𓏲⋆ GNAWING ON BF!PETER’S THIGHS ⋮ suggestiveish/fluffy
When Peter told you he wanted to have a quiet night in, you were expecting almost exactly this—a good movie, kinda boring but good enough to not turn off, a comforting meal, and cuddling on the couch with a fluffy blanket strewn across you.
Pretty much perfect. But you didn’t account for his choice of clothing. Was it literally just a hoodie and shorts? Yeah.
Was it entirely distracting as the blanket slid down and exposed his upper legs? Yeah... The movie was the last thing on your mind when your eyes finally locked on his thighs, so thick and bulging with muscle even as he’s relaxing.
Under the blanket, his unexposed leg was pressed against you. He was warm and completely unaware of your racing thoughts, the urge you felt to just lean down and...
“You okay, babe? Want to watch something else?” His sweet, genuinely concerned voice broke you out of your trance.
Shaking your head, you mumbled, “No. This one’s good.”
He just whispered, “If you say so,” looking entirely unconvinced.
For the next few minutes—that felt like forever—you tried so hard to focus on the movie. Trying to take mental notes as if there was a life of death quiz you had to pass after.
But all of your progress to focus was lost when Peter stretched his leg out and gave it a deep rub, soothing the sore muscles he’d been complaining about earlier that day. He let out a mindless sigh as he kneaded his leg, his eyes not straying from the screen. A moment passed before he asked, “What’re you staring at, sweetheart?” as he turned his head to face you.
“You,” you admitted.
“And why’s that?”
Shrugging as you repositioned yourself, you placed your head in Peter’s lap and gave his leg another massaging stroke.
That was good enough. That was all you needed, just to touch him a little. You do not need to bite him.
His hand found your head, slowing stroking your hair, reaching down your arm until he had to come back up and repeat. After a few times he rest his hand on your upper arm, his warm hands a comforting reminder of his presence.
As you rubbed, he wasn’t being shy about the quiet noises slipping from his throat. Your mind obviously went to where you’ve heard them before, spurring you on to continue.
But you couldn’t ignore the twitching urge you had to just lean forward and press your teeth into his leg. You had to do it.
A beat passed.
Your lips opened enough for your teeth to wrap around a chunk of his skin, taking a gentle bite that you knew wouldn’t hurt him.
“Ah! What the fuck?” Peter strangled out a noise of surprise, immediately followed by a soft chuckle. “Babe.”
“...Yeah?” your voice was muffled against his skin.
The room fell silent, the only sound being the movie playing, but even that felt like it was silent in this moment.
“Did you just... bite me?”
“No.” You bit your lip, rolling over to see his face. “Why would I bite you? That’s so weird...”
Peter’s cheeks were rosy up to his ears when he said, “You’ve bitten me before. In your words, my biceps were ‘just so juicy and tempting’. So maybe my legs... I don’t know.”
“Oh, right. Well your legs are—”
“Okay! Okay. You don’t need to repeat it. I was just asking.” Peter shifted under you, his face hot.
A giddy smile spread across your face as you squealed, “Aww, you’re so cute when you get all shy, Peter.”
“What? I’m not—I’m fine. I’m great.”
“You’re fooling nobody, baby,” you muttered as you leaned up, pressing your lips against his in a slow kiss. As you pulled away you whispered against his lips, “And it’s adorable. I love it.”
You felt him smile against your lips right before he kissed you again, his way of silently accepting your weird affections.
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note a man that does nawt skip leg day🤤 i mean like look at those things !!
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A/n: Peter is getting gray hairs and he's not even 40
Peter had been telling himself for months that his daughter was perfectly normal.
Sure, she had inherited your smile, your stubborn streak, and your uncanny ability to convince everyone around her to spoil her rotten ( especially the people at your job ) . She also had his curls, his big brown eyes, and an alarming amount of curiosity.
Perfectly....normal.
At three years old, she loved dinosaurs, insisted blueberries tasted better if they came from Daddy’s plate, and referred to every pigeon in New York as “Mr. Bird.”
Normal.
Which was exactly why Peter wasn’t remotely prepared to walk into the living room one Saturday morning with a cup of coffee in one hand and freeze so abruptly that the mug nearly slipped from his fingers.
His daughter……was halfway up the wall.
Not standing against it.
Not leaning.
Climbing.
Tiny hands and little sock-covered feet stuck to the painted drywall as though gravity had simply decided she wasn’t participating anymore.
Peter blinked once.
Peter blinked Twice and then his brain completely shut off.
“…peanut?”
The little girl looked over her shoulder with a grin that was missing one of her front teeth. “Hi, Daddy!”
“…Why…” Peter asked faintly, “…are you on the wall?”
She looked genuinely confused by the question as she rapidly blinked at her father .“‘Cause I’m climbing.”
“I can…I can see that.”
She continued another few steps toward the ceiling.
Peter’s eye twitched.
Across the room, you looked up from the couch where you’d been reading a magazine, taking one look at your husband’s face before following his horrified stare upward.
“Oh.”
You tilted your head.
“Well……That’s new.”
Peter whipped around. “‘That’s new?’” he repeated in disbelief. “‘That’s all you have to say?’”
You slowly stood, trying very hard not to laugh.“I mean…” You looked back at your daughter. “She’s very good at it.”
Peter stared at you. “Babe.”
“I’m just saying her technique is impressive.”
“Our child is on the ceiling.”
As though summoned by the conversation, their daughter giggled and climbed upside down across the ceiling toward the light fixture.
“I’m spider baby!”
Peter made a sound somewhere between a groan and a squeak. “Oh no.”
You folded your arms. “I think she’s named herself.”
“No, no, absolutely not. We’re not encouraging this.”
“I’m spider baby!” she repeated proudly as she let go with one hand to wave.
Peter’s soul immediately attempted to leave his body. “NOPE.” His wrist snapped forward on pure instinct.
Thwip.
A strand of webbing shot across the room, sticking gently to the back of her tiny pajama shirt.
Before she could continue her ceiling expedition, Peter carefully reeled her in, pulling her through the air until she landed safely against his chest with a delighted squeal.
“Wheee!”
Peter hugged her so tightly she let out another giggle.
“No,” he said, still breathing far too fast. “Absolutely not. No ceiling adventures. No wall climbing. No upside-down anything.”
His daughter blinked innocently. “But Daddy does it.”
“…”
“…That’s....different.”
“Why?”
Peter opened his mouth, trying to think of a reply to tell her. "Because…" He then looked helplessly toward you.
You smiled with absolutely no intention of rescuing him. “Our daughter asked you a perfectly reasonable question.”
Peter sighed dramatically. “Traitor.”
She reached up and patted his cheek with tiny hands. “I spider baby.”
“You are a baby,” Peter corrected weakly.
“A spider baby.”
He looked at the ceiling where she’d been moments earlier. “…Unfortunately.”
You finally lost the battle against your laughter.
The sound filled the apartment, warm and bright, making Peter glance over despite the crisis currently clinging to his hoodie.
“I shouldn’t have told you I could climb walls,” he muttered.
“You absolutely should have.” You teased.
“I definitely should not have.Now she’s going to copy everything I do.”
Almost on cue, your daughter pointed toward the kitchen. “I wanna swing!”
Peter closed his eyes. “No.”
She pouted. “Pwease?”
“No.”
She leaned dramatically against his shoulder as she cupped his cheeks. “Pweeeeease?”
“No web swinging.”
She thought about it for a moment. “…Tiny swing?”
Peter looked at you with the exhausted expression of a father who had suddenly realized his greatest enemy wasn’t Green Goblin or Doctor Octopus.
It was genetics.
You walked over, cupped his face, and kissed him softly before brushing your daughter’s curls back from her forehead.
“I think,” you said with a smile, “Spider Baby deserves pancakes.”
Your daughter’s eyes lit up. “Pancakes!”
She immediately forgot about the ceiling.
Peter practically melted with relief. “Pancakes,” he agreed quickly. “Lots of pancakes. Pancakes that stay firmly on the ground.”
As the little girl wriggled out of his arms and sprinted toward the kitchen shouting about syrup, Peter let out a long breath before resting his forehead against yours.
“I have fought aliens,” he murmured.
“Mhm.”
“I’ve been to space.”
“You have.”
“I helped save the universe.”
“I remember.”
He glanced toward the kitchen where their daughter was now trying to convince the pancake mix that it needed more chocolate chips.
“…Nothing has terrified me more than seeing my toddler on the ceiling.”
You slipped your hand into his, smiling up at him as you lent into his side. "Welcome to parenthood, Spider-Man."
Peter groaned. “I don’t like parenthood’s powers.”
2000's POP PUNK RNB ҂ ── your ex-boyfriend keeps bothering you, desperate for you to take him back. until spider-man comes to your aid, and steals you away from him.
❨🏷️❩ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ mcu!peter parker x gn!reader · fluff · shitty ex-boyfriend · peter with his quips · swearing · another cliché ending · peter literally lives on your balcony · strangers to friends to possibly more · very self-indulgent · possible grammar & spelling mistakes · written in second pov · no use of y/n⌇ wc: 1,735
── .✦ mcu & dcu masterlist
ꉂ ` 🗒️ `˖ * 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐚'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐨𝐤 ⌯⌲ i'm so sorry if this seems rushed </3 I've been trying to get back into writing and i just feel so rusty after so many months 😭 but I really wanted to write some fluff for peter after the angst of brand new day.
“Can you just stop?! I told you we’re over, you’re so fucking annoying.”
Peter’s sitting on the edge of the apartment building’s rooftop, looking over the busy city, when he hears you yell at a guy down on the street from your balcony. He shouts back at you, talking about how you should take him back because he’ll be better this time. Which makes Peter scowl beneath his mask. He’s heard his fair share of excuses before, but whoever this guy was, he couldn't lie for shit.
“Hey, man, just leave them alone.” Peter chimes into your argument, which makes the guy redirect his anger at him.
“Look, this isn't your problem to solve, Spider-man.”
But Peter wasn't listening to him, turning his attention towards you instead. Your leaning against the balcony railing, with a tired look on your face, that tells him you’ve been dealing with this guy for a while now.
“Don't listen to him. He’s an ass. I’ve been trying to make him go away since this morning.” The sigh that you let out after is enough for Peter to drop down and confront the guy. After his useless threats, and his attempt to pick up a fight, Peter escorts him inside a nearby bus and comes back to you.
Seeing the coast finally clear, you decide to head back inside your apartment, just as Spider-man lowers himself outside your doorway, upside down. “Hey, he’s gone. Let me know if he bothers you again. Maybe I’ll web his mouth shut.” You turn around, startled, before a smile forms on your face.
“Only if it’s for good.” You quip, Peter shrugs.
“That can be arranged.” He jests in return, making you smile wider. You’ve never really seen Spider-man this up close before, nor have you ever had a conversation with him. But you get why everyone says he’s charming.
Recently, you stumbled into a tweet asking about what’s Spider-man like. And the comments were filled of people talking about how Spider-man saved them, or how he was just taking the subway one random day. The thread was lengthy but it was a fun read. Some people were even fawning at how attractive he was. And you totally get it.
“Who’s that guy anyway?” He asks, tilting his head. From your point of view, you think he looks really cute, making you forget that he was hanging upside down. How does he do that and not get sick?
“My ex-boyfriend. He’s been throwing pebbles at my window until I get annoyed and tell him to leave.” You explain, and the way you furrow your brows just insinuates how you feel about this whole thing.
Well, that’s not good. Maybe he should've webbed the guy against the wall entirely.
“Have you told anyone else about it?” He says while lowering himself, until he drops down on your balcony floor, effortlessly. You step out, closing the door behind you, before speaking. “Yeah, my friends and his too. But I guess that’s no use when he won't listen to anyone.” Peter watches you move back towards you spot earlier by the railings. And he follows you much like curious puppy. You’re even more closer than before, that he finds it hard to maintain eye contact.
It’s kind of ironic how he feels so flustered with you now, knowing he just helped shoo your ex boyfriend into a bus that was going to who-knows-where. But here he was, already captivated by the stranger, who he’d decided would occupy his noon.
“Maybe I can.” He says, his body already turned towards you, and he didn't even notice how it happened.
“What do you mean?” You lean closer, and he does the same.
“I’ll make him go away.” Peter’s voice go low, whispering. And you find the tips of your ears warming up from it.
“I don't know about that.. He’s stubborn–” You insist, half-skeptical and half-bashful. You don’t want to take up his time.
“He can try me.” He says, way too smooth and confident for his own good. With all honesty, he doesn't have a plan. All he knows is that your ex boyfriend’s a real shitty guy, and you need him to go. Which Peter agrees on wholeheartedly.
For the next few days, he’d find himself on your balcony, patrolling the streets whenever he had the time. Thankfully, for the both of you, your ex boyfriend would only come by twice before being scared off by Spider-man. Or maybe he’d just gotten his ego bruised, because you clearly don’t want him back anymore.
But, really, how could you? When you’ve got the famous Spider-man wrapped around your fingers, and you didn't even need the web shooters.
Months later, Peter still finds himself stopping by your balcony. He doesn't need to be here anymore, but somehow his mind keeps taking him here. You’ve become a part of his day. And if he doesn't check up on you, then that means his whole routine’s ruined.
“I think I’m gonna start charging you rent for staying in my balcony too much.” The chair you’re sitting on appeared not too long ago. Apparently he’s frequented your balcony so much that standing just wasn't an option anymore. Meanwhile, Peter’s sitting on the railing, facing you instead of the sunset behind him, because he insisted you’re the better view. Which you teased him about for being too corny, despite the smile on your face.
“And here I was thinking I’m special.”Peter holds a hand on his chest, mocking hurt, as he leans forward dramatically. You roll your eyes at his antics, leaning back on your chair.
“You are, but that means it costs you extra.”
“You know, that usually means free stuff for most, right?”
“Yeah, well, capitalism.”This time it’s Peter who rolls his eyes beneath his mask, before laughing. He then hops down from the railing, and walks towards you.
“You wanna go somewhere with me?”He asks, smiling when he sees you raise a brow.
“Where?”
“Somewhere with a much better view of the sunset.” And, frankly, that’s all it takes for you to agree. It's just that you didn't expect that you'd be clinging onto him, while he swings around the city, on the way there.
The cold wind hits you as Peter goes from one building to another. And suddenly you’re real grateful about this thick jacket that you stole from your dad’s closet when you were a teen. Everything feels surreal up here, that you can't even look at the ground or anywhere else without feeling like falling. But you’re not because Peter keeps telling you that he won't let that happen.
“I’m fine. This is fine.” You chant against his ear, your heart beating fast from the adrenaline of being on different altitudes. It feels like being on a rollercoaster. A trackless rollercoaster. Or maybe even a bumpy airplane.
“Yeah, this is fine. Don't worry. I got you.” Peter reassures you, his arm around your waist, secure and stable. And although it does absolutely nothing for your weary mind, you appreciate the warmth either way.
By the time you arrive on another building’s rooftop, you refuse to pull away from him. Still, Peter lands perfectly fine, even though he has you clinging on him like glue. Your arms are around his neck, while your legs circle his waist. He almost laughs, but stops himself short when he hears you’re heart still beating fast. He can't blame you for being nervous.
“You okay? Breathe with me for second?” Peter takes a moment to exaggerate his breathing, slow and steady, for you to follow. And when you start to calm down, you peel off of him eventually. Although, you keep your hands on his face, and his own pair on your waist.
“That was the most insane thing I’ve ever done.” You say to him, all breathless and jittery from the adrenaline.
“Really? You’ve never gone like, bungee jumping? Or sky diving?” You shake your head, looking at him incredulously.
“No? Do I look like the type to?” He paused, pretending to think about it, until you slap him on the chest and he laughs.
“So, what do you think of the sunset?” Peter glances at the direction of the sky, but he knows you're too occupied to look. But you give it at least a few seconds, before turning your head back to him.
“It’s pretty. Looks the same from my balcony. But with less swinging around, you know?” He smiles really big behind his mask at your tease, giving your waist a small squeeze on either side to make you flinch.
“Stop, I literally hate you.”
“No, you don't.” He argues, playfully.
“Yes, I do.”
“Fine. But why did you kiss me the other night?” The smile on your face drops by an inch, and Peter suddenly feels like an idiot who just read the room wrong. A string of apologies rest on the tip of his tongue, ready to be let out, when your hands find the hem of his mask.
Peter’s breath hitches, letting you push it up all the way to the top of his upper lip. The other night was different. You kissed him abruptly against his mask, and he felt his whole world freeze. Peter couldn't quite kiss you back, so he just leaned closer until you pulled away.
But this time he’s able to feel your lips. And he certainly wouldn't waste any more time. He pulls you into a proper kiss. His arms wrapped around you, making sure he can have you as close as possible.
You definitely didn't think you’d end your day kissing Spider-man on top of a random rooftop, with the sunset behind you. But the universe has a funny way of making things come true.
“Your lips are cold.” Is the first thing he says when you pull away. When you roll your eyes once again, he steals a kiss and makes you smile.
“At least I’m a good kisser.” Peter pouts at your response, tilting his head to the side.
“What does that mean? Are you saying I’m bad?” He actually sounds a little worried when he responds. But that’s when you cut the distance between you once more.
“I’m saying that you kiss me again so I can correct myself.” You whisper, and he grins.
“Smooth. But I’ll get you back.” And you know he will.
۶ৎ peter is a yearner, yes, but the devotion is so strong that he physically can't bring himself to casually watch x-rated videos or participate in any meaningless hookups. the pretty boy just feels so guilty getting off, unless you're the center of attention. unless a photo of you is displayed on his dimmed phone screen as he fucks into his own trembling palm.
۶ৎ it's incredibly easy for him to praise you and he loves weaving in small compliments pertaining to your unreal beauty. if you tell him that you love him back while he's pinning you down, he might just shed a few tears.
۶ৎ loves watching you on top of him. though, he hugely prefers the forward cowgirl position so he can see your adorable expressions and bouncing tits.
۶ৎ is the type of man to get uncomfortably hard after a long hug or tongue kiss.
۶ৎ has imagined the act far more times than you have even done it together. mr. parker doesn't mean for his thoughts to get so dirty, it just happens subconsciously.
۶ৎ cums in his boxers from eating you out, nearly every time.
۶ৎ if he's not staring sweetly into your eyes, he's watching the hypnotic sight of his wet cock going in and out of your tight pussy continuously.
۶ৎ most of the time when you recieve a phone call during intimacy, the both of you ignore it. unless, it's a flirty guy friend of yours. he'll playfully make you pick it up while simultaneously pounding significantly deeper. peter does his absolute best to draw little quiet and suppressed whimpers out of you while you're desperately attempting to focus on the conversation.
does your six foot four boyfriend with a fourth grade reading level and lack of knowledge of love languages do this for you?
Logan Howlett/Reader, 898 words
a/n: combined two requests for this, enjoy :)
cw: SMUT/18+ only, Logan goes down on reader, established relationship, height difference between reader and Logan (reader is taller), reader has a pussy but is referred to in gender-neutral terms
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PREVIEW:
The height difference doesn’t matter when he compensates for it in so many other ways.
Logan/Reader (18+)
“Okay,” Rogue’s voice is level, deliberate, her eyes schooling directly onto you from where you both reside on the couch. “Be honest with me, sugar.”
You give her a look of bemusement over the neck of your bottle, a smile turning up the lilt of your mouth. “About what?”
“About Logan,” Rogue leans in, keeping a low, subdued tone.
As though he’ll be able to hear the mention of his name, even though he’s out at poker night in the Baxter Building right now with Ben Grimm, Matt Murdock, Natasha Romanoff, and Peter Parker. But Rogue plays it safe as she searches your face for any indicator of hat she’s yet to provide.
“What about him?” You grin, thinking of your man. Your man who you leaned down to give a kiss that he matched with hunger as he pulled you over him, his hands seeking out access to vulnerable flesh.
The memory still summons heat that pools in familiar channel through your body, settling in the junction where your legs meet.
“Why are you with him?” Rogue asks—and perhaps it would be better if there was no element of genuine curiosity. A joke you could handle, light ribbing; it’s not the first time the two of you have faced the prod of curious stares, the teasing jape from a friend.
But Rogue looks at you with such casual bewilderment that you can’t help but water yourself with another sip before you find an answer.
After all, one of the most important reasons why you stay with him is best evidenced by last night. But you can’t tell Rogue that.
There’s no way you can describe to your friend what it felt like to have the implacable coil of his arms wrapped ‘round the flesh of your thighs.
To have had them forced, by his own direction, pinning against both sides of his temples, so that all sound save the symphony of your body’s pleasure would be heard.
To gasp in fractured breath as he licks up the pearl of your clit, fingers sinking deep and possessive into the meat of your thighs. The muscle in your calves drawing tight, toes curling, legs pressing against him to better hold him in that spot where his tongue laps at you.
He’s no elegant; the slurp of his tongue as he tastes you, slakes his thirst with your body is loud, wet, obscene.
And he’s ravenous for more, the muscle swipes up in greedy strokes, the stubble of his jaw working against skin as he keeps that wonderful rhythm against you. It chafes, so that you know will be rubbed raw tomorrow. But how could you even care?
Not when he takes licks from the slick of your entrance, his arms pinning you captive as you squirm, and drags up until he reaches your clit once more. And when he draws it into the scald of his mouth, the purse of those full lips working to keep you held in exact position—you wail.
“Logan—”—You sob, an expulsion of pleasure and overstimulation—“—Jesus Christ—”
Your only response is the lewd sound of him making loud commemoration of your pussy to his tongue. His fingers tighten about you, a fervent groan making the closest categorization of prayer into you.
And again—and again—he’s starved to keep you here. Starved to get more with the vicious lave that he rasps up you, the appreciative sounds he makes only crescendoing.
You wouldn’t call it purring—not to his face. But the way that they elapse in such dedicated pace, the way that they thrill through you, accentuating each jolt of pleasure that presses you further; what else could it be?
All you can do is writhe under the rhythm of his tongue, drawing taut as you let him lick you to orgasm. As he hears the way your breath grows ragged, urgent, feels the way your body scorches hotter and hotter, the furrow of your brow twisted in euphoria.
Each buck of your hips into his mouth more broken, more desperate, more unevenly paced as you keep yourself pressed against him.
When you come, it is loud; it is complete, it is a body-trembling shake as you come. And Logan, the pragmatist, neither slows his pace—nor spills a drop. Only continues to keep you working through each concurrent wave until you come back to yourself, limp in the sheets.
When he pulls away, his jaw is salaciously, wickedly wet, his teeth gleaming. His eyes malicious at the sight of you undone by him like this. And his grasp on you has not yielded in the slightest.
“Think you got another three in you, darlin’,” he chuckles—and you’re of no mind to complain, or argue, when he returns back to the work at hand.
But, of course—this is something you cannot tell Rogue. The only person who aware of this kernel of knowledge is Logan himself. And, possibly Scott, who has the misfortune to share a wall.
So you provide easy alternative.
“Because he makes me laugh,” you decide to tell Rogue—from the dubious slant to her eyes, it’s obvious that she’s chosen not to believe you.
But, as you regale yourself with another swallow, you think that that’s the only answer that she’ll ever get. Unless, of course, she wants to relieve Scott of his misery.
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"When I don't remember you." | Peter Parker x Reader
𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .
Synopsis: Y/N finds the letter Peter wrote to her four years ago explaining everything he promised to tell her in person after Strange's spell, leading to an uncomfortable confrontation.
Warnings: Angst (no comfort?) Also mild!spoilers for BND but nothing that would ruin your watching or reading experience if you haven't seen the movie yet.
Word count: 1.1k
A/N: Watched BND a few days ago and haven't been able to stop thinking about it since. I am distraught but also, it inspired me to start writing again so... win some, lose some? Anyways, I really hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! :D
↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺
You were sitting in Frank's breakfast nook, your hands trembling around the piece of paper that they held.
You must've read the letter at least seven times by now, each time wrecking you in a completely different way, as proven by the water droplets that littered the page.
You were torn out of your thoughts by the sound of footsteps entering the room. He was back. Spider-man - no, not spider-man - Peter.
He was talking to you but none of the words really registered. It was like your head was underwater and everything was being muffled by the waves lapping against your ears.
You finally looked up, your bloodshot eyes meeting his white lenses. You couldn't see his face but you could tell he was confused until his head tilted downwards - the letter.
Shit.
"I found this while you were out," you spoke up, your voice slightly hoarse.
You stood up from the nook, your grip on the letter tightening.
"Did you leave it out for me to find?"
"No," he answered quietly, shaking his head. "No, I didn't. I -"
"Take it off," you interrupted. "The mask, Peter. That's who you are, right? Take it off. I think I have the right to have this conversation with you face to face."
He froze. It seemed like he was thinking about the right course of action to take here, his mind running at a million miles per second. Then finally, with his own hands trembling now too, he reached up and began tugging the mask off.
You gasped.
"It's you," you breathed out. "You were at the party and- and that coffee shop all those years ago. Why didn't you-"
You cut yourself off, not even sure what you were about to ask.
You held the letter up, shaking it in your hand.
"You still had this back then. Why didn't you tell me?"
Peter struggled to find the right words.
"I wanted to. I did, I promise but it seemed so much harder when you were actually in front of me so I chickened out. And I just kept chickening out. I was scared. I didn't know what your reaction would be and then that led to me coming up with more and more excuses," he rambled. "Eventually, I just thought it would be better for everyone if I just never said anything and that you guys would be better off without me."
"You decided that for us."
"I know-"
"You had no right!"
"I know," he conceded. "I know and I'm so sorry, Y/N. I've spent the last four years running from everything, thinking I was doing what was best and I've regretted it every single day."
You felt tears welling up in your eyes again and tried blinking them away.
"I wish I told you back then," Peter continued. "I wish I was brave enough but I wasn't. I know you don't remember me or the life we had before the spell but I remember every single thing."
He took a small, tentative step towards you.
"I remember when we would hang out on rooftops, looking over the city together; I remember when we'd watch shitty movies on my couch; I remember our first kiss and every other one that followed after that; I remember you. I remember how much I love you."
Your breath hitched.
"I love you, Y/N. I didn't say it back then but I'm saying it now. I love you."
You sniffled and bit the inside of your cheek. You tilted your head backwards and tried finding the right words.
When your eyes met Peter's again, something in you broke.
"For the last four years, I've always felt like something was missing," you began. "But I could never put my finger on it. I could never pinpoint what it was. I would hear songs and start feeling unexplainably sad, I'd see spider-man on the news and feel like- like I knew him. Like I knew you and you knew me too."
You wiped a stray tear from your cheek.
"I just kept waiting and waiting for things to make sense but they never did. I had to move on because harping on it was just doing me more harm than good. I've waited almost four years for this and now that you're finally in front of me, I should be happy because everything finally makes sense but-"
You let out a shaky breath.
"I stopped waiting a long time ago, Peter. And I don't love you."
Something in his eyes shattered.
"I don't even know you," you finished off.
Peter nodded, trying to keep his own tears at bay.
"I'm so, so sorry," you apologized. "The me that you knew back then, I'm sure she loved you too and I can see why but I'm not her anymore. I don't remember her. I really am sorry."
"It's okay," Peter reassured you, his voice cracking. "You don't have anything to apologize for."
You two stood in silence for a little bit, not knowing where to go from here.
"I think I should go back home now," you told him.
"Yeah, that makes sense."
You placed the letter on the table gently before grabbing your jacket and leaving the room while Peter stood there, trying to get his bearings back but he couldn't. It felt like his head was the one underwater now and the surface was completely out of reach.
He was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of your footsteps returning. He turned around and saw you standing in the doorway timidly.
"Uh, I don't have my phone on me and I don't know how to get back home from here," you told him awkwardly. "Do you mind if you could..."
"Oh, yeah totally," he said with a sniffle. "My bad."
The swing back home was silent, save for the hustle and bustle of the city just below you two and Peter occasionally murmuring, "Web; stop. Web; stop. Web; stop" over and over again.
Things between you were still undeniably tense but a part of you swears that Peter held onto you tighter than before and part of him swears that you did the same. You buried your face in his neck, the action seeming vaguely familiar and yet, completely new.
When you finally got back to your apartment building, he placed you on your feet gently and took one good look at you.
"Thanks again for everything," you thanked him.
"Hey, it's what friendly neighborhood Spider-man does, right?"
The corners of your mouth gingerly twitched up at that.
"Right," you said, turning around to unlock your door before pausing.
Peter turned around too, getting ready to take off.
"Uh, hey," you spoke up, turning around. "You wanna come in?"
sam wilson takes stark!reader up on those phone calls — turns out, degrees do get you places
(og post)
“Yello?” She yawns, answering the phone. Sam is already rolling his eyes.
“Did you just wake up?” She grunts something close to an affirmation. “It’s one in the afternoon.”
“And? I got caught up last night.” There’s all sorts of rustling on the other side of the call as she fumbles out of bed.
“With?”
“None of your business, Mr. Captain America.” Glass bottles clang as she picks them up and tosses them into a half-full cardboard box. “What’s with the call? Miss me that much?”
“I gotta cash in those calls you offered,” Sam admits. “There’s a gala I have to get into, figured maybe there’s some high-up science techs you might know attending.”
“Yeah, i’ll see what I can do,” She hums mindlessly, flopping onto her shitty, highly uncomfortable couch. “Text me the name of the thing and i’ll stalk a couple Facebooks and LinkedIn profiles. Bound to be someone bragging about it.”
“And you said you weren’t any help.” Sam grins. “Let me know what you can get.”
“Uhuh.” She hangs up. Two hours later, Sam gets a FaceTime call. She’s ordering a sandwich at a bodega when he answers and tells him to wait a second, like she wasn’t the one that called. While petting the stores cat, she admits that one of her professors who loved her, including both her smart brain and her smart mouth, is attending and would love to see her and as many guests as she would like to have.
“Come to my place — thank you, Ana, I love you baby, how much I owe you?” Sam lets an exasperated sigh when the camera pans up to the ceiling and he watches the exchange of cash for a black grocery bag. His view rattles around again as she picks up the phone and the bells over the door clang while she leaves. “Yeah, so, just come to my place, it’s, like, not that far and we’ll have to get there together anyways — oh, Mark, my man! What the hell you been up to, haven’t seen you around!”
“Stark,” Sam tries to get her attention. “What time?”
“—Joey got arrested? For what? Yo, I know a really good lawyer, I can hit him up. ‘Course, bro, anything!”
Sam hangs up and texts her what time he’s showing up at her place. Here’s there, knocking on the door exactly at 7, an hour before the event starts just in case.
She isn’t answering. Bucky, whose attendance she is unaware of, sighs and adjusts his suit with irritation.
“This is so stupid.” He grumbles.
“She’s getting us in the building—“ Sam, equally as irritated and trying not to let it show, bangs on her door some more. “Stark!”
The door flings open, finally.
“Haven’t you learned by now, I don’t lock the door? I don’t like answering the door, just come in.” She’s aggravated too, rolling her eyes like his one prior visit should’ve made that clear as she fumbles with huge, dangly, costume jewelry, earrings. “I’m almost ready.”
“You look nice.” Sam, followed by Bucky, who very reluctantly steps into the apartment, tells her. What she was caught up in last night becomes very apparent when they take in the sight of her living room covered in all kinds of wires and metals and screws and computer chips.
“Thank you,” She grins, and Bucky catches the glint of Tony in her. “I got this at one of those overpriced vintage stores in SoHo. God, I wanted to gag just being in that place, but whatever, I needed a funeral dress.” Her hands splay over her stomach and smooth over the black fabric of the full length dress. She turns back around to face them, and her eyes light up at the sight of Bucky. “Hello, soldier!”
“Uh,” He glances around awkwardly, the hand that had been playing with his cuff links dropping to his side. “Hi.”
“The haircut is nice.” She nods. “I liked the length, though. Anyways,” She claps, headed towards the door with heels in her hand. “Let’s get out of here, we’ll miss the E.”
“We’re taking the subway?”
“You think I gotta car, Cap?”
“Figured an Uber would be safer, that’s all.”
“You think I can afford an Uber?”
She has to help Bucky pay the subway fare. He doesn’t have Apple Pay set up on his phone, and after almost missing a very awkward train ride where she stands directly (like the fabric of her dress is brushing his belt, direct) in front of Bucky and talks to some other random man she somehow knows about Joey being locked up, and a small walk, the three are outside of the gala thirty minutes late.
“Professor Al-Alami!” She shouts through the crowd once they’ve entered the building, raising her hand into the air to wave her fingers.
A very distinguished looking man in an equally as distinguished looking suit immediately turns and starts pushing through the crowd.
“Oh, look at you, the smartest girl in the world has come to see me!” He grins and money signs practically glimmer in the reflection of his glasses while he pulls her into a gentle hug. “How have you been, honey?”
Sam and Bucky exchange looks while she grins right back at the man, Professor Al-Alami — this does not seem like a normal student-professor relationship. That being said, most of her relationships seem much closer than average acquaintances.
“Hanging on by a thread, but what’s new, right?” Al-Alami laughs and gold spills out in his chuckles. “You look as amazing as always.”
“Well, with you coming I had to look my best, right?”
Bucky and Sam stand awkwardly behind the two as they catch up. After laughing obnoxiously-rich like and landing a hand on her past professors chest, she’s sends him a goodbye. They hug again, tender as he cups her arms and rambles greatness in her name, before she spins around to the two.
“Let’s get a drink, shall we?” She walks off, excusing herself through crowds that part like she is whoever the stupid gala is for.
“So, uh, you seemed very close.” Sam acknowledges the odd relationship as she hands him and his metal-armed friend and flute of champagne. She shrugs, gulping down half of the bubbly drink.
“We wrote a textbook together a few years back after I got my idea for my dissertation and realized there was no actual work I could site besides what I had done in class.” She swallows the rest of the champagne, replacing it with a new one as a waiter walks by with a tray full just in time. Her Stark side is shining a little too bright for Bucky’s comfort. “They must have something else around here, right? I don’t like the fizzy stuff.”
Sam shakes his head before declaring he has to get on with whatever he needed to be at the gala for — talk to someone, steal some artifacts, who knows. Bucky attempts to go with him but Sam thinks that two people will be too risky, so he’s forced to say with her.
“So,” She licks across her teeth, champagne swirling in her glass as her eyes look him up and down. “What’ve you been up to all these years, soldier? Got a woman waiting for your return from war?”
With a locked jaw, his eyes scan her cocky expression and her slouched stance — the way she just looks so comfortable everywhere. On the subway, even in a fancy dress and tall heels, she talked to that man and slouched against the metal rail and leaned with the rocking train and used stupid slang and loud words and clapped while her laugh echoed in the small space. In her home she guzzled half of a pop can, fixed smeared red lipstick in the reflection of her microwave, stuffed cigarettes in her clutch and jumped over her couch to get to the door faster. Here, she flips her hair over her shoulder and crosses her legs and smiles sweetly, just a little too sweet that you think she wants something from you, and talks low and like she’s at a customer service job.
“She’d be dead by now if I did.”
“But you didn’t, is what i’m hearing?”
He doesn’t bother to respond, just stares at her and scoffs, shakes his head a little and mumbles something about Sam taking too long.
“Thought you were supposed to be some kind of lady killer, Barnes?” She questions. “I should probably rephrase that, shouldn’t I? A playboy, a charmer. You know what I mean.”
“You always talk this much?”
“Yes,” She nods. “Your quiet, brooding aesthetic is making it worse, I don’t cope well with silence. Not that i’m complaining — I have a record with men like you.”
She pauses, shutting her mouth for the longest amount of time that night as she swallows the rest of her champagne and pats her clutch.
“I want a cigarette. Accompany me, would you?”
They stand outside against the old building in the cold night. The cigarette in between two of her fingers and her pretty, smart lips keeps her busy enough not to notice him staring.
“There are no men like me.”
Her head turns, finding him already looking in her direction. She plucks the cigarette from her lips, smile growing with a scoff.
“Oh, really now? What, you mean PTSD ridden brunette soldiers who think they’re the worst person in the world for things they couldn’t control? Little rough around the edges, doesn’t talk much, but once you know him — once he knows you,” She swallows, taking a drag, and looking back out into the street. “He’s the funniest man you’ll ever meet. The sweetest, most caring, most fucked-in-the-head man you’ll ever meet.”
Bucky isn’t sure how to respond to that, but it sounds a little too familiar. She finishes her cigarette and stubs it out before picking it back up and throwing it into the nearest trash can.
“Don’t worry, I may like to flirt a little, but I don’t have the emotional capacity to deal with another one of you. Not that I had it for him in the first place.”
