Steve who was incredibly touch-adverse when he was younger. Steve who grew up constantly being poked and prodded at by doctors and nurses, with a physically abusive dad, with a chip on his shoulder about needing to be strong on his own.
And Bucky, naturally touchy, who grew up with a family of sisters. All of them are clingy and loving. Bucky, who learned how to braid hair, how to take care of small children, how to give the best hugs.
And Bucky knows Steve doesn't like touch, and that's fine. Bucky can show his love in other ways, but god. Sometimes he just wants to pull Steve into the biggest bear hug. Bucky finds excuses when he can. He's always slinging his arm over Steve's shoulder, nudging him and pulling him along. Bucky whos always trying to find some excuse to touch Steve.
Steve, waking up in the 21st century incredibly touch-starved. He's living in a society where platonic touching is more common than ever, and the only person he wants to hug isn't there. Steve in the 21st century, who's always giving his friends hugs, who'll braid Nat's hair when she's reading next to him on the couch, who'll join cuddle piles without any hesitation. And then- and then-
Bucky is back. Bucky is back, and the second Steve moves towards him, weapon down and palms open, he flinches. Bucky, who was always the one to initiate touch, now barely able to handle being in the same space as other people. And Steve understands it. God, does he understand it, but it hurts. And he can't help but wonder if this was how Bucky felt when they were kids.
Marvel Comics Characters Realizing They Are Jealous
Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Loki, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Matthew Murdock, Frank Castle, Marc Spector, Johnny Storm, Reed Richards, Felicia Hardy, Stephen Strange, Namor, Johnny Blaze, Eddie Brock / Venom, T'Challa & Elektra Natchios
Peter Parker aka. Spider-Man
- Peter Parker has always told himself he’s not the jealous type. He knows better. He’s seen what obsession does to a person, how it corrodes and twists and turns something good into something dark. He swore he’d never be that guy, the one who grips too tight, who loses sight of what matters. And yet, as he watches some stranger lean in close, flashing a smile that’s just a little too confident, he feels it coil inside him—hot, sharp, unexpected.
- His fingers twitch, and he clenches his fists like he’s bracing for a fight, even though there’s no real battle here. Just words, just glances, just you laughing at something someone else said. And Peter—who has fought gods and monsters, who has lost more than he ever thought he could survive—finds himself standing frozen, drowning in something far more terrifying than any villain.
- He tries to be rational. Tries to remind himself that you’re not his, that he has no right to this feeling clawing at his ribs. But then your head tilts, your lips part in that familiar, effortless smile, and it hits him like a fist to the gut: he wants to be the reason you smile like that. He wants to be the only one.
- The moment passes, the stranger moves on, and Peter still can’t breathe right. He should let it go, should shake it off, but when you turn to him, bright-eyed and oblivious to the war raging in his chest, all he can do is force a grin and hope you don’t notice the way his voice strains when he speaks.
- Later, alone in his room, he presses his forehead against his hand and exhales shakily. He’s in trouble. So much trouble. Because Peter Parker? He’s never been good at letting things go. And now, he doesn’t think he can let you go, either.
Tony Stark aka. Iron Man
- Tony Stark doesn’t get jealous. That’s what he tells himself, anyway. He’s been around the block too many times, seen too many people come and go, to let something as petty as jealousy get under his skin. He’s Tony Stark. He’s seen it all. So when he spots some smooth-talking nobody leaning into your space, flashing that kind of grin he perfected years ago, he should laugh it off. Should.
- But he doesn’t. Instead, there’s a flicker of something sharp and ugly curling in his chest, something possessive and unfamiliar. It’s ridiculous, really. He could have anyone, could fill a room with people hanging onto his every word, but none of them matter. Not the way you do.
- He swirls the whiskey in his glass, eyes narrowing as he watches the way you tilt your head, the way your lips quirk in amusement. It’s harmless, he tells himself. You’re just being polite. But his jaw tightens all the same, and suddenly, the ice in his drink isn’t the only thing cold in the room.
- He doesn’t make a scene. No, Tony Stark never needs to. Instead, he waits until you’re alone, leans in with a smirk that’s just a little too sharp, and says, “Didn’t know you had a thing for guys who wear cheap cologne.” You roll your eyes, laughing, but there’s something in his voice that makes you pause. Something raw beneath the bravado.
- Later, when you’re gone, Tony leans back against his chair, rubbing a hand down his face. Damn it. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. But now that he does, now that he’s seen what it would be like to lose your attention, he knows one thing for certain—he’s not going to let that happen again.
Steve Rogers aka. Captain America
- Steve Rogers likes to believe he’s patient. He’s fought wars, survived decades of loss, and carried burdens most men would crumble under. He’s not impulsive. Not reckless. He’s better than that. Or at least, he thought he was—until now.
- The sight of someone else standing too close to you, their voice too low, their gaze lingering just a second too long—it sparks something in him, something old and primal and dangerous. His fingers tighten around the coffee cup in his hands, his jaw locking as he forces himself to breathe.
- He knows he has no claim on you. No right to this feeling twisting inside him. But that doesn’t stop the way his chest tightens, the way his pulse kicks up in something too close to fight-or-flight. He’s fought wars, but this? This is different. This is personal.
- He doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t stake a claim—Steve isn’t the kind of man to do that. But when you finally turn away from the conversation, when your eyes meet his across the room, there’s something there—something in the way he looks at you, steady and unyielding, that makes your breath catch.
- And maybe, just maybe, you see it too. The truth of it. The confession that lingers in the space between you, unsaid but undeniable. Steve Rogers is a patient man. But even he has his limits. And when it comes to you? He won’t let someone else take what should have been his.
Thor Odinson aka. God of Thunder
- Thor Odinson does not know jealousy the way mortals do. He does not simmer in silence, does not let resentment fester like a slow-growing storm. No, when Thor feels, he feels. And right now, he feels the weight of something heavy, something possessive, something undeniable.
- He watches as another person captures your attention, as their voice fills the air where his should be. And though he does not doubt your loyalty, though he knows the strength of his own heart, something inside him rumbles. A warning. A storm brewing on the horizon.
- He does not shrink. He does not sulk. Instead, he acts. With slow, deliberate steps, he crosses the room, placing himself at your side with the ease of a warrior reclaiming his place on the battlefield. “Ah, my friend,” he says, voice rich with warmth, though his grip on his hammer is just a fraction too tight. “Are you enjoying my beloved’s company?”
- The title slips from his lips before he can stop it. Beloved. It is instinct, raw and unfiltered, and when you glance at him in surprise, he meets your gaze without hesitation. There is no retreat, no denial—only the thunderous certainty of a god who knows what is his.
- And in that moment, as realization dawns in your eyes, Thor Odinson understands—there is no turning back from this. And by the gods, he does not want to.
Loki Laufeyson aka. God of Mischief
- Loki is not a fool. He sees things others miss, reads between the lines of every conversation, every fleeting glance. He is a god of mischief, a master of deception. And yet, for all his cunning, he did not see this coming.
- He did not expect to feel the sharp sting of jealousy as someone else’s words make you smile. He did not expect the coil of irritation tightening in his chest as he watches you lean in, drawn into a conversation that is not with him. And above all, he did not expect the slow, creeping realization that follows: he cares.
- The thought unsettles him. Love, affection—these things are not meant for him. He has been cast aside too many times, burned by his own foolishness, by the cruelty of fate. And yet… here you are, undoing him with nothing but a laugh that isn’t even meant for him.
- He does not confront it, not directly. Instead, he sidles up beside you, his presence a whisper of silk and shadows, his voice a low murmur in your ear. “Surely, you do not find them that charming?” The words are laced with amusement, but his fingers twitch at his sides.
- And when you turn to him, curiosity flickering in your gaze, he holds it—holds you—longer than he should. He will not admit it. Not yet. But the seed has been planted, and gods help him, he does not know if he has the strength to pull it free.
Clint Barton aka. Hawkeye
- Clint Barton isn’t the type to take himself too seriously. Life’s too short, and his luck’s too bad for that. He rolls with the punches, cracks a joke when things get tough, keeps it light—because that’s what keeps him sane. But watching someone else flirt with you? Yeah, that’s not funny.
- He tells himself he doesn’t care. You’re not his, you don’t owe him anything, and really, it’s probably his own damn fault for never making a move. But still, there’s this tightness in his chest, a slow-burning irritation curling in his stomach, and suddenly, he’s gripping his drink a little too hard.
- He could walk away. Should walk away. But instead, he lingers at the edge of the room, watching, waiting, fingers tapping against his thigh like he’s counting down the seconds before he does something stupid. And when you laugh at something that guy says? Yeah, that’s when he snaps.
- He doesn’t make a scene. No, Clint Barton is too smooth for that. Instead, he saunters over, slides an arm around your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and grins at the guy like he’s already won. “Hey, sweetheart. Who’s your friend?” His voice is light, teasing, but there’s a sharp edge beneath it. A warning.
- And when you glance up at him, confused but not pulling away, Clint feels something settle inside him. Something warm, something right. Maybe he’s been an idiot. Maybe he’s been avoiding this for too long. But he knows one thing for damn sure—he’s not letting anyone else steal what should’ve been his all along.
Natasha Romanoff aka. Black Widow
- Natasha Romanoff is a master of control. Of reading a room, of keeping her emotions locked behind an unshakable mask. But this? This is unexpected. This burn in her chest, this sharp, cutting edge of irritation curling along her spine as she watches someone else pull you into a conversation that should be hers.
- She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t let a single crack show. But her eyes follow every movement, her fingers tapping an idle rhythm against her thigh, the only outward sign of the storm brewing beneath the surface. It’s ridiculous, really. You’re not hers. You’re free to do whatever you want. And yet…
- Yet, when you tilt your head, smiling at something they say, something inside her snaps. It’s subtle, barely there, but she moves—slipping through the crowd with effortless grace, coming to stand beside you, close enough that her presence demands attention.
- “Interesting conversation?” she asks, voice smooth as silk, but there’s something dangerous in the way she tilts her head, in the slight smirk playing at her lips. The person flirting with you hesitates, suddenly unsure, suddenly feeling like prey in the presence of a predator. And Natasha? She enjoys it.
- Later, when you’re alone, she leans in, voice softer now, more real. “You should be more careful,” she murmurs, fingers brushing yours. “Some people don’t deserve your attention.” And though she doesn’t say it outright, you hear the truth behind the words. She wants you for herself. And Natasha Romanoff always gets what she wants.
Bucky Barnes aka. The Winter Soldier
- Bucky Barnes has been through hell. He’s lost more than most, suffered in ways he doesn’t talk about, and rebuilt himself from the ground up. He knows better than to let himself get attached. But when he sees someone else standing too close to you, when he watches them steal your attention, something inside him goes cold.
- It’s not anger. Not exactly. It’s something deeper, heavier, a pressure in his chest that won’t ease no matter how hard he tries to ignore it. He doesn’t like this—this feeling of being on the outside, of watching you smile at someone who isn’t him.
- He clenches his jaw, looks away, tries to focus on something else. But then, as if the universe is testing him, he hears it—your laugh. Soft, genuine, warm. And it wrecks him. Because that laugh? It’s his favorite sound. And he doesn’t want anyone else to have it.
- He doesn’t move right away. He’s still figuring this out, still sorting through the mess of emotions he doesn’t know what to do with. But when you finally turn to him, eyes bright and unknowing, he meets your gaze and holds it. And for the first time, maybe ever, he lets the truth slip through.
- “Didn’t think I was the jealous type,” he admits, voice rough, words meant just for you. And when your lips part, surprised, he only smirks, shaking his head. “Guess I was wrong.”
Matthew Murdock aka. Daredevil
- Matt Murdock is a patient man. He has to be. He’s spent his entire life walking the razor’s edge between control and chaos, between justice and vengeance. But this? This is different. This isn’t a courtroom battle or a rooftop fight—this is you, smiling at someone else, and it is unraveling him in ways he doesn’t expect.
- He can hear everything—the steady heartbeat of the person flirting with you, the subtle shift in your tone, the way your breath catches just slightly before you laugh. It’s innocent. Harmless. And yet, his grip on his cane tightens, his jaw locks, and he hates the way his pulse betrays him.
- He’s never been good at sharing. It’s not in his nature, not when it comes to things that matter. And you? You matter. More than he’s willing to admit. More than he should ever let himself believe.
- He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t step in. But when the conversation ends, when you finally come back to him, he tilts his head and murmurs, “They seemed… interesting.” There’s a sharp edge to his voice, something unreadable behind his glasses. And when you chuckle, brushing it off, he exhales slowly, forcing himself to let it go.
- But later, when it’s just the two of you, his fingers linger when they touch yours. His voice is softer, quieter when he says, “Just—don’t let someone else take what they don’t deserve, okay?” And though he doesn’t say it outright, you understand what he means. He wants to be the only one.
Frank Castle aka. The Punisher
- Frank Castle doesn’t get jealous. At least, that’s what he tells himself. Jealousy is for men who have something to lose, for men who still believe in the kind of love that doesn’t end in blood. And Frank? He doesn’t have that luxury.
- But then he sees you—sees them, standing too close, talking too smooth, and something inside him goes black. His blood turns to fire, his muscles coil tight, and suddenly, he has to remind himself not to break something.
- He watches. Silent. Dangerous. The kind of quiet that makes lesser men nervous, that turns a warm room cold. And when your laughter rings out, light and unknowing, Frank swears he feels something crack inside him.
- He doesn’t make a move. Doesn’t say a word. But when the conversation ends, when you finally turn and meet his eyes, there’s something dark and unreadable waiting there. Something that should scare you. But it doesn’t.
- Later, in the dead of night, he exhales smoke into the silence and mutters, “Should’ve killed ‘em.” And maybe he’s joking. Maybe he’s not. But either way, Frank Castle knows one thing for sure—he’s never letting anyone else think they have a chance with you. Not while he’s still breathing.
Marc Spector aka. Moon Knight
- Marc Spector has always been a man of war. His heart is battle-worn, his soul stitched together by vengeance and duty. Love? Love is dangerous. Love makes you weak. But when he sees someone else’s hand resting just a little too long on your arm, when he watches their eyes linger on you the way only he should be allowed to—Marc feels something snap.
- It’s not a rational thing. No, it’s visceral, instinctual, an old wound torn open and bleeding jealousy into his ribs. His fingers twitch, his vision narrows, and for a brief, fleeting second, the weight of Khonshu’s will presses against his skull. Hurt them. Make them regret it.
- But then, you laugh—soft, unknowing, untouched by the storm raging inside him. And that’s what stops him. That’s what saves him. Because you don’t need his darkness. You deserve something gentler than him.
- So he stays where he is, jaw tight, fists clenched, shadows curling around his thoughts like whispers in the night. He doesn’t interfere. Not yet. But when you finally turn to him, oblivious to the war he’s fighting inside, his voice is low, rough, edged with something he doesn’t dare name.
- “Let’s go.” It’s not a request. And when you blink up at him, confused but willing, Marc exhales. You’ll never know just how close he came to losing himself for you.
Johnny Storm aka. Human Torch
- Johnny Storm doesn’t do jealousy. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself. He’s too cool for that, too charming, too damn good-looking to ever feel threatened. But the second he sees someone else trying to steal your attention, the easy confidence he’s built around himself starts to flicker.
- He keeps it casual at first—leans against the bar, crosses his arms, smirks like he’s just so amused by whatever’s happening. But beneath that cocky grin, his fingers tighten against the glass in his hand, and the tips of his ears burn hot.
- He tries to laugh it off. Makes a joke at your expense, something playful, something light. But when you don’t immediately turn back to him, when you keep talking to them, the flames inside him rise, licking at the edges of his restraint.
- “Okay, that’s cute,” he finally mutters, before striding over and slinging an arm around your shoulders with deliberate ease. His smile is bright, a little too sharp, as he looks the other person up and down. “You make friends fast, huh?”
- He plays it off well. Too well. But later, when you’re alone, he mutters, almost to himself, “Y’know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to kill me.” And when you laugh, shaking your head, he exhales. Yeah, he’s in trouble. Big trouble.
Reed Richards aka. Mister Fantastic
- Reed Richards has spent his life solving impossible equations, unraveling the mysteries of the universe, conquering the unknown with nothing but his mind. But this? This is a problem he doesn’t know how to fix.
- He sees you—sees them—standing too close, exchanging words he can’t quite hear over the noise of the room. Logic tells him he has no reason to react. You are not a variable in an equation he controls. And yet, the sharp sting of possessiveness coils in his chest, irrational and unrelenting.
- He tells himself to let it go. There is no scientific basis for jealousy. It is an emotional impulse, a flaw in human reasoning. And yet, his fingers tighten around the pen in his hand, his mind fracturing into a thousand calculations, each one ending in the same conclusion:
- He does not want to lose you.
- Later, when he finally speaks, it’s careful, measured, spoken in that calm, analytical tone that betrays nothing. “You seemed… engaged in that conversation.” It’s not an accusation, not quite, but when you tilt your head at him, curious, he wonders if maybe, just maybe, he’s already lost the upper hand.
Felicia Hardy aka. Black Cat
- Felicia Hardy doesn’t do jealousy. She’s far too confident, far too aware of her own power, to feel threatened by someone else’s presence in your orbit. And yet, when she sees them flirting with you—sees their hand brushing your arm, sees your lips curve at whatever they said—she feels something sharp and territorial curl inside her.
- She doesn’t react immediately. No, Felicia Hardy is far too strategic for that. Instead, she watches, waits, lets them think they have a chance. And then, just when they start to relax, she makes her move.
- “Mind if I cut in?” Her voice is silk, smooth and effortless, her fingers trailing along your arm as she steps between you and the intruder. She doesn’t even have to look at them to know they’ve already lost.
- She leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, her voice dropping to something only you can hear. “Careful, kitten. You don’t want to get tangled up with the wrong person.” And when you shiver—when you look at her the way she wants you to—she knows she’s won.
- Later, as you walk together, she smirks, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You should be more careful who you flirt with.” And when you laugh, shaking your head, she only grins wider. You were always going to be hers.
Stephen Strange aka. Doctor Strange
- Stephen Strange has never been the kind of man to fear losing something. He has conquered the impossible, rewritten fate, bent the very fabric of reality to his will. And yet, when he sees you with them—sees you laugh, sees you lean in—he feels something disturbingly close to fear.
- He tells himself it’s illogical. That he has no claim to you, that what you do is none of his concern. But the words taste hollow in his mouth, and the air around him hums with restrained magic, with emotions he refuses to name.
- He doesn’t intervene—not at first. No, Stephen Strange is not a man of petty impulses. But when the conversation lingers too long, when he sees them touch your arm, he exhales sharply and moves.
- “I wasn’t aware we were entertaining guests.” His voice is even, his expression unreadable, but there is something unmistakably sharp in his gaze as he steps beside you. The other person stiffens. Good.
- Later, when you question him about it, he only lifts a brow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But the way his fingers graze your wrist, the way his magic lingers against your skin? It tells a different story. One he isn’t ready to say aloud. Not yet.
Namor aka. The Sub-Mariner
- Namor is a king. A warrior. A god among men. He has no reason to feel jealousy, no reason to regard anyone as his competition. And yet, when he sees another lingering too close, their gaze trailing over you with something unearned, his blood boils.
- He watches, expression composed but dangerous, as they speak to you, as they dare to bask in your presence. Do they think they are worthy? Do they believe, for even a moment, that they can take what Namor has already claimed in his heart?
- He does not interrupt—not immediately. No, Namor is patient, calculating. He waits for the perfect moment, stepping forward with regal, effortless confidence, his presence alone enough to command attention. His fingers brush your arm, a deliberate, possessive motion. “My dear, surely you do not waste your time with this one?”
- His voice is smooth, edged with something sharp. The poor fool who thought they had a chance swallows hard, sensing the shift in the air. Namor does not need to fight for you. He simply reclaims what is his.
- Later, when you tease him about it, his only response is a slow, knowing smirk. “You belong at my side, and my side alone.” And when you see the certainty in his gaze, you realize—he’s not asking. He’s declaring.
Johnny Blaze aka. Ghost Rider
- Johnny Blaze has never been a man of peace. His soul is battle-worn, haunted by fire and vengeance. But nothing—nothing—burns quite like the sight of someone else trying to steal your attention.
- His jaw tightens, his grip on the edge of the bar going white-knuckled as he watches. He tells himself to let it go. He’s not the type to get jealous, right? But the Rider in his chest—the monster wrapped in fire and bone—growls in warning.
- He doesn’t make a scene. He doesn’t say a word. Instead, he moves, slow and deliberate, stepping into the conversation like he was always meant to be there. His presence alone is enough to shift the atmosphere—dangerous, electric.
- He doesn’t glare, doesn’t threaten, but when his dark, firelit gaze locks onto the poor bastard who thought they had a chance, the message is clear. Back off. Now. And they do. Because everyone does, eventually.
- Later, when you ask if he was jealous, he scoffs, looking away. “Jealous? Nah. Just didn’t like their face.” But the way his hand lingers on your hip, the way his body hums with unspoken possession? Yeah, he’s a terrible liar.
Eddie Brock & Venom aka. Venom
- Eddie Brock knows jealousy. It’s been his constant companion—festering, clawing at his insides long before the symbiote ever took root in his veins. But this—seeing you smile at someone else, seeing their eyes linger on you—it’s a different kind of ache.
- “We do not like this.” The voice slithers through his mind, low and possessive, the symbiote pressing against his ribs like it wants out. Eddie grits his teeth, his fingers flexing as he tries to shove down the urge to tear something apart.
- He tells himself it’s fine. You’re not his. Not really. But when that idiot reaches out—when their hand dares to brush against you—Venom surges forward before he can stop it. A dark, twisted growl bubbles from his throat, something inhuman.
- The poor bastard nearly jumps out of their skin. “What the hell was that?” they mutter, backing away as a shadow flickers over Eddie’s eyes. And when you glance at him, brow furrowed, he exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders. “Dunno. Must be the wind.”
- Later, when Venom whispers, “We should eat them,” Eddie just mutters, “No, we shouldn’t.” But as you walk beside him, unaware of the war raging inside him, he wonders—what would it take for you to see that you’re already his?
T’Challa aka. Black Panther
- T’Challa is not a man ruled by petty emotions. He has been raised in the art of restraint, taught that a king must always remain in control. But when he sees another vying for your attention, when he watches their hand hover too close—his restraint is tested.
- He does not react immediately. No, he simply observes, his expression unreadable, his mind already three steps ahead. There is no need for outbursts, no need for crude displays of possession. T’Challa wins wars with patience and precision.
- And so, when the moment is right, he moves—effortless, calculated, undeniable. His voice is smooth as he steps into your space, his hand settling gently at the small of your back. “Forgive my interruption,” he says, gaze flickering to the would-be suitor, voice full of quiet authority. “But I believe I was promised this dance.”
- The other person falters, unsure, outmatched in a game they did not even realize they were playing. T’Challa does not need to fight for you. He simply reminds the world who he is.
- Later, when you tease him about it, his lips curve into something soft, something secret. “You are… precious to me.” And though he does not say more, the look in his eyes is enough. You are not just a passing fancy. You are a queen, and he will not let anyone take you from him.
Elektra Natchios aka. Elektra
- Elektra is not jealous. Jealousy is for the weak, for the foolish, for those who lack the confidence to take what they want. But when she sees them—sees you—laughing at something someone else said, her knives feel heavier at her hips.
- She does not make a scene. No, Elektra is far too skilled in the art of subtlety for that. Instead, she watches, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Not with violence—not yet.
- When she finally moves, it’s with all the grace of a predator circling its prey. She doesn’t touch you, not immediately, but she steps into your space like she belongs there. And when she finally speaks, it’s a soft, amused purr—“Surely you don’t find them interesting?”
- Her hand traces your wrist, feather-light, but the weight of it is undeniable. She doesn’t even look at the other person. They don’t matter. They never did.
- Later, when you tell her she was jealous, she only smiles, slow and dangerous. “Jealous? No. But if they touch you again, I’ll consider sharpening my blades.” And something about the way she says it makes you wonder—was she joking?
This was written because I had the mental image of Peter being clingy post Brand new day, so here we go. Spoiler warning ig.
I'm still in a lot of pain with my foot, and now my manager has been on my neck about having to call off, so I'm ignoring it all to think about spiderman instead.
Now, post Brand new day, Peter feels more like himself than he’s felt in a very long time.
There's a lot of new things he needs to accept about himself and work on, a lot of new urges and wants, and senses even higher than before.
The most notable is the extremely high senses, or his ability to produce his own webs. But there’s also smaller things, like Peter feeling comfortable in hidden away crevices, or how he eats a lot more.
There's also new urges when it comes to you, his partner. Peter’s always been a very physical person, but it reaches new highs.
You can be standing in the kitchen, warming up a hot pocket, and Peter saddles up behind you and wraps himself around you, arms around your middle and face tucked into your neck.
It's pretty cute, but it can be a lot sometimes, especially when he doesn’t want to let go. And it’s not like you can push him off unless you have strength equal to his own.
He gets into a bit of a zone when he gets to cling to you, rubbing his face back and forth, from side to side, nipping at your neck and shoulder, fingers kneading at your torso.
It's not even anything sensual, it more so comes across as a comfort thing, like Peter is feeling so relaxed and safe with you that all his suppressed urges just come to the surface.
But well, it does get a bit annoying when Peter gets extra bitey. You can tell it’s not even on purpose sometimes.
You can be in bed, lying on your stomach and scrolling your phone, when Peter clambers up the bed and pretty much sits on your hips so he can nuzzle and bite at the back of your neck.
And sure, it’s pretty hot to be held down by a hot hunk like your boyfriend, but jeez, the hickeys and bites he leaves.
You still think he’s got some kind of venom in those teeth, because those hickeys last way too long sometimes. Peter claims he doesn’t, but you doubt it.
Its reached a point where wearing high collared shirts and scarves has become part of your daily fashion, even when our dear spidery lover pouts about it, because he preens like a proud peacock when he gets to look at all the marks he left behind.
He's always been a cuddlebug, but the heightened spider DNA, and everything else, has made him so much worse. At times you think he’s trying to crawl inside your skin. He would if he could, that much is clear.
Other spidery things that have come to the surface. Had you guys not been paying attention, a lot of it would have been dismissed as just small quirks.
And well, maybe you notice it more than Peter does. Like for example, Peter has started tapping his fingers and feet, a lot, especially when he’s getting excited, both happy and other kinds of excited.
If you do any kind of fighting, then Peter’s gotten notable more interested. He's always found you hot, but nowadays you can catch him just watching, eyes wide, pupils blown, fingers twitching and tapping.
If you find some way to throw him on his back and pin him down, Peter may just cry because “holy fuck you’re so hot, iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou-”. It's cute how needy he gets.
The amount of gifts kick up a notch, especially if you two have had an argument, or have been apart for longer periods of time. It's anything from a fancy leaf he found swinging through New York, to your favorite to-go drink, or even a pretty bracelet.
You add how he puffs up all proud and confident, when you wear and enjoy his gifts, to the ‘spidery acts’ list.
He's always loved any gifts you gave him in the past, but almost dying and whatever changes have been made to his DNA has made Peter more appreciative.
You swear he sometimes purrs when you bring him things, especially food.
There are days when Peter is more... Spider than Peter. On these days he won’t speak much, or even cuddle or cling to you. He just tends to hover, his eyes fully black and barely blinking.
It's kinda like having a cat, the kind that wants to be in your presence but not to acknowledged or touched. Well, until you go and put on some of his clothes or gifts, or both, and you make yourself nice and vulnerable.
Aka, flopping down on your front, maybe wagging your hips a bit, making yourself very vulnerable-looking, so your spider can feel safe in joining you.
Cuz yeah, you did read into spiders, it makes sense, you think. A lot of male spiders are killed by their partners, so... well, whatever works.
His hands always feel, not sticky like glue, but sticky in a different way, as he rubs up and down your back. You don’t need to look to feel how he’s just silently staring.
He always bites harder when he’s like this. Never enough to leave scars, but he’s made you bleed a few times. Poor Peter always feels horrible, even when you tell him it’s hot.
When he’s like this, you’ve also figured out he likes a ‘nest’ as you call it. Aka, piling a lot of blankets on the bed, or even making a blanket fort so he can huddle up around you, nuzzling against your neck until the skin gets raw.
All in all, you don’t mind too much, you never did, you’re just happy Peter is feeling more comfortable in his own skin. And well, it’s pretty hot, so who are you to complain.
Yandere Family Man!Scott Summers and a scenario of how he becomes yandere.
Feel free to use this as you want i've been in on hiatus on my blog + lack of modivation and time to write.
Scott Summers whos just a normal guy, not obsessive or yandere, just a little overebaring becuase thats just who scott is. Its not his fault
Scott Summers who gets sent on a undercover mission as a family man. Subrabn home, white picket fence, couple kids, the dog. You name it.
Scott Summers whos feels like he is out of his element not being the leader of his team for such a long extended period of time.Honestly if you ask me he more in his element as a white suburabn dad
Scott Summers who get set up with his new host family. His new family are fellow mutants.He gets a spouse, 3 kids, and maybe a cat or dog.
Scott Summers who is adjusting to this new sensce or normalcy. For the first time he's living a life he's never really had, a live he could only ever dream of
Scott Summers whos a coach on his off time for his "kids" little league. Baseaball am i right.
Scott Summers who goes home every day from work to find his spouse making dinner and his "kids" rushing him at the door.
Scott Summers who finds himself helping the oldest kid pratice their mutant powers in the secrecy of the backyard. The same backyard where him and his "kid" pratice throws.
Scott Summers who now expects his morning kiss before he leaves for work and wating what they wrote in his luchbox that day.
Scott Summers who for the first time in his life feels at piece, true otherworldly piece. Then they come for him......
Scott Summers who feels his heart break when the X-Men come to get him when the mission is done. Is it really over Scott thinks, has so much time really pased.
Scott Summers who feels so much rage, pain, and greif over the loss of his fake family....... no real family, they are his family, thats his spouse, thats his kids.
Scott Summers who finaly snaps after years of being the soilder, of havning to sacrifice, and never getting to have anything to keep anything of his own
Yandere!Scott Summers who's having deja vu all over again. He feels like he's losing madelyne and nathan all over again.
Yandere!Scott Summers who decides he has to get his family back, their his kids he raised them, he provided for them. No matter the cost he says...
For anyone that doesn't know what a junk journal is,this was my old junk journal (I lost it a while ago and started a new one).
Basically it's a journal that you can draw,decorate or write in. I used it as both a diary and a sketchbook and made a lot of interactive drawings,I put stickers in it,used old garbage to decorate the pages... basically you just do whatever feels right and it's really cool and fun. To honor its dissapearance,I thought I might do some headcanons of some Avengers man with a boyfriend who uses his junk journal for everything (yes,I used mine sometimes for notes too. It looked like a unicorn's fever dream,ngl),including world-ending data. I just found the thought funny and I wanted to write something other than just slashers. Enjoy lol.
Tony Stark
This gif made me laugh idk why lol.
You and Tony have been in a relationship for many years now,you two are happy and love eachoter a lot.
However he still side-eyes you everytime you pull out your junk journal.
First of all,where the fuck were you keeping that?! That shit did not fit in your pocket. Did you just pull it out of thin air or something?! He got used to it,at least to some degree,over the years. Kinda. Still tries to understand where the fuck you keep that at.
Second of all,did you just write the datas to his newest suit next to a cat doodle and an old candy wrapper's design? Don't you think it should be noted somewhere more...clean? Empty? Normal? No? Oh alright,whatever. He's seen you do weirder shit.
Will give you whatever he thinks you might wanna add to it. He saw a bunch of stickers in a shop while walking that you might like? He's buying all of them. He saw some sweet with very cool logos on the wrappers? He buys them. He has a very thin piece of scrap metal with a cool color? He keeps it in his pocket until he sees you. He might find your habit a bit weird,but if it makes you smile,then he loves and supports it.
If he's really bored or burnt out,he'll go trought it. He likes seeing all the work you put in this little (chunky) book. He will be particularly happy if he sees any drawings of him or his suit,or whenever he spots something he gifted you. Awwwww,so you do like his gifts...
If you tell him to not do that thought,he'll respect that. At the start of your relationship,he didn't want you in his laboratory without his permission and you respected that diligently,of course he's gonna respect any boundary you set,too. Especially if you seem really serious about it. It's your book,your rules after all. Don't get me wrong,he will be curios af,but he respects you too much to betray your trust.
He still finds it weird how you prefer being given some art supplies and stickers over expensive gifts. You had more of a reaction when he brought you some metal from his suit he had flattened for your junk journal than when he gifted you a brand new sport car. You say you like the thought behind it,and he doesn't mind. He's just happy to make you happy. He's still gonna buy you unnecessarily expensive gifts thought,no arguing on that.
Bruce Banner
He doesn't understand how you can navigate trought all that. He's way more on the organized side,so seeing you take notes about some super complicated,important topic swirling your writing around a colorful piece of patterned fabric really confuses him. Also because you put no bookmark where you write it,but you always find the exact pages as soon as he asks for the information. How do you do that?!
Also kinda confused on how you bring that around everywhere. You have no purse or bag or backpack on you,pants and shirt with no pockets and free hands,he turns around for half a second and when he looks back at you you're doodling on the chunky book. Where did that come from?!
He absentmindely hands you things he doesn't need but you might like,an sometimes accidentally hands you actually important things. You have like,three microscope slides with important classified material glued in there,and he's too embarassed to ask for them back. Oh well,guess he's gonna have to look for new ones...
Despite not really understanding it,he doesn't mind at all. It doesn't interfere with your efficiency and you like it,so he doesn't see any problems with it. Often bring you small things he hopes you'll like,and he'll be very proud if you actually put them in the journal
Peter Parker
He likes your journal a lot,he thinks it's a nice,cute habit of yours. Constantly bringing you things for you to glue on it,he even sometimes makes small drawings for it. I can also totally see him picking flowers and pressing them in books so when he gives them to you,they're already ready to be glued.
He has no idea how you navigate trought all of that thought. One time,he tried. You told him your school notes were somewhere in the last pages and he spent an hour trying (and failing) to find them. Then you came,turned a few pages and boom! Here they were,right above a dry dandelion he had gifted you a few days ago.
He's always so surprised when you pull it seemingly out of thin air. Like,bro,where were you keeping that at?! What the hell?! He laughs everytime out of surprise. He genuinely finds it adorable lol.
He loves to go trought it with you and hearing stories about where or why you got specific things you have there,and he will help you do pages if you let him!
Be careful,he might suggest a spiderman themed one...
You two end up doing it for shit and giggles,and now it's one of your favourites
Such a sweetheart
Just something silly,now it's 7:12 a.m. and I'm going to sleep,goodnight guys!!!!!!
Being in a relationship with Zemo would look like:
The man spoils you, to the point it's kinda suffocating. Considering this man is rich you can expect extravagant gifts on birthdays, anniversaries, and whenever he sees something and thinks of you. It doesn't have to be an occasion for Zemo to spend his bottomless pit of coin on you.
Date night involving a dinner doesn't exactly mean you guys have to go out. This man can cook. He'll present you with the most gourmet meal you've ever seen, paired with a wine likely the cost of your life insurance plan, with candles lit and music flowing from the record player. "You've out done yourself once again, Helmut. It seems like I'm saying that every time we have dinner." "Well, darling, I only ensure the best for my love."
Zemo has several homes throughout the damn planet, so if you're ever feeling a change of scenery all you have to do is pick where you want to go. Paris, England, Rio, Sydney, Moscow, Los Angeles, Morocco, etc. You name it, Zemo has property there. You'll stay for weeks, maybe months, and sometimes if you like one more than the others, you'll live there for a few years and then move when the time feels right.....or when Zemo breaks the law again and now, you're on the run.
You're the type of couple people stop and stare at. Zemo wouldn't consider himself a fashionista, but he likes to dress nice for any occasion--even grocery shopping--and that rubbed off on you. Often you'll be walking down the street and notice in your peripheral vision people pointing you out to their friends and admiring you guys from afar. "People are staring again." "Of course they are. They cannot believe they are seeing a living God/Goddess among them."
If you have animals, it'll probably be a cat. Zemo gives off cat energy more so than dog and he'd be the type of cat person who says he dislike cats but then falls in love with one and it changes his perspective. How came to have cat likely was you feeding the neighborhood stray and taking it in, ignoring Zemo's refusal but then you catch him putting tuna on a plate and bringing home flea medicine.
Your house is covered in artwork because Zemo is a collector. There's not a single wall that is not straight out of a museum. Monet's, Picasso's, etc. Paintings and sculptures. If you ever wanted to make an exhibit in your house and have people pay to see it, you could for sure do it.
When you have movie nights, it's basically you two analyzing every single detail and having a full-on discussion rather than watching the film. Especially if it's movies you've already seen and are rewatching. Zemo can't shut up, and you shove popcorn in your mouth while he vents about how stupid the main character was or how plot lacked consistency. If Zemo really liked a film, he'll actually shut up because he doesn't have anything to say.
His love languages are acts of service and quality time. And you can add gifts into the mix because he loves to give you gifts.
You two play chess a lot--It's one of the ways you have quality time together. Zemo is a master at chess and while you were weak in the beginning you quickly became a master yourself and now you two have matches lasting hours.
Zemo has a photo album dedicated to you of all your dates and trips or special moments you shared. All taken on a film camera because while he does have hundreds of pictures of you on his phone, there's something personal and intimidate in capturing the beauty of you on film.
You have matching jewelry you both wear and hardly ever take off. If you're married, of course you have the rings but even then, you both have matching bracelets or necklaces. It's probably got your names or initials engraved or has your birthstones.
