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flourgirl · 3 years

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Sleepyhead

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: Peter will try just about anything to help out the very pretty insomniac from his math class.

Work Count: 11.2k

Warnings: Just some sweet, pure fluff with a few curse words every now and then.

A/N: Either the tags aren’t working for me or you guys just didn’t like it, but the final part of “Even If It’s a Lie” has been out for a few days now if anyone’s interested in reading it 🥺 Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this super long piece I’ve been working on to help me get through finals <3

“Touch you softly I call you up late at night No doubt it isn't right But you could be my one and only” -Softly, Clairo

Peter had seen you around campus a few times, but it wasn’t until you started sitting two rows ahead of him in his linear algebra class that he really started to notice you.

He thought you were really pretty, and he liked how cozy you always looked in the puffy winter coat you kept on in the perpetually freezing lecture hall. You took a lot of notes, which told him that you cared about the class, and never showed up without a giant cup of iced coffee.

You’re being a creep, Peter told himself. He had thought about switching seats to somewhere in front of you, so he could actually listen to his professor discuss permutations instead of staring at how you chewed on the end of your pen when you were thinking.

It was even worse when you started sleeping in class, your soft hair falling around your shoulders as you leaned your head against your desk. It seemed like all the coffee in the world couldn’t keep you awake, and Peter wondered if he should ask if you wanted to borrow his notes or something. But that would mean him admitting to looking at you way more than he needed to, and that was weird, so he quickly dropped the idea.

Still, he was worried about you. So when he came back from patrol in the middle of the night and bumped into you outside of the dorm kitchen, he figured it would be the perfect opportunity to introduce himself and maybe even find out why you were so tired all the time.

The only problem was that he had accidentally knocked your pan of banana bread out of your hands, and you were currently staring at it laying on the floor with your sleepy eyes, not saying anything.

“Shit, uh, I’m so sorry,” he told you, crouching down to scoop up the remnants of your late-night snack into the pan. “Were you really up baking at 3 a.m?”

You blushed a little, starstruck that the cute guy from your math class was talking to you. “Um, yeah. I couldn’t sleep, so I figured I’d come down to the kitchen while nobody else was here and make something. Baking always helps me calm down, and so here I am. And here we are. And there’s my bread, all covered in whatever kind of dust the custodians refuse to sweep down here.”

He offered a soft smile, and it made you feel better about the fact that you were rambling way more than you wanted to.

“I’m Y/N,” you continued, gently taking the pan from his hands. “You’re in linear algebra with Professor Meyers, right?”

“Yeah, you, um, you sit right in front of me. Well, not right in front of me. Two rows in front of me. Shit. I’m not creepy, I promise. It’s just… uh… My name is Peter and I’m going to stop talking now.”

That couldn’t have possibly gone any worse, he thought. You were probably thinking he was a serial killer or something.

“It’s okay. I know you sit behind me,” you reassured him. “You answer a lot of questions.” He was cute and smart, and you hoped he couldn’t notice how flustered you were to be this close to him.

“What are you doing up so late?” he asked, which made you laugh at how ironic his concerns were, considering he was also wandering around the dorm basement at this hour.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you replied, sitting on one of the benches that jutted out of the walls of the corridor. “I mean, you’re here too. At least I was baking. What’s up with you?”

You had a point. “I had an emergency… with my internship. I work for Stark Industries, and Mr. Stark rang me in the middle of the night to come to the lab immediately for something, so, yeah. That’s why I’m awake right now.”

“Okay,” you said, not buying his story. “So that’s why you have a black eye and you’re lurking in the basement hallway? Did Tony Stark punch you?”

Fuck. Did he really have a black eye and not notice? He didn’t think that Doc Oc’s stupid mechanical arm had punched him that hard, but apparently, he was wrong. And now he had to come up with some reason as to where it came from, although he could already tell that you were about to call his bluff.

The only solution he could think of was to change the subject. “Why are you always asleep during class?” he blurted out, causing you to give him a funny look before frowning down at your slippers.

“Isn’t it obvious,” you yawned, stretching your arms out in front of you. “I’m an insomniac. It’s actually kind of funny. I never really had any problems with falling asleep until I moved here. Maybe it’s the cold weather or the constant pressure to get good grades, but I just can’t sleep anymore. It sucks.”

Normally, you’d never tell this much about yourself to somebody, let alone a complete stranger. But somehow, you felt really comfortable around Peter. There was just something about him that made you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Peter caught himself staring at you again, your baby pink pajamas a far departure from how put together your usual outfits were. Even without your makeup or hair done, you were still the prettiest girl he had ever seen. For some reason, even the dark circles under your eyes were really cute to him.

“You never answered my question,” you reminded him, hoping that he’d say something to fill the awkward silence. “What’s with the black eye and wandering around in the middle of the night? Are you some kind of superhero?”

“What? No! That’s crazy. Me, a superhero,” he laughed awkwardly, wondering if you had somehow figured out his secret identity. Had you spotted him that one time he made sure that you and your friends got home safely from a late-night study session? Even so, you totally couldn’t have known it was him, right?

“Relax, I’m just joking,” you giggled, thinking about how cute he looked when he was flustered. “Although my friend did tell me she thought she saw Spider-Man a few weeks ago on her way back from a party.”

“Haha, yeah,” he breathed out, a wave of relief washing over him. It was times like these that he really started to appreciate how well-hidden his muscles were underneath all of his oversized sweaters.

“Does that hurt?” you asked, bringing your hand up to lightly brush his lip, which was bleeding. He flinched instinctively before settling under your touch, your eyes focused on the small cut. “I have a first aid kit in my room if you want some help cleaning it up.”

“Oh, no, it’s cool. I wouldn’t want to bother your roommate,” Peter told you, scooting further away on the bench, nearly falling off the edge of it. Ned hated it when he stumbled in at some ungodly hour after patrol and woke him up.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, standing up and gesturing for him to follow you. “I have a single.”

Peter looked at you in awe. Freshmen never got rooms to themselves, and yet somehow you had one. “Okay, fine. But only because I’ve never actually seen a single in this building before.”

“That’s cool with me,” you smiled, reaching for his hand so he could keep up with your pace. He noticed that you were chewing some of the banana bread, which he really hoped was from the part that didn’t fall on the floor. To be fair though, it did smell really good.

Not only did you have a single, but you lived on the first floor. Peter couldn’t believe how lucky you were, considering the building that the two of you lived in didn’t have any elevators to traverse its seven floors.

He was even more shocked when you opened your door, revealing the coziest dorm room he had ever seen. How on earth did you transform the glorified prison cell into something that felt so... comforting? From the twinkling lights that were wrapped around everything and the soft rug under his feet, Peter found it really hard to believe that you had trouble sleeping here.

“Sorry, it’s a bit messy,” you apologized, piling your many throw pillows and blankets into a basket to clear up some space on your bed. “You can sit here.”

If this was messy, then Peter and Ned’s room needed some serious help. “No worries,” he said, watching as you rummaged around your drawers in search of your first aid kit.

Eventually, you found it hidden under a bunch of graph paper and colored pencils, untouched ever since your overprotective grandparents had helped you move in. “Here we go,” you mused, now looking inside it for alcohol wipes and band-aids.

He winced as you rubbed the little cloth against his lips, and you made sure to be more gentle as you cleaned up the other cuts on his face. Thankfully, nothing was bad enough to require stitches, something you were seriously under-qualified to do.

All Peter could focus on the entire time was how close you were and what it would be like to just kiss you right then and there, but he knew that was way too forward of him. Plus, he didn’t even know if you liked him like that. Surely you were just being nice.

Still, the way he caught you staring into his brown eyes after smoothing a band-aid on his forehead made him think otherwise.

“You’re going to have to tell me eventually who beat you up,” you sighed, gathering up wrappers to throw away and tucking the first aid kit back into its place in your drawers.

“It’s a long story,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding your stare.

“I’ve got time,” you replied, climbing onto your lofted bed to sit next to him, innocently brushing your bare leg against his jeans, which made his breath hitch. “Tell me about it.”

“Uh, how about another time?” he stammered, hopping off the bed and running his hand through his hair. “After class tomorrow, or something. It’s getting pretty late. We should, um, go to sleep.”

“You can stay here if you want,” you offered, his eyes widening at your invitation. “On the bean bag, I mean. It’s actually really comfortable. You mentioned something about bothering your roommate and I figured that maybe you’d like to avoid the trouble tonight.”

“Oh…” Peter hesitated, looking for a reason to say no. He knew he’d never be able to sleep knowing that you were in the same room as him. “I don’t have any pajamas.”

“True,” you agreed, a little disappointed that he wasn’t interested in sticking around.

“I don’t actually even wear pajamas to sleep,” he continued, making you look back up at him instead of playing with the hem of your shirt. “It’s just… I sleep in my boxers.”

“I’m sorry for asking. I didn’t mean to put you in an uncomfortable situation,” you sighed, your face hot with embarrassment.

“It’s not that! I mean, I do want to stay here. But, uh, you… well, you make me really nervous, Y/N,” he muttered, his glance bouncing around the room.

“Why?” you asked, your brows furrowing. “Did I do something?”

“No, no! Nothing at all. I promise, okay?”

“Okay. You can, um, get ready for bed, I guess. I promise not to look,” you assured him, turning on your side to face the wall.

“Thanks. Yeah, alright.” You heard him fumbling with his clothes, his sneakers making a soft thud on your floor. You did your best to resist the urge to glance back at him.

“Can I just use any of these?” he asked, although you had no idea what he was talking about.

“Peter, I’m not looking, remember? You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that.”

“The blankets. Do I just pick one, or are you particular about them?”

“Oh. You can use whichever one you want to. But the coral one’s the softest and my personal favorite.” Peter stared at the basket in confusion. To him, they were all just pink. But based on touch alone, he pulled one out that he figured was a little more orange than the others.

He walked over to the light switch and flipped off the overhead fluorescents, letting the room be illuminated by the warm glow of your fairy lights, which weren’t too bright, but still twinkly and beautiful.

“Goodnight, Peter,” you whispered, snuggling into your comforter in the hopes that your heartbeat would slow down and let you fall asleep for once.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” In a matter of minutes, you could hear his soft snoring, and you figured that it would be okay just to take a quick peek since he’d probably be bundled up in one of your blankets.

His hair was perfectly messy, and he looked so cozy wrapped up in the blanket you had recommended. Still, as much as you could stare at his adorable face all night, you were exhausted. Burying your face under the covers, you did your best to calm your nerves and get some rest before class tomorrow.

----------------

“Peter,” you whispered, jostling him lightly by the shoulders in the hopes of waking him up. “Uh, we have an hour before class. I was thinking that it would be enough time for you to go shower and change, and then we could go get coffee or something.”

He blinked back up at you, amazed at how well he slept on your bean bag. You had already gotten ready for the day, doing your makeup and picking out one of your many fluffy sweaters to keep you warm in the New York snow.

“Thanks, that sounds awesome,” he yawned, accepting the hand you held out to help him up. The blanket fell, and you stared at each other in shock, having forgotten that Peter was in nothing but his underwear.

You dropped his hand as fast as you could, covering your eyes. “Oh my god! I’m sorry. Shit, I completely forgot, Peter. I’m so sorry. I’ll let you get dressed.”

Peter watched as you stumbled around the room, your eyes squeezed tightly as your hands attempted to guide you away from him.

“Y/N,” he started, catching your attention as you nearly ran into your bed frame. “You can open your eyes. Really, I don’t care if you see me like this if it means I can keep you from breaking your nose.”

You hesitantly opened your eyes, relieved that Peter had already managed to pull his pants back on. Still, he was completely shirtless, and you found yourself staring at the abs you would have never expected to be hiding underneath his clothes.

Moments later, you averted your gaze, although you knew that he probably noticed you looking at where was now covered by his plaid button-down and dark blue sweater.

“I’ll, um, be right back,” he muttered, before practically sprinting out of your room and up the stairs. You groaned in embarrassment, burying your face in a pillow before attempting to take a quick twenty-minute power nap.

Peter couldn’t believe it. Sure, he had thought one time about you seeing him without clothes on, but this wasn’t how he thought it would go at all. Still, the image of you staring at him shirtless, your face flushed, made him feel like he was going to have a heart attack.

“Dude! There you are,” Ned screamed, startled at his roommate’s unexpected entrance. Peter panted, having run up four flights of stairs as fast as he could. “Wait a second. Did you finally get laid? Is this a walk of shame?”

Before Ned could praise him any further, Peter was grabbing a change of clothes and sprinting towards the bathroom. Don’t think about her, he begged himself.

The memory of your leg touching his last night immediately came to mind, and Peter was so angry at himself for being this starved for physical intimacy. To be fair, though, you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and so he cut himself some slack.

Shit, he told himself, making sure the water was set to cold. He needed to calm down, but instead, his thoughts were stuck on how good you looked in your pajamas, but also how good you would look without them and—fuck it.

Peter liked you a lot, and if thinking about you like this in private kept him from being a complete weirdo in person, then maybe he just needed to get his feelings of desperation over with.

When he came back down to your room about thirty minutes later, you were still super tired. You trudged your way towards the door, your hair now noticeably messier than earlier, but at least that meant your nap had been a success.

His hair was still damp and this time he was wearing yet another blue sweater, which made you wonder if he ever wore any other color. He had his backpack slung over one of his shoulders and a nervous smile on his face as he locked eyes with you.

“Hey,” he said, pushing some of his hair out of his face. “Are you ready to go?”

You leaned against the doorway a little bit, letting out a yawn that was literally the cutest noise Peter had ever heard in his life. “Yeah, let me get my backpack.”

“It’s so heavy,” you continued, rightfully complaining as the weight of all its contents practically pulled you downwards. “I think it’s so stupid how almost every professor bans computers from class. Like, it’s not fair that I have to lug around three textbooks every day. I don’t have time to run back to my dorm in between classes like some people!”

Peter frowned. Three textbooks were nothing to him, but he knew that you didn’t have spidey-strength and that you were also pretty tiny compared to him. It must’ve been hell on your back to be carrying all that stuff around every day.

“I can carry it for you,” he offered, holding out his hand to switch with you. “Here, you can take my backpack if it’ll make you feel better. I have a lot of programming classes today, so I’ve only got my laptop and a notebook in there.”

You gave him a look of gratitude as he traded bags with you, literally taking the weight off your shoulders. He was right. His backpack was much more manageable for you, even if the dark grey contrasted with the light colors you always wore.

In contrast, it looked kind of odd for him to be walking around with a backpack that was covered in a soft pink floral pattern, much like everything else you owned, but the sight of him carrying your books brought a smile to your face.

It was one of the sweetest things a guy had ever done for you, and Peter wasn’t even your boyfriend. He probably didn’t even think of you in that way.

“Uh, where do you usually get coffee?” he asked, slowing his pace so you could keep up. He felt bad seeing how tired you were, no doubt due to the lack of sleep you got last night.

“The Starbucks next to Hendrie Hall,” you replied, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. “You?”

“I don’t drink coffee,” he admitted. “I’m actually more of a tea person.”

“Oh,” you hesitated, wondering if it was worth it to walk all the way across campus just for a caramel ribbon crunch frappuccino. “We could go somewhere closer then.”

“It’s okay,” Peter reassured you, grabbing your hand and pulling you along to your destination. “I like walking.”

----------------

You hadn’t really talked to Peter since that morning before class, but sometimes you would peek behind you and catch him stealing glances at you. Eventually, he had started to feel brave enough to give you a little wave whenever you caught him looking at you. Well, at least the times when you were awake.

One day, not even the loud shuffling and growing chatter of your classmates exiting the lecture hall could wake you up, and Peter figured he better do something before you got chewed out by one of the TAs.

“Y/N?” he said, leaning closer so that you could hopefully hear him. “Y/N. You gotta wake up. Class ended three minutes ago.”

He shook you a little bit, nervously hoping that you wouldn’t mind him touching you. Your eyes fluttered open, and you smiled softly as soon as you realized it was Peter.

“Oh. Thanks,” you said, standing up to slide your empty notebook into your backpack. Your hand brushed the side of your mouth, making sure you hadn’t drooled onto yourself.

“You can borrow my notes,” he offered, glancing at you sheepishly as you gathered up your coat and fixed your hair. “If you want to.”

“That’d be great,” you sighed, wondering whether you should skip your next class and just go take a nap. At this point, you weren’t even bothering to put on makeup and you basically wore whatever clothes you had that weren’t already sprawled across your room.

“Are you alright?” Peter asked, walking close to you to make sure you didn’t fall over. He knew you were an insomniac, but you looked seriously sleep-deprived today. “Have you been sleeping at all lately?”

“Nope,” you huffed, lugging your perpetually heavy backpack along. “But I’m skipping the rest of my classes today. I’d rather lie that I’m sick through an e-mail than have to explain to my professors why I was sleeping during their classes.”

“Fair enough,” he agreed, stopping you in your tracks to take your backpack from you. “I’ve actually got some time before my next class. I can walk you back to your room and give you my notebook if that’s okay with you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you told him, reaching to take your bag back from him, although he didn’t let you.

“Y/N. Come on, you’re exhausted. At least let me carry your stuff, alright?” He had such a kind look in his eyes, and you certainly didn’t have the energy to keep arguing for no reason.

“Okay.” You crossed your arms, the cold air slowly waking you up as the wind hit your face. Your ears were super cold, but you were glad you had pulled your hair into a quick braid to keep it from flying everywhere.

It wasn’t long before you were kicking your boots off in your dorm room, your teeth chattering as you wrapped yourself in a blanket.

“Do you want some tea?” you asked Peter, inviting him to sit down wherever.

“Sure, but I thought you drank coffee,” he reminded you, watching as you pulled an assortment of tea bags for him to choose from.

“I do,” you said, handing him the box and running to your bathroom to fill up the electric kettle. “But you drink tea.”

Peter’s ears suddenly felt hot. You had gotten tea just for him. Or maybe you were just a really good hostess and kept some around for all of your visitors. Probably the second option, he thought.

“Are you even allowed to have one of those?” he asked as the two of you waited for the water to boil.

“No,” you laughed, sitting next to him on your bed. For someone with so much space to themselves, you really needed to invest in more places to sit. “But you can’t have candles or fairy lights either, so I guess I’m just a rule breaker.”

“Guess I’ll just have to report you to the RA,” Peter teased, getting up to make himself a cup of earl grey. “Do you have any sugar?”

“Top drawer on the right,” you replied. “Do you have a sweet tooth?”

“Yes.” You watched as his lips blew on the tea to cool it down before remembering that it was weird to stare.

“You should let me bake something for you. What’s your favorite dessert?” You were kicking your dangling legs, suddenly feeling a lot more awake than this morning.

“Chocolate cake. With chocolate frosting,” he said in between sips, walking back over to you. With you on the tall bed and him standing, your faces were level with each other.

“I’ll have to make you one to thank you,” you smiled, peering into his eyes. Peter felt your heartbeat quicken, and the grin on your face as you stared at each other made him weak in the knees.

“Can I get those notes?” you asked, making him remember that people don’t just look at each other and say nothing like that.

“Oh! Yeah, definitely.” He quickly set the mug down on your nightstand to rummage through his backpack, flipping one of his notebooks open before handing it to you. “There are the ones from today, but all of the ones I’ve taken this semester are in there too.”

“Wow,” you laughed, making a worried expression form on his face.

“What’s wrong? Are they not good?”

“No, it’s not that. They’re just, uh, very thorough.” He had basically transcribed your professor’s lectures onto the pages. “You must write really fast. But thank you, Peter. I really appreciate it.”

Peter nodded before nervously gulping down the rest of his tea, not even noticing how hot the liquid still was as it nearly burned his throat.

“I should go now,” he started, looking around the room for his things. “I want you to get some rest, Y/N. Please.”

He had this look in his eyes that was so genuine—so full of care and concern—that it made you want to do whatever he asked you to.

“I’ll try,” you told him, awkwardly rubbing the top of your arm in the hopes that you could actually fall asleep after he left. “Have a nice day, Peter.”

“Bye, Y/N. I’ll stop by later,” he said, already halfway out the door. “For the notes, I mean! Uh, bye. Again. Okay. I’m going to go now.”

You giggled, giving him one last wave before he left. Like magic, the more you thought about how Peter was worried about you, the easier it was for you to drift off into a peaceful sleep, finally feeling at ease for the first time in weeks.

----------------

You woke up later that day to Peter knocking on your door, this time standing next to some guy in a brightly colored Hawaiian shirt.

“Hi, Y/N,” Peter greeted you. You looked a lot less tired than when he saw you this morning, which relieved him. “This is my roommate, Ned. He just wanted to know who I’ve been hanging out with, so I hope it’s okay that I brought him here to prove you’re real and not a figment of my imagination.”

Ned leaned closer to you, your hair still a little messy from your nap. “Blink twice if he’s paying you,” he whispered, causing you to giggle. Peter looked on nervously, unsure of what his best friend had just said to you.

“What did you say!?” he asked, lightly pushing Ned on the arm, knowing that it was probably something meant to embarrass him.

“Ow! Okay, now I’m really not telling you,” Ned replied, rubbing the spot where Peter had just hit him.

“Y/N, what did Ned say to you?” He turned to you, a worried look on his face as you and Ned held back your laughter. Peter’s face turned as red as a tomato, making you instantly feel a little bit bad.

“It was nothing, Peter. Really,” you said, pulling him into the room with you. “It was nice to meet you, Ned. I’ll make sure he’s back before curfew.”

Ned laughed, offering a quick thumbs up and mouthing “I like her” to Peter before you shut the door on him.

“I knew that was a mistake,” Peter sighed, his back against the door. You were still a bit giddy from the exchange, giggling softly as he slowed his breathing.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed around me,” you reassured him. “We’re friends, right?”

“Yeah, of course. It’s just that…”

“What?” You could barely hear him as his voice trailed off.

“Well, uh, not all of my friends are, you know…”

“Spit it out, Peter,” you said, leaning closer so that you could hear him better.

“They’re not as pretty as you,” he muttered, making you blush at his words. Did he really think you were pretty?

“Oh. Thanks,” you smiled, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. Peter lifted his head up, relieved that you didn’t think he was a creep or something.

“Your notebook’s on my desk,” you continued, stepping back a little to give him some space. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as the distance between you and him grew. “I just took a bunch of pictures, so I can look at them on my computer whenever.”

“Alright, awesome,” he said, walking over to collect it before turning back to you. “How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty well, actually. The best I’ve slept in a while. I think you’re some kind of good luck charm.”

“Really?” he asked, a little surprised that he had been helpful.

“Really. You know, I’ve been thinking…”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe it’d be nice if we hung out somewhere that wasn’t my room all the time,” you said, a hopeful look in your eyes. “If you want.”

Peter had never noticed it before, but the two of you really did spend most of your time together in your room. It really was a nice room, but it made sense that you’d want to get out of it every once and a while.

“I’d like that. What did you have in mind?” Play it cool, Parker, he told himself. You can freak out with Ned later.

“How about ice cream on Friday?” you suggested, which came as a bit of a surprise to him.

“In the middle of winter?” As far as Peter could remember, you were always cold.

“Yeah. I really love ice cream,” you added, smiling up at him.

“Okay, then. Ice cream it is,” he agreed. There was absolutely no way he could ever say no to you when you looked at him like that.

----------------

“May! No, it’s not a date. She’s just a friend. Yeah, I got it. Open the door, pay for her, don’t be an idiot!” Peter sighed into his phone, hoping his aunt’s unwarranted crash course on first dates would be over soon. “Yes, I’m wearing the green sweater. Thanks, love you. Bye!”

“I have no idea who told her I had a date tonight,” he groaned, slumping down onto the couch next to his best friend.

“I texted her,” Ned replied nonchalantly, not even looking away from whatever video game he was playing. “Knew you’d need some kind of pointers. Y/N is way out of your league.”

“Hey!” Was he right? Yes. Did Peter need to be reminded of it right before his not-a-date date with you? Definitely not.

“Come on, you know I’m right. It’s Liz Allan all over again. I have no idea how you keep pulling all of these pretty girls, but hey, credit where credit is due.”

“You’re so mean.”

“I keep it real and you love it. Good luck, man.”

“Bye,” Peter grumbled, slipping on his coat and walking out of their room. Four flights of stairs later, he was at your door.

“Hi!” you squeaked, wrapping your arms around him. This was the first time the two of you had ever hugged and Peter was not going to forget about it anytime soon. “Come in. I have a surprise for you!”

“Here,” you continued, holding out a blue and white beanie for him. “I made it for you. To match all those blue sweaters you wear all the time.” Except this time, he was wearing a forest green one, which brought out the slight hazel tinge in his eyes.

“You made this for me?” he asked, eyeing the different stitches you had used and fiddling with the pom-pom on top. It looked store-bought.

“Well, yeah, silly. I just said that,” you replied, hoping that he liked it. With all the time you didn’t sleep, you were knitting anyway, but this was a special present for him. “Try it on.”

“I didn’t get you anything,” he sighed, pulling the hat onto his head. He looked really cute, the ends of his wavy hair peeking out from underneath the brim.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, pulling him out of your room and towards the front of the dorm building. “Getting to hang out with you is good enough for me.”

“Where’d you learn how to knit?” Peter questioned, walking alongside you on the snow-lined sidewalks. With how cold it was, and considering he didn’t have a hood on his coat, it seemed like perfect timing that you had given him a hat.

“My grandma taught me,” you shared, taking in the twinkling of the streetlamps and how they bounced against the snow. In New York, that was practically the closest you could get to stargazing. “My, uh, grandparents actually raised me.”

“Oh. I was raised by my aunt and uncle,” Peter confided. It made you feel not so alone to find out that he didn’t grow up with his parents either, even though you knew firsthand just how hard it was.

“Do they live around here?” you asked, stealing glances at him and how rosy his cheeks were in the cold air.

“Yeah, my aunt lives in Queens,” he told you, staring at his feet to both avoid eye contact and make sure neither of you accidentally slipped. Not that he wouldn’t catch you, but he wanted to be safe. “My uncle actually passed away a couple of years ago.”

You stopped walking, immediately feeling a sense of regret. “I’m sorry, Peter. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s okay, Y/N. There was no way for you to have known that,” Peter reassured you, his warm breath coming out in clouds, and he reached for your hand to run his thumb across your knuckles. He gently pulled you along, keeping you from dying of embarrassment in the middle of campus.

“What about you? Are you from around here?” he asked, hoping to break the silence and make you feel a little bit better.

“No, I just moved up here for college. I grew up in Texas but moved to North Carolina when I was 13, so I finished school down there,” you explained, Peter suddenly noticing a slight Southern twang to your voice. “I just really wanted to go to school in a big city and not next to a farm for once in my life.”

“That makes sense,” he laughed, wondering what it would be like to live somewhere else. “I’ve only ever lived in New York City.”

“Do you like it here?”

“I love it. Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, to be honest.”

“Me either,” you sighed, squeezing his hand tighter as the two of you enjoyed your walk in the snow.

It seemed like forever before you reached the ice cream shop, but you didn’t mind. That just gave you and Peter more time to get to know each other better. Turns out you both competed in academic decathlons, although you were more of a math person and he preferred science.

“Okay, you’re wrong. Night at the Museum 2 is so much better than the first one. I mean that kiss between Ben Stiller and Amy Adams? The Jonas Brothers as little cherub angels? Name one thing from the original that tops that,” you ranted in between spoonfuls of peppermint ice cream.

“I just really like when the little cowboy and gladiator are driving that toy car around,” he reasoned, subtly admitting defeat.

“Don’t even get me started on why the second Shrek movie—”

You were interrupted by the sound of Peter’s phone ringing, and you immediately recognized his ringtone as the Coconut Mall theme from Mario Kart. He peered down at his phone screen, sighing and mouthing an apology to you as he accepted the call.

“Uh, hey, Mr. Stark. Did you need something?” Well, at least you knew he wasn’t lying about his internship at Stark Industries. “Toronto? Tonight? I’m kind of busy.”

There was a long pause as Peter mentally kicked himself for talking back to Tony, resulting in an earful about how being an Avenger should always be at the top of his priorities.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I’ll be right over… but I need a favor. Could you send Happy to pick my friend up? Yeah, it’s the ice cream shop on 1st. Thank you so much, Mr. Stark. Bye.” He frowned at you, and you could tell from what you had heard that he had to go.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. It’s just, something came up last minute and Mr. Stark really needs me to go on this business trip with him,” he apologized, pulling his coat on. “But, uh, he’s sending a car for you. So don’t worry about walking back alone, alright? I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you when I get back, okay? Bye!”

“Oh, okay. Bye!” you managed to call out before he was running out the doors and down the street. Lots of customers were staring as you awkwardly gathered your things and went to go wait on the sidewalk.

A few minutes later, a shiny black car had pulled up to the curb in front of you, a man rolling down the window.

“Miss Y/N? I’m Happy Hogan. Mr. Stark sent me to drive you home,” he called from the driver’s seat, before getting out to open your door for you. You stepped in, a little starstruck at how nice the car was. You had never been in anything this expensive before.

The two of you were sitting in silence until you finally got the courage to speak up.

“Mr. Hogan,” you started, causing him to turn down the smooth jazz that had been playing on the radio. “Do you know why Peter has to go to Toronto?”

“Yes,” he replied, glancing at you in the rearview mirror. “But I can’t tell you that.”

“Oh, okay,” you accepted, shifting to look out the window at all of the places in the city that you hadn’t yet gotten the chance to explore.

Eventually, he was dropping you off in front of your dorm, and you were trudging inside to your room to sulk about how your not-a-date date with Peter had gotten interrupted. You stared at your ceiling all night, wondering when the next time you’d see each other would be, and whether or not he’d come back with the same cuts and bruises as when you had first met.

----------------

Peter had been gone for six days and counting, and you were starting to worry that he might never come back. You had already started missing him the night he left, and now it was just some agonizing waiting game for him to return.

You must have spent hours in the basement kitchen before deciding to visit the fourth floor where Peter lived. You knocked on the door and was quickly met with Ned’s shocked expression.

“Uh, hi, Y/N. Peter’s not here right now. Did you need something?”

“I know,” you acknowledged, holding up the plate in your hand. “It’s just, well, I’ve been baking a lot and I didn’t really know who to give all of these cookies to, so I was wondering if you wanted any.”

“Oh, in that case, sign me up!” You watched as his face lit up as he noticed the assortment of chocolate chip, sugar, and snickerdoodle cookies all still warm from the oven. He offered his hands out to take the plate from you, which you happily relinquished.

“These are really good,” he complimented, his mouth full of a sugar cookie. “Can I keep the rest of them?”

“Yeah, of course,” you answered, doing your best to smile despite how much you wished it had been Peter opening the door. “I’ll see you around, Ned.”

“Hey, Y/N,” he called out to you, making you turn around on the stairwell. “Don’t worry. I’m sure Peter’s going to be back any day now.” You nodded, offering him a wave and walking back down to your room.

Turns out Ned had been right. The strange noises outside of your window were masked by how loud you were jamming out to We Didn’t Start the Fire by Billy Joel, jumping around and listing off the lyrics that had never made much sense to you. Peter knocked louder on the glass, startling you as you quickly switched off the music to investigate.

“Holy shit,” you whispered, squinting your eyes to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. “Spider-Man? Is that really you?”

You fumbled to push up your window, extremely confused as to why one of the Avengers was outside your bedroom this late at night.

“It’s me, Y/N,” he explained, his voice suddenly becoming extremely familiar. Your eyes widened as you realized who was behind the mask.

“Oh my god! PETER?” you screamed as he slipped through the window, pulling off his mask and clapping a hand over your mouth.

“Don’t freak out. It’s okay. It’s just me, okay?” he stammered in an attempt to get you to calm down before an RA heard. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I really wanted to tell you, but we were in public when I left, and I couldn’t risk it. And I didn’t want to text it or do it over the phone because it’s kind of a big deal, so I figured I’d just come to see you as soon as I got back and Mr. Stark said that you have to promise—”

“It’s okay, Peter,” you interrupted, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face into the very weird material of his spider-suit. “I won’t tell anybody.”

He softened under your touch, resting his head on top of yours. “I like your dance moves,” he whispered, making you glare up at him, your face suddenly very red.

“How long were you watching?” you groaned, dramatically throwing yourself onto your bean bag, your face covered by your hands.

“Only for about a minute,” he answered, pulling your hands down so you could see him grinning at you. “I especially liked how you used your hairbrush as a microphone. Plus, I thought we agreed to stop being embarrassed around each other?”

“Well, that was before I knew you were freaking Spider-Man!”

“Okay, fair enough,” he agreed, nudging you to scoot over and make room for him.

“So, that’s what that whole Toronto thing was?” you asked as he sat next to you, your knee touching his.

“Yep. There was this thing about aliens and these guys that could shapeshift. It’s a lot to explain.”

“Are you going to keep that thing on all night?” you asked, gesturing at his outfit, which was very tight and very distracting from whatever alien story he had to tell.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess so,” he shrugged. “I don’t have anything on underneath it.”

“How scandalous,” you teased. “Not so family-friendly after all, huh, Spidey?”

“Oh, shut up,” he quipped, rolling his eyes as you let out a long yawn.

“Have you been sleeping much?” he continued, suddenly remembering the issue that had brought the two of you together in the first place.

“Of course not. I’ve been too busy worrying about my classes and, oh, just some idiot I know that abandoned me in the middle of an ice cream shop. Pretty sure he said he’d make that up to me, by the way.”

“Okay, okay. Message received. What would you like?” Please say a kiss. Please say a kiss. Please say a—

“Can I meet them? The Avengers, I mean. It’s not like anyone else really has a secret identity except for you.”

“Oh. I mean, I’d have to ask Mr. Stark and the rest of the team and see if they’re cool with it, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Awesome! You’re the best,” you chimed, wrapping your arms around him and planting a kiss on his cheek.

It was then that Peter decided he would just never be able to wash that side of his face again, his heart nearly skipping a beat.

“Peter,” you said, breaking the silence he had left the two of you in. “I’m tired.”

“Me too,” he sighed. “I should head up to my room. Gotta make sure Ned knows I’m still alive.”

“Yeah, of course,” you agreed, standing up to see him out. “Aren’t you worried somebody will see you, though?”

“Y/N, it’s 4 a.m. I’m pretty sure that you and I are the only people on campus that are awake right now.”

“Oh, right. Still, be careful, okay?” you told him, slightly worried at his secret identity being found out by some college kid that just couldn’t stay off Twitter.

“Will do,” he said, smiling and giving you a little salute before leaving.

----------------

A few days later, before you could even greet him, Peter was already walking into your room. It was 10 p.m., a little earlier than when he usually came over, but by now you were used to him showing up at your door unannounced.

He was already wearing his pajamas, a t-shirt with a science pun and some flannel pants that he had invested in to avoid any more awkward moments between the two of you. You were dressed in leggings and a sweatshirt, the clothes you usually threw on after class just in case you fell asleep on accident. There had been more times where you had woken up sweaty with your jeans stuck to your legs than you were willing to admit.

“Okay, so I asked Mr. Stark about your request and he told me he doesn’t think now is a good time, but…” he grinned, holding out a giant cardboard box with some kind of minimalist home appliance on the front for you to look at.

“Am I supposed to know what that is?” you blinked back, trying to figure out what the hell you were staring at, considering that all of the text written on it was in a language you didn’t know how to read.

“It’s some fancy white noise machine from Japan. If I remember correctly, Mr. Stark said he made Pepper order it because I wouldn’t shut up about you, and it would be in everybody’s best interest if you got some sleep, so I could stop annoying him and the rest of the team.”

“Oh. That’s pretty thoughtful, I guess,” you said, gathering things off your floor to make space for it.

He set the box down on your rug and got to work opening it. Meanwhile, you were busy translating what exactly Tony Stark had so generously gifted to you.

“Peter, wait. This thing is like $300. Doesn’t he know that you can just look up whale noises on YouTube for free?”

“Yeah, but this one adjusts its volume based on the noises around it, has a light that simulates the sun rising, and has an alarm noise that’s supposed to support healthy cortisol levels.”

Peter peered up to see your arms crossed and brows furrowed, it suddenly becoming clear to him that the things he had just listed meant very little to you.

“Plus, he’s a literal billionaire, so I don’t think it was that big of a loss for him,” he added.

“Fine. Let’s just hope this thing works,” you sighed, watching as Peter leafed through the instruction manual before tossing it behind him. “It’s a little early to go to sleep, though.”

“Y/N, plenty of people go to sleep at 10. Not everybody is nocturnal like you.”

“I guess you have a point,” you agreed, kneeling down beside him as he fiddled with all the settings.

“I know,” he said with a smirk as you rested your chin on his shoulder to get a better look at what he was doing. “What time do you want to wake up? 7 a.m. would give us time to go get breakfast before class, but we could do 8 if you wanted to sleep in.”

“We?” you mused, liking the sound of that. “I guess that means you’re staying here tonight?”

“Well, yeah. I’m not letting you have all these overpriced rainforest noises to yourself.”

“Do 7. We can go get those blueberry muffins that you like,” you decided, standing up to get Peter’s makeshift bed on your bean bag ready. “Do you actually like sleeping on this thing, or were you just trying to be polite the first time I asked?”

“Dude, that thing is awesome. It’s like I’m on this little cuddly cloud, and then you add all those warm blankets and the twinkly lights and it’s the perfect recipe for me to fall asleep.”

“Wow,” you nodded, looking around your room to see all of the things that Peter was talking about. “I wish it worked that way for me.”

“Maybe it will, tonight.”

It didn’t. You were tossing and turning for nearly an hour to the agonizing sounds of birds cawing and the occasional monkey chatter, all set against the backdrop of a heavy thunderstorm. To be honest, it was something that would’ve given you nightmares when you were little.

“Y/N?” Peter whispered from the floor. “Are you sleeping?”

“No.”

“Me neither.”

“Could you turn that thing off? It’s really distracting me.”

“Yeah, of course,” he said, leaning over to switch the noise machine off. “Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask me anything.”

He hesitated, not really sure if he should ask the question that he had been thinking about for a while now. “How old were you when your parents died?”

You had to think for a moment, not really sure about the answer. For as long as you could remember, you just lived with your grandparents. “Um, well my mom left when I was a baby. And I think my dad passed away when I was four.”

“Oh,” Peter mumbled. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have a parent leave you, but he didn’t want to pry just in case it was a sensitive topic. “Are your grandparents from your mom or dad’s side?”

You rolled over to rest your head on the edge of your bed so that you could see him better. He looked so cute bundled up in all of your blankets, his hair already a bit messy. “They’re my mom’s parents. It’s weird. I see a lot of pictures of her from when she was growing up, and I look so much like her, but she’s basically a stranger to me.”

Peter opened his mouth to say something else, but there was a long pause and he decided not to.

“What about you? How old were you when your parents passed away?”

“Five or six. They met while working at the C.I.A. together, but most of my memories are from the stories my aunt and uncle told me when I was growing up.”

For a moment, neither of you could find the right words to say to each other.

“Peter,” you spoke up, interrupting his thoughts. “I’m really glad I met you.”

“I’m really glad I met you too.”

----------------

Peter’s next plan of action involved even more advice from his fellow Avengers, and you were not looking forward to trying out any of their suggestions.

“Okay, so, Steve—I mean Captain America—said that when he was little, you know, in the 1940s, all he had to do was drink a glass of warm milk before bed.”

“I’m lactose intolerant,” you groaned, crossing your arms.

“I just saw you eat an entire pint of Ben and Jerry’s in one sitting the other day.”

“Regular milk has almost 15 times more lactose than ice cream. You’d think a science nerd like you would know that.”

“I’m a geek,” he scoffed, clearly a little bit offended. “Not a nerd.”

“Yeah, I can see that now. It’s okay, though. At least you’re pretty,” you said, pinching his cheek.

“Just try it,” he grumbled, handing you the warm glass and waiting impatiently for you to take a sip. If anything, the milk did a better job at keeping you up that night than putting you to sleep. Not even thirty minutes after you had gone to bed, you were feeling sick to your stomach.

“I hate milk,” you gagged, Peter holding your hair back as you kneeled over the toilet bowl. “My grandpa could never get me to drink it as a kid.”

“Is that why you’re so short?” he laughed, helping you up. You glared at him as you moved to the sink to wash the acidic taste out of your mouth.

“Shut up, Parker,” you quipped, tired and grumpy from how terrible you felt. “Let’s just go back to sleep.”

“Alright, munchkin,” he smiled, pulling you out of the bathroom and back towards your bed.

Somehow, the warm milk wasn’t even the worst of Peter’s ideas, because a few days later, he was standing at your door with a bottle of some Asgardian sleep aid from the lightning god himself.

“Are you sure this is safe for me to drink?” you asked, your eyes widening as you stared at the silvery liquid that was almost shimmering.

“Uh, I’m about 87% confident you’ll live,” he said, “But I’m 100% sure that it’ll work.”

“Gee, thanks. Now I really want to drink this weird alien potion,” you sighed, looking at him nervously.

“Just drink a little bit and see if you feel anything,” Peter encouraged, leaning over your shoulder. You nodded, hesitantly bringing the drink up to your lips to take a sip.

“This stuff tastes amazing,” you mused, taking a bigger gulp this time. “Like a blue raspberry slushie.”

“Whoa, that’s enough,” he warned, taking the bottle from your hands before you could drink any more of it. “We don’t want you to go into a coma.”

“I don’t feel anything,” you shrugged, frowning back at him. “Maybe I should—”

You stopped mid-sentence to let out a loud yawn, the potion starting to take effect. Peter caught you as you slumped down in your chair, helping you into bed.

“Okay. I definitely feel it now,” you admitted, already half asleep. Peter tucked you under your blankets, placing a kiss on your forehead as your eyes fluttered shut.

“Sweet dreams, Y/N,” he whispered, turning off your lights and softly closing the door behind him.

For a moment, Peter had thought he had finally found a solution to your insomnia. At least before you slept through class the next morning. And then the day after that. But it wasn’t until the third day that he really started to freak out.

“Where’s Thor!?” he panted, having run all the way from his class over to the Avengers Tower. Wanda and Vision stared back at him from the kitchen, very confused at what he was so panicked about.

“He’s in his room,” Bucky called from the couch, his mouth full of popcorn as 13 Going on 30 played on the big screen. “What’s going on, kid?”

“No time to explain. Gotta go!” Peter called, sprinting up the stairs towards Thor’s room. He knocked frantically until the door finally swung open.

“Greetings, young Spiderling. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Thor smiled, his long, golden hair shiny as ever.

“I think I killed my almost-girlfriend!” Peter blurted out, practically sweating from how stressed out he was. “She drank that stuff you gave me and she hasn’t woken up in three days now!”

Thor chuckled, patting Peter on the head. “Do not worry, my brother. I’m sure she will wake up given time. It was a very potent drink, after all. Calm yourself.”

“Okay,” he sighed, relieved to know that he hadn’t poisoned you to death. “Cool. Cool, cool, cool. She’s fine. Everything’s fine. Thanks, man. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you around.”

“Farewell, Peter. May we meet again soon,” he grinned before closing the door in Peter’s face.

On the way back down the stairs, Peter figured he’d give you a call and see if you were still sleeping.

“Hello?” you groaned, your throat dry from just waking up. “Peter, what the hell happened to me?”

“THANK GOD YOU’RE ALIVE!” Peter yelled into the phone, making you recoil from the volume of his excitement. “You’ve been asleep for three days, Y/N. I thought you were dead.”

“I am very much alive,” you laughed, slowly feeling the potion wearing off. “Where are you?”

“Uh. I may have run all the way to Midtown to ask Thor if I had killed you,” he admitted, feeling you roll your eyes through the screen. “I was worried, okay?”

“Now you know how I feel whenever you leave for a mission,” you countered, glad that Peter couldn’t see how much you were blushing. “Hurry up and get your butt back over here. I have the weirdest dream to tell you about.”

----------------

Even if you still weren’t getting a full eight hours of rest at night, it was obvious that all of Peter’s efforts had vastly improved your sleep schedule. Over the past few months, you had gone from staring at your ceiling all night to actually being able to stay asleep for small periods of time.

“Your eyelashes are so long,” you mused, playing with Peter’s hair. He was sitting in between your legs and How the Grinch Stole Christmas was playing on your TV.

“Really?” He tilted his head back to look at you, batting his eyelashes and making you giggle.

“Yes. It’s not fair that boys get all of the pretty eyelashes,” you pouted, watching as the Grinch explained his plan to steal all of Whoville’s presents to his dog.

“I think yours are pretty,” he replied, a soft smile on his face. “But there’s a rogue one just hanging out on your face right now.”

“Can you get it?” you asked, your eyes still glued on the TV screen. Peter nodded, twisting around to gently brush the eyelash from your cheek.

“Do you want to make a wish?” he laughed, holding the little eyelash on the tip of his finger in front of you.

“Okay,” you agreed, squeezing your eyes shut and blowing it away. When you opened them, Peter’s face was only inches away from yours.

“What did you wish for?” His gaze shifted downwards to look at your lips for a split second, before returning to look into your eyes.

“I can’t tell you, dummy. Then it won’t come true.” You weren’t about to tell your best friend that you wished for him to kiss you. At least not now, while the two of you were stuck in this really weird “not dating, but more than just friends” limbo.

“Fine,” he frowned, crossing his arms and pouting in a way that you recognized had been mimicked after you.

“Don’t make fun of me,” you said, mirroring his stance. Your puppy dog eyes were definitely a lot more convincing than his.

“I’m not.”

“Uh-huh, sure. You smell really good, by the way. Well, your hoodie does. I could just wrap myself up in it and fall asleep.”

“How come you’ve never mentioned that before? You could’ve been out cold every night months ago!”

“Guess I was just too distracted by your dreamy face,” you teased, causing Peter to blush.

“Whatever. Seriously, though. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know. I think it took me a while to realize how sleepy I got whenever you were really close to me,” you shrugged. “You’re not mad at me, right?”

“Of course not. But if I had known sooner I would’ve just given you one,” he said, slipping the hoodie over his head and handing it to you. “Here, put it on. You better fall asleep instantly or I’m calling bullshit.”

“You caught me, Peter. This was all some elaborate plan for me to steal one of your hoodies.”

“Just put it on. The suspense is killing me.”

You rolled your eyes and pulled his hoodie on. Just from looking at Peter and how slim he was, you never would have guessed that it would be this oversized on you.

“How do I look?” you asked, striking silly poses in front of him. Peter involuntarily licked his lips and he knew he’d be replaying this image of you in his head for the next few weeks.

“You’re going to have to keep that,” he stammered, doing his best to hide how much he really liked seeing you in his clothes. “It looks a lot better on you. I, um, have to go do my homework. And call my aunt. And walk my roommate.”

Peter stumbled to his feet, staring at his wristwatch to maintain his act that he was late for something before grabbing his things and heading out the door, making sure to hold his backpack in front of him. “Let me know if the hoodie thing works. Bye!”

----------------

Brushing off Peter’s strangely abrupt departure from last night, you nuzzled into your pillow, the warm morning light spilling through your curtains. Last night had probably been your best sleep in months, and you even got to wake up late since it was Saturday. Things probably couldn’t have gone any better.

Before you knew it, you were running up to Peter’s room and banging on his door. He opened the door on your fourth knock, right after Ned had chucked a pillow at him, and you were met with his sleepy eyes and messy hair.

“It worked!” you yelped in excitement, twirling around and still wearing his hoodie. “Well, kind of. I fell asleep after about an hour, and then I slept for maybe three after that. But I had to pee in the middle of the night, and when I got back into bed I couldn’t fall back asleep until 6 a.m.”

“That’s some good progress,” he yawned, stepping out into the hallway to keep your little celebration from bothering Ned too much. “If only we could get you to sleep the entire night.”

“I know right. But I’m so happy!” you cheered, wrapping your arms around him. “We finally did something right!”

“We need to celebrate!” you continued, grabbing Peter’s hand and dragging him down the stairs. “Come on. We’re making you a chocolate cake!”

You stopped by your room on the way to the kitchen, piling a bunch of ingredients into Peter’s arms from your mini-fridge and various shelves.

“Okay, eggs, flour, butter, sugar, chocolate. Damn it. We’re all out of milk.” You side-eyed him, remembering the whole Captain America induced fiasco from a couple weeks ago.

“I think we might have some in our room,” Peter laughed. “Ned drinks a lot of milk mixed with Milo powder. It’s some obsession he picked up when his family took a vacation to Australia. I’ll go get it.”

He set all of the ingredients you had given him on your desk and sprinted back up the stairs to raid Ned’s stash, already thinking of ways to apologize for it later.

A few minutes later he was knocking on your door, out of breath, and dressed to brave the many inches of snow that had fallen overnight.

“We didn’t have any milk,” he panted. “But I can run to the dining hall and get a few cartons.”

“I’ll go with you.” You quickly pulled on your snow boots and layered your puffer coat on top of Peter’s hoodie, wrapping a hand-knit scarf around your neck just to be safe. “All ready.”

Getting the milk was the easy part. Making sure you didn’t die of frostbite was another story. By the time you and Peter got back to your room, your nose was super red and you couldn’t feel your toes.

“Okay,” you said, your teeth chattering. “I thought I was used to the snow by now, but that was something else.” You dropped your coat on the ground and climbed into your bed, burying yourself under your comforter.

“I thought we were making a cake,” he laughed, walking over to see you peeking out of the pile.

“Cake will have to wait,” you whined, your voice slightly muffled by the blanket. “Come here. I need some of your body heat.”

“Okay,” he stuttered, kicking off his sneakers and climbing in beside you. He had sat on your bed a lot since the two of you met, but this was the first time that he was actually laying in it. You snuggled up to him, and he hesitantly wrapped his arms around you.

“This is nice,” you sighed, nuzzling your head into his chest. “Is this one of your superpowers? Spidey-warmth?” Peter let out a soft laugh. It was silly but true. Ever since the bite, he never really noticed how cold it was outside anymore.

“Y/N,” he whispered, tightening his grip around your waist. Your head was nestled underneath his chin, and he could smell the faint citrus scent of your shampoo. “I need to tell you something.”

“What is it, Pete?” you yawned, your eyelids heavy from how comfy Peter’s cuddles were.

“I love you.” He held his breath, nervously waiting for you to respond.

“I know,” you giggled, intertwining your legs. “Sometimes, you talk in your sleep. You’ve probably professed your love for me at least eight times by now.”

“Oh.” Peter had no idea how he was supposed to respond to that.

“Don’t worry. I love you, too,” you assured him, grinning and placing little kisses on his jawline. “I thought that was obvious.”

“Maybe you could make it a little more obvious,” he mumbled, his heartbeat getting quicker as you shifted up to kiss him on the lips, your hand running through his hair.

“I will,” you smiled, your forehead resting against his. “But after we take a nap, okay?”

“Okay,” Peter agreed, snuggling as close as he possibly could to you, never wanting to let go. In no time at all, he watched happily as you fell asleep in his arms, wondering how the two of you hadn’t thought of this sooner.

----------------

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vitanivortex · 3 years

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#kraftwork #mudhoney #dustbunny #secondlife #bathroom #blog #decor #decorblog

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katelfiredemon · 3 years

Note

ok so ive actually thought about this WAY to much before(me and my irls are planning something similar) so i have notes(tm)

alcove loft bed with a desk underneath(bed would be up off the ground like a bunk bed with no bottom bunk and desk would be underneath) and a curtain covering the bed part

✨fairy lights✨

fuzzy rug somewhere

beanbag chairs, egg chairs, and fuzzy chairs-

desk under bed must be facing outward. this is a requirement.

lots of weirdly shaped shelving on the walls

can i live on the top floor so that when it rains i can hear it the loudest?

fuzzy blankets and fuzzy pillows. my bed will be a nest

thats all i can think of for now

Wow, yeah you’ve definitely put a lot of thought into this! It sounds awesome! Looks like Jenn’s want for you to room with her and Piper is thwarted though since Jenn wants to be in the basement and you want to be upstairs. Also @queerquintessence has yet to agree to that as well I think

#katel answers #ask game #of kais and fishes #mutuals <3

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bittersweetsongbirdsworld · 4 years

Text

Jimin thought Yoongi only had a closet full of witchy things, like outfits, books, and maybe even witchy potions. He didn't expect Yoongi to shove everyone into his closet, close the door behind them, then shove clothes aside to reveal a door. Jimin was always in that closet, grabbing sweaters that belonged to Yoongi so he could feel comfortable while his meister was gone on missions with Lord Death. Not once has he seen that door before, so it wasn't a surprise that he was just as shocked as everyone else in the closet. With a chuckle, Yoongi reached over, wrapped his fingers around the door knob before pushing open the door.

The place was huge with a large workstation on the first floor, the second floor being a loft. The first floor was full of plants, a large floor to ceiling window showing nothing but deep forest, a blue lake to the left, a small clearing to the right. It looked to be a cottage in the woods, a small set up outside with a table and chairs out in the clearing. Fairy lights strung high in the trees and a fire pit dead center in the clearing, it looked to be a cozy place, especially if there was only one person living there.

Tens to hundreds of plants crowded the small cottage, many plants hanging from the ceiling, their deep green leaves nearly touching the wooden floor. Potted plants sat in the windowsill, cactuses and succulents crowding most to all of the windowsills in the cottage. Even the work table Yoongi had hidden in the corner was surrounded by large potted plants, smaller potted plants crowding ninety percent of the table. Small trees sat in corners of the cottage, the sun rays leaking through dusty windows, the late evening light shining gold on the plants in the room.

There were countless bookshelves in the cottage, the shelves packed full with what seemed to be spell books that Yoongi had either written himself or bought from his fellow witches. They ranged from pastel yellows, pinks, blues to dark emeralds, browns, greys, and blacks, a soft pastel yellow one grabbing Jimin's attention almost immediately. There was a book on the crowded workbench, a long forgotten ink and quill by the open pages of the book. It seems like Yoongi was interrupted mid dip because there were drips of black ink on the white pages, the quill resting on top of the blank white page.

There was a small kitchen as well, the living room and kitchen nearly sharing a room if it wasn't for the wall between the two. The bathroom was off to the side, the tiled walls and floors shining bright, not a smudge in sight. The place was clean, very clean to be exact. Yoongi was messy when it came to anything with the kitchen, forgotten food left on the counter, leaving Jimin to put it away so it wouldn't spoil. But this cottage though, it was spotless. Things were places they should be, counters cleaned off and scrubbed clean, floors swept and mopped to a shining finish, walls clear of any stains with pictures hanging up all along the long walls.

Don't even get Jimin started on the loft upstairs now, he doesn't even have the words to describe it. The walls came to a slant, the ceiling coming to a point at the very top, leaving the room to look triangle in shape. It was comfortable, the space big enough for twenty people, so it left the group of eight to feel extra cozy once they climbed the stairs up. Two pieces of large cloth took up one wall, the right wall to be exact. They looked to be tarot cards, but black and white. One read 'The Moon' and the other read 'The Star'. It honestly looked like Yoongi just liked the design of the two and got them for decoration, nothing else.

There was a large rug that took up most of the floor, the white and black rug covered with books scattered about, pillows piled up against the wall and some placed carefully in the center of the room. There were three windows, all shaped like triangles, green leaves and small birds peeking around the corners of each window. Countless blankets lay forgotten on the floor, the colors of said blankets ranging from pastels to forest tones to gothic tones. There was a peach blanket laying by his book, a fuzzy black blanket folded up nicely by the fireplace, and an earthy green blanket laying next to the peachy blanket.

What seemed to be mini lanterns were strung together, at least three lanterns dangled from the cord above, the other six reaching back as to plug into the wall. Pages of what seemed to be an old spell book were attached to the cord, the writing unreadable to everyone in the room but Yoongi. Though, that wasn't the thing Jimin worried about. When he first walked through the door, he spotted a candle. As they walked through the cottage, Jimin gave himself a mission and counted all the candles in the cottage. When they were finally shown the last room, that being the loft, he counted a ridiculous amount of candles, sixty four to be exact.

To the left of them was a bed. It was placed dead center of the wall, the bed on the larger side. It looked to be a king size, the blankets deep tones of grey and black, the sheets soft a yellow and green, the pillows being a mixture of the two. Fairy lights were also strung up high above the bed, even more candles crowding the night stand to the right side of the bed, Yoongi's preferred side. The bed was made, the pillows all arranged nicely and no wrinkled to be seen, not even the comforter. There was a throw over blanket on the bed as well, this one being a light grey in tone, small fluff balls of the same color sewn to the ends of the blanket.

Last, but more certainly not least, was Yoongi's closet. There was a small room off to the side, a door separating the group from the said room. The door was a darker color, not black, but most certainly not white either. Let's just say it was a darker shade of grey and go because no one was focusing on the door color, but what was on the other side of said door. Yoongi was the one to crack the door open, his arm reaching in to flick on what seemed to be a light switch off to the side. It looked to be as if he was hesitant, something he wasn't feeling when he was showing them around the cottage. Maybe it because he was showing his vulnerable side in a different way; that way was showing them his true wardrobe.

To say anyone was surprised by the lack of color in Yoongi's wardrobe would be a lie. All the clothes hung up high on the walls lacked life, lacking any color that he needed in his life. Black sweaters, black jeans, black sweats, black hoodies, black everything. It was a cute set up though, white shelves, white carpet, a white body mirror, and white walls. To their surprise, there were plants in the room, more candles placed with care on shelves that remained empty with nothing but picture frames and candles. There was a large window on the ceiling, the afternoon sun also casting golden rays of sun into the room.

There was a separate area for his accessories, necklaces, bracelets, rings, glasses, anything really was placed neatly in their assigned spot. This setup was also nice, candles sitting neatly on the desk, a small potted plant sitting next to the display that held half of Yoongi's bracelets. Different colors could be seen in the sea of black clothes, which was surprising to say the least. There was a yellow bracelet, there was a pink bracelet. There were purple rings and blue rings, but there were also gold chain necklaces and silver chain necklaces. There were so many different colors that it struck the group as odd.

Yoongi stood anxiously in the center of the room, the elder seeming embarrassed of how messy the place actually was with all the plants, books, candles, blankets, and pillows. Jimin could see that Yoongi wished he had cleaned up more, put plants away, put candles away, done more so there was more room for everyone but his plants. It was cozy to him, but he honestly didn't know what his friends liked and that made him all the more anxious. But someone broke the silence, and it surprised no one that it was Jeongguk.

"I honestly counted seventy five candles." Jimin watched as Yoongi's mouth opened as if to say something to only quickly shut his mouth, his face bleeding with confusion as he stared at Jeongguk as if he had grown another head.

"I actually counted eighty one," Sangwoo said from the back, Yoongi growing even more confused. Then Jin piped up.

"What? I counted fifty two!" Yoongi looked petrified. He was looking at everyone like they were insane for yelling about his candles and not the fact he's kept his cottage a secret for how many years.

"You guys are counting candles? Me and Taehyung were counting plants and we got to one hundred and thirty eight," Namjoon chirped, Taehyung nodding proudly as he stood tall next to Namjoon. Poor Yoongi looked so confused, petrified, but he almost looked relieved as well with their reactions, Jimin's especially because he's the only one who hasn't opened his mouth yet.

"You guy.. You're not mad? Disgusted? You're not scared of me?" Yoongi looked anxious again, his hand shaking softly as he pointed at himself to make himself clear that he was, indeed, talking about himself. With the confused looks everyone gave him, especially Jimin, answered Yoongi's question for him. Now it was Jimin's turn to speak his mind.

"I think we're all overjoyed that you shared something this big with us, hyung." Everyone agreed quietly, murmuring quiet behind Jimin. "This is your safe place, a place where you find comfort. You brought us into a place that holds your vulnerable side, the real you, the you that you feared would scare us away. How could we possibly fear you when you've taken such great care of us? I think we should be thanking you for showing us such a lovely cottage, so lively of plant life and it's also a part of you. Yoongi hyung, thank you for showing me a new side of you and I'm so proud of you for showing me something this important to you."

It was like a flip of a switch, a complete one eighty. The once powerful meister, strong hyung, caring friend broke, shattered under the pressure. Jimin watched as a single tear fell from Yoongi's right eyes, a tear of happiness, a tear Yoongi has been too afraid to shed. He watched as his meister broke down and fell to his knees to only start sobbing, the years of pain seeping out through the cracks in the wall he built nearly two decades ago. It was Jimin who helped crack that wall, guide Yoongi out of his comfort zone, save him from himself who he feared. It was all Jimin, it was always Jimin, and Yoongi was a damn fool for letting himself hold that damn fool close.

And he'll be damned, it was Jimin who knelt down next to him and put a comforting hand on his back, between his shoulder blades, rubbing soothing circles as Yoongi sobbed incoherently into the carpeted floor. It was the first time Yoongi felt safe, felt loved, the first time he felt at home, and he couldn't be anymore thankful for Jimin and his friends. Yoongi could hardly get out his shaky sobs, his shoulders rising and falling with every sharp inhale, his soft 'Thank you's drown out by his airy sobs, his body trembling as Jimin continued to stay by his side.

He's never felt so relieved in his life. He never thought this side of him would show its nasty face to him again for a long time. But this time, he reached out, wrapped his arms around the feeling, and embraced it. It wasn't just him breaking his own walls down, it was this nasty side breaking down it's own walls too. It was the same as Yoongi and he finally allowed himself to embrace it and hold it, care for it, love it just like he was learning to do himself. They are the same, scared children who still fear the dark, who fear his family, who fear losing someone they hold close, someone they love.

Maybe Jimin will be the person to show Yoongi love again, maybe in the friend way, maybe in the lover way, Yoongi won't know till the time is right. Things happen for a reason and Yoongi found himself blessed with a caring weapon, but also a caring friend who will be by his side till the day completes his mission and makes Jimin a death scythe. But, why does that hurt? Giving up Jimin after building a bond so strong that it physically hurt Yoongi when he was separated from Jimin for long periods of time to only have him ripped away from him? Why does that sting like salt being poured into a fresh wound? There is one thing Yoongi knows and that is he can't give Jimin up to anyone, not even Lord Death. Why, you may ask? Well-

Min Yoongi, shadow witch, three star meister at the DWMA, one of the world's best meister is in love with his weapon, Park Jimin.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A sound soul

Dwells within a sound mind

And a sound body

. .

. . .

The DWMA is was widely know around the world, even in Korea. Every child wanted to be either a weapon or a meister, but only a select few were blessed with such a golden opportunity. These students were admitted into the DWMA as soon as they could walk and talk, many of them not showing any signs of weapon form till years on. Yoongi was a meister, a scythe mister to be exact. How is he going to feel when he finds out there is only one in the school and the kid just so happens to be fucking annoying?

🖤 21/?

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jacquesvalentine · 4 years

Photo

L O O K B O O K #441

Hair: little bones - Naomi Hairbase: SIIX - Russian hairbase omega Tattoo: Custom, N/A Top: BOYS TO THE BONE - Dep crop Undies/stockings: BOYS TO THE BONE - Billig lingerie (@Cupid Inc) Rings: FAKEICON - Asdar ring set (@Cupid Inc) Shoes: alk - Bisons Septum: Cae - Septum basic 1 Choker: Harajuku - Tattoo choker (N/A) Nails: FAKEICON - Manil nails long (N/A) Bed/plants/rack/deco: Dust Bunny - Various sets Magazines/computer: Soy Rug: The Loft & Aria Clothes: g. - Scattered clothes Plushies: Blupr/nt - Drippy bear, Parrie star, HBK, Prada (NEW!) Mail/CD player: Plethora - Fan mail stack and CD player Phone/pills: Beusy - Electra gacha commons Pen: vive nine - Fuzzy Tip Pen Neons: Atooly and The Horror Ceiling lamp: DRD - Industrial lights Chair: Vespertine - oslo chair Wall art: Leviosa - Outta this world collage and punk collage Backdrop: Custom Poses: Various and custom

Shooting location: my studio(no slurl)

#sl #second life #little bones #siix #boys to the bone #fakeicon #alk #harajuku #dust bunny #soy #blupr/nt #the loft #plethora #beusy #vive nine #atooly #the horror #drd #vespertine #leviosa

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minyoongleschimjoongles · 5 years

Text

Preordained: Introductions

When Zara Met Taehyung

Pairing(s):Poly!BTSxOC, Sub!BTSxOC,

Warnings: Implied sexual situations, Mentions of sexual situations, implications of Dom/sub relationships.

Notes: This is a Soulmate fic, and the character is a named OC but you can certainly put yourself in her shoes.

Everyone was born with a single Red String around their wrist that attached them to their Soulmate. Nobody could ever see the Strings all the time, but sometimes you could catch a glimpse of your own String, if you weren’t really paying attention to your peripheral vision. Everyone had just one single String.

Zara Underhill, freak by nature, had counted seven different strands around her own wrist. Seven people on the planet that were made perfectly for her, and she for them. The thought was unheard of.

Not that Zara has ever cared about finding her Soulmates; she was always more interested in where her family was going to move next. Her parents met in Hawaii when her Air Force father was stationed at Hickam Air Force Base. The Strings around their wrists were pulled taught the second they first touched one another, and became visible to their eyes only. Zara came not long after that.

When she was four months old, her father was transferred, taking his new family along to Shaw AFB in Sumpter, South Carolina. After that there was a small stint at the Incirlik Base in Turkey, then Fairchild AFB in Washington, then Chièvres Air Base in Belgium for four years, until finally, they settled in Osan Air Base in South Korea In Zara’s 14th year.

By the time Zara was 20, she was fluent in English, Flemish and Korean (though her accent was quite thick sometimes), and she could hold her own in a conversation in Dutch and Japanese.

Now, at 22, she’d finally become bored of her gap-year that had turned into gap-years, and had enrolled herself into college with a double major in Fine Arts and Social Sciences. Moving off-base to dorm at Seoul National University was easy when you were used to packing up your entire life every few years.

Her roommate, Park Ji-yoo, was a friend from the public high school Zara went to when she decided school on base was too boring for her. The two had hit it off especially well in 3rd year when they discovered the same rebellious habit of sneaking off to parties, drinking alcohol, and sometimes sleeping with cute boys. But where Ji-yoo leaned towards submission, Zara was firmly rooted in the dominant position. There was something thrilling about having the most popular boy in school on his knees and begging that Got her going.

Once in college, Zara’s rebellion calmed, and she began focusing mainly on her studies, though Ji-yoo seems to have made it her personal goal to sleep her way through as many boys as she could whilst still maintaining decent grades. More power to her, Zara always thought. Good sex and good grades was something to be proud of.

Later in life, Zara would say that Park Ji-yoo was the best thing that ever happened to her, because if it weren’t for Ji-yoo’s goal, Zara probably wouldn’t have ever met Kim Taehyung.

Well, no, the String around her wrist that connected to his own assured her that one day they would have met, but Zara liked to attribute it to Ji-yoo, if only to tease the two of them. After all, Taehyung was one of Ji-yoo’s sexual conquests. The first night Ji-yoo brought Taehyung home, he’d lingered a little awkwardly in the small common area between rooms when he’s noticed Zara sitting at her desk, studying with her door open.

“Uh...hey,” he greeted, rubbing the back of his neck. Zara arched a brow and grinned.

“Hi,” her grin widened when Ji-yoo’s slender hand reached out of her door and yanked Taehyung out of sight, though not before Zara got out a teasing, “Bye!”

The noises that had come out of Ji-yoo’s room that night had been downright pornographic. Zara just put in her headphones and continued studying.

The next time she saw him, about a month later, she was just walking in from a painting class, and he was coming out of Zara and Ji-yoo’s shower with his shirt sticking to his damp skin and his hair dripping wet.

“Hi,” she greeted, moving past him to put her oil paint kit away, “where’s Ji-yoo?”

“Class, I think? She said something about a test, but she let me use the shower.”

“Oh, okay,” Zara sat down at her desk. Taehyung took this as his cue to leave.

“Bye,” he said, smiling slightly when she waved at him over her shoulder.

The next time after that, Zara realized that Tae was faking it with Ji-yoo. No, he wasn’t faking orgasms or pleasure, but he was definitely faking a dominant nature for Ji-yoo’s sake, and as a result was probably not enjoying himself as much as he could be.

When Ji-yoo kicked him out that night, Taehyung lingered between her room and Zara’s, letting out a low, frustrated sigh. He turned when he heard Zara’s desk chair rattle and saw the girl sitting on the desk, one small foot on the edge of the chair.

“Sit,” she said.

Tae shook his head, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“No, I really should get going,” despite his words, he stepped a little closer. “Ji-yoo doesn’t like when I stay too long. You know, after we hook up...”

“Well, I’m not Ji-yoo, I’m Zara, and this is my dorm room too. So sit down.”

The change in Taehyung’s posture was immediate. Zara watched as his back straightened, his lips parted and his cheeks flushed. He was wide eyed when he stepped fully into Zara’s room, shut the door, and sank into the desk chair.

A moment or two of silence ticked by, with Tae looking up at Zara expectantly and Zara looking back down at him with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. He was just beginning to fidget when Zara pulled out a sketchbook.

“Stay still,” she said, “I’m going to draw you.”

“Why?” Tae wondered. Zara’s eyes flicked up to his face a few times as she put pencil to paper.

“Because you’re beautiful. People draw beautiful things all the time.”

Taehyung blushed again, but his jitters had been successfully calmed for the moment.

“So tell me why you’re pretending to like being in charge.”

Tae startled, “What? I don’t know what you mean?”

Zara’s green eyes flicked up to him again. “Taehyung, I’ve faked it enough myself to know what it looks and sounds like when someone’s not into it.”

“Ah,” this was not a conversation he’d foreseen himself having with his hook-up’s roommate, but here he was. There was something about Zara that told him she wouldn’t judge him on anything he had to say. “I’ve always been the one in control. I don’t know anything else.”

“You should tell Ji-yoo how you feel.” Zara said, sketching out the curve of Taehyung’s nose, smudging it slightly with her pinky to create shadow. “You’ll never know what you like until you try it, and you’ll never know if Jo-yoo is willing until you talk to her about it.”

Tae nodded, then committed himself to his role of live model. He couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering around Zara’s dorm room, curious to see the differences between roommates.

Ji-yoo’s bed wasn’t lofted, and she had a real rug rolled across the floor. Her desk had been covered in makeup and tangled jewelry and scattered papers, and Tae could tell she did most of her studying either in bed or out of the dorm. The walls had been bare with the acception of a few temporary hooks that she’d used to hang scarves, hats and towels.

Zara did get her bed lofted, and underneath it she had several extra storage drawers, since SNU didn’t provide much in the way of storage. She’d also rolled a rug out across the floor, and Tae could feel the plushness of it under his bare feet. Her bed was covered in a heavy white comforter, several piles of fuzzy blankets stacked at the end of it. He could tell just from the sheer amount that Zara appreciated the comforts of softness.

Her walls were covered in artwork and photographs. There were several of a man in a US Military uniform, and a few of Zara with Ji-yoo. Zara seemed to have an affinity for dying her hair, judging by the fact that in one picture it was blonde, another orange, and currently it was a flattering mix of lavender and charcoal gray.

Her desk seemed to be a bit of controlled chaos; paint and pencils and textbooks and sketch pads scattered across its surface, wet canvas leaning against the wall, her computer opened beside her right hip with a reference photo of a Monet painting filling up the screen. An open notebook revealed lecture notes in what was clearly English.

“Where are you from?” Tae asked quietly, his eyes coming to rest back on Zara again. Zara’s lips twitched into a smile that had him feeling like he’d said something wrong.

“That’s kind of a difficult question to answer there, Baby Boy.” Her eyes caught the shiver that ran up his spine, and quirked an eyebrow. “Do you mean where was I born, or where I moved to, or where I liked before Korea, or....”

“Okay, okay,” Tae laughed. “I used the wrong wording, I get it. Wherever you’re from, your Korean is excellent.”

“I’m from all over.” Zara said, still smiling. “I was born in Hawaii, but I’m a- ah...what’s the Korean word for it...? Oh well, I’m what’s called a Military Brat.” The English flowed off her tongue as easily as the Korean did, and Tae sat a little straighter in the chair.

“Mirtary Braut.”

Zara grinned. “Almost. Mil-i-ta-ry Brat.”

“Military Brat.”

“Good! Very good, Tae!”

Taehyung grinned at the praise, pleased.

“What’s Military Brat?”

“It’s a term used to describe the children of Military personnel.”

“Isn’t that mean?”

“Nah, it’s more like a term of endearment.”

“Ah, I see!”

The two of them continued to chat as she sketched him, conversation going well into the night. Finally, 2 A.M. hit, and Tae yawned loudly. Zara took in Tae’s tired eyes and sighed, setting aside the mostly completed sketch.

Pulling out her phone to look at the time, she said, “I hate to cut the bonding short, but you need to get some sleep.”

“But the sketch-“ Tae cut off as Zara snapped his photo.

“There, now don’t worry about the sketch. Worry about getting back to your dorm in one piece.”

Tae snorted a little and hauled himself to his feet, yawning again. “It was really nice talking to you, Zara Underhill. And thanks, you know, for the advice earlier.”

“Anytime, Kim Taehyung.”

Tae grinned at her and left the dorm with a wave.

The next time Zara saw Kim Taehyung, Ji-yoo was breaking things off with him, very publicly, in the courtyard.

“I just don’t think we want the same things,” Ji-yoo was saying, and Tae was nodding his head up and down.

“You’re right, our wants and needs are very different, but thank you for the opportunity.”

Zara has to stifle a laugh. It sounded like they were terminating a business agreement. Who knows, maybe they were.

“I do look forward to seeing you in the future, as friends. Have a nice rest of your day, Taehyung.”

Zara approached Taehyung, shifting the grip on her backpack.

“I think you just got fired, man.”

Tae snorted and nodded.

“More like a mutually beneficial parting of ways. Taking charge of me was a little much for Ji-yoo.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Zara admitted. “She’s never been the Pitcher type, if you know what I mean. That’s always been my area of expertise.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you didn’t tell me this before we had the sex talk...”

“Well, as the great American masterpiece High School Musical 2 once said, ‘You gotta find your own way.’ You never would have known it wouldn’t work out if you hadn’t had the talk.”

Tae laughed and turned to look at Zara head on.

“Would it be horribly inappropriate to ask you for a hug?”

“Absolutely not,” Zara opened her arms wide. “Come here, Baby Boy.”

Kim Taehyung wrapped his arms around Zara Underhill.

And the universe snapped into place.

There was a sharp tug on their wrists, and they pulled away to look down. A single Red String was visible around their left wrists, connecting one to the other. There was a gentle pulse that revealed Zara’s six other strings just long enough for him to count, and he licked his lips in surprise.

“Seven,” he said quietly. “You have Seven Soulmates.”

“Yes.”

“And I have one.”

“Yes.”

“And it’s you, my ex’s roommate.”

“Looks like it.”

“Is that horribly inappropriate?”

“Only slightly.”

There was a pause, and then Tae spoke up quietly, “At least I know you’re the Pitcher,” and was pleased to hear Zara laugh.

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the-royal-blue-network · 28 days

Text

Raindrops fell against the windows of Raven’s black Nissan Altima.

‘What am I doing?’ She thought to herself as she watched droplets collect on her windshield.

It was eleven o’clock at night and she should’ve been at home getting the eight hours of sleep she required simply to function as a human being.

She had a massive meeting at seven tomorrow morning; yet there she was, sitting outside Samantha’s condo like some kind of fucking stalker.

“I should leave.” She said out loud, nothing good would come of this visit.

But instead of starting up the car and taking off like she knew she should, she simply sat there; watching the rain fall and periodically looking up at the window in the very top left corner of the building.

Staring at the window, she could practically smell the vanilla-scented candles that were always burning inside the loft whenever Samantha was home.

Raven could practically feel the softness of the fuzzy rug beneath her feet. Closing her eyes, Raven could almost hear the whistle of the old-school tea kettle.

“Why don’t you get one of those electric kettles? You know, the ones that automatically turn off once the water’s boiled.” Raven suggested.

Samantha made a face; one of disgust, causing Raven to laugh.

“The one I have is perfectly capable of getting the job done.” Samantha said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Raven laughed yet again, throwing her hands up as Samantha rose up from the couch and headed into the small kitchen area of her loft.

Rising up from the couch, Raven made her way to the kitchen.

“I'm so sorry, I didn’t mean to offend.” Raven said as she walked over to Samantha.

Samantha let out a low hum, letting Raven know that she accepted her apology. Then, after dropping two tea bags into the waiting mugs, Sam poured water into each of their mugs. After a couple of drops of honey and lemon, the women made their way over to the couch and began talking.

That night they talked about everything from work to films, their childhoods, their ‘straight days’ as Sam liked to call them, and so much more.

Still sitting outside of Sam’s loft, Raven’s heart ached as she reminisced on better days. Days when she and Sam didn’t have to whip out their calendars every time they wanted to see each other. It was this, the constant penciling in of one another that weighed heavily on them and eventually led to the demise of their relationship.

But as Raven sat outside Sam’s building, the place that was like a second home to her, all Raven could think about were the good times; the sex, the laughter, the sharing of hopes and dreams, that’s what Raven remembered. But that was it, it was all just memories now.

As she leaned forward to start the car and take off, her phone rang. Leaning back in her seat, Raven picked up her phone from the cup holder and check the screen.

“Ahh shit.” She said.

Taking a deep breath, Raven composed herself before accepting the call.

“Hey stalker.” Sam said, her tone light and playful.

Raven’s heart slammed against her ribcage as she let out a laugh.

“I was just in the neighborhood and thought of you.” Raven admitted.

She hadn’t expected to be so honest with Sam; not when she spent so much of the end of her and Sam’s relationship lying to both herself and Sam; or at least trying to.

“The door’s unlocked. I’ll turn the kettle on.” Sam said.

She didn’t even wait for Raven’s response before hanging up.

“What the-” Raven ripped the phone from her ear, staring at it for a moment.

Was she really going to do this? COULD she do this? Ahh fuck it; grabbing the umbrella that she always kept in her center console, she threw open the door and opened the umbrella.

When she arrived at the door to Sam’s building, Sam was already waiting, dressed in her ‘headmaster robe’, as Raven liked to call it because of the way it flowed so gracefully behind her every time Sam walked.

“Hi.” Sam said, pulling Raven into the building and out of the rain.

Sam dropped the open umbrella as she fell against Raven, causing the other woman to fall back against the wall.

The women chuckled as their eyes met; brown mixing with bright blue.

Raven rested her forehead against Sam’s, Sam’s hands instantly finding the lapels of Raven’s jacket.

Sam pulled Raven closer, allowing Raven to feel the rapid thumbing of her heart.

Thank God, Raven wasn’t the only one feeling excited and nervous; at least Raven hoped she wasn’t.

“I’ve missed you.” Sam admitted.

Well, this was new, in the decade or so that Raven had known Sam, Raven had never known the other woman to be so forward; not when it came to her feelings at least.

Raven smiled brightly, her chest warming at Sam’s admission.

Rather than saying anything, Raven leaned in and captured Sam’s lips with her own. The hands of time stopped and Raven felt like she was floating.

The reason for their split was forgotten, as they were transported back to a time when life didn’t ask so much of them, back when they were simply free to be young and in love.

Sam tasted like red wine and popcorn, a combination which Raven knew to mean Sam had had a long day, Raven too had had a long day, a day filled with boring meetings and middle-aged white men in suits that believed that they deserved the world and then some, simply because of the color of their skin and the fact that they had a penis.

Before either woman could get too lost in the other, Raven pulled back from the kiss, panting a little as she rested her forehead against Sam’s.

“We should talk.” Sam said.

“No, please, not tonight. Tonight I just wanna be with you.”

Raven said, shaking her head.

Sam wanted to protest, but they had plenty of time to talk later.

Crashing her lips into Sam’s, Raven walked Sam back into her loft. After making their way upstairs, the women stumbled into Sam’s warm bed.

Soon, clothes began to fall as nails racked against backs, arms, and thighs.

Now, this is how Raven preferred to spend a rainy day.

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deathbymeow · 4 years

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For You, I’d Die. Chapter: 5 Frozen

Adrien was silent in the taxi on the way to his apartment. He hadn’t let go of Marinette’s hand and his thumb softly rubbed her knuckles as he looked out the window. She studied his handsome face for a moment. It was rare to see Adrien angry; she could tell he was still working over something in his pretty head. Even thought he was clenching his jaw and frowning he was still so god damn sexy.

Marinette snuggled into his jacket and leaned her head against his shoulder. She was far from sober, but the shock of the DJs stunt had shaken her enough to throw her earlier mood completely on its head. The last two weeks had been hell, at some point in the evening she’d decided she needed to at least have a moments peace before she no doubt fell back into her why is everything so shitty mood in the morning.

The taxi stopped, Adrien payed the driver and helped her out of the car. Adrien’s apartment building was an old factory that had been converted into loft apartments. Marinette had been there before, but the building still took her breath away with its large stone bricks and decorative arched windows. Adrien owned the whole top level. It had been his mothers and even though it was rightfully his, he’d insisted on officially buying it off his father. Marinette could never really understand what it was like to be born into money, but she respected Adrien’s values. He would rather work for his needs than demand money from his trust fund. Even without his trust fund, money wasn’t a problem. Adrien was classed as one of Paris’ top paid models even though it was just a part time job.

They got out of the lift and Adrien unlocked the large wooden door of his apartment. He held it open for her to enter as he turned the lights on. Marinette walked into the hallway, she loved his apartment and the way all the different elements fitted together. From the old brick walls to the warm woods and white marble. One side of the hallway walls was made of black framed glass panels. On the other side of the glass wall was the industrial style kitchen/dinning. At the end of the hallway the room opened up into the large open spaced lounge room. Huge arched shaped windows lined the far wall giving the apartment amazing views of the city lights.

An oversized plush lounge wrapped around the glass and wood coffee table with a large TV mounted on the wall. Adrien’s piano sat by itself in the far corner. Wood and metal stairs lead up to the mezzanine level above the entrance and kitchen where Adrien’s bedroom and bathroom were.

Adrien still hadn’t said a word, he threw his keys, phone and wallet on the desk in front of the lounge. Marinette watched him as he rubbed the back of his neck in a tell tail sigh that he was nervous. His shirt lifted with his arm, showing a hint of his toned stomach. He caught her looking at him and smiled. He seemed to realize she was standing awkwardly in his apartment and he hadn’t even said a word to her since they’d left the club.

“Shit. Sorry Marinette. My home is your home, you should know that by now.” He walked over to her and took his jacket off her shoulders. His hands softly touching her neck as he did, leaving a tingling sensation on her skin. Marinette noticed his bruised knuckles as he put his jacket on the lounge.

“Adrien. What happened to your hand?” She asked as she grabbed his wrist to study his knuckles.

“It’s nothing Marinette.” He said pulling his hand back.

“That’s bullshit Adrien. Don’t lie to me.” Marinette put her hand on her hip and frowned up at him.

“Ha, Ok Marinette. You’re one to talk. You should try answering your phone for once.” He snapped startling her.

“What the hells that meant to mean?” Marinette folded her arms over her chest with a huff.

“You have no idea how worried I’ve been about you. I kept making all these crazy things up in my head. Alya wouldn’t tell me anything other than you were just going through something. I thought we could talk about anything Marinette?” He said softly, looked at her with sad green eyes.

Any anger she had slipped away. She hadn’t meant to make him worry. She’d been too wrapped up in her head, facing Adrien wasn’t something she was ready to do after she’d broken up with Luka.

“I’m sorry. Can we sit.” She motioned to the teal coloured lounge.

“Sure.” He took her hand and leaded her to the lounge.

Marinette gently put her bag on the coffee table and unzipped her boots. She kicked them off and pulled her legs up onto the soft lounge like she had so many times before. Something about this time felt different thought. Nervous butterflies swirled around her stomach as Adrien grabbed a folded blanket and draped it over her shoulders. Trying to calm her nerves, she took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

“I didn’t mean to shut you out. I couldn’t face you and I definitely didn’t know what to say to you.” Marinette watched his expression change and he took a moment to respond.

“So, I was the reason you didn’t come to work?” He looked hurt and more than a little confused.

Marinette hated the way she was making him feel. She needed to tell him the truth, but she was scared. Was it too soon? What if he didn’t feel the same way? What would happen to their friendship? She hated the thought of not having him in her life at all.

“What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours Marinette.” He gentle tapped his finger against her forehead.

“I… Luka purposed to me.” Marinette blurted out but Adrien interrupted before she could finish.

“Oh… ahh… Ok. I wasn’t expecting that.” He looked away from her and she watched him swallow then clench his jaw.

“Adrien. I broke up with him.” She had his full attention now and he turned his head to study her face. “I still love him. I think I always will in a way, but I’m not in love with him anymore. Our lives are heading in different directions. He wanted me to move to LA, but my life is here. My parents are here. Alya and Nino are here. You’re here.” She reached out and took his hand. Her eyes met his and she smiled softly at him.

“I’m sorry Marinette. I… This may sound selfish but I’m glad you’re not going…” He rubbed his neck again with his free hand. “I’d miss us… I mean this… you, I’d miss you.” A soft blush spread over his cheeks and he squeezed her hand.

“I’d miss you too.” She looked down at their hands still linked and felt a stab of guilt.

“Marinette, are you Ok? I know everyone has probably been asking you but don’t hold it all in, because I know that’s what you do, you don’t have to go through this alone.”

Marinette sighed and looked back up, focusing on a spot on the wall. “Yeah I know. I’ll be Ok though.” She turned back to him. “Sooo, what happened to your hand?”

Adrien knew she was holding back but he wasn’t going to push her to talk and he could tell she was desperate to change the subject. “Oh umm, well it’s a funny story. I may have kinda punched the DJ.” He said smirking and holding his bruised hand up.

His lopsided grin was so adorably cute, she couldn’t help but giggle. “How very impulsive of you Agreste. You should really ice that.”

“Nar. It’s fine, think I broke his nose though. Gabriel is going to be pissed.”

Marinette shook her head and bounced of the lounge, ruffling his hair as she walked past. Thankful of the change of topic.

“Hey where are you going?” Adrien tried to grab her as she passed but she managed to escape, and he fell face first into the lounge.

Marinette couldn’t help but smile at his change of mood. She hated to see him sad and his playful side really was like a ray of sunshine that left her feeling all warm and fuzzy. “You know you shouldn’t give a fuck about what your father thinks.” She yelled from the kitchen.

“I don’t. I’m still going to get a lecture thought.” He mumbled back.

She opened the freezer and pulled out a bag of frozen peas and walked back over to Adrien who hadn’t moved. She rolled him over and he playfully grabbed her, pulling her down on top of him. Marinette squealed, but unbeknown to Adrien she had one up on him. She quickly lifted his shirt up and placed the frozen bag against his stomach before pulling his shirt back down.

Adrien screeched somewhat like a wounded cat and jumped up sending Marinette rolling off him and onto the floor. She laid on the soft rug unable to move as tears ran down her cheeks from laughter.

“You. You. Evil.” He almost hissed at her still jumping around trying to get the escaped peas out of his pants.

Marinette laid there watching him, she loved seeing him like this. Not worrying about his father’s deadlines or his studies, so carefree and… Oh. My. God… Chat like. Her laughter stopped and about a million new questions flooded her head. Everything about him in that moment reminded her of her silly stray, Chat Noir.

Adrien noticed she’d stopped laughing and instantly went over to her. He reached his hand down to help her up.

“I’m so sorry, did I hurt you?” He asked, concern written all over his face as he pulled Marinette to her feet.

Marinette could feel his breath against her face. She looked up into his green eyes wondering if they were Chat’s eyes. Adrien gentle brought his hand up to cup her face, running his thumb over her cheek. She leaned into his hand still searching his eyes for answers. She wanted to kiss him. God, she wanted to kiss him. She bit her lip and he softly pulled it free letting his finger linger on her bottom lip. He swallowed thickly then leant down towards her. She turned her face up and their lips brushed just as Adrien’s phone startled to ring.

“Shit.” He whispered leaning his forehead against hers. “It can go to voice mail.”

“You should answer it might be important.” Marinette put her hands on his chest and gently pushed him in the direction of his cell phone.

Adrien groaned then flopped onto the lounge and reached over to grab it. “Hello… Ok. Yes. That’s not the time frame we talked about. Hold on a moment please.” He held his hand over the speaker. “I’m so sorry, it’s a business call. I have to take it.” He said pouting.

“That’s Ok. Can I have a shower?” She asked twisting a piece of hair around her finger and biting her lip again.

“Sure, you know where the towels are right?” He jumped over the couch and sat down at his desk still pouting.

Marinette nodded, grabbed her bag and headed up the stairs fully aware Adrien was watching her every move from where he now sat at his desk.

She passed his bed remembering the nights she’d slept in it after working late on different projects with Adrien, who was always a gentleman and slept on the lounge downstairs. The large bathroom had a black freestanding bath and lush shower with over sized shower head. She closed the door and opened her bag. Tikki poked her head out just a fraction to make sure it was safe to come out.

“You can come out Tikki. Are you OK?” Marinette asked her kwami as she flew out of the bag.

“Yes, thank you. I can feel you are not though.” Tikki looked at Marinette. Tears were forming in her eyes and Tikki was quick to grab a tissue and give it to her chosen.

“I feel so guilty Tikki. I almost kissed Adrien. What am I doing here?” Marinette started to pace, wiping her eyes as she did.

“Marinette, I think it’s clear you love Adrien. I don’t think you can stop the inevitable. You’re going to kiss him one way or another. You have both avoided your feelings for years, you can’t do it forever. It won’t matter if you kiss him now or in a week or a month. It’s going to happen, and it will hurt Luka, but Luka also told you to be happy.”

“Tikki… I…” Marinette stopped and looked at her kwami.

“No Marinette. Sometimes you use this to much.” Tikki lightly tapped Marinette’s forehead. “You need to trust yourself and follow this.” Tikki floated down to her chest and rested her little paw over her heart. “Trust what you know is true in your heart. You deserve to be happy.” And with that Tikki kissed her cheek.

Photo I used for inspiration for Adrien’s apartment

Chapter: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfiction #miraculous fanfic #miraculous lb #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Adrien Agreste #adrienette #aged up #kiss #Tikki #playful #fluff

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lillianofliterature · 5 years

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deserving | steve rogers x reader | 4/4

a/n: THIS IS THE EDITED PART FOUR OF A FIC PREVIOUSLY CALLED “You Waited For Me”. THIS PART HAS COMPLETELY CHANGED FROM THE PREVIOUS VERSON - PLEASE READ THIS CHANGE IF YOU READ THE EARLIER PARTS WHEN IT WAS ORIGINALLY POSTED IN DECEMBER. IT CHANGES THE STORYLINE. I had to edit this, it’s been bugging me since December.

This short series is for @allisonbaelfire's writing challenge on Tumblr! Thank you for creating this fun challenge and letting me join! And in this fic, Jarvis is alive and an AI, even though there's a reference to Spiderman: Homecoming. It's a chronological mess, but I couldn't help but insert that lil' gem. xD

summary: Reader is in an abusive relationship with a man who makes it his sole priority to violate her boundaries. As the relationship wears on, Steve is your confidant, you closest and dearest friend. You had known each other for many years, since the first days he had awoken from the ice. You confide in him with everything and Steve cherishes your friendship – but when will you learn that you're worth more than a selfish man who can't respect you? When will you realize that America's hero, Steve Rogers himself, is waiting for you?

warnings: bff time with nat, even more angst, sappy shtuff, fluff

word count: 7.6 K (lol oops idk how to write short chapters)

music: Kostas by Rachel Portman (from Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2) The Apple by Aaron Zigman (from Flicka)

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3

Tony Stark had ordered his security team to escort Liam's unconscious body to an infirmary in the lower levels of the tower, where he would then be escorted from the building after he came to. When the party had long ended and everything quieted down, you all sat together on a set of couches in the loft of the party level. You had been showered with affection from your teammates; you'd been given blankets and hot cocoa, a box of lotion-infused tissues, as well as a dish of leftover desserts to munch on. You were all exhausted, especially after the fiasco of dealing with Liam, but you had all collectively decided to play board games for the rest of the night.

Steve sat next to you, still on alert to make sure you were alright. You appreciated his attentiveness, as it made you feel safer and as though he was still focused on protecting you. You couldn't be more grateful. Some little part of you, some childish facet of your mind that seemed to overwhelm any sense of logic, was still afraid that Liam would burst through the doors and whisk you away in a flash of irreproachable fury. With Steve next to you and Natasha positioned on the rug in front of you, you could feel the fear slowly dying away.

Natasha helped you eat the pastries and move your monopoly figure around the board. It was such a relief to see that your teammates cared for you not only as an asset to their missions, but also as their friend, as a member of their ragtag little family. It seemed proven tonight that you were a definitive piece in their little abstract puzzle. You weren't just the logistics writer, the agent who happened to get on the team, or even the missions choreographer.

You were family.

You were important to them; they cared deeply for you. So much so that they asked you to pick the first game, as well as first dibs on the small silver figurine of Monopoly, and a night full of kind and endearing questions to make sure you were content. You had been asked if you wanted white or red wine, or if your preferred aloe tissues to lotion-infused, if you wanted Steve's fuzzy blue blanket or the thinner one from Etsy that had Iron Man plastered on one side - offered to you by Tony himself - or if you wanted to give the first dare in the first of several rounds of Truth or Dare.

After hours of playing games that ended in throwing Monopoly money at each other, Tony offered you a room in the condo level, where most of the team slept on a regular basis. You accepted gratefully. You had been quietly dreading the trek back out into the frigid cold and waiting for a cab to take you all the way home. When all had quieted down and everyone began dispersing upstairs, Natasha led you up her bedroom suite, where you followed with Steve's blanket still snug around your shoulders. She was excited to finally have you staying in the tower.

You sat on Nat's king-sized bed which was draped with black satin sheets and a cherry red duvet. You laid back with a shuddering sigh, watching the shadows flicker above the whirring ceiling fan. The sound of drawers being opened and shut accompanied your vague observation, pulling your focus from the number of popcorn kernels on the ceiling to the neatly brushed curls of Natasha's red locks. She was digging through her drawers to find you a pair of sweats and a large tee-shirt, per your request.

"Which one?" She asked, hoisting up two tees side by side. One read 'It's a beautiful day to leave me alone.' The other, 'Butter my buns & call me biscuit.'

"The biscuit one."

Nat tossed the shirt to you and set the other one aside for herself. She opened another drawer and pulled out a pair of sweatpants with spider web designs printed at least a hundred times over each pant leg and plopped them on your stomach. You stood up and reached behind your back for the zipper of your dress, groaning as you stretched every muscle in your arm to find it, only to have it fumble out of your grasp.

"Will you unzip me?" You asked, disgruntled and unwilling to keep fiddling with it. She nodded and made her way over to you, quickly slipping on the other tee-shirt you had declined. You turned around and held up your mop of now-limp curls. "I don't even know how I zipped this in the first place."

"Zippers are another form of self-inflicted torture." Nat remarked as she unlatched the hook from the eye and began pulling the zipper down for you. You smiled, but it wasn't a complete and carefree smile. It was weak. Brief. Hollow. You felt yourself dip back into your doubts as the zipper glided down the bodice of the dress. "You doing alright?"

You considered answering dishonestly, but thought better of it. There were only three people on earth who could tell if you were lying; your mother, Steve, and Nat.

"No, not really." You murmured, dropping your wad of hair and shimmying out of your gorgeous green dress. You laid it on the bed carefully, admiring it from afar. When the night began, you never imagined what that elegant article of clothing would end up seeing. You didn't think you'd ever be able to wear it again. You pitied it. "Not at all."

You slid the black tee over your head, relaxing a little more as it fit your frame far looser than the dress had. You grabbed the sweats off the bed and pulled your feet through, settling them comfortably over your waist. Walking over to her full-length mirror, you tried to ignore the state of your make-up and the red tint to your eyes. You plucked the gilded burette from your hair, allowing every curl to fall free.

You breathed a sigh of relief as you felt released from the oppression attached to your ensemble; the innocent dress that would be shoved in an unused drawer for two years, a classy pair of black velvet heels purchased just for the occasion, and a gold burette that had held up a few of your (h/c) tendrils at the back of your head. You held the accessory in your fingers, tracing over the intricate pattern and the tiny glinting beads. It was in the shape of a butterfly. How symbolic.

A pair of hands were placed on your shoulders, followed by a familiar voice.

"You will be. I promise. As cliché as it sounds, time does heal these sort of things," Natasha wrapped her arms around your shoulders and rested her chin there. She smiled happily at you through the mirror, but in her eyes you could see her compassionate sorrow. She wanted nothing more than to strip the pain from your heart. You of all people didn't deserve this sort of hurt, this kind of betrayal. You only ever sought to treat others well. You deserved at least that much in return. "And you'll be stronger for it. Even if you feel like you've been compromised."

"Thanks, Nat. That means a lot." You offered her your most genuine smile, but silently feared your simple words were not enough to express how deeply her words had touched you.

I'm not compromised. Just shaken up.

It was a comforting thought.

"Anytime, (Y/n). You're the first friend I've had on this team whose dominant hormone isn't testosterone." She laughed. With a reassuring squeeze on your shoulders, she made her way into her bathroom to finish getting ready for bed. You stared at the burette for a moment longer, pondering once again on your tumultuous thoughts. You replayed the scene from the party in your head; the domineering queues, the hardly-dressed models, Steve's make-shift conversation from across the room, Liam's piercing grip. . .

Maybe I'm like this little butterfly; I've been freed from that suffocating cocoon.

"You know, I've never seen Steve get so angry before. At least not that quickly." Natasha's voice carried from her bathroom to the bedroom, where you stood bent over in front of the mirror, securing your hair in a messy bun suitable for sleep. To the undistracted person, Natasha's voice would have sounded a little queer. It was higher in pitch, not by far, but just enough to sound slightly sing-songy, as if she were orchestrating something or dropping a rather large hint. But you noticed no change amidst your restlessness. "I don't think you could even call that angry. It was more like infuriated."

You stood up and checked your handiwork in the mirror. Satisfied with the floppy ball of (h/c) hair piled atop your head, you leaned against her dresser and pulled your knee-high nylons off. You rolled them up and gathered all your things, placing everything in an armchair by the large window that overlooked Manhattan. Your feet chilled as you walked on the dark marble floors.

"Nat, do you have any socks I could borrow? Fuzzy ones?"

"Sure, bottom left drawer." In the bathroom, Nat cursed inaudibly. Her not-so-subtle attempt to get you to notice Steve's attachment to you had gone completely over your head. She realized it was far too soon for you to be thinking about your feelings for someone else, especially not another relationship, but a little nudge in the right direction couldn't hurt. As she dampened her face with a warm towel and began removing her makeup, she decided to try again. In the bedroom, you sat on the edge of the bed and donned a pair of fuzzy blue socks.

"Did you hear what I said about Steve?" She asked, her voice slightly muffled by the towel.

"What?"

"About Steve getting so upset."

"Oh, yeah. What about it?" Natasha inwardly groaned. You were both incredibly slow when it came to these things.

"Wasn't that odd to you? I haven't seen him get like that since Tony probed Bruce when we all first got together. And even then he didn't get that defensive."

"I don't know. That's just Steve, I guess. Protecting people. Putting tyrants in their place." You replied nonchalantly, stripping the bed of its decorative pillows and peeling back the heavy duvet.

Nat wanted to shake you by your shoulders after that accurate, yet entirely ignorant statement. You were so dense sometimes! Hadn't you seen the signs that everyone else had been made aware of? Such as the rose-tinted color that filled Steve's cheeks when you were near him, or the gentler tone that wove itself into his voice when he spoke to you? Had you never noticed the way he watched your every move, studying you, taking in every bit of you?

Not the shape of your body, or how much skin was exposed, or if your attention was focused on something other than him, but the things that simply made you you. The things that summed you up; the quirks, the mindless habits, the little nervous ticks. The shape of your delicate lips when you smiled. The way your chin quivered when you felt like crying. The sound of your mesmerizing laughter. The glimmer in your dazzling (e/c) eyes. The perfect way you cradled books in your hands, gently turning pages. The lovely curve to your side profile that had often been the subject of his sketching. The passion that seemed to never fade from your soul as you did what you loved most, from writing to coordinating their missions. That satisfying groan that escaped your mouth whenever you ate something delicious, like ice cream or anything doused in rich velvety chocolate.

The music you listened to; the songs that made you smile and sing as loud as you could, the songs that made you feel romantic, the nostalgic ones, and those you listened to in order to help heal your sorrows. The movies you loved to watch, from romantic comedies to packed action films with the most incredible special effects he'd ever seen, as well as the variety of television shows you tortured yourself with on a weekly basis.

Steve knew you. He knew every bit of you.

You stood up and made your way to the right side of bed, nearest to the large window that took up an entire wall. As you listened to the sound of the water splashing in uneven torrents as Nat scrubbed her face clean, you crawled underneath the covers and sank back against the perfectly fluffed pillows. You reached over to the night stand and grabbed your phone, quickly entering your passcode to unlock the screen. In an effort to distract yourself from reliving the events of the evening in your head, you scrolled through your photos and began deleting things you no longer needed. Among those were screenshots of conversations with Liam you had sent to Steve and Nat, selfies Liam had forced you take with him, and a plethora of other nonsense that had somehow accumulated over the last few weeks.

You didn't look up from the dimly lit screen until you felt the mattress sink. Nat situated herself under the covers, getting comfortable as she burrowed herself beneath the cool sheets. When she got comfortable, she looked up and smiled at you, but it wasn't an entirely innocent smile. She was concocting something.

"What's that look for?"

"Nothing! It's just obvious that you're not tired. Aren't you hungry? Thirsty? Wanna go down to the library?"

"What? No! It's nearly three in the morning, what's wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong with me! I'm not the one avoiding sleep."

"I'm fine. I'll get tired in a little bit."

"If you say so," She smirked against her pillow before turning her back to you and turning out her lamp. When she laid back down, she remained facing the other direction. "Goodnight."

"Night, Nat." You smiled, shaking your head. What was that about? You had just eaten nearly two trays full of sweets and fruits, drank two mugs of hot cocoa, and downed half a bottle of wine. How could she think you were even the least bit hungry?

Besides, what was there to do in the Tower but sneak around? The library was full of nonfiction, biographies, science genres, and a plethora of comic books and modern magazines. Tony didn't particularly care to fill that floor with anything he wasn't personally interested in. You had yet to request an expansion of the selection - much more fiction, more Jane Austen, and less Playboy.

As the minutes passed and you finished ridding your phone of any trace of your now ex-boyfriend, you tried to rest your eyes and get still enough to fall asleep. But once again, Natasha had been right. You were restless. Perhaps it was the endless amounts of sugar you had consumed in the last few hours or the nerve-racking adrenaline that was still making your fingers quiver that was preventing your mind from calming. Whatever it was, you weren't going to sleep anytime soon. You laid there motionless for over half an hour, thinking, hoping, and regretting.

When it was obvious you weren't going to sleep and the view of a quiet Manhattan didn't do aid you in your predicament, you slowly drew yourself out from under the covers. You tip-toed from the room and pulled Steve's blanket from the armchair, wrapping it around your shoulders. You were careful to shut the door to the room behind you as quietly as possible. Natasha was an extremely light sleeper.

The hallway of the suite level was quiet and dimly lit by the white light fixtures that lined the walls every few feet. It was uncharacteristically silent, apart from the muffled snoring that could be heard as you passed Bruce's bedroom. When you neared the elevator at end of the hall, you glanced behind nervously. Even though you were entirely welcome in the Tower, you felt like a child who was sneaking about past curfew, in danger of being caught and reprimanded for your disobedience. Was that another effect of Liam's domination? The constant fear of being in the wrong? Of facing undeserved consequences?

Pushing the button to the next level, the doors slid shut and the machine carried you upward.

"Are you feeling ill, Ms. (L/n)?" The sudden sound of Jarvis' voice was nearly enough to make you jump out of your skin.

"Geez, Jarvis," You whispered, practically seething at the AI. "I'm fine. I just, uh, I couldn't sleep."

"Shall I notify Mr. Stark?"

"No! Don't wake anyone up. I'd prefer to be alone."

"Very well, Ms. (L/n). I've prepared the dining floor for your convenience."

"Oh, that isn't necessary. I don't want to disturb the others." You stammered, hoping he would quiet down soon. You weren't in the mood for company, and you were nervous that his reverberating tone would alarm the others.

"I see. Would you like me to return the level to a state of disuse?"

"Yes, please."

"Even if there is som-"

"Please, Jarvis, just turn them off. And quiet down? I really don't want anyone to join me." You explained as kindly as you could, even though the AI was more understanding than most humans you were acquainted with. With the lack of his reply, you assumed he complied.

In a few seconds, he spoke again.

"You have arrived, Miss."

As the elevator stopped, you stepped out cautiously and scanned the dining level. The floor was dark, apart from the lights of the city that offered a gray hue to the large room, reflecting off of the chairs that sat around a large dining table that efficiently seated the entire team, and the sitting area to the far left of the room that had a TV, two couches, and a few armchairs. Jarvis had certainly done as you'd asked him. Not even the studio lights were on, which were usually left lit by the one of the team members.

"Thank you, Jarvis." You whispered sheepishly, stepping out of the elevator. As you made your way to the kitchen that was off to the right of the floor, the doors slid shut behind you.

You weren't particularly hungry, but another round of hot cocoa sounded tempting. When you opening the fridge, a tray of untouched chocolate-covered fruits welcomed you. You tried reminding yourself that you weren't hungry - but it was too much to resist. You pulled the tray from the shelf and found a bowl, filling it with a large selection of delicacies. As the cocoa poured from the mouth of the coffee pot into a mug large enough to satisfy Thor himself, you popped a few berries in your mouth and leaned against the counter, staring at the frothy liquid. With the ding of the dispenser, the mug was full, and you made your way to the dining table, fruit and cocoa in hand. You pulled out a chair and let your legs settle in a crisscross position. You then wrapped the same blue blanket around you as tightly as you could while not immobilizing your ability to eat.

"Couldn't sleep?"

Once again, the unanticipated sound of another voice almost made you jump out of your own skin. You lurched forward and coughed, nearly choking on the mouthful of raspberries that had made it halfway down your throat. You gripped the table as the fruit made it's way down with the coaxing of your ungraceful intaking of air, your eyes widening as you scanned the table in the direction where the voice had come from. From this side of the table, you could make out the silhouette of a man's hair and a pair of broad shoulders.

"Are you alright?" From the concerned tint that loudened the voice, you could hear who it was more clearly. "Jarvis, can you power the lights back on, please?" When the lights above the table gradually acclimated, a set of familiar blue eyes settled on your (e/c) ones. Your suspicion had been right - it was Steve sitting there, at the far end of the table, one hand cradling a mug of what you suspected was black coffee, the other clutching a newspaper.

"I'm-I'm fine. You just scared me," You swallowed again, making sure the fruit was completely digested. "I thought I was alone in here."

"Oh, sorry about that," He smiled, then lifted his coffee as if to gesture to it. "I just came down here to read yesterday's paper. I didn't get to it with the party and everything."

"In the dark?" You asked, eyebrows drawn.

"No, they were on before. I'm not sure what happened - I guess the electricity shorted with the snow and everything," He cocked his head to the side slightly, as if processing the incident. "But then again the refrigerator light was still on when you opened it, and the coffee machine still worked. And the elevator...maybe it's on a different fuse." He shrugged.

"No, that was me," You dipped your head timidly, grinning at him. "I had Jarvis turn the lights back off before I got here."

"That explains why everything turned on before it went out again, I guess." He laughed, his lopsided smile wrinkling the corners of his eyes.

"Yeah, sorry." A brief second of silence passed between you before you could decide on something to say. "So, what happened yesterday?"

When he flicked the paper back open, he noticed his throw still enclosed around your body, provoking a flutter of bliss in his stomach. His eyes flicked away and he set to scanning the pages. You bit into a deliciously drizzled strawberry, oblivious to his observation, waiting quietly as he skimmed the printed paragraphs for an answer.

"Well, there's some sort of Christmas tree lighting upstate that's happening tomorrow. And there's a new deli downtown that just opened. It has good ratings so far, four stars. Oh, that toy store Thor and Clint were going on about at Thanksgiving just opened for the holidays, too. And there was some sort of robbery in Queens. An entire bank exploded, and a sandwich deli, too," He paused and a frown muddled his expression for a second as he read the article for himself, then kept reading aloud. "No one was hurt, thank goodness. Hm. A few other crimes, some domestic disputes. A march on Wallstreet, a new firm in Times Square, ..."

As Steve went on summarizing the paper for you, you listened earnestly. While you weren't completely interested in what the paper had to say for itself, you were interested in the way Steve delivered it to you and in the way it seemed to truly enrapture his interests. About halfway through your bowl of delicacies and mug of warmth, something he said made the entirety of your attention refocus on his words.

"...a party at Stark Tower, and Agent (L/n) nearly sacrificed herself in an unhealthy relationship. Huh. Its says here that Captain America almost punched said relationship in the jaw, but luckily the guy was tased before he could do that. And then it says the Avengers played board games. Which is when the Captain's best friend then consumed an ungodly amount of cubed fruits," As he said all of this, he pretended to read it from the paper, just before he looked up at you. "And now, as most of Manhattan sleeps, we just can't seem to."

His smile was almost idyllic, the way he gazed at you. It made you want to cry, like everything in the last few months hadn't been a waste of your life, or a complete mistake on your part. In those forgiving blue eyes, you felt a deep sense of understanding. That was something you'd feared you had lost with your team since you had let yourself be controlled by such a weasel of a man. You suddenly felt that Steve was telling you that you weren't weak and impressionable, used or damaged goods, or a burden to the team with the havoc that had disheveled your world in the form of Liam Murphy.

You could feel your chin begin to quiver as your sight blurred with hot tears. Your lips folded into each other as you fought the prickling sensation that your tears brought on. Your eyes fell to the bowl in front of you and somewhere in the array of vibrant, fruity colors, you found the wherewithal to steady yourself. Not that you needed to in Steve's company.

"The paper said all of that?"

"I might have improvised a little bit."

"A little bit?" You smiled at him, hoping the expression could rid the sadness from your eyes. But it wasn't hidden from Steve.

"Somewhere in between Stark and Manhattan was all my doing." He replied, folding the paper up and standing. You watched as he silently made his way to you and pulled out the chair closest to you at the end of the table, to your left. When he sat, he sipped his mug and plucked a piece of watermelon from your bowl. As he waited for you to speak, he indulged more fruit from your stash.

"Steve?"

"Hm?"

"What did you think of him at first? Liam, I mean?"

Steve studied the blueberry in his hand as he mulled over your question. In all honesty, Steve hadn't thought much of Liam since the moment they had met, but Steve knew most of that had to do with how he felt about you. Any guy who had you on his arm, no matter how horrible or perfect, would fall short of Steve's admiration. However, he had to admit that Liam had been quite charming in the beginning.

"I thought he was a nice guy. He was funny, made us laugh. He had nice shoes. He seemed alright."

"Nice shoes?" You laughed, but it dissolved as you felt he had answered your true question. He had obviously thought very little of Liam from the start. It seemed evident that you'd been the only one that fell for it all along. "Is that all?"

When you pushed the question, Steve searched your eyes. It was when he saw your unresolved expression that he realized the true meaning of your inquiry.

"He charmed us all, (Y/n). It wasn't just you who was fooled in the beginning. We all liked him. For Pete's sake, Tony thought he was hilarious. Clint offered him archery lessons! Even Bruce showed him around the lab and wanted to invite him over more often. The only difference in the matter is that we weren't abused by him. He didn't snare us like he did you. He found out that you had a giving heart, and he took advantage of that."

As you thought over his answer, you felt your shoulders release some of the burden that had fallen on them again in the last few hours. When he snuck another berry into his mouth, you pushed the bowl over to him. He raised an eyebrow, as if to ask if you were sure. With a quaint nod, he gradually ate on the rest of the fruit.

"I was a fool for ever bringing him around. For thinking I could trust him...or change him."

"(Y/n), you were dating him. You had obligations to him that none of us had. You tried working it out. We all saw that."

"You...You don't think any less of me now, do you, Steve?"

"No, (Y/n). I could never."

"What do you think of me?"

"I think you're an exceptional person. I really do. You're the strongest woman I've ever met, and what happened with Liam only proved that to me even more."

"Thanks," You smile, glancing down to your hands. His words had touched you, but you felt there was so much Steve wasn't aware of, as if there was more that had happened that if knew, the blame could be shifted back onto your shoulders. You rummaged through your mind for a prompt to start a new conversation, a way to take the focus off of Liam and the fiasco of his existence in your life. "So, what are your thoughts on the mission next month?"

The mission you had been briefed about earlier in the week had been set for January sixth. You were all being sent out to three different abandoned barracks in Germany's vast wilderness, which were still populated with stray Hydra agents. Even after the successful purge of the members that had cloaked themselves as S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, there were still forces across the world with the red signet hidden under their uniforms.

"Oh, the usual. We just have to get the job done, I guess. I just hope we don't have any malfunctions with Tony's new malware weapons this time. Hydra's spies have a way of bugging everything we bring at them."

"Yeah, that's true," You rubbed your fingers together mindlessly; another nervous tick, one that didn't go unnoticed by Steve. "But I heard Tony say he made some adjustments to the mainframe of the signals. Something about a firewall? I don't really understand his technical lingo."

"That makes two of us." He chuckled, just as he swallowed the last cube of cantaloupe. He pushed his chair back and arched a playful eyebrow at you, somehow hinting at the unpredictability of modern tech. Even settled fairly well into the modern age, he still didn't trust the gismos and gadgets that came along with it - and you didn't blame him. You often wished everything could go back to a simpler era as well, although you'd never known the world Steve was familiar with.

When he stood and picked up his mug and bowl, you followed suit with your empty mug in hand. Silence settled peacefully between you, and you watched as he rinsed his dishes out in the sink. When you stepped beside him to clean yours, he plucked it from your hand with a grin. You whispered a 'thank you' and leaned forward against the counter, still watching as he put them in the dishwasher. When he clicked the door shut, he looked at you with a curious expression.

And you knew that expression all too well. It was the one he wore when he knew you weren't alright, despite whatever airs you tried to put on. It was always there when he was thinking up a way to help you talk it out. In fact, he had worn it only a week ago, when you had divulged everything to him in front of a rinky-dink coffee shop in the passenger seat of Tony's Porsche.

"Something's still bothering you, though, isn't it?" When you only hummed a miserable 'mhm' to him, he turned and crossed his arms, leaning back against the counter. You let your eyes fall to your hands again, trying to find a way to sum up all the things bouncing around in your head. When you looked back up, you found he was already looking back at you, waiting patiently as always.

"I-...I feel..." He nodded at you, reassuring your confidence to speak. "I feel like I've become a disappointment to the team. Like you all pity me now. I've allowed so much trouble to come into my life in the form of one man and I didn't stand up to it like I always thought I would. I let him woo me, and when he thought he trapped me, I let him use me. I allowed my boundaries to be walked over and mocked, and I can't help but feel like everyone thinks less of me now. I was all big talk before Liam came along, all 'I'd never let a man abuse me', 'I'd stick up for myself and what I want'. And I let him strip all of that from me...I'm just damaged goods now."

Steve's heart sank into his gut. His mind whirled and his fists clenched together where they rested folded into his arms. His breath became awkward and uneven, as if something heavy had sat upon his chest. But he was so subtle, so quick to catch his own reaction, that you hardly noticed. He didn't want you to feel afraid or uncertain around him, especially when his frustration wasn't directed towards you. He knew body language was a huge tell-all.

But had he heard you correctly? Did you seriously just call yourself damaged goods?

You hadn't even done anything, for crying out loud! You'd been pressured, bullied, manipulated, sexualized, and abused. You never even consented to anything that had occurred in the past six months, except out of fear. Anything that did occur was at your expense, but not in the way you were perceiving it. You had been made to feel uncomfortable and lowly, without virtue and promise, and that hadn't been your doing. It was at the hands of a greedy, selfish man. A boy, really.

"Do you even hear yourself, (Y/n)?" His stern tone of voice shocked you nearly as much as the question itself. It was a deep and serious tone, full of compassion and remorse. "Do you hear what you're saying?"

You swallowed, your fingers entwining around themselves. Your eyes blurred over as another wave of tears threatened to break the border you had attempted to seal them behind. You weren't afraid of Steve, not in the slightest. You knew his reaction was the result of sincerity, empathy, and friendship. What provoked your tears was both the relief and the shock of his questions caused. You were relieved to know you were being too hard on yourself, to know that he obviously didn't agree with anything that you had just confessed. The tears suddenly fell without restraint.

"You haven't done anything wrong, (Y/n). You weren't the one who d-"

"No, Steve, you don't know everything that happened, you didn't see everything or hear everything I-"

"Stop, stop! Stop lying to yourself!" He interjected, standing straight and turning to face you full-on. "I've been beside you this entire time. I've heard everything, I've seen everything, I've watched your every move, as well as his. And I regret not ever saying anything. I regret letting him have his way with you! I should have protected you! Damn it, (Y/n). I wish you would realize just how innocent you are in this."

"Steve, I-..." You began, your voice still quivering. "I never knew you felt that way."

"Of course I do, (Y/n)," His heart was racing. He wanted so badly to confess everything he'd been feeling for the last year, if not lot longer, but he knew it would be selfish. You were under so much pressure already. It wouldn't be fair to unload something like that on you now. "You've been with me since my first day out of the ice. Of course I'd want to return the favor."

Shoot. He thought to himself. That's not how I wanted it to sound, either.

You could feel your heart sink a little. But why? Of course he wanted to return the favor; that's what friends do. Had you expected something more?

"Thank you. That means a lot, Steve. It's nice to know that someone cares so much." You sniffed. Your voice was so fragile, it was obvious you were trying to repair to dam again - the one that you always tried to conceal your feelings behind.

"No, I mean it, (Y/n). You're trying to hide yourself again, even now. And I don't want you to do that anymore. I don't want you to feel like you're on the fence with me, ever."

"I know, Steve. I understand. Really." You nod with a smile.

"No, you don't, (Y/n). Not this time," He started, running his hands over his face in frustration. Why couldn't he just spit it out? "You don't understand. I regret not saying anything before he even came along."

You could only stare at him as he paced to the other side of the kitchen and stopped in the middle of the tiled floor. What on earth was he talking about? What could he of said to prepare you for someone like Liam and all the havoc he would bring?

When he finally turned around, he wrapped one arm around his torso and propped his chin in his other hand. He rubbed his lips before he spoke, thinking.

"I regret letting you pursue a relationship with him and not ever saying anything when I first noticed how twisted he was, how he would yank you around, and treat you like some sort of object. I was an idiot. I saw on the first day how he looked at you, like- like some sort of doll or something. And I let it slide, over and over again. I saw how you looked at him when we were all together, like you were begging him to stop without even saying a word," He spilled forth, his eyes directly on yours. "I saw how your hands trembled when he was near you and how you hardly ever laughed when he was around. I saw how much you squirmed, how much you wanted out." The more he spoke, the more his voice began to break.

"I didn't realize you noticed so much."

"I know you, (Y/n)," He said, his voice much quieter. He stepped forward and took your fidgeting fingers into his hands, glancing from them to your eyes. "I know that you've been fidgeting all night, although you think you're hiding it well. I know that you haven't truly laughed in weeks. I know that you think you're a burden and a pitiful person, but you're not. And...And I know how I feel about you."

His last words sounded timid and warranted your full attention. If the touch of his hands enclosed around your fingers wasn't enough to make you shiver, the cusp of his confession certainly did. You admired his eyes as he stared at your hands.

"Steve?"

When he looked up, you could see his eyes gloss over with tears. Instinctively, you pulled one hand out his grasp and placed it on his arm.

"I regret not telling you that I loved you before any of this happened, before you even met him. That I do love you," His grip softened over your hands as his thumb rubbed your knuckles gently. "And I know it's probably selfish of me to say all of this now, after everything I let you go through. But I can't let it happen again, (Y/n)."

Did he just say he loved me? Did Steve Rogers just confess his feelings for...me?

"Steve..."

"And I know it's way too soon to ask you to enter another relationship and that's not what I'm saying. I just want you to know that I'll be here, whenever your ready, if you'll have me."

As his words settled into your heart, you kept searching his eyes for some sort of hitch, for a fault, or a sliver of manipulation or dishonesty. But you couldn't find it. And who were you kidding? When had you ever known Steve to be any of those treacherous things? Once again, fresh tears flowed down your cheeks, however they were comprised of something other than regret and a broken heart; they were joyful; grateful.

When you spoke, it was barely above a whisper.

"You'll wait for me?"

"For as long as it takes." His smile was so huge it almost looked crooked. A single tear made it's way down his cheek. Without a second thought, you swiped it away. Before you could pull away, he leaned into your hand. You kept your palm against his cheek for a moment, studying his face. Then, without warning, he engulfed you in his arms. It only took you a few seconds to return the gesture by wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Thank you, Steve."

He pulled away just enough to be able to look at you.

"Don't thank me, (Y/n). You deserve the love you keep trying to give everyone else."

You let out a gasp, somewhat made up of shock and relief. You could honestly admit that those were the sweetest words that had ever been spoken to you. It was you turn to wrap your arms around him as a show of both affection and gratitude. And there, in the arms of your dearest friend, you felt more secure than you ever had before. It didn't feel like Liam's arms, where you were left squirming and trying to think of a way to break free, and where you most certainly never initiated it. But here, in the warmth of an honest man, you melted.

Steve was much more than just a man or a friend, or even an avenger. He was a hero in the form a dear friend. he had become your hero, just as you'd always dreamt. In the hope of love that was just beginning, you had found peace.

When you both finally pulled away, Steve offered to escort you to Nat's room, which was just a few doors from his. Now, after everything that had been released, reassured, and confessed in the last hour, the hallway didn't feel so empty and anxious. You didn't feel like hiding anymore.

"I'm glad you like the blanket." He laughed. When you looked down, it was then that you realized it was still wrapped loosely around your body, part of it dragging on the floor.

"Thanks for letting me borrow it. I'll make sure to give it back to you before I go home."

He paused a second and without thinking, he reached for the corners of the blanket and pulled it above your shoulders. As he tucked it around your neck, you felt his fingers linger just under you chin. It sent chills throughout your body.

"Keep it. There's a whole closet full of them upstairs." The truth was that the blankets in the storage room were coarse and thin. Tony had yet to splurge on luxurious bedding for the tower, apart from the individual bedrooms for the team. Steve had found this one in a shop a few years ago when he had just moved into the tower. It had long been his favorite, for its softness and size, which was surprisingly long enough to wrap around his super-serum height. But had you known that, you'd of never accepted it. And Steve would enjoy it even more to see you putting it to use, to know that you wanted something of his.

"Are you sure? It's so soft."

"Of course. I can go grab another one," He fibbed, releasing the blanket's corners so you could wrap it tighter around your shoulders. "And I think you need it more than I do."

"Thank you." You whispered, hoping he knew you were thanking him for much more than the blanket. When he accepted your thanks with a nod, you could tell that he knew. And he was finally letting you thank him for everything.

"Goodnight."

"'Night, Steve. See you at breakfast."

"That's just a few hours away!" He commented as he started down the hall, checking his watch.

"Bright and early as always." You mumbled with a smirk as your hand turned the knob to Natasha's room ever-so-carefully. You tip-toed across the floor, only to nearly trip over the edge of the rug that peeked out from under her bed. You sucked in your breath and didn't let it out until you were hovering over your side of the bed, ready to ease your body down on the mattress. When you were finally tucked back in, your silently praised yourself for how little you had moved the bed. With a final look at the glimmering skyscrapers of Manhattan, your eyes finally felt heavy and your body began to ready itself for slumber.

"So, how was your snack?"

This was the third time in a single night that the unprecedented voice of another being had nearly scared the crap out of you, and you hated the feeling.

"What the heck, Nat?!" You half-yelled, half-whispered as you turned slightly to face her. Her eyes were open and she looked as though she had been awaiting for your arrival. "I thought you were asleep!"

"You can't sneak up on an assassin, genius," She chided. "Besides, I had more pressing matters to think about. Like how you just spent over an hour upstairs talking to Steve at four in the morning?"

"How did you...? Oh, nevermind." You huff, turning back to the window.

"A little defensive, are we?" You could hear the smirk in her voice.

"...How much did you hear?"

"Oh, nothing much. Just something about some crazy accurate newspaper and him being in love with you. Nothing too serious."

"Are you freaking kidding me? You listened to everything?"

"I mean, how could I not? I've practically been orchestrating this for years."

"Years? " You repeat, your eyes widening as the implication of the word became obvious. "What the-"

"Clint thought it was about time, too. He's been the one pushing Steve all this time."

"Clint was spying too?!" You turned over completely, swatting the poufy duvet between you. Natasha was lying on her back, primly studying her nails as she spoke nonchalantly.

"You're both so thick-headed. You needed some serious help."

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