astoria-reads - astoria's fic recs
astoria's fic recs

main blog is @curseofaphrodite

483 posts

LMAO Ever-annoying Boyfriend Pretty Much Sums Up James.

LMAO ever-annoying boyfriend pretty much sums up James.

“I’ve got an idea, petal. If I win, you have to kiss me.”

clever mf

Watching your movements as if you created the stars and crafted the sun, watching as if you were a masterpiece sculpted by the gods.

SUMMER SUE YOU FOR MAKING ME TEAR UP. you know whats a masterpiece? THIS FIC. loved all of them but ofc remus has a special place in my heart.

New Years Tropes ¬ Marauders Preference

New Years Tropes Marauders Preference

Plot - Individual blurbs about different New years tropes with each of the Marauders would go (not including Peter) {REQUESTED} I got carried away but HAPPY NEW YEAR MY LOVELIES <3

Genre - Fluff

James Potter ➥ New Year's Kiss

The grip of that calloused hand broke your focus of the conversation at hand, pulling the attention to the man gripping your forearm, James Potter, otherwise known as you ever-annoying boyfriend.

He mumbles a quick sorry to Diggory before pulling you towards the balcony. Groups of young adults littered throughout the Manor house, drinks flowing, and loud exclamations of New Years resolutions filled the air, as did the laughter that followed some of those resolutions.

“James, are you trying to pull my arm off my body?” Feet moving quickly beneath you as the clasp on your wrist stayed tight. “If I go into the New Year with no arm, I will hurt you.”

Breaking through the bustling bodies as the pair slowed to a stop, standing to overlook the sprawling gardens shining in the moonlight. Letting his hand falter as he turns to face you, a smile portraying his feeling of accomplishment.

“Well, my darling, I wasn’t planning on starting the New Year alone and I remember something about it being lucky to kiss the person you love at midnight.” Reaching to wrap a lone arm across your waist, pulling you against his chest. “And as you are the only one I could ever dream of kissing, I had to make sure you were with me at midnight.”

Distant chants of the countdown blurred behind the pair of you, feeling drunk in the hold of James’ adoring eyes. Taking in every second, every ounce of the atmosphere before deciding what you wanted the final words of the year to be.

3

“James, I love you more than anything”

2

“My darling, I’ll love you till the world stops spinning”

1

Sounds of cheers and fireworks filled the air, but all you could focus on was the feeling of his lips melding with yours. Creating fireworks of their own as your heart sung in happiness, moving closer as your arms hung around his neck. That sweet taste of champagne coloured the kiss, both of your emotions bubbling as if you were intoxicated by love rather than those flutes of bubbles.

“Promise that you will be my New Year’s kiss till we are old and grey?”

“I promise, but I can’t just kiss you on New Year’s. Need to get my fix daily.”

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Sirius Black ➥ Drunken Games

“Oh, enough with the talk, Black. Throw the ball”

The smirk that grew on his face at your remark should have worried you, but with the amount of alcohol coursing through your veins and the excitement pumping through the air, you found that smirk annoyingly hot.

“Sorry princess didn’t realise you were in such a rush to loose” His mob of admirers snickered and giggled at his stupid tease, but he couldn’t care less about them.

His eyes were firmly placed on you, his mouth was only responding if it was towards you, his heart was only beating to the sound of your tune. But he was still Sirius Black, still a playboy who couldn’t possibly be that taken with someone who didn’t fawn over him first.

Stalking towards you, ping-pong rolling between his fingers as he halts just inches away from your flushed figure. Had the music not been so loud, his pounding heart might have given his affection away, but you still hadn’t noticed over the sound of your own heart flooding your ears.

“I’ve got an idea, petal. If I win, you have to kiss me.”

The heat rose to your face at the idea, half of you wished for him to win but the other was spurred by the idea of competing. With the quirk of his eyebrow, he waited nervously for your answer, knowing that the motivation of a kiss from you was enough to fuel him for a year.

“Fine. But if I win, you have to be my personal servant for the first week of January”

If there was anything Sirius hated more, it was answering to someone else, and you knew that he would never agree to this condition. Except, you didn’t realise that he would already bend backwards for whatever you wanted.

Waltzing cockily back to his position at the end of the table as he raised his throwing hand, getting ready to end the game once and for all. Those stormy orbs locked with yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch as he confidently announced. “Deal”

As those syllables fell from his mouth, the ping-pong ball flew through the air before landing with a quiet splash in the cup resting perfectly in front of you. The delicate splash trickled onto your arm as you watched in astonishment, which soon turned to realisation.

Sirius had won, and now you had to kiss the gorgeous idiot.

Caught up in cheers and high-fives from those surrounding him as he turned to humiliate you more. “Well, Y/N, I think yo-“

Halting his sentence as your lips came crashing down onto his. Your hands gripping the fabric of his dress shirt, pulling him closer as the taste of firewhiskey engulfed your sense. For months you had imagined kissing the wizard, but your pride always talked you out of it, and now you wished that this stupid bet had happened sooner.

His shock quickly subsided as he cupped your gentle face with his tattooed hands, kissing you back with such vigour that it felt as if he was expressing every emotion he had saved up. Committing the taste of your lips to memory as his mind tries to catalogue the feelings you conjure up within him.

He broke away as air begged him to refill, and with plumped lips, he muttered. “Is now a bad time to tell you that I’ve wanted to do that since last New Years?”

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Remus Lupin ➥ New Year's Confession

The pulse of the party in the common room crept through the walls and into the dorms, sending light rumbles into the bedframe you were currently curled up against. Book in hand with the blankets pooling at your feet, whilst attempting to ring in the New Year your way.

It’s not as if you didn’t enjoy parties but New Years parties within the Gryffindor house were a bit too extreme for your liking. Bodies grinding against each other, Sirius Black trying to shout out jokes, and the younger years struggling to hold their drinks in. It wasn’t your scene, so you decided to welcome the New Year with a good book and plenty of comfort.

Although a part of you had wished to get a kiss at midnight, that part was buried beneath the knowledge that the brunette didn’t feel the way you did. Remus Lupin was a sight to behold and a mystery to solve. A close friend of yours since 2nd year and a hidden crush since 3rd, but he never felt the same and it was clear to see. So, to preserve your heart, you said nothing and tried to minimise any feelings you had for the young wizard.

Unbeknownst to you, that certain brunette wizard was pacing outside your door, trying to find the courage to knock. Lily had made him realise that New Years was the perfect time to reveal his feelings because if something went wrong, it could stay in the previous year, but she never mentioned how to overcome this fear.

How could he tell the person he’s been secretly in love with that he loved them? He couldn’t but he also had to. It was driving him insane to watch you laugh without being the one who caused it, or to see you sad and know that he can’t kiss the tears away. It hurt him to love you in private and a resolution of his was to hurt less.

Three knocks were his tell. Firm but gentle as he hit the thickness of the wooden door, only to be followed by a soft call of welcome.

“Escaping the party so soon, Remmy? I would have assumed you’d at least last till midnight”

Flopping onto your bed, snuggling the duvet underneath stomach as he rested on his elbows to face you. “Not a party without you. So, tell me about whatever fictional man kept you away from this party”

As you babbled on about the love interest in your latest read, rambling yourself away without any focus of the younger werewolf who hung to your every word. Watching your movements as if you created the stars and crafted the sun, watching as if you were a masterpiece sculpted by the gods. Anyone who have been able to notice that look of love in his eyes or the way his body fell calm at the sound of your voice.

A small alarm went off from the muggle watch that laid on your bedside, pulling you from your rant about how this character was better off without the protagonist and reminding of the time.

“Only 1 minute to midnight”

“Really? I swear it was only 11 o’clock two minutes ago.” His nerves crept up again but he steadied them as watched you place your book to the side and inch ever-so slightly closer to his figure. “I need to tell you something because if it goes wrong, I’d like to leave it in this year and never speak of it in the New Year, sound good?”

That hurried and firm tone was not something Remus often used with you, so gently you nodded and offered a comforting smile to assure him that nothing he could say would go wrong.

“I’m in love with you”

His announcement halted your breath and caused your heart to skip a beat, before increasing in speed tenfold. Tongue tied as he continued on with his confession, almost out of nerves rather than need for explanation.

“Since 2nd year, but back then it was just a little crush and I thought it would go away but no, it just grew. So, here I am in our 7th year and I am so in love with you it hurts. All I want is to hold you, kiss you and make you smile, but I can’t because I was afraid.” Sucking in a steady breath as he adds “If you don’t feel the same then please pretend I never said anything and when the clock strikes midnight, we go back to being friends because I can’t be without you even if it is just as friends.”

The distant chants of ‘Happy New Year’ were drowned by the heavy silence that hung between the pair, heart pounding in sync unknown to their owners. You inched forward as you reached for his scarred hand, clutching it as you spoke in a confident whisper.

“I love you too Remmy, always have.”

Feeling his body lunge forward to embrace you, an act of sheer joy at the love that had been confessed. Limbs tangled together as his face lay dangerously near yours, cheeks flushed at the sudden proximity.

You carefully leant forward to connect your lips. Placing a tender chaste kiss against the chapped softness of his own, yearning for that gentle intimacy of the man you loved but not wanting to be bold in your first affection.

“Happy New Year, Moony.”

“Happy New Year, my love.”

And with that, he pulled you back in for a kiss filled with the years of untold passion.

Taglist - @yogirl-willow @ildm4ev @silverose365 @fairycirclebrat @carmellasworld @fairydxll @d22malfoys @merlinsdaughter19 @scandalous-chaos @timmyslover @comfort-reads @gracepotter26 @bite-me-you-fiend @euyiana

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More Posts from Astoria-reads

3 years ago

THIS IS ADORABLE IM SOBBING

@stilesks thank you for reblogging the best fics ever cause holy hell yess

WebMD

Peter parker x fem!reader

Summary: You ask Peter to come over at midnight, complaining of a stomach ache. But when Peter takes your symptoms a little too seriously you have to tell him whats wrong. (Spoiler: it’s your period)

w/c: 1.5k

masterlist

WebMD
image

‘Can you come over?’ is not a text that Peter wants to revive from you at 2 in the morning as he is laying down on his bed, mind already filled with dark thoughts that always seem to enter after a long patrol shift.

He quickly texted back an ‘omw’ and jumped out his window. Only wearing his mask and a nerdy science pun t-shirt with plaid pajama pants; a feeble attempt at hiding his identity, but with you involved he just wants to make sure you’re doing okay.

Keep reading


Tags :
3 years ago

glad to know i made your day!! i can’t think of any idea right now, but it would be nice to see something based on that trending audio of andrew talking about emma stone and defining her as “a shot of espresso and being bathed in sunlight” or something around that, honestly anything you come up with i’m sure it’ll be lovely!! <3

— diary | p.p

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“She’s like a shot of espresso...”

includes: tasm! Peter Parker

summary: you accidentally find Peter Parker’s diary

notes: a request from a lovely anon

i genuinely made myself laugh while writing this so i hope it makes you lovely readers laugh too LMAO

ALSO BIG FAT SHOUTOUT TO @scandalous-chaos FOR EDITING ILOVEU

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Peter Parker was not the kind of person to have a diary.

Or so you thought.

You had some suspicions he may have one, starting from the time you were helping him organize his room and he was extremely against you sorting through the stack of journals in the corner of his room.

And on top of that, he was overly defensive.

So defensive as in he chucked threw something at your face every single time you even glanced in the general direction of them.

You pointed an accusing finger at him. “Peter, look, we’re best friends, I can handle the truth. Are they porn?”

“No?? What the fu—”

The next time was when you asked to borrow a journal that was on his desk to rip out a piece of scratch paper. He shot a web at the book and slingshotted it back into his grasp right as you laid a single finger on it, sputtering some half-assed excuse like it was ‘Aunt May’s precious recipe book.’

Bullshit.

You could see right through him, but honestly, you could care less. What you did care about was finishing your stupid english final. You reached for another journal but he snatched it away even faster than the first one, much to your displeasure.

“Can I use this one?” You pointed to yet another notebook as he shook his head in disapproval.

Now to a purple one. “This?”

“No.”

“This one?”

“No.”

“What about this one?”

“Wait here, use this.” He digs through the desk drawer that he had already cluttered up again (even though you had reorganized it three days ago), pulling out a stack of post-it notes. He tossed them your way.

You deadpan. “These are post-it notes.”

“Clearly.” He hums, shrugging.

“Neon pink ones.”

“Uh yeah—” He shuffled through more clutter in his desk, “but I have orange or yellow ones too, if you’d like.”

“These are… bright neon pink.”

“Now I’m convinced you’re just stating obvious facts.”

“Peter.”

He turns to face you. “Yes?”

“How the hell am I supposed to turn in a four-paged english essay FOR OUR FINAL on pink post-it notes?”

He shrugged again. “I dunno. Magic maybe?”

The most recent and suspicious time was when he was absolutely flipping his shit when he couldn’t find the navy blue journal he’s been attached at the hip with. Like any normal human, you offered to help him look, but he immediately refused.

“Thank you, and I’m sorry, but no.”

“The hell?” You exclaim, a confused look painting your features. “Why not?”

“Because I said so.”

“You’re aware that normal people accept help when they are offered it?”

“Normal people don’t have superpowers.”

You roll your eyes, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge he was right. “You know you’re gonna have a better chance of finding it if you let somebody help.”

“Obviously, but I just can’t.”

“Why not?” You question, your previously concerned expression slowly morphing into an irritated one. “You’ve literally been carrying that journal with you for the past month which means it obviously has some kind of value to you, and by extension to me. Not to mention you’ve just been super secretive about it.”

He sighs, obviously feeling guilty about his erratic behavior. “I know, and I’m sorry for being an ass about it but—”

“Peter??”

Aunt May opened his bedroom door, placing some cookies on the desk and she used her other hand to signal to Peter to follow her. “Aw honey, it’s good to see you again! I didn’t even notice you were here!”

You offered a small, yet kind smile. “Hey Aunt May! Yeah, Pete and I have been busy with finals so we haven’t been able to hangout like we normally do.”

“I’m glad you’re able to get some free time and destress from all the studying though.” She said, before she tugged on Peter’s sleeve to regain his attention. “Peter, come on. I need your help fixing something.”

He sighs, stepping over all the piles of mess he created in his frantic search to find his journal. Right before he exited the room he turned to you with a stern glare.

“Promise me you won’t go looking for it?”

You nod. “I pinky promise.”

Obviously as the amazing best friend you are, as soon as you’re out of his sight you set out to go and find the secret notebook.

And did you successfully find it???

Nope!! plus he caught u snooping around

lmfao loser

Rightfully so, all these events have been leading up to this one moment you’ve been waiting for.

The seemingly lost journal was not really lost at all.

He had left it in your room when he had come over the day before.

Admittedly, the overwhelming urge to snoop through it had obviously crossed your mind more than a few times. Who wouldn’t be curious about the journal he held in such a secretive light?

You picked up the journal that he laid on the edge of your bed, flipping to the cover and rationalizing your actions to see if the journal was yours or his.

First page was scribbled in deep red ink that wrote, ‘PETER PARKER’S DIARY #5. IF LOST PLEASE RETURN AND DO NOT READ UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES.”

DIARY???

“This thing was a diary??” Your jaw drops in surprise, not expecting the true nature of the notebook to be a diary out of all things. Of course you had your suspicions, but Peter never seemed to be the kind of sentimental guy who wrote out his feelings.

And this was his fifth one???

There were more??

There was little to no self control within your body at this point, the curiosity flowing through you clouding any rational judgment you had.

You flipped through the pages, most were actually filled with pictures he had taken and drawings, a few pages written down here and there. One section had specifically caught your attention.

There was a neon pink post-it note bookmark that had your name scribbled on it.

You assumed it would’ve been more collages of photos of the both of you as the previous pages were, but boy you were wrong.

Very wrong.

Heat creeped up on your cheeks as you were completely frozen in shock for the second time that night. You read his familiar chicken scratch over and over.

She’s like a shot of espresso. She’s like being bathed in sunlight. She's incredibly energetic, enthusiastic and has this sense of play and fun which is incredibly exciting. She’s the light and love of my life. I’ve been in love with her since we’ve met and I always will be, but she doesn’t know and I don’t know how to tell her.

You’re speechless.

It’s probably about time you grew a pair and figured out how to confess your love for him as well.

But little do you know, he may or may not have purposefully planted that diary in your room so he didn’t need to make the first move.

Guess you’ll never know.

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masterlist

tag list: @scandalous-chaos @xdsage @grxcisxhy-wp

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Tags :
3 years ago

istg your writing >>>

Something Human (tasm!PeterParker x Reader)

Summary: “You look so cute when you’re wet,” Peter laughed and you couldn’t help but to join in, only imagining how much of a mess the two of you appeared, soaked to the bone and dishevelled; bags under your eyes, a badge of honour for two grad students nearing the end of another semester of essays, exams, and lab research. “I’m literally going to die of hypothermia,” you retorted. “Well then we should get you out of those clothes,” Peter stated matter-of-factly as the elevator doors closed. — or, the one where you at Peter get caught in the rain Words: 2.4k A/N: established relationship; cursing; so much sexual innuendo; nudity; oral sex (fem!receiving); part 1 of 2 because it'd be cruel not to... Also I actually love this one, so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

Something Human (tasm!PeterParker X Reader)

The air was alive with electricity, the taste of ozone thick on your tongue as you hurried home from the library, backpack heavy with textbooks and essays you needed to mark for the undergraduate course you were TA-ing for. Overhead, unforgiving clouds, towering and grey, promised a deluge of raging wind and rain. There was a strange atmosphere of anticipation as you and your boyfriend wove through the crowds of New Yorkers and tourists alike, most already beginning to open their umbrellas.

You felt the first thick drop splash onto the tip of your nose and barely had time to consider it before the sky opened up into a powerful torrent, something almost apocalyptic.

“Shit, Y/N!” You heard Peter call out to you over a rumbling clap of thunder, “Let’s go!”

You’d already been hurrying, hand clasped in Peter’s as he towed you along the sidewalk you canvas sneakers soaked through from where they dashed through rapidly forming puddles.

By the time you reached your building, four blocks away, you truly understood the meaning of the word drenched. Rain pooled in your socks, ran between your shoulder blades, and made your hair stick to your face despite the fact that Peter had given you his hoodie and you’d had it pulled up. In the air-conditioned lobby, waiting for the elevator, you felt a chill settling in and shifted closer to Peter whose hair hung limp and dripping around his ears.

“You look so cute when you’re wet,” Peter laughed and you couldn’t help but to join in, only imagining how much of a mess the two of you appeared, soaked to the bone and dishevelled; bags under your eyes, a badge of honour for two grad students nearing the end of another semester of essays, exams, and lab research.

“I’m literally going to die of hypothermia,” you said, happy to hear the ding of the elevator, the pneumatic hiss of doors sliding open. You both stepped inside, Peter pressing the button to take you up to the fifth floor of what had been a six-story walk-up—until the building super had finally fixed the elevator last month. Admittedly, you preferred the stairs, but the elevator was still a novelty that you were going to indulge in for the foreseeable future.

“Well then we should get you out of those clothes,” Peter stated matter-of-factly as the elevator doors closed, grinning when you turned around to stick your tongue out at him. He returned your expression with a wiggle of his eyebrows and you shook your head.

“The one day I didn't check the weather,” you sighed, “And the universe decides to storm with a vengeance.”

“Don’t lie,” Peter teased, “You never check the forecast. It’s why I’m missing so many of my sweaters.” He stared pointedly at the one you wore now, dark green and with wrists threadbare from where Peter’s frenetic fingers had pulled at the fabric.

“Do you want this one back?” you asked teasingly as the elevator bumped to a stop at your floor. Peter looked at you with darkened eyes, something covetous tugging at the corners of his lips as he pressed you into the elevator doors.

“I told you I wanted to get you out of—”

The doors slid open behind you, sending you spilling out into the hallway. You might have stumbled over the elderly woman you recognized as Mrs. Dorsey from three doors down from you if Peter hadn’t caught you round the waist, pulling you up and away from your almost-scandalized looking neighbour. No doubt she’d had some inkling as to what Peter had been about to say. As it was, he nodded politely at her and you imagined that if he was wearing a hat, he’d tip it in her direction.

“Afternoon Mrs. Dorsey,” he greeted her with sweetness like honey in his words, “It’s a mess out there, so be careful.”

“You kids be careful too,” Mrs. Dorsey said lightly, a knowing lilt in her voice, as she stepped into the elevator and you gaped as the doors closed behind her.

“Did she just—?” you shook your head in disbelief.

“I think she did,” Peter laughed, “Who knew that Old Mrs. Dorsey was a flirt?”

“Oh god, Peter,” you cringed, “I help the woman clean her apartment twice a week, please don’t.”

“Okay, okay, sorry.” Peter put his hands up in mock surrender as you fished around in your backpack for the key to your front door, still dripping water onto the carpeted hallway floor. Peter was quicker than you, pulling the key you’d given him a year into your relationship from his keyring in his back pocket and opening the door for you.

“Ladies first,” he grinned, eliciting another eye roll from you as you kicked off your sneakers and unshouldered your backpack. Behind you, Peter did the same. As he closed the door behind him, latching it out of habit, a silence fell between you, eyes meeting across the cramped entryway of your one-bedroom.

“I mopped yesterday,” you said quietly, blinking under the intensity of Peter’s stare, “It’d be a shame to dirty the floors.” A lopsided grin lit up your boyfriend’s face as he took a step closer to you. Despite the cold dampness that had seeped into your bones, you could feel heat radiating off his body, see fire ignited in his eyes. His expressiveness gave you pause, that beautiful way he reacted so passionately to everything was one of the things that had attracted you to him in the first place. He was so real, so very human, and the great irony of it was that he was so much more than that as well.

Peter’s fingers tugging down the zipper of your borrowed hoodie drew you back into the present moment. If he’d said something clever in response to your innuendo—which he most certainly did because he could never help himself—you hadn’t heard it, distracted by the rising of your heartbeat you felt pulsing in your ears.

You allowed him to unzip the sweater fully before you shrugged out of it and your hands moved to the hem of his t-shirt, a soaked through cotton piece in a deep blue colour that you loved on him.

“Off,” you said, lifting his shirt to reveal his lean, muscled abdomen. There were a few faded marks decorating his otherwise smooth skin—physical recollections of last night’s Spider-Man exploits under the cover of a mask and the neon-sprayed darkness of New York.

“As you wish,” Peter whispered, helping you remove his shirt, sliding it over his head as you watched the waterlogged fabric cling to his skin, the droplets trickling down the plane of his chest. He caught you staring and smirked. “I’d tell you to take a picture, but I think you already have a few.”

“Shut up,” you giggled, “If I was dying of hypothermia, I’m so glad you’d run your mouth off instead of helping me.”

“Oh, Y/N,” he licked his lips, “I’d help you in a heartbeat.” True to his word, Peter was pressed up against you in an instant, his hands pulling your t-shirt over your head, tossing it aside to land with a watery squelch somewhere on the tiles. Your shorts were next, his thumb and forefinger expertly flicking the button open and his free hand guiding them down your hips. You shimmied the rest of the way out of them, pulling off your socks as you stepped out of the denim pooled at your feet.

Peter’s eyes ran over your body as your own hands moved to the waistband of his jeans, unclasping his belt with practiced ease and following your own movements, allowing your knees to sink down to the floor as you pulled his pants off the rest of the way, making space for him to step out of them.

You glanced up at him then, blinking innocently before you placed a kiss over his boxers on the place where they bulged away from his body. You slid a hand up the leg opening of his underwear, nails scraping against his thigh until you felt his cock twitch under where your lips still rested over it.

“Y/N,” Peter whispered, his hands coming down to tangle in your damp hair before moving to your shoulders to guide you back up to standing. He pulled you close, one hand resting on the back of your head, the other on your hip, holding you tight. His lips found yours, kissing you just the way you liked—softly at first, but with a fervour that told you he was holding back. You dipped your head to the side, allowing him access to your neck, moaning softly as his teeth scraped over your pulse point and he licked his way back to your jaw.

“Bedroom,” you mumbled, noting the thick lust that was layered in your voice. Peter nodded, taking your hand and pulling you to the very back of your apartment, to the bedroom he often shared with you, especially on nights when he returned after being called away to be more than Peter Parker, drawn away from the warmth of your bed and your arms and your body to save the city before coming back and allowing himself to be just human again.

Your bedroom was a mess, you knew that. Littered with empty coffee cups and study notes, laundry piles you’d been neglecting and a half-finished knitting project on the chair in the corner. But you didn’t care because Peter had seen worse from you, holding your hair back when you got too drunk at your birthday party last year or standing beside you and drying your tears when grant applications for your research were denied.

Your knees hit the back of the bed and you sank into a seated position there, suddenly very aware of the dampness gathering in your cotton underwear, the desperate need for friction between your heated thighs. Peter was dropping to his knees between your legs and you felt your heart flutter with anticipation because he was nothing if not a selfless lover.

“Thought I got you out of all those wet clothes at the front door,” he said, voice low as he pressed two fingers gently against your core, causing your back to arch.

“Guess you missed something,” you replied lightly, your teeth pinching your bottom lip to keep in a moan as he added a bit more pressure.

“Hm,” Peter frowned playfully, “You’re just too distracting.” He kissed each of your knees and trailed his way up your legs, every so often pausing to nibble on the sensitive spots of your inner thighs, spots he knew like the back of his own hand. “Lay down,” he instructed.

You obliged, lowering yourself onto your elbows so you could watch as he hooked a finger through your underwear, glancing up at you quickly. You nodded your permission, allowing him to continue pulling your panties off with aching slowness.

“Like I said,” Peter smiled up at you, clearly enjoying the lewd keenness etched onto your face, “You look cute when you’re wet.”

“Fuck y—” you began to curse at him, but were cut off by the feeling of his lips kissing you gently at your center. Your head fell back, eyes closing of their own accord as Peter tentatively kissed you again, soft open-mouthed kisses at the apex of your thighs before he slid his tongue along your core, humming with delight. His name fell from your lips as he slipped his tongue inside you then. Every inch of your body long-since memorized, he found your clit quickly and lightly lapped at it, making you buck your hips up towards him and giving him an opportunity to slip one hand under your hips to hold you up. His arm wasn’t even shaking with the added effort, goddamn superhuman strength.

As his tongue continued to work figure-8 motions inside you, his other hand slid down to rub your thighs gently before he slipped a finger inside you making you groan with abandon—it would have been embarrassing had you not known how much Peter liked to hear you. His finger gradually curled inside you, stroking you gently as he continued to lap at you with his tongue, finding and steadying his rhythm and pace in mere moments. Your hands wanted to be everywhere on him, but your arms weren’t quite long enough to make that a reality so you settled for clutching at your bedsheets as you whimpered his name.

“Peter,” you sighed, feeling the tension in the pit of your stomach coil tightly, “I’m—”

A familiar shrill—and currently unwelcome—chiming sounded from the entryway. The fucking Spider-Signal, that cell phone Peter had set up so the NYPD could reach him at a moment’s notice. You clenched your eyes shut as Peter’s tempo faltered, distracted by the sound. To his credit, he quickly recovered, finding his way back into the pattern that had been building you toward something mind blowing, but the moment had passed. Peter felt the shift in your body language and his face reappeared from between your legs, a frustrated groan leaving his lips.

“Fuck, Y/N—Fuck!”

“It’s okay,” you assured him, wiggling into a seated position and trying to still your beating heart. “Just make sure whoever cock-blocked me pays for it, yeah?” You opened your arms and beckoned him toward you, allowing his head to fall against your chest.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, and you nodded because you knew he would. Peter stood and sighed, glancing down with a look of defeat at you.

“Be careful,” you warned and this time Peter nodded, both of you knowing that he was always careful, always focused on coming home to you.

“I’ll see you soon, ladybug,” he said, kissing the top of your head before heading toward the bedroom door, toward the backpack carrying his secret identity he’d left by your front door. He paused briefly, turning to you with a smirk. “And no getting off without me, okay?”

You placed a hand over your chest, the other coming up open-palmed beside your face. “Scout’s honour,” you grinned, “I’ll be waiting for you.”


Tags :
3 years ago

I DONT READ SERIES BUT FOR THIS ILL ALWAYS MAKE AN EXCEPTION 😩😩😩

Band-Aids on Broken Hearts ➾ Part Two (tasm!PeterParker x Reader)

Summary: Spider-Man visits you to say thank you for patching him up last night and you share what you think might qualify as a "moment"

“Stay for a bit?” you whispered, “If you don’t have to go get beat up, that is.”

“I’ll stay if you stop being mean,” he teased gently. “Get some rest.”

You hummed quietly in your throat. “Speaking of rest, do you ever get a day off? Or is New York always a shitshow?”

“Sometimes everyone collectively decides to not break any laws,” he laughed, and you found that you liked the rumble it produced through his chest, the way it eased his posture so you could sink deeper into his side. “I had a night off two weeks ago.”

“I should get you a sign, like those little workplace incident ones, so you can keep track.” Words: 4.2k A/N: grief, mentions of death, coping with loss and hurt; cursing, mentions of food and alcohol, canon-typical violence; fluff and flirty banter; slow-burn; strangers to friends to lovers; there's a plot! part 2/5 -> previous parts: (one)

Band-Aids On Broken Hearts Part Two (tasm!PeterParker X Reader)

You must have drifted off to sleep sometime around four in the morning because when your eyes fluttered open, there was pale pre-dawn light filtering in through the small window over your kitchen sink. You shifted, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you sat up, the movement making your back crack loud enough to make you wonder if you’d aged fifty years overnight. Truthfully—well, you hadn’t been truthful at all last night when you’d told Spider-Man that the couch was comfortable. No, it was a ratty old thing, the cheapest piece at the Salvation Army on the particular Tuesday you’d gone thrifting. Its lumpy cushions sagged under you and it creaked with protest if more than one person sat on it at a time—which was fine, given that you rarely had visitors. Still, you figured that Spider-Man needed the comfort of a mattress more than you, since he had been the one soaring around New York and bleeding profusely.

Speaking of…You glanced over to your left, at the bedroom door at the end of your hall. It was open, which meant that the hero you’d helped was gone. Unless it had been a dream? A very vivid stress dream brought on by the fact that you were overtired, overworked and underappreciated. That was, admittedly, quite possible.

But when you stood, stretching your arms over your head to get your blood flowing again, your eyes immediately fell upon what had been left for you on the counter of the adjoining kitchen. It was your paring knife, with a Post-It from the pink pad you kept on your bedside table stuck underneath it. Curious, you padded over to the kitchen, taking note of the empty glass in the sink and the fact that the last of your bananas had mysteriously vanished from the fruit bowl. Smiling, you slid the knife into the sink and picked up the note.

You should sharpen this. It wouldn’t even defend you against an apple.

There was a crudely drawn spider next to the scrawled initials YFNSM. It took your brain a moment to process—your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man.

Okay, so not a dream. Your smile grew, this time accompanied by a shake of your head as you wandered into your bedroom. The sheets had been removed and left in your already embarrassingly overflowing laundry bin. And, judging by the streaks in the layer of dust that had built up on the hallway floor, Spider-Man had also at least attempted to wipe up where he’d dripped blood on your tiles. Friendly indeed.

An alarm buzzed on your phone, making you jump. You’d left it on the coffee table and quickly scurried back to stop the grating noise, the sound that alerted you it was time to get ready for your shift at the hospital. You could think about what had happened last night later.

-----*

Peter shoved his hands into the too-big pockets of borrowed grey sweatpants, thinking to himself that you hadn’t been kidding when you said they were enormous. His torn up Spider-Man suit had been shoved into his backpack which he’d thankfully found exactly where he’d left it last night, tucked away on a rooftop corner at the intersection of 10th and West 29th, right near the High Line.

He managed to slip into a local coffee shop and change back into his own jeans and sweater before lining up to buy a coffee he didn’t feel like drinking solely because he could never get over the awkwardness of using the washroom in a place he wasn’t buying something from. At the register, when the barista asked him if he’d like anything with his small black dark roast, he paused, glancing at the display case of pastries and pointing to a decadent looking chocolate cupcake.

Feeling like himself again, Peter stepped out of the coffee shop and proceeded to give the coffee to the first homeless person he saw, along with the change he’d gotten from his purchase. The autumn air was crisp on his cheeks, the sharp smell of slowly decaying leaves rich in his nostrils. He was tired and sore and wanted a shower, but there was something he had to do first—something that he hoped would quell the uneasy feeling he’d had since waking up that morning in a stranger’s bed, albeit without said stranger.

One quick purchase at the florist, three short stops on the subway, and a lonely walk over a well-maintained asphalt path, Peter found himself sinking to the ground in front of a large grey stone, etched with a name he still had a hard time uttering aloud and two dates that were far too close together.

He laid down the floral arrangement he’d bought by the headstone, beside the fresh wreath he knew had come from her parents. And then he took a long, steadying breath and he spoke, hands balled tightly into fists and eyes closed.

“Hi,” that seemed like a good place to start. “Hi Gwen.” Saying her name still hurt and his tongue nearly didn’t let it past his lips, his mouth stumbling over that single syllable. Peter cleared his throat and continued.

“The weirdest thing happened last night. And it made me think of you which made me realize it’s been a bit, yeah? Two weeks. Sorry about that, work has been busy and Dr. Octavius says we’re close to a breakthrough so that’s a good thing and—”

He paused, a choked laugh caught in his chest, “I digress, as always. Anyways, this girl—no wait, back up—I got hurt pretty bad, but don’t worry, the other guy looks way worse and so yeah—I landed on this girl’s fire escape all bloody and disgusting and she bandaged me up and it was weird because it almost felt like you were looking out for me, you know?”

Peter had to stop again. Stop his words because he knew he was rambling and stop his mind from playing back images of Gwen sitting on his bed with a towel, gently wiping away his pain. “It was like,” he continued after a long silence, “Like you were up there rolling your eyes at me for being reckless and still doing this whole Spider-Man thing. I don’t know if it’s what you’d want. I don’t know. I was so lost when you—I just didn’t know what else to do and now it feels too fucking late to change.”

“I’m sorry, Gwen. I’m still sorry. I wish I’d done things differently, that night and every night since. I miss you.” Tears now, falling freely, caught on his lashes and cheeks and the sleeves of his sweater as he tried to wipe them away.

“I’m going to go see her again, I think. To say thank you. I feel like it’s a bad idea, but she’s nice and she’s a bit broken, just like me so, yeah. I, uh, I just wanted to tell you.”

It was 7:15 by the time Peter walked, defeated and uncertain, back into the home he shared with his Aunt May, who just so happened to be waiting for him at the tiny table in the breakfast nook, a stack of pancakes ready.

“Sorry,” he muttered, trying out a smile. May pursed her lips and gestured at the seat opposite her.

“It’s okay,” she told him, “I checked the news and didn’t hear anything about you, so I hoped you were with a girl.” She said it lightly, gently, knowing the depths of her nephew’s anguish and powerless to stop it. Humour had always worked with him—of that, she was grateful.

Peter snorted as he slipped into the chair, shower forgotten in the face of May’s famously airy pancakes. “Yeah,” he mused, “I guess you could say that I was.”

-----*

One hour. That was all that was left in your shift before you could go home and kick your feet up and bury yourself in the clinical case studies you needed to finish by next week. Fun.

Days in the pediatric ward were hectic at best and probably some of the most exhausting you’d had in your training so far, physically and emotionally. You had a collage of Scooby-Doo bandages on your cheek, courtesy of one of the kids in your ward, and your hair had long since fallen to pieces, but thankfully kids weren’t all that judgy and most of them considered you either a princess or a hero which was both flattering but also hilarious because you were certainly neither of those, lacking the grace and poise (and money) of royalty as well as the power and agility (and absence of self-preservation instincts) of a hero.

With 43 minutes left, one of the kids you were checking in with for rounds asked “Do you think Spider-Man goes to the doctor?”

You grinned. Maybe not the doctor, but definitely the unsuspecting nurse. You weren’t very good at children generally, but imagined it wouldn’t be the best to regale a story of Spider-Man dropping onto your balcony with fractured bones to anyone under the age of 12. So you settled for whatever passed as tact in child-land.

“For sure! Everyone needs to see the doctor sometimes, even Spider-Man.”

With 34 minutes left, you downed a cup of coffee and a protein bar and thought about whether you’d buy boxed or bottled white wine on the way home. You wondered if Spider-Man might be back, maybe even with the sweatpants he’d borrowed.

With 27 minutes left, all hell broke loose.

You were very nearly dead on your feet, stifling yawns like that was your job and trying to file away the last of your papers at the nurse’s station when you heard Dolores, your supervisor, gasp and the murmur of seven other nurses followed.

“Are you seeing this?”

“Oh my god…”

“Is Spider-Man there?”

You turned, your gaze following everyone else’s to the television set over the desk that was perpetually tuned to the news. Your tired eyes had only just refocused when something exploded. You felt your face go taut. Fuck.

The screen was filled with smoke and ashes and, then, amazingly, Spider-Man swinging through it all, following after something—or someone—that looked disconcertingly like sentient sand, a living and moving desert settling over the wreckage.

You felt your hands start to shake again and automatically pinched inside your elbow.

“Who can get down to the ER right now?” Dolores was speaking, but her voice sounded far away, “We’ve got five transports that are heading out and are gonna need all hands on deck when they get back.”

You raised your hand, not aware you were doing it until Dolores called your name and wished you luck.

So much for a lack of self-preservation instincts.

Downstairs, the ER was a mess of broken bones and contusions and lacerations and you noticed every detail while somehow being so zoned into your work that nothing mattered at all. Three hours went by in the blink of an eye, casts set and cuts stitched and the man who’d been responsible for all of this unconscious in OR #7, beaten to within an inch of his life by someone whose whereabouts you were considerably worried about. What would you find on your fire escape when you got home?

Your hands were shaking all the way home, along with your knees. The attending physician had done you the kindness of calling you a cab and paying for it, bless her, telling you that no one needed to take the train after sixteen hours of being buried in the sickness and hurt of others.

The fire escape was the first thing you checked after locking your apartment door. It was empty and you weren’t sure if you ought to feel relieved or worried so you settled on confused because what did it even matter? Spider-Man had landed there by accident and you’d likely never see him again other than on the news or in the paper. Why did that bother you? Normally, you’d find a spider in your apartment and throw it out onto the fire escape, not the other way around.

You flopped onto the couch, exhausted, not even caring if you ended up spending another night on its lumpy cushions. You had work to do, sure, but it could wait, your brain just needed a break before it imploded. A quick moment to shut out the world and everything in it. Earbuds in, you shuffled your playlist of 80s music and closed your eyes, letting the smooth sound of Bowie synths lull you into something like relaxation.

You didn’t know how much time had passed when you woke up, music still going softly in your earbuds, mouth dry with thirst, and hair sticking to the nape of your neck with sweat. You shifted to grab your phone from where it was digging into your waist, its illuminated face letting you know that you’d only crashed for 20 minutes. Not bad, it had felt much longer and you didn’t have that awful post-nap grogginess.

“Hey! You’re awake.”

You weren’t quite sure how to categorize the noise that left your throat, somewhere between a scream, a gasp, and a laugh when you spun around and caught sight of Spider-Man sitting on your kitchen counter, doing the crossword puzzle from yesterday's New York Times by the dim light of his own phone.

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck is wrong with you?” You had jumped to your feet, sweater falling back down around your waist from where it had ridden up while you slept. Your iPod clattered to the floor, pulling your earbuds out along with it, but you didn’t care. You practically flew to the light switch, turning it on so that your apartment was bathed in warm white light.

“What?” Spider-Man said lightly, putting down the paper and hopping off the counter, “I thought you’d be happy to see me. I’m returning your clothes. And I brought you something.” He gestured toward the pile of neatly folded clothing on the counter, on top of which sat a little white box.

You shot him a quizzical look but joined him in the kitchen, opening the box to find a slightly squashed and smeared cupcake. Admittedly, it was cute.

“It had a bit of a bumpy ride,” Spider-Man shrugged and you could swear he almost sounded sheepish.

“It’s thoughtful,” you said quietly, “But you could have knocked! Do you know who else breaks into people’s houses with a mask on? Michael Myers. Jason.”

“That guy from Scream,” he added as you dipped a finger in the icing and tasted it. You almost groaned at the flavour. Hell, that was sinfully good.

“Not helping your case. You should have knocked.”

“I did,” Spider-Man retorted, “But obviously over your music and snoring you didn’t hear me.” You didn’t even bother to deny the snoring—it was something that you’d done since high school whenever you were running on empty. “Plus,” he continued, “Those guys bring butcher knives when they go visiting. I brought a cupcake. It’s very different.”

You made a noncommittal noise in your throat, instead breaking off another piece of the cupcake and eating it. You realized, as your stomach grumbled for more, that you’d skipped dinner. “And you’ve been waiting in the dark for…”

“Only, like 3 minutes. I’m not a creep,” he assured you, “I was gonna wake you up if it got to five.”

“How’d you get in?”

“Picked the fire escape lock.”

“That’s criminal.”

“I like to think of it as resourceful.”

You shook your head, slightly disbelieving that this conversation was even happening but happy that it was.

“Busy day at work?” you asked, changing the subject because you had a strange feeling you wouldn’t win this argument. Spider-Man visibly winced, sucking in a breath through his teeth.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I guess you had to clean up Sandman’s mess?”

“I helped. And it’s not your fault. You didn’t blow up the bank,” you said matter-of-factly. “Any injuries you need bandaged?”

“All healed up,” he said and you could hear the grin in his voice, “But thanks.”

“Damn,” you sighed playfully, “I was hoping for an excuse to have you bring me another cupcake.”

“You don’t need to play nurse to get a cupcake out of me. All you have to do is ask.”

“Can I ask where you got it because cupcakes have no right being that good?”

“I made it,” Spider-Man said, lifting his shoulders with a shrug.

“For real?” Your jaw fell open, “You need to quit the hero gig and open a bakery!”

“Oh god no!” he laughed loudly, “I was fucking with you. The extent of my kitchen talents is brewing coffee and making cereal.”

“A good cup of coffee is an art,” you replied and he shrugged.

“I got the cupcake in the Meatpacking district,” he revealed, “Place near the High Line.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“It’s, uh, that’s where we used to live, before he died.” You frowned, feeling the tightness behind your eyes that was a harbinger of tears, and bit your tongue to distract yourself. Absently, you waved a hand toward the fridge and watched as Spider-Man’s gaze shifted to follow where your fingers pointed, an old Polaroid pinned up with a pumpkin-shaped magnet.

He observed for a moment, as he took in the details of the picture; a lush forest in the background, two smiling faces shaded by baseball caps, two figures with canoe oars held up like lightsabers, her standing on a rock outcropping level with his shoulders.

“I had the high ground,” your laugh was broken, forced. Spider-Man let out a small noise of amusement, his gloved hand hovering tentatively over the photo before he turned back to you. You wished that you could see his face, but were almost happy you couldn’t. You wouldn’t want to see the pity you were certain would be there.

“You look happy,” he commented, voice low. There wasn’t pity there, though, only certainty, understanding.

“I was. I am, but differently now.”

There was a beat of silence, something thick in the air between the two of you. “What happened?”

Your eyes widened, briefly, breath caught in your throat, your chest. For a moment you thought you wouldn’t answer. Then, the words began rolling from your lips like a tidal wave, furious and relentless.

“One day he started complaining of a sore neck and a month after that he was really sick and six months later, he was gone.”

It was the shortest version of the story you could tell, the one that hurt the least. The cold, hard facts. But there was something about the way Spider-Man took a step toward you, the way he placed a hand on your arm, that made you keep talking, that made you say all the things you’d never said to anyone except your weeping reflection. He was a hero after all—wasn’t his job to help? To save? Then again, wasn’t your job to heal? Hah, sure.

“You know, I hated him. I loved him so much that I hated that he was going to leave me. There was a whole week, right at the end, where I couldn’t drag myself out of bed to go see him because the thought of seeing him like that made me want to die too. But it wasn’t fair. So, I showered and forced myself to go and I sat with him and we talked for two whole hours and I left when he fell asleep. His sister called me an hour later to say that he—he was dead.”

You lurched forward, the weight suddenly too much to bear and Spider-Man caught you, holding you up when you wanted nothing more than to crumble under the waves of anger and sadness and injustice that you thought you’d long since learned to live with.

“And I know,” your voice was shrill, gasping for words, “I just fucking know that he waited for me. He waited because he knew I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

You felt your tears on Spider-Man’s chest, gathering but not absorbing into his uniform. Of course it was fucking waterproof—you found the realization oddly comforting, like you could cry into his shoulder forever and your tears could never touch him. You could keep your sorrow all to yourself.

“I’m sorry.” Spider-Man was ushering you back to the sofa, helping you sit, filling you a cup of water from the sink. Hero shit, you thought, he’s so good and…

No, you wouldn’t allow yourself to finish that thought. You were just emotionally wrecked and all those feelings were trying to go somewhere. You pulled them back, stitching them deep into the fabric of your heart.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” you sighed, taking the proffered glass and gulping it down, your heart slowly calming, sudden cold setting into your veins as a shiver ran up your spine.

“It’s not sympathy,” he said, sitting beside you, doing a double take when the couch creaked in warning.

“It’s old as shit,” you muttered and you thought that if you could see his face he’d be smirking. You looked at him for a long moment, trying to imagine what he looked like under the suit, how his eyes might be soft and kind and how he might have dimples or freckles or a five o’clock shadow.

You imagined that he might have tears welling up behind long lashes or a crease in his forehead from the frown he sported as you stared. And maybe it was the sound of his voice, the way it was twinged with understanding rather than fear of saying the wrong thing. Or maybe the sharp angle of his shoulders, a defensive stance you’d recognize anywhere—not against anyone else, but against yourself and all the things your mind wanted to wander toward. But all at once you realized that this hero—this person—sitting on your crappy sofa in a mask and with web shooters attached to his wrists, was someone like you.

“Who were they?”

“What?” Spider-Man tilted his head to the side, but you knew he understood the question. You didn’t say anything, just letting him take his moment.

“She was,” he couldn’t seem to find the right words, clicking his tongue, clearing his throat. “She was brilliant and beautiful and perfect. I loved her. I still love her.”

You put your hand out, gently letting it fall over his and nodded. He sighed, you imagined, weighing how much he wanted to reveal about himself. In your experience—and you hated how much of it you had—broken people didn’t want to talk so much as need to.

“I think I kept being Spider-Man after she died to prove something. To prove to myself that I was still alive but somewhere along the way I think I stopped being good and just started being angry.”

“It’s okay to be angry,” you shrugged, running a thumb over his knuckles, “A month after the funeral, I burned a bunch of the notes he took for his classes. If my life was going up in flames why not, you know? It’s human. Don’t lose that.”

“I think I might already have lost it.”

You took a moment, flashes of the villain who’d shown up at the hospital that afternoon near dead flickering behind your eyes. Nearly dead, but not.

“Well,” you sighed, squeezing his hand reassuringly, “I think that you even being able to think that proves you haven’t.”

“Thanks, Y/N.” He put an arm around you, pulling you close until your head rested on his surprisingly comfortable shoulder.

“Stay for a bit?” you whispered, “If you don’t have to go get beat up, that is.”

“I’ll stay if you stop being mean,” he teased gently. “Get some rest.”

You hummed quietly in your throat. “Speaking of rest, do you ever get a day off? Or is New York always a shitshow?”

“Sometimes everyone collectively decides to not break any laws,” he laughed, and you found that you liked the rumble it produced through his chest, the way it eased his posture so you could sink deeper into his side. “I had a night off two weeks ago.”

“I should get you a sign, like those little workplace incident ones, so you can keep track.”

“Oh yeah, please do.” You felt him smile against the top of your head, “This city has been crime free for 2 days.”

“More like, this Spider-Man has been injury free…”

“This Spider-Man?” he poked you gently in the arm, “I am a complete original. There is only one of me.”

“In this universe,” you mumbled, words stifled by a yawn.

“What was that?” Spider-Man asked.

“Nothing,” you said, your eyelids growing heavy with sleep, “Just an old joke my parents used to make.”

Spider-Man didn’t reply. Or perhaps you just didn’t hear him as you drifted away into a deep and dreamless sleep, feeling safer than you remembered feeling in a long while.

-----* I also want to take the time to thank you all so much for the support you showed Part 1 of this story. I sometimes have a hard time with more complex plots, so I tend to stick to one shots or two-parters, but I'm in love with this story and can't wait to tell all five parts of it. A lot of the stuff on grief and death here is pulled from my personal experience, but these things are different for everyone so if you are feeling them or carrying them with you, take care xx

Taglist (tysm friends, for actually wanting to be part of this with me): @v1oletvenus // @violetrainbow412-blog // @veraocruel // @morgane--stark // @frannyyy03 // @nervouslaught3r // @the-newfistofhydra // @alijulia87 // @kdatthecastle // @di4na // @infp-t-rhi // @dreamer7black // @plutoneu // @equivocalshit // @yodelingzavia // @lewispool // @pinkybee926 // @can-we-meet-in-a-dream // @where-is-my-oat-milk // @lia-andari // @multiple-boxes-of-earthworms // @starkovsmarvel // @lucyysthings // @panicattheeverywherekid // @earthgirl616 // @huhurrr-r // @astoria-reads // @schmuckyschmarnes // @mypalbuck // @spider-starry


Tags :
3 years ago

And guess what the boy did? He sabatoged your fucking work.

IM NOT SURPRISED IM NOT

James simply nodded and stopped his actions, his leg still scuffling but not making a loud sound.

i wanna hug him or kiss him or both.

But you couldn’t stop the raging feelings whenever your eyes needed a rest. He was quite the sight, tall, muscular, and that hair. You were quite obsessed with his hair, dark and soft. Whenever it felt too long during classes or you needed to focus on something else, your eyes would shamelessly land on James.

like i said *cough*

Since all our trophies have been polished, cauldrons have been scrubbed, and you can’t be trusted to tutor first years without competing with each other—really there’s nothing else you could do.” Slughorn explained, sighing and rubbing a hand hand his forehead.

LMAO I LOVE THAT SM

When James nods, you don’t see it. You don’t see how he says “I am.” While he’s looking straight at the back of your head.

fuck you mae now im gonna go read more james fics cause this just reignited all my love for him.

When I met Pads, he gave me an hour of advice on how collared shirts effect our daily lives.

HAHA I LAUGHED OUT LOUD SIS WENT *suspiciously squinting*

“Really? I’m a little extra, I though you’d appreciate a guy who challenges you and does it subtly.” “Things change, maybe I just want you.”

MAYBE I JUST WANT YOU MAYBE I JUST *screams* WANT YOUUUUU

And Guess What The Boy Did? He Sabatoged Your Fucking Work.
And Guess What The Boy Did? He Sabatoged Your Fucking Work.

literally my fav fic by you. LITERALLY.

Obliviously yours (4.3k)

summary: when you and james get detention and are tasked to serve drinks at slughorn's party, you have no choice but to agree than fail the class. but the whole night, everybody gives their piece of mind about you and james' relationship. this makes you rethink everything you do and everything you feel for james.

warnings: drinking

pairing: james potter x fem!reader

a/n: oh god writers block sux!!! I've finally took the time off and wrote this little gem. actually loved this piece, hope u do too <3

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James Potter was evil. Absolutely vile. You knew how your relationship with him worked. It was the type where you argued whenever you saw each other, debated about almost everything, and made most of your subjects a competition. But it also had boundaries you both put up, the first one being not sabatoging the others work.

And guess what the boy did? He sabatoged your fucking work.

You were near bursting, your sneer louder than you've ever let out. Slughorn was panicking in front of your table, where he stood with a frown on his face. "Miss Y/l/n, I suggest you go clean yourself up." He announces, his voice loud for the whole class.

You huffed out a tired breath. "Yes, I'll go do that. Right after Potter is held accountable for his sticky fingers sticking into my potion!" You said on the top of your lungs, pointing at James.

James Potter, who had the audacity to sit on his chair looking so innocent, began to smile. You knew it was him who ruined your potion, who else would it be? Your potion was the one that looked the most presentable in that class, and James must've been jealous.

James scoffs, "Excuse me? Professor, I think Y/l/n should be punished for even accusing me of such things!" He said dramatically, making your eyes roll in place.

"I know it was you! You were jealous because I did better. I always do, that's why you couldn't bear seeing me with the praise and you put in the powder into my potion!"

You swore you were about to launch over where James sat if it wasn't for Marlene gripping your arm tightly. She kept you in place while you and James eyed each other like you were in battle.

"Enough!" Slughorn interrupted, his face hot red with anger. "Both of you, I'll see you in detention at six! And no, this isn't because of who sabotaged who's potion. It's because both of you disrupted my class. We'll investigate the 'sabotaged potion' later." He said, gripping his wand tighter into his fist.

You were about to shout another quip to James, knowing you'd be in detention anyway and decoded that he deserved a rude comment. But with a flick of his wand, Slughorn silenced both you and James with a spell then walked to the front of the class casually.

You rolled your eyes as James did the same. Sirius patted his back beside him, and Marlene gave you a deathly look. Just another ordinary day.

Tap, tap, tap. James' shoes echoes through the room, his fingers tapping on the wood of his chair. He seemed impatient, maybe the waiting was driving him mad. Or maybe it was simply the uncomfortable feeling of being in the dungeons, with the dark green and the freezing walls surrounding him.

"Can you stop that?" You asked quite rudely, your eyes sliding to look at him.

James simply nodded and stopped his actions, his leg still scuffling but not making a loud sound. Sometimes, times like these for example— James Potter was ... tolerable. It doesn't happen very often, because as he says, "You're always the cause of my headache, Y/l/n." So you always saw him whenever he was uptight and stressed out.

"Sorry." He muttered lowly.

One of these rare moments of him, was also quite ... attractive. You would never say it out loud and to anyone. It was the same as coming up to him and getting his ego fed even more.

But you couldn't stop the raging feelings whenever your eyes needed a rest. He was quite the sight, tall, muscular, and that hair. You were quite obsessed with his hair, dark and soft. Whenever it felt too long during classes or you needed to focus on something else, your eyes would shamelessly land on James.

You only got the side view of him from where you usually sat in class. But it didn't stop you from ogling the boy. So now, when you were alone with him while seated in Slughorn's dark office— you couldn't help it. James was fiddling with his fingers, and your eyes didn't leave burning into his face.

"You think he's going going make us clean all the trophies again?" He asks suddenly, his voice sounding more raspy after all the silence.

You quickly looked away, hear rushing to your cheeks. "That's probably the worst punishment I've ever gotten." You admitted, trying to focus on the conversation. "It didn't help that you had like ... five or six trophies and pretended not to see them so I had to clean it." You added.

You still remembered the day vividly, just last week you received detention with James Potter as well. It was one of the worst days you've had. Being stuck in a small dimly lit room with him and having to clean dusty trophies. It quite literally felt like you were being trapped in a cage and having to deal with the devil.

James interrupted your thoughts with his snicker. "Had to show 'em off, y'know? I thought girls liked smart guys." And when he said it, you froze.

Maybe the freezing cold Rook suddenly got hot, and you couldn't breathe because your neck felt restricted with your red and golden tie wound tightly around you. "What? Were you trying to impress me?" You asked, your brows furrowed together in confusion.

As if James had just noticed what he said, he sat straighter but kept his gaze in front of him. "No I was just ... no— no I was trying to make you jealous." He stuttered.

You suddenly scoffed, but laughed at the same time. "Please, I've done better in almost all of our classes and you know it."

James takes offense in this, his arm looping on the side of his chair and looking at you. "Yeah but you've gotten us in more messes." He shoots.

"Oh, so you admit I'm smarter than you!" You couldn't help but reply.

"What—! No, remember how Flitwick praised my part of our group project?"

"Don't try to change the subject, Potter. I'm better and you know it. You know it but you can't admit it." You said, looking down at your nails as the conversation bored you.

"Yeah, right. I can't believe I ever tried impressing you, Y/l/n." He said coldly, barely sparing you a glance.

"It didn't fucking work, because I will never be caught dead being impressed in you." You sneered, your words cutting his wounded heart into two halves.

Just when you were about to take back what you were about to say, offer him an apology or do something— the door busted open and Slughorn came in with the same angered expression he had during class.

"The problem I've had with you two ... it's an endless list." Slughorn explained, his fingers intertwining together. "It's been six months, and all those six months have felt like pure hell to me whenever both of you are in my class." He said, making it clear how angry he was.

"Professor—" James tried, but was rudely interrupted.

"No! You will stay silent for as long as I'm talking, Mr. Potter. And I won't be tolerating a word from you either, Miss. Y/l/n." He said calmly, though his expression said otherwise. "Is that understood?"

You both nodded, "Yes, professor."

"Alright, now let's talk about your form of detention. Since all our trophies have been polished, cauldrons have been scrubbed, and you can't be trusted to tutor first years without competing with each other—really there's nothing else you could do." Slughorn explained, sighing and rubbing a hand hand his forehead.

"Might I suggest—"

"No talking!" Slughorn repeated, making you slump on your seat. "I've had it enough with you two that I'm considering kicking you both our of the Slug Club." He complained, lighting up at his own words. "Wait a second ... both of you are in the Slug Club, yes?"

You and James nodded, not saying a word as both of you stared at the angry professor.

"Well, then! You could serve the drinks! This is perfect, I needed last minute volunteers for students who needed extra credit. I think both of you would do well for servers, hm? It's not that hard to pass around drinks." He said to himself.

James scoffed, "No, wait— you're asking us to be servers? To a party that we were respectfully invited to?"

Then you added, "Yeah, this is just— quite rushed, sir. I was looking forward to this party, to meet people from the ministry and make connections. I— I even bought a dress for this occasion, I thought—"

Slughorn put up a hand, "Now, now. Don't you complain to me about all this. Both of you deserve this punishment, after making it really hard for me to teach in class." He said, looking like he's had enough. "Don't worry about the dress Miss. Y/l/n, both of you can come in formal clothing— I shall not ruin your night of confidence." He cleared his throat while getting up from his chair.

Both you and James tried to reason with the man, but it was to no avail.

"Sir—"

"I can't believe—"

Slughorn waved his wand, and both of your mouths were sealed shut. When the room was quiet, he muttered, "Now excuse me, I shall be going over some papers. Both of you should go to bed, you must be exhausted after all the fighting, I'm sure."

The common room was empty, it was just past seven but it seemed like no one wanted to witness you and James' quarrel that almost always happens after a talk with a professor.

After the painting door closed, James skipped to the couch and threw his body on it tiredly. "I am fucking exhausted." He admitted, sighing heavily and stared at the fire that was still burning brightly.

"Shut up, Potter. I can't even hear your voice without getting upset. This party was important to me!" You said suddenly, throwing your bag to the ground, the contents spilling out.

"Right, because it didn't to me. Got a new suit and all." He muttered, his expression obviously looking more sour now.

You decided to sit on the lounge chair that was next to the couch, striking up a conversation. "Yeah? Was it snazzy? Plain black ... or?"

"Why do you care?" James snaps, "Yeah, it's plain black." He adds sheepishly.

You roll your eyes, chuckling all the while. "You're so lame, Potter. Who're you trying to impress with a plain black suit?" You mocked, your eyes glancing at him.

Just as he talks, your eyes don't dare to move from his face. He pushes his hair back, still short black curls tumbling down his forehead. You think then, that he's so gorgeous, with his eyes looking so warm and brown. His lips are red, highlighting his pale features.

Then he makes a small sound, flicking his fingers to signal you to listen. "Hey, you listening?" He says, his tone so low. And it sounds so different than how he usually talks to you.

"Er .. yeah. You were saying who you're trying to impress ... and I dunno, blanked out." You admitted, trying to look anywhere except his pretty face.

"You really wanna hear this? I don't think sharing who we fancy are part of this rivalry relationship." He says, a teasing grin painted on his lips.

"Sure, whatever." You agree, shrugging your shoulders. But inside, you felt uneasy. You didn't know much about James Potter's lovelife, all you did was that he fancied Lily Evans. Once upon a time he did, because lately it didn't seem like he was interested in the redhead at all.

Part of you felt jealous, but then you remembered that you had no right to be. James Potter wasn't your boyfriend, or even friend on that matter. Even though you admit you are attracted to him, and would maybe want to snog him in a broom cupboard — you really had no right to be jealous.

"She's ah ... witty. I guess that's a word to describe her, she's beautiful too of course— but her beauty doesn't compare to her brains. I love a smart girl, y'know? A friendly competition in a relationship would be awesome." James chuckles. You nod your head, turning your head to the fire after you saw James' enamored expression.

"You sound like you're obsessed with her." You comment, trying trying avoid his gaze.

When James nods, you don't see it. You don't see how he says "I am." While he's looking straight at the back of your head.

"One thing I hate though, is that she's so fucking hard to talk to. I don't think I've ever had a proper conversation with her ... she's always way too busy to pay attention to me. It sucks that way." James admits, biting his gums and fiddling with his fingers.

"Who is she?" You asked bluntly, desperate to know about this mysterious girl that James is apparently in love with.

James tsked, "Not a chance I'm telling you."

You looked back to him, "I think you should do something about the suit. Plain black won't impress anyone. Maybe add a flower or something, girls love that." I love that. You tried to keep it in your head, careful not to let it out of your mouth.

"How do I look?" You asked Marlene, who was laying in bed with a book in hand. She glanced your way and dropped the book, getting up and approaching you.

"Amazing!" Marlene exclaimed, her hands smoothing down the fabric of your dress.

"Not exactly house spirited, but I thought yellow would have a nice touch." You smiled, happy to see your best friend just as excited as you were.

The dress you were wearing was long, going down and nipping your ankles. It was made of an intricate silky design, layers of white and yellow overlapping each other. The top half was just as beautiful, detailed green flowers sprinkling the area near your chest. Then, the straps on your shoulders were thin. It was made out of white fabric, a beautiful detail covering them.

"Merlin, Y/n. You look gorgeous. I'm sure Potter will stare at you the whole night. What a shame you'll have to serve drinks, though." Marlene complimented, her fingers tracing the designs of your dress.

"Potter? James Potter?" You asked, not paying attention to anything else she was saying. "What are you on about, Mar?" You said, half angry and half curious.

"I'm just saying ... you look beautiful tonight, Y/n. He may be your enemy, but he's a boy and he's got eyes. There's no telling what would happen tonight, what with your tension as well." Marlene shrugged, handing you another fresh smile.

"He's not— he won't. He's into someone else, anyways. I'm betting all my galleons it's Lily Evans." You said, an irritated look coming on your face.

Marlene traced a last shape on your dress, then her hands reached up to comb through your head of hair. And finally, she put her hands on your shoulders, smiling enthusiastically. "Or maybe it's you, honey."

Marlene's words made you rethink every decision of yours as you made your way up to the seventh floor. Your hands was nervously picking at your dress, looping through the fabric and smoothing it. James had agreed to meet you in front of the tent an, because as Slughorn had ordered, the both of you were supposed to stick together where he could see you.

You bite your lip as you see James' figure, his body clad in the black suit he told you about. It didn't usually feel like this when you were approaching him. Maybe it was because of Marlene's words and because you were wearing a dress. A beautiful dress, that made you look gorgeous. Any other time, you'd be dressed in normal clothes and approaching James to gloat about your marks in Transfiguration. But this time it felt different.

But perhaps, it was also the quickly approaching attraction and/or feelings you had for James. Before you had time to rethink anything else again, James waved a hand your way.

You approached him confidently, making sure you didn't mess up anything while you walked to him. James turned his head to peer inside the tent ad you want towards him. When you arrived behind him, he didn't bother looking at you as he kept his gaze on something— or rather someone else.

"Slughorn wants us to pass drinks for that side. Those are his friends and connections, so we're allowed to serve them alcoholic drinks." James explained, his hand pointing to a group of someone.

You muttered a yes to him and let the boy continue. "And that side, those are all students. You can probably tell the difference between them, but just a heads up before you shove firewhiskey down their throats." He said, chuckling at his own joke.

"Got it, Potter." You told him, keeping quiet as James stood silently as well. "What else?"

James seemed to be knocked out of a trance, as he shook his head but kept his gaze where it was. "Huh?"

When you shoved him over to see who it was he was looking at, you weren't surprised. "We're you looking at someone?" You teased, though a smile wasn't present on your face. "Lily Evans, huh? I love her dress." You commented, closing the tent flaps shut after that and looking at James entirely.

"No, I— I was looking at—" he seemed to cut himself off, not knowing what to say I the midst of it all. Because in front of him stood a pretty girl, standing straight looking heavenly.

You didn't dare to meet his gaze, not wanting to suddenly catch his eye and let him see through your expression. So instead, you focused on his breast pocket. A single flower sitting limply inside it, pale green— just like the ones that detailed the top half of your dress.

"Oh, wow. You really took my advice and went with the flower." You raised your brows, flicking the flower playfully. "Looks great on you ... you look great tonight." You praised, feeling gutsy.

James didn't say anything, his body frozen in place and his lips sealed. Then he looked at you and caught that perfect second where you frowned just the smallest bit. And he thought his heart would break into pieces any moment then.

"Guess I'll see you inside, then."

James didn't have time to respond, letting you walk away as you heels clicked and echoed through the halls. All he wanted to do was pull you closer, kiss your hand gently and tell you how incredible you looked tonight. But he couldn't, just like he couldn't all these past years he's been obsessed with you.

"No, Longbottom you can only have the drinks on the left. Usually I'd let you do the fuck all you want, but I don't really want to fail Potions this year." You said with an annoyed tone, your hand already growing tired after holding a tray full of drinks for the past hour.

"Oh you're serving drinks for extra credit? Y/n, I though you were excellent at everything!" The boy in front of you laughed, some alcohol clearly already inside his system.

"No you idiot! I'm here because James Potter decided to be a dick to me again and got us both into detention. Detention being serving drinks to people like you— who can't follow the rules."

Longbottom put up his hands defensively. "Woah, just because loverboy got you into another mess don't take it out on me." He said with slight amusement in his tone.

"Lover— why does everybody keep saying that? Me and Potter aren't fucking dating. We aren't anything." You said with a scoff.

A voice behind you startled your nerves, "Really? Because I thought we had some sort of friendship after last night. Advice giving is actually one of the things that start a friendship, Y/l/n. When I met Pads, he gave me an hour of advice on how collared shirts effect our daily lives. It was bullshit honestly, didn't grasp a single thing out of that hour." James rambled, but finally ending on giving you a grin.

With a confused look, Longbottom scrunched his nose and slurred out an excuse from both of you. Then you turned to James, seeing that his hands were empty, you shoved your tray on them. "Hold that for me, I need to go to the bathroom." You told him, trying to escape from the situation.

James smiled like he knew what was going on. "No way. I observed you the whole night and you didn't even drink a single drop. Which I'm quite concerned about because you must be parched— point is, you don't need to go to the bathroom."

You sighed, "Alright, I don't need to. But I want to. It's so crowded in here and I can't even breathe without people asking for drinks."

James muffled his laugh, "That is your job." He replied, giving you a small smile. Somehow, that smile made you feel a little bit better. You used to be confused when someone told you that James had the ability to make someone feel better so quickly. But now you understood it. Because that small grin had made your heart quicken and your lips tingle to smile back.

"I'm just ... exhausted. But that won't cover it, I'm more than exhausted. My arms sore and my legs hurt so much in these heels." You complained.

James' face lit up, an idea sparking in his mind. "Everyone here is either drunk, or too busy chatting up with each other that they won't notice two servers sneaking out. Come on, I know a place."

"It's chilly up here." You muttered, rubbing your arms to get some warmth in. It was no use though, because the wind blew harsher. James had bought you to a small balcony, just like the Astronomy Tower but without the big telescopes and much smaller.

"No one's been here everytime I come up here. It's pretty much deserted, me and Remus found out about it in a rush." He told you, looking out to the sky.

The sky and it's endless limits, tiny dots on the sky blinking back to you. You admired the night sky, taking note of every little movement of the clouds and smiling in awe.

"It's so beautiful." You comment, your hand fiddling with your dress to distract you from the numbing cold.

"You are." James said from behind you, walking closer to where you stood.

You turned back to look at him in haste, "I'm what?"

"You're beautiful." James said, his mouth twitching at the excitement of finally saying those words to you. "You look beautiful tonight, like every other night."

Your expression wasn't readable when you talked. "Shut up, Potter. Don't say shit like that." You tell him, turning back to look at the dark sky.

"What do you mean?"

You scoffed, "Don't say things you don't mean. You tell me I'm beautiful now. Then you bring me down everytime we compete in class. It's like you manage to make me hurt everyday and not notice it."

When you finished, James touched your shoulder with his fingers. A nudge, his finger grabbing at you gently. You can feel his icy cold skin on yours, marveling at the new feeling. "Is that what you think? That I'm only competing with you?"

"What else? You've never seen me, and I'm always just right behind you, stupidly staring." You say the last part lowly, feeling ashamed that you said the words.

"I just— I just wanted to impress you." James said, scratching the back of his neck.

"I don't like to be impressed like that. It feels like shit. Why don't you try to impress me like Evans? She might not like it ... but I would." You  confessed, saying it sheepishly.

"Really? I'm a little extra, I though you'd appreciate a guy who challenges you and does it subtly."

"Things change, maybe I just want you."

James stepped closer, his fingers snaking up to the sides of your face. "You mean that, darling?" He asked you, a smug smile making its way on his lips. His thumb traces the curve of your lips, getting a bit of gloss on his skin. "I've wanted you for so long ... and I don't want you if you're still unsure about it."

"Kiss me." You ordered, your hands climbing up to lay flat on his chest.

"Are you sure—?"

No more hesitation this time. You don't let James finish as you press your lips to his. He obliges and bring you closer, fingers slipping under to grip your waist. You let out a small sound come out from your mouth, James' heart growing weak at it. You breathe into his mouth, sharing oxygen in the small confines of his kiss.

As if it's like a competition, you don't want to pull away and admit defeat on who was out of breath first. So finally, James pulls away and grins at the sight of you. It felt good to see him smile so sweetly at you, wanting to get used to the sight.

"I'm still confused how you didn't notice, Potter ... I stare at you so much in class I'm surprised I even know the material." You laughed.

"I dunno." He shrugs.

"You're so oblivious." You comment, picking at his suit jacket and shuddering at the slightest when he leans close.

"Obliviously yours, though." He mutters, pausing just a second to take in your image before kissing you sweetly.

—@ wrathspoet

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