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

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)

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

Bruno just bopping to his own theme song is the funniest shit to me

hot showers always feel so good 😩. (bonus if they're after a long, tiring day!)

i j realised you're my go to writer for tasm!peter

recs for tasm!peter (some are blurbs and headcanons):

your entire masterlist

secrets and skateparks

being flirty bsf's with peter

baking christmas cookies with peter

watching horror movies with peter

trapped (tw: mentions of self harm, toxic!peter, dark!peter)

recs for marauders:

@/velvetcloxds

@/lonelyhe4rts

both these writers have amazing dialogues and fics :)

enjoy reading darling

-🧚🏼‍♀️

hjada thats so sweet ily

my entire masterlist lmaooo 😩💓

I ALREADY READ FIVE OF THESE ACTUALLY HAHA. In that order. spooky stuff.

and @velvetcloxds is an amazing hooman, I love her works <3 I'll check out the other one as well as all these ficsss 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

THAT IS SO SWEET WHAT AAHJDAKUIOUOE *cries*

My Personal Ray of Sunshine

Summary: You start the year in the arms of the love of your life, Doctor Stephen Strange (Fluff).

word count: 989 words

requested by anon

It was the first morning of the year. The cold January air blew inside the room through the window you had left ajar overnight. It was always too warm in your room, and the fact that Stephen insisted on spooning all night did not help.

You opened your eyes slightly, feeling the weight of his left arm wrapped around your waist and the comfort of the other that lied under your head. You moved carefully, trying your best to turn around to face him before he would wake up.

Your movements were delicate as you turned your feet first and then your hips making yourself as small as possible, hoping not to wake up the doctor. The huff the escaped his lips, however, let you know you had failed your mission.

“Why are you awake already?” He asked in his signature morning raspy tone. His grip on you loosened, letting you turn around swiftly to face him. He looked beautiful, with his eyes still closed and his forehead slightly wrinkled in annoyance. You did not answer his question, instead, you placed a soft kiss on his chin.

He moved his left hand from your waist to your face, still with his eyes closed, running it down your face and over your eyes in an attempt to close them. “Go back to sleep,” he whispered in an annoyed tone.

“It is already 9, c’mon!” You lied, having no access to a watch or a phone to know the actual time.

“How do you know it is already 9?” He asked skeptical.

“Because I know how the light in the room looks at 9,” you responded confidently.

“Are you not tired? Don’t you want to sleep? I had to carry you to bed yesterday night. You would not get off the table with your bottle of tequila.” He asked, desperate to convince you to go back to sleep.

“If you open your eyes, I will give you a kiss,” you smiled even though he could not see it. You were sure he could not keep the grumpy facade for much longer, he never did.

“You are insufferable,” he sighed, finally opening his eyes slightly and giving you a crooked smile.

“You are my everything, doctor. I am happy to start the year with your grumpy self.” You responded, reaching for his face with your right hand and pressing a quick kiss on his lips. “I love you, even though you would spend all day in bed doing nothing.”

“I love you more, even when you won’t let me sleep.” He closed his eyes again, but the smile on his lips let you know he did not mind your bothering him after all. The truth is that he loved it. He loved the fact that you woke up full of energy most mornings. That every morning you would be the one in a good mood, making him feel alive.

Waking up by your side made him feel alive. It made him feel like the day was full of light, full of opportunities and most importantly, full of you. His smile grew, and you could not help but excitedly move on top of him, placing your legs to the sides of his body. “There we go! No more grumpiness allowed! It is the first of the year! Whatever we do today, we will do for the rest of the year.” You spoke excitedly, lowering yourself with a big smile and kissing him again.

He took advantage of your position, wrapping his arms around your body, holding you down onto his chest. “Now sleep,” he responded, tapping your head and keeping his eyes closed as you could not help but giggle trapped in his arms.

“I am hungry,” you whispered between giggles.

“I am going to kill you,” he whispered, but he could not help but chuckle slightly and shake his head. He was about to give in. You could feel it.

“I am going to bother you until you get up with me. You always say you love my resilience. Well, now you will get to see how resilient I am.” You pushed your forehead against his chest, breathing out dramatically.

He grabbed the back of your neck delicately and laid your cheek against his chest “sleep.” You did not move, knowing that it was too late for him to sleep again now. Instead, you started humming that song that you loved and he hated, not because it was a bad song but because it would always get stuck in your head all day long.

You felt his chest shake as a genuine laugh escaped his lips. “I can never win with you,” he asserted, shaking his head again and finally opening up his eyes completely. “Let’s go make breakfast,” he tapped your side twice, letting you know you were free to go. You got up with a smile on your lips, satisfied and proud of winning once again. He stretched quickly and got up sluggishly.

Just like that, you started the first day of the year together, preparing breakfast and going over all the ridiculous things that happened the night before. He could not help but watch you as you moved around the kitchen, always a little too hectic and excited. You were pure electricity, and he could no longer imagine a day without you in it.

“You said that what you do on the first day of the year, you will do all year long, right?” He asked, moving his eyes back to the pan where a perfectly round pancake was cooking.

“Yep.” You answered nonchalantly, too focused on the strawberries you were trying to cut into perfectly symmetrical slices.

“Well, if this is how the rest of my year will look like, I am perfectly content with it.” He stood behind you, whispering the words in your ear, before pressing a kiss on your cheek. “I love you, my personal ray of sunshine.”

-----------

Taglist: @astoria-reads @vipentin @stinkytootsies @diksy1112 @savmao @inas-thing @freakyat3am

— click here to join the taglist ♥️

Masterlist

My Girl, My Love | d.m. x reader

Summary: Draco wants to keep your relationship a secret when you’re new to Hogwarts because he doesn’t want people to make assumptions about you based on his reputation. But he’s a bit too in love to keep it a secret.

Warnings: none, it’s just lots of fluff

Word count: ~2.9k

a/n: how I’ve missed writing full length fics. I’m actually very pleased with how this one turned out hehe. This is part of the “Harry Potter Writing Event”. Make sure to check out other writers’ fics as well from the event!

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

➯ masterlist | tag list

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You walk fast through the corridors of Hogwarts. Portion with Slughorn is your first class ever at Hogwarts—but you’re already late for that.

It isn’t your fault, as it is challenging to find the right turn. Many of these corridors look the same. It isn’t your fault either that you transferred to Hogwarts mid-semester and a couple of years later than the students in your year.

But you’re happy. You can finally be closer to where your heart belongs.

“I’m so sorry, professor! I couldn’t find the right classroom”, you say when you open the door and have everyone’s eyes on you.

“You must be miss y/l/n! Glad to have you in class. Please take a seat”, professor Slughorn says.

You grab the closest seat as you don’t want to drag any more attention to you. You look around for the one pair of familiar eyes. And indeed, you find them, sitting in the back with his friends.

He gives you a small smile only you to note, but his eyes show that he’s happy to see you here.

After the class, you stay behind to apologise once again for your lateness. Professor Slughorn is not bothered at all that you were late. He understands that it’s easy to walk in the wrong direction in these corridors when you’re new to the school.

So when you walk out of the classroom, you feel someone pulling your arm and dragging you around a corner. His arms slung around you in a tight hug.

“I’ve missed you”, he mumbles into your neck.

“I’ve missed you too. But I’m finally here now”, you say as you hug him tightly back.

He let you go but still rest his left arm on the wall behind you. His right arm strokes your cheek.

“Hi, Draco!” you say with a happy voice. Instant, a smile spread across his face.

“I love when you say my name, y/n.”

The way he says your name always makes you blush, which Draco finds adorable.

“School has been talking about you. You’re the topic of the year”, Draco says and kisses you on the other cheek that he’s not stroking.

“Why?”, you ask a bit worried.

“It’s not too often someone starts mid-term and also years later. Then because of your family also. And of course that you’re breathtaking. It somehow makes people talk”, he chuckles and gives you another kiss, but this time on the lips.

“Are you sure you want to keep this a secret? I wouldn’t mind letting everyone know that you’re my boyfriend”, you say when you break from your kiss.

Draco looks at you a little bit sad. He wants everyone to know that you’re his and he’s yours. He wants to tell everyone how proud he’s of his girlfriend. How kind and beautiful she’s. But he couldn’t be selfish—he didn’t want to drag you down with his reputation before you even got a chance.

“Yes, I’ve got a not so good reputation here, and I don’t want that to affect you. I want everyone to see how beautiful and kind your heart and brain are before they make any assumptions.”

“I wouldn’t care what anyone else expects for your thoughts about me. I don’t care about any reputation. I know how your heart is, and that’s what I fell for.”

Draco smiles. He knows that. He always knew that. He knows where you have him and where he has you.

However, you two ended up keeping your relationship a secret.

ϟ

And indeed, is Draco right that you’re the topic of the year at the school. As soon as you walk into the Great Hall alone, it feels like everyone stops doing what they were doing. Eyes are on you—the new girl.

You feel very insecure about it. You look around and meet with too many eyes. But only a pair of those eyes make you feel calmer, and that’s Draco’s eyes.

Draco looks worried at you. Maybe this is a bad idea to let you get into this alone. He stands up and is going to trash the idea of having a secret relationship. He feels that he need to be there for you.

But when he’s about to take the first step over to you, he sees Hermione walking towards you.

“You can sit with us if you want to”, Hermione says to you. You nod your head and walks towards her table, where she’s sitting with her friends.

Draco calms down as he sees you’re not alone anymore. Maybe Granger is not so bad, he thought.

“Draco, what are you doing standing up?” Pansy asks, confused. Draco looks around his table and sees that all his friends are looking at him now.

“I—” he says but sits down again. Not sure what to say.

“It almost looked like you were going to go to the new girl—” Blaise chuckles.

“I thought so too! But she’s Draco’s type so that I wouldn’t blame him”, Theo added in with a chuckle.

Draco, who rarely blushes, is blushing now. And that’s something his friends notice. He would be good at lying to anyone else, except for his close friends and you.

“Draco, do you have anything to tell us?” Pansy asks with a raised eyebrow.

“You have to keep this as a secret”, Draco says.

ϟ

It feels good that after lunch, you made some friends. You had been sitting and eating with Hermione, Ron, and Harry. They all were very kind to you. They had told you that you could sit whenever you wanted with them.

You are now on your way to your next class. As usual, you’re a bit lost in the corridors.

“Hey, new girl!” you hear someone shout for you. You don’t recognise the voice.

When you turn around you see a girl and a boy walking towards you. You recognise them from sitting with Draco earlier. They must be his friends, you think.

“She does have a name—” the girl says to the boy before she turns to you.

“Hi, y/n!” she says, smiling.

“Hi!” you say, confused and not sure why they approach you.

“We heard about you stole our friend’s little heart”, the boy says and put his arm around your shoulders and starts to guide you to the classroom you’re supposed to be in.

You’re unsure of what to say as you and Draco had decided to keep it a secret.

“Don’t worry y/n, Draco told us during lunch”, the girl says and lightly grabs your arm as you all kept on walking.

“We’re friends of Draco. I’m Pansy, and this is Blaise”, Pansy continues.

“Oh, that’s right. I’ve heard about you”, you say when you realise that Draco had on many occasions brought up his friends in conversations with you. Somehow you felt a bit relaxed and happy that they’re Draco’s friends and know about you.

“Yeah, and he didn’t tell us about you until today—” Blaise sighs over his friend being so enclosed with his life sometimes.

“But don’t worry, we keep your little thing a secret until you’re ready”, Blaise playfully winked.

“Or more likely when Draco is ready not to be so worried about everything. I think you two look cute and can’t wait for you to make it public”, says Pansy before you’re at the entrance of the classroom you’re supposed to be in.

“How did you know, or are you also taking this class?” you ask them both.

“Your boyfriend told us you can get a bit lost. And he also has your schedule. So don’t worry y/n, we got you!” Pansy says as she starts to walk back with Blaise.

“See you around y/n!” Blaise shout.

ϟ

A few weeks later, you’re sitting in the library to study. You see Draco and Theo, and you decide to sit at the table beside them—perfect for you to see him and for Draco to see you.

As you sit down, you see Draco looking at you happily. You smile at him, and Theo looks up to see what Draco is distracted by.

And, of course, it’s by you. Theo is not surprised. He chuckles for himself and turns back his attention to the book—knowing very well that his friend lost his attention entirely to the book they have to study.

You smile as you stare back at him. Draco could stare at you all day as you look like art for his eyes.

But his art is interrupted by someone else. Cedric Diggory takes the seat beside you. Draco’s face switches into an unpleasant expression.

“Hi, y/n!” Cedric says to you as he sits down.

“Oh, hi!” you say, unsure what he wants. You look over quickly at Draco, giving him an uncertain look. You see how he stares at both of you. Cedric notices but doesn’t think more of it.

“What are you doing?” he instead asks you smilingly.

“I’m reading so I can finish up the assignment in Transfiguration. How can I help you?” you ask politely.

All you want is for Cedric to leave so you could go back to stare at your boyfriend.

“I wanted to ask you—” Cedric starts to say and put his hand on yours that is resting on the table.

“If you wanted to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?” he has hope in his eyes—you could see it.

“No, I got plans,” you say and take away your hand and stands up to leave the library. It had made you uncomfortable, and you do have plans with Draco.

Draco would always sneak you into his dorms during the weekends when everyone is out in Hogsmeade. You two would stay there and cuddle while telling how much you love each other.

Without looking back, you walk out of the library. Cedric is still sitting by the table but alone now. He isn’t sure how you had said no right away. Before asking you, he was pretty sure that you would say yes.

Draco heard your conversation and saw how uncomfortable you had become. He isn’t pleased with how Cedric acted.

Without thinking, he stands up and walks towards Cedric. Theo looks up and looks amused to see what his friend is about to do.

“Diggory!” Draco says and takes the seat that you just had been seated at.

“Malfoy”, Cedric says shortly.

“I would appreciate it if you don’t ask my girlfriend out again and don’t put your hand on her. I don’t like it when you make her feel uncomfortable”, Draco says with an annoyed tone.

“Your girlfriend?” Cedric asks, confused.

“Yes, my girlfriend y/n.”

“Your y/n’s boyfriend—” Cedric starts to laugh.

Somehow it sounds nice for Draco to hear him being addressed as your boyfriend—he likes it even if Cedric is laughing.

“Yes, I’m her boyfriend. So please back off!” Draco says with a death stare.

Cedric stops laughing and puts up his hand to show that he got the memo.

ϟ

You and Draco try to hang out as much as possible. It’s not always easy as you still keep your relationship a secret.

Draco would always wait for you after classes and drag you to an abandoned part of the corridor.

“You look so beautiful today. Did you get my letter this morning?” Draco asks as he gives you a soft kiss on the lips.

“Yes, and it made my morning.”

Every morning, Draco would let his owl deliver a handwritten love-letter for you. It always contains sweet words that are just reserved for you.

“Good! I’ve missed you like crazy”, he says and kisses you again.

You chuckle, “You said that yesterday as well”.

“It’s only because I miss you every time I’m not with you”, Draco chuckles.

You stare into his eyes and say, “I miss you too!”

As the break is about to end, you have to make your way to your next class. You say goodbye to Draco and kiss him before running to your next class.

Draco stands there and sees you run off. He smiles and still feels the feeling of your soft lips on his.

“Guess we caught the biggest news in school. What do you think, George?” Draco suddenly hears from behind him. He turns around to see the Weasley twins.

“I think we caught the biggest news, Fred”, George says, pleased.

Draco looks at the twins in panic. They had seen him and you being together and kissing.

“What do you mean?” Draco tries to play dumb, in case they didn’t see.

“You and y/n—”, Fred starts to say.

“Kissing in secret”, George ends the sentence.

Dracos sighs, knowing very well that he can’t make it out with any lies.

“We’re dating, but can you please not tell anyone” Draco begs.

“What do you think, Fred?” George says.

“Fine, but it cost”, Fred says and crosses his arms.

“Exactly what I thought”, George says with a grin and high-five his brother.

Draco sigh, “What do I have to do?”

“Buy some of our products”, the twins say simultaneously.

ϟ

It was Draco’s idea to keep your relationship a secret. But it isn’t going too well. He had told, by now, many people that you two are dating.

His whole quidditch team knows that because he had sneaked off with you before the match for you to give him a good luck kiss.

His captain Marcus had pushed him to tell where he had been, and even if he made up something, Marcus didn’t believe him until he told the captain about you. It ended with Marcus telling the whole team.

Luna had also been too observant of how Draco acts. And then had she asked Draco, after she noted that every time you two passed each other in the corridors, your hands would sneakily brush each other’s.

It was something that Draco likes to do. He would, however, if he could walk down the corridor hand in hand with you.

After Luna asked Draco, he had confessed that you two are dating. Somehow it’s effortless for him to tell everyone that you’re dating. Maybe he’s proud and too in love with you, that makes him say it. It does sound nice when he says it; has he thought of it.

Even the golden trio know that by now. It happened last week when you was send to the hospital wing because you had fallen from the stairs. It was nothing major, but you had to have a check-up to be sure.

When Draco heard that you were in the hospital wing, he ran right away to there. But Hermione, Ron, and Harry were standing in front of the door to the hospital wing.

You have become close friends with Hermione after your first encounter at lunch in Great Hall. But still, she didn’t know about Draco.

“Not now, Malfoy”, had Harry said, stopping Draco from entering as he thought you wanted some privacy.

“Move, Potter!” Draco demanded. He’s worried about you, so he’s even more annoyed than usual with Harry.

“Why do you even have to go in there now?” Hermione sighed.

“Because my girlfriend is injured and inside there. I’ve got to see her”, Draco said with an annoyed tone.

They all looked at him, confused.

“The only one in there is y/n”, Ron said.

“Yes, it’s y/n who’s my girlfriend. Can you all please move aside?!”

As confused as they are, they moved aside for Draco to slam open the door. They stand by the door to see if this could even be true.

“Draco!” you said excited, happy to see him.

“Love, how are you?” he asked with a worried voice as he walked towards you to give a hug.

“Don’t worry. I’m fine. Just a bit clumsy”, you chuckled.

Your three friends stood at the entrance, confused about what they just had witnessed.

ϟ

So when you sit in the Great Hall for breakfast, you feel someone take a seat beside you. The smell of the too-familiar cologne makes you very surprised—Draco is sitting beside you.

“Hi darling!” he says without trying to be quiet.

You look at him, not sure what he’s doing. In the Great Hall would everyone have the best view to see what’s happening between the two of you.

“Draco, what are you doing?” you whispered, in case Draco had forgotten to keep your relationship a secret.

But Draco didn’t care about that now. “I might have already told too many people about you and me—”

Now you’re looking at him even more confused than before.

“And I’m too in love with you to not hang out with you all the time. So can we please make it not a secret anymore? If you’re comfortable with it”, Draco says and takes your hand in his.

“Draco, I never wanted to keep it a secret. So why would I want it now” you say with a smile—not whispering anymore.

Draco leans into a kiss, and you’re for the first time kissing openly at school. Some people are surprised about you two, but the ones who know about this already are cheering.

When you break the kiss, Draco turns around to everyone and proudly and happily says, “This is my girl, my love!

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pirates >>>>

The Devil of the Seas — Prologue

Pirate!Sirius Black x Navy Captain!reader

Word count: 795

Series Masterlist

(y/n) sighed softly, adjusting the jacket of her uniform as she stood outside the throne room. Even after being ten minutes early, she had ended up waiting for over half an hour for the king to let her enter, all the while under the watchful eyes of the two guardsmen positioned on either side of the large wooden doors.

Her gaze flitted around the hallway, landing on the portraits adorning the walls in her pointed efforts to look anywhere except at the two burly men. Detailed portraits of kings and princes, most of them long dead, yet all brought back to life in these works.

She was in the midst of examining the current king's portrait when the heavy doors were thrown open and Lord Snape stormed out of the throne room, face like a thundercloud and nearly knocking her over in his haste. Before she could react to his rudeness, however, the two guards finally shifted from their statue-like positions and gestured for her to enter.

As soon as her foot crossed the threshold, they announced her presence. Loudly.

"Captain (y/n) (y/l/n) of the Royal Navy!" And with that, they closed the doors behind her.

She was exceedingly aware of the sound her boots made as she crossed the distance between the doors and the steps before the thrones, despite the thick red carpet beneath her feet. Head held high, she knew not to look down before she had reached the bottom of those steps, where she bowed deeply. Bowed, for women with her profession did not curtsy.

Not that there were many.

"At your service, sire."

"Ah, captain." The king smiled. "I trust you have been informed about the reason for your summons?"

"Partially. They mentioned a mission, but didn't specify what the task would be."

The king hummed, rising and ambling over to the window. "Tell me, captain, have you ever heard of the man they call the 'Devil of the Seas?'"

"Indeed I have, sire." Aside from following the monarch's movements, (y/n) didn't budge.

"Good. Your assignment is," he paused, turning from the window to look at her, "to capture him. Alive." 

The sudden shock broke through her composure and her eyes widened. "Me? Capture the Black Devil?"

"Indeed. Unless you believe you are not up to the task."

That lit a fire in her. (y/n) (y/l/n) was never one to pass up a challenge, and she certainly did not plan to start now. There was a reason her fellow sailors dubbed her 'Artemis,' she thought to herself, right after reminding herself to get rid of the determined crease in her brow.

"Oh, no, sire, my crew and I are most definitely up for it. Though if I may ask, he has been active for years, nearly a decade, and as far as I am aware, this is the first time you express a desire to send someone after him. What changed, your majesty?"

"What changed? What changed?" His Majesty flew back to the thrones, eyes boring into hers as his voice raised nearly an octave in his agitation. "Do you not recall the day His Highness, the Crown Prince, returned from his journey to the continent? Attacked, robbed by those vicious pirates, they were! Look at him," he cried, waving one arm about wildly, "the poor boy's scarred for life!"

(y/n) snuck a glance at the prince out of the corner of her eye. His Highness sat calmly on his own throne, no longer a boy but a capable young man, preparing to someday take over the kingdom. He glanced up from the documents he was studying to see the scene unfolding before him, with a neutral expression that only showed how unperturbed he was by the whole event. Naturally, he must have gotten used to his father's eccentricities by now. His eyes met hers for a brief second before he returned his attention to his papers and she returned hers to the king.

"I… see, sire. And you wish for him to be brought back here?"

"Naturally, captain. Where else?" The king's features now wore a pleasant smile, and she made a mental note not to forget again how quickly and how easily the moods of royals could change.

"Understood, my liege. Is there anything else?"

"Only that you are to begin preparations at once. That will be all, captain. You are dismissed."

(y/n) made another low bow, and with a murmur of 'your Majesty,' she marched out of the throne room.

As soon as the doors clicked shut behind her, the confident smirk she had been suppressing spread across her face.

It was time to catch the most elusive pirate sailing the seven seas.