Mad Season 3
Warnings: non/dubcon, social anxiety, chronic illness, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: Bucky Barnes, Peter Parker
Summary: a class project gets messy. (short!reader)
Note: happy weekend.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
“Hey, how’d you get in?” Peter rushes in, a tray of drinks in hand.
You pop up on the stool, broken from your trance. Uncertain what else to do, you spent much of your time trying to distract yourself with his schematics. You twist to face him.
“Um, Bucky,” you answer and cringe at home dumb you sound. “He helped.”
“Bucky? Helpful?” He nears and puts the cardboard tray on the table, “I guess he can be.” He picks at the edge of the tray, “I got you a blueberry matcha. The place I hit didn’t have strawberry in season anymore.”
“Oh, sounds... interesting, but you--”
“Didn’t have to. I know, you always say so but I felt bad for being so late. I told may to get an airtag for her wallet. She can be so--” he stops himself and chuckles. “It’s whatever. She’s got a lot going on.”
“Mhm,” you accept the cup he offers. “I was just looking over the plans. I think we could probably just go with yours. Makes more sense.”
“What? Oh, no way,” he takes his iced whatever. It just looks like layers of sugar and cream. “I think we could easily bring together both. Take some of your features and mine. I don’t want to take over.”
“Yeah, but...”
“But nothing. Really. It’s a team project, not my project,” he insists as he hops up on the stool next to you, “so,” he swipes his hand in the air and a holographic screen appears. You flinch. “Let’s compare and redraw.”
You gape as another floating rectangle appears before him. No wonder his look so much better than your Paint hack job. You want to sink down and disappear. You always figured you’re not interesting enough to be his friend but now you’re certain you might be too stupid and poor for him too.
“So, I’m going to get logged in...” he mutters.
“Um, Peter?” You murmur, “are you sure you wanna be my partner?”
“Why... wouldn’t I?” He hovers his hand before the screen as he looks at you.
“I dunno. I don’t... I don’t have much to offer. Not a lab, not all these cool computers...”
“Oh this? No, it’s not—it's not a big deal. Dude, I'm so lucky Mr. Stark is letting me use this. I’m not ignorant, you know? I just thought it would be easier. I don’t think your roommates like me much and mine are so loud.” he explains as he lowers his arm, crossing both over the table as he leans on it. “Do you not want to be my partner?”
“Nnnooo,” you drag the word out. “No, I do, but I want to contribute to and I don’t know how to use any of this.”
“That’s cool. I’ll show you.”
“Um, okay,” you nibble your lip sheepishly. “I guess...”
“Did you try the tea? Is it good?” He changes the subject. He does that a lot. Pivots around before you can finish your thoughts.
“Not yet,” you look down at the bright pink lid, “where did you get this?”
“Some place called Berry? I don’t know. Everything was bright. You’d hate it,” he laughs again. “Oh,” he snaps his fingers as you blow into the lid cautiously. “Before I forget, I’m having a party. I know it’s not really your thing but it’s ‘my turn’,” he makes quotations with his fingers, “and I don’t really wanna but I also thought I'd invite you in case you wanted to not be there with me, too.”
Your blink in surprise, “a party?”
“I know, too much. Well, I didn’t wanna leave you out.”
“Mmm,” you drone nervously. It is really nice of him to think of you and after everything else, you hate to say no. “No one ever invited me to a party.”
“No?” His brow furrows, “really?”
You shake your head, “I’ll come. Yeah. I’ll try. You know, it’s college and ...” you take a sip and clear your throat, “should I bring a dessert?”
He laughs and gives you a playful grudge, “wow, I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone ask me that except my aunt’s friends. Nope, you can just come as you are. You can always bring some drinks for yourself but I’ll have more than enough to share.”
“Oh, okay,” you nod.
“The tea good?” He asks again.
“Yeah, sweet,” you put the cup down.
“Awesome!” He grins. “I really didn’t think you’d come. I’m so excited.”
“Really?” You ask.
“Well, duh. You’re so fucking cool. Like all my other friends, they try so hard. It’s all ‘let’s go do shots’ or ‘watch me do this dumb shit’. You don’t even try, you’re just you. It’s like people don’t realize they can just be nice and be cool for just that.”
“I... yeah,” you don’t know what to say.
It’s like he’s calling you boring but not. You know you are and you don’t mind but you can’t ever remember when you just felt like everyone else. Where you weren’t the odd one out. Despite trying to include you, Peter still manages to push you to the edges.
You wince as you notice how he stares at you. You fidget and pick at the button on the front of your corduroy skirt. His eyes flick down to the nervous movement.
“I like that,” he reaches to touch the ridged fabric, “blue. Oh, thick.”
Your leg twitches in surprise, “uh, yeah... found it at the student thrift shop.”
“Really?” His fingers brush over the hem and touch your coloured tights. They linger for a moment before he pulls away. “Cute. I’ve never been there.”
“It’s not bad...” you cross your legs as you knee tingles from his touch. That was strange.
“Well, anyway,” he waggles his fingers as he turns back to the table, “uh, where was I?” He squints at the screens and taps in the air. He pauses and looks at you. “Here, I’ll show you how it work, alright?”
He reaches over again and you brace yourself. He grabs the underside of the stool seat and drags you closer. He it so easily, you gasp. He’s a lot stronger than he looks. He slides his hand around so his arm is diagonal around your back.
“Right, so...” his shoulder presses to you as he points with his other arm, “you can just use your finger. I’ll have to add your prints to the program. Put your hands up.”
You obey as he stays close. You’re overly away of it. The way he’s pressed to you. He doesn’t seem to notice at all. You try not to think of it and focus on his instructions. The project. That’s why you’re here.
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