#winterspidershield

“Thank you,” Peter said, forcing a bright smile. “Um, I’m Peter, by the way — Peter Parker! Anyway, I should, uh… go.” His words tumbled out, awkward and rushed. His face felt hot. This is so awkward. Why am I like this?

Before he could retreat, a soft sound caught his attention.

“Meow.”

A fluffy white cat slipped between the blond’s legs with the kind of grace that only cats seemed to have. Peter’s expression instantly softened.

“Oh, hello, sweetheart~” he cooed, crouching to scratch gently behind her ears. Alpine purred loudly, leaning into his hand.

“She likes you,” the blond commented, watching him closely.

Peter smiled, still petting her for a moment before reluctantly standing. “Bye… Sir?” he said hesitantly, tilting his head. He realized he still didn’t know the man’s name. The blond only gave a small wave in reply, offering no introduction.

Peter blinked but decided not to push. If he didn’t want to tell me, it’s not my business, he reasoned, though a small part of him wished he’d at least caught a glimpse of Jamie.

With a sigh, he turned and walked back down the hall. When he finally opened his own door, he was greeted by the chaos of his small kitchen — unwashed dishes, scattered papers, a half-finished project on the counter. Normally, he wouldn’t mind, but right now the mess just made the quiet feel heavier.

He leaned against the door for a moment, running a hand through his hair.

—————-

Steve stood at the door for a long moment after the pretty b— Peter left, the echo of the kid’s awkward energy still lingering in the air. He adjusted his grip on the bag, holding it up slightly as his brows furrowed.

“Alpine, come on. Inside,” he said, crouching down and tapping his knee. The white cat blinked up at him with slow feline defiance before finally trotting back into the room, tail flicking like she was doing him a favor.

As he closed the door, Steve’s jaw tightened. Why did that kid know Alpine? Why did he know Bucky at all? His mind worked the angles automatically — habits from years in the mob. — Bucky’s never mentioned a Peter Parker.

He set the bag down on the counter, the faint smell of food drifting out — warm, homemade, innocent. Too innocent. He eyed it for a second before deciding he’d toss it in a bit. No reason to take risks.

The sound of running water stopped in the bathroom, and Steve’s suspicion momentarily slipped into amusement. He leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms, waiting.

When Bucky finally stepped out of the steam-filled bathroom, Steve couldn’t help the snort that escaped him. The legendary “White Wolf” himself — ruthless, controlled, always composed — currently looked like a very large, very wet dog. His long dark hair clung to his face and neck, water dripping onto his bare shoulders. A white towel sat dangerously low on his hips.

Bucky noticed the smirk and raised an eyebrow. “What’s on the counter?”

Steve tilted his head in that direction. “Hm? Oh, that? Some kid dropped it off. Said his name was Peter… Parker or something. I was about to throw it out. Could be pois—”

“Peter was here?” Bucky’s head snapped up before Steve could finish.

Steve blinked, caught off guard by the sudden intensity in Bucky’s voice. “You… know him? You’ve never mentioned him.”

But Bucky wasn’t listening anymore. He was already halfway across the room yanking the door open.

“I’ll be back. Don’t throw my food away,” he ordered, his tone sharp and final. The death glare he shot over his shoulder could’ve frozen lava.

The door slammed behind him, leaving Steve standing there in silence, still holding the half-open takeout bag. He looked down at Alpine, who had jumped onto the counter to sniff the food curiously.

Steve exhaled through his nose. “What the hell did I just miss?” he muttered, but the cat only blinked back at him, unbothered as always.

————

Bucky knocked three times in quick succession, his knuckles tapping out a familiar rhythm on the door. He couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips when he heard movement inside — the unmistakable sounds of Peter bustling around, something clattering, a muffled “just a second!”

A moment later, the door swung open, and Bucky froze.

For a second, he forgot how to breathe. Standing there, framed by the soft light of the room, was one of the prettiest people he had ever seen. Peter’s hair was slightly mussed, his cheeks flushed from whatever he’d been doing, and his eyes were wide — bright with surprise and something else that made Bucky’s chest feel a little too tight.

“Uh— sorry!” Bucky blurted, running a hand through his damp hair. “I rushed over.” He realized he was still a little out of breath.

Peter’s face turned an even deeper shade of red. “T-that’s fine… really, really fine,” he said quickly, and then winced at his own words. “I mean— uh— did you like the food?”

Bucky winced too, guilt flashing briefly across his face. “I haven’t tried it yet,” he admitted, “but I’ve never eaten anything from you that was bad… except maybe those cookies?”

Peter gasped dramatically, then broke into laughter. “You said you liked those!”

Bucky grinned, the sound of Peter’s laughter pulling one from him too. “I did! But you almost died making them!”

“Not my fault you like peppermint!” Peter shot back, folding his arms with exaggerated annoyance. “I was just being a good friend, and all I got out of it was a lecture.” He tried to keep up the annoyed façade, but his grin kept breaking through.

Bucky’s laugh softened into something more genuine, more fond. “How was I supposed to know you were allergic?” he teased, shaking his head. “Just… leave the peppermint to me, okay?”

Peter nodded, smiling shyly. “Deal.”

For a moment, the air between them settled into a comfortable warmth — quiet but full of unsaid things.

“Good,” Bucky murmured, then hesitated. He rubbed his palms together, suddenly looking a little less sure of himself. “Ah, right. I’ll be home late tomorrow. Like… really late.”

Peter’s smile faltered, and Bucky caught the flash of disappointment before Peter tried to mask it. It hit him harder than he expected.

“How late?” Peter asked softly.

“Like two A.M.,” Bucky said, his tone apologetic.

Peter nodded slowly, eyes dropping to the floor. “Oh…Do you want me to drop something off in your fridge? So you have something to eat when you get home?” He fiddled with the edge of his sleeve, then added quickly, “I still have my key. I mean— I should feed Alpine anyway, right?”

Bucky watched him for a moment, that nervous ramble making something in his chest ache. Peter bit his lip, clearly trying not to look too hopeful.

Finally, Bucky smiled — soft, small, but genuine. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “That could work.”

Peter looked up at him then, eyes bright again, and the sight made Bucky’s pulse pick up all over.