#peterparked

[peterparkive]

come back to me | b. barnes

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ synopsis: it’s been three years since you and Bucky called it quits. you learned to live without him, to stop waiting for a knock that would never come. until tonight, when he shows up at your front door with his team and tired eyes, asking for a place to crash. his presence, bathed in the soft light of your doorstep, stirs feelings long buried—ones you thought had vanished the night he did.

-> pairing: post-thunderbolts!bucky x fem!reader

-> disclaimers: so much angst that it’s sickening, yearning, cursing, minor use of y/n, reader and bucky are exes, the thunderbolts are a found family and i make sure of it, bucky has relationship insecurity, unresolved tension, i got carried away with angst (peep word count), bucky and his beautiful dyson airwrap blowout, happy ending.

-> word count: 10k+ (BYEEEE)

-> song rec: cardigan by taylor swift

-> a/n: first ever fic on this blog and it’s angst. i thrive off of tense silence and painful longing. it’s long but worth it (this deserved length)

The knocks come close to midnight. You’re still awake, folding all of your laundry you’d tackled on your day off. You aren’t tired by any means, however, you definitely weren’t expecting the company behind those three even raps on the wooden door of your apartment.

You approach the door with rightful caution—something your years of fighting crime, aliens and evil villains had taught you—but nothing you’d faced before could have ever prepared you for what was on the other side of that peephole.

You almost didn’t open it, backing away with a heartbeat that pumped too quickly for you to keep up. Your breathing grew heavy, like the weight you’ve spent so long trying to lift off your shoulders came crashing down on you again. Yet, there’s a part of you inside that desperately wants to swing the door open, which only makes you angrier—that after all this time, your heart still fails you in the presence of him.

Despite the voices in your head screaming at you from every angle, your body betrays you. Fingers switch the locks and you’re pulling the door open, a small gust of wind following in its path.

Bucky Barnes looks different from the last time you saw him—in person, at least. You’ve seen the new prince charming hair and scruffy beard plenty of times on your television but after a while, his face grew harder to look at so you stopped paying attention. Something once familiar became foreign and you convinced yourself you accepted that.

But there he stands at your front door. Only he isn’t alone, because behind him are the rest of his team of bandits turned heroes; bruised, bloodied and battered.

For a second, you don’t think you’d be able to speak but then your mouth moves faster than your brain. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

It’s silent, and you’re pissed. The goddam Thunderbolts are at your front door in the middle of the night and none of them have the decency to speak. Not even the man who brought them there.

“Is this a joke?” You say, blinking.

Bucky, as if your words snap him out of some sort of daze, raises his chin. “Hi Y/N.”

His voice was as gruff and deep as you remember and the sound of his name rolling off your tongue triggers something you thought you’d long gotten rid of.

When you don’t respond, out of equal parts shock and anger, Bucky continues, “We’re on a mission and it hasn’t been going well. We need,” He pauses. “We need some place to stay. Just for the night.”

There was no way, you think. Maybe you passed out and hit your head, hard enough for your brain to conjure up this sadistic nightmare.

“Seriously?” You breathe, fingers clutching the door with an effort that makes your knuckles turn white.

Bucky opens his mouth but is unable to come up with any words—shame and guilt flickering in every corner of his eyes.

You use the silence to glance around at the other five strangers standing at your front door. They look like they’ve all gone through the ringer; dirty and exhausted. When your eyes land on hers—Yelena’s—your breath falters.

She looks exactly like Natasha under the harsh fluorescent light of your hallway, with a deep gash on her lip and those same rich blue eyes. She stares back at you, tired in a way that makes your heart hurt.

Suddenly, you felt like shit for contemplating slamming the door right in their faces.

When your eyes meet Bucky’s again, that thumping in your heart is undeniable—the one that reminds you of just how much he’d once meant to you, of how you would’ve pulled him inside without question had he knocked on your door years earlier. It was yelling at you to let him inside. Them.

Because that part of you, the one that once loved him and everything that came with him, wasn’t entirely gone. No matter how much you tried to get rid of her.

With a sharp inhale, you step to the side for them to walk through.

Bucky hadn’t expected you to. Of course, he knew the kind of person you once were but he didn’t know the kind of person you are now—you had every right to turn him away and yet, your apartment door was wide open.

His feet feel frozen in place. After a moment of waiting for him to move, and sharing confused glances when he didn’t, the rest of The Thunderbolts begin walking through your door giving you murmurs of appreciation.

Bucky was the last one to step inside.

He feels the energy shift the second he walks through the threshold of your apartment. He hasn’t been inside since the breakup—since the day he practically ripped your heart out with his hand and tried to move on like nothing had happened.

You hate the way he doesn’t bother to look around like the rest of his teammates because he already knows the apartment like the back of his hand. More so, you hate locking the door behind him because that makes the situation all the more real.

Clearing your throat, you spin around despite the fact that your brain still feels as if it’s melting. “I’m Y/N.” You don’t know why you bother telling them your name when surely he beat you to it.

“Oh, we know who you are.” The big man—Red Guardian, you think—laughs, a smile stretching across his face in admiration. “You are Avenger. I see you fight on television. Big fan.”

You blink. “Well, I’ve seen you all fight on TV too,” Your words are laced with bitterness and you resist the urge to side-eye Bucky in the process. “The New Avengers. That’s taken some getting used to.”

Everyone in the room can feel the tension between you and the man who stands near the archway of the hallway, attempting to remain out of the way.

They know you and Bucky used to be a thing, the whole world does. The details of said separation are unknown to most but people have their theories and the creation of The New Avengers is rumored to be one of them.

“For us too, believe it or not.” The woman with a short brown bob and thick accent steps forward. “Thank you for opening your home to us. I’m Ava.”

You give her a simple nod of acknowledgement before the room falls back into quiet.

Then, John Walker who leans against your wall cockily, clears his throat. Your head shoots towards him and you resist the urge you have to drop kick him out the window of your apartment.

You knew him, of course. You’d been there when Sam and Bucky took down the Flag Smashers, and when the same shield that once belonged to Captain America was dripping with blood on live television at the hands of the very man standing in your living room.

“Ma’am.” He nods, offering a mock salute.

“Right.” Your voice is clipped when you look everywhere but at him, disregarding him sassily.

“Is this,” an unsure voice interrupts. It belongs to the brunette man with the shy face whom you hadn’t heard speak until now. He stands near the side table, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket like he’s afraid of intruding by just asking. “Is this you?”

He’s looking at one of the various picture frames on the table, stopped in front of one in particular—a slightly worn photo in a gold frame. It’s of you, sitting cross legged on a rooftop during golden hour. You were laughing, with your head thrown back happily and wearing his sweatshirt that was slightly too big for you. The city behind you was blurry but glowing, making your smile look radiant.

You swallow. The laugh in the picture still echoes in your head and you remember every second up to that photo being taken.

Years ago, Bucky and you sat on the rooftop of a building in Prague. The two of you had been on a mission, a long and exhausting one where you’d figured you both needed a moment of peace among the chaos. On the roof, you watched the sunset together and you practically begged him to take a photo with you to commemorate the night. He refused nonchalantly, and you teased him that he’s never in any photos. He joked that he can never sit still long enough to take them.

“Gives me cramps.” He smiled.

You’d thought that was the funniest thing you’d heard all day. Your laugh was genuine, pure and sweet sounding in his ears as it bounced off the rooftop of the building. At the sight of your easy smile, Bucky lifted up his phone and snapped the photo. You’d scolded him for taking the candid without giving you a warning, but he absolutely loved it.

“‘M gonna frame this,” He stared at it in admiration between your laughter. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Bucky.” You’d whined, a flush gracing your face.

“Seriously.” He turned to you, eyes softening. “Always so damn beautiful.”

The next time he’d come into your apartment, the first thing he had done was place the framed photo on your table, insisting you keep this version because he’d already printed out one of his own.

Now, the picture sat still and quiet, collecting dust because it hadn’t been appreciated since he left.

“That’s me,” You confirm to the man. “A few years back on a mission. Someone told a joke and I guess I laughed hard enough to be worth remembering.”

He nods, a gentle smile on his face. “It’s a good picture. You look happy.”

You blink, the photo staring back at you almost mockingly. “I was.”

Bucky shifts on his feet where he stands the farthest away in the living room. He knows exactly what photo it is without even having to see it because it’s still the lockscreen on his phone, only he never lets people get close enough to question it.

The younger man’s gaze flickers up to you like he can sense the sadness you feel by looking at the photo. He steps towards you, offering you his hand meekly. “I’m Bob.”

Maybe it’s something about his face, or the attentiveness with which he holds himself, but you smile back—small and sweet. “Nice to meet you, Bob.”

You’re still holding Bob’s hand when another voice speaks from behind you. “You’re a lot quieter than I imagined.”

You twist around and there she is, staring at you with sharp but exhausted eyes.

“Yelena,” She says, stepping forward and offering her hand too. “Belova.”

You take it, her grip steady, and fight the urge to say that you already know who she is. It appears she caught onto the fact that you recognize something in her.

“Y/N.” You nod your head back, taking the moment to analyze her face because it looked so much like the one you’d grown to miss.

She swallows, eyes flickering between your own, like maybe she wishes she knew you like her older sister had. “I like your place. It smells like coffee and books.”

The comment makes you huff, a quiet and gentle laugh. “Thank you.”

When you pull your hand away, you take a moment to scan the room full of standing guests, waiting to be told what was appropriate of them by you, who was now their host. You rarely have people over anymore so you aren’t entirely sure how to do this. Your eyes linger in the direction where Bucky stands for only a second, before you clear your throat and shake him off of you.

“Can I get you guys anything?” You ask no one in particular.

“Change of clothes.” Yelena.

“Water.” John.

“A first aid kit.” Ava.

“Snacks, please.” Bob.

“Tequila.” Alexei.

A small “oh” leaves your mouth as The Thunderbolts speak over each other, staring at you with hesitant grins and eager eyes.

“Yeah,” You nod your head. “Uh, the bathroom's down the hall and the kitchen’s through those doors. I don’t have any tequila but I do have snacks, water, and vodka in the top left cupboard.

Alexei practically threw his fist in the air with a joyous, “Yes!”

Bob almost did too at the mention of free snacks.

“There’s also blankets in that basket right there and the remote for the TV is on the coffee table,” You explain, motioning around with your hands and entirely unaware of the way Bucky’s softened eyes fixate on you and your natural hospitality. “I’ll go get the first aid and clothes, but uhm, help yourself to anything. Except if you’re Walker, which in that case, you can sit on the couch and not speak.”

It was a sarcastic joke—one that earns a snort from Yelena and a soft chuckle from Ava. Even Bucky, who remains behind you at a far enough distance, feels his lips curl up in a grin.

“I deserve that.” John nods, plopping down on the couch with an exhausted huff, ultimately just happy to have somewhere safe and comfortable to rest for a little.

Bob and Alexei remain still, neither man wishing to overstep boundaries, especially yours, though they so desperately want to get into that kitchen. Sensing their eagerness, you nod towards the kitchen once more in reassurance. Both of them immediately set off for it, seemingly racing each other to see who can get to the goodies first.

You blink, shaking your head in what was still disbelief before twisting around on your feet to head towards the hallway. Unlucky for you, Bucky still leaned against the doorway to the hall and when your eyes meet his, you nearly freeze in your spot.

You almost forgot he was there.

After so long of him being gone, you eventually got used to not having his physical being pressed to the couch or sleeping in your bed. However, his presence straggled in every corner of your apartment, haunting you in a way that kept you up at night because of how strongly you felt it—felt him. The fact that he’s back inside feels extremely surreal, but something you’d secretly imagined for years whenever you looked at a photo of him for too long or smelled the lingering scent of his cologne on one of your pillows.

You open your mouth, as if you instinctively want to speak, but shut it equally as quickly. You have nothing to say to him. Not right now.

You can’t pinpoint when it starts to feel normal. Not entirely, but just enough so that the silence in your apartment isn’t uncomfortable anymore. Just enough that their boots by the front door and empty water glasses on the table don’t feel like clutter but rather, signs of life.

Maybe it’s when you toss back a shot with Red Guardian, because he insists it’s his way of saying thank you, and his laugh almost physically shakes the apartment with how happy he is to be “drinking with an actual Avenger!” Or when Ava and John sit on the couch, fighting over the remote and arguing about what movie they should watch for the night.

Maybe it’s when you catch Bob carefully folding up one of your throw blankets into a comfy square, before plopping on the ground to eat a granola bar like it was a five star meal. Or when Yelena clamors all over your kitchen in search of microwave popcorn and shortly gets distracted in a conversation with you about your makeup routines, so the first batch burns. You both laugh about it extensively and even more so when Alexei insists you let him eat it instead of throwing it out.

Or maybe, just maybe, it’s when Bob—sweet, innocent Bob—asks where your glasses are so he can get some water, and before you can even get up from your seat on the couch, Bucky’s already on his feet.

“Bottom cabinet, to the left of the sink.” He says over his shoulder, though he’s already halfway there.

You hesitate, lips parting like maybe you mean to say something but no words are capable of coming out. You merely watch him as he moves with ease–like he still belonged, like nothing has changed.

He doesn’t look at you either, not when he opens the cabinet and pulls out the glass without question. Not when he passes it off to Bob like it’s completely normal. Not when he walks right back to his seat on your arm chair in the corner of the room without so much as glancing in your direction.

Suddenly, you’re angry again–that same heat bubbling up in the middle of your chest and threatening to spew out with every second you spend staring at him.

How dare he? Your brain screams. How dare he float around your apartment after everything that happened? How dare he bring his team to the place where you live and just expect you to let them in? And how dare you be so completely and utterly helpless as to fall for it.

You curse yourself and your stupid heart; the one that still reserved a spot for him despite all that you’d done these past years to try and relinquish him. It was impossible to forget Bucky Barnes and you learned that the hard way. Even more so, it was impossible to unlove him. You realize this the more you look at him sitting, with his idiotically beautiful prince hair and uniform that he hasn’t bothered to change out of yet.

As if he could feel your eyes on him, he glances up from where he fiddles with a ring on his finger and your eyes meet for what feels like one too many times that night.

This time, though, you really can’t find it in yourself to look away. Not yet.

His breath hitches in his throat and you notice the way his body goes still under your gaze. He leans back in his seat, slowly but softly, like he’s tired and no longer wants to hide it from you. His tough, soldier demeanor falters for a second, his eyebrows softening at the distant expression in your face.

It was killing him inside, that he was this close to you physically, but so, so far away from you emotionally.

Bucky had been the one to call off your relationship around three years ago. After the whole ordeal with the Flagsmashers was over and Sam had finally gotten the shield back, you and Bucky had decided to move on together. He’d completed his book of amends, having made peace with all of the people he’d harmed and finally feeling like he’d made peace with himself.

The two of you were good–perfect, even—for months after that. You were settling down, taking things slowly, but beginning to live a life that didn’t always require missions every other day and constantly fighting off evil villains.

He’d practically moved in, falling asleep and waking up beside you in your bed, limbs tangled in the sheets like you could stay forever that way. He’d make you coffee in the morning after you’d smothered his face in kisses to wake him, then you’d spend all day together because you couldn’t bear to be a minute apart. You’d walk around town going to restaurants, or shops, or little book stores where he watched you scan the shelves with such admiration, you thought he might’ve jumped out of a romance novel himself.

He took you on dates and never once forgot flowers, no matter how many times you insisted you didn’t need that many bouquets of lilies. He’d stay up late with you while you binge watched one of your ridiculous reality shows, sitting behind you on the couch and pretending he wasn’t engaged though you knew he secretly loved it. He’d smile whenever you danced around the living room of your apartment while you were cleaning, and complained, but ultimately gave in when you’d tug him by the arm and insisted he slow danced with you too.

That was the life you’d dreamed of and just when the both of you started to get it, things began falling out of reach.

Bucky still struggled, hell, you did too, but adjusting to the simple life was a lot more difficult for him than it was for you. He’d still wake up with frequent nightmares where you’d then hold him until he felt safe enough to fall back to sleep in your arms. Sometimes he’d go silent, leave to get some fresh air and not come back for hours. When he did though, you’d always be waiting with a gentle hug and a warm cup of tea—ears open if he wished to speak about it, which he never really did.

Each time he felt like maybe he was getting better, he always fell back into old habits. You helped, of course. In fact, you were the only thing making him happy in his own life and the knowledge of that made Bucky overwhelmed with guilt.

He knew you wanted to settle down, wanted to slowly begin living a life of peace and quiet, with the occasional ‘saving the world mission’ here and there. Yet, he was worried you would never be able to achieve that tranquil lifestyle with him attached at your side. He was used to the chaos, to the noise and restlessness, so it was only a matter of time before he began feeling like one giant burden to you.

Your kindness, your hope, your ability to love without condition were all things that Bucky felt completely undeserving of—wonderful things that you were wasting on him. He’d felt selfish asking you to wait beside him while he tried to fix himself over and over again, so he convinced himself that letting you go was the most selfless thing he could do.

“Bucky,” You had stepped forward, with a frown and tears that threatened to spill over your waterline. “I just, I want to be here for you.”

“I know,” He nodded, trying his best to make you understand though he didn’t quite understand it himself. “But you shouldn’t have to. I don’t want to hold you back anymore. I don’t want you to keep bending yourself backwards for me, it’s not fair to you.”

“This isn’t fair to me,” You shook your head in disbelief. “I want to be with you. None of it bothers me, not if it means I get to have you, you know that right?”

“And what about the life you want to live?” He hummed, water brimming his own eyes. “I’m not going to be able to give you that–none of the peace or the quiet–not when I can barely go to sleep on my own without waking up from these fucked nightmares. There’s, just, so much more out there for you than this.”

Every word that slipped from his mouth was equivalent to someone taking a knife that was freshly sharpened and lodging it in your chest repeatedly. “So what,” You blinked up at him. “You’re gonna leave? After all of this, you want to leave because you think you’re too difficult?”

“Y/N, you don’t get sleep anymore because of me. You say it yourself, you’re so exhausted and it’s because of me. You stay up, waiting for me to come home and I feel like shit the moment I step through that door and see you still awake on the couch. It kills me that you feel like you have to do that, because you don’t and you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t have to wait for me anymore.” He continued.

“That doesn’t matter to me. I’ll do it, I’ll wait for you no matter what.” Your words come from your gut—genuine and determined. “When we started dating, I told you that I’d be here to take care of you regardless of the circumstances. I meant that because I love you too much to let you do this alone.”

“And I love you too much to drag you down with me.” He blurted, just as a stray tear rained down his cheek.

Your body faltered and you paused at the feeling of your heart crack away in your chest. The reality of the situation had weighed on you, and you needed a moment to catch up—to understand that Bucky was being serious.

Sure you’d argued before, over little things that you resolved with a second of alone time, some communication and a shared kiss. However, this didn’t feel like the sort of conversation that could be fixed with a kiss. The expression on Bucky’s face started to make you think that he had already made up his mind.

“So,” Your voice cracked. “So what, this is it? You’re just gonna leave after everything we've been through, after all the time we’ve spent here? This is your home.”

“And it was your home first.” He breathed. “You opened your door to me and so I came in, with all of my bullshit and problems. I intruded.”

“You did not intrude–”

“I did.” He pressed, sternly. “I don’t want to ruin this for you, I can’t. Not when you’re so bright, and full of life, and good. God, you’re so good, that I don’t want to be the one responsible for taking that away from you. You deserve better than me, better than this.”

Had your knees not locked, you thought you might’ve collapsed right there on the floor of your living room. It was a horrible dream, a sick one even. Except, the more you stared into the depths of his, once, vibrant ocean eyes to find them darkened to a storm blue, you realized just how real this was.

Bucky approached you slowly, his gentle hands finding their places on the sides of your hips, holding you up and simultaneously closer to him. “I’m sorry,” He whispered, it sounded more like a whimper past his devastated lips. “I’m so sorry.”

You sobbed almost immediately, dropping your head and letting it fall against his chest. He didn’t push you away, only wrapped his arms around you and held you like it was the last time he was going to—which in this case, it was.

It didn’t feel the same though. His grip was tight around you but his hold was loose, like he had already checked out by the time he’d placed his chin on top of your head and ran his hand down your back in comfort. Regardless, you savoured the moment, melted into it for as long it took to commit his touch to memory. Unfortunately for you, the feeling of his skin on yours would linger like a tattoo for all the years that he’d be away.

Your sadness was shortly accompanied by anger, a feeling completely foreign to you, especially around the man you loved. You were wiggling out of his grasp, and pushing him by the chest to increase the distance between the two of you.

He watched with knitted eyebrows as you wiped the tears off of your face on the sleeves of the hoodie you wore—one that belonged to him. You tried to regulate your breathing, make it as leveled as you could so you could spit out the words, “Fine. Go.”

This time, it was Bucky who felt like he’d just gotten stabbed in the chest.

“If giving up on our relationship is easier for you than sticking around, there’s no reason for you to be here anymore.” You hiss, sudden resentment dripping off of your tongue.

You had every reason in the world to be upset about this, he knew this. He also knew that it was hypocritical of him to be hurt by your words because this was his doing, after all. He deserved this, he reminded himself, your anger and your hatred as opposed to your patience and love. Because Bucky’s days as The Winter Soldier had trained him to be unloveable–to be cruel, and sad, and lonely. That was all he knew and sometimes, he felt it was all he was made for.

“Go.” You snapped when he couldn't find the dignity to move his legs. “Please. Just, please get the hell out, and don’t come back.”

With an empty void where his heart should be, Bucky left that night, for good this time. He didn’t quietly enter again at two in the morning to be greeted by the love of his life carrying a warm cup of freshly brewed tea. He didn’t climb into your bed with you so you could comb your fingers through his hair and lull him to sleep. As much as he wanted to, he didn’t because he knew the distance was the only thing good for you. It was the only thing that would keep you free from him.

That distance held true for three years. No matter how many times you’d see him on your television, whether it was under the guise of Congressman Barnes or now, New Avenger Bucky, you never once ran back to him. It was something you’d thought about many times because god, you missed him more than you’d missed anything in your life, but you weren’t going to fall victim to your own heart.

Instead, he eventually ran back to you–standing at your front door with his new team, his new friends, his new priorities. None of which involved you. Up until the moment he needed a place to stay for the night.

Your attention finally flickers away as you turn back to the rest of The Thunderbolts that gathered in your living room despite the fact that it was well past midnight. Yelena, who sits beside you on the armrest of the couch, immediately jumps into storytime about what went wrong on their mission that resulted in them camping out at your place.

Alexei however, sprawls out on the floor with a small bowl of trail mix in his lap, tossing back peanuts into his mouth like a sport. His focus seems to be on Bucky. With a curious head tilt, he asks during a pause in Yelena’s story, “What’s up with this guy?”

The room falls into a beat of silence and all eyes flicker over to the super soldier, including yours, but you look away faster than any of them can notice.

“What?” Yelena hums.

“He has not said anything at all for the past hour.” Alexei continues.

“He doesn’t talk much, you know this.” Ava shrugs simply.

“Yeah, but he is talking a lot less than usual.”

Bucky inhales, leaning back in his seat and offering the room a small but sarcastic smile. “Just tired. Long day.”

The Thunderbolts nod in agreement, all except for Alexei who tilts his head between you and Bucky curiously. “Well, there is an elephant in this room and I think it is very big.”

“Dad.” Yelena hisses, nudging him in his foot with her own.

Your body tenses on the spot and you swallow the lump in your throat harshly.

“What? I am just curious,” He says genuinely. “They were a thing, no? Her and Barnes?”

As badly as you want to chuck one of your throw pillows directly at the Red Guardian’s head, it’s clear to tell that he was sincerely asking. He’s horrible at reading the room though, you’d give him that.

“There is a time and place,” Yelena mumbles under her breath. “We talked about this, remember?”

“I think this is the place,” he argues. “It feels so heavy in here, like I am crushed.”

You don’t want to look up to catch Bucky’s reaction to his teammate’s words, though you were sure it mimicked your own. Desperately needing to put an end to whatever this was, you straighten your shoulders in an attempt to be casual.

“It wasn’t really a thing,” You say lightly, like it’s not a carefully crafted lie. “We worked together for a long time, that’s all.”

A beat.

“So it was not anything more?” Alexei continues, in between crunches of trail mix. “Because I watched the news and the news said you were dating. But it can be wrong, the news can be wrong.”

Your stomach was churning quickly, like your ribs were bruising from the inside out. You hated talking about it because the wound was still fresh, like a cut that never scabbed over properly.

“We were partners who got close, but that's it. It was work, ” You respond simply, reaching for your glass of water like it would save you from this confrontation. “That’s all it ever was.”

And it hurts to say it like that—to minimize everything that once was between you, but it was the one thing you learned how to do since he left. It made the loss of him easier to manage.

Alexei, finally seeming to have caught on, frowns into his snack bowl and mutters something under his breath about Americans being too vague. Bob clears his throat, totally uncomfortable by the silence and tension, just like Ava and John who focus their attention on the television screen though it was obvious they were thinking about something else. Yelena gives you a small glance–not pitying, but knowing.

Bucky doesn’t say a word, but his hand is curled tight around the glass he sips from, so much so that his knuckles have gone completely white.

It pains him, so much more than he’d like to show on his face, to hear you diminish your relationship to simply business. Because he remembers it all; the early mornings and late nights, the dates and bouquets of unnecessary flowers, the slow dances in the very same living room you were gathered in. Despite having been the one to walk out, he thought about those moments every day of his life and it killed him to know that it was all just passing to you.

In your peripheral vision, you catch it; the way he gazes at the floor like if he stares at it long enough, he might just be able to sink right into it—the look on his face as if he’s watching the life he could’ve had disappear all over again.

The damage had been done and while it should’ve felt like a weight lifting off of your shoulders to say, it only makes your lungs close up even more. Your breathing begins to feel dense and the longer you sit in the living room, the more it feels like its walls are closing in on you.

You push yourself off of the couch to turn towards Bob on the ground and hold your hand out for his empty glass. “You want a refill, Bob?”

Truthfully, he doesn’t but he notices the desperation in your expression for a way out so he nods his head quickly.

You take his glass and set off towards the kitchen. The second you step inside, you immediately put the cup down to grip the edge of the counter. Dropping your head, you close your eyes and try to regulate your breathing but your chest is so heavy, it almost feels impossible.

You feel ridiculous for letting this bother you as much as it was, but how could it not? You’re trying so hard to fight the collapse of the walls around your heart but, god, they’re shaking. Buckling. Breaking. It’s only a matter of time before they crumble completely under the weight of every memory you’ve tried to keep buried.

Why does it hurt so much? Why does it still hurt so much?

You want to cry, your throat burning with the pressure of holding it all back. You inhale a deep breath, one that rattles on the way down. You keep your palms flat against the countertop, like maybe if you hold onto it hard enough, it might keep you from crashing to the ground.

A creak sounds from the floor behind you, soft and careful, indicating that someone has stepped into the kitchen.

“Are you okay?” Yelena’s raspy voice asks.

You don’t turn around right away, but open your eyes with a heavy breath. “Yeah.”

The lie was weak and perfectly unoriginal. Yelena doesn’t call you out for it. She just waits, unmoving.

Finally glancing over your shoulder, you see her—arms crossed over her chest as she leans against the doorframe, watching you with equal parts sympathy and intrigue.

“I feel like an idiot.” You admit, wearing your feelings right on your sleeve. “When I saw him at that door, it was like everything came rushing back and, and I couldn’t do anything but let him in. God, I’m so pathetic.”

“You are not pathetic.” Yelena tilts her head.

“Yes I am.”

“No,” She steps forward with knitted eyebrows. “You are not.”

The two of you stare at each other for a moment. When you can’t find the words to speak, she exhales a soft breath.

“We were in deep shit on this mission,” She explains. “Bucky told us he knew a friend who might be able to help but I had no idea that it’d be you. I don’t think he was even sure you would be willing, but you were the first person he thought of anyways. You didn’t have to open the door but you did because you’re good. Doesn’t sound pathetic to me.”

The admission makes your head pound and you nearly wince at the ache you feel around your temples.

Yelena watches you lean against the counter, your eyes darting around as if searching for an answer that wasn’t there. She swallows and asks cautiously, “What happened with you two?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, the sensation of lingering tears itching the back of your throat. You hate talking about it, but it’s been so long since anyone bothered to ask, that you think you might be able to get through it this time.

“It was his idea,” You say with a shaky breath. “To end things.”

Yelena doesn’t respond right away, doesn’t push—she just gives you room as your gaze fixates on the tiled floor, like it might offer you some clarity.

“He told me I deserved better,” You continue, the bitterness in your soft voice laced with sadness rather than spite. “That I was too good. Didn’t want to hold me back, or burden me. He said he wanted me to live a life where I wasn’t constantly trying to pull him out of the dark.”

Yelena’s gaze is quiet, unflinching as you move to sit across from her at the table with a sigh.

“The worst part about it is, I don’t even think I fought hard enough. I mean, yeah, I begged and I cried but, then I just got mad,” Your brows furrow as you recall the memory, like it physically pains you to do so. “I let him leave—I made him, and he did it like it was the easiest thing he’s ever done.”

You finally look up to meet her eyes.

“So yeah,” you say. “I’m still so angry. Angry that he left and found a new group of people to rely on, angry that I let him and didn’t fight harder for us, angry that I still—”

You stop yourself short, the words halting in your throat because saying them out loud terrified you.

Yelena blinks, softly nodding her head in understanding. “You still love him.”

Hearing her say the exact thing you were thinking makes the back of your eyes sting with tears that have been hiding themselves all night. You pause for a second, because she’s right, and you can’t stand it.

“I remember everything, Yelena. Every single fucking thing and I hate that I do.”

Yelena leans closer on the table, catching your eyes with sincerity. “He remembers too.”

You pause, breath tight in your throat.

“He never talks about it, but I can tell, we all can.” She continues gently. “There’s this bracelet—gold and braided with a star charm—you made that for him, didn’t you?”

Swallowing, you nod, remembering the one night where Bucky couldn’t sleep and you’d insisted on staying up with him, claiming you could do crafts to pass the time. He taught you how to make little animals out of origami and you taught him how to make friendship bracelets.

“He still wears it. Everyday, on every mission.” She explains. “The other day he forgot his phone on the kitchen counter. I tapped it to check the time and that photo of you, the one Bob saw in your living room, it’s still his wallpaper.”

You think your heart might give out right then and there. A single tear drops from your eyes and you dig your nails so far into the skin on your palm, it’s enough to make you bleed.

“Y/N,” Yelena speaks softly, reaching out to carefully place her hand on top of yours. “I do not think he has ever stopped thinking about you—loving you.”

This time, more tears fall before you have the chance to hold them back. Softly, you let Yelena unclench your fists so she can slip her hand into yours to hold.

“Then why did he leave?” You whisper between a small sob.

Yelena frowns, shaking her head. She didn’t have the answer.

You did though, so it was silly you even had to ask.

The night Bucky left replays in your head like a film reel, and his words echo in every corner of your brain.

“I love you too much to drag you down with me.”

It was ironic, you thought, because you’d only started drowning when you were without him. He was not your anchor but rather your life jacket—pulling you out of the deep end when you got too tired to swim. These last three years without him were the longest moments you’ve ever spent with your head submerged underwater.

When he left, you sank all over again.

The quiet chatter has slowly dissipated to a still, and the only noise comes from the gentle hum of the television.

From where you sit in the corner of the couch, you glance around the room at the silence. On the couch, Yelena lays with her head on your lap and her feet tangled with Ava’s, whose sleeping figure matches Yelena’s on the opposite end. Near your feet on the floor was Bob, resting comfortably on top of one of your throw pillows. The rest of the floor is occupied by Alexei and John, who sprawl out with outstretched limbs—Alexei face down as if he’d just passed out from a three day bender, and John using his backpack to rest his head because he refused when you’d offered him a pillow.

You let yourself glance briefly in Bucky’s direction, where he still sits on the armchair in the dark corner of the room. You can make out the silhouette of his fully clothed figure. His head leans back towards the ceiling, a tell he had to be sleeping.

While you don’t want to risk waking any of them up, you’re beginning to grow uncomfortable squished on the couch.

Gently, you lift up Yelena’s head just enough to tuck a throw pillow beneath it so she doesn't recognize your absence. Slipping off of the couch, you adjust her head atop it, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face to as she hums in delight before sinking further into the pillow.

Reaching into the wicker basket beside the couch, you unfold a fleece blanket and delicately drape it over Bob who’s curled up like a ball. He, too, makes a soft noise of satisfaction, and you swear he mumbles something under his breath that you can’t make you.

Of course he talks in his sleep. You can’t help but smile to yourself at the observation.

Twisting around, you step over John’s feet and over towards Alexei, whose snores are so deep, he seems to grumble with each step you take. With a hushed chuckle, you pick up the bowl of trial mix beside his body so he doesn’t knock it over in his sleep.

Backing away slightly, you falter in admiration at the scene before you. Your apartment has never been this full and you can’t remember the last time you had people over besides that time you hosted dinner for Joaquin Torres and Sam Wilson. Other than that, you’re always by yourself.

Except for tonight.

The team of heroes occupy so much space in your living room, it makes the walls feel less empty—less sad. Regardless of how you felt about them before they entered the threshold of your apartment, you knew how you feel about them now. They’re chaotic, and messy, and unbelievably new to this whole “working as a team” thing, but in the few hours that they’ve kept you company in your place, they’ve offered you more joy and comfort than you’ve experienced in a while.

Beside you, Bucky shifts in his seat. He’s been wide awake the entire time—enough to see you give Yelena the pillow and Bob the blanket, enough to watch you observe his team with a soft, longing expression. The same one he carried whenever he looked at you for too long.

It was endearing, to say the least. To watch you care for his team like they were your own, despite not knowing any of them at all. You’ve always been that way—sweet, nurturing, and just plain kind. It makes Bucky’s heart swell, knowing that at least you didn’t lose that part of yourself when he left.

At the sound of movement, you glance in his direction and, once again, your body tenses at the sight.

“I didn’t know you were awake.” You say quietly, before your brain really registers you’re speaking to him.

He replies, “I couldn’t sleep.”

Blinking, you nod quickly before moving to carefully pick up the empty water glasses from the table. “Me either.”

You struggle to gather all of the cups so Bucky pushes himself out of the seat and moves to help you—against his inner monologue that tells him you’d likely be much happier if he sat down and didn’t move at all.

“It’s okay,” You stutter. “I’ve got it.”

“No, it’s alright, I’ll help.” He answers, picking up the remaining cups that you can’t.

You try to swallow the lump forming in your throat but it’s nearly impossible as you spin around to walk towards the kitchen, and Bucky follows hot on your trail. It’s silent when you place the glasses in the sink and you hate how natural it feels to watch Bucky do the same.

“I can clean these when I get up tomorrow,” Bucky nods. “Before we leave.”

“No, it’s fine.” You shake your head.

“I’ll just do it real quick so you don’t—”

“Seriously,” You interrupt more sternly this time as you finally look at him. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

He visibly swallows at your harshness, but nods nonetheless.

Then the two of you fall back into an odd quiet, where neither of you know what to say to each other but both understand that a conversation was inevitable from the moment he walked inside.

Blinking, you motion towards the sleeping bunch in your living room. “They’re, uhm,” You say. “They’re really great.”

Bucky purses his lips at the casualness with which you speak. “Yeah, they try.”

“Even Walker,” You continue, grabbing a towel to wipe down the counter because you so desperately need something to do with your hands. “He seems different.”

“He is.” Bucky nods, watching you intently. “I think we all are.”

His words have double meaning, this you know, and you hate the way you want to press him for details. Instead, you bite the inside of your cheek and focus on the counter you were cleaning.

Bucky knows he has to talk to you—keep the conversation going—because he knows this is the only opportunity he might get. It really is now or never.

“I’m sorry for asking you that favor.” Bucky says suddenly, sincerity laced in his soft but gruffly voice. “For showing up unannounced.”

You nearly pause, your knuckles squeezing the towel in your hand like it was the only force keeping you on earth. “Would you have shown up announced?” You ask, your words holding a hint of hostility.

Bucky stills. “Y/N,” He breathes, his voice just above a whisper, like he can read all of the sarcasm you speak with.

He watches you intently with a burning desire to fix all of the wrong he’d caused that day he left—to mend what was broken between the two of you because he’s not sure he can live anymore knowing you’re angry with him.

You shake your head quickly because not only was it stupid to have this conversation in the kitchen where a few feet away, his entire team slept, but also, you were petrified of the words that were going to leave his mouth once the two of you finally worked up the courage to talk it out.

“Bucky,” You breathe.

He pauses, waiting for you to go on.

Only you don’t. Instead, your eyes flicker down to the uniform he still has on. With a sudden blink and a change of demeanor, you tilt your head. “Do you want to change clothes?”

He pauses. “I didn’t bring any.”

You don’t know why you suddenly cared whether or not he was comfortable in his clothes. A lot of things, you notice, got confusing when you were around him.

“I,” You pause, hating yourself for thinking of what you were. Deciding it would simply be way easier to do instead of say, you twist around on the balls of your feet and begin walking down the hallway towards your room.

Bucky blinks, until you glance over your shoulder at him.

“C’mere.” You say quietly, your suggestion soft in his ears, whether you intend it to be or not.

His feet move faster than his brain can even process. His head gets foggy as he maneuvers through the hallway. He knew exactly where he’s going because he’d been to your room so many times before in the past. It almost made him sick to his stomach when he realizes that’s where you’re taking him.

When you turn that corner into your bedroom, Bucky stops just outside the doorframe. He glances inside, immediately overwhelmed by the familiarity of it all. It’s practically exactly as it was when he’d walked out that day, reminding him of just how much he’d left behind—a happiness he’d pulled out from right under your feet.

He watches you rummage through your closet, reaching high onto a shelf in search of something. You mindlessly glance in his direction, chest clenching at the way he stands frozen outside of the threshold. He's too afraid to step foot inside which is so weird, because the Bucky you knew once took up space in this room like it was his own.

Tugging down two articles of clothing from the shelf, you twist back to him and hold them out. “Here.” You say. “You left these here.”

The navy blue hoodie and black sweats are folded neatly in your outstretched hands in such a way that almost makes them look brand new. Only they aren’t. You wore them for months after he left because it felt better to sleep in his clothes than it did your own.

Bucky looks from your face and back down to the clothes. He doesn’t want to step forward to grab them—feeling entirely undeserving of walking back into your room after all this time. But you aren’t going to him. So you stand frozen in the middle of your room, waiting for the moment he musters up the courage to come inside and retrieve them himself.

Eventually, his feet make their way slowly over to you, taking the clothes with a gentle ease. He can’t figure out what to say so he gives you a small nod of appreciation before turning back around, heading down the rest of the hall towards the bathroom.

Without him in the room, you’re finally able to take a deep breath. It’s shaky and long as it leaves your chest like you've been holding it all night.

You can’t stand it but somewhere deep down, this entire ordeal feels normal. You’re beginning to realize just how much you’ve missed it—missed him, and that thought alone keeps you wide awake because if being awake means more time with him before he leaves all over again, you’d have to take it.

Minutes pass of you bouncing your leg up and down where you sit on the edge of your bed, when the bathroom door clicks open and a newly changed Bucky emerges. It makes your stomach twist into a pretzel, to see him in the same hoodie you wore that day he left.

You press your hands into your knees, hesitating even more at how ridiculously good he looks in it. “Are you,” You hum. “Are you alright?”

Don’t ask that, I don’t deserve it, was what he wanted to say but he merely nods as he lingers in your door’s threshold again. “Why’d you keep them?”

Swallowing, you shrug. “I was gonna set them on fire, but the hoodie was too comfortable.”

For the first time that night, the corners of Bucky’s lips almost twist up into a smile. “Really?”

“Really.” You nod, glancing at him when he leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed. “That and, I guess I always hoped you’d just come back to get them.”

Bucky falters with an expression that you can’t quite read. A silence washes over the two of you before he exhales, “I wanted to.”

“Did you?”

“I did.”

“Okay.” You hum sarcastically.

Bucky purses his mouth shut with a tilt of his head. “Y/N,”

“You know what,” You say with squinted eyes. “I don’t actually believe that, like at all, but it’s fine. Doesn’t matter to me anymore.”

“Why?” Bucky breathes. “Why don’t you believe it?”

“Because you left, Bucky!” You snap, your anger finally cutting through the surface after brewing all night. “You left and we never spoke again. I waited for you for months—to call or to text but you never did, so yeah, maybe I did believe you’d come back at some point but then I just got tired of waiting.”

“You moved on.” Bucky points out. “That’s good, that’s what you were supposed to do.”

“Yeah, except I didn’t.” You huff, pushing yourself off of the bed to glare at him. “You left because you wanted me to be happy but I wasn’t happy, I’m still not. The life you wanted me to live for myself was only possible if I lived it with you.”

Bucky’s face tightens in guilt as you let your words slip from your tongue.

“Then, I have to watch you on my television screen with your new team, the new people you have to take care of, and it kills me inside.” You don’t bother wiping away the stray tear that slides down your cheek. You look up at him, dead in the eyes and ask, “Are you happy?”

The question catches him off guard. He steps into your room with hesitancy, maintaining his distance but needing to be close to you to shake his head.

You nearly wince as you watch his face contort into a sadness much similar to your own.

“Not happy in the way I was when I was with you.”

The words are genuine, making your ears ring in disbelief. You swallow, but the lump in your throat feels like it might be permanently stuck.

“I have never been the same since the moment I walked out that day. I thought I was doing the right thing, I swore I was,” He admits. “I threw myself into work because I believed that somehow it would make up for what I was missing, but I learned right away that none of this could ever fill the gap that you left.”

You don’t seem to notice when you instinctively take a step closer, your body drawn to his as if your hearts were magnetized.

“You followed me everywhere, Y/N,” He exhales a defeated breath. “There were so many times when I just wanted to run back here, back to you, but I couldn’t because I figured you’d be doing better without me—without my burden.”

“You were never a burden.” You add, shaking your head with a furor you hope makes him understand. “Neither were any of your problems or trauma, and I hate that you think you were. I took care of you because that’s what you do when you love someone.”

Bucky takes a step closer too, though neither of you seem to notice with the way your eyes are trained on the other pair.

“Love someone?” He asks, his voice the most quiet and careful you’ve heard it all night.

It took years, and Bucky Barnes standing in front of you again, to finally admit it: you did still love him. What you felt for Bucky had never been surface level affection. You loved him desperately, like he was the air you needed to breathe and the light against all of the darkness that you’d hid from your whole life.

Loving him had never been easy. It came with deeply shared fears and anxiety of vulnerability and closeness. Though, you never desired an easy love anyways. You wanted a love that was complex and passionate, where obstacles were something you could leap over together if your relationship was built on a foundation of sincere care and respect.

Your love for him was so rooted in your veins, you always believed that your souls were destined to merge—surpassing time and change. You knew for a fact that you’d love him no matter how far apart the two of you were; your heart was his across states, countries, planets, timelines.

There was a vast multiverse out there, much bigger than your brain could even comprehend, and you were positive you loved Bucky Barnes in every single one of them.

“Love.” You nod, the most confident you’ve been about anything in years. “I’ve always loved you, James. I’ve never been able to stop.”

The sound of his name on your lips makes his heart swell, desperately wanting to jump out of his chest and towards you—where it knew it’d finally be at home.

Bucky can no longer deny the way he feels either, only he’s never really been able to. He loved you like you were the only thing on this planet of any importance. Sam saw it, Yelena saw it, hell, so did the rest of the goddamn world. He’d never been the same since he left and nothing ever felt right, not until he stepped back into your apartment where the walls remembered him and whispered stories of memories he’d never forgotten.

He lets out a shaky exhale. “I messed up so badly.”

“I did too.” You nod. “I shouldn’t have let you leave, I should’ve tried harder to-”

“No, hey, no,” Bucky shakes his head immediately, stepping forward so you two are the closest you’ve been in years. His fingers brush against yours, and when you don’t flinch away, he links his pinky with your own. “None of this was your fault, don’t blame yourself. I fucked up, I’m the one who left. This is not on you.”

You remain quiet, the small act of physical contact rendering you speechless.

“You were on my mind everyday. Whenever I got up to speak at congress, whenever I did press for the team, on every mission, every late night and early morning,” He whispers, eyes scanning your face like it was the first time he was getting the privilege of looking at you. “I hate myself for making that decision for you, for thinking we’d be better off. You were my world, still are.”

Everything comes flooding back, the walls around your heart breaking like a dam that was doomed to fall from the beginning. You want to cry, want to break down right there in his arms and hope the Bucky you still knew would be there to hold you.

“I can’t change what I did, but I can tell you what I want to do,” He goes on, hand coming up cautiously to cup the side of your face. “I want to love you all over again, the right way this time. I will spend the rest of our lives trying to rebuild what I tore down, if you’ll let me, and I promise to do better this time and give you whatever it is you want—”

“I want you.” You interrupt. “All of you. I want to know how you’re feeling or the things that keep you up at night because I want to be the one to help you through them. Don’t hide yourself from me.”

Bucky swallows at the desperation in your tone. How lucky was he to have your unconditional care once, and then all over again now, even if he still feels like he doesn’t deserve it. You’re still too good—far too good for him—but this time, he’s determined to be just the same for you.

“I promise.” He nods, his thumb rubbing your cheek like you’re a porcelain doll he’s afraid of breaking.

You place your own hand on his hand cupping your face, before running your other hand through his beautifully blown out hair. He grunts out a soft noise of delight, one that makes your stomach twist.

“God, I’ve missed you so much.” He says.

This almost doesn’t feel real; his touch or the words that leave his mouth, but it is—he is. He’s unbelievably real beneath your fingertips and it suddenly feels like you’re falling in love all over again as you stare at him.

“You came to me first.” You hum, your voice just above a whisper. “Yelena told me.”

Bucky lets out a small chuckle but his eyes still hold traces of disbelief, like he can’t fathom you’re running your hands through his hair the way you are. “She did?”

“Mhm.” A smile begins to curl its way onto your lips, one you can’t deny.

“She’s a rat.” He grumbles, his hands dropping to your waist to gently run his palms over your sides.

“She’s sweet,” You correct, reaching down to grab his non-metal arm and gently pull his sleeve up, revealing the bracelet on his wrist. “And she also told me you still wear this.”

Bucky watches your fingers run over the braided material before his eyes flicker back up to you. “I’ve never taken it off.”

Your gaze meets his soft blue eyes where you can read the longing all over them. It’s been so long since you've seen it and yet, it’s still capable of sending a cacophony of butterflies through your stomach like something out of a dream sequence.

“I love you.” He says out of the blue.

The three words have your breath hindering in your throat.

“I’ve loved you every moment I was here and every moment I wasn’t.”

You don’t know what to say, how to express how much you reciprocate that love, so before you have the opportunity to think about it, you stand up on your toes and press your lips against his.

Bucky wastes no time. He wraps his arms further around your waist and tugs you closer to his chest. With your hands placed on the sides of his neck, you sink deeper into the kiss.

Kissing him feels just like it had all those years ago. It’s warm just like you remember it to be but more passionate, if that’s even possible. For Bucky, kissing you is still sweet but delicate in a way that reminds him of just how lucky he was to be able to press his lips against yours.

You kiss each other with a burning desire to make up for all the lost time, to fill the gap of what was once missing between the two of you—not lost but something simply misplaced. The two of you wished to stay forever that way, and maybe now you would.

“I fucking knew it.” A voice whisper shouts from the frame of your open door.

Pulling apart, you and Bucky both turn your heads in the direction of the hallway. Yelena stands with her hands in the pockets of your sweatpants, a knowing smirk stretching across her face.

You look down like you just got caught doing something you shouldn’t have, all while biting back your smile. Bucky’s face turns red and he purses his lips with a small nod. He side-eyes you as you cover your mouth with your hand, suppressing your small hysterical giggles. Your laughter made him grin helplessly, and he squeezed your hand, gently moving closer to your side where he intended to stay for good.

Yelena smiles. “Ava owes me twenty bucks.”

[herecomeaspookybunch]

i got bored during math

[gw3ndolyne]

obsessed with the messages in the sky johnny leaves for peter

[inkdrinkerworld]

You wake up when a cramp in your abdomen gains a little too much force. At first you ignore it, then it happens again and you know, in your heart, that you’ve just started your period.

You groan, open your eyes and are about to stand when you remember you’re over at Peter’s.

You nibble on your fingers as you weigh your options: stay in bed and risk a bigger bleed or wake Peter up and be embarrassed that you’ve bled on his sheets.

In the end, Peter makes the decision for you when he reaches for you and finds you near the end of the bed.

“Angel?” He’s all groggy with sleep, hair standing in a few different directions as he props himself up on one palm.

“Pete,” you start, better to get it out now than to waste time. “I think I bled through. I didn’t know my period was coming, or well I did but it’s not due for two more days.”

Peter nods along, following the best his sleepy mind can. “Do you want me to check?” A yawn breaks through his words as he reaches over to flick on the lamp on his bedside.

“Isn’t that kinda gross?” Peter rolls his eyes now, stamping a kiss to your cheek.

“No, baby. Now, up.” You lift your hips and Peter takes a peek under you and it’s more intimate than it should be. “There’s only a little bit of it, wanna switch sides?”

You’re aghast at the suggestion. “I’m not letting you sleep in blood Peter!”

“Stop acting like you’ve bled out on the sheets baby. I don’t mind switching, I can wash it in the morning.”

You stand from the bed almost immediately at that and head to the bathroom. “I’m gonna take a quick shower and come change the sheets.”

Peter shakes his head, “Make sure the water’s hot enough, still want you to sleep after this.” Peter stretches out of bed, immediately stripping the sheets. “Leave your shorts in the sink, I’ll put it in with the sheets.”

Peter really is an anomaly of a man. You’ve bled through his sheets and he wants to wash the blood out for you. He wants you to shower in hot water so you don’t stay up longer than you have to.

It nearly brings tears to your eyes.

“Don’t overthink it baby,” Peter says when he realizes you’ve stopped, frozen in place. “It’s not an issue. Now go shower, I wanna get ahead of the cramps too.”

Peter loads the washing machine, brings out new sheets; burnt orange ones, that smells like lilacs. He’s also got pyjamas out for you, and set your medicine and water on your bedside table.

By the time you come out, it’s like nothings happened and you’re only now getting ready for bed.

“I’m really sorry Pete.” You murmur as you slip into your new pyjamas. Peter rolls his eyes, and tugs you carefully into bed, right into his lap.

His hand falls into your hair, combs it back as he brings the glass to you. “Nothing to be sorry for,” he reaches for the pills too. “Take it baby,” he rubs your back slowly.

You lean your head on his shoulder, “I’m sorry I woke us up.”

Peter chuckles, you always get like this. Near weepy and almost constantly apologetic. “Angel,” you hide your face under his chin. “It’s all good. I’m gonna hold you all night and cuddle the shit out of you.”

You sniff. “Thanks for taking care of me Pete.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m always gonna take care of you.” Peter shuts off the lamp. “Close your eyes, pretty girl. Let’s try to get you some quality sleep before the red lady really sets in.”

You giggle, kissing under his neck as he slides you both down the bed. “I love you,”

Peter tips your chin up and kisses your lips. “I love you too, so much. Don’t ever think you’re gross for a little bit of blood. Next time, we can just switch sides.”

You scoff, “I’m never letting you sleep in my spot if I bleed through, Parker.”

He rolls his eyes, pulling the covers up over you both. “So you say, but I can just use my senses against you.”

You yawn, Peter’s hand tracing your back lulling you to the sweet spot between sleep and wakefulness. “Oh like you used them tonight?”

Peter’s hand pauses, flat and still on your back till you whine. “That’s so mean, I was asleep and I was having a very good dream.”

“Oh yeah?”

Peter nods, softening his voice as he notes the slur in your words. “Oh yeah, you were there, quite like this actually. Except you were playing with my hair, while I read you Pride and Prejudice,”

He’s only halfway through recounting his dream when he hears your first snore. Peter smiles to himself, kissing your forehead one last time before shutting his eyes.

[abbykmtr-13]

“Ping Pong”, a short story starring Spidey, Daredevil and Wolverine! ✨

(I forgot to post it here 🤭)

[bonesuh]

current wip... >:3

spideypool is my otp... HOWEVER,,, O-O

___________________________ Where else can you support me? > Twitter < > BlueSky < > TikTok < > Patreon < ---------- > Next in my queue <

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[lowkeyhollland]

bed chem

peter parker x reader heeeaaaavily inspired by 'The Room Incident' by lemonsandlimes on ao3 you & peter are roommates, but the absolute complete opposite of each other. or are you? chapter one -> chapter two

You put the finishing touches on your makeup, giving yourself one last look in the mirror to approve your appearance. Slipping into a mini black dress, you paired it with black knee-high boots and grabbed your oversized jean jacket. Checking the pockets to make sure you had everything, you turned off the lights in your room and headed out.

“I’m going out tonight, Peter!” you told your roommate as you walked toward the front door, passing the living room. He and his friends were having a movie night, most of them focused on the screen.

“Okay, be safe,” he said, not taking his eyes off the movie.

“I’ll share my location with you.” You opened your phone to the Find My Friends app, hitting the 'Share Until the End of Day' feature with Peter.

“Sounds good,” Peter responded, feeling bad if he didn’t say anything. You glanced back one last time before heading out, hearing one of his friends ask, “Who was that?” as you left.

You had just moved into this new apartment about three weeks ago, right before the start of a new school year. Last semester, your previous roommate decided to drop out of school and move back home, leaving you both roommate-less and homeless. One of your friends had told you about Peter and how he was looking for a roommate since his apartment was getting a bit pricey for him. After a few weeks of getting to know each other, it seemed like you both would be a great fit as roommates, even though you were quite the opposite of each other.

You had fallen in love with the nightlife of New York during your first year of college, never turning down the chance to go out and party. Meanwhile, your roommate, Peter, stayed in more often or had work. Actually, you didn’t know much about him; tonight was the first time you had seen him with his friends. You felt bad because you had already had a few sleepovers with your best friend to break in the new place.

Locking up the door behind you, you made your way out into the city that never sleeps and to your friend’s apartment to pregame. 

-

The night was still young, but you were a shot too deep. Stumbling along the sidewalk, your friends helped guide you home. It was definitely one way to kick off the new school year.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” your best friend, Kiara, asked. You nodded and hugged her in thanks as she helped you up to your floor.

The jingle of your keys echoed softly through the hallway, but you made sure to unlock the door quietly in case Peter was awake. The main lights were off, leaving the kitchen dimly lit by the glow of the cabinet underlights. On the counter, something caught your eye—a glass of water, a couple of painkillers, and a sticky note.

Hope ur not too drunk! Drink this and take some painkillers before u sleep. Trust. — Peter :P

You smiled to yourself, fiddling with the corner of the note. Taking the painkillers, you downed the water and already started to feel a little better. Back in your room, you stuck the sticky note on your wall, adding it to a collage of film pictures, posters, and other notes from friends.

After rushing through your night routine, you finally crawled into your cozy bed, turned on your heated blanket, and fell asleep in seconds.

-

Thump!

You jolted awake at the sound of something hitting the wooden floor. Heart pounding, you grabbed your phone and turned on the flashlight—only to find yourself staring at someone dressed in red spandex lying on your floor.

“...Ow,” the stranger groaned.

Frozen in place, you weren’t sure what to do. The masked figure sat up, glancing around your room, taking in the pink sheets and fairy lights.

“Um... Spider-Man?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“Sorry, miss. I, uh, must’ve made a—ow—mistake,” he mumbled, his voice low.

Your flashlight moved lower, revealing rips in his suit and blood gushing out of his side.

“Oh my God! Oh my God!” you panicked, stumbling out of bed and helping him prop himself against it. “Let me grab the first-aid kit!”

“No, it’s okay. Just... just give me a minute,” Spider-Man tried to reassure you, but by the time he glanced up, your door was wide open, your bed empty.

Moments later, you returned with the kit and some towels. “Okay, here we go. I’m not an expert or anything, but—wow, that’s a lot of blood. Um...” You fumbled with an alcohol swab and started cleaning his wound.

Spider-Man winced, small groans escaping as you worked. Trying not to freak out, you avoided looking directly at the blood.

“Here—just, um—” He grabbed your hand, pressing it and the towel against his side. “Apply pressure. That should stop the bleeding.”

“Got it,” you whispered, focusing intently.

“How’s your night going?” he asked, his voice lighter now despite the pain.

“It’s... alright. Drank a little more than I should’ve, but my roommate is the sweetest—he left water and Advil for me. Definitely had a night.”

“I can tell,” he chuckled, “by the smudged mascara.” Your face flushed with embarrassment as you let your hair fall forward to hide it. Spider-Man reached out, gently tucking your hair behind your ear.“Sorry—not in a bad way. You still look beautiful.”

“Oh, um, thanks,” you stammered, caught off guard. “You’re, uh, pretty cool too. I think. I mean, you probably are, but I’ve only known you for, like, an hour—so I’m gonna stop talking now.”

“You’re cute when you ramble,” he chuckled, ruffling your hair.

After bandaging him up, Spider-Man stood, steadying himself. “This has been fun,” he said, stepping toward the window. “i’m gonna go now, it was nice meeting you…”

“y/n,” you finished his sentence. he repeated your name under his breath, hearing how it sounds from his mouth. He thanked you once again for fixing him up.

“Will I see you again, Spidey?” you asked as he hesitated on the fire escape. He paused, the mask hiding his expression.

 “Anything for you, beautiful. Goodnight.” And with that, he swung into the night, disappearing into the darkness. You curled back into bed, unsure if the night’s events were real, and drifted into a dreamless sleep.

The morning sun woke you, and to your relief, you didn’t have a hangover. Slipping into your slippers and university hoodie, you headed to the kitchen.

“Morning,” Peter greeted you.

“Good morning,” you replied, grabbing iced coffee from the fridge. You mixed it with creamer and ice, savoring the start of your day. “I had the weirdest night.”

“Oh yeah?” Peter raised an eyebrow as he served you a plate of eggs.

“Yeah. I might’ve been way too drunk... or Spider-Man paid me a visit last night.” You thought you heard Peter choke on his coffee, but you were too focused on your plate to notice.

“Must’ve been a wild night,” he said.

“Yeah... for sure,” you replied, unsure how to interpret his reaction.

The rest of the morning passed in small talk—shows Peter was watching, what you and your friends did last night. But as the day went on, you couldn’t shake the thought of the masked hero.

-> chapter two

[jasperlore]

jus want to say that i love ur spideydevil 🩵🩵

YIPPIEEE

[wordsarelife]

—hey stephen

pairing: peter parker x fem!stark!reader

summary: you and peter have to fix a little mistake one of the avengers made. luckily you're a great team

warnings: flirting, theft lol

note: i realized too late i hadn't put it in the queqe lol!

the night sky loomed above you, a soft haze of stars disappearing into the city’s light pollution. a high-rise office building stretched into the clouds, and at its base, peter was already halfway up, scaling the glass like it was nothing. your fingers tapped the device your dad had insisted you bring, ensuring your escape route was intact—just in case.

"the probability of falling to your death is one in three," you called out, voice laced with dry amusement as you watched peter's slow climb from the ground.

from above, peter’s voice crackled through your earpiece, laced with sarcasm. "what do the statistics say about people with spider-powers?" he paused to look down at you, clearly rolling his eyes beneath the mask.

with a smirk, you tapped the small stark tech device on your wrist, instantly teleporting yourself from the ground to the roof he was climbing toward. when you appeared, you peeked over the ledge to see him still climbing, almost there. "they say, that they're kind of slow."

peter stopped climbing and turned his head in your direction, scowling up at you. "ha ha" he muttered, clearly unimpressed. still, you could see a grin forming under the mask as he climbed up the last few feet. "and what do they say about people with teleporting powers and stark-level egos?"

you quirked a brow, amusement dancing on your lips. "that we don’t have time to climb up buildings for fun," you shot back.

"whatever" he replied playfully, as he walked around you, to look through the glass of the roof and into the room beneath it. "do we have any information about the security system?"

"vision’s already taken care of the alarms and cameras," you answered, eyes still locked on the space beneath. "but we’ve got a problem."

you and peter stood shoulder to shoulder, staring down through the reinforced glass at the one obstacle neither of you had expected: larry, the security guard. he was patrolling the museum’s halls with an intensity that would put some SHIELD agents to shame.

larry was infamous for taking his job way too seriously, a fact that had somehow kept this museum entirely free of robbery attempts.

peter let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "that’s larry, isn’t it? guy’s basically the captain america of museum security.”

"yup," you sighed, arms crossed as you watched larry methodically sweep each room like he was guarding the crown jewels. "this mission is supposed to be high-stakes, not high-annoyance."

your father had pulled you into this last-minute mission, and you couldn’t help but smirk at the memory of his over-the-top explanation for why this was necessary.

thor had accidentally packed one of tony's and bruce’s experimental devices in a gift box meant for this museum, and now that same device was on display, tucked away in some artifact. to tony, this was practically a world-ending catastrophe.

"couldn't you just, you know... build another one?" you had asked at the time, exasperation dripping from your voice.

tony had responded by rolling his eyes dramatically, as if you’d just suggested throwing away the mona lisa. "do you want the wrong hands getting this tech? because that’s how we all end up in serious, world-ending trouble."

that, of course, had been enough to get you and peter on board. especially after the last world-ending trouble, your father had been involved in, had led to robots invading sokovia and ripping it out of the ground.

but now, staring at larry pacing the hallway like he was auditioning for an action movie, you were starting to regret that decision.

"we’ve got to get him out of there" peter whispered. "or this is going to get messy fast"

you nodded. "and vision can’t mess with his comms or knock him out—he’s just a regular guy, after all. we can’t exactly web him up and call it a day"

"yeah" peter agreed. "but we can’t just waltz in either. larry’s about three steps away from spotting us and sounding the alarm. and there goes our quiet heist"

peter shifted beside you, fidgeting like he always did when he was thinking up a plan. you could practically see the gears turning in his head. he turned to you, his face half-hidden under the mask, but you could feel the grin even if you couldn’t see it. "how good are you at distractions?"

you raised an eyebrow. "depends on the distraction. what are you thinking?"

peter leaned down, pointing at the far end of the hallway where a ventilation shaft led into the room larry was patrolling. "you teleport down there, maybe drop something—make some noise. when larry goes to investigate, i’ll slip in and get the device"

you glanced at the vent, calculating the distance between it and larry’s patrol route. it could work. you could make just enough noise to pull him out of the main exhibit area without alerting him too much.

“fine” you muttered, already prepping yourself. “but you owe me.”

peter chuckled, tapping the side of his mask. "i’ll pay you back in kisses. how’s that?"

"disgusting, actually" rolling your eyes, you disappeared in a flash, teleporting down into the vent, making sure to land as quietly as possible. the cold metal of the air duct pressed against your knees as you crawled toward the room below, spotting larry a few feet away, completely oblivious.

reaching for your utility belt, you pulled out a small stark gadget—a harmless little device designed to make a loud noise when activated. with a quick flick of your wrist, you dropped it through the slats in the vent, watching as it clattered to the floor.

larry’s head snapped toward the sound immediately. his footsteps echoed through the room as he headed toward the noise, flashlight in hand. you teleported yourself back to the roof in time to see peter lower himself through the glass on a webline, slipping into the room like a shadow.

“good?” you whispered into your comms.

peter’s voice came back soft but smug. "good. i'm heading to the artifact now."

you watched from above as peter made his way through the room, quiet as ever. he moved between the display cases with ease, his eyes trained on the object in question—a small, unassuming vase, inside of which was the deadly device your dad had carelessly gifted to the museum.

"you think they’d put the dangerous stuff in a more secure spot," peter whispered, now crouched by the display.

"it’s a vase," you whispered back. "nobody thinks vases are dangerous."

peter snorted. "clearly, they’ve never been on a mission with you.”

“clearly, my dad is just as smart, considering he gave a kid a multi-million dollar suit” you teased.

"oh, shut up!" peter shook his head, but you could hear in his voice that he wasn't actually angry or offended at the joke. he carefully removed the vase from its display, switching it out with an identical replica tony had provided. “got it,” he said, holding the real one up to the light.

but just as he turned to leave, larry came back into view. peter froze mid-step, his eyes darting to the closest hiding spot—a decorative column far too narrow to be much help.

“uh, y/n?” peter’s voice was tense. “i think larry’s about to spot me”

“how close are you to the exit?” you asked, already preparing to teleport in if things got messy.

“close enough... but not without being seen” peter muttered. he shifted, trying to move around the column without larry noticing.

you sighed, rolling your eyes. "fine. hold tight."

in an instant, you teleported into the hallway just a few feet behind larry, making just enough noise to catch his attention. he spun around, his flashlight sweeping the area where you had appeared.

peter took the opportunity to slip past, barely making a sound as he darted for the exit.

larry's flashlight landed on you for just a second before you teleported again, this time to the roof, heart racing as you reappeared beside peter.

"that was close," you breathed, watching as larry scratched his head below, completely unaware of what had just happened and probably blaming the hint of your figure on his sleep deprivation.

he let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “you realize this was extremely stupid, right?”

you raised an eyebrow, not missing a beat. “what, you worried about me?”

peter shrugged, not quite meeting your eyes. “i mean, if you got caught, who else would pull me out of this mess?”

you gave him a playful shove. "please. i’d just teleport out, and you’d be stuck explaining to larry why you’re playing spider-man in a museum."

he grinned behind his mask, shaking his head. “you’re impossible, you know that?”

“yeah, well, you’re the one who drags me into these missions,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “besides, i saved your butt down there.”

peter held up the vase, the light glinting off it's surface. "i think we're even now. how about we call it a tie?"

you smirked. "tie? not a chance, parker. you owe me big time for this"

peter's eyes crinkled at the edges, the grin behind his mask unmistakable. “all right, all right. i’ll buy you dinner.”

“dinner?” you arched an eyebrow. “is that how you plan to repay me?”

he shrugged, but the mischievous spark in his eyes was impossible to miss. “seems fair, right?”

before you could reply, vision's voice chimed in over your comms. "y/n, peter, congratulations on a successful retrieval. the quinjet is ready for extraction."

peter gave a mock salute. "see? mission accomplished. we’re golden."

you couldn’t help but smile as you rolled your eyes. "fine, but next time, you get to deal with larry."

peter paused for a moment, tilting his head slightly. “you sure? i think larry kind of likes you. he was definitely staring a bit when you teleported in behind him.”

you scoffed, shaking your head as you turned to head for the extraction point. "do you ever stop staring at me?"

peter’s voice was soft but completely sincere as he jogged to catch up beside you. “no, not really.”

you shot him a sideways glance, trying not to let the warmth in his voice get to you. "smooth, parker."

he grinned again, slipping the vase into the protective case tony had provided. “hey, can’t help it. you’re kind of hard to ignore.”

"right," you muttered, suppressing a smile. "let’s just focus on not getting caught next time, yeah?”

“deal,” peter agreed, but his voice held that familiar teasing edge. "but maybe we should stick to flirting only after we’re out of danger.”

you rolled your eyes. “maybe you should stop flirting in near-death situations.”

peter shrugged, a playful glint still in his eye. “what can i say? i work best under pressure.”

[sockospace]

"A riddle Mr. Parker, what do I have in common with Spider-Man?" "uhm.. you both look good in skintight outfits?"

[peterparkive]

hover | j. torres

｡𖦹°‧ synopsis: you just want to enjoy one good night out with your friends, your boyfriend, and some dangerously good cocktails—but some guys never learned to take a hint. luckily for you, joaquin’s never been shy when it comes to reminding everyone that you’re completely and utterly spoken for

-> pairings: falcon!joaquin torres x fem!reader

-> disclaimers: fluff, cursing, post cap 4 and thunderbolts (but in my fic, we don’t suffer through a sambucky fallout), no use of y/n, established relationship, slightly suggestive, use of pet names (baby, love, etc), protective joaquin, flirting from unwanted parties, kate and yelena being annoyingly loving bffs, reader lowkey just wants to rip joaquin’s clothes off

-> word count: 4k

-> song rec: jealous by nick jonas

-> a/n: no thoughts, just danny ramirez in the karol g music video, dear god. that, and joaquin’s hands on your waist like they’re permanently branded there

Sam Wilson had outdone himself.

The rooftop venue was stylish and vibrant, perched high above Brooklyn with a view overlooking the New York skyline as the setting sun glowed a soft orange and pink. String lights hang overhead, casting a golden glow over the crowd and mixing with the soft rainbow of colors emitting from the DJ’s strobe lights beside his booth. Mellow beats spilled out into the early party, weaving through the laughter and chatter of the guests.

The bar, which is the “real main attraction” according to Yelena, is polished. Expert bartenders and mixologists reside behind the counter, crafting concoctions that are named after Sam himself and his close inner circle; “Captain’s Courage,” “Redwing’s Glide,” “The Winter Sour,” and the one you’ve been most excited to try, “Falcon’s Flight.”

Nearby, low velvet couches and cocktail tables form islands where heroes, intel, and allies lounge, swapping stories and drinks.

It was Wilson’s idea for an after-mission-party, to recognize the collective effort of merged teams in retrieving an important object overseas. While the party was originally for Avengers, inner operatives, and close friends or family, the guest list extended vastly to people who work behind the scenes and now mingle among Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.

It isn’t a gala or a press event, but a celebration—a rare night to unwind and have some fun after weeks of chaos and work.

Stepping through the glass doors to the rooftop and beneath an intriguingly big archway of balloons, you are engulfed by loud conversations and the hum of music.

At your sides, Yelena and Kate take in the sight with just as much surprise and wonder. Yelena’s eyes sparkle with mischief and Kate’s with disbelief.

“Fancy,” The blonde widow says, scanning the scenery. “I’m already planning on starting a fight near the DJ booth.”

“You gonna want me to break it up?” You mumble, unable to take your attention off of the elegant decorations and deliciously warm scent of drinks in fancy glasses.

“I want you to record it.” She says right back and you both snicker quietly. “Seriously though, don’t wander off far. I need you by me the whole night if I want to survive this thing.”

“Don’t listen to her. You should wander far,” Kate teasingly nudges you with her elbow and nods in the direction of the bar. “Especially wander towards him.”

Your gaze follows hers to the center of the room where Joaquin talks with Bob and Sam, that casual smile plastered on his face as he speaks.

He’s clad in black slacks and a loose white button up sleeve, save for the top few buttons that he’d purposefully left undone for some unknown reason (not that you were complaining). His curls are prominent on his head and a singular gold chain dangles from his neck. You snap your mouth shut at the sight, willing yourself not to drool. He looks incredible and you struggle to understand how he gets more and more handsome everyday.

“Don’t be shy now.” Kate says playfully.

“She is shy. Look, her face is getting warm.” Yelena jokes, raising her eyebrows with a smirk.

“It is not.” You snap.

“Yes, it very much is.”

“Shut up.” With a roll of your eyes, you turn towards your best friends. “How do I look?”

“You look good.” Kate nods confidently and Yelena hums in agreement. “Irresistible, even.”

“Thank you.” You breathe gently before twisting around in your black heels.

Straightening your shoulders, you adjust the straps to your black mini dress that cuts off mid thigh, revealing just enough leg to be considered scandalous. You inhale sharply because you find yourself suddenly nervous to greet your boyfriend even though you’d literally seen him merely hours ago at work. With as much self-encouragement as you can muster, you make your way to him through the crowd.

Joaquin’s gaze finds you immediately, pulling away from the conversation the second his eyes land on you. His smile widens on his cheeks, and he excuses himself from his friends to start off towards you.

“Mi amor,” He hums with a small tilt of his head as his eyes scan your outfit from top to bottom. “You look gorgeous.”

The feeling of his eyes on you—drinking you in like you’re a glass of wine—is enough to make your knees buckle beneath you. You never quite learned how to keep your composure around him. “Quin, you look so handsome.”

“It’s not too much?” He asks, placing his arms on your waist to tug you closer.

You shake your head with a small hum, hands gliding up the front of his shirt to fiddle with the unbuttoned buttons. “Not too much—too little.”

He makes a deep noise of satisfaction at your comment, a smirk curling up at his lips. “You like it?”

“Of course I like it.” Your hands slide up to his shoulders before gently wrapping around the back of his neck to pull him close.

With his lips now hovering against yours, he says, “Did it just for you.”

“Oh.” You tease. Then his lips connect with yours, pressing you into a singular kiss.

Whatever he’s been drinking tastes sweet in your mouth and you hum at the flavor. The kiss, though short, is passionate and you both figure you could stay forever that way. Though, as much as you want to, you can’t kiss in the middle of the crowd all night, so you pull away with a sweet smile.

He groans playfully at the lack of your lips on his.

“Later.” You say, adjusting the collar to his shirt.

“Can’t wait for later.” He mumbles with a sideways smile.

Joaquin always gets painfully soft around you, though he isn’t far from it normally. His clinginess seems to skyrocket whenever he’s in your proximity, needing to keep his hands on you no matter what the two of you are doing. You always joke that he’s like a puppy in that way because he’ll follow you around everywhere, if it means he won’t have to be without you.

“You gotta try,” You smile, gently running your hands through his hair to fix it. “Right now, we’re celebrating you.”

“And you.” He quickly corrects. “We couldn’t have finished the mission without you, baby.”

As Mission Intel Lead, you aren’t necessarily a hero like your friends and boyfriend are—shining under the spotlight and prying cameras of the press—but you’re extremely important in your own way. While everyone else’s boots are on the ground, you’re feeding them information through their earpieces, from tactical layouts to enemy movements. You’ve earned a reputation as the sharpest mind behind the scenes and there’s a chance that if a mission goes smoothly, it’s because you’re two steps ahead of everyone else the whole time.

“Says you, Mr. Falcon,” You smile, dropping your hand to his so you can give it a light squeeze. “I wanna try the drink Sam named after you.”

“Oh, you wanna drink me?” He raises his eyebrow. “Querida, say the word and we can leave right now.”

With a small eye roll and a gentle tilt of your head, you grin, “You wish.”

“I do,” He nods. “I really do wish.”

“Joaquin.” You laugh lightly and he does the same, watching your smile brighten.

The sound of footsteps grows louder in your direction and you both pull apart to watch Sam, looking as fancy as ever in a black and white tux, maneuver towards you with a knowing smile.

“Well, hello,” Sam smiles, tugging you into a side hug the moment he sees you. “Was wondering when you were gonna show up so lover-boy over here would stop looking over his shoulder for you.”

“Was not.” Joaquin sheepishly smiles, the apples on his cheeks turning a bright shade of red.

“You were too,” Sam points. “Which is why I hate to break this up, but we’ve got people asking about you, Falcon.”

“Right now?” He asks.

“No, tomorrow,” Sam sarcastically comments. “Yes right now, man.”

“Okay, okay,” Joaquin quickly turns back to you, his hand squeezing the side of your arm gently. “I’m gonna go take care of this, then I’ll find you. Or you find me. Either one works. You gonna be alright?”

You grin at his soft rambling, nothing out of the ordinary for him. You reach up, adjusting the chain on his neck so it sits flat. “Of course, my love. I’ve got Kate and Lena waiting for me.”

“Tell them I said hi.” He leans down to press a fast but sweet kiss to your forehead. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

You hum, reciprocating his smile before he and Sam take back off into the crowd. Just as you’re turning around to walk back to your friends, they beat you to it, joining you at your side.

“You two are disgusting.” Yelena says.

“Disgustingly adorable.” Kate corrects.

“No, pretty sure I just said disgusting,” Yelena jokes, her voice monotone.

You roll your eyes before grabbing onto both of their hands. “Come on, I need a drink.”

“I second that.” Kate perks up, letting her hand go limp as you drag her and Yelena off into the direction of the free bar.

The three of you do just that—huddled at the bar like self-appointed critics, spending your first hour of the party sampling every custom drink and pretending you have the credentials to back up your reviews.

“I wonder if Bucky actually had any say in what his drink tasted like,” you muse, happily sucking the last of your drink through the straw. “‘The Winter Sour’ is just…so sour.”

“I doubt it,” Yelena replies, swirling the remnants of her own drink. “I overheard him and Sam arguing about the name on the phone the other day. Bucky thought it was a personal attack.”

You and Kate both break into quiet laughter, muffled behind your cups.

“Okay,” you say, placing your empty glass down with conviction. “I know what we’re trying next.”

Kate clocks your determined stare at the drink menu and quickly downs the rest of her cocktail like a dare was issued. When the bartender glides over, you confidently order three “Falcon’s Flight” —no hesitation.

The drinks arrive moments later, a trio of vibrant ombré cocktails glowing like the same sunset just outside the windows. Shades of orange and pink swirl together beneath rims coated in glittering chili sugar, catching the light like something magical.

“Oh, this is good,” Kate murmurs with wide eyes, blinking through the surprise of the spice. “Like, dangerously good.”

Yelena takes a tentative sip and immediately grimaces. “Ugh. It’s too sweet.”

You just grin, cradling the glass. “Well, it is Joaquin’s,” you say, taking a much more enthusiastic sip.

Kate nods thoughtfully, glancing around at the other drinks on nearby trays—neutral tones of yellow, white, and pale gold. The others barely hold a candle to the pink hue glowing in your hands. “Explains the color choice.”

“I think it’s delicious.” You say with a shrug.

“That’s because you think he’s delicious.” Yelena teases, downing her drink anyway.

“Gross.” Kate mumbles.

“I do.” You say without shame.

You’re halfway through the sugary concoction when the empty space on your right grows occupied.

Landon. A tall blonde with blue eyes that have a habit of lingering in places they don’t belong. He works in the tech logistics division of the team, one of the behind the scenes brains who helps coordinate comms. He’s a smart guy, useful too, but he carries himself with far too much confidence for someone whose greatest heroic feat was troubleshooting encrypted routers.

You’ve run into him a few times—in the hallway, during briefings, on awkward elevator rides—but you never spoke to him directly. You did notice, though, the way his gaze focuses too long on the office secretaries as they pass or the way he watches you tie your hair up when it gets too hot. Tonight, he looks painfully aware of his own smug reflection in the mirrored wall behind the bar.

“Ladies,” He says smoothly, sliding beside you with a drink in his hand and a smile that was clearly trying way too hard.

Kate offers him a polite nod, Yelena blinks once in response and you sip your drink slowly, hoping he’ll just greet you all and move on.

Wishful thinking.

Quickly and almost like it was first nature, he launches into some ridiculous joke that claims the three of you are “Earth’s Mightiest Threat,” which earns a pity-laugh from Kate and a blank stare from Yelena. Out of social habit, you give him a sympathetic smile but then you’re already looking past him to determine what drink you’re ordering next.

“You really pull that off,” he says, tone slick with something he drunkenly probably thought was charm. His eyes drag down your body in a slow, deliberate sweep that makes your skin crawl.

You shift uncomfortably, glancing between him and the other girls in the hope that maybe—maybe—he wasn’t talking to you. But then his gaze lands right back where it started: you.

“Me?” You ask, more out of sheer confusion than anything.

“Yeah,” he says and you immediately resist the urge to gag at the smell of alcohol wafting from his breath. “That dress looks good on you.”

You pause, the need to cringe coming naturally in his presence. Far too polite for your own good, you give him a nod that doesn’t even qualify as a thank-you.

“I know.” You reply, already turning your attention back to the bar and reaching for a napkin that you didn’t need.

Anyone in their right mind would have heard your snappy, hostile remark and automatically back off, understanding that you’re so clearly not interested. But, either it’s the drinks or simply a lack of social awareness, Landon is not catching the drift.

“Maybe I’ll see you around?” He asks.

With a few blinks of disbelief at his utter determination, you sass, “We’re at a party with a lot of people so probably not.”

Your sarcastic comment went right in one of Landon’s ears and out the other. He smiles with a confidence that might've made you think he won the lottery. “Right,” He smacks his hand down on the table, standing with pride. “Catch you later, ladies.”

The moment he finally walks away, you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding. “God, he was wasted.”

Yelena and Kate remain silent for a beat before the latter raises her eyebrows with a smirk. “Oh, he wanted you.”

“Told you, you look irresistible.” Kate adds.

“What?” You reply a little too quickly. “No, he was flirting with all of us.”

“Oh, come on,” Yelena scoffs. “He was not, his eyes were on you the whole time.”

“Ew, gross.” Your stomach twists in disgust.

“He’s always like that at parties,” Kate points. “No sense of awareness when it comes to flirting with girls, let alone ones in committed relationships.”

You nearly shudder at the lingering discomfort of his shameless flirting. “Whatever, he won’t come back.”

“Oh, believe me,” Kate arches her brow. “He’ll try.”

You let out a small scoff and shake your head, trying to brush off the feeling. In an effort to shift the energy, you joke, “He’s always so quiet in debriefings. That might’ve been the first time I’ve ever heard him speak.”

Your friends laugh too, Yelena bringing her drink up to her mouth for a sip. “I know right.”

“It’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for.” Kate chuckles.

The night carries on, warm and electric with the kind of celebratory buzz that made every second of that mission feel worth it.

You stand near the bar surrounded by your friends—Kate, Yelena, Sam, Bob, Bucky, and Joaquin—conversation flowing easily between the group, full of laughter, jabs, and the type of energy that only came after completing a mission together. Joaquin has his arm loosely wrapped around your waist while he chats with Bob, the casual touch a quiet but grounding reminder of his presence.

You’re mid-laugh, fully invested in whatever chaotic story Sam and Bucky are trading off telling, when the soft vibration of your phone buzzes from inside your purse. With a curious frown, you pull it out and glance at the screen—your smile falters slightly at the name lighting up the display.

“I’ve gotta take this,” You turn to Joaquin, holding it in front of him. “Work.”

He tilts his head, concern stretching across his features. “I can go with you.”

Quickly, you shake your head, not wanting your small phone call to take away from his celebration. “No, it’s fine, love. Just five minutes. I’ll be back, yeah?”

Without pressing, he nods and gives your hand a soft squeeze before letting you go, despite how much he ached to hold onto you longer.

You weave through the crowd, slipping out of some glass double doors and onto an empty balcony, where the music grows muffled and the night air chills your warm skin. You lean against the balcony ledge, answering the call with a hushed voice as you speak.

A few minutes pass of your boss speaking through the phone about something that could’ve easily been passed on through an email, and you’re wrapping up the conversation when you feel company—unwelcome but, unfortunately, familiar.

“Work calling?” A voice asks, just near your shoulder.

It wasn’t the second time Landon tried to make an advance towards you, again. He’d done so earlier when you and Kate stumbled off to the bathroom, the man opting to wait outside the door for you to come out. Only, you shot an “S.O.S” text to Yelena who distracted him to give you and Kate enough time to sneak back outside, in between heaps of giggles.

You tense, lowering the phone the moment your boss hangs up. “Yeah,” You blink at Landon, taking a small step away to increase the distance that he is so clearly trying to minimize. “Always seems to when I’m having fun.”

“I get that,” He nods, voice slightly more slurred than the last time he spoke to you. “Enjoying the party then?”

“Was.” You say quickly, hostility rolling off your tongue.

“I can keep you company.” He presses, shrugging his shoulders casually.

With a sharp inhale, you glance up at the night sky and hope it’ll give you the strength you need to not kick him in the ankles with your heel. “No thanks. I was just about to head inside anyways.”

“I’ll go with you.” He responds.

He is unbelievably relentless and somehow even more oblivious. Kate had been right; his persistence is quiet, but annoyingly steady. It’s not like you’re trying to entertain him or give him anything to work with either. You just hope he’d be socially aware enough to pick up on the vibe—or complete lack of one, to be correct.

“Landon,” you twist towards him with a shake of your head. “I have a boyfriend.”

And you’d think it would stop there.

Wrong.

“How come I haven’t seen him?” His shoulders drop, bottom lip pushing out from beneath his top one with a look that tells you he really just doesn’t care.

Despite the fact that you’d been with said boyfriend all night, the man in front of you was clearly too drunk to tell the difference between flirting and flat-out disinterest.

You open your mouth, preparing to curse him out, when soft footsteps sound from behind the two of you.

“You’re seeing him now.”

Joaquin.

His voice is calm but cold, a sharp contrast to the warmth it usually carries. You turn, relief washing over you like a wave as he stares down Landon. He looks different, not angry but protective as his eyes narrow and he walks towards you.

With ease, his hand instinctively settles on your waist, his thumb tracing gentle circles as if silently asking, ‘are you okay?’

You nod up at him, and his gaze shifts back to the blonde beside you.

“Oh, Torres,” Landon says, straightening his posture despite the tension radiating off him. “I didn’t realize you two were a thing.”

Joaquin practically scoffs.

Bullshit.

Everyone knows you two are together—he makes sure of that. Your boyfriend treats you like you’re every star in the galaxy wrapped into one, making it hard for him to stay grounded when he’s with you. He isn’t shy about showing it; loud in the best way, and more importantly, proud. There isn’t a single person in that entire building who doesn’t know he’s yours.

So he reads Landon’s lie right through his horribly fake white teeth.

“You need something, man?” Joaquin asks with a faux friendly tilt of his head, as his cheeks grow read with a jealous heat.

Landon blinks, pushing himself off of the balcony with pursed lips. “Just saying hi.”

Joaquin lets out a laugh—one obviously forced and sarcastic, but equally as hostile. “Yeah, you’re the third guy tonight who’s tried to corner her just so he could ‘say hi.’”

A warm flush spreads through your stomach at his words and the way his hand massages your hip protectively. You can’t take your eyes off him, studying the side of his face as his jaw clenches—whether consciously or not. His eyes aren’t dark, but they hold a sternness that warns the blonde while quietly reassuring you.

Landon, who seems to finally catch the hint, raises his hands in mock surrender and begins backing away. “Alright, alright, my bad. I’ll go.”

Joaquin nods once, slow and easy. “Right.”

Taking the hint, Landon retreats quickly, weaving through the crowd to put distance between himself and the two of you.

When he’s finally gone, you allow yourself a deep exhale as your shoulder muscles loosen. Joaquin turns towards you fully, his hand gently brushing your arm.

“You good?” He asks, eyebrows knitting in concern as he scans your face for any sign of discomfort.

You can’t help but smile up at him, the action coming instinctively. You don’t say anything, only nod your head as an answer. Your silence, accompanied by the way you stare up at him with sparkles in your pupils, makes him still.

He tilts his head, the corners of his mouth curling up into a smirk of suspicion as he side-eyes you. “What?”

“Nothin’.” You hum simply, reaching down to tangle your hands in his. “I was trying to get rid of him all night, y’know?”

Joaquin nearly grumbles at the mention of Landon. “I know. It’s not your fault, baby,” He spares a glance in the direction of the door where the other man has disappeared. “He should know better. They all should.”

You watch the way his scowl contorts into something similar to a frown.

“Is it not obvious that I’m your boyfriend?” He asks, his lips puffing out in a pout that makes you want to lean up and capture it between your own lips.

“Oh, believe me, they know,” You answer, reaching your hand up to run it gently through the curls on his head. “I just don’t think they care.”

He scoffs but his eyes are on you now, watching your face like he can’t be bothered looking anywhere else. “I’ll kick all of their asses.”

You hum out a noise of satisfaction, raising your eyebrows. “I’d like to watch that.”

“You would?”

“Mhm,” You smile. “You’re pretty hot when you’re jealous.”

His shoulders straighten, like your comment gave him an automatic confidence boost. “I am?”

You nod your head, fingers trailing down the sides of his face to brush over his soft skin gently. “You got all serious and scary. I never see you like that.”

“Cause I’ve got no reason to be,” He says, letting you run your fingers over his face like you’re just desperate to be that close. “Except for when weird guys flirt with my girl all night. I mean, I was right by you for half of them, that’s just ridiculous.”

A small giggle leaves your mouth, hands dropping to find his hands again. You twist one of the rings on his thumb, eyes blinking up at him with such admiration, you thinks you might explode.

Joaquin treats you with a kindness and devotion you once thought existed only in romance novels and movies. He worships the ground you walk on, and in moments like this, when every glance and touch is focused on your comfort and safety, you can’t help but feel like royalty.

“What’re you thinking about?” He asks, watching your gaze flicker across his face.

With a small shrug of your shoulders, you respond simply, “How lucky I am.”

“I see,” He nods, a playful smile stretching across his cheeks. He brings your hands up to his mouth, taking a moment to place a soft kiss on the back of each one. “I’d actually like to argue that I’m the lucky one. Clearly, every other guy thinks he’s got a shot, but I’m the only one who gets to hold you,”

A smirk curls up at your mouth, as you watch him plant kisses on your fingers like you’re a delicately crafted statue that he doesn’t want to risk damaging.

“I’m the only one who gets to kiss you,” His lips against your skin sends a vibration of goosebumps across your body. “To make love to you.”

Warmth pools at the bottom of your stomach, his words igniting a heat that only Joaquin is capable of bringing to life. Your teeth find the corner of your inner cheek to chew on. “Quin,”

“Not much of a competition between me and them, right, mi amor?” His voice is sultry and flirtatious as his eyes flicker up to meet yours. He’s teasing you because he knows exactly what to say to make you squeeze your legs shut and leave you wanting more.

You’d take him right there if you weren’t publicly exposed thanks to the glass doors that revealed the two of you to the party like an open book. Instead, you squeeze his hand and tug him closer, chest lightly bumping against yours. “I’m yours.”

A hum leaves his mouth, his beautiful curls dropping over his forehead as he looks down at you. Completely enamored by the loving haze dancing across your eyes like smoke, he smiles, his arms finding their spot on your waist again. “Good.”

His fingers trail across your back, with a light touch that tells you he was doing it on purpose. It has your breath rattling in the back of your throat, burning with a thirst only he can quench.

“You wanna head back inside?” He asks, casually and composed.

You want to scold him for his blatantly obvious taunting. He knows what he’s doing and he’s doing it well. “You’re gonna get me all riled up and then ask if I wanna go back inside?”

Joaquin raises his eyebrow in an effort to pretend he hadn’t been whispering sweet nothings on purpose. “What do you mean?”

With a roll of your eyes, you nudge him on the arm. “You’re an asshole.”

He laughs, the sound warm as it bounces off of the balcony and through the chill air of the night. His smile nearly reaches his eyes, impossibly gorgeous in a way that makes you smile too. “I’m your asshole.”

“Ew.” You whine, but hold him close to you anyways. “Don’t say it like that.”

“How else am I supposed to say it?” He grins, head dipping to press a gentle kiss to the side of your cheek.

Your eyes flicker shut in satisfaction, just as his small path of kisses trails to your lips. When your mouths press against each other, you’re humming into the kiss, holding him there with a hand behind his neck.

The kiss is sweet—hungry—but sweet, how it always is with Joaquin. You kiss each other like it’s the first time you’ve ever done so. No matter how many moments your lips have met, they move in a unison that makes every shared exchange feel fresh and youthful.

You never get tired of it. It’s a pleasure that comes with a fervent beating of your heart and a bubbling of your stomach, like your insides are made out of the same sparkling champagne you’d long abandoned inside. Kissing him—being with him—makes you feel light on your feet, like you’re floating on Cloud 9.

“My girl.” He mumbles against your lips as the two of you slowly part.

“Always.” You say, leaning back to look at his face.

He licks his lips, playfulness glinting in his eyes. “You taste like sugar.”

You giggle as you grab his hand to begin tugging him back inside the party where all of your friends are waiting—Yelena, who you promised you wouldn’t abandon that night, likely more impatient than the rest.

“You’d know,” You respond. “I’ve been drinking ‘Falcon’s Flight’ all night.”

He lets you drag him, following behind like a puppy. “That’s what I like to hear.”

You laugh. “Shut up.”

[herecomeaspookybunch]

anywya

[moonwalkingprincess]

Masterlist

Things to know:

I write down my daydreams, which means they can be about pretty much anybody. I mostly write about Eminem or marvel characters like Peter Parker and Bucky Barnes.

I sometimes forget to link them to my Masterlist.

I don't take requests.

I use ChatGPT as a tool.

I write smut, mostly daddy or dom.

Please follow me at TikTok! Username: Juliasund3.

Eminem:

One shots

The Red Top.

Playing with ur fingers

Instagram

Body Pillow

Hailee gets a boyfriend

Hailee gets her period

Welcome to the Candyshop

Those girls should be jealous of you (smut)

Self sabotaging p1

Self Sabotaging p2

boring day in detroit

Meeting Hailee and Alaina

Series:

LIfe is a Highway: (Rabbit)

Part 1 part 2 part 3 Part 4

Mockingbird:

Part 1 Part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

Marshall's Anatomy

Part 1

Marvel:

Bucky Barnes:

Why Bucky Barnes hates redwing

Shared Demons:

part 1

Peter Parker:

Lady Stark//Peter Parker x Stark Reader

Part 1

[inkdrinkerworld]

this is my first time coming to a sleepover!! 🖤 can i have cigarette smoke and/or rich coffee beans with peter parker?

Oh I think I’m gonna do cigarette smoke for this one!!!

“I thought you were quitting?” Peter’s voice is soft where it finds you in the fire escape, hands leaning on the grating as he peeks at you.

You’re sitting there with a cigarette halfway smoked and halfway to your lips, your eyes wide from being caught.

“This is my first one.” You say sheepishly, taking one more drag before pressing the lit top into the grate under you.

“Baby,” Peter isn’t admonishing, but he is the tiniest bit annoyed. You’d been doing so well, almost two weeks with only one cigarette between them. This is your second one in as many days.

Your shoulders reach your ears, “I know, I’m sorry Pete. Just really needed one.”

He climbs through the window, and sits beside you, shoulder to shoulder. Peter lays his head on your shoulder with a soft smile.

“Wanna talk about it?”

You snort, “The dangers of carbon monoxide or why I needed a smoke?”

Peter chuckles, hand reaching for yours. He brings your hand to his face, studying your knuckles like they’re the best thing he’s ever seen.

“Whichever you prefer. I know you’re tired of me going on about the ‘how’s your day thing’ though.”

You laugh so loud, it shakes Peter. “You’re such an ass.”

Peter shrugs, kissing your knuckles. “You love me anyhow?”

You kiss his forehead, all your stress from the day gone just by Peter being here with you. “I love you anyhow, Peter Parker.”

He smiles, shifting so he’s looking at you. “Would it be terribly rude if I asked you to chew gum before I kissed you?”

You shove him off you with a loud laugh, snatching your hand back from him as you lean into your apartment and into your handbag for the gum.

[abbykmtr-13]

✨THEM ✨

A lil sketch of MJ and Peter that I totally didn’t forget to post here 🤭✨

[bstandsforbabydaddy]

"Mmhm would monster go under any category of bugs? Makeing monster spray"

@peterparker-who

Depends on the monster. Mothra? Sure. Godzilla? Probably not.