I Think It's "Let Me Be Your Ruler."

I think it's "Let me Be your ruler."

Does anyone know the fic where Peter is part of the mob/mafia maybe even a gang and is interested in the reader? Maybe reader is a little older?

Ok I noticed when whenever I look up Peter Parker x reader no way home etc I see a lot andrew Garfield Peter which I don’t mind I adore him but aslo can I get more tom Holland ver of Peter as well please 😙😙😫

69 notes View Post

imbackhome

3 years ago

YAAAAASSSSSSSS 💖💖💖💖

anyway, reblog if…

a) you’re in the mcu spiderman fandom

b) you ship spideychelle

c) you’re an irondad fan

i really need more mutuals. and, as usual, stark*r shippers DO NOT INTERACT. I’ll block you if you do

Tags

marvel peter parker x reader marvel fandom tom holland cute mcu spiderman

61 notes View Post

imbackhome

2 years ago

Everyone was being so protective of me. I loved this lmao 😭🖐️

Webs of Opacity

Summary: On the eve of the annual Stark Halloween party, you’ve managed to gulp down too much alcohol and tangled yourself into intricate webs of trouble. Even glittering fairies can’t escape the drama, and handsome 80’s film characters can’t always save them from sleazy boyfriends and hangovers.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Rogers!reader (adopted, of course), Steve Rogers x sister!reader, Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanoff

Word count: 6k

Warnings: underage drinking, reader being very drunk, unconsented kissing, mild violence

A/N: This is a mess, I’m sorry. Started this last fall and rushed to get it done in time for this year. Also happy Halloween and over a week of Midnights being out. Couldn’t help myself from referencing it every other paragraph lol

Also if anyone has any scenarios or requests for my college series please please send them to me! Love your enthusiasm for my Stark U babies and want to keep writing for them

Masterlist

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Your shiny, entirely fake wings keep bumping into the ridiculous amount of people crammed into this room, and you're sure you have never apologized more times in your life than tonight. Wanda has assured you many times that, no, you should not take off your wings because you look, in her words, adorable. It was her idea, after all, to dress you up like a little flowery fairy for the Halloween party Tony has thrown tonight. She made your wings all fluttery and glittery, and the flowers in your hair sparkle every now and then. It feels like a childhood dream coming true.

"Spider-boy!" you call out over the loud music, jumping as you stretch your hand up in the air to alert the young man twenty feet away.

For a "quiet gathering" there sure are a lot of loud, drunk people here. Then again, it was your mistake to trust the promise of Stark when it came to a party.

Your jumping up and down is entirely unnecessary when you're trying to gain the attention of someone with a creepy sixth sense that allows them to just know everything happening around them. Peter already knew exactly where you were the moment you opened your mouth. It doesn't help that you're just a tiny, little bit of tipsy either.

He smiles a toothy grin as he pushes past the crowd towards you, showing glimpses of his Indiana Jones costume that's honestly a slightly surprising choice. He looks handsome though.

"Hi, Y/n!" he nearly shouts over the music, embracing you in a side hug as he takes a look at your outfit. "You're a fairy! It fits you so great, it's like you were meant to be one,” Peter exclaims happily while you chuckle lightheartedly.

"Thank you, it was Wanda's idea. Indiana Jones, huh?" you ask, raising an eyebrow in question. It's quite uncharacteristic. Last year he went as Nikola Tesla and nobody knew who he was supposed to be.

"Yeah, Tony said I had to go as something cooler this year. He'd disown me otherwise." Peter cringes while your head is thrown back in laughter.

"He told me I looked like a moth earlier," you answer with a grin on your lips, the remnants of your chuckles fading out.

"You look great, Y/n. Very sweet. Think Bucky's gonna get here any second and tell me to keep any 'punks' away from you," Peter tells you. You roll your eyes, though fondly.

"Hm, I bet he will," you hum. "Gotta send him back soon if he keeps that up. Both of them, for that sake."

You nod your head towards the blonde head sticking up in the bar crowd. Your brother is an overbearing mess that you would much rather let you be, instead of hovering protectively around your presence constantly. He seems to have eased up on his duties tonight, though, in honor of the holiday.

"I think it's good that—you know—they look out for you. There are a lot of bad guys out there," Peter says, scratching his head nervously like it would somehow offend you.

"Yeah, that's understandable. Though Steve and Bucky seem to think I'm still a kid." You scrunch your nose fondly.

"Well, you are. Kind of," Peter says. Your mouth hangs agape jokingly, with a silent scoff in answer.

"Oh, that's where we're going! You're only two years older, asshole," you say with a glare, taking a sip from the drink in your hand.

"Those two years make a world of difference." He smiles with a glint in his eyes. "Head off to college and then they'll see you as an adult, maybe."

"I'm going in January—stop looking at me like that!" you yell when he smirks, holding back a laugh. "I'm serious! Alright, okay, we're not playing nice tonight, are we?" You raise an eyebrow in question.

"Sure," he smiles. It falters just as quickly when you snatch the red solo cup out of his hand, gulping down the sweet and bitter liquid before crumpling the cup in your hands. "Hey!" Peter shouts. "You're not 21!"

"Neither are you." A victorious smile adorns your lips. You try not to show the distaste from the bitter liquid burning in your throat.

"In a few months!" Peter blushes and you fight the urge to coo at him because he gets shy over the most peculiar things.

"You're so cute, Parker," you tell him with a bop to his nose.

"Oh, piss off," he says and shakes his head.

"Learnt a new swear word? Impressive. College has really changed you."

"You're really annoying right know, you know that?"

You shake your head frantically, scrunching your nose simultaneously, and there's something different about you that Peter just noticed now.

"You're already drunk, aren't you?" he asks with realization dawning upon him. You gaze up at him with a mischievous glint and a gasp escapes him. "Y/n, Steve's gonna freak out on you!"

"He's never gonna find out. And I'm not drunk. I had three drinks earlier, 's fine," you say with a dismissive wave.

"Three drinks?" he breathes out in disbelief. "That's not little—hey! Hands off, asshole!" Peter interrupts the beginning of his speech to scare away the twenty-something with his hands on your hips.

"Dickhead," the guy mutters under his breath as he backs away. You turn around to meet Peter's eyes with a pout as the guy saunters off, a disappointed frown in between your brows.

"That guy was hot. You scared him away. You ruined my only chance," you pout.

You turn around again before Peter has the chance to answer, roaming your eyes around for the guy. With only a few seconds he's managed to land himself over by the bar, drink raised to his lips as he eyes you hungrily despite Peter's warnings. You smile, biting your lip with a newfound confidence you've never experienced. Yeah, definitely tipsy. Sober you would be hiding away in the cleaning closet by now.

"Well, yeah, he was—Y/n, hello?" Peter lays his hand on your shoulder, turning you around to meet his eyes again. "You know what? We're gonna go for a walk." He lays an arm around your shoulders, gently steering you away from the guy and into the crowd.

"Oh, where?" you ask, already forgotten the source of your previous pout. "Careful of my wings, Parker."

"It's a surprise," Peter says as he loosens his hold around your wings, glancing to see if they're alright. You stop talking almost instantly and for once he's happy to know some silence from you, because right now you can't seem to shut up and he's not used to spending time with your chipper-talkative version.

Peter pushes the two of you through the thick, sweaty crowd filled with lazy costumes and masterpieces alike, ranging from several layers thick to barely covering anything at all. He recognizes some of the people from the compound, some from his college that he doesn't even know how they got here, but most of them are complete strangers.

You send flirty glances and hellos over your shoulder to every guy you gain eye contact with. It's scary how fast the alcohol went to your brain, from being completely unnoticeable to half-drunk in a minute. Peter does not like the drunk you. Or he does, maybe, but not in a room filled with guys who just can't wait to get under your ridiculously cute dress. It's offensive really, how you can manage to look so excruciatingly innocent and hot at the same time. He'll curse out Wanda tomorrow.

The party is so packed with people that it takes ten minutes before he finds the ones he's looking for. Wanda and Natasha sip on their martinis in a ridiculously large couch, gossiping like a bunch of school girls as they shout encouragements at Sam and Tony on the dance floor. Peter sighs, nearly pushing you down on the couch next to Natasha before he slouches down himself.

"What do we have here, huh?" Natasha smirks and takes a small sip of her drink.

"She's drunk. I'm exhausted. Please take her off my hands," Peter says as he throws his head back on the couch. You let out a giggle, leaning against Natasha's shoulder.

"He's exaggerating," you say with your voice muffled by her shoulder.

"Okay, young lady. Drunk, huh?" Wanda asks, raising an eyebrow in question. Her perfectly red lips curl into a smile that shows she's not really upset about it.

"No," you mumble, scratching your nose with your manicured finger for the occasion. "Hiya, Auntie," you coo while curling up besides Natasha.

"Stop calling me Auntie," she mutters and gently pushes you off her shoulder.

"How's your boyfriend? Jake? No, John. Wait! Jack!" you fumble over your words. It might as well be any of the three names, because Natasha has been showing up with a new person on her arm every other month this year. You don't know what it is, really, but you guess you should be glad she's exploring her options.

"Jason," Natasha says through a roll of her eyes. The slightest hint of amusement can be found on her lips, but it's nothing that she shows to someone else. "And he's very much good, now stop asking. He's just getting drinks," she says and nods towards the bar.

"I like that guy," you exclaim excitedly. There's no doubt about your drunken state in this moment, because in no shape or form have you been as wounded up about any of Natasha's past partners.

"Hey, honey," Wanda catches your attention with a gentle hand on your arm, reaching across the sofa. "Where's your brother hiding? I can't imagine he would be very happy with you being drunk, no?" she asks.

"He can't know!" you exclaim with a whispered shout. "He's gonna kill me, please, Wanda."

Your eyes are blown wide open in fear. It's not that Steve would be mad—the disappointment is what you desperately want to evade. He gets that frown in between his eyebrows, puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head while looking down to the ground. Being on the receiving side of that is humiliating, on the verge of heartbreaking. You can't handle that tonight.

"I don't know, sweetheart..."

"Please, Wanda." There's tears gathering in your eyes, more so for dramatic effect than actual upset. You've slid down onto your knees in front of her, begging with your hands on her thighs.

"Oh god," Natasha mutters under her breath, setting down her drink on the table while indifferently glancing over to the bar where her boyfriend of the month resides.

She can't really handle this theatric version of you. There's a reason you're usually one of her favorites, despite your young age—your ability to be fucking quiet. Whoever gave you all that alcohol is on her damn hit list.

While she tunes out the conversation behind her, some kind of settlement is agreed upon where you, of course, get your way. No more alcohol, and Wanda won't tell your brother or Bucky what you have been up to.

When she stands up to leave, you're on your feet again. Now your attention has wandered over to Peter's costume, talking of how 'incredibly accurate to detail' it is despite being thrown together last minute by the college student. The only thing telling what he's dressed as is the hat paired with the old leather jacket.

A wet kiss is pressed to Natasha's cheek as soon as she joins Jason by the bar. His hand instantly finds her waist, pressing her into him tightly. His touch almost repulses her. He's too straightforward with his affection, so obvious in his quest to show her off.

"You look so goddamn sexy," he whispers into her ear. "Been thinking about what we talked about the other day."

Nat hums absentmindedly in answer, raising a finger swiftly to wave over the bartender.

"You know, having another p—"

"Yeah, I know what you're talking about," she interrupts him.

He brought it up about a week ago, and she only entertained the idea because she was bored. Jason is only a temporary occupation for her constant need to destress—there's no way in hell she's gonna adhere to his fantasy of having two girls sucking him off at the same time.

"She's not your real niece, no?" Jason asks suddenly, setting his gaze on your soft curves in that angelic dress framing your figure on the other side of the room.

Natasha's attention snaps from her drink to where his eyes are set. "You know she's not," she mutters as she takes a sip on her martini, suspiciously eyeing her boyfriend.

"I'm up for it," he says, nodding your way.

"Excuse me?" Natasha raises an eyebrow, gracefully setting down her glass on the counter.

"She's our girl, I have a feeling she is. You can ask her, can't you?" Jason smirks as he shamelessly keeps his stare on you. "Pretty little thing like that would be up for anything, wouldn't she?"

It takes exactly two seconds for Natasha to have a sharp fork pressed against Jason's side, just above one of his major arteries and restricting his breathing. A choked gurgle escapes his lips as Natasha's mouth lingers next to his ear.

"I know 72 different ways to break every bone in your body, and I can make 65 of them seem like an accident." Her smooth voice fills his ear. "Keep her name out of your mouth."

She keeps the fork pressed into his skin for a few seconds, just for extra measure, before she lets it go and Jason coughs violently as his hand flies up to his throat. Natasha takes another sip of her drink, glancing over the unsuspecting crowd with a roll of her eyes.

"I suggest you leave. Go clean up in the bathroom, you have a stain on your shirt," Natasha says before taking her drink and walking away.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

You squeeze yourself through the thick bathroom line, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear while trying to avoid bumping into as many people as possible. You gave up on preserving your wings two drinks ago, because quite frankly you have forgotten them by now.

You might also have ignored your fellow elders' warnings of laying off the alcohol, choosing to indulge in whatever drink you could get your hands on for one evening only. It's a risky move, but it's something you can afford. You rarely stir up any trouble, if any at all. What fun is it if you remain predictable all the time?

The music blares through the floor, thumping along with the people jumping up and down against it. You're out of it in the most wonderful way, rid of your constant presence in your own mind, if even for just a short while. The consequences do not exist and neither does your conscience.

When a guy in his late twenties, or thirties, maybe even your age, grasps a hold of your hand and asks if you want to dance, you answer yes without any hesitation. Sweaty bodies spread their heat around, pushing up against you and the mysterious guy as you move against each other.

You barely know what you're doing. You're only following along, letting him control your movements close to his body. If you were more sober you would have seen how it could be more likened to grinding than dancing, but the weight of his hands on your hips feels grounding instead of unnerving.

"You look so fucking pretty," he says into your ear, muffled by the alcohol buzzing in your head and the music blaring over the speakers.

You throw your arms around his neck, looking up at him with what you think is a smile. You're trying, at least. "Thank—" Hiccup. "Thank you. You're pretty too," you say, even though you can barely make out his features in the darkness.

But you think he looks pretty. A hypothesis based on the way his hands feel on your skin. Hot may be a better word for it, but in your state of mind adjectives do not differ especially much from each other. That's why you let him drag you away from the crowd, pushing through drunk people until you find a relatively secluded corner of the floor.

The wall is cold against your heated skin, your back against it while the man's arms cage you in. The feeling of his lips trailing across your neck barely registers. It just feels nice, you think. Your eyes are fluttered close, back arching while you mumble indetectable words you can't even decipher yourself. You're so fucking drunk you won't even remember this moment in the morning.

That's the problem with you drinking tonight—your alcohol consumption has been so limited that you have no conception of whatever is much or not. You have no idea if it takes three or six drinks to get you affected. You have no idea what you are like on tequila or vodka, on Prosecco or red wine. So now, eight drinks later of so many different types you can't even remember which was which, you're out of it enough to barely remember your own name.

His wet lips against yours are a suffocating presence you would much rather be without. It's sloppy and rushed, not at all what you imagined kissing would be. You wince to yourself, pushing him away just an inch to run the back of your hand against your mouth.

And then he's suddenly gone. You could have sworn he stood right in front of you. It takes a good ten seconds before you find him on the floor, clutching his nose with an angry frown in between his eyebrows.

"What the fuck, man?!" he shouts, looking up at the guy who has a funny hat on his head and a heaving chest.

"Stay away from her," the guy seethes, suddenly taking a gentle hold of your arm.

You don't have it in you to protest. Maybe it's dangerous to follow whoever when they tell you to, but your moral compass is non-existent in this state.

"Are you okay, Y/n?" the guy asks you. You blink, staring at his face while trying to piece together his features. No words come out of your mouth. "Damnit," he sighs, shaking his head.

A woman comes up to him with rushed steps, agitated look on her face. "Is she alright, Peter?" She runs her eyes over your disheveled figure.

"She's completely out of it. Must have snuck in quite a lot of more drinks," he answers. "Your dickhead of a boyfriend is taken care of, by the way. Probably won't stir up anymore trouble now."

"I should have checked so he actually left. It was reckless to think he would leave her alone," she says with a stern face, cold gaze watching the exit.

"Wasn't your fault, Nat," Peter assures her. You sway in your stance, stumbling into his hold while he steadies his grip around you.

"She needs to lay down before she passes out. Get her a glass of water for me, will you?" Natasha commands.

Peter nods, giving you a concerned glance before reluctantly heading towards the bar. Your head comes to lean on Natasha's shoulder with a whine, letting her lead you wherever she's going. You're starting to feel dizzy and slightly nauseous, and you do not like it. If you had the energy to speak you would launch a heavy string of complaints.

"Come on now, darling. A few more steps," she says, taking on more of your weight.

Your face is buried into her shoulder. The only thing detectable from your blubbering is the whines, wordlessly pleading to take you away from wherever you are and rid you of the nausea.

Heavy glances are exchanged between Peter and Natasha as he pushes through the crowd, fingers clinging tightly onto the large glass in his hand.

"Here," he breathes out, reaching the glass towards her.

She takes it from his hands, tilting your chin up with her manicured fingers. "There you go, Y/n," she mumbles as you gulp down small sips of the liquid.

The music blares loudly throughout the large room, sweaty bodies packed tightly together. What you found exhilarating and exciting twenty minutes ago is now suffocating. It's the only thing you know as you barely stand on two feet amongst the crowd. If it weren't for Nat, you would be in a heap on the floor.

"Let's go." Natasha nods towards the exit, glancing over her shoulder as Peter trails shortly after.

You're barely awake, burrowing your face into the crook of her neck. Peter can smell the stale alcohol on your breath from where he walks just beside the two of you—fruity drinks and vodka and tequila and wine. It unnerves him to think that you might have ingested enough of the poison to make it dangerous.

The bitter night air is refreshing for anyone who's senses are at least partly alert. It's a blessing really, that tonight you only have the short walk from the party to your homes located just on the other side of the compound grounds.

The dewy grass is partially lit up by strobe lights placed along the lines of the premises, soaking Natasha's heels and Peter's loafers. Your bare arms prickle with the low temperature.

It feels like an awfully long journey for Peter as he walks along Natasha, halfway waking up enough from the haze to take on some of your weight as well. There's a thought or two of swinging you back home in just a few seconds, but there's not much for his web to hold onto out here. The anxiety creates shudders in his limbs and forces him to glance over to your figure every other second.

"She'll be fine, Peter," Natasha says without so much as sparing him a glance. "She's just drunk. It'll be over tomorrow."

But his anxiety doesn't ease, rightfully so, when your palm suddenly pushes against her chest with all the force you can muster in your state. You whine, sprawling your legs until they have no option but to release you.

"Wha—"

On your knees, bent over the small bushes meticulously trimmed by the nice gardeners, you throw your guts out with shudders wracking the whole of your body. Awful.

Natasha could have said 'I told you so', but people make dumb decisions while drunk and she already feels bad for you over what Jason did. "Oh, honey," she whispers to herself instead, taking a step forward to reach you.

But Peter's faster. Of course he is. The young man is kneeling down beside you, hand gently wrapping around your hair to pull it aside while the other rubs against your back.

Any other time, when alcohol isn't poisoning your blood, and you would have felt ashamed. You probably will be tomorrow. You would have reacted to Peter being the one to take care of you, especially after showing such irritation about your state earlier.

The grass is cold and wet against your knees, but it is a welcome relief from the heat plaguing your skin. You are almost certain there are tears making their way out of your eyes and you would positively murder someone for another glass of water.

Instead of gulping down another glass, like you want to, you close your eyes while breathing out deeply. The nausea slowly fades away with each second, the heat being replaced by dewy goosebumps on your skin, all the while clarity pushes itself past the alcohol-induced blur.

A raspy cough. A thick gulp, swallowing too much air at the same time but you force yourself to hold it in. "Did I just kiss someone?" you speak for the first time in an hour.

And Natasha nearly laughs, until she remembers the state you were in. You didn't kiss someone.

"No, Y/n," she says softly, glancing up at Peter with a hardened gaze that tells him to keep his mouth shut. "No, you didn't."

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

It's dark, empty of anyone who usually resides in the living room. The lights flickered on one by one, lighting up the space too much for your liking when you stepped inside. A whine was all it took for Peter to turn them off again.

You've been discarded on the couch, legs stretched out over Nat’s thighs with a cold, wet towel laying on your face. Peter sits fiddling with his fingers just beside your head. It's quiet—thankfully—even though you feel much better than before.

"What time is it?" you ask after what must have been ten minutes of complete silence.

"It's, uh, ten past one," Peter stutters out, like he's surprised by the sound of your voice. In reality he just reacts this way each time you speak, but the circumstances have chipped on his resolve. He can't hide his shivers behind a cool facade anymore.

"Happy Halloween," you croak out, earning a quiet chuckle from him. He checks his phone to see the date on top of the screen. 31st October, indeed.

Honestly, Peter has been some kind of obsessed with you since he was sixteen and visited the compound for the first time. You and Steve were walking on the trail slinging around the grounds, deep into solemn conversation.

Peter should have been listening to the endless list of security policy Happy was lining up for him, but he just couldn't tear his eyes off of you. Not because you were beautiful—you are, but he couldn't really see your face in detail from that far away—but because there was someone else his age in the same situation as him. Then he found out you were just Steve's adopted little sister and was a bit disappointed over your lack of involvement with the Avengers.

For weeks he tried to understand why you were in this century too and if Captain America had kept you secret for a reason. Peter was too nervous to actually talk to you until Tony shut him out of some team meeting and you were the only other one in the living room. He saw you everyday after that.

But now he's living hours away at university and he hates that it feels like you're drifting apart and everything is happening without him knowing. You drinking and being interested in men and men being interested in you. He tries to keep the contact up—texts you everyday and calls you and sends messages to Steve or Bucky if you don't answer. For the things you won't tell him, the things he can't see.

He was so excited for tonight. Chose the Indiana Jones costume because Harrison Ford is cool and sexy in those movies and surely you must think that too? And damn it, when he saw you sparkle and shimmer as you walked into the room with your wings fluttering he almost fell to the ground. It was fun as long as you were sober enough to actually talk to him.

Peter's spent the last hour and a half so goddamn mad at Natasha's boyfriend. And of course he is jealous, it should have been him you were dancing with like that, but that man took advantage of your vulnerable state. You could barely stand up, let alone actually protest or give your consent. Peter doesn't know if that was your first kiss or not, but regardless he's mighty glad he knocked the guy out.

You've gone quiet again, and he almost thinks you have fallen asleep, but you peek out from under the towel when the door you all came in through is thrown open. Heavy boots clank against the floor and a frown adorns Steve Rogers', or Fred from Scooby Doo for the night, face when he and his best friend barges inside. It doesn't take long for them to catch sight of the couch occupied by a wide-eyed Peter, stoic Natasha and still kind of drunk Y/n.

"You're going to be the death of me, young lady," Steve speaks up, letting out a deep sigh once he's close enough to tower over your figure.

He got a run-through of the events by a slightly dramatic Asgardian god and an infinitely more concerned Wanda a few minutes ago. You had gotten black-out drunk and found yourself grinding against some punk in the crowd. That was forgivable, even though Steve would much rather you didn’t at this age. Then that fucking jerk shoved his tongue down your throat despite you barely being able to form words. Yeah, Jackson or Jacob or whatever his name was had a talk with Bucky before the two of them rushed over here.

With his hands on his hips and a shake of his head, Steve stands there for a second before kneeling down. Bucky has his arms crossed a few feet away like he still hasn't really decided wether he's pissed or just feels sorry for you.

"You okay, Y/n?" Steve asks you, a little softer. His palm has come to feel your forehead, even though you doubt fever is a common symptom of being hungover.

Peter is paralyzed beside him. He’s quite sure Steve knows how completely infatuated he is with you. Mostly because Peter accidentally, somehow, sent a voice message meant for Ned to Bucky. He must have shared that by now. What should I wear? Y/n is going to be there. Han Solo? Does she even like brunettes? Is she into blondes? Oh god, I’m helpless.

"No," you mutter in answer to your brother’s question. "This sucks. Why didn't anyone tell me?"

Bucky snorts. "What did you even drink? Vodka?"

"No. I don't know. In the beginning it was just some screw-top rosé Peter's roommate brought," you tell him, scrunching your nose with the memory of the taste of it. "It tasted cheap."

"Oh, because you know things like that now, do you?" Bucky says, raising his eyebrows at you. "Can tell expensive wine from cheap-ass rosé?"

"Buck," Steve says before you even have the chance to answer. Chastises, maybe. "You're not 21 yet. Who gave all that alcohol to you?"

You turn your head away, pressing it into the pillow. Steve turns you back to him with a hand to your shoulder, giving you a pointed look that holds some level of amusement. He acts like God's righteous man, but he was a troublemaker in his youth. Tony would have a field day if he knew all the times Steve came home drunk at sixteen after drinking some musty home-made brandy.

"Peter?" Steve looks up at him when you choose not to answer, using alternative, dirty methods to get answers. Cheater. Your mouth falls open, looking over at both your brother and Peter with an offended glare.

The young man stutters, eyes glancing frantically between the two of you while trying to figure out who scares him the most. "I—uh, don't know. My roommate. Apparently. Natasha's boyf—ex?"

The playful tone dims into stern faces and clenched jaws as the villain of the evening is mentioned out loud. You're caught up deciphering the sudden switch in attitude for longer than you should have before solving the riddle. Natasha told you nothing happened, but unfortunately you have vague pictures of a man, her man, shoving his tongue into your mouth. Oh god.

You sink even further into the couch, if that's possible, shielding yourself from the undoubtably judgemental gazes shared in the room. Natasha's boyfriend cheated with you and you didn't even say anything.

"Don't hide from us, sweetheart," Steve says, brushing hair away from your face. "Hey, it's not your fault. That punk took advantage of you. You weren't in your right mind."

Your dickhead of a brother knows you too well. Can tell with just a glance when you're overthinking and analyzing and blaming yourself for problems that have nothing to do with you from the beginning.

"Calm down, birdie,” Nat says softly, earning your attention even though you want to crawl out of your skin. “That's not a conscious decision, when you're drunk like that. It wasn't your fault in the least. Fourty minutes ago you couldn't even stand straight.”

"I'm really sorry, Nat," you say, eyes flickering down to your legs draped over her lap.

"Stop it. That fucking dickhead thought it would be a good idea to tell me he wanted to have a threesome with you. I told him to stay away from you and leave, but he obviously didn't. Probably just to spite me."

"Threesome?" Steve chokes on his breath and the word comes out as more of a cough. He tightens his hold on your hand until you let out a wince, drawing a whispered ‘sorry’ from his lips.

“Me?” you breathe out, sitting up a little higher.

Peter pushes you down onto the pillow again not even a second later. He doesn’t want you to strain yourself. He’s also fucking pissed now because that man not only assaulted you, he also asked Natasha to have a threesome with you. A 19-year old.

“I’m sorry that he took advantage of you, Y/n. Not going to bring anymore of these assholes I keep dating.” Natasha sighs tiredly, letting her head fall back against the couch.

“That’s not your fault either, you know,” Bucky mutters, earning a pointed look from her that says more than her words can. A ‘thank you’ and ‘I know, dickhead’ simultaneously.

A comfortable silence spanning a dozen of seconds is shared between the five of you. It’s late and everyone is tired and what needed to be said has already been said. You’re fine after all and Natasha will be okay, if she isn’t already.

Peter shifts uncomfortably beside you, brushing against your hair and alerting you even more of his presence. He’s been so sweet to you tonight. He always has been. It guilts you now that you have taken his kindness for granted with time, but Peter cared for you the entire evening despite his teasing words.

You don’t know if it means something. Peter is good to everyone. And he has—MJ and him seem so close. They most likely spend all their time together now when they go the same college. Both geniuses. You don’t really have much to contribute except being the younger sister of America’s favorite hero and embarrassing yourself in a fairy costume on Halloween.

So you push the thought aside. Bury it deep and take in the rest of your surroundings. A quiet snort rests on your lips as you assess the brooding man who has finally seated himself down on an uncomfortable chair from the kitchen.

"Your costume is horrible, Bucky. You're not even dressed up,” you speak up, breaking the silence with a playful smile.

"Yes. I am," he mutters. "I have a mask."

"That does not count. You're wearing your normal clothes." You giggle while he rolls his eyes, earning a chuckle from you brother too. He’s glad to see you cheering up.

“What is considered a real costume then, sweets?” Bucky asks you, raising his eyebrows while pinpointing you with his ingenuine glare.

“I don’t know.” You look around, glancing over your brother’s attempt at a classic Fred, Natasha’s Dorothy, before landing on Indiana Jones. “Peter’s is good,” you mumble, heat spreading to your cheeks from nowhere. Why are you reacting this way?

“Yeah, sure lucky ‘bout that since he planned it all for you,” he mumbles under his breath. “Punk is head over heels.”

The breath escapes the two of you—you and Peter. Because Peter knows Bucky is right and you can’t believe what you just heard.

“What?” both you and Steve say simultaneously. Your brother has turned his entire body towards Peter.

You raise yourself up to a seat, glancing between Bucky and Peter. The latter’s eyes are wide open, lips parted. Guilty.

“Peter?” you ask him, so quietly he almost has to rely on the shape of your lips to hear what you said.

A clearing of his throat. Scratch on the back of his neck.

“Yeah, about that…”

205 notes View Post

imbackhome

3 years ago

THIS WAS AMAZING!!!!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️

i guess i'm in love

summary : she's everything he wants but didn't think he'd find.

pairing : peter parker x reader

warnings : language, small mention of anxiety and overthinking.

author's note : based on 'I GUESS I'M IN LOVE' by clinton kane <3 my first song fic enjoy my highnesses

masterlist

----------

oh, i'm obsessed with the way you're head is laying on my chest.

how you love the things i hate about myself and no one know, but with you, i see hope again.

"i love your freckles."

"yeah?", peter parker asked as he laid in bed with his love, "i hate them."

"what?", y/n y/l/n asked incredulously as she moved her head from his chest which made him whine but she ignored him, "no, i love them. they make you look so pretty."

"first of all, rude if you to leave the position we were in," peter said as he pulled y/n to lay her head head on his chest again, "and second, i don't know, i just kinda not like them, i guess."

"well you should 'cause i love 'em," y/n said as she placed a small kiss on his nose and lips and snuggled closer to him.

peter smiled to himself as he looked at her. he loved her. god, he loved her.

when everything was kinda gone to shit and he didn't know what to do, she made him see hope again.

if was only fair, that peter made sure that she was knew what she did to him.

----------

oh, i'm a mess when i overthink the little things in my head.

you always seem to help me catch my breath but then i lose it again, when i look at you, that's the end.

"hey, hey, peter," y/n said as she stood in front of him, at a safe distance as to not suffocate him, "it's okay, you're okay. i'm here, if you need me."

peter had his head in his head, looking down as the letters from the colleges he applied to came back.

y/n knew that he thought that he wouldn't get in. peter always underestimated his own abilities but she knew that she was gonna get in.

and even if he didn't, which y/n was sure wouldn't happen, she'd still b proud of him.

"it's okay," y/n said, still not touching him without his consent, " i'll go and wait in the living room, if you wanna open them alone. i'll be a holler away, pete."

peter's head snapped up as he looked at her in panic.

"no, no," he panicked as he held her hand and pulled her to sit beside him, "i can't do this without you."

"alright, alright," y/n consoled as she handed him his first letter, "i'm right here, whenever you're ready."

peter looked at her and his breath got caught up in his throat but not because of his anxiety or nerves, but because of her. after two years of dating, he still was in awe of her.

he smiled at her with a watery smile but picking up his envelope.

her boyfriend took a deep breathe as he opened the letter from mit. with shaking hands, he pulled out the paper and began to read it and by the time he was done, his hands were shaking uncontrollably and his eyes were brimming with tears.

"i got in, holy fuck, I GOT IN!" peter shouted as he tacked his girlfriend into a hug, both of them falling back onto his bed.

"god, i can't believe it, can you believe it?"

she could, she really could.

----------

and why do i get so nervous when i look into your eyes, butterflies can't stop me from falling for you and darling this is more than anything i've felt before.

you're everything i want but didn't think i'd find, someone who is worth the wait of all the years of my heartbreak but i know now i found the one i love.

peter felt nervous as he looked at her sitting across from him on the other side of the couch.

he couldn't believe that he still got nervous after years of being with her. the butterflies still surrounded him everytime she smiled at him and he couldn't believe that he was hers.

he was still falling for y/n everyday.

he never felt like this before. he never felt so, so many emotions all at once. now, as he sat with his love, he felt so many things and it was driving him insane but in a good way.

he always wanted something like this but never, in a million years, he would've thought he'd find it. he'd find a love so strong and pure that he'd find it hard to believe.

after many failed relationships, he finally understood why they never worked out. 'cause she was waiting for him.

he was meant to be with her and he was so thankful for her.

"hey, darling, you good?", peter snapped out oh his thoughts as he looked at y/n before nodding.

"yeah, i'm amazing. just in love with you."

----------

and i love the way you can never find the right things to say and you can't sit still an hour in a day.

i'm so in love, let's run away because us is enough.

"i'm sorry!" y/n exclaimed as peter laughed his head off in a coffee shop, "what was i supposed to say? 'i'm that paige died, i'm sure that she was a wonderful gold fish for the eight hours you had her'?"

"that's exactly what you were supposed to say," peter said as he calmed down a little bit, "not just tell the little boy that it's just a goldfish."

"well, i'm sorry that i was teaching him the cruel truth of life," y/n grumbled as she shifted in her seat, "can we go now?"

"sure, 'the cruel truth of life'," peter said as he stood up and picked up her bad while y/n went and paid for the coffee.

the two walked away, side to side, hands held as the silence between them soon filled with laughter and smiles.

"what if we ran away?", peter couldn't help but let the words slip away from his mouth, "just the two of us. somewhere far from here."

y/n looked at him, smiled. she was surprised at herself, wondering why the fuck was she even considering running away but as she looked at her boyfriend, all her doubts went away.

she knew he was not entirely serious about the idea, but if he was, without a moment's hesitation, she would've said yes.

"we could," y/n agreed as they watched the sunset, "it'd be just the two of us."

"just the two of us, that's all we'd ever need."

----------

and why do i get so nervous when i look into your eyes, butterflies can't stop me from falling for you and darling this is more than anything i've felt before.

you're everything i want but didn't think i'd find, someone who is worth the wait of all the years of my heartbreak but i know now i found the one i love.

peter was nervous, once again.

he knew it was a big step in their relationship but he was not proposing. not yet.

he was almost hundred percent sure that she'd said yes but he was still preparing in case if she said no.

"hey, love."

peter felt his nerves vanish and butterflies in his stomach at he looked at y/n walking towards him.

he couldn't help but let the smile slip into his face and he pulled her closer to him and bright her into a kiss.

"woah, you look so beautiful," y/n complimented him as she hand his hand, "i feel lik i'm underdressed compared to you."

"no, you're the most beautiful woman i've ever seen in my entire life."

y/n smiled bashfully as she looked down. after so much time, she still didn't know how to take compliments.

"you sounded nervous over the phone,NIS everything okay?", y/n questioned as they took their place at the table reserved for them.

"yeah, just wanted to ask you something," pyer said as he drank some water.

"yeah, go ahead," y/n said as she looked at him, giving him her undivided attention.

"okay, so, we're both going to mit in a couple months, right,?" peter said as he played with the tablecloth.

"yeah."

"yes, so i was thinking," peter emphasised on the last word, "that maybe, we should move in together in an apartment near the campus."

peter closed his eyes as he waited for y/n to react.

"peter...," oh, no. that probably wasn't a good sign.

"i'd love nothing more than that."

"wait really?!"

"yes, of course," y/n laughed as she looked at peter, "did you think i'd say no."

"no, just was nervous, i guess it."

"i love you, pete," she assured him, "i'd love to move in with you."

"i love you."

and he really did love her.

----------

come close, let me be home for anything, good or bad, i know it's worth it, oh-woah, and darling this is more than anything i've felt before.

you're everything i want but didn't think i'd find, someone who is worth the wait of all the years of my heartbreak but i know now i found the one i love.

"honey, i'm home!"

"in here, darling."

life was good. for peter parker and for y/n y/l/n.

after moving in, the two quickly adapted into college life and living with eachother.

it was like they were almost married but not quite yet. though peter planned to change that after graduation.

"how was boy's night out with ned?", y/n questioned as she hugged him and kissed before moving to lay on the sofa, peter following suit.

"it was amazing, we built lego and watched star wars and are hot dogs and brownies," peter said as he laid his head on her shoulder, "we had fun."

"i'm glad you did," y/n said, "movie night? with more brownies and pizza?"

"you know me so well."

"i'll be back in a bit."

peter watched as she came back with all the stuff after five minutes and laid back beside him.

"okay, so...," she scrolled through netflix before settling for 'clueless', "there."

"you know, we watched it last week," peter complained but still decided to watch it, just 'cause he loved her.

and she laughed at certain scenes, peter looked at her and wondered what he did to deserve someone like her. to be loved by someone like her.

and in the end, he found the one he was looking for. the one he loved.

i know now i found the one i love.

----------

177 notes View Post

imbackhome

1 year ago

only you (peter parker)

pairing: peter parker x reader alternate universe: none pronouns: ambiguous summary: after trying to break up with your boyfriend, he says something that you never would have expected. warnings: fluff parts: one-shot dividers by: firefly-graphics wordcount: 1,071

You hadn’t expected it.

How quickly the words shot from his mouth.

“Then I won’t be Spider-man.”

How, with such ease, he was offering to change the entire trajectory of his life…

For you.

You blink at him, surprise wrapping over the features of your face and strangling your limbs frozen. “What?” Your voice echoes, almost sounding akin to a shout among the silence. Peter doesn’t answer at first. Your blabber-mouth boyfriend is silent. His face is soft and his body is stilling. His tearful gaze slowly rises to meet yours, his fingers twitch as they reach slowly for yours like a kitten testing a mouse but he doesn’t hesitate. You’re not even sure if he’s breathing. “Then I won’t be Spider-man.” You blink–almost flinch. “But you love Spider-man.” His fingers squeeze yours, you barely noticed that he had secured your hand in his already. “But I love you more.” He breathes, face gentle and patient. When you don’t reply, he slides slightly closer to you. “I don’t want to be Spider-man if it means not having you.” Your breath hitches a gasp but he barely reacts, expecting your surprise from your relationship or his senses you aren’t sure. His lips curl into a gentle smile as if he can hear your thoughts. You can feel your pulse in your throat, hear its bellowing begs to calm yourself. He leans in. “Spider-man means nothing if Peter Parker can’t have you.” Your lip tucks between your teeth which all feel too sharp all of a sudden.

You softly shake your head. “But ev-everything that you’ve worked for, everything that you’ve fought for–” He interrupts you by shaking his head and untangling from your hands. His own rise up to cup your face and press your foreheads together. “I love you more.” He repeats. The words make you more light-headed than alcohol ever could but you still lack conviction. “Petey, this is your future.” His eyes stutter closed at the familiar nickname and the warmth it permeates through his insides, toiling and tangling them like Christmas ribbon. “So are you,” He retorts, words smoothly gliding past his tongue. Your lips part but he presses his index to them, they scold you silently. “I want you to understand that I am yours, love. I am yours, no one else’s. I’m not May’s, I’m not Tony’s and I’m not New York’s.” A chuckle can’t help but bubble from his mouth. “I want to give you everything,” He lilts, voice sweet and gentle. “Whether that’s me or a thousand diamonds, I’ll make it happen, okay?” Your eyes flicker over his face in uncertainty but his smile looks so reassuring. Your arms wrap around his waist. “I don’t want to be the reason that you can’t do what you love.” You retort quietly, you want to sound sure and final but your breath trembles. His brows raise and he sidles you onto his lap, coiling your legs onto either side of his own. “Then maybe that can be arranged.” He teases and you hate the giggle that slips out of you. The only way you can describe Peter Parker is warm, gentle and yours…Maybe that isn’t such a bad thing but right now you aren’t sure whether it is right or wrong or misguided.

Peter’s thumb rolls gentle circles beneath your left eye, his nose brushes yours. Never have the both of you ever engaged in such intimate affection. “Peter Parker has the one thing that Spider-man never will and for once that’s more important to me than the whole universe.” His eyes trace over your face with a gentle grace you have never seen. His doe eyes trickle with warmth. You flick your tongue to dampen your dry lips. “What’s that?” You ask in a fragile whisper. His lips twitch up. “Your heart, darling” His eyes flutter shut. “I want to protect that far more than I want to protect Queens.” You can’t help the goofy giddiness that spreads throughout you. “I love you.” You murmur. He rolls his eyes and grins at you. “I know.” Peter teases. You almost push him away but you both know it would take a lot more than your weak-willed hands to twirl out of his grip. As if sensing your internal plots, his hands squish your cheeks. You wrinkle your nose, unimpressed. “It just hurts,” You explain. “Seeing you like this. Seeing you hurt and knowing that there is absolutely nothing that I can do about it but watch and wait.” A sigh flutters from his mouth. “I know, love, I know…” Then his brows cinch. “I don’t even know what I would do with myself if it were you out there instead.”

“This still doesn’t seem fair…” You murmur. He shakes his head and sighs, breath fanning over your lips. “Well lucky for you, it isn’t your decision to make fair.” He replies softly and almost teasing, a familiar playfulness seeping through. Peter’s right-hand fingers dip through the crevices of your hair, diving through the strands like pieces of thread. His touch tingles along your skin, sparks set up camp as if it’s their home. “I love you,” He utters again and it’s against your own hopes that you sigh with a light grin. “I know.” You respond. His lips turn up to tickle against yours. The skin of both your lips jigsaw into place, they brush in perfect tandem and radiate the heat you have been denying. His touch is tender and wanting, the gentleness of affection radiates as warm as a fireplace. Peter’s tongue dips out to line the seam of your lips. He pulls away. “I want a future with you–a future without villains in the way.” His voice lilts through your ears. “I want a real future with you. I-I knew someone once who lost their own you because of…this.” He gestures , perhaps you would giggle if the subject weren’t so somber. His eyes are dimmer now and something almost fearful lies just below his lids. He pecks a gentle kiss back onto your lips but lets it linger. “Well, I’m not going anywhere.” Your gentle assurance whispers in his ear. A shiver passes over him, his eyes flutter closed. His grip tightens. He knows now. He’s made peace with it. He needs you above everything else. Only you.

843 notes View Post

imbackhome

2 years ago

your instagram while living in the tomholland!spiderman universe

Liked by mystery.jones and 128 others

thereal.y.n @spiderman.offcial. thanks for returning my bike!

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→ the_amazing_flash he really is the best → thereal.y.n for once we agree flashlight

→ mystery.jones how did you lose that thing in the first place, idiot? → thereal.y.n HEY goldfish memory is a real problem y’know!

→ spiderman.offcial. no problem @threal.y.n just doing my job as the friendly neighbourhood spiderman! → mystery.jones i didn’t know space counted as “the neighbourhood” → TheGuyInTheChair dude havent you been to space??

Liked by _peter_parker_ and 87 others

thereal.y.n. who needs a valentine when you’ve got a @mystery.jones?

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→ TheGuyInTheChair you guys went to the beach without us?! → thereal.y.n sorry ned it was a girls only trip, we’ll got Moira’s tmr promise

→ the_amazing_flash your only saying that bc you were sad and lonely on valentine’s day → mystery.jones it’s you’re* @the_amazing_flash

→ _peter_parker_ i thought you got a secret rose? → thereal.y.n oh yeah i almost forgot abt that

Keep reading

290 notes View Post

imbackhome

3 years ago

LOVED IT ❤️❤️❤️

Mr. Smiles Peter Parker x reader

[no pronouns used]

Summary: Being trapped on a ferris wheel with your best friend makes you exposed to yet another one of his secrets - fear of heights. | fluff

mentions of blood, jealous!peter

There was a lot of good things that came with being Spiderman – unbelievable flexibility, cool suits, and a sort of freedom Peter didn’t get while he was just Peter. But the job also came with less interesting factors, like how he’s still being tracked by Happy.

I help the avengers, I am an avenger, and I’m still being watched like a kid, he thought, walking faster around the carnival.

He just wanted a normal day where he wasn’t being attacked by monsters, and the trip was going fun until he got a call from Happy asking him information on why he’s out of the city.

“I am literally on a school trip!” He had said exasperated, but the caller wouldn’t budge.

“That’s what you said last time and we saw how well that went.”

“Oh, c’mon—”

“Luckily, I happen to be near your location so I’ll drop by and check.”

“Check? You’re not embarrassing me in front of my friends. Happy- HAPPY?” The call had ended.

Keep reading

947 notes View Post

imbackhome

3 years ago

OMG yes part 2!!!!!! THIS IS A MASTERPIECE

Arranged Marriage | T.H

Pairings: Mob!Tom x reader

Warnings: mentions of sex

Summary: reader who is the daughter to the most notorious mob boss in London is forced to marry mob boss Tom

A/N: part 2?? Let me know!

Standing in front of the large full length mirror, you glance at yourself in the reflection while your mother hurried around you, arranging the long train of your long dress and tightening the straps on your shoulders. A veil was perched on top of your curls, a golden tiara encrusted with white diamonds kept it pinned into place. Your mother stole a quick glance at your face in the mirror, and instantly stopped fussing over you to place a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“Sweetheart,” she began, sympathy evident in her tone as she watched a single tear slide down your cheek. “You know your father wouldn’t of arranged this marriage if he didn’t think it was the right thing to do.” Grabbing a tissue from the dresser, she gently dabbed at your tear stained face, careful not to smudge your makeup.

“How is signing your only daughter over to a mobster without her knowledge the right thing to do, mum?” That heartbreaking question was the first time you spoke all morning since the night before, when your father announced the news for your marriage to Tom Holland to be finalised immediately. Your family have been at odds with his family for generations dating back to the 1800’s, your father would always say that no amount of money offered could settle the bad blood your family had shared with ‘that pack of heathens’, as he liked to call them. For no cost could ever be agreed upon for the trust and respect that goes into doing business with such people. Until one afternoon, when an offer proposed by a frail, dying Don Holland presented itself by a telegram message written from his deathbed as he settled the last of his affairs. That offer being you.

“I wasn’t entirely supportive of the arrangement too, but as you know dear, your father is not one to negotiate such matters with. I think it would be good for all as time goes on.” Your mother said as she grabbed your hand and gave it a light squeeze in reassurance. Although this plan didn’t lie in the hands of your mother, you did feel some resentment for both parents. “It’ll be good for his business, not for his daughter.” you sighed as you turned to walk away from your mother to sit on the end of your bed. “I always dreamed of marrying someone I loved…” You thought to yourself as your mind drifted off to the thought of Harrison, the handsome young butler who has been the reason for your bed remaining vacant and unoccupied as of late, for lonely nights alone had lead you into the comforting arms of the blue eyed lad, who resided in a single bed dormitory located at the third wing of the mansion where your grandfather had an old wine cellar renovated into servant quarters many years ago.

“You haven’t even met Thomas yet. I heard he is a real gentleman, and very charming.” Your mother replied, casting a playful wink at you as she started to adjust the tiara in your hair. You rolled your eyes and swatted her hand away from you as you stood up. It wasn’t until you smoothed your sweaty palms over your lace dress that you had noticed the hundreds and thousands of tiny pearls woven into the details of the dress. The designer was a mystery to you as your mother had it flown from Paris early this morning, but nether the less, it was gorgeous.

A light tap on your bedroom door awoke you from your daze. Walking across your bedroom, you opened the heavy door where your father’s assistant stood on the other side, a small delicate white box held in his hand immediately gaining your attention.

“Good morning Miss Y/N,” the assistant who’s name you can never remember said. “I have a delivery from Mr Holland.” Confused, you hastily grasped the box from the man and carried it to your large four poster bed, eagerly pulling and untangling the fine pink silk ribbon that adorned the otherwise boring, plain white box. Your mother hurried to your side as you lifted the lid, curiosity getting the better of you both as you were both stunned by what was inside. A gorgeous diamond necklace, like nothing you had seen before was sitting before you. Reflecting the light of the room from the many stones that coated it glimmered from each and every angle. A note was tucked in behind it that read:

“For my beautiful bride. With love, T.H”

276 notes View Post

imbackhome

2 months ago

How To Finally Shift If You’ve Been Trying For 2+ Years

⚠️ Little warning before we begin: don’t get scared off! I might sound a little negative at first, but that’s not the point of this post. My goal is for you to reach the end of this and think “Oh, I’m definitely going to shift to my DR now!”

Having said that:

If you’ve been on your shifting journey for two or more years, doing methods, reprogramming your mind, consuming advice, maintaining a mental diet, manifesting, forcing assumptions, trying to create assumptions, etc, etc⏤and you still haven’t shifted your awareness to your DR, maybe it’s time to stop trying to make yourself shift.

Stop trying to shift.

Stop trying to trigger a shift.

Maybe the thing you need at this point in your journey is to stop trying to make yourself shift.

And I’ll explain why by asking you a question:

In these two, three, four, however many years of effort, don’t you think you would have shifted by now?

Think about it. You’ve oversaturated your mind with the intention to shift. You do all your methods correctly. You try to convince yourself that you're already in your DR. You feel symptoms. Sometimes you even "mini shift." And yet… you're still here. Doing the same things. Searching for advice that leads you right back to doing the same thing:

Trying to shift. Trying to trigger a shift. Trying to shift your awareness.

Trying.

Trying confidently.

Trying hopelessly.

Trying angrily.

…Trying.

If you were going to shift by inducing a shift, triggering a shift, or successfully shifting with a method, it would have happened by now.

“But Clover, I still have a lot of soul-searching and work to do! I just need to put in more effort!”

Awesome! Then click away, because this advice isn’t for you. I’m not talking to you.

I’m talking to the person who is tired. Who is drained. Who, despite applying all the sage advice on the internet, is just burnt out from the process of shifting.

And if that sounds like you, let me repeat: Maybe you need to stop actively trying to shift.

Your work is done. And that’s a good thing.

You’ve spent years ingraining the idea of shifting into your subconscious. You’ve impressed the intention to shift so deeply that it’s already there. Congratulations! You did all the mental work. It’s done.

Your DR is already yours. You already have the ability to shift.

So stop trying to trigger it. Stop trying to make yourself shift.

Let go of the “making yourself shift” process.

“Oh my god, she’s going to tell me to take a break.”

LMAO you thought.

Yes, breaks are excellent. They help reset and recharge your mindset. I always encourage taking breaks if you need them. But let’s be honest. Sometimes, even the thought of taking a break feels just as mentally exhausting as staying on your shifting journey.

“Oh no, she’s going to tell me to do nothing at all.”

Once again, you thought.

Instead, you’re going to capitalize on the fact that you’ve already done all this work. The intention to shift is always, always, always in your mind. Your subconscious knows you want to shift. Just like it knows how to shift your awareness.

So, the next time you lay down to do your shifting process...

Instead of trying to shift…

Instead of trying to induce a shift, induce the void, or force an outcome…

Give yourself exactly what you want.

Give yourself the feeling of being in your DR.

Drop the conscious, active intention to shift because your subconscious already has it covered. You don’t need to keep hammering it in. Instead, focus on inducing the emotions you would feel if you were in your DR.

Imagine waking up in your DR. Imagine being there. Imagine spending time with your DR friends, your S/O, whatever makes you happiest. Personally, I lean toward wake-up scenarios. You can listen to music, meditate, visualize, even do a shifting method if you enjoy it—but instead of doing it with the intention to shift, you’re doing it just to give your body and mind the feeling of being there. The happiness, the calm, the excitement, whatever it is for you.

This does not mean you’re lying there thinking, “Okay, this is going to make me shift.”

No. No, no, no, no, no.

Drop the idea of shifting entirely. That process is done.

And I’ll say it one more time:

If you were going to shift by inducing a shift, making yourself shift, or triggering a shift, it would have happened already.

So let it go. Drop it.

Induce the emotions of being in your DR, and then let go. Once you do that, go to sleep. Or go about your day. That’s it.

So why does this actually make you shift?

Because feeling is the language of the subconscious.

Think about it: The moments in your life that shaped you the most weren’t just things you thought. They were things you felt deeply. Joy, fear, excitement, grief. Emotions imprint on the subconscious. That’s why certain smells, songs, or places instantly bring back vivid memories. Because your subconscious records experiences based on emotions, not logic.

So when you stop trying to shift and instead just focus on feeling like you’re in your DR, your subconscious responds by aligning your awareness to match that emotional state.

Because to the subconscious, there’s no difference between imagination and reality. When you visualize something vividly enough, your brain fires the same neurons as if you were actually experiencing it. Athletes use this trick to enhance performance. Musicians use it to refine their skills. And guess what? It works for shifting too.

When you let go of the effort and just immerse yourself in the emotions of already being there, you bypass the resistance that trying creates.

And that’s when the shift happens.

It happens because you stopped forcing it.

It happens because your subconscious already knows how to shift, you just needed to get out of its way.

So, again, drop the struggle. Drop the effort. Stop trying to shift.

The more precise or perfect you want the shift to be, the more pressure you put on yourself. Your brain rebels against that because rigid control drains energy.

Remember this:

High Emotion + Low Attachment = Flow.

When you feel something strongly but aren’t clinging to the result, your subconscious has room to act. This is why sometimes, when you care less or focus on something in a passing, emotional way, it manifests easily.

This is why people can give up on shifting entirely and shift. This is why people let go of the need to shift and shift. This is why you shift without meaning to.

You: “No, I can’t do this! I need to keep trying to shift or else my subconscious will think I don’t want to shift anymore!”

Me:

*As always, take what resonates, discard what doesn’t, because we’re all different people who need to hear different things :)

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