Summary: You help Jon with an injury, plus you're a girl in the Night's Watch passing yourself off as a boy.
Warnings: femreader!,mention of injuries, burns. This is something along the lines of romantic slow burn,mention of other characters.
Author's note: Like I said before, this is about the book version of Jon Snow. English isn't my first language!
Word count:2.657.
The soft knocks on the door of Maester Aemon's chambers made you startle slightly. You had been focused on reading some books and tidying things up here and there. The knock was gentle, hesitant, slowâthe kind you make when you're not sure about doing something.
You approached the door, opening it just enough to poke your head out and see who was knocking.
"Jon?." You said in a low voice, a little surprised to see who was behind the knock. "Maester Aemon isn't here. He's in a meeting with the Old Bear." You said this while opening the door, stepping aside to let him in.
Behind him came Ghost, entering along with his owner. The wolf looked at you for a moment, but then continued on his way.
"I know." Jon said, entering the room with a certain reluctance, but with his same melancholy and reserved demeanor as always. "I just came from there." His voice was soft, almost a whisper.
You realized he was stating the obvious: Jon is the Lord Commander Mormont's right-hand man, his steward in every sense of the word. It was expected that he would always know what the Old Bear was doing or not doing, who he was with or wasn't with. Something you always forgot, for some reason.
"I just thought maybe you could help me⌠with this," Jon said, raising his right hand, completely bandaged.
Days earlier, Jon had fought one of those things they called "the others." Everyone at Castle Black was talking about it, which is how you found out. They talked about how the corpses they found in the woods while taking their vows rose in the middle of the night; that if it hadn't been for the Snow boy, the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch wouldn't have survived. They told how the boy fought the white walker with his sword, finishing him off by throwing an oil lamp at him, but injuring his hand when the glass broke and burned it.
"Maester Aemon said I had to change the old bandages for new ones," he finished speaking.
You saw him standing there, uncomfortable in the middle of the room, not knowing what to do or where to go.
"Oh⌠of course," you murmured, moving toward the small shelf where the old maester had shown you he kept things for the injured.
You had trouble finding it. There were many jars, many things. Despite having been in the maester's service for a couple of weeks now, you were still confused by everything. Everything was new, everything was complicated, especially for a simple girl who just wanted to run away to save herself.
You cut your hair, changed your name, bound your chest with whatever you could, and decided to join the Night's Watch. It was dangerousâsomething a poor girl had tried many years before and died a completely horrible death.
You knew it.
You knew all those stories, but it was that: take a risk without knowing what would happen, or not survive.
And you did it.
It wasn't difficult at all, really. Passing yourself off as a boy was the easiest part, made even easier by the fact that no one at the Wall seemed to realize you were a girl. Everyone thought you were just another weak, small boy from one of those starving villages.
And it became even easier when you were assigned to serve the maester of Castle Black: you'd feed the ravens, look for books, maps, and other normal things. You didn't have to worry about training or ranging with the other brothers of the watch. You didn't have to worry about someone discovering you.
But someone did discover you. You realized it the moment you saw his gray eyes looking at you several times one night while you dined in the great hall. You saw how his eyes examined you, watched you cautiously, how every time you made a move he frowned slightly.
And you confirmed it the moment you went outside, into the freezing cold of the Wall.
"You're a girl⌠aren't you?" âyou heard a voice, soft and low, as if he still didn't believe it.
Jon at first only thought it, suspected it when he saw you in the yard training with the others, how you held the sword with your hands in a very delicate way. He thought it the moment you reminded him of his little sister Arya. He suspected it when he saw your face and noticed your features were too delicate for just another boy. He thought: "Either he's a girl or he just very pretty."
But until that night they were just simple suspicions. Jon tried to convince himself he was just imagining things.
Until that night you confirmed it for him. You told him everything: the how and the why, and that it was the only option you had. You saw him standing beside you, listening. You saw the confusion on his face, but you also saw how, at a certain point, he seemed to understand you.
You didn't speak anymore. You didn't ask him what he was going to do with the new information he knew about you. Resigned to what would happen, you just went to your quarters on the Wall, without saying anything else, thinking that maybe it was all over for you.
But it wasn't.
The next day, everything continued as usual. At breakfast in the great hall, Jon approached you and sat beside you."I'm not going to tell anyone⌠but be more careful. This is dangerous for you," he said, with his usual reserved and cold demeanor.
As if nothing had happened, he gave you a slight smile, almost imperceptible, and left.
But Jon did do something: he began to worry about you.
He worried every time he saw the horrible treatment of the men training in the yards, how aggressive the training could be for someone who had never touched a sword in their life.
And he worried that someone else might realize you were a girl, the way he had.
He also thought about when they would assign roles. The boys of the Wall were divided into rangers, builders, and stewards, and he acted. Jon spoke with Maester Aemon, asking him to accept you into his service. He told him that the Night's Watch also needs different kinds of mens,different guys, that he had seen you and noticed you knew how to write, read, and do sums. And Maester Aemon, after thinking it over, accepted you the next day.
You shook your head to snap out of your thoughts and focus on the real task at hand: finding the damned bandages.You found them in a small pot. They were long enough to bandage his entire hand.You turned to him with a satisfied look, proud of yourself for finding the bandages.
Jon was still standing in the room doing nothing, just looking at the floor, as if it were the most interesting thing on the entire Wall.
"You can sit there, Jon," you said, pointing to the bench in the room.
You saw the boy sit down, and the direwolf did the same, sitting beside him on the bench, as if the wolf owned the whole room."Get down from there, Ghost," Jon scolded the wolf, gently pushing him on the back. "He's a bit overconfident," Jon said, as you sat on the bench next to him.
You laughed a little, quietly. Seeing that was a bit funny and, to some extent, tender.
You took his hand in yours and slowly, delicately, began to undo the old bandages.
The silence, at first, was uncomfortable.
You could hear your own breathing and the slight rustle of the bandages as they unrolled.
Jon said nothing. He just watched your fingers moving with a gentleness he hadn't expected in someone pretending to be a boy.
Ghost, for his part, had rested his enormous snout on the boy's knees, but his red eyes never left you. He stared at you from where he'd rested his head, his eyes red as embers. He didn't blink. He just watched, as if he knew exactly who you were and was waiting for you to make a mistake.
The last layer of bandage came off and you saw the burn. The skin was reddened, shiny from the ointment Maester Aemon had applied days before, but it looked clean. No infection.
You breathed a sigh of relief without knowing why.
"I've never been burned before," Jon said suddenly, breaking the silence. "It doesn't hurt as much anymore," he murmured.His voice was so low it seemed like he was talking more to himself than to you. "Aemon says I'll regain mobility in a few days."
"Thank goodness," you replied, picking up a jar of new ointment. "You'll need it. For the sword."
"And for many other things," he said.
The ointment was cold. You spread it on the palm of your hand to warm it a little, just as Maester Aemon had taught you, and applied it carefully over the burn, noticing how Jon's fingers tensed slightly. Not just from pain, although a little. But because your touch was⌠different. Intimate. Something he wasn't used to receiving.
"Does this hurt?" you asked, though you already knew the answer.
"A little," he lied.
You saw it in the way his jaw tightened when you grazed the edge of the wound with your fingertip, almost unintentionally.
Jon Snow wasn't one to complain, or at least not out loud (though you suspected that in his head he did, and a lot). You had learned that in the few weeks you'd been at Castle Black: he endured the cold without shivering, hunger without complaining, blows in the training yard without falling.
But that little gesture, that minimal tension in his face, told you the truth."You're bad at lying," you said softly.
He let out an exhale that could have been a laugh."Never was good at it."
You remained silent as you continued spreading the ointment over his burns.
"You have soft hands," he spoke again suddenly, and his tone was so neutral it almost seemed like an ordinary comment. But it wasn't. Not coming from him. "For a boy, I mean," he added quickly, as if he'd just remembered he had to maintain the fiction.
You smiled to yourself. But you didn't look up.
"Boys' hands can be soft if they don't spend all day swinging a sword," you said.
"Yours don't have calluses."
"Yours do," you replied.
It was true. As you spread the ointment, you could feel the hardness in Jon's palm, the calluses at the base of his fingers, the rough skin of someone who'd spent years wielding steel. Your hands looked different from his, and suddenly you were very aware of how easy it would be for him to notice the difference.
But Jon didn't say anything more about that.
You finished with the ointment and wiped your fingers with a cloth.
Ghost, who had sat up slightly, came to your side, sniffing the air near your free hand, and then, without warning, licked your fingers with his rough, warm tongue.
"Ghost," Jon scolded, but the wolf ignored him and licked you again. "Here. With me," he said, trying to call his wolf back to him so he'd stop bothering you.
You laughed quietly, and that small sound seemed to break the ice completely. The silence was no longer uncomfortable. Now it was a shared silence, almost intimate, the kind where you don't need to talk to feel accompanied.
"Where are you from?" Jon asked, and his voice sounded different. Softer. Less forced. "Really, I mean. Not the story you gave when you joined."
Your fingers stopped on his hand for a second. Then they continued, putting on the new bandage.
"From a small town in the south," you answered, choosing your words carefully. "Near the Riverlands. My father was⌠he was a man of letters. He wrote letters for those who couldn't. Kept accounts."
"Did he teach you? To read and write?" he asked.
You nodded.
"He said it was the one thing no one could ever take from me. Even if I lost everything else, I could always read," you said.
Jon nodded slowly, as if those words made sense to him.
"My father⌠Lord Stark," he said, and there was a small pause, a beat of pain in that correction. "He said something similar. That the sword defends you, but your mind keeps you alive. He made all his children learn. Even Arya, who hated sitting still."
"Arya is your sister, isn't she?" you asked.
Jon's jaw tensed slightly. But he didn't look away."Half-sister," he corrected, and though his voice remained steady, you noticed something in his eyes. Something you couldn't name. "But yes. She was⌠she's the one who looks most like me. In appearance, I mean. And in that neither of us ever quite fit in."
"Do you miss her?" you asked.
Jon took a long time to answer. So long you thought he wouldn't.
"Every day," he said finally, and his voice was so low it almost got lost in the crackle of the distant hearth fire."Sometimes I dream I'm back at Winterfell and everything is the same. That Bran is climbing the walls, that Robb and I are fighting with wooden swords, that Sansa is complaining about something, that Rickon is running after us⌠and Arya. Arya is always there, being a nuisance." He paused."And then I wake up and I'm here."
You didn't know what to say. There were no words that could comfort something like that. So you did the only thing that came to mind: you finished bandaging his hand with clean strips, tightening just enough. When you let go of his hand, Jon didn't pull it away immediately. It stayed there, on your lap, as if waiting for something more.
And you also left your fingers resting on the white bandage a second longer than necessary.
Jon looked at you.
His gray eyes were like the sky before a storm. He wasn't smiling, but he didn't look sad either. He was just looking at you, as if trying to read something on your face that he couldn't quite figure out.
"And you?" he asked, turning the question back on you. "Do you miss anyone?".
Your fingers finally withdrew."No one," you answered, and it was almost true. "That's why I'm here."
Jon didn't press. He just nodded, as if he understood more than you were willing to say.
Ghost, who had been watching the entire conversation in silence, rested his head on your knee. The weight was warm, comforting. You stroked his head softly.For a moment, in that cold stone room, you felt a little less alone.
Jon stood up, raising his freshly bandaged hand."Thank you," he said, and it was one of those words that seemed small but carried great weight.
He stood looking at you for another moment, as if he wanted to say something more but couldn't find the words. Finally, he just nodded once and headed for the door. Ghost followed him, but before leaving, the wolf turned his head back toward you and looked at you for a long second.
As if he recognized you.
As if he knew.
And then the door closed, and you were left alone with the smell of herbs, the warmth of his hands in yours, and the certainty that Jon Snow was not only keeping your secret.
He was also watching you.
But not as a threat.
As something he didn't want to lose.
Hope you like it!
I've spent a long time looking for book Jon content â I love his book version â but I can't find anything, so I decided to do it myself.
I know book Jon wouldn't talk that much but oh well, it's a fic.
i am new written fics
Requests are open, in case you want to ask for anything with any asoiaf character!
.
Please can an I ask for A3 + B4 for Enola!Sherlock Holmes? Thank you!
Summary: Enola has had a hunch of her brother having a crush on his assistant, and she just might be right.
Prompt: A3. âBe quiet, theyâll hear us!â + B4. âI might be having feelings for you, Iâve had them for a while.â âYeah right.â âIâm serious.â (I modified B4 a little to fit better)
SECRETS AND CONFESSIONS
Ever since you became Sherlock Holmesâs assistant, there had been a certain spark between you two. But you knew Sherlock, he had nearly advertised how heâs not one to have romantic relationships â that his work would make his partners be in danger anyway.
So you decided not to confront him. Ignore the smiles, the graze of your hands, the looks you thought he gave you. You tried to convince yourself the smiles and looks were an illusion, maybe a trick of light. Or then your hopeless romantic heart just imagined him softening up in a way you dreamed him to think about you.
But what you didnât know, was that Enola had noticed the spark between you too. And she had embraced her nosy Holmes nature and kept a look out for you, peeking through the crack of the door, listening through the wall, sometimes even tricking you in a situation where youâd be close.
She had decided his brother needed a little love in his life, and sheâd do everything she could to make that happen. Which was how Enola and Tewkesbury found themselves crouched behind the half-open door to the drawing room, trying to peer inside without being too obvious.
You were arranging the files, while Sherlock stood across from you, inspecting the papers you were yet to organise. You had both been quiet for a long while, which made Enola smirk.
"Something's about to happen," Enola whispered.
Tewkesbury leaned closer to her. "How can you possibly know thatâ"
"Be quiet, they'll hear us!"
Sherlock had turned to look out of the window by the time Enola turned her eyes back to him, his hands clasped behind his back as he watched some birds flying past the window with grass and pieces of cloth in their beaks â a nest was being built nearby.
"There's something I've been meaning to tell you," he then said.
You glanced up at him. "If it's about the files about Mr. Bradshaw, I heard thereâs been a shift in the investigation, Iâve already reorganised them so you can continue from where you left it."
"It isn't about the files." He turned, walking over to you. He seemed to struggle with his words for a second, but then, âI⌠I believe I have feelings for you.â
You blinked, your eyes widening slightly. ââŚWhat?â
He nodded. âIâve had them for a while.â
You stared at him a moment longer, before scoffing. âVery funny, Mr. Holmes.â
He sighed. âIâm not trying to be funny. Iâm very serious about my feelings.â
âMr. Holmesââ
He interrupted you. "I'm aware of what I said. Or what I've implied, over the years. I'm aware it probably reads as contradiction."
You swallowed. âYou said romantic relationships would be a danger to whoever youâd care about.â
He nodded, looking at your hands for a moment before carefully taking them to his. âThey still are. I havenât worked that part out yet.â
Enola was grinning now. âI knew it,â she whispered to Tewkesbury.
Sherlock sighed, turning his face towards the door slightly. "Enola. I know you're there."
A beat of silence, before two pairs of brisk steps scrambled away from the door. You grinned, looking down for a moment.
âNow, where were we?â Sherlock asked, smiling softly at you.
You laughed. âI believe you were announcing your love for me, Mr. Holmes.â
His smile widened into a grin, something you had never before seen him do â and that was when you truly knew your relationship would turn into a beautiful one.
---
Tags: ask to be added to this character's taglist!
Requests for Enola Holmes are open until 8th of July 2026. If you wish to request, please read my rules first. Requests are NOT open for any other fandoms, only Enola Holmes.
summary: in which youâre injured and the lads boys find out about it (kinda).
ft. xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus, caleb & valko
notes: suggestive content so MDNI / NSFW, xavierâs a little evil, zayneâs a little silly, rafayel is losing it, sylus is #upset, caleb is caleb, valko is a little dumb but he has the spirit! fem reader (!!!), minor suggestive comments and allusions to violence (is anyone surprised) thatâs it (i think).
p.s. first time doing valko i like him as a loser do we also like him or should i delete my account just lmk!
a/n: GULP i rlly hope you guys like this it was fun to make so I Enjoy it but itâd also be lovely if you did too okokâŚvalko my silly nerdâŚty for reading (- -)(_ _)
Valko had grown up being told that when he'd meet his mate, he'd know. He would stay up so many nights, asking his mom to tell the story of how she met his dad, how she knew that his dad was the one. No matter how many times he'd hear the story, he'd never get tired.
Maybe that was why he believed in love stories. Because how could he not? His parents' was the love story for the ages.
However, seeing how old he was now, he was starting to lose hope.
He had travelled the world, met countless people, and never once had he ever met someone that made him pause. That stole his breath, that made his wolf go wild, that pulled him as if they were meant for him.
Sure, there had been relationships, good fucks- some were genuinely nice women. One relationship had even lasted two years because it was so comfortable. But that was all it was. Comfortable. No one ever captured his heart. No one ever made his soul burn. No one ever made his wolf yearn for them.
Not the way his mother had always told that she did for his father.
So he told himself that love could wait. It would have to wait. He just focused more and more on the company. On his career. On everything other than what he wanted to seek out.
Even now, he was sitting at his desk, overseeing some papers when his assistant knocked.
"Sir?" He popped his head in the office. "We have a bit of a situation downstairs."
"What now, Simon?" Valko sighed and looked up.
"Uh.. there's a woman downstairs. In the lobby. Won't leave until she sees you." Simon explained.
"So? Call security or whatever-" Valko waved him away.
"That's the problem part." Simon swallowed. "She's not doing anything. She's just sitting there. Says that she needs 5 minutes only. Says that she'll wait."
"Wait?" Valko's brows furrowed and Simon nodded. He inhaled deeply and paused. "I'll handle it." Valko said slowly and then took another deep breath.
There were the usual smells. Office cedar, air fresheners, stale coffee, and something new. Different. Sweeter.
Valko closed his laptop and took out his nasal blockers. He usually wore them so his sense of smell wouldn't constantly be assaulting and distracting him. He took another deep breath and suddenly felt his wolf pawing at the back of his throat.
That was new. His wolf never did that. Had never done that.
He walked out of his office and the smell grew stronger. He followed it all the way down to the lobby and there you were. His heart stuttered, his wolf practically tried to claw out of his chest. He had to put his nasal blocker back in so to not lose control and show the whole building his tail.
"I heard you were looking for me." He said smoothly with a smile, offering his hand.
"Mr Ao! Hello!" You smiled brightly and his knees almost buckled. "I'm so sorry for showing up like this but I called and no appointments were available until next month and-"
He wasn't listening. He couldn't. You were shaking his hand and that's all that mattered. All this time he'd spent looking- Somehow you'd come to him. Just shown up out of thin air.
"But anyway- I found a backdoor vulnerability in your new healthcare app-" You pulled away from his hand and he almost reached out to grab you again. You didn't notice that. You were too busy opening your laptop to show him what you'd found. "I have a small cyber security start up." You explained. "And I thought that if I'd emailed you about this, it might look like a scam or something -"
You were still talking but all Valko was doing was looking at you. Your hair, your eyes, your smile, the way your mouth moved as you spoke, your hands as they glided over the keys on your laptop. Whereas his wolf was purring because he was just near you. A soft chant churning in his head. Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate.
"See?" You smiled, showing him your laptop screen. "That could lead to potential data leaks." Valko nodded. He had heard absolutely nothing you'd said. "Whoever built the authentication layer probably forgot to tie up the loose ends- It's nothing catastrophic. Yet." You turned to him and he was just... There. Without a single working braincell.
"Right... Can you show me the code again please?" He tried to piece together what you'd said.
You nodded and put your laptop on the receptionist's desk. Valko moved closer to look at your laptop over your shoulder and definitely not to smell you.
The nasal blocker was there but this close, he could still smell you. Like pine after rain. Like a warm beach day. Like midnight after a thick snow. Everything was so crisp and you were showing him a code that looked like hieroglyphics at the moment.
"Mr Ao?" You asked, unsure if he was even listening.
"I'm sorry." He gave an easy smile to cover up the torment inside him. "I'm a little distracted. Work and all-" He lied. Oh god I just lied to my mate what would mother say? He cleared his throat. "If you could give me your number, perhaps we can arrange a proper sit down and discuss this?" And then afterwards I'll throw you over my shoulder and we'll disappear for at least a month.
You smiled again and his wolf preened. You were smiling at him. For him.
"Of course." You handed him your business card.
"I'll take very good care of this." And you. Oh god I'll take such good care of you. He slipped the business card into his pocket.
You nodded, "Well.. um- I should go- I'm sorry for causing a scene and-"
Cause as many scenes as you want. Anything you want. His brain was burning up. This was everything and more than what his mother had told him would feel like.
"Thank you." He breathed out as you put your laptop on your bag. "For finding this." And me. Thank you for finding me. "We would have landed in a lot of trouble and lawsuits if you hadn't."
"It's really no problem. You're doing good work. I didn't want it to stop just because someone made a mistake." You assured him. "Thank you again for your time, Mr Ao."
"Valko. Please, call me Valko." He said softly. You'll be saying it for the rest of life, soon enough.
"Valko." You repeated and his wolf purred in his chest.
He shook your hand again, his other hand coming to cover yours completely. "I hope to see you again soon." And then never let you go.
A bet is classic. What could be more fun than targeting a sweet girl and making her fall in love with the reputable campus fuckboy? Surely he wouldnât fall in love with you.
fratboy!gojo x f!reader
notes: I have seen sooooo many ideas and tiktoks about the trope of reader being a bet & it always hurts so good! wanted to try it out and ofc it had to be with fratboy gojo >:)))
warnings: angst obvi hehehe, drinking, cursing, reader is super sweet and a bet obvi, no comfort or happy ending (yet? who knows), mentions of vomiting but doesnât, mentions of blood, reader is never someoneâs first choice:(( ummmm, gojo is an asshole ofc
Credit to @uzmacchiato for the divider!!
Satoru knew he should've said no in the beginning, knew it wasn't worth it just to impress his friends- his stupid frat brothers who never took anything seriously. Never thought about the consequences of their actions.
Buuut the idea of the bet was just too good to turn down.
The effort, the build up, the dedication- it would all come together so perfectly, especially with you as the main star. With you being you, you were doomed from the start before the bet could even fully take shape.
Sweet little you. Shouldn't you have known better?
Going around, shamelessly wearing your heart on your sleeve, always spreading kindness on the darkest of days, looking and talking to people as if they genuinely mattered- and maybe to you, they actually did, even when they couldn't have cared less about returning the favor. Not that you ever expected anything in return.
And most importantly of it all? You were so understanding. Far too understanding for your own good. The debilitating type that had rooted itself early on as some sort of lousy defense mechanism and eventually morphed into something self destructive. Had you subconsciously constructing and molding subpar excuses to justify someone's behavior, especially when it was directed towards you.
Always being an overly empathetic thing, so willing to sacrifice and minimize your own feelings when it came to others, always softening their blow.
Were you desperate or something to get people to stay? So desperate that you had unintentionally turned yourself into a doormat that people could stomp all over?
Anybody could've told you that it was idiotic to try and see everyone at face value, to so naively believe the words people told you. But you could've argued the opposite.
It wasn't naivety. It was you, sweet and trusting you, determined to not let your past heartbreak change the way you viewed others, to not let it bias you, scare you, or haunt you. Despite having been constantly hurt, you refused to allow your past experiences make you question and doubt every. single. new. relationship.
Always trying to see the good in people.
It would have turned out great, perfectly actually. You had played your part with flying colors, just as expected, putting on the most spectacular, albeit unknown, performance. And Satoru? Well.
Things would have turned out great.
If he hadn't started falling in love with you.
But the show must go on.
âH-Hey, Satoru! Wait-wait a sec!â The words spilled from your lips in an unintentional desperate plea, the halls fully swarmed and packed with students squeezing past one another. Dozens of conversations mulled around you, voices mindlessly buzzing and bouncing off the walls as you paced towards the white haired man.
Satoru had been anything but clear as of recently, a new push pull dynamic heâd adopted that had you more confused and thrown off than ever. You thought you were going crazy.
One night he was taking you out, looking at you like you were his dream girl who hung the moon in his sky, and the next he was treating you like some clingy puppy that he had never even asked for in the first place. The hot and coldness of it all had given you whiplash trying to keep up with him.
But of course, of couuurrrse, you believed him when he said it was stress. That finals and exams had him so busy, but of course he liked you! He was just new at this whole communication thing and needed time but please Y/N, I like you so much please im trying.
You believed it all.
After all, why would you not? Especially when Satoru was Satoru and you were you.
Sure, you knew you could be a lot, knew you could have more than afforded to shut up every now and then and not chimed in with your over the top unnecessary eager commentary, but regardless, the point still stood. Satrou Gojo, one of the hottest most pined after frat boys on campus that everyone treated like a myth, like an untouchable legend, talked to you, was nice to you, even took you out and seemed happy to do so.
Maybe for once, the rumors could have been just rumors!
Plus, the last few times you remembered being taken out was high school, and they never showed you much interest past the first date once they learned they couldn't get in your pants. Gojo hadn't even tried!
âSorry-excuse me,âcuse me, sorr- oops, my bad, imsosorry- Satoru!â
He'd been oddly silent the past few days, completely unresponsive to your texts. But with finals coming up, surely he must've been cramming and just far too busy to respond.
He hadn't sat next to you like usual in lecture, but he showed up late, so maybe he didn't want to bother you?
But he didn't wait for you after either, gone before you could even leave your seat. You couldn't deny how it stung, but always chalked it up to him being too busy or in a rush.
You could visibly see his shoulders tense from behind, the slight tilt of his head as it hung forward in what you could only assume was annoyance, a brief mental preparation to deal with you. A pang bloomed in your chest, unease pulsing through you.
He slowed down just enough for you to catch up, but didn't stop. Slightly out of breath, you fell into step next to him, cheeks flushing and heat creeping up your neck from his clear uneagerness to see or talk to you. You nervously swallowed. He could be intimidating when he wanted to be.
He didn't greet you, didn't look at you, just waited for you to speak.
You awkwardly cleared your throat to speak, a small and meek âhi,â being the only word to squeeze out.
âIâve got class.â Short, quick, dismissive.
His blunt uninterested response sent doubt pummeling through you, the gifts in your pocket weighing heavier and heavier with the possibility of rejection more realistic than you initially thought.
He would draw you in, perfect words to butter you up and make you feel foolish for ever questioning him, and then he'd get like this. Not mean per se, but just so uninterested in you that you wondered if you had made it all up. You weren't dating (yet? So you were hoping) but he had kissed you on the most recent date. Didn't that mean something?
You'd been so ecstatic afterwards, but with no solid friends on campus, you had no one to tell or squeal to. You carried everything alone, both good and bad. Gojo knew that, the whole frat knew that. It's what made you the perfect choice.
âR-right, yeah! Um- can you stop just for a second- i wanted to-â and he loudly sighed, piercing blue eyes rolling into his head as he stopped to turn to you. He didn't say anything, just stared expectantly at you like you were completely wasting his time. His gaze on you was irritated.
The eye contact had you jittery. Not the usual nerves you'd get when you turned your head just to find him already looking at you, so anxious youâd somehow mess things up with the hottest guy ever, so desperate to be good enough for him. No. It was the on edge, antsy type that had you replaying every dumb thing you've ever said to him, the doubt pooling at the very bottom of your stomach that felt like a heavy black tar. It felt like a test you knew youâd fail when you had studied so hard to do good. You just wanted him to like you the way you liked him, and god, did you fucking like him.
Don't fuck this up, y/n, this is the best thing that has ever happened to you.
Nervously swallowing and cheeks blazing, you gave an uneasy awkward smile before rummaging through your tote bag and pocket, muttering a tiny but sincere âsorry,â when his foot started to impatiently tap against the floor.
A small pit formed in your stomach, feeling slightly mortified and very embarrassed. The feeling was similar to a child showing off their very mediocre work to an overly critical parent.
âSorry,â you huffed a fake laugh, pulling out the small container from your bag and the keychain from your pocket.
âI-um, I made these for you, since you know, you said you loved cookies, uh on the date, they're um your favorite..â and your words trailed off as you held out the tin, slowly beginning to feel smaller and smaller as he kept his hands by his side, no show of trying to take it from you. A small sticky note on the top read, âHope you like them! :D <3â
âOh! A-and, hah, I saw this and, and I thought of you, especially since you said you really, um, really liked that show.â nothing. âJ-Just as a um, thank you, for the other night. W-Was a lot, o-of fun.â
You held both hands out, praying he didn't see the slight tremble of your clammy hands holding the items as you stood there feeling like an idiot. The thumping of your heart picked up, eyes looking anywhere but at him, bowing your head just slightly so you wouldn't have to see him look so repulsed by you.
Had you somehow misread everything? Like actually? This entire interaction felt like some humiliation ritual.
âUm, if, if you want, o-of course, no.. no pressure,â You pathetically added, already trying to lessen his blow, already trying to minimize and justify his cold reaction towards you.
He let out a small snicker, hands finally coming up to grab the items from your unsteady hands. You hid the sigh of relief that you wanted to let out, so easy to please and already feeling happy again that he accepted your gifts, as if it was a nuisance for him to do so.
âWow, thanks. You do too much,â he dully noted, a small closed lip smile gracing his pretty features before he turned on his feet to continue his trek to class.
The comment made you freeze, staring at the spot he stood in, a âthank you?â not even having the chance to leave your tongue. You didn't think he said it with mal intent, but the words âtoo muchâ always seemed to find its way back to you.
âOh wait!â Gojo's voice broke you from your thoughts, and you immediately turned to face him, eyes wide and excited like a dog hearing the word âwalk.â Maybe he'd talk to you some more, or want you to walk with him! Or maybe-
âParty this Friday night at the house. You should come by, all my friends will be there.â The words made you deflate. A party⌠at his frat house⌠the idea made your stomach twist with nerves. You knew no one, had no friends to go with, and you were absolutely horrified of embarrassing yourself around him- even more- than what you felt like you had already done.
âOh! Um, haha, I don't think your friends like me- um- very much, haha,â you stated, hand coming up to push your fallen hair behind your ear, a small wince on your face as to not make it a big deal.
His friends, and Gojo at first too, had been relatively mean to you starting off, relentless teasing about your looks, your interests, hobbies, lack of knowledge you had despite trying so hard. You had been so caught off guard when he told you he liked you.
âPsh, they're just playing! See you at 10pm,â he yelled back, already walking away, arm coming up to carelessly wave. You sighed to yourself. You knew you would go. You really wanted to see gojo.
Friday night was a mess. A good mess at first, at least. Cars parked up and down the street, people packed in like sardines in and outside the house, music so loud all the neighboring dorms and frats could hear, and god did it reek like sweat and musk.
The two shots - okay maybe three - you took right before for liquid courage seemed to do the exact opposite as you maneuvered around a couple making out, small âexcuse meâsâ falling from your lips every second in a measly attempt to find gojo.
The small revealing outfit you had on, at least, seemed to match the vibe, relieved when you saw girls wearing far less. The only con was that your favorite knee high boots would most definitely get stepped on, but at least you were taller now as you searched for the stark white tufts of hair.
The house thrummed from the vibration of the speakers, bass so heavy your teeth rattled. It was dark, the only light illuminating the rooms were colorful shades of blues, purples, reds, and greens shining and flashing everywhere. The party felt like everything you weren't, but for a split second you were almost proud of yourself, going so far out of your comfort zone it felt like you were on a whole other planet. You imagined how fun these parties could be if you had any friends, and before you could let the thought get you down, you let your tipsy self imagine what it would be like to experience these with gojo by your side, excited that you were about to.
Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was packed. Unable to find Gojo had you seeking out another drink and the multitude of bottles of liquor that covered the surfaces were calling your name. You felt confident, wanting another drink to keep your courage and vibes up, grabbing a red solo cup and creating a concoction that would be far too strong, but you were here to let loose right? You were at a party!
Further encouraged and emboldened when a girl passing by stopped to compliment you, you smiled to yourself, feeling the tension roll off your back and a new found self-assurance bloom within you.
Bodies flowed and worked around you, not shoving into you or looking at you like you didn't belong, but moved in rhythm near you, like you had every right to be there and fit just fine. You relaxed into the music, earlier shots of vodka giving you a nice buzz that warmed your skin, made your cheeks tingle, and more importantly a soft happiness that weighed in your chest that comforted you like a safety blanket. Pouring the liquor into the cup with a mixer that admittedly was way too little, you knocked over a different cup, relieved there was barely any liquid that spilled over.
Quietly giggling to yourself, you spun to grab a roll of paper towels, quickly drying up the small mess you made, already sipping on your drink that made you wince in disgust. It was perfect. You hummed along to the music, hips swaying while lights blinded you, walking over to the metal garbage can to toss the wet material. Looking inside, you couldn't help but notice the tupperware that looked exactly like yours.
Furrowing your eyebrows, you leaned in a little closer, tiny fractures cutting into your heart as you realized it was yours, still packed to the brim with your cookies, sticky note still stuck to the top. Next to the cookies, the keychain you had bought him.
You froze, just a moment before scooting back, not wanting to get caught staring into the trashcan as you processed everything. There was a dull ache in your chest, energy immediately depleting and inklings of shame and embarrassment circulating through you. Your mind worked through the different possibilities, seeking out any excuse or reason as to why your items now lay forgotten in the trash.
You felt the build up of tears, blinking them back with a shaky breath as you chugged your mixture that was mainly liquor, a hopeless attempt at suppressing the sadness you felt. You shivered, turning your head to gag at the disgusting taste. Surely all the alcohol would calm your nerves.
Maybe one of the guys had done it? And not Gojo? You were positive this was all some sort of misunderstanding, no way he would just do that right? He told you he liked you- it wouldn't make any sense.
You began your trek around the sea of people, legs a little more unsteady now, eyes slightly glassy, contents of your stomach filled with a majority of alcohol and barely any food from your earlier nerves. All you wanted to do was find him, figure out an explanation that you were positive you'd be more than willing to accept, and spend the rest of the night by his side having a good time. The cookies weren't hard to bake and it's not like the keychain cost that much- it was fine, you were fine.
A little more intense this time, you made your way through the frat house, a sigh of relief when a glimpse of that notorious white fluffy hair came into view, a black backwards baseball cap sitting perfectly on his head. When your eyes finally landed on gojo, albeit still a little wobbly and throat tight, you couldn't help the smile that automatically formed on your face, hoping he'd feel the same. Why wouldn't he? He did invite you after all.
He was surrounded by his friends and then some, everyone dialed in on what he was saying. You anxiously stepped forward, waiting for the right time to get close to him and say hello. You wondered if he'd hug you and say âhi baby,â like he sometimes did. The thought made your heart flutter inside its ribs like a bird in a cage.
Maybe he'd even compliment your outfit, or your hair and makeup. You eagerly bit your lip, too excited to be embarrassed at your spiraling thoughts of being somewhat wanted by him.
âBro and then she gave me a fuck ass keychain, dude!!â he broke up his commentary with a laugh, a little too forced for it to be genuine, but a laugh nonetheless. âSaid it reminded her of me, like, she just can't get any weirder bro. God and don't get me started on the cookies. She said it was her thanks for taking her out, but she doesnt know its all a bet to get into her pants- shes a fucking virgin for sureeee, threw that shit out as soon as i got back,â and he snickered and grinned like he had won the best prize. Like he had formed the best, most elaborate plan and you had played your part perfectly. You really, really had.
His friends, who you recognized as toji and maybe sukuna, chuckled, all chiming in with terms of agreement and encouragement, adding on all sorts of lies and theories about you, like maybe you were secretly a whore putting out, your innocent act a devious little facade. Geto, who had always been kind to you, was there too, perched against the side of a couch, not joining in, but silent and accepting.
You flinched, physically recoiling back when you heard them laugh about how you were too much, too pathetic to see right through anything at all, a fucking stupid girl for thinking someone like you could have a chance at him. Everything you had told yourself, every insecurity that had coursed through you, all confirmed. Others really did view you the way you saw yourself.
âBro and when I kissed her, swear i almost gagged-â
You drowned his voice out, the music. There was a ringing in your ears that wasn't there before. Frozen in your spot, fingers beginning to shake, throat burning so badly you weren't sure if the alcohol you had downed was about to make a surprise appearance or not.
The bodies around you blurred as the pit in your stomach grew, humiliation washing over you as if youâd just been doused with a bucket full of ice water. You didn't run, couldn't, feet glued to the floor as you were forced to listen to the group of the hottest guys on campus who didn't even know you as a person, didn't take the time to learn you, ridicule you and make fun of you. You guessed it didn't matter, because Gojo had.
Each breath was labored and jagged, chest tightening and skin prickling with such an intense heat that you felt constricted in the already sparse clothes you wore. The way the fabric dug into you, a certain stitch that scratched you, the zipper that rubbed against your skin - it felt like you were suddenly aware of every unpleasant feeling in addition to the shattering of your heart.
You wanted to go home, wanted the floor to swallow you whole- felt so unbelievably silly standing there watching the guy you liked- fuck, the guy you had fallen in love with- paint you out to be some weird nasty creature who was undeserving of his attention. Sure, you had felt that way initially, but he had been so kind to you that you had been so blindsided, unknowingly setting yourself up to fall right back into your constant cycle of heartbreak and misery.
Built up tears finally broke the surface, some beginning to stream down your face and others just dropping from the sheer amount that had welled up. It wasn't until gojo turned his head, eyes landing directly on you and smile completely dropping that your legs became unstuck.
Your breath hitched, crackling sob breaking through as your saliva grew sticky. The extra drinks sure to make you vomit after this. You spun so fast you lost balance for a split second on your heels, immediately righting yourself and pushing through the sweaty bodies blocking you in. You didn't say sorry or excuse me, just pummeled through, desperate to get outside so that maybe you could finally breathe. You felt like a pig in makeup, and the thought made you cry harder. So beyond embarrassed, having dressed up and done your hair and makeup, mortified that everyone else thought you looked just as ugly and silly. You had to get out of here, the air was too thick and stuffy as the walls closed in on you.
Your name fell on deaf ears, sprinting out the front door and down the porch steps, surroundings a blur from not only how fast you were moving, but the alcohol that coursed through you. You knew the gifts were stupid, sure, but everything else? The kiss? He wanted to gag? All the times he called you pretty, beautiful, yes, it was more than plausible that it was a lie, but why did he say it all then? That's right, because you were supposedly just a fucking bet.
Who would willingly want to be with you?
Gojo called your name again, louder. You weren't the only one sick to your stomach. He cursed, heart dropping to his ass as the overwhelming suffocating feeling of guilt bloomed inside of his chest, heart quite literally constricting at how shitty, how fucking disgusting, he felt. It spread throughout him and he would've thought it was dramatic if it didn't feel like he could currently drop to his knees and heave. The entire situation was beyond fucked up, everything a misunderstanding and completely not at the same time.
âFuck fuck fuck,â he repeated, hoarse and panicked as he immediately trailed after you, abruptly leaving the conversation mid sentence, not caring how he looked when all the guys stared at him in confusion. He lost sight of you for a moment but knew you'd only try to leave, escape the perfect hell he had just created for you.
Why the fuck did he do this? How the fuck was he gonna make this up to you, and why had he let himself get involved in this shitty idea anyway? He knew he should've called it off, he knew he had fallen for you.
Muttering insults as hands came out to grab at him, others trying to talk and some pulling him in for a dance. He didn't look, didn't care who they were, practically throwing and shoving their hands off him with only you in mind. He would explain everything to you, lay himself bare and expose the ugliness and insecurities that festered inside of him.
He had been projecting this entire time, exhausted from maintaining such an ugly facade of the frat fuckboy, desperately trying to fit in with everyone else that he stupidly agreed to the bet just to feel some type of belonging and companionship. All at the expense of you.
He didn't think, that was his issue. So caught up in this fake lifestyle that he knew the act wasn't just pretend anymore, his morals slipping by the day as he settled into this new once foreign character. They were all fucking assholes. All of them.
Fingers tightly clenching your almost dead phone, you bawled, frustration making you grit your teeth in additional annoyance when the sidewalk wouldn't stay straight. Accidentally stepping off the concrete, your heel caught on the edge, sending you falling onto all fours on the pavement, too drunk to care about the pain that shot up your wrists and knees. You let out a guttural infuriated noise, a mix between a squeal and growl, feeling so much more than just pissed and heartbroken. You furiously smashed your palm against the concrete as if it held the blame.
âFuck, hey, shit, are you okay??â
Gojo's palm rested on your back and in the blink of an eye you stumbled up, whipping around to face him seething and disgusted as tears continued to stream down your cheeks.
âDon't fucking touch me,â you spat backing away from him as if he had physically struck you, and at this point you thought you wouldâve almost preferred that over the gut wrenching feeling in your chest. There was a physical pain that tore throughout you, your heart feeling like sharp talons had ripped it out and stomped on it like an attempt at snuffing out a flame.
If you had it in you, you wouldâve laughed at his expression, so devastated and hurt and torn as if he wasn't the one who caused all this, as if he wasn't the one who could've prevented everything. He had the audacity to stare at you like he was scared of losing you.
âPlease, please y/n, i can explain, I am so sorry, please,â and it was as equally pathetic as it was infuriating. gojo pathetically begged, arms awkwardly reaching towards you as if you were the solution.
You paused, tongue loose and words slurred, staring at him bewildered as you threw your palms up. He wasn't who you thought he was. Or maybe he was exactly who everybody said he was and it was your fault for thinking otherwise.
âI thought you liked digimon??â
He swore, hands coming up to drag down his face. You saw. Saw your cookies and the keychain you bought him in the garbage.
âThat wasn't me, I swear, please believe me, I swear- I-I got back from class, one of the guys saw and- and started laughing, they took it from me before I could even say anything. They tossed it, and I swear, please believe me, I was gonna grab it after, I-I love Digimon, I loved your gifts, please.â
He was breathless now, a fruitless panicked attempt at defending himself.
You scoffed. âSure it wasn't too much?â
Gojo winced, hands curling. âI didn't mean it, I didn't mean it like that-â You cut him off, angrily sniffing and wiping your bloody gravel pricked hands against your black mini skirt. God you felt ridiculous.
âYeah?? Which fucking part??â Your voice raised an octave, almost yelling but you didn't care as passerbyers turned their heads. You spewed the words, moving forward just to angrily shove at his chest, blood smearing his white shirt. Good, you wanted to stain his shit, wipe your blood all over it.
He took advantage of the proximity, quickly but lightly wrapping his large hands around your wrists to keep you close. You screeched, thrashing in his hold, weakly trying to hit him, shove him, and with his loose grip, he let you, your small fists pounding against his hard chest
âIm sorry, Im sorry, Im so fucking sorry, I like you- I like you so fucking much-â
A broken sob escaped you, a mix between a snarl and cry getting stuck in your throat.
âI didn't mean anything I said in there, I loved kissing you, youâre beautiful - fuck, youâre perfect, youâre so fucking perfect and- and you know me, the real me, I feel like I can be myself with you, please please please, im begging you, let me explain everything- from the start.â He was frantic, words rushing out so fast they blended into one. His eyes were glossy and rimmed red and you knew it wasnât from whatever drugs he had done.
You stilled your hits, pausing in his hold. Rapid breaths mingling, chests quickly falling and rising, faded background music from the frat echoing into the night.
âPlease.â
Gojo spoke it like a prayer, voiced with despair and a frenzied anguish that he knew deep down would do nothing. He would continue to beg, to plead with you, to reason, but deep down, he knew. Your chin dropped to your chest helplessly, a small hiccup squeezing itself out as you tried to catch your breath. Your eyes felt swollen from how much you had cried, but you had plenty left.
You could feel gojo guide your palms to rest against his chest, a new set of bloody hand prints against the stark white, heart thumping like he'd just ran a marathon. You slammed your eyes shut, new sobs threatening to break loose, the feeling of wanting to curl up and die had never been more prominent.
ây/n, I'll do anything, please- please, I don't-â and his voice cracked, fingers tightening around your wrists. âI don't want to lose you- Im so, Im so sorry, baby.â
Your breath hitched, lips curling and fingers twisting into his shirt to bunch the fabric beneath your fingers. The agony and discomfort in your chest was painfully overwhelming, silently wishing you'd wake up from this nightmare, wishing you never heard him, trying to wrap your mind around how and why he would do this to you. Youâd never understand, would never gain pleasure from hurting anyone, let alone, him.
âWhat did I ever do to you?â
The words came out small, so small and fractured and so confused, seeking an explanation or reason that could maybe get the two of you past this- that maybe you must've done something to deserve it and the two of you could come back from this, but you knew it was all for nothing. For no reason at all.
Gojo's eyes flashed with guilt, anger, and shame. He wanted to recoil, wanted to throw his head into his hands and sob, but he didn't want to let you go. He knew it would be the last time. Your gaze didn't meet his.
He swallowed, throat stinging and eyes burning. He regretted everything, internally begging to take it all back like some upper power would hear him and turn back time.
âNothing, you didn't deserve this- you did- did nothing.â The words caught as his voice wavered and you wondered if he was crying. You refused to look at those eyes. His fucking blue perfect eyes that bore into you like you mattered- it was all lies- he had lied to you for months- almost an entire semester. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip, attempting to stifle the wail you wanted to blubber out. It had been months.
Months of getting to know one another, of a build up, of a hope for something more. The silliest stupidest notion that for once someone found you valuable too and it wasnât one sided.
A shallow gasp, an unintentional whimper, your shoulders shook as you wept.
âI wish I never met you, g-gojo. I would never-â a cry broke your words, tensing up as you angled your head down to hide your uncontrollable tears. He wanted to correct you and tell you to call him satoru or toru, but he stayed silent, let the sting burn. âNever hurt you like this.â
You shakily exhaled, not paying attention to his mindless small whimpers of âI know, I'm so sorry, I know, please.â
You gripped the fabric tighter, lifting your head to finally meet his eyes, hating how he was crying, how he genuinely looked heartbroken at hurting you, how you hated seeing him like this. His chin wobbled, breath coming out in unsteady pants and for once, he didn't look like the notorious frat boy who could conquer anything. He looked small, like a scared little boy.
Unsteady shaky hands lifted to gently cup your cheeks, gojo preparing himself for you to yank away from his touch like it burned. He sniffled when you didnât, perfect lips shiny and slightly parted as he fully rested them against your soft skin.
âI never want to see you again.â
His composure shattered, immediately shaking his head murmuring ânoâsâ, thumbs rubbing back and forth over your skin and under your eyes as he repeated the same words over and over again. You pushed him back roughly with all your drunken force, which wasn't much, but enough to send him stumbling backwards to create distance.
He was alarmed, not at what you had done, but at watching you walk away, brain filling with nothing but no no no no no please, please stay, stay with me stay.
âY/n, no please, baby, baby, y/n, please hear me out- please-â his voice was shredded, raw from drinking and yelling and begging, but he didnât care. Heâd beg and beg until he had no voice left, and when it was gone, he would find another way.
For a moment, you paused, and he thought that maybe, just maybe you would listen. But when you slowly turned to him, looking so fucking beautiful still as street lamps glistened in the reflection of your eyes, cheeks shiny and tinted pink from the tears that painted your cheeks, it all clicked. It was torturous.
âFuck y/n, please, I-I love you. Iâm so,â he swallowed to ease the scratchiness of his throat. It did nothing. âIâm so in love with you,â and he whispered the words, loud enough so youâd hear, but almost as if they werenât meant for you, as if he was just talking to himself and unintentionally said the realization aloud.
He watched as a lone tear dropped down your cheek and it was cruel. He was cruel, you were cruel. Standing there so perfect and so beautiful while you broke his heart, and it was all his fault since he had done it first. The silence was thick as the two of you stood feet apart, wordlessly staring at each other, letting his words hang in the air. You opened your mouth and shut it, letting the process repeat as you mulled over the words in your head, wishing more than ever he hadnât said them. Wishing more than ever you didnât feel the same.
âIâd pick you, over and over again Satoru, every time, in a room full of people. Everyone would,â you huffed a fake laugh, blinking away your tears as you stared into his dumb perfect eyes. âI thought-â your lips quivered, chin wobbling at the humiliating admission. âI thought for once, someone had finally picked me.â The words slowly fell from your lips, laced with what one could only describe as pure heartbreak.
Gojo felt the final blow split his heart, not a clean cut, but a jagged uneven slash that cleaved it in two. He called your name, desperate and all, watching you spin on your heel and angrily walk away, your perfume hitting him as the wind blew.
He stepped forward- yelled your name again. But you didn't turn, didn't peek, didn't flinch as you sobbed, fingers constantly wiping your eyes to see where you were going as you drunkenly walked back to your apartment. Cried for yourself, mourned who you were becoming, who you were becoming with him. You had fallen in love with him too, of course you had. He was so easy to love.
Hi Mae!!! Im SOO HAPPY that i've finally built up the courage to ask you for a post!! I love ur writing soo much. Could I get like a tasm!Peter Parker x reader where she somehow convinces peter to let her try on his suit and when it properly fits her she kinda looks super hot in it and Peter is all over her?? Feel free to ignore this if u want! I LOVE UR WRITING BTW. Byyyeee
Love you!! Thanks for requesting <3
tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ⥠456 words
Your laughter echoes ominously from inside the bathroom.
"What?" Peter asks.
"Nothing," you say back. "I just don't know if I could fight crime in this thing. The cameltoe is insane."
He snorts. "Yeah, I don't really have that problem with it."
"I guess," you admit, as you open the bathroom door and step out, "we're not really the same sizeâŚ"
Peter has no witty comebacks to that. He has no words, period.
When you asked to try on his suit, he didn't expect it to fit you. And it doesn't really, some excess fabric puddling around your ankles and hanging off your shoulders, but the places where it is fitted are distracting enough to leave Peter tongue-tied like a twerpy pre-teen.
"Wow," he manages to get out. One syllable, two distinct sounds. A feat.
You're not wearing the mask (a lucky thing, otherwise this might have proven a pretty sexually confusing experiment) so Peter sees every ounce of mischief in your eyes when you tilt your head and smile. "Can I try the web shooters, too?"
"Totally." Peter flicks his wrists, latching onto your hips on either side. When he pulls tight, you have no choice but to stumble towards him, laughing as you fall into his lap. "Another time."
"Why not now?"
"Too much power."
You grin at him, positively impish as your legs shift to straddle him more fully. "Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah. Sorry, you've got to go through orientation first."
You set yourself down in his lap. Peter's hands travel from your hips down your legs, meandering, but your bravado slips when you hear a ripping sound.
"Oh, no." You twist your neck to see your backside. You arch toward him a bit in the process, which Peter is not mad about. "I'm sorryâ"
"It's fine," he says. "I'll fix it."
You still look guilty. "I didn't think it would tear."
"I tear it all the time. Trust me, this is not the worst tear this thing has seen." Peter touches your jaw, angling you for a kiss. "Anyway, it looks good on you. Worth it."
You soften. "You think?"
You let Peter kiss you a while longer. Your fingers cup his face and curl in the hair at the back of his head. He knew the material of his suit was slippery, obviously, but he never really considered how that might feel for you until he experiences the sensation of you moving smoothly over the material of his jeans. He can feel your body heat through the spandex.
"Are you super sure I can't try the web shooters?" you murmur near his ear after a while.
anddd one more! can I get âlook at me. you okay? yeah? good.â with either peter parker or mark grayson, you choose!!
swinging around.
peter parker x gn!reader
summary: 0.6k
âYou wouldnât let me get hurt,â you hum as you crawl closer and plant yourself in his lap. He adjusts easily. His hands find your waist and he gently swipes his thumb across the band of skin that exposes beneath your shirt as you move. âWould you, Petey?â
or the one where your boyfriend finally gives in to your pleas to take you swinging.
content: web slinging, established relationship
masterlist
âCâmon, please,â you huff dramatically, tugging on the sleeve of your boyfriendâs hoodie. Peter was busy fiddling with his web shooters. He was also, coincidentally, ignoring each and every plea you had been slinging his way for the past fifteen minutes. Or, the past⌠since you discovered he was Spiderman.Â
âWeâve been over this, baby,â Peter sighs as he sets his shooters down on the coffee table. He turns toward you on the couch, gently grabbing the hand that was tugging on his sleeve, and lacing his fingers through it. His free hand reaches up to brush your hair back behind your ear. âI donât want you to get hurt.â
âYou wouldnât let me get hurt,â you hum as you crawl closer and plant yourself in his lap. He adjusts easily. His hands find your waist and he gently swipes his thumb across the band of skin that exposes beneath your shirt as you move. âWould you, Petey?â
âYou know I wouldnât,â he says. He tilts his head up a bit to maintain eye contact and warmth floods through your belly.Â
âSoâŚâ
âThatâs why Iâm not taking you swinging,â he chuckles.Â
âPeter,â you whine, lips jutting out in a pout. He mimics you for a moment before planting a quick kiss to your lips.Â
âPoutâs not gonna change my mind,â he murmurs. A thumb comes up to tug at your bottom lip.Â
âYou sure?â you mumble against his lips, still trying your damndest to convince him with puppy dog eyes.Â
âIâm sure.â
âBut, Peter-â
âBaby,â he groans, head dropping forward to rest against your chest.Â
âYouâll keep me so safe,â you say. You run your fingers through his hair in the way you know he likes. Peter might never admit to it, but he was fairly easy to butter up if you put your mind to it.Â
âYou ready?â Spiderman asks. The grin cutting through your face is blinding, so tight your cheeks ache.Â
âYes, yes, so ready!â you nearly squeal. Your head snaps around, looking up at the tops of the tall buildings and skyscrapers surrounding you. You follow a pigeon with your eyes for a moment before looking back at Peter.
âYou sure?â he checks again.Â
âIâm sure,â you smile.Â
âOkay,â he says. You can taste the apprehension still wafting off of him, but he wraps an arm around you all the same. Lifting, he helps you jump and cling onto him like a child. Once heâs sure youâre secure and locked in as tight he could beânot as tight as he would likeâyou hear the thwip of his web shooter releasing and suddenly youâre off the ground.
Itâs instinctive. The scream that comes out of you.Â
Your eyes squeeze shut and youâre sure youâd be hurting Peter with how hard youâre squeezing him if he werenât superhuman.Â
âIâm sorry!â Peter shouts in a panic. âIâm so sorry, baby!â
He finds the top of the nearest building he can swing to and drops down as soft as can. His hand cradles the back of your head as soon as he releases the web.Â
âAre you okay?â he asks shakily. âBaby? Please look at me. Are you okay?â
He guides your head back enough to see your face. Your beautiful face that he was sure was marred with fear and tears and God, youâre never going to look at him the same way again. Youâre never going to trust him again, and-
Youâre laughing. Giggling, more like. You squeal and squeeze his shoulders and it feels a whole hell of a lot more like delight than panic.Â
âThat was so! Fun!â you laugh. âAgain! Again! Again!â
âWoah, slow down,â he exhales, currently experiencing an extreme bout of emotional whiplash. âLook at me. You okay?â
You nod vigorously.
âYeah?â he asks, prompting more enthusiastic nodding. âOkay⌠okay, good.â
He smooths his gloved hand down your back.Â
âCan we go again?â you ask.
âYeah, yeah. We can,â he exhales. âHold on tight.â
an: a request that I saved for after the matchmaking event, hope you enjoy :)
cw: none, gn!reader
masterlist ao3 requests
PREVIEW:
You know how lucky you are to have him every single day.
Roy Harper/Reader
Watching him from where he perches at the foot of the bed, you canât help but appreciate the musculature of his body, the sculpted effort of diligent work. Framed in the orange-domed lamp that sits on the bedside table, heâs drawn into soft relief that allows you to see the taut muscle of his pecs that flex .
In the meantime, his arms yawn forward up your calves. The rolling coil of the toned muscles in his stomach tense as he works his fingers up the rigid meter of your legs.
When he sighs, itâs a brittle, observational noise. âGot a lot of tension in you.â
âHad a long day today,â you admit, a groan shuddering through your teeth as you feel the delicious pain his fingers eke out. How the heel of his palm coaxes at knots that youâve accumulated over the course of the day.
âI can tell,â he murmurs, and folds his fingers over the dragging muscle that gently divots at the pressure. As his brow furrows in definition that allows you to admire the cluster of freckles that dot the bridge of his nose.
âI should hire you to do this full-time,â you sigh gustily. A throaty groan makes journey out of you as his hands delve up your thigh. His thumbs work into you in effort to bring you back from the land of the convalescent.
âWhat's I gonna do with my other job as your eye candy?â His voice is dry as he takes attention to the meat of your thigh. When the rough pads of his fingers take landing on the sensitive flesh of the inside, you let your eyes draw closed at the contrast of textures. This working manâs hands, drawn coarse by his own trials of the day are so tender when they take inventory of your aches and pains.
âIâll keep you part-time for that,â you huff as he concludes the attention to your legs with a gentle squeeze. And youâre left longing for the tactile afterimage of his touch as he finishes his duties.
But youâve longed for the complement of his body against yours, and when his hands sink into the mattress as he searches the acreage to you, your hands are already outstretched for him.
âPromise I'll keep you on the health plan and everything,â you sigh as he shuffles you into the span of those great arms. When you settle the plush of your cheek against his bare chest, you can take a heady sniff of his post-shower muskâof fresh shampoo, aromatic cedar woodâand honey.
âThank god,â he grins into the crown of your head, pressing a kiss into the skin, âI was worried for a second there.â
âJust make sure you keep helping me sleep,â you murmur into the sinew of his skin, the metronomic pace of his heart that ensures you all is well.
His mellow chuckle keeps the score even when it makes that comforting rhythm hiccup, a distortion he happily accepts. Already his hands are drawing in comforting exploration to pull you closer to the proverbial oasis of his body.
âThat I do for free, sweetheart,â he reassures you, and his hands take marked space on your back, chasing away the soreness a long day has demanded of you. It always disappears when you find solace in his arms.
âI love you, Roy Harper,â you sigh as drowse takes the enunciation of your syllables. As you feel yourself lulled to the soporific edge of slumber as he keeps you safe in the clasp of his arms.
You already know his answer. But you donât let yourself drift off until he reswears his loyalty to you with a muted, âI love you too, sweetheart.â
⢠sweet Luke Castellan whoâd always leave you an open seat next to him if you happened to be unclaimed.
⢠sweet Luke Castellan whoâs main love languages are quality time, and acts of services.
⢠sweet Luke Castellan who shows you his love languages through spending any spare time he has with you, eating, sparring, archery lesson, crafting.
⢠sweet Luke Castellan who holds your hand any chance he gets.
⢠sweet Luke Castellan who traces any of your scars with a gentleness, as he knows what an insecurity and burden it can be.
⢠sweet Luke Castellan who always offers you his leftovers for food before he offers it to the gods.
⢠sweet Luke Castellan who will do your chores for you after you beg him to.
⢠sweet Luke Castellan who would observe your sparring skills and help you practice when youâd struggle with moves or strategies.
⢠sweet Luke Castellan whoâd steal from the camp shop for you anytime you needed anything.
⢠sweet Luke Castellan whoâd comfort and reassure you through any nightmare youâd have. You could literally sneak into his cabin and wake him up out of a dead sleep and he wouldnât care.
⢠sweet Luke Castellan who sneaks into your cabin to snuggle because he struggles to sleep without you.
⢠sweet Luke Castellan who will praise you for literally anything in the world, you could trip over a rock and heâd find a way to praise you.
⢠sweet Luke Castellan who gently corrects you, whether it be sparring, or you saying something mean, or doing something out of line, heâll let you go through the process than gently correct you in private.
⢠protective Luke Castellan whoâd rip someoneâs head off if they so much as look at you wrong. Sure. Heâd had the reputation of a golden boy who does no wrong but trust he has his ways.
⢠protective Luke Castellan whoâd defend you in an instant if someone knocked into you.
⢠protective Luke Castellan who has the name holder of âbest swordsman in camp half-blood in 2000 yearsâ everybody knows better then to mess with you.
⢠protective Luke Castellan who would always make alliances so your cabin wasnât against his in capture the flag.
⢠protective Luke Castellan who would have his eye on you throughout the whole game of capture the flag, you aren't leaving that mans sight.
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