Peter found you on a random rooftop in Queens, your knees drawn up to your chest as you sat in front of one of the many murals of Iron Man that painted the city following the victory over Thanos.
You knew he was there before he even said anything.
Despite the sounds of the city below, you heard his gentle landing behind you, heard his light footsteps as he padded closer and closer, heard his soft sigh as he realized just what you had been doing since you disappeared from the Tower over an hour ago.
He quietly sat beside you, pulling his mask off before finally saying, “Pepper’s worried about you. You kinda just disappeared in the middle of dinner.” Peter was a comforting presence beside you as you struggled to stay afloat in your grief; your personal life preserver in your tide of emotions. “I told her I’d find you and convince you to go home before it gets too late.”
“Home,” you muttered and laughed mirthlessly. “It doesn’t feel like home without him.”
“Y/N,” Peter breathed, his voice hardly louder than a whisper. “I know that you… I miss him, too.”
“This isn’t the first time I’ve lost him,” you whispered, your voice breaking ever so slightly as a sob threatened to escape you. Tears were blurring your vision, but no amount of tears would distort the image of Iron Man - of your father - enough to forget the pain that just seeing the tributes to him caused without fail. “I’ve lost him before, but he’d always come back. He’d always come home.” You furiously swiped at the stray tears, hating how weak it made you feel, how broken it made you feel. Especially in front of Peter. It was useless, and new tears swiftly replaced those that you wiped away. “This is the first time he’s not coming back.”
Peter didn’t respond. What do you say to someone who lost as much as you had? Your sobs filled the silence, and Peter hung his head in defeat.
“Why did it have to be him?” you choked out. You hadn’t expected Peter to answer. Hell, he was probably wondering the same thing. You tore your gaze away from the mural for the first time in nearly forty minutes, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “He knew what those fucking stones could do to him, and he still used them anyway!”
You wanted to scream and rage and cry and...and you wanted to hug your dad and never let him go. You couldn’t even remember the last time you hugged him. Had it been on the battlefield? So much had been happening around you that you couldn’t even remember if you’d hugged your dad.
The tears kept coming, faster and faster. Had you hugged your dad one last time before he died, before he sacrificed his life to put an end to Thanos once and for all? You didn’t know, and it only made your loss hurt even more.
“Why did it have to be him?” you repeated, leaning into Peter and resting your head on his shoulder. Instinctively, his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you close to him. “Why did he have to leave me? What about Morgan? What about Pepper? What about you? Why did he have to leave us?”
“He saved us,” Peter answered, but it sounded strangled, as if he were feeling just as lost without your dad as you felt. “He beat Thanos.”
You finally looked up at your companion, scanning the features of his face. His eyes were rimmed red, unshed tears shimmering within them, and the dark circles beneath them were even more pronounced from the shadows cast over his face by the lights of the city. “We could have found another way. There had to be another way. There just had to.”
Again, Peter didn’t respond. He didn’t know how.
Instead, he took your face between his hands, gently wiping your tears away with a soft brush of his thumbs. You sat there in silence, just staring at one another and trying to communicate what neither of you could bring yourselves to say.
‘Don’t leave me, too’.
The sound of a notification on your phone broke the moment, and you hesitantly pulled your phone from your pocket to see a barrage of texts from the last hour. Some were from Pepper, a couple from Rhodey, but most were from Peter himself before he’d found you. The most recent text, however, was from Pepper, asking if you’d be home in time to say goodnight to Morgan.
Having read the text over your shoulder, Peter asked, “Want me to swing you home?”
There it was again. Home. How could the place that taunted you with memories of your father ever be a home to you again?
You glanced at the boy beside you, the boy that had been your companion in grief for the last few months. Peter was the only one that could dry your tears and ease the ache in your heart. It was no surprise that it was him and not Sam or Rhodey or even Pepper that came after you once you disappeared in the middle of ‘family dinner’ at the Tower.
“Will you stay with me?” you asked, and after a brief flash of panic in his chocolate eyes, he nodded.
And just like that, with a simple nod of his head, an immense weight lifted from your shoulders. Maybe the Tower would eventually feel like home again so long as Peter was by your side.
The Rundown: So instead of working on part three of Cabin Fever, I outlined a 9 part single-dad!Bucky series because I can't be bothered to focus on one thing at a time, and single-dad!Bucky gives me some v strong feelings
Pairing: Single-Dad!Bucky x Teacher!Reader (Modern AU)
Project Timeline: I plan to start posting this every Thursday starting June 10th. This schedule is subject to change though because I'll probably outline three more series between now and then.
Working Summary: Was sleeping with your student's dad a complete violation of your personal code of ethics? Absolutely; but to be fair, you hadn't known he was a student's dad when you went home with him. Were you seriously reconsidering that code of ethics now that you knew who he really was? Absolutely.
I’m definitely not demanding it or saying you have to, but readers quoting back their favorite lines/moments of a fic/chapter is the absolute best, and every single one of you who has ever done this deserves to find $20 on the ground. Not all heroes wear capes, y’know?
Summary: What was meant to be a weekend at the cabin with Peter, Pepper, and Morgan very quickly turned into a weekend alone with your best friend and your recently acknowledged feelings for him thanks to a certain assumption made by your step-mother.
Instead of making up shitty racist headcanons about Miles shoplifting join me in headcanoning him picking up ballet because he thought Gwen being a ballerina was super neat and it would help him in his spiderman job
Warnings: language, the briefest mention of sex, ANGST
Inspired by: 8 Letters - Why Don't We
There are so many things that Peter loves about you.
He loves the way your tongue peaks out between your lips when you’re concentrating too hard on your chemistry homework. He loves the way you doodle in the margins of your notebook when you get bored in history class. He loves the way you draw patterns on the back of his hand absentmindedly during movie nights with Ned and MJ. He loves the way your nose scrunches slightly and your eyes crinkle when you laugh. He loves the way you look with nothing but his baggy t-shirt on.
He could go on and on.
There are so many things that Peter loves about you, but he just can’t bring himself to admit - to himself or to you or to anyone else - that he loves you.
It’s not that he doesn’t want to love you. It’s just that people he’s lost people that he loves.
He loved his parents, and they died. He loved Uncle Ben, and he died. He loved Tony, and he died.
Sure, there are plenty of other people that he loves - like Aunt May, Ned, and little Morgan - that he still has, but he doesn’t want to risk it.
Peter doesn’t want to lose you too, so he doesn’t say it, doesn’t acknowledge just how deeply he feels for you.
And some days he wonders if that’s fair to you, to deprive you of something you so freely have him months ago. The little 'I love you' had tumbled from your lips so easily as you laid tangled in the sheets beneath him, breathless and beautiful and so entirely too good for someone who felt as broken as he did. After that day, you spoke the words often, but you never expected anything from him in return.
You wait so patiently for him, and for that alone Peter wants to love you. You gave so much of yourself to him - your time, your body, your heart - and Peter wants to return the favor, but he just...can’t.
He’s come close to telling you what he knows you want to hear. He’s come so goddamn close, but every time the words are at the tip of his tongue, he swallows them whole and pushes the feelings down, down, down, down until they’ve disappeared from his mind completely. It’s like the minute he finally gives in to just how strongly he feels for you, you’ll slip through his fingers one way or another, and he’s not sure he could survive that.
He was still raw from Tony’s death, after all, and if he lost you now...
He’s pulled from his thoughts by a light flick on his forehead, and he lifts his eyes from his still blank assignment to see you smiling softly at him. “I can literally feel you thinking too hard, Pete,” you tell him, and though there’s a teasing lilt to your voice, he can see just how concerned you are in your eyes. “Wanna talk about it?”
He smiles at you in return, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “No, it’s nothing,” he lies. You see right through him, just as you always do when he gets like this. He cups your face, the pad of his thumb brushing over your cheekbone tenderly. “I’m fine. I promise.”
You don’t push, you don’t prod. You never do. Instead, you give him the time he needs to sort through his thoughts and feelings, knowing that eventually he’ll open up. And when he does, you’ll listen closely, give advice if the situation warrants it, and reassure him that everything’s okay despite the worst of his worries.
It’s one of the many things that he loves about you.
“I love you, you know,” you say instead, leaning forward to press your forehead against his. Your breath fans over his face, smelling of the spearmint gum that you’re always chewing on, and the familiarity of it, of you, helps him relax just enough to forget his fears for a moment. Your fingertips trail down the length of his arm to his hand, entangling your hand in his.
You help ground him, anchoring him to you and to the present, and, again, he thinks you deserve to be loved in a way that he’s not sure he can. You deserve so much more than he can give you.
He wants to tell you as much, but Peter also wants to be selfish and never let you go.
So instead, he says, “I know.”
You don’t deflate when he doesn’t say it back. You don’t frown or rip your hand from his or run from the room in anger and frustration and sadness. Instead, your smile grows wider before you press your lips to his.
Peter feels the guilt creep in, slowly overtaking the fear, and he wants to just say it so badly. He wants to tell you, over and over and over again until you’re sick of hearing it. But he doesn’t. He can’t.
“Y/N, I-” He tries, he really fucking tries, but he chokes on the words. Why is it so hard to just tell you what you deserve to hear? Why is it so hard to say it back? He feels so frustrated and so, so goddamn undeserving of you, and it hurts to think that he could be hurting you by not saying it back.
It shouldn’t be this hard.
You press your lips to his again and squeeze his hand reassuringly. “It’s okay, Pete. I know.” Another kiss pressed against his lips. “I know. I promise I know.”