[Image ID: Tweet from John Brown (@/ Debs_Kropotkin) reading: Do you ever get overwhelmed by how our real world is a genuine dystopian nightmare but everyone just keeps acting like it's normal /End ID]

The person I reblogged this from deserves to be happy

I tried to scroll past this. I really did

Ok now that the boops are gone and i can be grumpy again

"yeah the boops are fun but don't let them distract you from--" PLEASE let them distract you. Please take one goddamn day off from thinking about the world's problems. And if you can't figure out how to do that, for the love of god don't insist that everyone else be stuck in "I'm not allowed to be happy about anything ever" hell with you

If you insist that everyone be focusing on "the problems" at all times that is at best performative and at worst actively harmful to the cause you're trying to support. Taking real action uses up energy, often times a LOT of it. Insisting that no one ever takes a break means insisting that no one ever take time to rest and begin to gather more energy for another actual action. Being "on" all the time isn't your duty, it's an impossibility.

Take a fucking break. And remind everyone that they need to take breaks too.

you have to stay alive. you're going to be such a beautiful middle aged freak. young freaks will see you in the street and know that things can be okay.

and if you turn to ur left you’ll see the emos

is that my chemical romance?

OH MY GOD not every group of emos is my chemical romance stfu tumblr

but it actually is my chemical romance

this is the funniest fuckibg thing I’ve ever seen

I’ve…. seen this everywhere except on Tumblr itself. It’s the blessed post.

I reblog this everytime it comes on my dash and I’m unashamed

date of origin: january 22, 2014.

Almost 10 years

World heritage post.

10 years

If you see this on your dashboard, reblog this, NO MATTER WHAT and all your dreams and wishes will come true.

"Because I love you."

A/N - Guys I'm really into these sappy pieces recently. Pls feel free to send requests for something else if inspired. Also, I might be doing a pt.3 to Teach Me at some point, I just have to pick where the story is going.

Summary - A showdown with an unsub leaves you in the hospital. Spencer can't help but feel guilty. Could almost losing you push him to confess his love? (spoilers: yes it does)

Warnings - spencer x reader, BAU level violence, some angst on Spencer's part, fluff, and a love confession

You stared down at your hands, battered and bloodied from your futile attempts to fight back. Caught off guard during an interview with a man who was only supposed to be an eye witness,  not the unsub himself, forced you to fight for your life. By the time the neighbors heard the scuffle and called the local police to come to your rescue, you figured you looked like you’d been through seven rounds of an MMA fight. Your head ached, your eye was swollen shut, and you nearly cried in agony with every breath as you were certain you’d broken a rib. 

After a tense standoff with the local police, the unsub was in custody, leaving you on the floor with your many wounds. You managed to stand yourself up and walk out the door to the waiting ambulance, only to collapse into the EMT’s arms. You felt yourself being loaded in the back of the vehicle as they started an IV. As consciousness drifted away from you, you couldn’t help but wonder where your team was. 

You awoke in the hospital to the steady sound of your heart monitor beeping and muffled conversation from outside your room. Your bloodied clothes had been traded in for a hospital gown at some point, and your midsection was bound tightly with some sort of bandages, you assumed to keep your rib in place. You managed to open your good eye in an attempt to find the source of those muffled voices. Your eyes landed on Emily and JJ speaking in the corner of the room, voices hushed. 

“He can’t blame himself. None of us saw this coming,” Emily said, her voice stern but laced with concern. 

JJ shook her head. “He feels terrible, Emily. I’ve seen him come in and out of here crying three times in the last two hours. He rarely cries.” 

Who could they be talking about?

Emily looked at the floor in silence, trying to formulate a reply. JJ cleared her voice to speak again. “They’re partners, Emily,” JJ said, “Of course he’s going to blame himself.” 

Spencer. 

Deciding you’d had enough of eavesdropping, you did your best to sit up, only to let out a whimper when a sharp pain pierced your side. JJ and Emily turned to face you, surprised looks on both their faces. 

“Hey, just lay back,” JJ encouraged. She rushed to the bedside, placing a soothing hand on your arm.

“How long have I been asleep?” you asked. 

Emily shook her head, “Only twelve hours, which isn’t very much considering what you’ve been through. I’ll tell the doctors you need another IV and some pain medication.”

As she turned for the door, you shook your head, “Emily, wait.”

Emily turned to face you, coming to stand at the foot of your bed. “What is it?”

“Where’s Spencer?” you asked. Emily looked to JJ, the two of them sharing a knowing glance. You and Spencer had always been close, as partners and friends. 

“He’s been going back and forth between pacing the parking lot and the lobby for hours. I can’t imagine how many steps he’s taken,” Emily joked. “I’ll go get him for you.” With that, she turned and left the room, leaving you and JJ to catch up on what you’d missed in the last few hours. 

JJ explained what happened after you’d passed out: how the unsub was in custody, finding another victim in his basement, and the team realizing that they’d sent you out to interview the lunatic on your own. “We just thought he was going to give you some information about the case. We had no reason to think that he was the one who-”

You shook your head, holding up a hand to stop her. “I didn’t think so either. It’s why I agreed to go alone. Nobody’s at fault.” 

JJ nodded, a solemn look on her face. “I’m just so glad you’re okay. We were all so worried once we connected the dots. I was telling Emily - I haven’t seen Spencer so stressed in years.” 

As if on cue, both you and JJ turned to the sound of rushed footsteps coming down the hallway. Spencer’s tall frame was running (no, sprinting) down the hospital corridor. You felt a small smile tug at the corner of your lips as he burst into the room, hair danging in front of his eyes and clearly out of breath. 

He approached your bedside, leaning down so he could be face-to-face with you. You could only see him with one good eye, but you did your best to smile to show him that you were doing alright. You brought a hand to his face, pushing the fallen strands of hair out of his eyes so you could see him more clearly. “Hello to you too,” you joked. 

“Y/N-” Spencer started, the tears quickly gathering in his eyes, “I’m so sorry. I should’ve gone with you. I should have known that-” 

“That the guy who called into the tipline was actually the unsub? Spencer, be logical. None of us knew. I was just telling JJ, nobody is at fault.”

A single tear fell down his cheek as he examined your injuries. With each scratch and bruise he found, he felt another crack forming in his heart. He hadn’t protected you. Wasn’t that what he was supposed to do? He was your partner. Your best friend. He loved you, that he knew. He’d forced that love to be as platonic as he could make it, trying to avoid ruining your perfect friendship. It was moments like this that made that more difficult than ever, as he tried to reckon with his love and his guilt. 

Your bruised hand was still cradling his face. He could feel the bandages against his stubble, and he cursed himself again. It was only then that the other presence in the room became known to him. JJ stood on the other side of the bed, another knowing smile gently painting her lips. Spencer knew what he had to do. JJ knew what Spencer had to do. He looked at her, his eyes subtly asking her to leave the two of you alone. JJ took the hint with a small nod, leaving the room without another word as you and Spencer continued to examine each other. 

“So, JJ’s filled me in on what I missed,” I said, breaking the silence. “Sounds like a pretty exciting half day,” I joked. 

Spencer shook his head, pulling away from your hand. He didn’t go far, though, intertwining his own with yours as he leaned back from the bed. “I was worried sick,” he said. 

“I can tell, Spence,” you said, trying to prop yourself up with your pillow. “You really shouldn’t have been. You know I always come out of these things relatively unscathed.” He raised an eyebrow at your statement, taking in your swollen and bruised features. “Well… maybe not unscathed. Alive, at least,” you quipped. 

An eerie silence fell over the room. You could feel the tension increase as the gears turned in his head.

“But what if you don’t someday?” he whispered, his voice far away. You looked over at him, his eyes fixed on your heart monitor and the gentle green lines rising and falling accompanied by the signature beep-beep-beeping. 

You squeezed his hand in an attempt to bring him back down to Earth. “I’ll always come back, Spencer. It’s what you and I do. We come back alive for each other.” 

The tears that had pooled in his eyes earlier spilled over his cheeks as he let out a small whimper. He leaned down, gently wrapping his arms around you as he wept. “Hey, it’s okay Spencer,” you tried to calm him. 

“No, it’s not. It-it’s not because,” he trailed off. You could still feel his shoulders shaking as he cried. 

“Why, Spencer?” you asked once more. “Please, you can tell me anything.” 

Suddenly his sobs slowed. He pulled back from your embrace, taking in your features. Bruised and battered as you were, you were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. He felt like his heart was going to explode. Before his brain could catch up with his mouth, the words came tumbling out. “Because I love you,” he said simply. 

Your jaw dropped open at his words. While you should’ve seen this coming, nothing could prepare you for the way your heart jumped. If it wasn’t evident from the expression on your face, the heart monitor picked up its beeping, nearly doubling its pace. The sound wasn’t lost on Spencer, who frantically looked at the screen.

“Oh no,” he mumbled, quickly walking to the monitor. “Did I upset you? I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’ve just felt this way for so long and if I keep pretending like I don’t-”

“Spencer,” you cut him off, his eyes meeting yours for the first time in minutes. “I love you too.” 

The look on his face was priceless, and you wished you could have taken a picture, but you did your best to engrave it on your brain forever. His brown, teary eyes brightened in a moment, a glimmer of hope shining from within. “You do?” he asked. 

You laughed, allowing your head to fall back on the pillow behind you. “Spencer, I volunteer to work with you during nearly every case. We split a room every week. I only wished that you’d said this sooner so we could’ve split the bed, too.”

He stared at you in shock. The tears in his eyes long forgotten as a smile crept on his face.

A soft laugh left his mouth as he leaned down to you once more, placing a soft kiss on your forehead, careful to avoid any injured area. “Well, I promise that next time we can,” he said. “And,” he started once more, “I’m never letting you go anywhere by yourself again.”

You smiled up at him, running your fingers over his own. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

that should be me ✧ s.r.

spencer reid x fem!reader

[2.0k] summary: on a night out with the team, you find yourself bothered by spencer's newfound female attention

The bar was buzzing with loud music overhead and conversations between strangers. The lights were dim, casting a warm ambiance around the room as people ordered drinks, danced, and chatted with those around them. You scratched at the label on your beer bottle with your thumb as you looked around, eyes flitting from person to person, searching. You sat at a table over in the corner with Emily and Penelope, waiting for Spencer and Derek to return with the next round of drinks.

“Where the hell are Reid and Morgan?”

You glanced over at Emily, shrugging your shoulders, taking the last swig of your beer. They’ve been gone for almost thirty minutes. Your eyes scanned the bar again, searching for the familiar duo.

“Oh, I think I see them,” Penelope said, pointing toward the other end of the bar.

You shifted your gaze in the direction of her finger and felt your breath catch in your throat. Indeed, there they were. With two girls. Two very pretty girls.

“I am not surprised in the slightest,” Emily commented, shaking her head.

Keying/graffiti-ing someones car is old news now if someone cheats we go at their wardrobe with a seam ripper

yknow what? Fuck you *unstitches all your shirts and jeans*

My mother did this to my father once. They got into an argument, my very pregnant and hormonal mother stormed off…except they lived in a tiny apartment so the only place to go was to shut herself into the closet for a good long sulk. And while she was sitting in there, fuming, she looked up and saw her sewing kit on the shelf, and all my father’s uniforms hanging right there.

So she picked one shirt and one pair of trousers, carefully, methodically ripped every third stitch out of every seam, and then hung them back up together so that he would be likely to pick them at the same time. This took her a couple hours, so by the time she was done, the anger had worn down. She came out, she and my father had a talk that ended in apologies, after which they were tired and went to bed. My mother swears up and down that she meant to warn my father about the sabotaged clothes in the morning, but he wore a different uniform set and they were both still feeling a little raw, so she didn’t want to bring up the fight again. She decided to tell him that night instead.

And then she forgot.

Anyway, about four days later, my father apparently came home roughly an hour after he left for work, his clothes slowly, gently shredding off his body, the most bewildered expression on his face. “Paula,” he said, his voice mildly shell-shocked. “Paula, my clothes are broken.”

My mother promptly burst out laughing so hard that she went into labor. And that’s the story of my birth, heralded by petty vengeance and utter confusion.

GUYS IT’S THE POST

THIS POST THIS POST OMG

“ cuddle bugs. ,,

(( REQUEST PART FOUR )).

mcu!peter parker x reader.

IN WHICH — you fell asleep on your best friend’s shoulder during movie night and now things aren’t going the way you anticipating. how far will things go before one of you confess your feelings?

!!! read part one | two | three here. !!!

✨masterlist✨.

3.2k.

Peter found it quite amusing how every single trip to the compound kitchen somehow involved Sam Wilson. He wasn’t sure how or why, but perhaps, Sam had been planning this strategically. Every time he went to grab a snack, or make a cup of cocoa, Sam happened to beat him there and lurk in the corner. He also happened to make it his goal to tease him about his feelings for you.

“You going to the holiday party tomorrow night?” Sam asked, a smirk coating his lips. “I heard there’s gonna be mistletoe.” His eyebrows wiggled as he went to sip from his drink. “You should take Y/N and go find it.”

Just the idea of kissing you made Peter’s legs turn to jelly. He’d tried to picture what such an intimate moment would be like with you, but he couldn’t fathom it. He especially couldn’t fathom it when he had to try and picture the rest of the team there, watching. Peter knew he had to make the moment extra special, and if the team was there ogling you both, that would make things extra awkward.

Taking a deep breath, Peter sighed to try and tame how big his grin had gotten. “I’m not gonna do that. I can’t.” He saw the way Sam’s eyes widened a bit, and Peter figured that it was because he’d gotten confused. “I just don’t want..” Peter trailed off, wanting to find a way to explain without getting extra cheesy. He wasn’t sure why Sam wasn’t holding eye contact anymore, leering behind Peter’s shoulder, or why he looked so shocked, but Peter knew he needed to find his words sooner than later.

“You don’t want to kiss me?”

Fuck.

Cold. Everything ran cold with panic. Panic and regret and sadness and desperation to fix this. Peter turned on his heels, meeting your eyes in the state they were; in a state he hadn’t been exposed to. You were hurt, and he could tell. What was so painful for Peter to realize was that he could read that you weren’t just hurt by his words, you were hurt by him and his actions. It sliced at his heart in a way that he didn’t think was possible. He couldn’t tell if the sound of shattered glass came from your heart, or his.

“Y/N, I–”

It absolutely crushed him to see you take distance when he got closer. Peter knew he didn’t set up his point well, but he hated that he couldn’t explain it to you. He hated every second that he couldn’t spend giving you the security that you needed.

“No, no. It’s fine.” You seemed to understand it. Or, you tried to make it seem like you got it. Like it registered the way he wanted it to, but it didn’t. It could never. Peter felt like the scum of the earth; unforgivable, and douchey unlike any other. He felt every single hurting syllable when you said: “But you don’t have to make kissing your best friend sound like such a chore.”

Your tone of voice when you snapped at him was almost as haunting as the sight of you walking away so quickly. Peter wanted nothing more than to rush after you and explain everything, but he also wanted to respect your boundaries. Luckily, Sam rushed after you so that he didn’t have to.

He turned back to face Peter, “Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan.” And that was all he needed to say to give Peter some peace of mind. At least, a little peace of mind.

Peter didn’t know that Sam’s plan was to dupe him into a partnered stakeout with you. He didn’t know that the two of you would be stuck, in a car, alone, for hours. He didn’t know that it was an actual mission. A serious, dangerous, very important mission; and Peter had no idea that Sam and Bucky fully went out of their way to be your guys' backup for the stakeout if it started escalating.

Yet, there you were: alone, in a car, Peter in the driver’s seat, and you riding shotgun. The Prius was parked on a street corner, just as Peter was instructed to leave it by Fury himself. It had already been two hours. Two hours had gone by, and neither of you had spoken a word to the other. Silent, in superhero suits, listening to the wind rattling the windows and the car occasionally click and hum in the quiet.

It was awful.

It was the third longest period of radio silence between the two of you, right next to when you had laryngitis in the fifth grade and when you avoided him senseless three days ago. And Peter didn’t want the silent treatment to go on any longer.

He knew he had to say the first word. He needed to. He just didn’t know how to fix the mess he made, or get you to stop staring out the dashboard like you were mad at it. He knew that the anger you expressed to the sheet of glass was actually directed at him.

Peter tapped his fingers along the steering wheel, pulled at the spandex fabric covering his fingers, and tried to run through and rationalize any and every outcome that could occur once he opened his mouth. You were his best friend, and had been for as long as he could remember. He wasn’t going to let this be the rift that tore your friendship apart.

His eyes finally stuck to your figure for longer than a second’s glance. He saw the way your face was barren, relaxed. It was a look you had when you were lost in thought. Taking a deep breath, Peter tried to suck as much of the thickened tension as he could.

“Y/N, I’m sorry–”

Your eyes shut tight, and your face scrunched in a way that had regret immediately wash out Peter’s bloodstream. You didn’t even look in his direction when you said the word: “Don’t.” Your tone was sharp, trying to slice off any remnants of the conversation; a conversation that you were well trying to move past.

Peter’s lips pressed into a thin line, hiding how frantically he wracked his brain for the right words to say. “But I need to explain myself! Can’t you let me do that?” His body posture craned towards you. One leg tucked beneath the weight of his torso as he looked at you. His brows knit together in desperation, and his eyes sent you a leer that could break you into pieces.

But your walls were becoming too thick for his shattered stare.

You huffed out a breath of frustration. “Peter, I don’t see what’s there to explain.” Your tone was short, stiff, and stuffed with something you hoped sounded like a backbone. Lying to yourself wouldn’t stop the fact that you were hurting, silently grieving over the loss of your expectations. Grieving over the loss of what could’ve been between you and Peter Parker. “You don’t want to kiss me! What else is there to understand?”

“That’s not true!” Peter was quick to defend himself, his voice growing a bit in the process. “I do want to kiss you–”

Scoffing, you also raised your voice a little. “God, Peter! I don’t want your pity!” You couldn’t believe him. He was just pulling shit from his ass to try and make you feel better. “I don’t need your pity either!” You sunk deeper into your seat, a crossed expression staking claim in your eyes, and your arms folding over your chest to hold your ground.

Peter could physically feel the distance you were putting between the two of you. He studied you, how irritated you were, how much hurt he caused. “Y/N, it’s not pity–”

“Harley asked me out.” You cut him off, finally looking at him. It was the first time your eyes had met since yesterday. The first time you let your guard down a little. And the way his eyes widened at you, you could tell this was the first time he’d seen you in such a dimming light; perhaps you really were slipping through his fingers, out of his grasp.

His silence said millions of words, yet none of them were satisfying. It felt so much worse, quite frankly. What you really wanted from him was the reassurance that he felt the same way. It wasn’t just about a kiss, rather than wanting a romantic connection. It wasn’t about the misunderstanding, but the way he’d go about fixing it. And it wasn’t about Harley asking you out, you wanted to see how Peter would react.

The look in his eyes mirrored yours. It was a glisten of betrayal, and the lingering stare of denial. Peter looked at you like it would be the last time he was allowed to. He didn’t know where to go from here, and it was obvious.

You let out a sigh, irritated and remorseful and heartached. “Harley asked me out, and I–” Pausing, you looked straight ahead, unable to meet Peter’s eyes while the words muttered from your lips. “I think I’m going to change my answer.”

Peter’s breath caught, and you could hear his hushed thought process. He filtered through the words you said, and kept searching for the phrase or touch or look that would convince you to stay with him. To choose him.

“I–”

You couldn’t even stomach the sound of his voice. Your nerves spiked much higher than you’d anticipated. What were you even getting at? Making him jealous? All you felt was guilt. Embarrassment. Suddenly, you were nervous. “I need some air.” You choked abruptly, fleeing from the passenger’s seat and exiting the vehicle.

Peter sat in the driver’s side, frozen in his place as he watched you walk further from the car. He couldn’t deny how much of a gut punch your words were, but he also kept replaying the way you’d phrased it like a broken record.

‘I think I’m going to change my answer.’

Even you seemed uncertain about it, and if Peter had any chance with you, he knew he needed to act now. Just as went to get out of the car and follow you, he felt his spider sense heighten. Blood ran cold and the world moved slow as he watched the scene. From behind a bush merely fifteen feet from where Peter was, you were grabbed and pulled out of sight.

“Shit!” Peter panicked. He slipped his mask on, updating KAREN to alert Sam and Bucky. He was lucky that whoever had taken you didn’t spot him, but he felt every fiber of his being spiral about how to get you back. When Peter said he was afraid of losing you, this was not what he meant.

And he was going to do everything in his power to bring you back safely.

Shuttered and softened gasps fell from your lips as your eyes opened, and you watched your breath visibly leave your mouth. Was it below freezing in the room? It had to be. It was the middle of December, after all. Your skin ached as you gained consciousness, every inch of your body screaming for warmth by the time you’d finally come to.

Some scrawny white man with disheveled hair and a short–sleeved t-shirt stood in front of you, holding you in whatever darkened room you seemed to be in. He stood rather close to you, much closer than your comfort levels permitted. He didn’t seem any bit irked by your presence in the slightest.

Maybe that was because your wrists were tightly chained to exposed water–pipes spouting from the floor, or because he’d finally discovered your super–heroine identity. Either way, the light in his eyes was anything but frightened or angered or even confused.

In fact, his eyes scanned your body with marvel and awe. It sent a shiver down your spine.

“Astonishing..” His accent was thick through his words, letting the statement fall heavy with the sigh it traveled through. “It’s working…”

Your blood ran even colder at the words, stilling your posture for a millisecond. What chilled your bones even more was when your body broke out into an intense fit of shivers, and the man laughed. A laugh that was maniacal, entertained, psychopathic. Psychopathic, and relieved.

Thick clouds of steam left your mouth as your breaths drew faster in panic, indicating just how below zero the temperature was. You could barely muster out the words that your throat shoved out: “Wha–what’s so funny?” You asked, clearly freezing.

Now, a bit more serious, the man leaned disarmingly close to your face, eying you in a way that sobered your mind, soul, and being.

“You’re cold.”

The muttered words only caused more confusion, until you finally noticed the two broken syringes on the ground to your left, and how the liquid oozing from the shattered glass had frozen over. It was ice. You became aware of the sweat caking the hairline of the man in front of you, and how disgustingly consuming the warmth of his breath was.

The room wasn’t cold, you were cold. And you were left to assume that it was only a matter of time before you froze to death.

Quite frankly, as much as the dude yapped your ear off with his “diabolical” plan, your brian was clouded with more pressing matters: how you left things with Peter. You didn’t know how long it would take for the team to find you, or if you’d even make it to see this guy get his ass kicked. Either way, you knew Peter was overthinking.

And so were you.

The wave of relief that cast over your body when Sam broke the door down was indescribable. You hadn’t known how long it had been, or how much time you had left, but pins and needles pricked every inch of your body and you’d spent however long shivering just to try and shake the feeling.

Peter immediately swooped down from the ceiling at Sam’s cue, webbed the guy to a wall, and rushed to your aid in the blink of an eye. Not a word was said until he unclasped the restraints and pulled you into a hug. It was the quickest hug he’d ever given you; record time of point–two seconds. “Jesus Christ! Y/N, you’re fucking freezing!!” It were though he hadn’t heard your teeth chattering this entire time.

You could only look at him with a concerned crinkle in your brow, unable to speak through the chill you kept continually catching.

“KAREN!” Peter called out, his mask still on over his face. “Turn on the thermal–heater–protocol thing!! Pronto!” Hearing his panicked demands almost brought you peace, yet nothing could compare to how nice it felt to finally come in contact with warmth.

It barely helped at all, but the contrast was enough to notice. All and every part of you melted into Peter, giving him unspoken permission to pick you up and carry you to the Quinjet. His touch didn’t waver as he sat down on the plane, and his jaw didn’t unclench until his response was requested. His protective demeanor provided a sense of safety, yet it felt tugged from beneath you with one quick statement.

“We should probably call Harley and tell him you’re alright.”

The disappointment tugging at his expression was enough to shatter your heart into a million pieces. You could tell that it broke his just the same, too.

Your head shook against his chest as he sat you down on a bench, seating himself closely beside you to keep you from whatever fridged feeling this kidnapping brought upon you.

“Harley doesn’t– He doesn’t need to know.” Confusion washed over Peter’s face so quickly, you nearly forgot the rut you dug yourself in. “Pe–Pete.. I owe you an apo–ology.” The words were almost impossible to mutter out. You were only getting colder by the second.

His attention was so fixated on you, eyes glued to yours, brows sewn together, and thoughts racing circles trying to grasp whatever you could mean. Peter’s eyes studied your face for the possible answers, but he was getting ahead of himself.

There was nothing left to do other than to come clean. The confession was yours to make, and the look Peter gave you only made that more apparent. His emotions pierced your soul, all his sincerity and curiosity and genuity and eagerness. It was almost like he knew what you were trying to choke out between shivers. Or as though it were his job to fix whatever you presented broken.

You couldn’t tell whether the rapid rhythmic heartbeat was your own, or Peter’s, but either way, you had to force these words out before they staled with the lump in your throat. “I–I–” You took a deep breath to still your chattering teeth, feeling Peter’s grip tighten reassuringly around you in the midst of it. “I was upset that you didn’t want to kiss me.”

The apology flashed in his eyes just as he went to open his mouth, but you weren’t finished. “I was upset, because I–” You nearly sped through the sentence, but halted. “I—” And it were though you froze in place, right then and there. You completely froze, stopped moving, stopped breathing.

Panic. It washed over you like panic, sheer uncontrollable unexpected panic. Your blood ran cold, and if it weren’t for the feeling of your body washing white, you would’ve thought you were dying.

Peter calling your name almost sounded fake. It was so distant and faint that you swore you were dreaming. However, with a small hitch of your breath, reality hit you a lot harder than necessary. Your entire being shook, spazzing in this cold and freezing state. So much so, it was painful.

You knew you were being hugged and blanketed by Peter’s protection much more intently. The press of his biceps communicated that he felt like he was to fault for this. The dazy holler of his voice told you that he felt responsible and sorry and nervous. There wasn’t anything in the world you wanted to do more than to fight against this and assure him that you were okay. You were going to be fine.

Bucky walked over with a sense of urgency, relaying to Peter a medical analysis that Bruce laid out. He stated things about your condition that the author was far too lazy to look up you couldn’t make out in this fridged trance.

Every inch of your body had stopped shouting for warmth and instead now screamed for it, for relief. It begged and pleaded and bruised its knees just for some sense of stillness from whatever blizzard was injected into your system.

So cold, too cold, everything blurred to white. Every sound was washed out, every sensation pricked in spears and spikes against you, and every thought felt too heavy to handle. You weren’t sure how or when, but at a certain point, you passed out. Consciousness suddenly became too overwhelming for your fragile limp little body.

Part of you wasn’t sure whether this was better than feeling the sting of Peter’s rejection, but you knew that was a demon you’d have to face sooner than later. You made a promise to yourself right then and there that regardless of what and when, the next time you saw Peter Parker, you’d tell him how you’d really felt.

You were going to tell your best friend that you’d been in love with him. And still very much so were.

tag–list : @helen-on-earth @ellebutnotwoods @hufflepuff-n-fluff @petersparkerss @tommysfrog @zelzablues @mavex @thatmarvelchick19 @parkersmaterialgirl @justtuesdays @coralineyouareinterribledanger @abucketofweird @cayleejx16 @thievin-stealing

“ cuddle–bugs. „

(( REQUEST PART THREE ))

mcu!peter parker x reader.

IN WHICH — you fell asleep on your best friend during movie night and the avengers won’t let you live it down. meanwhile, peter plans to ask you out, but an old friend of yours gets in the way :0

!!! read part one here | read part two here !!!

✨masterlist.✨

3.2k.

It felt good for you to finally get some sleep. It seemed like sleeping cuddled next to Peter was the perfect remedy for your sudden insomnia. You wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. Waking up in his arms, his biceps snug around you; his quiet snores that still sang through your thoughts. Their melody, and the leftover fumes of his cologne, kept you in a peppy mood. That, and Harley’s holiday visit.

You hadn’t seen Harley in what felt like a year, despite how it had only been a few months. Still, as much as seeing your friend got you excited, the whole Peter–debacle kept you in a tizzy.

Tony had asked you to help circuit a drone prototype in his lab, which gave you a great opportunity to dwell on the fact that Peter definitely saw the framed photo Sam took of the two of you. And read the sticky note. The thought still made your heart rate spike a little, but you couldn’t decipher what it was stemming from.

Part of this made you feel giddy. It gave you a chance to open the bottled up feelings you’ve been rejecting for Peter, and really, truly, encourage them. The other part, however, made you incredibly nervous. Anxious, even. He could react in a way that would completely redefine the long–term friendship that you two had.

His response could either be something equally as smitten, or something that’d haunt you for the rest of your life. It was conflicting, but also you knew that at a certain point, you wouldn’t be able to hide from your feelings anymore. Peter would inevitably find out. You just hoped that it wouldn’t ruin the way he looked at you.

While re–wiring the drone’s hardware, you began to spiral down the dark abyss of how badly this could end. He wouldn’t necessarily get angry with you. Peter Parker didn’t have an angered bone in his body; but this could very well, quite possibly, most definitely, create an incredibly uncomfortable atmosphere in your dynamic.

Fuck.

You wished he’d react the same way he did when you both found out you were superheroes, or when you’d both been recruited to be part of the Avengers. Peter had been your best friend for as long as you could remember. Would these feelings really change that much of it?

“There you are!” Peter’s voice from the doorframe disrupted your thoughts. You immediately felt the way your heart leapt in your chest.

You did hope that things wouldn’t change because of a dumb crush. However, you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel like things with the two of you were changing already.

Quickly, you glanced over your shoulder, careful not to distract your work. The way Peter walked over to you seemed radiant; he was glowing, and it wasn’t just because he looked fresh out of the shower. He smiled at you, toothy and spritely. The way it suited his energy was contagious, and spread a small grin right to your lips. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” He added, prancing up beside you.

Your focus went back to the drone, mostly because you wanted to hide from the inevitable blush that coated your complexion. “Oh yeah?” You mused, cheeky. “How come?”

Peter leaned his back against the desk you were working at. He kept a comfortable distance from you, but a bit less than usual. You only noticed because his body heat nearly overloaded your system. You cleared the invisible tickle from your throat, feeling the urge to try and hide what felt like vulnerability.

“I wanted to show you my new lockscreen.” His tone outlined his smile audibly. Peter excitedly showed you the addition to his phone, as though he’d been rehearsing it. You felt the way your eyes widened and your face flush at the photo. The same photo that was framed at your bedside. “Sam sent it to me.” He added the detail once you saw it.

Your eyes met. You could feel the playful demeanor that Peter had been camouflaging. He knew exactly what he was doing, and by the dorky expression on his face, you knew that your reaction was exactly what he’d been hoping for.

Dropping the hardware tools beside the drone, you used slow movements. You needed to get his phone. The power he had with that photo was too much for him, and it was already getting to his head. Your hand plunged towards the device, but Peter dodged your reach like he was one step ahead of you. He was always one step ahead of you.

“Peter Benjamin Parker.” You fought back your smile by trying to use a disciplinary tone, but your laughter won the battle. He took paces backwards, and you followed his movement. “Give me your cell phone!”

He laughed, raising a brow. “You want my phone?” He was playing coy, teasingly. “You’re just jealous of my lockscreen.” You two traveled around the large laboratory, him still walking backwards like it was nothing. “I could just AirDrop it to you, if you want it so bad–”

Leaping forward, he dodged you again. He was having too much fun with this, waving his phone in front of your face like a chew toy. “You’re so evil.” Your playful glare was one of Peter’s favorite looks of yours. He took it in like he was taking a picture of it.

His brow arched again, mocking you. “Am I really?” He bantered. You had to admit: as stubborn as you could be, Peter’s playful spirit was something you always enjoyed. And the banter was absolutely riveting to partake in.

Peter’s laughter filled the room as you started to chase him. He was skilled walking backwards, but running was an entirely different story. The two of you practically chased your tails around each other; Peter holding his phone high above you, and you eagerly sprinting and jumping up to try and grasp it.

In the thick of the moment, you’d finally caught up to him. Body to body. Chest to chest. His arm was still extended to the ceiling, phone held to the sky, but his focus was completely captured by you. Your eye contact was thick, and your little fits of giggles halted to a stop at the rousing tension.

Damp strands of curls fell in front of his face as he studied you, eyes tracing features of your face that he’d already memorized. The scent of his shower would’ve sent your head in a pother, if not for the feeling of your bodies melding together. You could feel his heart racing through the mere fabrics of your shirts; you were certain he felt the speedy rhythm of yours, too.

His arm slowly lowered back to his side, but you both could care less about his lockscreen right now. You kept your eyes tied to his, keeping up with the silent conversation you were having. Peter’s mouth opened, dry as he scrambled to find his words. “Y/N..” His voice was soft, gentle. “I need to ask you something.”

Curious and confused, you tilted your head a little. “Ask me what–?”

“Y/N!” You heard your name called from the doorframe. Both you and Peter shifted your focus to meet the interruption, finding Harley waiting impatiently. “C’mon! I’ve got something to show you.” How inconvenient.

A look of apology shadowed your face when you looked back up at Peter. “Can you ask me later?” It was the last thing you wanted to ask, but you couldn’t keep Harley waiting; the subtle tapping of his foot caused guilt to nag at your focus.

Both you and Peter peeled away from each other, slowly. It felt unnatural, especially considering that neither of you had the strength to break eye contact.

Peter forced a smile, though you could tell there was disappointment behind it. “Yeah! Yeah. Go.” He waved at Harley, noticing the small glare that accompanied the mirrored action back. “I’ll catch you later.”

He watched you smile at him before running off with Harley. That was how things had been since he’d returned from school.

Harley was always the first to bid for your attention, or drag you out of a room when you and Peter found yourselves alone in it. He was the ultimate cockblock, and a jealous one at that.

Peter had enough trust in you and your friendship to know that there was no competition for his spot as your best friend. However, now his hat was in the ring for a new title: your boyfriend.

Harley could one–up him there.

Peter still had hope after his talk with Sam in the kitchen yesterday morning. He finally felt the courage he needed to ask you out. To ask if you felt the same way. But Harley didn’t make his conquest any easier. In fact, he’d done nothing but get in his way. It was almost like Harley knew what Peter was trying to do.

Last night was Sam’s pick for team movie night. Of course, Sam chose a festive rom–com; he chose The Holiday, and sent Peter a little wink as he cued up the movie. This was an opportunity, and Peter wasn’t going to take it for granted. However, Harley wasn’t going to let Peter have it that easy, either.

As Peter sat beside you, Harley sat on the other side of you, arm draped over the back of the couch. Right where Peter wanted his to be. He noticed how stiff you were, and the way you awkwardly kicked your feet as the movie played.

The memory played through Peter’s head all day, especially while this question burned in his throat. He’d never been so eager to ask you something; so compelled to know the response you’d give him.

Part of him was scared. Just a small part of him. He knew it was a gamble to try and enhance your relationship. You’d either reciprocate the emotions he had for you, or the friendship would go through a little awkward fit. Either way, Peter knew it was a growing experience. He was willing to risk it if it meant getting to spend time with you romantically.

Harley just seemed to anticipate every chance you and Peter caught a moment alone.

Peter wasn’t planning to give up just yet.

And neither were you.

You did enjoy your time with Harley, but it felt like he was pushing it a little. Occasionally, you had the habit of cluelessness, but even now, the inkling that Harley was getting at something felt stronger than ever.

“C’mon, Keener.” You pressed him, trying to get the boy to crack. “It’s like you’re holding me hostage here.” For the past hour, you’d been trying to leave to go find Peter. Your hands went up in defense when Harley shot a look of surprise at you. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve missed you too, but I’ve–”

That’s when it hit you. Harley was getting at something. Something big. The look he shot at you was overwhelming. You couldn’t quite grasp what he was trying to express to you, but you could tell that he was about to tell you.

He took a breath, slicing through the deafening quiet. “Y/N, I need to ask you something.” His tone was stern, precise. He’d been practicing this, you were sure of it.

Your posture straightened out. From how it sounded, this seemed really serious. Your whole demeanor shifted, stilled. “Yeah, anything.” The last thing you wanted was for Harley to feel like he couldn’t tell you something.

Harley stared into your eyes, grounding you for a moment. You could feel just how much you were anticipating the question, and just how slowly the world spun before he spat out the words. It reminded you of how Peter had something to ask you, too. You wondered just how serious of a question Peter’s was–

“Would you go out with me? Li–like on a date?”

You froze. A date? A date with Harley?

It felt wrong for your thoughts to be consumed by anybody else in this moment, yet they were. Shoulders slumping, you gave him a sympathetic smile. “Harley, I’m flattered, but I—”

He interrupted you. “You have feelings for someone else?” His question came out like a scoff, almost like he was trying to beat you at answering him. “Parker, right?”

And in that moment, when your heart swelled and your cheeks flushed, you finally accepted it. Your posture settled a little, and the breath you’d been holding for the past few days finally released itself. “Yeah.. Yeah, I do.” Your lips curved sympathetically, not wanting to put salt in Harley’s wound. “Y’know, I still appreciate you though, right?”

Harley smiled at you, “Yeah, yeah, whatever..” He laughed quietly. “Now, go find your love–bug boyfriend. I’m sure he’s dying to see you.”

With a grin on your face, and a bittersweet farewell to Harley, you went on your way to find Peter. You knew that rejecting Harley shouldn’t have been as inspiring to you as it ended up being. Now more that ever, you felt determined to ask Peter out. Whether he was planning to ask you or you ask him, you weren’t going to give up until you had a date set on the calendar.

Turning the hallway corner, you found yourself rounding to the kitchen, following the faint sound of Peter’s voice. Waltzing with his words was the sound of Sam’s too, conversing with your best friend. You paused in your tracks, listening in on their conversation til you had a good time to intervene.

Tiny klanks and clinks of spoon on mug came from further away, muffled under Sam as he spoke, “You going to the holiday party tomorrow night?” He asked, “I heard there’s gonna be mistletoe.” You could hear the way his voice shaped into his mug as he took a loud sip of his drink, “You should take Y/N and go find it.”

Heat flooded your face at how forward Sam was, and at the idea of kissing Peter. It was thrilling to think that in just twenty–four hours, you could be kissing Peter Parker. You wouldn’t have to avoid him anymore, you could freely sit with him and express your feelings–

A sigh could be heard from closer than anticipated. A sigh that sounded dejected, conflicted. Rejecting. Ouch. You slowly crept around the corner, eying Peter’s back as he replied to Sam.

“I’m not gonna do that. I can’t.” Peter seemed to hesitate, but that didn’t take away from how much it hurt. “I just don’t want..”

“You don’t want to kiss me?” You found your place to interject, now standing in view of Sam and Peter’s back.

As Peter turned to look at you, it didn’t take much to notice the way his heart was in his throat. His whole body was stiff with regret, and his hands held the air in front of him like there was something to fix. But there wasn’t; you had your answer.

Peter Parker didn’t love you like that.

“Y/N, I–” Even as he took steps towards you, it felt like he only got further away from you. You put space between the two of you, a hand coming out to emphasize the physical boundary you needed.

You shut your eyes for a second, taking a breather. Keeping your composure was your main focus. “No, no. It’s fine.” You tried to keep earnesty and understanding in your tone. “But you don’t have to make kissing your best friend seem like such a chore.” You snapped a bit more intensely than you’d intended, but you needed to. You had to leave.

One more breath and you left, unable to look Peter in the eye again before you made your way to your room. You hated how the look on his face stuck in your brain like some traumatic flashback. The look in his eyes when he saw you was almost as hurt as you were. It didn’t make sense.

Making your way into your room, a knock interrupted your peace of mind. Holding off on processing your rejection, you turned and met eyes with Sam. You didn’t know whether it was a welcomed company or something you wanted to turn away.

Before you could open your mouth, Sam spoke up.

“I know what happened back there wasn’t.. The best, but I swear it was–”

“Sam.” The words came out shorter than you were used to. “If you’re here to talk to me about that, I don’t want to hear it.”

It sucked. You hated the feeling of being rejected. It also felt so much heavier because you’d already been avoiding Peter, you’d already been missing his company; now, you felt like you had more reason to steer clear of him. You hated it. You hated how much it hurt you.

Shaking his head, Sam got on task. “Right, okay.” His tone became less sympathetic, but his expression still said everything that his words didn’t. “Buck and I were assigned to stakeout tomorrow, but our backup fell through. What Parker and I were talking about in the kitchen was if you and him could stakeout and then Buck and I could back–up for you two.”

You blinked a few times. He was really asking you to do that? To sit in a car with Peter after he’d just ripped your heart out?

After thinking about it like that, you fully realized that Peter was oblivious to your heartbreak. He didn’t know he’d rejected you, and he was still your best friend. Maybe this was a sign, and something the two of you needed to do.

Sighing, you held back an eye roll. “Fine. I could do that.” You placed your hands on your hips, raising a brow at Sam. “Did Peter agree to it?”

“Cuddle–bug said that as long as you were okay with it, he’d be more than happy to.”

Hearing the nickname lodged a dagger in a spot you didn’t think was reachable. God, it hurt. It might get worse with this mission, but you also knew that you’d never forgive yourself if you’d fully pushed Peter away.

“Okay. Then tell him to meet me in the garage tomorrow morning.”

Sam seemed to respect the boundary, and let you be after you’d given him the request. You didn’t have the stomach to see Peter before the stakeout, and you knew you’d have to prepare yourself quite a bit before you’d have to spend god knows how long with him tomorrow. Alone.

God knows how long you’d have to spend with him alone, in a car, doing nothing.

You were planning to kill Sam when you got back, especially if this was some kind of ruse to set up you and your best friend.

tag–list : @helen-on-earth @ellebutnotwoods @luvherfairy @agaybandgeek @lazy4teen @hufflepuff-n-fluff @petersparkerss @tommysfrog @animeboysdontexist @zelzablues @mavex @inmp89 @thatmarvelchick19 @parkersmaterialgirl @xiaxiachizu @ilovepeterbarker @justtuesdays @coralineyouareinterribledanger @acswu @littlemissdilfloverr

“ cuddle–bugs. „

(( request PART TWO )).

!!! read part one & part three here !!!

mcu!peter parker x reader.

IN WHICH — you fell asleep on your best friend’s shoulder during movie night and the avengers won’t let you live it down.

author’s note ; okay so i made this a winter/christmas fic on accident cause i miss it. you’re welcome:,) ALSO !! lmk if y’all want me to add you to the part 3 tag list;)

✨masterlist✨.

3.2k.

It’d been two nights, and you still couldn’t boggle the thought of Peter from your brain. Well, boggle the romantic thought of Peter from your brain. You had always been extra thoughtful and considerate of your best friend, but you never realized just how much you were until two nights ago. Two nights ago, when you had the best sleep of your life, passed out on Peter’s shoulder. Two nights ago, before Sam and Bucky started ogling you and Peter like no one’s business. Two nights ago, the last time you got a successful wink of sleep.

Shit.

Perhaps you were lying to yourself– No. You were definitely lying to yourself. Peter Parker was your best friend, but you knew that your feelings for him were far from that simple. You were the first one to notice when he entered a room, and the first to feel his absence when he’d leave. You knew him better than anyone else did; he was written in a language that you’d carefully taken the time to understand. You just hoped that he’d taken the time to understand you just the same way.

The thought was gnawing at you, feeding on the anxiety that had kept you up all night. There was no way you could act on this, nor express your thoughts to him. And there certainly was no damn fucking way in hell you could look him in the eyes while you tried to process your feelings.

As the sun rose, so did you. Seeing as you had barely slept an hour, starting your day as early as possible seemed like your best option — even if that meant peeling yourself from your bed at four in the morning.

Your breath visibly filled the passing air as you ran the outdoor track in the courtyard. Winter’s chill was spiteful at such an early hour, but it was just the medicine you needed to give you energy after an all–nighter. The wind welcomed you with a sharp bite along your exposed skin, which was mainly your cheeks whilst you ran. Steve had taught you a thing or two about going on runs, and covering up in the winter was one of them.

The day went on tediously; constantly training, working on paperwork, and avoiding the company of Peter Parker. The latter was the most difficult. He was your best friend for crying out loud. You still couldn’t shake your nerves, or stomach the embarrassment that your teammates would cause you from their teases. There were already too many close calls.

While you were practicing close–hand combat in the gym, Bucky approached you. At first, he criticized your form and shadowed you for critique, but after a few minutes of ice breaking, he was quick to give some snickers and googly–eyes.

“Hang on there, cowboy.” He started, right hand hovering just beside your wrist. “You need to hold your shoulders back so that your punch gives a harder blow..” That’s when the devious smirk shadowed his face. “Unless, you’re planning to tussle with your boyfriend.”

The sharp breath you exhaled in response was a lot more intense than you’d initially intended. “He’s not my boyfriend!” The tone of voice you gave was also more intense than you intended, especially as you unconsciously gritted your teeth. And gathered from the way Bucky’s eyes widened at your punch, you took it that the impact was, once again, more intense than you’d intended.

You blamed the sleep depravity.

Later on, post–shower, you went to the kitchen to grab your second energy drink of the day. You felt your shoulders ease and your eyelids grow a bit heavier as you popped the metal can open. The quiet simmer of the carbonation was melodic whilst you downed half the serving, on spot. You were so focused on obtaining the beverage that you nearly missed Natasha looming in the corner.

“Cute sweatshirt.” She chimed, arms crossed while she watched you from the furthest crevasse of the kitchen.

Eying her, you could see the silhouette of her smirk. It immediately sent you questioning why she looked at you so smug. Your gaze fell to which baggy sweatshirt you decided to wear, suddenly insecure about it. It was a Midtown marching band hoodie; royal blue, faded–vintage yellow writings. It took you a beat or two to remember where you got it, but when you did–

“Is it your boyfriend’s?”

Shit.

Frustration bubbled through your system. Except, it wasn’t frustration towards the team. It was frustration towards yourself. How much of a coward did you have to be to act so nervous? To not be able to look Peter in the eye? To avoid any entertainment of the thought of the two of you together?

Well, if ignoring those thoughts made you a coward, perhaps you weren’t the biggest one. Most nights, when you couldn’t sleep, you used the image of his torso spooning yours to get you some peace of mind. The warmth of his arm hugging your waist, the slight tickle of his breath on the back of your neck, and the safety of his little kisses hidden in your hairline. In fact, you thought about it most times; however, last night, thinking about it made you feel unbelievably guilty.

You found that guilt and sleep don’t mix too well.

Hours later, you sat yourself in the meeting room, hacking away as best as you could at your training reports for the day. The task was stupid, but you were understanding of it. It just didn’t help that you felt the weight of only sleeping an hour creeping up on you. Your eyes felt like they carried a thousand pounds to them.

A gentle knock met the doorframe, catching your attention from your assignment. Your eyes met Wanda’s, curiously. The curiosity fled your expression the split second she opened her mouth.

“Peter’s looking for you. Should I tell him–”

Annoyance scrunched in your nose, and an anguished huff pushed itself out of your throat. Your elbows met the table quietly, hands rushing to cradle your face in it as you tried to keep your composure. “He’s not my boyfriend!” You cried.

Still, Wanda held patience to herself. Now she was the one who looked at you curiously, arching a brow as she noticed how troubled you were. You already knew she was reading you like a book with her telepathy. Wanda had already flipped through your thoughts front and back by the time you’d finished your response. “I know. He’s your best friend, and he’s looking for you.” Her voice was so gentle, you wanted it to swaddle you and lull you to sleep.

Just before she took her leave, Wanda kept a sympathetic smile on her face. She’d already started to step out of sight, but she had a closing thought. “And, y’know.. I felt the same way you do now with Vis.” She hummed, “The only way to relieve yourself from it is to talk to him.”

Which brought you here. Now. At eleven twenty–three in the evening. You sat yourself on the same couch that started this spiral, chipping away tirelessly at the paperwork you vowed to finish. Though, your progress consisted of staring at the document blankly. You were closer to passing out than you were to actually typing out a sentence.

“You should get some sleep.”

The second you met Peter’s eyes, you felt it immediately. That zing. That spark. The knot in your stomach that guilted you for avoiding him all day. You couldn’t even muster out a response to give to him. Part of that definitely had to do with the fact that he was in his pajamas; flannel pajama pants, and no shirt. It wasn’t the first time you saw him shirtless, though the sight of his abs, especially right now, took your breath away a little.

His palms pressed against the head of the chair, leaning on it as he rocked back and forth on his feet. His brows slowly knit together the longer it took you to reply, obviously worried about you. “Are you not speaking to me? Did I do something?” The second question was quick to follow the first.

Your expression mirrored his, though with less worry and more defense. “What? No.” You stated, shutting your laptop without breaking eye contact. “Why would you think you did something wrong?” It churned your tummy to think that he’d been overthinking about this all day. Then again, if you were in his shoes, you’d have been thinking the exact same things.

It wasn’t hard to notice the relief that settled his posture, or the hesitance that lingered in his stare. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe you, it was more that he wasn’t sure he could yet. “Because this is the longest you’ve gone without speaking to me since fifth grade.”

The urge to roll your eyes at him was strong, but the smile you had to fight off was more distracting. “Peter, I didn’t speak to you because I had laryngitis. I literally couldn’t!”

He smiled back at you, gesturing his hand towards you to emphasize his point. “Exactly!” Peter made his way around the chair, seating himself beside you on the couch. “I just got worried.” He made sure there was enough space between the two of you, nervous that you’d be upset if he sat too close. “Are you okay though? You look like you didn’t get any sleep.” And suddenly, you were reminded that you couldn’t hide from him like you wanted to.

You nearly forgot that Peter was your best friend. He studied you before you even had the chance to notice he was in the room, half the time. Wanda’s words bounced around in your brain, but the idea of communicating all of that right now made your stomach churn worse. Slowly shaking your head, you moved to set your laptop on the coffee table beside you, quick to turn your attention back to the boy beside you. “I, uh.. I’m just stressed, is all.” You shrugged, simplifying your emotions.

Peter’s stare narrowed at you, concerned. “Stressed about what?” Once again, his eyes scanned over your face, trying to find the answer he was looking for before you felt the need to say it. When he found how panic it brought you, he stopped. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

It felt like a weight lifted from your shoulders at how understanding Peter was. You smiled lightly at him, focus flickering between one of his eyes to the other. Maybe it was because a smile began to touch his lips too, or because you felt unbelievably seen by him, but your heart swelled more than it ever had before. “I’d rather not talk about it right now.” You answered, honestly. “I should get some sleep first. I’m just…”

As you trailed off, Peter picked up the sentence where you couldn’t finish it. “Nervous about sleep?” His voice got softer as he asked the question, smile growing when you nodded in agreement. He waited a moment, brewing a few different solutions in his head. “Can I help?”

You could feel the way your heart raced at Peter’s earnesty, happily realizing you couldn’t turn down the offer. Nodding, you eyed him closely, watching as he grinned at you. He grabbed a throw blanket from beneath the coffee table, and the remote for the flat–screen while he was at it. Peter turned the television on and sat back on the couch, extending his arm for you to lean on him.

“You sure you want me to cuddle with you? You’re shirtless.” You pointed out, verbally self–sabotaging yourself. Idiotically self–sabotaging yourself.

Peter raised a brow at you, laughing quietly. Though, there was a slight blush creeping along his cheekbones. “That hasn’t stopped you in the past.”

A small fit of laughter drove your decision as you laid yourself beside him; head cozy in his shoulder, and your body pressed against the side of his. He laid the blanket over the two of you, but the arm he had hugging around you was the most securing. His fingertips gently brushed tiny shapes into your forearm, and Peter knew exactly which movie to put on to whisk you off to slumber.

Watching your comfort movie was quite a tempting offer, but you still couldn’t stop your eyes from shutting. Peace overtook you before you could catch it, and you couldn’t exactly remember the moment sleep finally conquered you. The last thing you remember hearing was Peter’s faint whisper to ask FRIDAY to dim the lights.

Peter watched you sleep more than the movie. He couldn’t stop himself, seeing how cute you were. He found himself in the same spot he was just two nights ago; gently rubbing your shoulders and back, brushing the hair back that fell into your face, and listening to the stilling sound of your breath as it slowed with your slumber. It made his heart swell.

The second he knew you were passed out, he stealthily turned the television off and scooped you into his arms. Peter lifted you delicately, swaddling you in the blanket and carrying you off to your bedroom.

As he laid you down on your bed, a particular piece of room decor caught his eye; the newest addition, something he’d never seen before. His cheeks grew ablaze with pink at the framed photo on your nightstand, taking in every aspect of the picture. His heart raced, a dorky grin touching his lips when he finally read Sam’s sticky note.

Peter was pulled from his thoughts at the feeling of your gentle fingertips grasping his arm. He heard the sheets settle beneath your stirring, and the soft grumbles sifting through your lips. Feeling your hand grasp at his elbow and tug him towards you made his heart skip a beat. The hug you pulled him into was all he needed to know that you wanted him to stay. And that, he did.

He lost track of how long he’d slept for, or when you decided to get up without waking him, but he wasn’t mad about it. Peter had one of the best sleeps of his life, and he had you to thank for that. He had you to thank for everything

Peter had never woken up feeling so rejuvenated. He felt like a brand new person; alive, ravished, loved. He felt validated by Sam’s little sticky note, and finally connected the pieces on why you were so jittery around him. He’d seen you interact with a handful of people you’d found attractive, and now he understood that he was also in that category. At least, if his assumptions were correct. He at least had woken up with a fresh coat of confidence today to make him believe his assumptions.

It was routine for his thoughts to drift somewhere in the midst of you. Every sense of him found you intoxicating and now more than ever did he cherish it. He inhaled the lingering aroma of you left over from your sleeping figure, and grew a smile at the sound of your laughter that carried itself through the compound’s corridors. The same laugh that he’d heard all too often.

Wait.

You usually only laughed that hard at his jokes.

Peter slowed his slippered–steps toward the kitchen, peering his focus to where the sweet sound came from. His heart swelled in his chest at the sight of you so happy, but immediately dropped to the floor when he saw you so happy with a guy. A vaguely familiar guy. A strikingly too attractive guy. It sent a sharp chill through his bloodstream and made it boil beneath his skin.

“A little birdy told me that Harley’s been meaning to ask them out before he leaves.” Sam’s voice cut through the quiet, though he made a means that the information didn’t leave the kitchen. His voice stayed soft, secretive.

Harley. Harley Keener. That’s why his name was so familiar. The Harley Keener: Tony Stark’s protégé intern, who’s attending Stanford for mechanical engineering, and skyrocketing as one of the most influential teenagers of this generation for his work on climate change. Peter recalled the six three articles he’d read just last week on Harley’s work. What was he doing here? And what the fuck was he doing here talking to you?

Peter’s focus remained stuck on the sight of you and Harley talking down the hall. The second his gears finally processed what Sam had told him, he turned his head to look over, eyes landing last on Sam by the espresso machine. “What do you mean?”

Sam shrugged lightly, his lips pressing into a line as he stirred the sugar in with his coffee. “I heard that while he’s here on break, he’s planning to ask Y/N out.” He let the sentence fall from his mouth with a sigh, disappointment tracing the sound of his voice. “Sources say, he’s planning to pop the question before Hanukkah starts.”

It hit him like bricks, the urgency. The punch to the gut. The confidence Peter had woken up with withered somewhere he couldn’t grasp anymore. He glanced out of the windows behind him, watching the snowfall cover the courtyard. Hanukkah was in four days. Peter still had some time, but would it be enough?

“Wait.” He started, turning his attention back to Sam. “What source?” Peter walked into the kitchen, placing his hands on his bare hips. He was still in his pajamas, messy hair and shirtless torso. His outfit merely consisted of flannel pajama pants and dinosaur slippers. “Were you using your mini drone to eavesdrop again?”

Sam chuckled, trying hard to act like he wasn’t offended. “I’m going to pretend that you didn’t call Redwing that.” He acted like his remote control helicopter actually had a name. “But no. My source’s name happens to rhyme with boney shark.”

Shit.

If Tony really said that, it meant that Harley was actually serious about this. The Avengers were definitely prone to tease, but they were far from the crowd who’d start rumors. The bitter taste of jealousy weighed on Peter’s tongue, and he could already feel the sickening aftertaste caking in the back of his throat. He swallowed, thicker than he had in what felt like a decade. It felt like he had forced down an entire jar of peanut butter.

Sam saw the way Peter froze in his tracks. He walked over, steps slow to prevent spilling any of his precious latte from its mug. He gently placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder, turning his attention to where Peter’s naturally gravitated back to; the way you and Harley interacted definitely seemed intimidating, but Sam wasn’t going to let Peter give up that easily.

“Another little birdy told me that boney shark hopes you beat him to it.” Sam’s voice suddenly got smoother, lower, as though his words had a deeper meaning. And to Peter, they did. The boy seemed to lighten up, processing Sam’s words like they were prophetic. “And that birdy’s name rhymes with shmaptain shmerica.”

Sam took that as his cue to leave, knowing that he said what he needed to. Quite frankly, he said more than enough to shake Peter out of his doubtful thoughts. There was no way in hell that Sam Wilson was a liar, which only added to how true the statement was.

If Steve–liberty–and–justice–for–all–Rogers was in on this, that meant something truly powerful. It meant that his team was rooting for him. Knowing that may not have given Peter’s confidence back to him, but it gave him something even more important. Something that grounded him back to the present unlike anything else, and something that he’d never take for granted:

Hope.

warning: implied age gap of reader being a “young woman”, but no specific reference to Spencer’s age, I just envision this as a very post-prison thing for him to do

“Excuse me, lady, but you don’t get to waltz in here and start ordering my officers around. This your first day on the job or something, sweetheart?” The local chief of police smirks down at you, condescension dripping from his every word.

That, coupled with his casual misogyny, is enough to have you smirking right back at him.

Shocker, another old-fashioned cop assuming that a young woman like you doesn’t know what she’s talking about. It’s almost laughable. Almost.

don't fucking interrupt me when i'm reading my x reader fics it's rude