.”

He blinks at you, wrinkle forming between his brows as he sucks on the straw between his lips. You look away from them as you clarify, “Eddie. The diner. It’s a tradition from the night we met.”

“Oh,” Steve nods, pushing the shake away and returning to his burger, adding another pickle.

“Yeah, I,” you close your eyes, then open them to look down at your food, blurting out, “Met him, after I threw that beer. In Brendan’s face. He took me to the diner, here, for pie, and I sort of spilled my guts to him.”

Steve’s jaw pulses, the furrow of his forehead only deepening as you explain, not lessening. He takes another bite of his burger, ketchup smearing against the side of his mouth, offering you a reprieve from staring at his lips as he speaks around his bite, “Got it. That’s when you guys started dating, right?”

You blink, lips parting but nothing comes out other than a shocked, “Ha!”

Steve looks up at the scoff, taking in your wrinkled nose and how your eyes stare at his lips as you laugh, “Eddie…Ed,” you giggle, “No.”

“You and…never?” Steve sits up straighter, eyes bouncing between your own.

“Not even a little bit,” you laugh, touching your lip, “You’ve got…”

Steve swipes at his lips while he asks, “But you said you spilled your guts, I just assumed after what that asshole said and did that Munson like comforted and you and…”

He trails off as you lean forward, rolling your eyes.

Your thumb swipes over the corner of his lip as you shrug, “Yeah, we bonded over assholes and crushing on people who’d never give us the time of day while sharing cherry pie. Best friends ever since.”

Steve’s heart thrums as your fingers linger on his jaw, before you sit back again.

And then you lick the ketchup off of your thumb.

He finally stumbles over the words, “I love pie.”

“Yeah?” You grin, grabbing the shake.

Steve nods, keeping eye contact as your cheeks hollow around the straw. But then he rolls his shoulders back and grabs the shake out from your lips and back across the table.

“Except cherry. You’re delusional for choosing that over lemon.”

“You’re delusional,” you yank the shake back towards you, “If you think you’re having any more of this.”

Steve leans over the table as you begin to sip the shake again, only to wrap his lips around the second straw, noses bumping as he tries to drink it faster than you at the same time.

Your feet are intertwined under the table as you push at his shoulder and he tugs on the glass, both of you making a slurping noise as you get to the bottom, then grabbing at your temples from brain freezes while laughing.

“I can’t stand you,” you push the glass towards the middle of the table.

“That’s better than detest, I’ll take it.”

Hawkins, Indiana - Thursday

Steve holds out the bag of popcorn to you, and you grin, taking some as you lean into him, a little tipsy, in the backseat of his car.

You, because you were last out to the car, and Steve, because he doesn’t do well in the front seat when Robin is driving.

Which is saying something, because Eddie isn’t doing so hot as it is.

“No, Buckley!”

“Give me a break, Eddie! It is super dark outside, and I’m a new driver, never attempted driving in the rain, and I don’t know wiper speed to rain droplet ratio!”

You snort, nose in the popcorn bag as your shoulders shake.

Steve shushes you, mumbling, “You’re kind of a menace tonight.”

“Eddie’s,” you hiccup, blinking up under heavy eyelashes at Steve’s profile, mesmerized by the freckles that dot it, “Fault. Got me all that beer.”

“No comments-” Robin begins to talk over her shoulder.

“Ba-ah-ah,” Steve points forward, stepping on an invisible brake in the backseat while Eddie grabs her chin and keeps it locked straight ahead.

“From the peanut gallery,” she finishes loudly.

“No peanuts back here,” you throw a piece at Eddie’s ear, “Just popcorn!”

Steve remains facing forward, watching intently as Eddie directs Robin on slick roads towards her house. “You didn’t have to drink it all.”

“Oh,” you sigh, sliding over to the window and pressing your forehead against the cool glass, “But I did, Harrington. For I am the champion of bowling night!”

He opens his mouth, but you sit up straight again, and press your finger to his lips, softly saying (but thinking you’re singing), “No time for losers.”

Steve smiles behind your finger, eyes soft and melting you a little.

Which you almost say out loud, but the song on the radio grabs your attention. You squeal, which makes Robin jump, which makes the car sway and Steve grab your shoulders, pushing you back on the seat as you yell, “Turn it up!”

“You’re such a loser,” Eddie grumbles, but does as you request.

Peter Gabriel’s In Your Eyes plays a little louder, but no one can tell, because you’re loudly singing over him.

Eddie rolls his eyes at the way Steve watches you, and Robin bites her lip, fighting back laughter as you shout, “You all love this song, don’t lie to me!”

You scream into your fist, dramatically singing, tossing your head, pointing at each of them.

“And all my instincts,” you take a deep breath and whip over to Steve, kneeling on the seat, “They return!”

You shove your fist into Eddie’s face, who pretends to bite it, refusing to sing. But finally melts at your pout, mumbling along with you, “Without my pride.” Robin happily joins in, in a high falsetto, when you whip your fake microphone over to her, “I reach out from the inside.”

As they all join in with you for the chorus, you fall backwards, laughing, catching Steve’s eyes.

You’d like to blame the beer, the cozy dark backseat, the way Steve smells, the rain, the fucking song. And while you can’t blame them for something that was inevitable, you can pretend that without this specific combination you never would have.

If you were sober, and In Your Eyes came on, you never would have touched the two freckles on Steve’s cheek, your fake microphone falling limp, palm flat against his chest.

If it weren’t dark, and he didn’t smell so good, you never would have let those same fingers drag down his jaw, only to linger on his lips.

And if it weren’t raining, and Robin hadn’t taken a second to look back in her mirror and say, “Holy shi-“

It never would have happened.

Eddie shouts, Robin screams, and something heavy and warm is on top of you as the car spins on the water that’s flooded the streets.

Your ears are ringing, muffled words lost in the sound, and you can’t move, something holds you down.

It takes a second to realize the car isn’t moving anymore, and there’s hands on your cheeks. When your eyes blink open, there’s golden hazel ones that remind you of a scared boy looking at you intently.

“Are you okay?” He gasps from on top of you where you’re both horizontal in the backseat now.

“I’m fine,” Robin says sarcastically from the front seat, “Thanks for-“ Eddie shushes her.

“Of course,” you grumble, hands that were clutched in Steve’s shirt loosening and pushing at him.

His hands shake on your cheeks, fingers touching a spot on your forehead that has you wincing and his chest moving up and down faster.

“Harrington,” you push at him more, his hand cups your cheek, eyes turning glassy as you insist, “I’m fine, get off.”

“Hey,” you shake his shoulder as stares at your forehead, breathing harder still, “Harrington, relax. We’re all fine.”

The side of his face flashes with red and blue, his heartbeat thuds against your chest as his breathing continues to ramp up. Your hands cup his jaw, thumbs delicately swiping over his cheeks.

“Steve. Look at me.”

His shoulders shake with a stuttered breath and then his hand quickly reaches forward, gently cupping the back of your head as the door behind you opens.

Someone speaks, but neither of you hear them, eyes remaining on each other as you whisper, “Take a deep breath, Steve. Please?”

You nod as he does, your hands loosening on his cheeks as he starts to let his weight hover over you instead of pushing you down.

A voice from behind you asks Steve to get out first. He’s held back as paramedics help you out of the car and lead you over to the back of the ambulance. Robin stands next to you and you shake your head, the words I’m so sorry easily able to read off of your lips and Robin stops them with her hand up.

Eddie stands next to him, watching, just as intently, and he clears his throat.

“That was…” he starts, looking at Steve, then back at you, now getting your forehead looked at. “Glad you were back there, man.”

Steve nods, numb, as he watches you wince and say, “I’m fine,” to the EMT stitching you up. His fingers graze down the bridge of his nose and his swipes underneath it, nodding when Eddie says he’s gonna go check on Robin.

Everyone is fine, save for your head injury. His car is fine, save for a ding on the back bumper.

Your side.

He saved you.

He protected you.

He was scared for you.

Your heartbeat picks up as your gaze on the wet asphalt beneath your scuffed sneakers catches bright Nike’s approaching.

“How’s the patient?”

Steve’s voice is soft, scared, not a thing like you’ve ever heard before.

Which is maybe why when you look up at him, nothing comes out of your parted lips.

Rain drips from the tip of Steve’s hair, curling around his ears, a droplet caught on his cupid’s bow, darkening the green shirt he wears.

The EMT stares down at you, waiting, then she smiles, staring at your forehead as she offers, “She’ll be okay. No concussion, probably a little sleepy from the pain meds she just took, but overall just a little dinged up. Nothing a little night of tender loving care from her boyfriend can’t fix.”

“Oh, no, I’m-“

“He’s not, we’re not-“

Steve and you talk at the same time, stopping when the other speaks.

“Oh, my mistake,” she hums. She looks down at you as she inspects her last stitch, smiling softly, “Well, maybe some tender loving care from a friend then. Can I count on you handsome? Get her home safely?”

Steve nods, cheeks pink as he waits for you to stand, his hand resting by your elbow just in case, then hovering near your lower back as he walks behind you towards his car.

“Dingus!” Robin shouts from Hopper’s truck.

Steve turns to look at her, and as he holds the door open for you, he leans down and murmurs, “I’ll be right back, you’re…you okay?”

“Mhm,” you nod, blinking from the pain of the movement.

Steve doesn’t look like he believes you, but nods, and closes your door softly, running over to the truck, squinting in the rain.

A soft tap hits the glass of your door and you jump, rolling the window down for Eddie, the boys swapping places without you realizing.

“Hey sweetheart, how you doing?” He folds his arms on the frame of the door, bent down to take a closer look at your head.

“I’m fine,” you answer without thinking.

Eddie’s lips twitch, fighting the urge for the joke, “Of course you are. You okay with Harrington taking you back? Hopper always can? Need me to stay over?”

You watch Robin grab Steve’s jaw, pushing and pulling him to inspect him while he rolls his eyes and pushes her off. A much more physical approach, but the same as Eddie’s nonetheless.

When you don’t say anything, he follows your gaze and sighs. “Yeah, you’re okay. Fucking hell, I gotta figure out where I’m getting three hundred dollars from, thanks a lot you Peter Gabriel loving dork.”

“Eddie, I-“ you protest and he waves his hand, smiling.

“Save it, you’re hook line and sunk for him. You have been since the day I met you, fine.”

He kisses your temple, opposite of your cut, and taps the hood of the car before jogging over to the truck, swapping with Steve again. But he pauses in the middle, grabbing Steve’s shoulder and pointing at the car, then pats him and jogs off again.

Once Steve is back in the car, you wait for him to drive, to say something, but he looks at you expectantly and then you realize-

Your seatbelt.

“Sorry,” you murmur, and then it’s silent.

No radio.

No talking.

Just the swish of rain on the pavement under spinning wheels. The rhythmic pit then pat of it hitting his windows, the slosh of the wipers back and forth. Steve’s breathing.

You don’t realize you’ve been soothed to sleep from it all, the combination of alcohol and adrenaline fading, until the car is coming to a complete stop, engine off, and your door is being opened.

Steve leans over you, unbuckling the seatbelt, whispering, “Come on, trouble.”

“Mmm,” you protest, eyelashes fluttering, head hitting the headrest with a frown. “Steve.”

“I know, just a few more minutes then you’ll be in bed, come on.”

His hands slide into yours, gently pulling you from the car, guiding you towards the stairs. Your lead filled eyelids blink with each step, as you mumble, “Keys.”

“I got ‘em, come on,” his hand presses to your lower back, then roams higher, pressing lightly when you sigh from the feeling.

A door opens, a hand wraps around your waist and a shoulder supports your head.

Steve blinks in the low light of your lamp that must be on a timer, taking in your space for the first time. He closes your door, keeping his hand on your waist to steady you as you sway while he bends down.

He watches you, as he unties a sneaker, patting your ankle as he quietly says, “Lift your leg up for me, honey.”

You do as you’re told, blinking down at the boy who gently removes your shoe, then the other as you rest your hands on his shoulders for balance.

“Steve,” you gulp around his name, blinking back tears.

He looks up at his name, frowning as he stands, large hands cradling your jaw as he tuts. “Hey, what’s the matter? What’re these for, huh?”

His thumbs swipe over your cheeks, catching big tears that spill over your lashes as you blubber, “I’m so so-sorry. Everyone could have been really hurt. I hate Peter Gabriel. I’ll ne-never listen to hi-him again.”

Steve laughs, and you frown, blinking at him through tears, “It-it’s not funny. Stop laughing at me.”

He clears his throat, nodding, “Right. It’s not funny.”

His lips twitch when you frown more, fingers curling around his wrists that still support your cheeks.

“Bedroom?” He asks softly.

“Harrington,” you sniffle, eyes rolling, “I hardly think this is the time to try to make a move.”

He shakes his head, “I meant so I can set you up before I leave, smartass.”

You point down the hallway, but then sigh, “Can you get me a glass of water.”

He raises his eyebrows at you expectantly.

“Please?” you pout your lips out.

Steve nods towards your bedroom, “Yeah, I can do that.”

He watches you wander down the hallway, and click on a light in your room, before he heads to your kitchen. As he fills the glass up, he takes the opportunity to glance around at pieces of you he’s not normally let in on. Wondering where certain trinkets are from and what they mean to you. He notices the large collection of vinyl. He grins at the stack of Family Video tapes that are clearly over the rental limit, even for employees.

And he’s ready to say something sassy to you about it, when he reaches your room, but you’re already laying in your bed, eyes closed and curled up on your side.

In his sweatshirt.

He sets the glass of water on the nightstand, then lifts your comforter, pulling it over bare legs exposed from small sleep shorts. He leaves a quick note about leaving your front door key in your mailbox.

Steve hesitates before clicking off the light, taking in your slow, even breaths, the shadows on your face, peaceful with sleep.

He kisses your cheek as he turns off the light, lips lingering against your skin for a moment longer than he probably should have.

“Goodnight, honey.”

AN: thanks for your patience in this chapter and the next! This chapter is actually what sparked the core of this whole series, and I’m excited to finally share it with you. It was originally being written in the winter, and the events of this chapter are heavily inspired by a moment that happened between my parents before they were married! My dad and mom were in the backseat of a car, an accident happened, and my dad had leaned over to protect my mom, and she says that's when she knew she was in love with him. Take that for this story however you'd like 🤭 So while it’s not exactly what happened anymore, the essence is still there and I hope you love it, it definitely holds a special place in my heart. Also, I simply can’t help myself from including The Princess Bride in all of my series it seems. Thanks for being here!

BICFTF Taglist: thank you for your support!

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#superbly subpar's writing #BICFTF #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington series #steve harrington fic #cw alcohol #cw blood #cw injury #cw car accident

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delicatebarness · 4 months ago

Text

The Barnes-Rogers Family Adventures | Welcome to the family, Alpine! #004

Summary: Peter asked for a puppy, Bucky and Tiny came back with a kitten...

Warnings: This post and series are safe for work (SFW) regressions. Nothing explicit. However, please be aware that the rest of my blog is NOT. NSFW accounts are welcome to read and reblog, but please keep all comments SFW out of consideration for other littles.

Word Count: 583

Series Masterlist

A/N: Oh, he'll get that dog. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as it is mine. - B

Tags: @sapphirebarnes | Let me know if you want to be tagged specifically for this series.

For weeks Peter had been talking about puppies. He was reading books about them, drawing pictures of them, and he even had dreams about them. Each day, he brought it up to Steve and Bucky, hoping they’d agree.

One afternoon, Peter rushed into the living room to find Steve, a hopeful expression spread across his face. “Papa, can we get a puppy? Please?”

Sighing, Steve looked up from his book. “You know it’s a big responsibility, Buddy. We have to make sure we’re ready.”

Peter’s face fell, but he was not standing down. “I promise I’ll take care of him! I’ll feed him and walk him, and everything!”

Just then, you and Bucky came home, stepping into the house with your arms full of shopping bags. Your eyes twinkled with excitement as you beamed.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Steve asked, raising an eyebrow as he stood, taking the bags from you.

A secretive smile tugged at both your and Bucky’s lips. “We’ve got a surprise,” Bucky said, glancing down at you. “Why don’t we show them?”

You nodded eagerly, running to the little box Bucky had placed by the door. Carefully pulling out a small, fluffy, white kitten. Its tiny meows filled the room as you held her to show everyone.

“Look, Papa! She’s a kitten!” you exclaimed, face glowing with joy.

“A kitten?” Peter’s eyes widened in surprise before his face fell once more. “But I wanted a puppy…”

Steve had been skeptical about a pet, however he was now struggling to keep a straight face. The kitten was adorable, and it was undeniable that his resolve weakened. “Well, I suppose a kitten is nice too,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady and nonchalant.

Bucky brushed his hand through Peter’s hair. “We thought a kitten might be a bit easier to manage, at least for now, Buddy.”

Peter’s initial disappointment faded as he watched the kitten playfully bat your fingers, causing you to giggle. “Can I have a hold?” he asked, cautiously stepping closer.

You nodded, carefully handing the kitten to Peter. “Daddy said we gotta be gentle,” your voice full of all the seriousness that you could muster.

Holding the kitten close, a smile spread across Peter’s face. “So soft,” he said, looking up at Bucky. “What’s her name?”

Steve was now fully charmed by the tiny creature, he crouched down beside Peter. “How about Whiskers?” he suggested as he reached out to pet the kitten’s head.

Bucky shook his head with a laugh. “That’s a bit cliche, don’t you think, Steve?”

You had been quietly watching until you suddenly piped up. “Daddy likes Alpine!” you said, clapping your hands together.

Peter looked down at the kitten, debating each name. “Alpine?” he mumbled before looking at you, he grinned when he saw the light in your eyes. “Welcome to the family, Alpine!”

As the evening went on, Alpine quickly made herself at home. She explored every nook and cranny of the house. You and Peter took turns playing with, laughter filling the house.

Steve and Bucky watched you all from the count, contentment settling over them. “You know, a kitten was a great idea,” Steve admitted, leaning into Bucky’s side.

Smiling, Bucky wrapped an arm around Steve, pulling him closer. “I thought so, but, you know he’s not going to give up on the puppy.” Peter overheard their conversation causing his eyes to flash with a spark of mischief. He most definitely was not giving up on a puppy.

---

Series Masterlist

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traincat · 2 months ago

Note

hey!

I recently made a post about wanting to understand the concept of Spideytorch more, and was directed to your blog! If it's not too much of an ask, could you break down their relationship for me?

Sure! I can do that. I'm going to refer back to your post just as a jumping off point -- Spideytorch is definitely, 100% a comics-based thing. Prior to the upcoming Fantastic Four MCU film, the film rights for both characters have never been held by the same company, and "crossover" films are very much a product of the MCU, although ironically Andrew Garfield did once say he wanted Michael B Jordan, who played Johnny in the 2015 Fantastic Four film, to play his Peter's love interest.

Thank you for your service, Andrew.

But while it is comics-based, it's a very different scenario than Spideypool, where the comics are very much based on their popularity as a duo in fandom. I'm not a Spideypool fan, just as like a disclaimer, but as someone interested in the symbiotic relationship between fandom and superhero comics, Spideypool is really interesting because their popularity came first -- they got that team up comic because they were already popular in fandom, they didn't become popular in fandom because they had the team up comic. So it's a really interesting look at how fan activity influences the connections comic characters have. That's not the case with Spideytorch.

(I'm not saying one of those things is inherently better than the other, but since you mentioned Spideypool and their team up comic in your post, I thought it made for an interesting comparison.)

Peter and Johnny literally meet in Amazing Spider-Man #1, back in 1963. The two premier teen heroes of the day, they have a lot of early interaction because they played well off each other -- Peter, a broke loner, was often jealous of Johnny's fame and money, whereas Johnny bemoaned his girl problems compared to chick magnet Peter. (Johnny's girlfriend at the time literally asked him why he couldn't be more like Peter.) They're both pretty big personalities, so there was a lot of pigtail pulling in the early days, but even when they argued there was always a sense that they genuinely liked each other deep down. For Peter, who didn't have friends in the business, Johnny was someone he could rely on, and for Johnny -- who just, like, did not have friends at all until he got to college -- Spider-Man was a peer, someone he looked up to and admired.

(ASM #3)

(ASM #8)

(Strange Tales Annual #2 -- this is the first appearance of Johnny and Peter's "usual place," the Statue of Liberty. Iconic.)

(ASM #19)

(ASM #127)

As Johnny and Peter grew up, the frequency of their team ups faded a little, but their lives have always intersected. In some ways, they've run in parallel. They went to college at the same time, got married at the same time. (Peter's marriage was solid until he sold it to the devil; Johnny's faltered after a decade because sometimes you think you marry someone but they're actually a shapeshifting alien from outerspace who was sent to kill your family. Peter is one of the very few people who Johnny told about that in the aftermath.) Peter unmasked to Johnny, told him his identity, one of the very few people he's done that for. When Johnny "died" (he got better), he left Peter his place on the Fantastic Four. And then, when Johnny came back from the dead, the first person he saw on the other side was Peter.

(FF #1)

(ASM #657, titled Torch Song)

(Fantastic Four #601)

They've lived together, fought together, shared their lives with each other. They trust each other, bone deep, despite their squabbles and differences. It's always been a love connection, however you define that love. It's a connection that has existed from 1963 until today, across multiple fictional universes and continuities. For me, the appeal of them has always been not just their chemistry but also their history.

Also they're just a lot of fun.

(FF #17)

(Fantastic Four v5 #14)

I have a long list of important comics for them in chronological order here, if you want to read more: https://traincat.tumblr.com/post/123691883369/so-ive-only-recently-gotten-into-spidertorch

I hope that helps clear up the history a little bit!

#spideytorch #losers who deserve each other #traincat talks comics #*replies #johnny storm #peter parker

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flightlessangelwings · 1 year ago

Text

Ktober 2023 Day 25- Mirror Sex

Tasm!Peter Parker x gn!reader

Word count- 1.1k

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), softness, voyeurism, lot of praise, aftercare, established relationship, no use of y/n

Notes- Oh this was was so fun to write!! And it's another personal favorite of the month as well so I hope y'all like it too!! And I purposefully made it a gn reader too! Prompt list made by me! Enjoy!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is myupdate blog so please follow that too and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on my new fics!

“Open your eyes, sweetheart,” Peter’s voice echoed in your ear.

You sat in front of him, your legs parted as he knelt behind you, fucking into you slowly. Peter’s strong grip kept you upright, and you leaned back to feel the warmth and safety of his embrace. As your mouth dropped open from how good he felt rocking into you from this angle, your eyes fluttered shut and you lost yourself in the pleasure that was Peter’s touch.

A soft whimper escaped your lips as you reluctantly blinked your eyes open, but you gasped when you focused and noticed what he wanted you to see. You weren’t sure when he set it up, but a full length mirror sat at the end of the bed, and it framed where the two of you were perfectly. Even in the low light of the room, you saw both your figures clearly.

“That’s it,” he cooed as he thrust into you once, “Look at how beautiful you are.”

You moaned loudly and closed your eyes once more.

“Uh-uh,” Peter gently grabbed your chin and forced you to keep your line of sight on the mirror, “I want you to watch.”

“Peter…” you whined as you blinked your eyes open again. It didn’t go unnoticed that he didn’t move again until you did.

“See?” his tone was low as he kissed the side of your face, “Look how beautiful you are.”

You gasped when he thrust into you once, but harder this time. Your body almost jolted forward if it weren’t for Peter’s strong grip keeping you in place. As much as you wanted to close your eyes and enjoy the feeling of his cock inside you, you knew he would stop if you did. So, you kept them open and trained on his face as he watched you in the mirror.

“That’s it sweetheart,” Peter murmured as he rocked into you at a slow and steady pace.

Skin slapped against skin as both of you locked eyes in the mirror. From that though, you saw the fire that burned within his eyes with every thrust of his hips, and you felt the low mumble from deep in his chest against your back. You saw how his hair stuck to his forehead from the sweat and it only made him more beautiful to you. And then your eyes trailed down both your figures.

Between your legs, you could make out the distinct shape of his cock whenever he pulled out from you. And then it disappeared inside you when he thrust forward again, burying it deep inside you. The added visual made you moan louder as you clung to Peter’s arms.

He gritted his teeth as he felt you clench around him, and then Peter’s eyes followed yours. He watched for a few moments as his cock appeared and then disappeared with his thrusts. Then, he made a low, deep sound you had never heard from him ever before. And it sent a pulse of need right to your core.

“Fuck,” Peter breathed, “Look at us,” he thrust once more, “Look how you fit me so perfectly,” he thrust again, filling you to the brim.

“Yes,” you murmured as your eyes glazed over, “Peter.”

“Look how beautiful you look like this,” he caressed your chin where he still held you while his other arm stayed around your body to pin you against him, “Look how well you take my cock.”

“Oh fuck,” you moaned as a chill ran up your spine from Peter’s words.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he cooed.

You dug your nails into his skin, “Peter… Yes…” you moaned, “So good, Pete… I…”

“What is it?” he trailed a line of hot, sweet kisses along your skin, “Tell me,” he said as he met your gaze in the mirror.

“You feel so good,” you whimpered, “And I love watching you fuck me like this.”

“That’s it,” he turned your chin to kiss your lips for a moment, pausing with his cock fully inside you to taste you before he turned you back to the mirror, “I want you to see what I see when I fuck you,” his tone dropped impossibly low, “I want you to fall apart and watch yourself in the mirror.”

“Oh shit,” you cried out as he suddenly picking up his pace, pounding into you with fervor, “Fuck! Peter! Yes!”

“That’s it,” he purred again as he grunted, holding back his own climax.

The look on Peter’s face when his jaw clenched made you let out the most obscene sound and you felt your body heat up and your skin tingle, “Fuck, Peter… You’re gonna make me cum.”

“Cum, sweetheart,” he groaned, “Cum for me.”

“Peter!” you screamed his name as you fought to keep your eyes open as your climax hit. You trembled in his grasp as you came hard, your mouth dropping open to let out all the sounds that Peter loved to hear.

“Beautiful,” he murmured as he watched your every expression in the mirror. He saved off his own orgasm for as long as he could, but from the way you looked so delectable in the mirror, he didn’t last long.

With a low groan of his own and your name on his lips, Peter came just as hard, His movements stuttered as he lost control as came deep inside you, filling you up. He too had to fight to keep his eyes open, not wanting to miss a second of the show the two of you put on for yourselves. Peter savored the gasp you let out as he filled you to the brim, and both of you exhaled sharply when you watched it drip down your legs.

A shiver ran up your spine as you felt both your releases slide down your skin, but you couldn’t move. You didn’t want to anyway, content in Peter’s strong grip. For a moment, neither of you could budge, both too entranced in the other’s eyes in the mirror. You still stayed connected together, and at the same time, your eyes both fell to that connection.

“That was so hot,” you breathed in awe.

Peter grinned widely and kissed your neck, “I told you to trust me,” he murmured in your ear, his eyes ever leaving yours.

“I do trust you, Pete,” you whispered as you broke the connection to turn and kiss him deeply, tasting him once more, “And I love you.”

He smiled against you, “I love you too, sweetheart,” he kissed the tip of your nose before he pulled away, “Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart.”

“You always take such good care of me, Peter,” you sighed contently before you let out a gasp as he slowly and carefully pulled out of you,

Peter shot you and apologetic look in the mirror before he gathered you in his arms again, collapsing both of you down onto the bed, “I always will, sweetheart,” he whispered, “I always will.”

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solurae · 1 year ago

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four eyes (more to love underneath the frames) — PT.1

HELLO!!! okok the prologue received some good reception so i will!!! be continuing the series :3c THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE NICE COMMENTS AND REBLOGS AND OHHHH MY GOD THE MOTHER OF NERD!MIGUEL @nymphomatique REBLOGGED MY PROLOGUE (i could die happy) ty for the food and the inspiration to start this series!!!

i’m still the process of setting up my tumblr because my ass made this my secondary blog (but idek if that changes anything… i don’t think) OH AND YES THERE IS NOW A TAG FOR THE SERIES! ALSO PLSPLSPLS DON’T BE AFRAID TO SEND THROUGH ASKS FOR DRABBLES OR REQUESTS OR ANYTHING REALLY!!! i’m more than happy to feed us both hehe

tw/cw: mmmm not any i can think of (FIXING ANY GRAMMATICAL ERRORS AFTER POSTING BECAUSE I’M COOL)

PROLOGUE?! < <

“sorry students, the projector is currently out of order so i’d like for all of you to just go through the powerpoint on your own. feel free to come up and ask questions.” the professor sighs as he closes his laptop and settles down onto his desk, the chatter of other students and laptop keyboards create the perfect white noise for your 8AM lecture.

you weren’t really that keen on studying this period anyway so you’ll just get it done later but god he looked so much better up close. why did miguel have to be so fucking dorky and hot and cool all at fucking once? it bothered you that miguel has never spoken to you. ever. but with that in mind, no one would ever think of the effect this nerd had on you, not even the nerd himself.

“oi mate, mandem depending on you to pass this class.” you shake your head after you’re slightly shoved to the side of your desk by none other than your best friend bad influence. hobie, hobie, hobie… you groan as you look his way, legs propped up on the desk as if he’s completely unaware that he’s in an lecture hall. next to him is peter, trying to shove hobie’s legs off the table for fear of accidentally hitting miguel who was seated right infront of you.

peter and hobie were the angel and devil on your shoulder that manifested into your closest friends. it was so hard to make friends (partially because you weren’t interested in anyone aside from miguel) and that everyone in your class were already in tight knit friend groups, and it was clear they all wanted to keep it that way with the silent treatment and one-sided conversations. but that didn’t matter. what did matter was that neither of them were taking this class seriously.

hobie - for god knows what reason - just took the class for fun. well, hobie took it out of spite. he said and you quote, “it is my take on deconstructing the stereotypes and preconceptions of particular social groups alongside us punks that dictate that we lack the desire and strive for academic feats”. and you know what? for someone who likes to laze around and count the panels of wood used on the ceiling for half the lecture, his high grades put his narrow-minded folks to shame. oh and peter? although he couldn’t afford to skip his classes, he did anyway. mary jane, MJ - the mother to his children, as he calls her - is in the humanities elective they both share. and peter might as well skip that class instead of looking at MJ as if she invented humanities. you don’t know how watching you and hobie bicker was a better investment of peter’s time but no one was complaining. someone had to remind the both of you of operation miguel mutation, or in other words, get his gaze out of his books and onto your face.

“so much for wanting to prove the world wrong when you’re relying on someone else to do it for you”, you scoffed at hobie, pretending to brush dust off your shoulders. he chuckled, “i just wanted to know how it feels to be those good for nothing, narcissistic capitalists, is all”. you shoved him so hard it rattled your seats and you didn’t even realise you accidentally kicked miguel’s seat until his cold hard gaze towards you even made hobie look like an art piece in the middle of rendering.

“can i help you?”, fuuuuuuck off. he sounds so fucking hot. insanely hot.

his large pitch black frames could never obstruct how chiseled miguel was, he had angular features such as his nose, his jawline and even his cupid’s bow. but these features were softened with warm red eyes and wisps of his hair coming down to frame his forehead. o’hara’s face overall was slightly scrunched, his hand gripped onto the fold away desk while he faced you, his casual attire in sweats could barely hide his build. his mouth was slightly open, the very tip of his fangs making themselves known. he was definitely a specimen, a gorgeous specimen for lack of better word. you didn’t even realise you were staring at miguel until he raised his eyebrow and glanced over at hobie, then over to peter who was just happily content watching your unplanned, unconventional first meeting.

“oh. um, no?”, you were still confused why miguel (the man you’ve been trying to get the attention of ever since the first inkling of a feeling), suddenly turned around and spoke to you—

“excuse me, may i ask that you don’t disrupt your peers during class? i’m watching you too, brown.” if your teacher scolding you like a wack ass boy in year 9 wasn’t enough to make you embarrassed, your quick descent into realising that you quite literally pushed yourself - pushed miguel, rather - to make the first move. in the worst fucking way possible. you ducked your head a bit in an attempt to avoid the gazes of your classmates only to find your shoe jammed between the gap next to miguel’s seat, missing his elbow by a mere few centimetres.

you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

so much for devising a plan to properly introduce yourself by actually trying in class by answering the lecturers questions, to the point miguel can’t help but wonder that there is in fact competition. aware of his competitive nature, miguel would try to get ahead of you or widen that gap but then realise he was all wrong from the moment you’d tap his shoulder for a question you pretend to not understand, to look as if you’re struggling so much miguel can ignore his own studies for a little while to help you. men are stupid after all. miguel doesn’t apply here but being an outcast adjacent of the entire university has its benefits, in a way where it benefits your elaborate plan from stroking miguel’s ego by helping you, to ever so slightly become more and more interested in you. once you slowly ease into getting out of pretending to be an academic victim and miguel finds the joy in being academically challenged by the one girl who braved the odds and approach the mysterious mutant, he’d ask to you to meet at the cafeteria or the library. it didn’t matter. you would then, finally then, be in miguel’s line of sight.

“if this is your way of trying to get into my pants, i’m not interested.”

papers were stuffed into bags and the squeaking of chairs reverberated the lecture theatre. people were making their way to their next class while peter, hobie and yourself shared looks of disbelief, disgust, along with hobie’s infamous expression that scream the words i fucking told you so.

what the fuck? what the actual fuck was that?

o’hara didn’t miss a beat and swivelled around to start packing his belongings, completely unaware of how his response alone completely changed and destroyed all prior preconceptions about this man - or boy as you would now call him - turns out being smart never stopped anyone from being dickhead.

you felt like you just failed a quiz you didn’t know that was happening, despite being prepared to ace it.

it wasn’t like you to fail, however. especially not to him.

[ 🩷 — TAGS! @angelicful @lilipads @zaunsin @m4dyy @okkotszn @rhythmloid @cosmicbarstardust @thespaceinbetweennothing @cu1tvenus @huniedeux @oharasfilipinawife @ilovemuppets @loonalockley ] feel free to comment if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

#🥽 — four eyes!#miguel o'hara #i love miguel o’hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x you #miguel x y/n #atsv miguel #atsv #atsv x reader #spiderman #spiderman 2099 #across the spiderverse #into the spider verse #GRRRR MIGUEL MIGUEL MIGUEL #miguel fanfic #<nerd!miguel3

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manageablemischiefs-blog · 9 months ago

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Let's Reflect On: Peter Pettigrew's erasure from The Marauders by a big portion of the Harry Potter fandom.

Peter Pettigrew was an 11-year-old boy who happened to be in the same compartment of the Hogwarts Express as James Potter, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin. They all befriended each other through that interaction - through being sorted in the same house, being dormmates, having things in common, being comfortable around each other.

Peter Pettigrew was a twenty-something-year-old man who was threatened to sell his friends to Voldemort. He was a coward, not a follower.

Even Voldemort himself says it:

“[…] Wormtail here has paid some of his debt already, have you not, Wormtail?" He looked down at Wormtail, who continued to sob. “You returned to me, not out of loyalty, but out of fear of your old friends. You deserve this pain, Wormtail. You know that, don’t you?”“

Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire, Chapter 33: The Death Eaters

In the end, at the moment of his death, when ordered to strangle Harry he hesitated. Now, we have seen him murder without batting an eyelash, why would he not do the same with Harry?

Here's my take on it:

I believe Wormtail saw Harry as more than a chore, a body to dispose of. He saw him as James' son. His best friend whom he helped killing son. All the guilt and grief he had been trying to justify and push away since that fateful night dawned on him.

Peter had been there for his beginning; for James and Lily’s beginning. He was there at their wedding, at the baby shower (if there was one), for every Christmas since first year... He felt, not sure love, but definitely guilt. He looked at Harry and saw the face of James and the never-quivering eyes that once belonged to Lily. It was much easier living without carrying the responsibility of having cast the spell that ended their lives.

He hesitated, which caused the silver hand Voldemort had given to him to sense that as a sign of weakness and/or disloyalty, leading him to be strangled to death. With such a choice, he saves Harry’s life and, to me, finds redemption for his treason.

I’m not saying you should love Peter or that he was a wonderful human being who should now be showered with flowers and kisses by any means, but he has a story and he has a past. He has a built-up of growing insecurities until he betrays his friends. All of this is essential to understand that the twenty-something-year-old Peter Pettigrew is not the same as Hogwarts student Peter Pettigrew. There’s background and nuance to each character - If we ignore it and pretend he was an idiot through and through it just turns him into an empty character with no real importance in the plot, which is not the case. Don't reduce the complex relationship of the marauders to that.

To expand on the topic, the extraordinary @theprogressofspring has quite an extensive section on their blog labeled In Defense of Peter Pettigrew, with essays that go much more into detail and actually gave me the courage to post this entire thing. In addition, they also began a while ago writing The Life Cycle of the Common Rat; a story from Peter's point of view, tackling the first Wizarding War and refreshing characterizations of young adult marauders and Lily; it was a really tricky time, and sometimes the people we love are cunts and the people we hate are not pure evil.

#thank you if you've reached this far #seriously it means a lot #discussing peter pettigrew #remus lupin #sirius black #peter pettigrew #james potter #the marauders #marauders era #marauders headcanon #anti marauders fandom #harry potter

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frost-queen · 9 months ago

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Starcrossed lovers // part 3 (Reader x Peter Parker) NWH

Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco@subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury, @imagines-by-her, @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn, @minimin1993, @narniansmagic, @benonlinear, @canthebest1, @mellowdreamlandpost-blog, @thewhitewolfmarvel, @freek12569, @bookloverfilmoholic, @cigarettedaydreamsandcofee, @qalijahbydior, @gabriella-aesthetic, @fallenxjas

Summary: Peter would do anything to get back to you. Hoping with the help of the sorcerer of his earth, he will reach his goals. Will he venture through earths? If so what would he find beyond? [series list]

Aunt May knocked on Peter’s door. There wasn’t an immediate response so she was hesitant to go in anyways. – “Peter?” – she spoke knocking once more. Listening in on the door, she still had no response. Having a bit enough of it, she tried to open the door, only to be greeted by a blunt force. The door wasn’t budging as far as she wanted. Something in front of it preventing the door from opening more. – “Peter! What is blocking the door.” – she called out through the crack.

She kept pushed the door in an attempt to get the thing in front of the door to move. She gave it a hard push, hearing books drop to the ground. – “Peter!” – she repeated being able to open the door a bit more, seeing the ravage in his room. Books and papers scattered around like mad man’s house. Peter sat on his bed, lifting his head up with confused hum.

The moment he saw Aunt May trying to havoc her way through, he jumped up to assist her. He picked up some books, laying them aside on another piling stack on his desk to clear the way. – “What is the meaning of this?” – she asked too stunned to understand more.

Peter picked up some paper from the floor, holding it in his hand. He chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head. – “It’s a hobby.” – he answered sheepishly. Aunt May looked around, her expression with disgust. – “More like an obsession.” – she muttered trying to make her way further into his room. She picked up a book to read the title. – “Dimension travels?” – she questioned loudly, holding the book up to Peter.

“That’s… that’s…” – Peter answered making his way over to her. He snatched the book from her, keeping it close to his chest. Her eyes fell on some drawings as she showed them to him. – “Portals? Space travels? Peter what are you on about?” – she asked desperate. Peter took the drawings from her, looking saddened down at them.

“You… you wouldn’t understand.” – he simply said. – “Then let me try? Peter you’ve been neglecting your life with this obsession.” – she lectured hating to see him like this. – “It’s not an obsession!” – Peter shouted at her, losing a bit of his temper.

It startled Aunt May. He immediately regretted losing his temper like that against her. – “I’m… I’m sorry Aunt May.” – he apologized. Aunt May sympathized coming closer to him. – “I know you are struggling after Y/n’s death…” – she said touching his cheek. – “But you have to let her go.” – she begged wanting to hug him.

Peter backed away, not wanting her pity. – “I can’t.” – he told her. – “Peter look around! You’re going down a path I cannot follow. Y/n is gone and you have to accept that.” – she slightly raised her voice to get through to him. – “Don’t say that!” – he shouted back at her, not wanting to hear it.

You were not gone. You were just on another earth, far away from him. – “Peter!” – Aunt May yelled losing her composure. – “Y/n is dead and you are just going to have to accept that! Now get dressed and get to work!” – Aunt May finally had enough. She had snapped and acted it out on Peter.

Peter moved towards her, grabbing her by the arm to push her out of his room. He shut the door hard in her face. He had never done this and felt a bit ashamed of it. It was just, she wasn’t understanding it. How could he move on from you, knowing you were alive on another earth. Now that he had tasted sweetness, he craved more.

Peter looked down at the drawing of Strange’s portal he had drawn himself ever since he came back. Strange. His eyes widened realizing something. Peter got dressed and ran out of the house. – “Peter?” – Aunt May asked as he completely ignored her and rushed out. She sighed soft, hoping she wasn’t too harsh on him and that he soon forgave her. Peter hopped onto the first subway, taking him to his destination. If your earth had a Spiderman, his earth should have a Dr. Strange as well. Right?

Only one way to find out. Peter stared out of the window as the subway rushed past. He briefly looked down at his phone, lighting his screen up with a picture of you and him. – “I’m coming for you Y/n.” – he whispered blackening the screen again. Finding Strange wasn’t easy. He had little information of the man. He searched the streets thoroughly. Looking at each face to one that would match the description of the wizard he had known on your earth.

When that was a wild goose chase, he decided to focus on the building. Something Peter, your Peter had told him. He tried searching it up with little results. Groaning frustrated, he started to wonder if he even existed here. – “Where the hell is this man!” – Peter called out, making some by-passers turn their head and stare confused at him.

Feeling a bit lost in a foreign city, Peter was ready to give up. He seated himself down on some stone steps leading to a big door. Exhaling deep he let his head fall back against the door. Closing his eyes, he didn’t want to cry. The feeling of letting you slip through his fingers again was agony. It was pure hell. Being so close, yet not close enough. The door knob turned as the door opened. Peter’s eyes widened open as he felt the space behind him disappear.

He called it out when he fell backwards. With a loud oof he hit the hard floor. Opening his eyes a bit, he was greeted by a face looking down at him. Excitement reached him as he pointed heartly up to the man. – “You’re… you’re Strange!” – he exclaimed recognizing the same features of the man from your earth. – “That is doctor to you.” – Strange answered in a deep voice.

"Now get off my doorstep kid!” – Strange called out, ushering him away. – “No wait Sir!” – Peter replied waving his hands in front of him. Strange was about to close the door on him as Peter looked further back into the mansion. Stretching his arm out, he let out a web, letting himself be dragged inside right through Strange’s legs.

Strange stared stunned at the empty spot, turning his head rapidly back. – “How did you?” – he said both stunned and annoyed. Peter jumped to his feet. – “I need to talk to you.” – Peter started, panting a bit. – “Okay bye, bye kid.” – Strange said opening a portal that would flung itself at Peter. Peter gasped jumping up as he kept his hand on the ceiling. Strange’s portal passed right under him.

Strange looked surprised up to his ceiling, seeing the boy hang on it with just one hand. – “You are one annoying kid.” – Stephen sighed out. Peter dropped down on the ground. – “Listen sir… doctor.” – he corrected himself seeing the quirked eyebrow of Strange. – “I need your help. I need you to let me travel through one of your portals.” – Peter began.

Stephan laughed loud. – “I don’t have to do anything, and certainly not for breaking in kids like you.” – he pointed at Peter. Stephen turned away to a table to set himself a cup of coffee. – “Doctor please… I need to get to her earth.” – Peter explained with desperation.

Stephen spit out his coffee, turning a warningly eye at Peter. – “Did you just say her earth?” – he repeated to be sure, he had heard it correctly. – “Yes.” – Peter expressed approaching him. – “I need you to take me to her earth. You see I travelled through earths before… not so long ago some kid brought me to their earth.” – Peter explained further. Stephen hummed loud, scratching his jaw.

“I found out that someone from my earth is still alive there. She would’ve been here if it wasn’t for you!” – Peter accused. He swallowed nervously at the sudden stern glare from Strange. – “I mean your other you… not you doctor…” – Peter said to clarify. Stephen sat his cup down on the table.

“So you are telling me you travelled through earths and this other me… did this?” – Stephen asked so he was sure he understood. Peter nodded. Stephen hummed loud thoughtfully. – “So this other me travelled through parallel worlds?” – he asked.

“I don’t know… I guess… I did for sure.” – Peter replied. Stephen hummed again, deep in thoughts. – “Will… will you help me?” – Peter asked. Stephen grabbed Peter firm by the shoulder giving it a hard squeeze. – “First I need you to tell me everything!” – he led Peter further into the mansion. Peter swallowed nervously, suddenly not so sure of this man’s intentions, but he was his only hope to getting back to you. Peter explained his experience fully to him.

He told him about the portal. The other Spiderman, the villains, you. He told him everything. He explained his cause for him to understand better. – “So… so can you help me?” – Peter questioned nervously. Stephen stared at him. – “No…” – Strange answered getting up and turning his back to Peter. – “But you said!” – Peter called out, getting up as well.

“You said you’d help me!” – Peter tried to get Strange to stop walking away from him. – “Stop running!” – Peter shouted shooting a web at him. Strange’s hand got attached to the doorframe, stopping him from going any further. – “I need her! You… you have no idea what it’s like to lose someone!” – Peter called out angry that he was going to do nothing.

“I do!” – Strange replied harsh, looking over his shoulder to him. – “But… but earth travel…” – he wanted to turn more to Peter, but was prevented cause of the web. He cursed at the web, trying to pull it off. – “Get this thing off me!” – he yelled making Peter rush at him to help him free. – “Earth travel is a dangerous thing kid. It’s not because she died here, you can simply replace her with another copy.” – he told him.

“She’s not a copy!” – Peter made clear with a glare. Stephen moved his hands up as a way it wasn’t meant for him to get defensive. – “She won’t belong here. What do you think the people would say that knew her? Her family? Their daughter risen from the dead?” – Stephen explained trying to reason with him. – “I’ll just move to another city with her.” – he answered. – “It’s not that simple kid.” – Strange sighed out. – “Please… just let me try… I just need you to open a portal to her earth, allow me to get her and bring her here.”

“And how do you think you’ll get back? I have no glass orb that can see when you are ready to leave kid.” – Stephen said giving another stomp in Peter’s dreams. – “I…I don’t know…” – Peter sighed out letting himself fall in a seat. Stephen took a deep breath, approaching him. – “Look I get it kid, you would do anything to get her back, but it isn’t that easy. It could create some serious issues.” – Stephen went on to explain.

“You can’t save everybody, kid.” – Stephen placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder. – “I have… I have to try… I won’t forgive myself if I haven’t tried it at least.” – with desperation and sorrow, looked he up to Strange. Begging him to give him a try. To let him try it. – “Wouldn’t you try it if it was about the one you loved? Wouldn’t you give everything just to be with her again?”

“I would.” – Strange answered thinking back of Christine. The girl he let slip through his fingers because of his own mistakes. His own bitterness and rudeness had pushed her away. He took her for granted and now all was lost. Married off to someone else, that never could be him. Peter felt hopeful from Strange’s reaction. Stephen clapped loud in his hands. – “Alright kid! Let’s break through the walls of space.” – he announced.

Peter jumped back up following Strange with a new hope. It took them several days to get even close to their mission. Figuring out a good plan to get Peter in and out along with you. To find a way to travel through earths. Finally the day had come for their experiment. Peter stood ready, anxious to enter your world once more. – “Here.” – Strange said holding out a watch.

Peter accepted it questionable. – “It will allow you to open your own portal once you have her.” – he told him. – “Where did you get this?” – Peter asked. – “An ant gave it to me.” – Stephen answered with a chuckle, leaving Peter confused. Peter put on the watch over his spiderman suit.

“What earth was she on again?” – Stephen asked. – “Earth-199999.” – Peter replied, having remembered the numbers so thoughtfully. Stephen looked at the drawing Peter had made of the very place he entered your earth first. – “Let’s hope this works kid… if not… it was nice knowing you.” – he commented casually making Peter gulp. –“Thank… thank you Doctor.” – Peter said holding his hand out.

“Please…” – Stephen answered grabbing his hand to shake. – “Call me Stephen.” – Peter smiled feeling as if he had made an alley, perhaps even a friend. All those days spend with him using his wits on science and Strange’s wits on sorcery brought them closer. – “Ready?” – Stephen asked. Peter put his mask on. – “Ready.” – he breathed out.

Stephen moved his hands across, circling a portal open. Tiny sparks frizzled in the centre. It made Peter nervous and anticipating the moment he’d see you again. The sparks grew bigger as Peter took a deep breath. Slowly he could see the other side as he slowly started to recognize it. He smiled underneath his mask. This was it.

The portal grew wider as it was wide enough for him to step through. With one last deep breath, he stepped forwards, traveling through earths. On the other side sat Ned at the table, eating cereal. His jaw dropped as his spoon clattered against the bowl from having fallen out of his hands. Peter took off his mask upon seeing Ned. He looked around to see if it was the room he remembered.

It was just as he remembered. – “Ned!” – Peter called out excited. Ned’s eyes widened in fear. – “You… you know my name…” – he said stuttering. – “Yes, Ned It’s me Peter Parker… I was here not so long ago… well I’m not sure just how long with all that space jumping.” – Peter replied, muttering the last bit to himself. Ned pointed at Peter and let out a loud scream of help. It startled and confused Peter.

“No, no, Ned. It’s me.” – Peter answered as Ned’s chair fell as he backed away. Ned screamed again in fear. – “Ned!” – Peter called out moving closer to him. Ned took off as Peter shot a web out to him. Ned got stuck against the wall. – “Sorry.” – Peter apologized with his hands up. – “You were panicking Ned. I can’t have you panic.” – Peter went on, nearing Ned. – “I don’t have any money.” – Ned squeaked out, struggling against the web. Peter frowned. – “I don’t want your money.”

Peter sighed feeling as he wasn’t going anywhere with him. – “Look…” – Peter said pinching his nose bridge. – “Just tell me where I can find Y/n.” – Peter asked. – “Y/n? What do you want with Y/n?” – Ned questioned suddenly less fearful. – “Are you going to use her for your evil plan?” – Ned called out. – “Evil plan? What no Ned!” – Peter answered confused. – “I am just looking for her.” – Ned turned his head. – “I won’t tell you anything villain!” – Ned shouted, confusing Peter more.

He started to realize something might be wrong, but he had no time for it. – “Just tell me where she is!” – he called out desperately grabbing a hold of Ned. Ned sobbed out the address. Peter thanked Ned, releasing him once again before going after you. He shot out a web, flying above the city between the buildings to reach his destination sooner. Excitement took over as he felt himself smile. Finally he was going to be reunited with you again. His pride and glory.

Peter dropped down on the ground, staring at you through the window. There you were. Just within reach. Sitting down in a small coffee shop surrounded by books. Taking a deep breath, he let himself in. Not caring one bit if people stared at his costume without the mask. He neared your table. You sensed someone approaching, slowly looking up. – “Hi.” – he spoke almost fragile. – “Hi.” – you responded. The person smiled saddened.

You kept smiling at him, till it felt a bit awkward. – “I’m sorry, am I taking in your spot?” – you asked. Peter’s smile dropped, shaking his head confused. – “What.. no…” – he sputtered out. He had expected you to jump in his arms. To be rejoiced at his return, yet you remained seated. Staring a bit strange at him. – “Y/n… it’s me.. Peter… Peter Parker.” – he said feeling silly to remind you of it. You tilted your head a bit with furrowed brows.

You then laughed loud. – “Funny joke. You look nothing like that nerd Peter Parker. Also what’s with the costume? It’s far from Halloween.” – you told him. Peter blinked confused back at you. – “Don’t… don’t you remember?” – he asked softly. – “Remember what?” – you questioned. – “Me?” – Peter pointed at himself with desperation. You smiled soft. – “I think I would remember meeting someone like you, but I don’t… sorry…” – you replied.

Peter turned around with a disappointed exhale. Why didn’t you remember him? Unless… - “Strange’s spell.” – Peter blurted out.

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