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peterparkive · 7 days ago

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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.”

2K notes · View notes

floshav · 1 year ago

Text

want you so bad.

Peter Parker x fem! reader

summary: Peter likes Mj. You like Peter. Everyday is hell when they're both in each others vicinity and you're sitting right behind the madness. You're so close to professing your love for him but you keep it under wraps because it seems like an impossible feat.

Warnings: intense yearning, slight steamy scene, kissing, alluding to smut

He brings his hat down, pushing his fluffy bits of hair to flair out at the ends of his hat. You quirk your head to the side wondering who he was trying to hide from or who he saw. Yet it was no surprise to find that it was Mj.

She walked in with her curly, unruly hair which made her look so, so beautiful. The freckles which danced on her face making her glow and it made you jealous. Why did her natural beauty shine through more than your own? Why couldnt Peter see that in you. Why couldn't you see anything in yourself.

His eyes darted around the park outside your school and finally landed on you. You looked at him with a knowing expression.

"Don't need to play it cool Parker. The whole school can smell your crush from here." You smirk.

He scratches the back of his head and pretends like he doesn't know you till' he gives you a defeated look.

"Whatever you say y/n...." It only takes a few more moments before he breaks

He musters out a breathy whisper which you've heard a billion times before. "Is that really MJ?" Peter gravelly asked, hands at either side of his head, giving in to the fact that he was definitely head over heels for her.

You try to hold in a sigh, " Yes, Peter. It is MJ. For the hundredth time this week!" You yearn out, half joke half seriously.

Peters shoulder's tense up as a dorky smile carves his lips. "Is she looking our way? Or is her nerdy ass stuffed in a book." Peter asks with wide eyes. The eyes which you found so adorable, palpable yet so far from the personal touch of your own fingertips.

You slowly turned your head around to glimpse at the curly haired girl who was indeed lost in a book.

"Yea, shes reading her book." You say as you shoot Peter a tight smile and hate Mj for being the stereotypical mysterious girl. You Wondered if he could sense the hurt beneath you. Of course not. He was just a boy after all.

"I wonder how her long eyelashes feel against her eye bags as she slurs through the words. Or how the spine of the book feels as her soft fingers inch it to crack. Ugh, I just want to count every freckle on her beautiful face. Ya think she's ever thought of me before?" Peter began to ramble sweet nothings to himself as if you were giving him your utmost attention and not thinking about how stars practically lived in his eyes as he talked about her. How you wish he was talking about you.

You felt that familiar soul crushing, heart sinking feeling that you knew too well. The feeling that every boy you've ever liked has given you. The feeling of being so close yet so far away was the final blow.

He placed both his hands on either side of his face again and began to softly bite his lip as he giggled to himself stupidly.

"What're you thinking about Parker." You ask playfully trying to lighten the mood for yourself.

"Her lips... her eyes.... her hair." He smiled to himself so oblivious to the fact that every compliment he gave her was a dagger to your heart.

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

2 months

2 months pass and Peter has started talking to Michelle. Instead of walking past him, she smiles, she waves occasionally and has even said small hi's to him. The progress aches your yearning heart further into abyss but you ignore it anyway. Michelle has a new glow to her, she radiates beauty and the colour yellow ever since they started conversing. While you stay stagnant, radiating a plain old indistinguishable grey.

You're in Peters room, you two have just finished a major lego piece you've been putting off and the nights going great.

buzz

There goes your night you think to yourself.

Peter picks up his phone only to reveal his dorky smile again. Hes immediately stuck like glue and you hate it. You hate her. Even though you shouldnt, you couldnt care less.

You lay beside him as he smiles at his phone when in fact he should be smiling at you.

You snatch his phone and crush it, crush it to bits imagining it was Michelle jones, every bit of it Gone. gone to dust.

you snap out of your fantasy and return to see him stuck in her spiders web.

"Hey Peter" you coon

"Whats up?" He sets his phone aside and turns to face you.

Unknowingly you inch closer, and closer but the gap is barely noticeable.

Your eyes flicker down to his lips and you take in a breath. He notices the subtle gesture and his mind wanders.

"Have you ever wondered.." You trail off

"Wondered.....?" He repeated

"Wondered what it'd be like to.."

"to... kiss someone." You shyly whisper knowing you both haven't had your first kisses.

"I think it'd be amazing. Especially with someone you like. Imagine the feeling, the sparks flying. Just everything put into place." He says as he searches your eyes for a deeper meaning behind your facade.

"Yea... Someone you like." Your heart pounds solemnly at the thought that you'd never share your first kiss with your first love because he was tangled up in a love story of his own.

"Why'd you ask?"

"Just... felt like it."

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

a month passes since that conversation and you see Peters lips locked onto Mj's as they share soft kisses beside the vending machine. You should feel happy for him but he's all you've ever wanted and you've just lost him. You want to scream, shout, cry but you don't have it in you anymore. You just don't care.

Peter pulls away and Mj has a wide smile plastered on her face. Something you rarely ever see from her. Your mind wanders to what Peters lips would feel like. Soft.. Plush and warm. The wetness of lips on lips makes you aroused. The sounds he'd make if you did something a little more. He was seemed like the type you thought to yourself. The way his face would be so flushed after you'd litter him with affection and kisses. Him gaining more confidence as you went on. Mj watching on the side. You hadn't even realised a dampening form on your panties until you shifted around. You wanted him so so bad, but all you could do was watch from the side.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peterparker #spiderman x reader #fanfiction #peter parker fanfiction #angst #peter parker smut #smut #peter parker #peterparkerfanfic #peter parker fanfic

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rusbyrin · 8 months ago

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Peter Parker & Tim Drake Photographer Rivalry

Ok, so Peter gets trapped in the Gotham, right? Pretty standard fic premise. But he’s got his camera with him and decides he’s gonna take pictures of the local vigilantes to pay rent, like he’d do for the Daily Bugle.

Cue Stalker!Tim and Peter bumping into each other CONSTANTLY and having a little secret paparazzi rivalry while still JUST BARELY keeping off Batman and Robin’s radar. They’ll be bickering and comparing shots, but as soon as Batman might look slightly in their direction, they are in sync diving for cover/scaling the wall.

#stalker!timdrake #photographer!timdrake #photographer!peterparker #peter parker #timothy drake #dc comics #marvel mcu #spiderman #fanfic ideas

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shdwmgumi · 4 months ago

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Peter Parker fanfic

Guys, I am desperate. I’m looking for a Peter Parker (Tom Holland) fanfic called Invisible String—it was a soulmate AU x reader posted on Tumblr a few years ago. It was around 116k words, had about five or six chapters, and was genuinely one of the best fanfics I’ve ever read. But now i think the author’s account is deactivated, and the fic is just GONE.

Does anyone have it saved? Does anyone remember the author’s username or know if it was posted anywhere else? I will be forever grateful to anyone who can help me find it.

Please, internet, do your thing. Don’t let this masterpiece disappear forever.😩

#PeterParker #tom holland #lost fanfiction #soulmate au #help #fanfic help #tumblr fic #invisible string #desperate #marvel #marvel fanfic #x reader #peter parker x reader

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insanepotato-78 · 5 months ago

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I want to write some fanfiction but I don't know if I should have it as a soulmate usinverse or a meet cute.. btw this is for a spiderman fanfiction

#marvel #mary jane watson #peterparker #peter parker #spiderman #fanfic #writing

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bingbongsupremacy · 2 years ago

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ABC's

I tried thinking of characters with names that matched the ABC originally, but I'm just going by fic names now. Some r probably going to be short.

The plain x reader stories don't describe body type, size or gender.

Coming soon....

Almonds - Abby Anderson x reader

Summary: Abby shares the last bit of her food with you when times get tough.

Baby - Joel Miller x reader who can get pregnant

Summary: It's getting harder and harder to spend time with your husband and you have some really important news. (Pre-Outbreak)

Camp Counselor Pt. 2 - Steve Harrington x plus sized reader

Summary: It's your third year being a camp counselor at Camp Hawkins and your 7th year knowing Steve. Every year your crush seems to grow stronger and stronger.

Don't Let Me Go - Ellie Williams x reader

Summary: After a near death experience, you're afraid for Ellie to leave you alone.

Fall Out - Isaac Lahey x reader

Summary: Your relationship with Isaac grows more and more strained as the days go by. Will he finally tell you what's going on?

Gumball Machine - Steve Rogers x reader

Summary: All you want is a gumball. Unfortunately, you're out of change.

Heart Breaker - Jonathan Byers x reader

Summary : No matter what you do, Jonathan Byers will never be in love with you. Not the way he is with Nancy anyways.

Incognito - Eddie Munson AU x reader

Summary: All you wanted was a cup of coffee from the new cafe on Main Street. You definitely didn't expect to spill coffee on the Metal Icon Eddie Munson.

Jacket - Eddie Munson x reader

Summary: The night Chrissy went over to Eddie's trailer, you went to. I mean, you weren't going to let Chrissy just go to a strangers house without back up. Unfortunately, when things go wrong, you end up on the same wanted poster as Eddie. Together, you're forced to run away.

Knock Knock Pt.2 - Ellie Williams College AU

Summary: A simple request to turn the music down turns into a frustrating back and forth battle. Why does your neighbor have to be so damn attractive?

Lonely Pt. 2 - Stranger Things Zombie Apocalypse AU

Summary: A few days after the zombie apocolypse took over Hawkins you lost everyone. Once you finally run out of supplies, you're forced to venture out into the town, hoping not to run into anyone and make it to safety alive. Unfortunately, life doesn't always go how you want it.

Marry Me? - Spencer Reid

Summary: Spencer asks you to marry him at the most random time. Garcia does not approve.

Newborn - Joel Miller

Summary: Joel's nervous about holding your new baby.

Only Her - Steve Harrington x Reader (Possible Pt. 2)

Summary: Steve doesn't look at you the same way he looks at Nancy. Does he really love you?

Promise - Eddie Munson

Summary: Eddie promised to come back. After Eddie cut the sheet, preventing you from following him back into the upside down, he promised he'd come back.

Quiet - Johnathan Byers

Summary: When El offers to watch your newborn baby, you're finally able to get some desperately needed sleep.

Reciprocate - John Murphy

Summary: For as long as you've known John, he's always held you at an arms length distance. He's never shared more than he has to. That's why when his behaviors start changing, you're very confused.

Secret Admirer - Steve Harrington

Summary: Never would you have imagined that someone could have a crush on you.

Tell Me Pretty Lies - Theo Raekan

Summary: You've had a feeling that Theo might be cheating on you for a while. Is everything he's said a lie?

Under the Trees - Robin Buckley

Summary: You're in love with Robin. You have been since Freshman year. It breaks your heart whenever she talks about another girl. Unfortunately for you, lately that seems to be all she has to talk about.

Valentine -

Summary : You ask Max to be your Valentine, unsure of how it's going to play out.

Weak - John Murphy

Summary: You're sick. After days of taking care of the fellow 100, you start to feel the affects of sickness taking over. Who's going to take care of you?

Xenial - Joel Miller

Summary: You're a newcomer in Jackson. Due to lots of new people, you're left with no choice but to share a house with Ellie and Joel. It's only temporary, right?

Yearbook - Nancy Wheeler

Summary: It's finally the end of senior year. While flipping through the pages of your signature filled yearbook, you discover something you never thought you would.

Zander's Pizzaria - Peter Parker

Summary: Closing sucks. Especially when your coworker calls out sick and you're left to do everything by yourself. Things take a turn for the worst when gun welding thiefs threatens your life.

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geminil0vr · 6 months ago

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French Navy | Peter Parker

I wanted to control it, but love, I couldn't hold it.

SUMMARY | Finding themselves forced to share an apartment for their first year at MIT due to an error in the listing, Peter and his relentless new roommate forge an unlikely partnership.

CONTENT | college!peter, college!au, fluff, roommates to lovers trope, slow burn, friends to lovers trope, minor jealousy plot, The Bear & Hell's Kitchen mention, reader spends Christmas at his, first kiss

WORD COUNT | 7.5k

Whatever she was expecting, it wasn't this.

He's hunched over a black suitcase right in the centre of the living room, throwing items astray, looking for something. She can tell just by a peek over his shoulder that he didn't pack with anything but survival in mind: his toothbrush is nestled between two crumpled t-shirts. She's standing in the doorway, brows knitted, eyes inching away from him every now and then to check the number on the door. This can't be right.

She'd gotten lucky when she discovered that her college had set up a program to organise struggling new students into (barely) furnished apartments together. But while she'd love to take a moment to appreciate the space, the sofa set in the centre of the cramped but homey flat, the wall boarding the living room from the little kitchen and its counters with coffee rings burnt into the laminate, even the painting left askew on the wall by the inhabitants before her; the boy right in the middle of it is proving a distraction.

Even with the door flung wide open like the few others down the hall, she opts to rap her knuckles against it. His grip tightens on a half-empty shampoo bottle, turning in surprise. After a moment, he goes to speak, but then holds his breath; tilts his head.

"I don't think..."

"Have you got the right room?"

"As I previously mentioned, there's really nothing we can do for you here at MIT. Unfortunately, there was a mix-up with Mr. Parker's name," Peter's roommate stifles a smile by pressing her fingers into her lips, "And we've already assigned you two to the same room: legally, contractually, however you'd like to call it. Every other student in this program is already in a pair or, for respective reasons, on their own. You two are just going to have to grin and bear it, I'm afraid."

She inhales, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth, and Peter shuffles in his seat. The vice-principal leans forward, elbows pressing into the polished wood; he looks like he's been pulled straight out of a magazine, every short coil of his hair finger-spun, hands folded and pleading just a few inches above his desk.

"Look, you two," They glance at each other, "I know this isn't how you expected the move-in to go, but as far as I'm concerned, you have the most spacious apartment out of any of the other students, as well as two separate bedrooms, decent rent... God, the last people who stayed there even left you that little TV set. You got lucky," Peter couldn't be more tired of that word if he tried.

"Even if this isn't the gender-sorted accommodation you'd hoped for, I am certain that you can learn to live with each other." He smiles in that way that lets them know the conversation is over, and a tense beat of silence permeates the room before the new students lift reluctantly from their seats.

"Thank you, Sir," Her new roommate flattens his lips together with a weak attempt at a smile. She chews at her tongue. The man grins like a politician, a great-white, teeth bright and gleaming.

So, they've pushed back the furniture (spare as it is) and are sat cross-legged in the middle of the carpet, beige fibres scratching at their skin. It's far too hot for the start of September. Yet as the evening sets in on them, the windows, littered with fingerprints, begin to let in a gentle flow of air. She rolls back her shoulders, feeling the joints click, and twiddles a pen between her fingers.

"Okay. If we're doing this, we're gonna need some ground rules."

Peter nods fervently, voice cracking with uncertainty, "Yeah, of course."

"Alright! One. I get to pick my room first..."

His arms uncross from over his chest, "Wait, how is that fair?"

"I thought it was ladies first," She lifts her eyes.

"Yeah, on airplanes."

She frowns, "No, that's not... okay, whatever. Apparently chivalry is dead," He frowns back, and she scribbles out Rule One in her notepad, "So we'll toss a quarter."

She's back at half past 8, shoulders heavy. Without replying, she lets the door swing shut behind her, drops her bag right in the middle of the walkway and slumps down onto the side of the couch. She buries her head into her hands to muffle a scream.

Peter straightens anxiously from his place at the kitchen counter, "Uh, hey... are you okay?"

"Customer service is going to kill me. I am going to die, and it's gonna be at the hands of customer service," She drops her head back into the cushions, "And no one even cares."

"Oh, God, I thought something was wrong," His shoulders relax briefly.

She drops her hands to the couch, head tilting back lazily to her roommate of 6 days, lamenting, "This is my swan song, roomie. This is serious."

His brows raise, and he rolls his lips into his mouth, voice pitching, "Yeah, no, I know that, I understand," He anticipates a flare of anger, but she hasn't got it in her after an 8 hour shift. Instead, she moves to lean her head against the armrest, staring at the TV with an almost childish level of desperation.

"Peter?"

"Yeah?" He wavers cautiously, eyeing the back of her head. Such an uptick of emotion isn't his forte, and certainly not with the roommate he's only just getting used to.

Her lips blow out, eyes closing. She speaks quietly. "Do you know how to put on Hell's Kitchen?"

His eyelids flutter, "We don't..." He clears his throat, "We can't do Hell's Kitchen on there. It's like three thousand years old."

"Just find a way."

They've gone 3 weeks without any real problem. Minus the toothbrush, and the chore sheet, and the recycling. I mean, something was destined to happen half a month into their roommateship, some earth-shattering discovery bound to be made: Peter can't be trusted in the kitchen.

"How did you... Peter, how did you even manage that?"

They both stare dumbstruck at the charred remains of two chicken breasts, sat right in the middle of their brand new frying pan. By some miracle, the fire alarm has finally stopped blaring. She carefully leans over to click the stovetop off.

"I feel like I gave you one job."

"You did, yeah." His voice is breathy, tongue pushing against his cheek.

"Just to cook the chicken. Like, just keep an eye on it. Flip it."

"Yeah."

"And... how..."

"I don't know."

"I don't think this is gonna work," She sighs, hand flat on her forehead, the other at her hip. He stills, "We need to redo the chore sheet."

His expression grows desperate. They engage in a staring match, and Peter's always had a knack for knowing when he's lost a fight (apart from that one time, and the other few).

After a few moments, her eyes catch the stove again, "Oh, the pan is screwed."

"I know," He sounds like a kid.

"I just bought that," She breathes out, voice small.

"I'm sorry."

"I feel like I'm on The Bear right now, and you're the guy doing meth in the back alley."

He pauses, "When did that happen?"

"Oh my God," She turns, "You haven't even watched season two. Who are you?"

"Was I supposed to?"

"Put the pan in the sink," She taps on her phone, engrossed, "Hey, we have apple cider vinegar, right?" He blinks, and she breathes out with a huff. She begins to inch around the corner, but turns back, "And you're buying takeout. You know how much chicken costs these days? You owe me."

6 weeks, and she's bursting through the front door, "Petra!"

"I told you to stop calling me that," He calls from his room, the wall of privacy soon shattered when she pushes open the door, jumping up and down.

She's breathing hard, like she ran up here, and for a moment he really thinks she's about to collapse, which would be an awful affliction for him considering it's her night to do the dishes, and he's grown rather fond of her. She's invading every inch of his space, cramped with furniture and cluttered with papers, and he finds he doesn't mind it much. Her energy is boundless. As is her use of the name MIT gave him; the one that got them stuck here in the first place.

"I'm doing my paper."

"I got it," She bounces right into his spinning desk chair, facing him where he's horizontal on his bed (laptop burning into his thighs) with her legs kicking and her fingers tapping the armrests.

"What is it? If you found someone to crack The Sims 3 for you, I'm not gonna celebrate. You know it's against my values."

"That's an unfortunate no," She pauses, "Do you think I could find someone to do that for me, though?"

"Dude."

"Whatever: I got that barista's number. You know, the hot one, at Hayden's? It was kind of an accident, but I asked them out, and now I don't know what to wear. Should I look smart? Or casual? Do you think this is like, a date thing?"

"Oh." He nods, confused. "Uh, maybe?"

"They texted me like, 5 minutes ago." She sticks her phone into his face. It reads, 'Next Fri prolly, see u at 8, get the Red I think.' Then, 'South Street.' "What does that mean?"

"Uh..."

"Forget it. You're no help." She stares into her phone intensely, before her eyes lift, "Do you think they like me?" She tilts her head, gaze probing.

"I think... that romance is alive. And well," He gives her his best attempt at a smile.

She hops up, still buzzing with energy and nearing the door, one hand on the frame of it. "But not chivalry. I can't believe you made me take the bad room."

"What do you mean? Your room is the biggest one," She rolls her eyes, "And we tossed a coin."

"But do I have any of this beautiful, natural light? I don't think so!"

A day later, she's stuffing toast into her mouth at the counter, hair messy and eyes heavy with sleep. Her arms ache from pushing furniture against the floorboards. The weather's been getting colder lately, and the floor chills through her socks. He sits across from her, elbows against the laminate as he shovels down cereal.

"God, Peter, that sun is blinding in the morning. Holy shit."

"Fucking... piece of crap."

Peter creaks open the door, eyes tired and a touch bloodshot. He'd been working late on another Biochem paper when he heard her swearing to herself, trying to get the keys in.

"Jesus, are you okay?"

She looks up at him from where she's crouched, stumbling slightly with her key in her hand. She stands, "Oh, shit, did I wake you up?"

"No, I..." He watches as she moves past him and into their apartment, throwing her keys onto the sofa and sniffing, "Did you... how was your date?"

When she turns to look at him, he can finally see how drunk she is, hair pinned up, only a few tendrils cascading down the neckline of her nicest dress. As she shrugs off her jacket, he finds that her eyes are bloodshot, too. "Oh, good." She smiles bitterly, but it's weak.

"What happened?"

"Nothing, Peter. Thanks for the... for opening the door. Just go back to sleep."

He frowns, shaking his head, "I wasn't sleeping. What's wrong?"

She laughs thickly, tilting her head up: this was the very last thing she wanted. She swallows and eyes the ceiling, "They stood me up. So I had a nice few drinks for one," For emphasis, she sticks out her index finger.

His lips turn down, eyebrows rising. "A few?"

She licks at her lips and finally looks back at him, "A couple, yeah."

She sucks at her teeth as he stands, unsure what to do, "Maybe... just stay there, I'll get you some... water."

Her nostrils flare and she flops down onto the sofa. She just wanted to go to her room and pray that her mattress swallowed her whole, but instead she hears the tap, and the footsteps of her roommate of 7 weeks plodding towards her in fuzzy slippers she would make fun of if she could gather the energy. She takes the cold glass and he watches carefully as she downs half of it, moving to set it onto the coffee table but nearly missing the mark by a couple inches. He catches it in one sharp and careful movement with his palm, quietly lowering it onto the table.

"I'm, uh... I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Wasn't your fault, Parker."

His mind is frantic, searching for something to stop her face from crumpling; she wakes the next morning, blanket-covered on the sofa with a pounding head, her phone out of charge and his propped up against an empty glass, still playing an episode of Hell's Kitchen. From here, she can see him through a crack in the door, curled up in his desk chair. He's drafting an email to his professor pleading for an extended deadline on the paper. They never talk about it, but she stops using his conditioner; starts making every dinner for two.

"Get your ass out here, Parker! Halloween is slipping through our fingers!"

"I feel stupid."

"You are stupid. There's a charm to that." He emerges from his room in a half-assed, Craigslist Batman costume. It's baggy in all the wrong places, and she claps a hand over her mouth.

"Stop laughing! I'm only gonna wear the mask."

"No, no, I'm not laughing," She laughs, "You look like a real superhero."

He blanches, "No, I don't."

She grins, teeth clamping down on her bottom lip, "No, you don't."

They're tipsy at the MIT Halloween bash, surrounded by classmates and for whatever reason, sticking to each other. Two months into the school year they've found their stride, making a few friends here and there and finally having something to talk about over their occasional shared dinners; a new rival or group project. But in the heat of the crowd, they just seem to pull back. Moving and hoping as if underwater.

They blink away the blur of the strobe lights, "Petra?"

"What?"

"I feel like it's either get drunker or go home."

"Should we flip a coin or something?"

"Oh, fool me once, Parker."

"You got the room you wanted in the end, didn't you?"

She hums, avoiding his eyes.

'You have to be kidding me."

Soon, they're drunk out of their minds and pushing furniture from one room to the other. It's 3 am, and their neighbours want them dead. She groans, giving up on his chest of drawers and rolling onto the floor.

"You are not pulling your weight here," He whines.

"Eat shit."

He slumps down, legs splayed out on the carpet of the cluttered living room.

"Where's my bed?"

"Your room. No. My room." Her head lolls to look at him.

"Our room?" He opts.

"We should get bunk beds."

He leans back against his bedside table, thinking, "Don't laugh."

"What? Why?" She grins lazily, pulling herself up with her hands behind her. He grins back.

"I have a bunk bed back home."

"Now it makes sense." She leans forward.

"What makes sense?" His brows furrow, still smiling.

"Why you're a virgin loser."

"Mauritz is coming in 5. I could cancel right now."

"No, Petra, please." But he's slowly lifting the phone over his head. She watches frantically as the little illustration of Mauritz gets closer.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He doesn't cede, "You get girls, you're a playboy!"

"Playboy?" Here, she cries out, and begins to wrestle for it.

"You have... you have notches on your bedpost, please! I'll do the dishes forever!"

He yelps and they're a tangle of limbs, bitch-slapping eachother and giggling like idiots, both losers within their own tug of war and rolling away in order to surrender.

For a moment, they take a breath, snickers growing few and far between. He eyes her with another laugh, tilting his head in an attempt to capture her in the blur of his vision, "You really think so?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Just don't be weird."

"Why would I be weird? Do you think I'm weird?"

"Ned, just..."

"Hi, guys!" She comes beaming around the corner, speaking with her mouth full until Peter gives her a look. She swallows, "Hello."

Ned smiles wide, mouth open and looking from Peter to her for a moment too long. Peter's head drops. "This is Ned."

"I've heard great things. And I made cookies! They're really dry, too much flour, but if you sandwich them with frosting it works, I swear."

Ned's grin grows impossibly larger, "You're a genius."

A couple hours later, and, "See, this is why I didn't want you guys to meet."

"We're just playing Mario Kart!"

"Yeah, on your phones, without me."

"You always cheat!" Her and Ned exclaim at the same time. Peter appreciates his roommate of 2 and a half months, but cannot wait for her to leave for her shift. Plus, Bullet Bill is not cheating.

"I can't believe you'd gatekeep the second most wonderful person in your life from me like this." She says, proceeded by a string of hushed curses when she falls back into fourth place.

Ned turns with wide eyes, controlling his car from his peripheral, "Second?"

She doesn't look up, "Always have to look out for number 1, babe."

He pauses, looks up, nods. "You're so right."

"Don't make this Craigslist Batman Costume all over again. I'm not waiting another twenty minutes."

"I'm not! I can't get my tie right," His voice cracks.

"Let me in."

"Just... wait."

"Open the door, you big dummy." She's found the courtesy not to barge in after multiple embarrassing incidents that she's still struggling to shake out of her head. Seeing your roommate in only his boxers isn't weird. Thinking about it isn't weird. You're weird.

He groans in exasperation and finally just swings it open, clad in a rented suit, his blazer strewn across the bed.

"Very fancy."

"Stop making fun of me."

"I'm not!" She grins, "You look fancy! All for your smart people dinner."

"It's not a smart people dinner."

"Oh, yeah? Enlighten me."

"It's a..." She puffs out an exhale, "Dinner for excelling students."

"So..."

"It's a smart people dinner."

In the midst of all this, she's already snatched his black tie and wrestled it out of a knot.

"Come here, Petra."

"Peter."

"Or should I say, Mr. Parker? Sir Lord Parker?"

"Actually, you can stick with Petra."

"May I please do your tie, Sir, because you can't do it to save your life, Sir?"

He's fighting a smile at her attempt at a British accent, and simply turns around and towards the mirror. She's standing behind him, and wraps it underneath his collar, efficiently tying and tightening it to her liking as she glances back and forth from the mirror to over his shoulder. She pauses with a frown until she identifies the problem, going to unbutton the very top of his shirt, wholly unprepared for how her knuckles brushing against his collarbone would make each hair on the back of her neck rise.

"You looked uptight. That's better," She inhales shakily, unsure of where this feeling started or where it ends; she'd rather not find out. She clears her throat and they lock gazes in the mirror. His shoulders unwind. They both take a breath, and smile.

"Oh... thanks. Thank you."

"No problem, Batman." He smiles despite himself, turning to face her. She pats his tie. "You're gonna kill it. Make 'em wanna go home, quit their degree and move back to their mom's house. Or aunt's. My bad."

"Shut up."

She's humming along to Camera Obscura the same night when she hears an airy laugh that isn't Peter's, and the clink of his keys in the door. She holds her breath to hear better, listens to hushed whispers and finally his bedroom door clicking shut. The next morning she's skipping her first class and reading one of Peter's books, avoiding him until his new friend leaves, and until he's out the door too.

It has been three days, closing in on the start of December, and she's cursing herself out when she hears the front door creak open. She's successfully stayed out of his way this far, for a reason she can't quite place: maybe it's that she didn't want to look him in the eye, wanted to leave the discomfort and the misplaced anger be, to stale at the bottom of the pit she'd dug for herself the second she thought she could play pretend. And she could've sworn she'd had his schedule down pat, but he's home far too early and she can't leave his leftovers for dinner in the fridge anymore.

He's just as surprised to see her. He doesn't understand why it feels like something has shifted.

"Oh, hi." He's standing in the entryway of the kitchen, bag slung over his shoulder and she's chewing at her lip.

"Hey, Parker!" She smiles, but it's more of a grimace, and she clears her throat, looking into the pan of broccoli she's steaming. "I'm making dinner."

"Yeah, uh, thank you." He swallows, putting his bag on the counter, staring at her like the moment he doesn't she's going to disappear. That's how it's been, these past few days. He takes a bottle of water from the fridge. For once, she isn't speaking, just silently cooking, and he can't help himself, "Are you okay?"

She stills for a beat, then continues stirring the food, back turned to him. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"No, it's just... I don't know. I haven't seen you in a while."

Guilt gnaws at her. She glances at him briefly over her shoulder, "Sorry, Peter. Been busy."

"No, it's... it's okay." He chews at his cheek, taking another sip of water, "Did you, uh, wanna watch The Bear tonight?"

She whips around to face him. "What?"

He rolls his lips into his mouth, "Did you..." he starts.

"Yes." She grins, looking straight at him for the first time in what feels like forever as she hastily stirs, and the knot in his stomach eases away.

They don't talk about it, but that night, watching him sing along with Ritchie to Taylor Swift with only the light of the TV shadowing his features, she knows. Knows there's something inescapable about this; she couldn't hold a grudge against him if she tried.

"I can't believe you got laid, Pete."

He chokes on his ice cream. Composes himself, ears beet red. "What are you... what are you talking about?" His voice is breaking.

She looks at him, knowingly. "Come on. You even broke the no being loud after 11 pm rule. I can't believe you, you dog."

He's burying his face in his hands. She snickers as he folds deeper into the sofa, his apology muffled against his skin.

"Oh don't be," She grins, eyeing him and ready to strike, "I'm just so proud of you for finally losing your V-card."

"Shut up!"

"It's a really important time in a woman's life."

He squeezes his eyes shut, hands going to his forehead, voice turning quiet, "I'm not a virgin."

"Not anymore you're not."

"I hate you so much."

"A little to the left. Wait, no, up. Right there. Beautiful."

"Why are you making me decorate the tree?" When he successfully places the golden bauble, he steps back to look at their pathetic, last-minute version of a Christmas tree. It's lopsided, plastic, and discounted due to a lot of missing faux-pine needles.

"You deserve to do all the hard work, considering you're the one abandoning me to go spend Christmas in New York with your hot aunt."

"Stop calling her hot. And I'm not abandoning you. You have me the morning of Christmas Eve!"

"How is Santa gonna find you if you keep leaving all the time?"

He gives her a look and she cedes, with a small smile playing at her lips. He hangs a red ornament this time, and she hums in appreciation. He stretches his arms overhead, and she ignores the strip of skin that exposes itself, instead lifting his mug of hot cocoa from the coffee table and taking a sip. He'd been expecting her to steal it, though he thought making them one each would sate her at least a little bit.

"Hey."

"Yeah, Petra?"

"Are you... Gonna be okay, you know, on your own?"

Her eyes rise to meet his, and she clears her throat, "Yeah, off course. I mean, you know they pay twice as much just to work on Christmas, so... it'll be worth it."

He frowns, covers it up, "Yeah."

"And plus, I get to play Christmas music at full blast no matter what time it is when you're gone. I'm living the dream life." She smiles teasingly, tilts her head, tries and fails to reassure him.

"I'll be back the day after Boxing Day, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah, Parker. Bring back a nice little polaroid of Aunt May for me, won't you?"

"Absolutely not."

When Peter leaves for the airport on Christmas Eve, she gets lonelier than she'd like to admit. She glares at the space under the tree, stands in the doorway of Peter's room, moves all of his furniture an inch away from the wall so he gets freaked out when he comes home, moves it back again because she feels bad, watches a vine compilation, wallows on the couch. If she can't survive 16 minutes, she has no idea how she'll survive the next two days. She nearly has a heart attack when she hears the keys in the door. Peter rushes through, entirely out of breath, suitcase rolling to a stop beside him.

"Do you wanna come with me?"

She looks back at him, wide eyes to wild ones, "What?"

"Do you wanna come with me?"

A moment passes. Then, "I'll call work."

At the bus station, they put savings together to buy the cheapest and sketchiest last-minute seats they can find. She calls work, and they give her her second strike. She thinks she'll live. Peter spends an hour and a half on the phone trying to get a refund for his plane ticket, and they spend most of the ride getting their seats pummelled in by two 5 year olds. When things begin to quiet down, she falls asleep, head dropping onto his shoulder and hair tickling the nape of his neck. He doesn't say it, but he's glad he asked.

Looking back, he probably should've told May. In the rush of it all, getting the taxi to turn back, he wasn't really thinking straight. But, although at first she's mildly irritated and overwhelmed, his roommate seems to charm it out of her. When she's off, having insisted to wash the few dishes in the sink, May leans into him.

"I like her, Petey."

He rolls his eyes, "Yeah, I know, May."

"You didn't tell me she was so pretty."

His ears are turning red, voice rasping, "I didn't think of it, I guess."

"You're telling me you haven't thought about it? At all?" She grins like the Cheshire cat; but she only wants what's best for him. Always has.

"No, May, God!" He's lying. This only rubs it in, brings every smothered feeling back to the surface. It wasn't his intention: he just didn't want her to be alone.

She re-enters, wiping her hands against a dish towel, hair mussed and slightly static from resting her head on the fibres of his sweater on the ride over. May jumps up.

"Thank you so much," May places both hands on her shoulders, and proceeds to pull her into a hug. Her eyes widen, but after a second she lets out an airy laugh, wrapping her arms around May's frame. "You're an angel."

Peter locks eyes with her, heart pulsing in his chest, and they smile softly at each other like a well-kept secret.

"Aw, is this you and Ned?" She's grabbing everything she can, trying to get a real sense of Peter, Peter as a preteen, Peter as he was then, Peter as he is now; she finds it in his packaged figurines, the clutter on his old desk, the pictures tacked to the wall. It's all exactly as he left it.

"Yes, yes it is." His brows curve upwards in exasperation; she nearly took his most prized action figure out of its box. He's fighting for his life, here. When she sees how nervous he looks, she sighs, finishes up her snooping for the evening and opts to clumsily make her way up the ladder. She flops on her back on the top bunk and stretches her legs out like a satisfied cat, the mulled wine sitting warm in her stomach.

"Your aunt's really nice."

He tilts his head up as if he can see her from where he's lying, head propped up on the frame of the bottom bunk, and quits fiddling with his old Gameboy, "Yeah. She is."

"And she likes me more than you. That's a plus," She's staring at the ceiling, hands laced across her stomach.

"I don't blame her," His eyes crease in the corners, thinking of Ned's visit over a month ago now, but he regrets the words as soon as they leave him. If she's taken aback she doesn't show it, but she turns her head and begins to trail her eyes over the movie posters taped haphazardly to the wall. A silence passes between them, amplified in the late evening.

"Why did you invite me here?" She says, softly.

He blinks, lips pursing slightly, "I don't know. I think... I think, I just didn't want you to be alone. And it's nice to have you here."

"I would've been okay, you know." There's something desperate in the way she says this, like she can make the both of them believe it.

"I know."

Her gaze drops down to their suitcases, leaning against each other on the rug. "But... I'm happy I'm here." This is the most that she'll admit, tonight.

He hesitates. Then, "I'm happy you're here too."

She chews her lip at the quiet rasp in his voice, smooths her hands over his Star Wars covers, twitches her nose.

"Enough of this sappy stuff. You're destroying my reputation."

"Your reputation?" He smiles, shuffling down to rest his head on the pillow, forearms supporting his head.

"You know: playboy, notches on my bedpost." In the quiet, a feeling settles between them like the snow outside. "Now, tell me how you managed to bag the smartest girl at your high school with these sheets."

He shrugs. "Well... we went to her house."

She abruptly swings her head over the side of the bed, looking down at him, "Peter Parker, you animal!"

"To do homework!" He exclaims, eyes widening as he sits up, "Not..."

"Not any rule-two-breaking, single bed shenanigans?"

"Please don't bring that up again."

"Did they find it hot that you both enjoy Physics?"

"Stop," He lies down again, clasping his hands over his ears.

"I mean, they must have: you two were going at it so hard I couldn't even send in my assignment." This was an exaggeration. She could only hear them if she pressed her ear against the wall. Which she only did once.

He frowns, red, "Didn't you have, like, three weeks to do it?"

"Mind your business," She lies back down too, "I don't wanna talk about this anymore."

They smile to themselves. They whisper goodnight, but he can't fall asleep.

"Dude, Santa came so hard."

"Please don't say it like that."

They're on the bus back and she's fiddling through her bag, fingers sifting over the boxes of chocolates and pastries May packaged up for her, just so she'd have something to open on the day.

"I love your aunt. I wish she would adopt me too."

"Hate to break it to you, but you're gonna have to go through some really messed up stuff before you unlock that option."

She turns her head to him against the seat, giddy and grinning, "Well, teach me your ways, Obi-Wan."

"You know that's not the quote."

They're getting through the door the night after Boxing Day, feeling heavy from grabbing fast food before getting home, and an afternoon of travelling. When she's slipping off her shoes and rolling her shabby suitcase through the door to her bedroom, Peter stops her.

"Hey, uh..." She turns, one palm wrapped around the handle of it, the other pressed against her doorframe, "I actually did get you something."

Her lips curve upwards at the edges, brows furrowing, "For Christmas?"

"Yeah." He looks like he's about to take something out of his pocket, when she rushes into her room, slamming the door behind her. He's about to question whether he's being rejected when it's flung open again, and this time, she's holding something poorly wrapped in both hands. She's out of breath.

"Me too. But I forgot to bring it with me. I was just gonna leave it under the tree."

He bites at the inside of his cheek so he doesn't break out into an ear-splitting grin. They fumble awkwardly with their gifts, handing them over.

"You first, Parker." He hesitates before sinking his finger into the gap in the wrapping paper, listening to the clink of light metal as bright-coloured keychains spill out onto his palm, and he catches them before they can fall. "Sorry, it isn't much, it's just... you said you never had many keychains or badges and stuff as a kid because all the brand stuff cost, like, a fortune." He stares in awe at the little Tardis in his hand, the Yoda, the Lego memorabilia, everything he's ever ranted about or forced her to watch. His eyes lift to hers.

"No, I..." He clears his throat, wrought with unexpected emotion, "I love it. Thank you." She shrugs with a bashful smile, caught in the act of caring, and looks down at her own instead of facing the tenderness between them. "Mine is... it's nothing, really."

"Oh, quiet, you." She's never been one to gingerly unwrap gifts. If she could tear them apart with her teeth, she would, but this time, it feels delicate. The space between them is made out of something fragile. So she takes her time, slides her finger under the tape and true to style, lets the wrapping paper fall to the ground when she gets too impatient.

"No, you didn't. No, you did not." Her jaw goes slack, looking from it and back up to Peter, down, up again. He smiles bashfully. "You bought it for me."

"Well, I..."

"What the fuck! You..."

"Yeah, I mean, I know you used to play as a kid, so Ned and I found some cracking sites, and we got all the expansions and... " She jumps, wrapping her arms around him in a bear hug and squealing.

"Hell yeah!" She pulls away with a toothy grin, staring down at the card again. He clears his throat and can't help but smile too.

White dress. Maya wanted all her bridesmaids to move as one, an organism of pinned-back hair and delicate black shoes. It was unorthodox, as much as the institution of marriage could be, but her cousin didn't mind; she was too busy trying not to be late.

Picking up her sneakers by their heels, she jams them into the tiny gap of space left in the boiler closet by the door. "Peter!"

He's hurrying out, slipping on the blazer he found last minute at the thrift store, a little too cuffed at the wrists. "Remind me why I'm coming again?"

"You invited me to your thing. It's only fair." She shrugs on her jacket to brave the cold outside, stuffing the apartment's keys in her pocket and tapping her heel against the floorboards.

"And?" He eases through the flat, voice moving from room to room, hands gripping doorways as he flicks off every light his roommate typically leaves on, halting at her bedroom and disappearing inside to switch off a lamp.

"And I hate weddings, dude! Hurry it up!" She whines, pressing her forehead against the smoothest section of the peeling wallpaper.

He peeks his head out, clicking the last one off and finally moving to meet her, one curl out of place and falling over his forehead in the exertion it took just to be ready on time, "You've never even been to one."

"I thought I'd manage my whole life without it."

"Not even your own?"

"Peter," She eyes him like he's the one barely handing in papers on time, "Now, come on. This thing is gonna be a funeral if I don't get Maya her something borrowed."

"Something borrowed?" They step out and he helps hold the door closed tight so she can twist the key, get the lock to truly slip through. She turns to face him, checks her phone and gives an impartial grunt. They'd be fine. She finally registers his words, and dips back into her pocket, coming out with a rusted hair-pin and holding it up for him to see. It isn't real gold, but it looks well-loved, well-worn.

"It's her mom's. Snuck it back in the day, nearly forgot I had it," She smiles weakly, shrugging.

"It's pretty," He nods, watching as she puts it back, "She'll like it."

"You think so?" It's rare when she looks vulnerable, and it takes him off guard, a small opening where her eyes clear up, her face sincere, unguarded. She hardly notices as she walks ahead of him for the elevator, and he follows behind.

"Yeah."

They manoeuvre through bodies, what should've been a smaller gathering amassing easily to just under a hundred: family, friends, plus-twos. He's greeted with fervour by everyone that loves her. She said her family hadn't been close, a little dysfunctional, but those he meets embrace him like kin. It feels foreign. So does she, watching her cousin, newly-wed and hugging Peter tight, "I've heard so much about you!"

Peter is surprised. His roommate is too, considering they'd had approximately two 6-minute conversations over the phone since she'd made it to Cambridge, none of which included more than his name and age. "You too!" he says, and it's a half-truth: he'd heard distant anecdotes, begged for more on the subway ride over just to save embarassment. His voice pitches higher as Maya shifts away, tipsy and beaming. With a short exchange, she's gliding through the rest of the attendants, grabbing appetizers and receiving kisses on the cheek. He jolts when his roommate leans in, quiet against the music.

"You were right."

His brows lift just slightly, "About what?"

"She loved it. Nearly ruined her makeup," She watches after her cousin, "God, what a relief."

"A relief?"

"Yeah. I mean, I'm surprised she didn't throw it in my face. She hated that woman." She sips on a flute of champagne, winces and hands it to Peter without a glance. When she finally meets his eyes, wide and innocent, she gives him a small smile, "What?"

"No, I just... I thought it was sentimental."

"No, you're right, it is," He waits for her to continue, tipping the glass back a little and letting the froth gather on his tongue, "I took it after they'd had this huge blow-up. I guess she found it sweet. Better that, than..."

"A permanent wedding ban?"

"Yeah; from all her next ones," She grins, crossing her arms over her chest and staring into the crowd again, finding Maya dancing with her husband, "No," She softens, "I think this is for good."

A quiet fills the air between them.

"You changed your mind on weddings?"

She eyes Peter suspiciously, then looks to the overcast sky, "A little. Did you expect me to?"

He takes a moment to think, "No. I just thought you were worried."

She echoes him, "About what?"

"I don't know. Maybe that this was gonna be some big event that made you feel alone. Or that things were gonna be weird with your family," She watches him, "Isn't that why you asked me to come? Of course, I'm happy to, just..."

"Yeah..." She nods, brow furrowing, "I don't know. It feels weird to go places without you, these days," She laughs off the gravity of it, although it's sincere. They don't talk about it: the comfort they've eased into, the soft and eager friendship. It flits away when acknowledged, they know that. It's safer to keep it close to the chest.

"We should do a bat-mitzvah next, right?"

She nods fervently, "Please."

They're shuffling through the door and into the dark of the apartment, lit only by the dull street-lights outside the window, casting silver shadows onto the walls. She goes for the light above the stove, already blinded by the elevator ride up. Her feet are blistered and she leans against the counter just to slip off her heels, skin sticking to the tiles. The low noise of the apartment thrums in her ears. Peter is unlacing his nicest shoes, a touch scuffed from being dragged to the dancefloor every time a Wang Chung song came on, and when he makes it to the kitchen the quiet is only amplified by her slow breathing, by the tick of the fridge. Her eyes are closed, head throbbing in the absence of sound and the chaos of the rooftop. Peter swallows and her eyelids flutter open, heavy. The little alcohol in their systems is starting to fizzle out, leaving a buzz just warm enough to make their limbs weak.

He whispers like they have to keep quiet, "That was fun."

"It was," she whispers back. Then, with less conviction, "Thanks for coming. You didn't have to."

He offers a tired smile, "You knew I would." She doesn't argue, there's no need to; just pushes gently off the counter with a stifled yawn, struggles to nod in agreement.

"I knew you would. You're always doing that kind of stuff for people," He waits, hands stuffed in the pockets of his blazer, picking lint, "Taking a weekend to do shit you don't really care about. Nice things. Weddings."

She's softer past her curfew, bathing in the sincerity she can afford with the dim light between them, "I care about them," He objects.

"I know. It just surprises me sometimes, the..." She thinks, eyes flitting over his features, down to the knot of his tie, "The good you're capable of."

His brows dip, and the look is so earnest it bruises her, "I wanted to go with you."

"That too," She nods, head heavy, a weak and lopsided grin finding its way to the corner of her mouth. It's bittersweet, "That's nice."

"You say that like you wouldn't do the same."

She shrugs, tucking her hands behind her back, holding her wrists and rolling her shoulders back, "Maybe."

"You do nice things," He presses, eyes finding the ceiling as he runs it through in his head, "You make people feel comfortable; you make them laugh. You make me feel comfortable." Her nose twitches, confronted, "You do all the stuff I'm shitty at, just because you want to."

When she doesn't speak, he goes on.

"Whatever's good in me, it's... it's in you, too."

Her eyes are glossy with fatigue, and they share the quiet for a moment. She isn't sure that anyone has ever said anything that nice to her before, and she says as much, prompting another wounded glance from her roommate, "Oh, don't look at me like that."

He blinks, caught off guard, "Like what?"

"You know how," Her brows furrow in amusement as she searches his bewildered eyes, "Like a puppy who just got abandoned at a gas station."

"I'm not."

"Could've fooled me. I can almost see it: you pity me, Parker," She teases, but a part of her feels raw.

"I don't pity you."

"Yeah, yeah. Enough out of you," She grins.

"I don't." He frowns, grabbing her gently by her upper arm as she turns for a distraction. Her eyes come down to his hand, then back to him dubiously, "I don't."

When he lets go, palms clammy, she keeps eyeing him and smiles to herself, lips pursing to the side.

"What?" He watches her step back to lean against the counter again, one foot across the other, arms threaded across her chest now as her eyes move around the room.

"You know, a little while back, uh... Morgan, the student advisor, he emailed me. Something about an apartment that had just freed up." Peter stills, "And I almost thought about it for a little bit, you know; I still didn't know you too well. You kept burning the food," She laughs, "I was thinking tonight, when Maya dragged you to the dancefloor, and you were just wading there like a new-born fucking calf, and I thought... I'm glad I never did."

It's then that he kisses her.

A / N | I started writing this a year ago, coming back every now and then to polish it until I realised it's fun and it's imperfect and who cares. Hope you enjoyed.

#peter parker #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fanfiction #college!peter #college!peterparker #college!au #mcu peter

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dorthea07 · 9 months ago

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~ Upcoming: Special ~

Hey everyone! Thanks so much for reading my work It means a lot to me.

Now...let's get down to business (to defeat the Hans).

As a Christmas present to all of y'all, I will be doing a project I like to call "12 Crushes for Christmas."

Rules:

As my beloved readers, you will get to choose twelve of your favorite characters from the list below for me to write a Christmas themed short story about. You may also tell me a specific request, if you have a character and what kind of stuff you want them to do. (Ex: Peter Parker & Baking Christmas Cookies.)

Here is the List:

Arvin Russell (TDATT)

Chase Davenport (BOS&S)

Coriolanus Snow (THG)

Draco Malfoy (HP)

Finnick Odair (THG)

Five Hargreeves (TUA)

J.J. Maybank (OBX)

Lorenzo Berkshire (HP)

Luis Mendoza (MD)

Mattheo Riddle (HP)

Newt (MR)

Peter Pan (OUAT)

Peter Parker (Tom Holland Version)

Theodore Nott (HP)

Thomas (MR)

The first 12 comments are the ones chosen.

And as always...

Happy reading! <3

#Y/n x Fanfics #Fanfiction #ChristmasSpecial #12CrushesforChristmas #ChaseDavenport #ArvinRussell #CoriolanusSnow #DracoMalfoy #FinnickOdair #JJMaybank #FiveHargreeves #LorenzoBerkshire #LuisMendoza #MattheoRiddle #Newt #PeterParker #Thomas #HappyReading #dorthea07

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mcubuckyxlokisbitch · 1 year ago

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OUT OF ALL THE TIMELINES

CHPT 3: Even Asgardians Have Myths

Short Series !

Female Asgardian reader (now avenger) X TVA Loki

MASTERLIST

Warnings: Alot of angst <3, somebody kissed but im not saying who, mentions of blood, injury,

Summary: After your Lokis death and have moved on and joined the Avengers. After the aftermath of Endgame you and the other remaining Avengers all seek shelter in the new Avengers Warehouse Pepper Potts bought as a temporary replacement while the Avengers mansion is being renovated. What happened after a very tired mission. Well, you're speechless, to say the least.

a/n: I added a few more chapters because you know dreams lmao so enjoy this one !! Tell me if yall want smut soon. CuZ ye im feeling a smut scene some time soon.

You walked around the Avengers warehouse and got to the medic bay. The push the doors open, "How are her vitals."

"Well for one thin they don't make any sense."

"Ive been trying to heal her but, I can't get a signature on the dark magic... I need your magic to track it." Wanda says as her hands float above the blonde girl.

"She really does look like Loki its scary.... Like put a blonde wig make her shorter and put some eyelashes boom you got blondie here."

You rolled your eyes as your eyes traveled towards Ivars dark matter dagger. A strong dark force gutted your stomach, you could feel the evil from a mile away. You saw the veins around the stab wound as they turned black and spreaded around her stomach.

The only thing that could kill an Asgardian God. With its rusted blade and messily bandanged handle. Just as the myths say, the dagger was made for Odin the allfather but Ivar and his dagger were defetead and casted away before he could use it on him.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breathe to cast a simple healing spell.

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"Alright, enchantments are more than just casting especially when your doing a healing spell." Loki circled around you. You closed your book as you groaned, bored of slow paced lessons set by the prince.

"A healing spell I think we can do something more challenging than that Loki."

Loki stopped in his steps as he brought out his dagger and striked your leg.

"LOKI... AARGH.... YOU MISBIGOTTEN SON OF A LEPPERS GOAT. YOU DAFT ARSE" YOU SCREAMED AT HIM. He chuckled and tipped your chin to look at him with the bloodied dagger.

"Careful, if we go on legal terms thats treason against the prince and queen..." He grinned. "On more serious terms you need to learn how to cast the spell on yourself, this way casting it on others will come naturally."

You tried to hold the cut on your thigh, blood was seeping out continously as you winced when you tried to move your leg. "How am I to focus when im bleeding to death." the words gritting through your teeth.

"Close your eyes and breathe..." Loki sat behind you whispering to your ear. He placed his hands on yours and led them to your wound. "The spell only works when your calm." You took a deep breath and out as your shaky hand lay above your wound. "Feel the energy from your body, allow it to flow through your to your hands down to your wound."

You did as he said. Your enchantments extended to the wound as the blood started to lessen but the wound didn't close. "Now the difficult part. Closing the wound, you can't just imagine it to close, you know the spell."

You said aloud through your teeth holding in your pain. "Rense helbrede såret." Nothing happened, the blood lessen but the wound was still wide open. You were confused and irritated to say the least.

Loki nudged his nose towards the crook of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. "A spells power is through its whisper, to be a true master you must not only say it but think it."

Relaxing your hands as Loki slithered his to your shoulders, you casted in a whisper focusing on the spell imagining the wound closing and the energy flowing towards your wound. "Rense helbrede såret." your eyes glew orange as your enchantment casted on your leg closed the wound slowly from one end to the other. The stinging pain you felt a few seconds ago was gone. There was no mark no scar where there was once blood and torn muscle. You laughed aloud and jumped up from your seat cheering.

"I- I did it no way, I just casted a healing spell on my first try... Loki you are magnificent." You turned to the man who raised an eye brow. The unimpressed look which gutted you stomach and stopped yur cheering as you felt shameful.

"Are you proud of such a small spell I mastered long before I was 16 years old." You blushed in shame as you brough your head down. Looking away from him, you could still feel him walk closer to you. "Charms are not something you can play aroudn on the side either you take it seriously and master it or I never teach you again. Do you wish to be great or nothing...."

He was now merely inches from your as he pinched your chin and brought him to look towards him, "So tell me little girl..." At this point you could feel your heart about to jump out your heart at any moment.

"Great or nothing." he whispered

"Great..." you mumbled.

"Perfect." he leaned down as he placed your lips on yours.

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

"Perfect-

You snap back to reality.

"Perfect, I have the signature of the spell.... You can take the spear out whenever your ready Y/N..." Wanda smiled.

You blanked out as you saw the wound still corrupted but not as bloodied as it was before.

"Careful, won't asgardians burn or disintegrate when you touch the handle or something." Peter stopped your hand.

"It is merely a myth Peter." You held his. "It'll sting slightly but I'll be fine."

"Wow even asgardians have myths. It's like inception a myth in a myth." Ant man said chewing on his chips in the corner of the med bay on a spare bed.

You hold the dagger and it burned your hand the moment you wrapped your hand around it. You winced and pulled back your hand and shook off the heat. Everyone had their eyes on you as you tried again. You wrapped your fingers around the handle, the burning sensation started as you focused on absorbing the heat but it didn't work.

"Teya, your hand it's turning the same colour as the wound." Sam pointed out

Your hand was corrupted. You casted a healing spell on your hand as you held the dagger handle tighter ignoring the warnings from your teamates.

Only one of asgardian strength can pull out the dagger. But anyone who lays in the hand on the dagger, will meet death.

It was a phrase, a warning actually, you remembered like the back of your hand from your favourite tale.

You pulled the dagger out with some force as the wound on the body closed. You dropped the dagger on the ground as you did too.

You were on your knees as your hand turned black and you wrapped your other hand on it trying to heal it. The room felt like it was a million degrees as you felt the darkness travel through your veins.

"Y/N whats going on..." Sam said kneeling down beside you. "FRIDAY RADIO STRANGE FOR AN SOS."

"Yelena, get Thor, Parker make sure Barnes does not know about this make sure they stay with Loki."

"Don't tell James." You whispered to Sam

"Not a chance princess."

"Wanda hows the wound." You looked up in pain.

"Closing in. But old Asgardian magic is complicated, I need time to find a way for it to not spread."

"Sam, I'm fine." you groaned through the pain still trying to cast the healing spell on your arm.

"Ya say that to your black hand. And..... woah." Sam started to let your hand go when your hand to elbow was turning black

"I'm here..." Stephen walked through a portal.

"Her eyes." Sam said concerened as there was no white left in your eyes just pitch black.

You forced yourself to stand up. Your shaking right hand corrupted as you projected your powers towards the dagger on the ground. Focusing the dark energy to leave your body. You groaned as you saw Stephen observe the situation and walk towards your arm.

"Keep focusing project any corrupted magic into the dagger."

Strange got to position and casted a cleansing spell on you. Helping to slip the dark energy off you. You felt your powers slipping away from you as the dark matter did.

When you felt no more corrupted magic you stopped as there was no more magic to give. Your knees felt weak and you tried to walk towards the closest bed but crumble and fell like a new born baby giraffe.

"I got you gurl." Sam caught you before you hit the ground.

"That was very stupid of you..." Strange said as he walked towards the sword glowing red and black. He formed a shield around it as it levitated towards you. "Here this won't get your hand burnt."

"Y/N, your hand. It.... it, that looks like a raisin." Thor winced.

"Thank you Thor, for that obvious comment." your groaned standing up, carrying the bubble with the dagger with your undwounded hand you walked towards the blonde girl. Who seemed to be breathing better as her vitals improved. You took a deep breathe to feel her aura and her health. Which was improving slowly, slower than it must, you looked up towards the body 2 beds down. "Strange what can be evaluated of this mans vitals..."

Strange walked over to the white haired man and hovered over him. Levitating his file to his hands and read through it. "This man is, hm...."

"Check the jacket , TVA ever heard of anything like it." Sam said tossing the jacket towards Strange. Strange looked at the jacket spread wide open hovering infront of him. "Yes the TVA, yes...... I- I actually never heard of them is this made up?"

"Well there goes our backup." Sam groaned plopping himself back on the bed.

"Well there isn't anything we can do. I'll take the dagger back to my room and we'll recon with Loki tomorow... Everyone eat, the food is here get some sleep, meet up first thing tomorow morning 7 am." You said walking out the medbay. "Friday keep an eye on our guest... update us if anything."

"Yes boss." the loud speaker said before the doors closed.

"A bit random but shes can be very attractive when she gets all demanding and stern." Yelena smirked.

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

You placed the sphere down on your tv table plopping down on your bed. You winced as your injured hand grazed against the sheets, clenching it with your other hand forcing down another healing spell, nothing, the redness seemed to fade away for a moment but it still looked bad.

There came a sudden knock on the door. "Y/N??" "Go away strange..."

"Actually." Thor opened the door and gave you a sympathetic smile.

"Thor... Hows-

"Your hand, does it hurt- is it corrupted- how are you do you feel well?" Thor rushed over to your side and sat down on your bed. "Let me see maybe I can be of an assistance.'

"If I remembered correctly you failed enchantment and healing lessons set by your own mother." you pulled your hand away.

"I have improved..." Thor said crossing his arms.

"Of course you have." You stood up and walked to your closet to change into something more comfortable.

"I'm sorry..."

"What?"

"I can't go through this again."

"No one is forcing you to be on this assingment. You may return to new asgard and take a break."

"You should be as well."

"Thor the team needs atleast 1 person who knows Loki."

"What if they didn't." Thor said plainly. You turned towards him confused, but you knew where he was getting to. " What if but for one moment we were selfish, what if we were not heroes, mere asgardians who simply needs to be born, live, then die."

"Thor-."

"You were right..." Thor sobbed, tears forming around his eyes. "It's just like Ragnarok all over again." He stared at the ground.

You walk towards Thor and lifted his chin up. "What can I say to the brother who has been my strength for centuries ..." You sighed "I know with Asgard gone, our duties blur with the destinies we thought we could have lived. For once... I really have nothing to say."

"He looks so much like him." Thor laid his head against your stomach. "I couldn't bear myself to get to know him."

You sighed and stroked his hair back. "You need not talk to him unless absolutely necesarry."

"Falling inlove with him... Loving my brother seems to be the one thing I cannot prevent myself from doing." Thor choked out. "Even though I know the outcome I can't help a part of myself to hope."

"Lets eat... you always feel better after we eat. We shouldn't think about this right now." You brought Thor up. As he leaned forward and embraced you.

"I miss him."

"Me too."

"It's been hard..."

"I know." You sniffled as you stopped the moment and stared out your window. You looked up to him. "Shall we join the others for dinner? "

"We shall." he smiled down as you placed a soft kiss on his cheek.

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nerdgirloftheweek · 2 months ago

Text

Consider Me The Boy You Laughed With

this is a preview of my writing style, i would love some tips!!

♪ "I suck. I know I'm late, I know you waited."

w/c: 1.6k

includes/warning: sfw, maybe a bit angsty? synopsis: An NYU student has set up an art exhibit, they invite their best friend Peter to come see the art they've made. When Peter shows up late, of course. Upset, the reader turns to a masked friend to confide in.

“Pete?” I answered the phone a bit louder than I had meant to, disturbing some of the gallery goers. I held a polite hand up and mouthed the word sorry as I turned around. I was basically stage whispering into the phone trying to get Peter’s attention. I told him my art show started at 6:30 and ended at 8:00. It was currently 7:54. Typical.

“Y/N! I swear I’m on my way-” I heard him let out a heavy breath. “I just passed the bodega- I’m around…45th street!” Peter was running late, as usual. His breath was heavy and he was yelling into the phone.

“Yeah– Peter I assumed you were late,” I couldn’t help but laugh a little. “You better be here soon.”

“I swear I will be!” The phone suddenly clicked, marking the end of my phone call with my always-late best friend Peter Parker.

8:45

Peter hadn’t walked through the door despite the art show ending at 8:00. Most everyone had started packing up their shows. Most of everyone had left. I turned around and began untacking the paintings on the felt wall. He’d call me later and give me an explanation he really couldn’t explain. I’d forgive him and we’d probably go about the rest of our days repeating the process.

I started neatly sliding the paintings into my art bag, when I heard footsteps increase towards me. When I turned there he was. Peter Parker holding a sad excuse of a boquet, his clothes drenched in water. I hadn’t even realized it had been raining. And a dark bruise on his cheekbone. I wanted to ask about it. I wanted to hug him and ask what had happened but my impatience won. I was too frustrated to move.

“I suck. I should wear a ‘world’s worst friend badge.”

“I’m not sure a badge would fix this.” I replied curtly.

He had a soft smile on his face, once he noticed I wasn’t amused he straightened out. “I’m so sorry. I tried getting here faster. But I’m here and I’d like to see everything…” There was a pause, “you took it down?” Peter glanced at the empty display wall and to my bag. “You’ve been waiting weeks to show me those paintings.” He brushed a hand through his hair. His face towards the ground as he exhaled.

“No I’d say just around an hour and a half,” I glanced at my wrist watch to confirm. “You had till 8’ to see my art show. I’m sorry you missed it.”

“I know— I wouldn’t have been late if it wasn’t important, really.”

“Peter. I think you should go home.”

“Let me help you clean, it’s the least I can do.” He always wanted to help. Always.

“I’d really like to be alone.”

“Please let me help.” He walked closer. I noticed it wasn’t just a bruise on his cheekbone but a cut on his lip. Dark eye-bags. His dark curls were even darker. I took a step back.

“Peter, recently I’ve been questioning a lot. Primarily our friendship, and partly who..who you’re becoming.” I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to bring it up. His jaw was slack, he shifted his weight in his stance. “I’m not sure what’s going on but I’m worried and— I think I need some space.”

He immediately shook his head, “Listen this—“ He gestured towards his face with a finger. “It’s nothing to worry about. I promise! Really, I joined a boxing club—”

“Go home.” I surprised myself with my own objection. Peter's excuses were lost to me. Peter looked at me, his eyes were soft. He didn’t want to leave, I could tell. Something, besides my own voice, told him it was pointless. And then he was gone.

At home.

There was soft tapping on my window, the cat jumped from my lap. Soft purring turned into her tapping the window as well. I jumped from my seat to the window, unlatching it quickly. "Hello, Spider."

"Hi, Gorgeous." My heart skipped. The white bug eyes on his mask squinted slightly, his version of a smile or maybe a mean-mug. It’s not like I can really tell.

After a huge attack in Times Square, an attack I got caught in the middle of, Spider-Man had been crawling through my window the last few months. At first it was to make sure I was OK. Now it seems we’re friends.

“So how goes the hunt?” I asked. As I shut the window he made his way to my couch, by crawling on the ceiling and landing on it with a thud.

“Found a small group Fisk’s gang but I couldn’t tell what they were scouting for.” The cat had jumped onto Spider-Man’s chest. Already purring as he spoke. He detailed his recent patrols and how the led up to tonight, something about a fight around 45th street. “How did the art show go?”

“Fine..” I replied looking away from him as I spoke. Obvious tell. It honestly had surprised me that he asked.

“You sure?”

“Peter came late. He had a bruise on his cheek. I should have asked if he was ok but instead I sort of told him I needed space. Which isn’t true, in fact I’d rather not have any but— I think it’s what he needs.”

It was silent. And then he spoke.

“Why do you think he needs space?”

“Because—“ I paused. How embarrassing, I’m sharing my troubles with a vigilante dressed in blue and red spandex. I was already embarrassed with my mind doing mental backflips. “The more I’m around him the more I realize I have these feelings for him— feelings I don’t know if I wanna unpack.” If I wasn’t flushed before I sure was now. “It’s stupid really.”

“It’s not stupid—” Spider-Man moved the cat off his chest as he made room for me to sit. “I don’t mind hearing about it.”

I took a seat next to him and let out a sharp breath. “Peter has always been there y’know? Or at least..he was. I think when he started getting distant is when I realized how much I really depend on him. I mean— I can be on my own sure but…I wish he was around like..all the time.” Spider-Man was sitting there, I noticed how his mannerisms became less him and more..well they reminded me of Peter. “But there’s also one other problem.“

“A problem…with Peter?”

“No. And it’s not really I problem it’s just that, there’s this guy who crawls through my window almost every night..he and I talk for hours. I can’t help but think he’s flirting with me, but half the time I can’t tell. Cause he wears a mask.” I made a point to move just a bit closer. My voice was softer now.

“Well this certain masked vigilante doesn’t just go into random girls apartments—not unless he really likes them, or— he knows them.” I heard him falter at the last part. Suddenly, it clicked. He knows me—probably why he uses a tool to pitch his voice lower, probably why he seemed so keen on my health after the attack.

“You know who I am?” I asked him incredulously. I narrowed my eyes. “You shouldn’t have let that slip!” I could feel my smile growing wider as I thought of all the possibilities.

“I never said that! I just implied that I really like you— why don’t you focus on that.” As I danced around the couch making my way to my desk, I felt his arms wrap around me. Suddenly I was flipped back onto the couch. “Cool it! No phone books or—or year books..listen I never said I knew you.” He was laughing a bit as he said this. I could tell he was serious about keeping his identity a secret though.

“If you like me so much you should really ask me out.” I replied. He slumped back into a normal seated position. I followed suit.

“First, I can’t really take you out to dinner if I’m off fighting criminals and two, I think publicly dating Spider-Man could put a target on your back.” He nudged my shoulder.

“I guess you’re right— but what if it wasn’t Spider-Man who took me to dinner..what if it was whoever was under that mask?”

It was quiet for two seconds, it felt like an eternity. I wish I could tell what he was thinking.

“What about Peter?”

I was confused..why was he asking about Peter?

“What about him?”

“How do you feel about Peter?”

“I— he’s my best friend.”

“But?”

“But, I do feel more. I’m not sure it matters now, he and I aren’t speaking and it was on my terms. I don’t get what Peter has to do with this.”

“Peter has everything to do with this.”

“What?” I let out a small laugh. I didn’t understand. “I don’t—”

“It’s me. I’m—” He stood up and moved swiftly to the window. Leaning on the sill.

“It’s you? You..what? Look, I think you’re really cool— and it’s sweet that you like to talk to me. I get it, if you’re superhero duties get in the way of well things..”

“No that’s not what I mean..” Suddenly I noticed his voice changed. I had gotten so used to the technologically altered voice he used in front of me. Now, hearing his voice, his real voice I realized why he used a fake voice. I didn’t really want to believe it. But then he pulled off the mask.

My heart dropped, there he was. Peter Parker, my always late best friend.

AN: HII!! So I want to start writing but I fear I may need some tips, and of course people to write for, if anyone wants to give me prompts and ideas that'd be great too!

#fanfic #spiderman #mcu spiderman #tom holland #marvel #spiderman fanfic #fanfiction #marvelfanfics #mcu fanfic #peterparkerxreader #peterparker #peterparkermylove #writing

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peterparkive · 1 day ago

Text

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.”

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