"business or pleasure?"
pairing: gojo x fem!reader
summary: the gojo clan decides itâs time to secure an heir⌠and youâre the lucky woman selected for the jobâŚ
content: HEAVY breeding, arranged marriage, language, praise, dacryphilia, p->v, fingering, mating press, a lilâ blood (if you squint), pet names, implied multiple rounds, gojo just generally being a menace, no established relationship, reader and gojo literally just met, reader is literally there for the purpose of getting pregnant, positive pregnancy test at the end, ideas of women as baby incubators :x, consent king gojo.
wc: 3.7k
a/n: I HAVE RETURNED!!! Hey!!!!!! Long time no see, babes. I was looking at my account and I havenât posted a fic in *cough* TWO YEARS. There is simply no way thatâs real đ Anyway, Iâve returned with something slightly different: A Gojo fic. Youâre welcome. Mwah. Also, please send messages I miss y'all. happy new year bbs. and remember, AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED!
Itâs only your third time in Japan. The first had been to visit family friends when you were eight, the second for a girlsâ trip after you graduated college. You liked it. Tokyo was bright and busy and full of shops and things to do. The countryside always offered beauty and peace. But this third time was different. No shopping, no temples, no amusement parks. You were here for business, not pleasure.Â
You run a finger along the edge of a mahogany bookshelf. Your feet are killing you, a flick of your ankles tossing your heels across the room. Your nose wrinkles when you land on a particular title. The Art of War? Interesting choice⌠You scan the other books, and your brows rise when you find a strange combination of academics, young adult, manga, and high fantasy? A multi-genre reader, thenâŚ
You absentmindedly rub at the arch of your foot, pushing out the ache as best you can. A day so full of stress has left you weary. Your mother hadnât stopped hovering until the moment youâd escaped into your car, a new husband on your arm.Â
You sigh. You could still hear the shower running along with said husband humming loudly to a tune you didnât recognize. At least your groom wasnât shy.Â
A glance toward the bed has your brows raising. Were those⌠squishmallows? One looked like a shark, the other like a⌠sushi? You press your lips together, avoiding a laugh he would surely hear. You make your way to the mattress, sighing when you finally get to sit. You pull the sushi into your arms, hugging the pillow to your chest, but it no longer seemed so funny anymore. You had bigger things to think about. Your legs press together in a mix of anticipation and anxiety. All the way from America youâd come to marry the Gojo heir. It had been a rushed arrangement. Apparently, the Gojo clan had finally put their foot down and decided their heir should finally get to the business of making another heir. Thereâd been a search far and wide for the best match and somehow, theyâd settled on you. An accomplished sorcerer yourself and abilities in your blood that only strengthened those of the Gojo line, youâd been an suitable pick. It didnât hurt that you were young, healthy, and (upon a trip to a renowned fertility clinic) proven to be very fertile.Â
Your parents had been oh-so eager to accept the Gojo clanâs proposition. The Gojo heirâs power hadnât been matched in nearly 400 years. Any and every family would jump at the opportunity to be tied to them, especially through marriage and heirs. You were surprised youâd been chosen considering all of the options there must have been.Â
Satoru seemed⌠fine, you thought. You hadnât had much time to talk with him privately. The first time youâd met had been on a phone call with both of your sets of parents present and the next had been at the altar. At one point in the night heâd asked a waiter to refill your wine glass and heâd been a rather good dancer. Other than that, youâd been pulled apart at all odds and ends until youâd come back here: his apartment.Â
Youâd expected something a little more lavish for your wedding night, especially considering the spectacle that your wedding had been. Ice sculptures, thousand dollar bouquets, and diamond encrusted wedding rings had turned to an elegantly decorated bachelor pad. A glance around revealed a space that was obviously lived in, with odd mixes of $10,000 dollar chairs and⌠squishmallows.
You sink onto the edge of the bed, eyes peeling over the half-moons of your nails and the heavy gems that now sit on the fourth finger of your left hand. They are a weight you feel the pressure of. A pressure to live up to expectations, to produce a much-desired product.Â
A door opens down the hall and you realize the pounding of water and the lilting of a hum has ceased. Your husband is done with his shower.Â
A few seconds later he reveals himself, prancing down the hallway and into his bedroom like itâs just another Tuesday and not his wedding night. A plush blue towel is slung low around his waist and from the rivulets of water running all over his body you judge that he hadnât even taken the time to properly dry off. Not that you mind.
Youâd known your new husband was beautiful but youâd never imagined heâd be so⌠so goddamn seductive.Â
Washboard abs, toned arms, sculpted back, wet hair and icy eyes⌠he was the image of a god.Â
âSorry for making you wait. I really needed that.âÂ
Gojo prods at his temples, eyes squished shut in what looked like a moment of pain. Youâd heard of this problem from the clan. He hadnât worn his blindfold all day for the sake of the wedding. It was no wonder the effects were catching up with him.Â
âNo problem.âÂ
A small smile reveals just a few blinding teeth and you could swear your vision went out for just a moment.Â
âYou hungry?âÂ
You arch a brow. The man had eaten two full plates and practically half the cake not yet an hour ago.Â
âCanât say that I am.âÂ
âHm.âÂ
He nods and you watch as he plucks a stray candy off his bedside table, tossing the wrapper to the floor.Â
âSo, uh-â You watch the butterscotch bulge in his cheek. âYou really wanna do this?âÂ
You glance at your half-naked husband who is practically a walking temptation. You take a breath. Heâs standing so casually, as if this is a normal conversation to be having and not something life-altering.
âYou donât?â you ask.
All that gets you is a shit-eating grin.Â
âNever said that.âÂ
You canât help the smirk that crawls across your lips.Â
âWell, we might as well get it over with, no?âÂ
Another flash of pearly whites.Â
âGet it over with, hm?âÂ
You miss his meaning, pulling at a loose thread on the bedspread.Â
âIt shouldnât take much effort. Iâm on so many fertility meds you could probably spit on me and Iâd get pregnant.âÂ
You pick at the thread a little more, biting your lip when you realize itâs one of those strands thatâs infinite.Â
âThat so?âÂ
You jolt when a speck of wetness lands on your cheek. A quick glance reveals a fuzzy blue towel far too close for comfort. A half-naked Gojo is a whole lot closer than heâd been just seconds ago. How is he so quiet?Â
Blue eyes bore into yours, water dripping down white strands and onto your skin. Heâs so damn tall. He has your neck craned all the way back just to meet his gaze.Â
âYes.â You swallow. âIt was part of our prenup.â
Dazed. Youâre absolutely dazed.Â
âWell, we probably shouldnât risk breaking a legally binding contract, hm?âÂ
Closer. Heâs coming closer. Too close.Â
You lean back, scooting yourself up the bed in a feeble attempt to get a little more space, your emotional support sushi tumbling to the floor. He follows right after you.Â
Something primal thrusts through your veins at the sight of a man, sopping wet and smirking, crawling after you, some mix of teasing and pure drive hidden in his eyes. Gojo doesnât stop, not until youâre nearly pressed against the headboard and his arms cage your waist. Close. Too close.Â
Youâd thought he would have dried a bit by now, but water still slicks off his skin and hair, showering you lightly. You shiver and your husband notices. His tongue darts out to lick his lips and you get a breath of the sweetness of butterscotch and mint toothpaste.Â
âYou say stop,â he breathes, âand we stop.â
He leans closer, so close you can smell the eucalyptus and myrrh of his shampoo, the musk of his body wash, the candied sweetness of his breath. Those piercing blue eyes flit to your lips and back up again.Â
A breath, a pause.Â
âStop?â he asks. His eyes are piercing.
You shake your head.Â
âGo.âÂ
Lips, teeth, tongue. All of it hits you at once. For a moment youâre too shocked to respond, but then his weight is leaning on you and his hand is on your waist and his mouth tastes like candy and- and then youâre kissing him back.Â
A heavy hand digs into the flesh of your waist and your hands find a patch of damp white hair to tangle in.Â
He tastes good- too good and when a deft hand guides you down to the mattress you start to think that this whole baby-making business might not be so bad after all.Â
Teeth knock, tongues touch, and you are on the edge of what would have been a particularly throaty moan when he pulls away.Â
His attention shifts elsewhere, kisses trailing down your neck and hands straying to your hips.
âHave you-â a kiss to your collarbone. âDone this before?â
You freeze.
âWhat?âÂ
Gojo raises his head a bit and the most irritating kind of smirk plays on his lips.Â
âDonât know- thought maybe this was a virgin for your super rich husband kinda thing?âÂ
You shove his head back down.
âShut up.â
He chuckles and the sound vibrates against your skin.Â
âOkay, sp no need to go slow thenâŚâÂ
His lips continue their assault, brushing and grazing over your skin until it lifts with goosebumps. Your breaths come a little faster, a little heavier and you gasp when his hand curls beneath the hem of your skirt.
âOh? Whatâs this?â His fingers brush against the garter that rests at the top of your thighs. Your cheeks heat. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why had you agreed to wear the damn thing? You reach down, hoping to quickly rid yourself of the scrap of fabric before you can become oven more mortified. Youâre just about to clamp down on it when Gojo catches your wrist. âAh, ah. No need to be so hasty.â Your hand is easily pinned down to the mattress and, for some reason, you donât fight it.Â
Your breath catches when your skirt lifts only for Gojo to dive beneath it without a second thought. You feel his teeth grazing across the skin of your thigh.Â
âGojo-â you breathe, squirming.Â
His head reappears suddenly, another one of those mischievous grins gracing his lips. âSatoru when Iâm about to be inside you, baby.âÂ
He disappears again and you gasp and wiggle when you feel his tongue laving across the inside of your thigh.Â
His teeth graze you again, but this time they clamp down on the garter and you feel it slowly sliding across your skin, down, down, past your knee and eventually to your ankle where Satoru finally yanks it past your foot with a final tug.Â
You stare at him, wide eyed and lustful. That had to have been one of the hottest things youâve ever seen.Â
Satoru plucks the garter from his teeth and dangles it in front of his eyes. Itâs a white, lacy little thing that matches the shade of his hair. Heâs grinning again when he slides it onto his wrist like a braceletâ no, like a trophy.
âThanks for the present.â Heâs still grinning, still staring, his fingers still fiddling with the hem of your skirt. âHow attached are you to this dress?â he asks.Â
You blink, swallowing nervously, unable to break away from his gaze. Itâs too strong, too mesmerizing. âNot⌠attached at all,â you manage. Itâs true. Somebody else picked it out, and youâve only been wearing it for about an hourâ and itâs not like you canât just buy a new one now with access to the Gojo bank accounts.Â
His grin somehow grows even wider. âGood girl. Just what I wanted to hear.âÂ
Thereâs a splitting sound and suddenly your dress is tearing straight down the middle. Itâs slow and controlled and you wonder if heâs practiced at this or if his strength is just that regulated. You find yourself hoping itâs the latter.Â
The dress is ripped from your skin and you see it land somewhere across the room. You hear something shatter along with a thud, but Satoru seems anything but worried, so you ignore it.Â
Youâre bare in just your undergarments, a lacy white set that youâre now half proud of and half embarrassed by.Â
Satoru whistles and his hands settle on your waist. âDamn, baby. Whyâd you keep all this hidden for so long?âÂ
You scoff, your confidence surging. You reach for him, grabbing a scruff of hair at the back of his neck and pulling him close. âYouâre the one taking your sweet time, Toru.âÂ
The sound of the nickname on your lips makes him shiver and you smirk triumphantly.
âHmmâŚâ is all he says as his fingers trail lower, lower, lower, until theyâre dipping beneath the band of your panties. Itâs somewhere between tortuous and ticklish and you squirm. âAh, ah. Hold still for me, now.â He presses one hand to the valley between your breasts, holding you down as his other hand continues lower. When his thumb finds the wet spot on your panties and presses down your back arches and your breath escapes.Â
He chuckles. âLittle needy, arenât you?â His thumb moves a little higher, grazing your clit, and you whimper.Â
With one deft movement he unclasps your bra, tossing it aside. You register for just a moment that your chest is now completely bare, but soon enough his mouth is closing around your nipple and all else is forgotten.Â
âS-Satoru!â you whisper. Your voice feels hoarse, even if it has no reason to be.Â
His thumb continues its assault between your thighs. âSo wet already, babyâŚâ He sounds ecstatic. The grin on his lips makes you whine. âLetâs get these out of the wayâŚâ Before you know it, you hear more tearing and then cold air hits your cunt. You cry out when Satoruâs thumb returns to its ministrations, but this time thereâs no cloth barrier to dull the sensation. Your hands push out and your nails curl into his bare shoulders. You need him closer.
âSatoruâŚâ you breathe. âKiss meâŚâÂ
That shit-eating grin returns, but he follows your command. âAs my wife wishes.âÂ
When lips meet yours itâs hot and messy. Your nails claw down his back and youâre sure youâre leaving marks. If he minds, he certainly doesnât show it.
His thumb continues at your clit as a finger prods at your entrance. When he slides in slowly, you gasp. He murmurs something about you being so sensitive, and proceeds to quickly find that gummy spot inside you that makes you see stars. Before you know it heâs adding a second finger and soon your hips are rocking against his thrusts, meeting his pace as you chase your high.Â
âGod, youâre so wet.â he whispers against your lips. True to his word, heâs been kissing you, never letting up in his attack on your mouth. âBet you taste like fucking heaven.â
You whine, your hips stuttering against his hand. âG-Gonna⌠IâmââÂ
He grins again, and pulls away just enough to meet your gaze. âGo ahead, baby. Cum for me.â Your eyes flutter shut, your head rolling backâ âNuh, uh. Keep those eyes open. Wanna see every second.âÂ
Your breaths flutter and you whimper loudly, the sound bouncing on the walls. Youâre not sure why you listen, why you fight to keep your eyes open, locked on him, but you do. Maybe youâre afraid heâll pull away and leave you wanting⌠or maybe you just want to please him.
You feel your muscles clenching in your stomach, hear the sloppy sounds of Satoruâs fingers thrusting in and out of you, see the gleeful anticipation in his eyes. His thumb rubs a particularly delicious circle around your clit and you feel yourself thrown over the edge.Â
You canât help but be loud. You hold his gaze the whole time, whimpering and whining his name as you gush all over his sheets. Your cunt spasms around his fingers, clenching, holding him inside, desperate to be filled. You hear him panting above you, like watching has somehow taken his breath away.Â
âGood girl,â he whispers and you feel a second wave of pleasure ripple through you.Â
You feel weak by the time your orgasm leaves you. Your muscles are limp and your cunt is so sensitive that you flinch when Satoru removes his fingers. He brushes a tear from the corner of your eye and you watch as he brings his sopping fingers to his mouth, sucking your juices clean. He moans, a deep throaty sound, like itâs the most delicious thing heâs ever tasted. You watch his eyes roll back in his skull, watch his throat bob as he swallows. Your lips part at the sight.Â
His fingers fall from his mouth with a pop and his grin returns.
âJust like I thought,â he says. âHeaven.âÂ
Heâs back on you in a second, licking a stripe from your collarbone to just beneath your ear. His hips slot between your own and a strong hands hook around the backs of your thighs, pressing your knees to your chest. You whimper. You donât think youâve ever felt so completely and utterly exposed.Â
âOn to the main event, yeah?â The twinkle in his eye has your heart racing even faster. His fingers catch the towel that is somehow still wrapped snugly around his waist. With one tug, itâs gone and your mouth is watering in anticipation.Â
Your jaw drops lower, if itâs even possible. Heâs⌠huge. Long and pretty with veins that you know are going to rub just right. His tip is pink and leaking, ready.Â
âSatoru, it wonâtââÂ
His lips connect to your pulse, licking and sucking when you feel him prodding at your entrance. âItâll fit, baby.âÂ
He slides himself through your folds, gathering your juices and torturing you every time his tip bumps your clit. By the time heâs finally lining himself up, youâre practically begging.Â
The first push is heaven. Youâre both moaning when he prods past that first tight ring of muscle and youâre gasping, crying out his name and clawing at his back. He keeps pushing, filling you inch by inch until heâs pressed snugly against your cervix. You thank him aloud when he pauses, giving you a moment to adjust to his size, to the feeling of being filled to the absolute brim. He only kisses the tears from your cheeks.Â
The first thrust has you seeing stars, little white spots clouding your vision. The second has your nails embedding in his skin hard enough to draw blood. He doesnât seem to mind. If anything, it has him moving faster, grunting in your ear and whimpering your name.
âSooo⌠f-ahh-ucking t-tightâŚâ he whispers.Â
A hand slides between your sweaty bodies, a thumb rubbing familiar circles against your swollen clit. You cry out, clenching down like a vice.Â
âF-Fuck, princess.âÂ
His thrusts rock your body and the sound of skin slapping skin echoes in the air. You feel that familiar coil begin to form, to heat at your core. Your muscles tighten and your legs begin to shake.Â
âAtta girl. Cum on my cock, baby.âÂ
You whimper at the praise, at the incessant rubbing of your clit, at the relentless pounding of your cervix. Itâs all too much, too good.Â
âSatoruâŚâ you cry. Your legs burn and ache. Satoru has your knees pressed so tightly to your chest youâre afraid something might snap. It only adds to the tension beginning to unravel at your center. You feel as if youâre burning, as if youâre going to snapâ and then you do. Heat unravels beneath your skin and your mouth falls open in a silent cry. Your legs tremble and your toes curl and you vaguely hear your husband whispering a mix of curses and praises in your ear. Youâre still lost in the sensation when he starts groaning and you feel him flooding your insides with shallow thrusts close to your cervix, filling you with rope after rope of his hot cum. Youâre still panting when you finally regain your mind. Satoruâs still on top of you, completely limp with his head buried in your neck. You curl a hand into his hair, silently holding him close. That was some of the most mind-blowing sex youâve ever had. You smirk. Yeah, maybe this baby-making business wasnât going to be so bad.Â
You shiver when you feel Satoru licking and sucking at your skin. Thereâs a tenderness in the action that makes you pull him closer. He hasnât even pulled out yet, but you can already feel him hardening inside you, ready for another round.Â
âThink it stuck?â he asks. You smirk and answer with a breathy laugh.Â
âDonât know.â Silently, you think that thereâs no way it didnât. You can feel his cum dripping down your thighs and thereâs just so much of it.
He lifts his head, eyes bright and sparkling even in the dim light. He grins. âGuess weâd better make sure.âÂ
~
With the rate at which Satoru fucks you itâs no surprise when you get two positive little pink lines a few week later. You tell Satoru by unceremoniously dropping the test in front of him while heâs drinking his morning coffee. He only grins and kisses you before he bends you over the counter, whispering something about needing to show you how appreciative he is when he slides inside you. The next morning you wake to Satoruâs lips on yours, a brand new credit card, and a new car in the driveway, fitted with all of the newest safety features (only the best for his wife and baby, he says). You sigh and smile when you see it. Yeah, this whole baby-making business definitely wasnât so bad.
taglist (DM me to be added!): @lacheri
please consider leaving a comment, sending an ask, or reblogging! interacting with authors is the best way to support them! thanks for reading âĄ
5K notes
¡
View notes
HERE ME OUT PLEASE Spider-Man!cregan x reader. Cregan bump into reader at school when he is not in disguise and they became from then on, maybe? and meet reader again when he is in disguise (he could save her from being rob or save her while fighting villain.) which they also form a bond. They both sort of develop a crush on each other from then on Cregan is just smitten and reader is just like âI like this Spider-Man dude but I also like this Cregan guyâ. Then one day spider!Cregan is injured and come to reader for help and reveal himself as Cregan. He confess to her that he just inlove with her since day one. Overall just fluff and clichĂŠ stuff.
(Iâm srsly sorry if I made no sense at allđđ)
Between Masks and Moments
spider-man!cregan x reader
words: 13.5k
notes: this was longer than i intended it to be đ i thought i was about 6k words in and when i checked the word count it was already at 12k⌠but i hope you like it!
The first time you truly noticed Cregan Stark, it was because he nearly knocked you off your feet.
As you rounded the corner of the science building, lost in thought about the upcoming lecture, you collided with something solid. No, not something â someone. Your books tumbled to the ground, pages fluttering in the damp breeze, and you stumbled backward, nearly losing your footing.
"Oh, shit," a deep voice muttered. "I'm sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going."
You looked up, ready to brush off the apology with a quick 'no problem,' but the words died in your throat. Standing before you was Cregan Stark, the quiet, brooding guy from your biochemistry class. He was already crouching down, gathering your scattered belongings with large, careful hands.
You'd never been this close to him before. Sure, you'd stolen glances during lectures, admiring his strong jawline and the way his brow furrowed in concentration as he took notes. But now, mere inches away, you could see the flecks of gold in his blue eyes, the slight stubble on his chin that gave him a rugged appearance.
"It's okay," you finally managed to say, kneeling down to help him. "I wasn't really paying attention either."
Cregan's eyes met yours for a brief moment before quickly darting away. Was that a hint of a blush on his cheeks? No, it had to be the chill in the air.
"Here," he said, handing you your books. His voice was gruff, almost annoyed, but there was a gentleness in the way he handled your things that contradicted his tone. "Sorry again."
You took the books from him, your fingers accidentally brushing against his. A jolt of electricity seemed to pass between you, and you quickly pulled your hand back. "Thanks," you murmured.
Cregan stood up, and you couldn't help but notice how he towered over you. You'd always known he was tall, but up close, his presence was almost overwhelming. His broad shoulders seemed to block out the entire world behind him.
You straightened up, clutching your books to your chest, and for a moment, you were both frozen in the narrow hallway, caught in a strange, tense silence. Cregan shifted his weight, his brow furrowing even more, as if he was trying to decide whether to say something else or just walk away.
He settled on the former.
"You're in my biochem class, right?" His tone was still a bit gruff, but there was an underlying softness.
You nodded, trying to ignore the way your heart sped up. "Yeah, I am. You're Cregan, right?"
He gave a short, almost reluctant nod. "Yeah."
There was another pause, and you felt the awkwardness creeping in. But before it could fully take hold, Cregan surprised you by speaking again.
"Do you need help with that stuff?" He glanced at the stack of books in your arms, his expression hard to read.Â
You hesitated, caught off guard by the unexpected offer. "I mean, if you're not in a hurry, I wouldn't mind."
Cregan exhaled a short breath, almost like a sigh, but he reached out anyway, taking half the books from your arms. His hands were warm and strong, and for a moment, you wondered what it would be like to hold them longer, to feel that warmth without the excuse of fallen books.
"Where to?" he asked, his voice softer now, less annoyed. There was a flicker of something in his gaze, something almost shy, though you'd never describe Cregan Stark as shy.
"The library," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "I was going to study before the next class."
Cregan gave another one of those short nods and started walking beside you, his long strides forcing you to pick up your pace. As you walked together, the silence between you wasn't as awkward as you'd expected. In fact, it was almost comfortable, as if Cregan's brooding presence somehow grounded you, made the chaotic noise of the school fade into the background.
When you reached the library, you stopped by one of the tables near the back, where it was quiet and the light was softer. Cregan set your books down, and for a moment, he just stood there, looking at them, then at you, like he was debating something in his head.
"Thanks for helping me out," you said, breaking the silence.
Cregan's eyes flicked up to meet yours, and there was that flicker of something again â a hint of warmth beneath the gruff exterior. "No problem," he muttered. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "See you in class."
You watched as he turned to leave, his broad back disappearing into the rows of bookshelves. It was only after he was gone that you realized you were still holding your breath. There was something about Cregan Stark that made your heart beat just a little faster, something that lingered in your thoughts long after he'd walked away.
As you sat down to study, you found it hard to focus. Your mind kept drifting back to the way his eyes had softened when he looked at you, the way his voice had gentled, just for a moment.Â
For Cregan, that collision in the hallway was both a dream come true and his worst nightmare.
He'd noticed you on the first day of class, drawn to your quiet intelligence and the way your eyes lit up when you understood a particularly difficult concept. Over the weeks, he'd found himself stealing glances at you during lectures, admiring the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were concentrating, or how you'd bite your lip when you were deep in thought.
But Cregan had never allowed himself to entertain the possibility of actually talking to you. His life was complicated enough without adding romantic entanglements to the mix. Between his duties as Spider-Man, his studies, and the constant struggle to make ends meet, he'd convinced himself that he didn't have time for a relationship. Besides, he reasoned, what could he possibly offer someone like you?
So he'd contented himself with admiring you from afar, treasuring those small moments of connection when you'd make eye contact across the lecture hall or exchange polite nods in the hallway. He told himself it was enough, that his crush was just a harmless distraction from the weight of his responsibilities.
But now, as he walked away from the library, his heart was pounding in a way that had nothing to do with his spider-enhanced physiology. The memory of your touch, brief as it was, sent electricity coursing through his veins. The scent of your shampoo lingered in his nostrils, and he couldn't shake the image of your eyes looking up at him, wide with surprise and something else... interest, maybe?
Cregan shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He couldn't afford to get distracted, not now. There was a chemistry lab to prepare for, and after that, he had to patrol the city. The weight of his responsibilities settled back onto his shoulders, and he felt his expression harden into its usual brooding mask.
But as he pushed open the door to the science building, he couldn't help but glance back towards the library. For the first time in a long while, Cregan allowed himself to wonder:Â what if?
_________
The next few days passed in a blur of lectures, lab work, and late-night patrols. You found yourself paying more attention to Cregan in class, noticing things you'd overlooked before. The way his brow furrowed when he was concentrating, the slight twitch of his lips when the professor made a particularly bad science pun, the graceful strength in his hands as he manipulated lab equipment.
Sometimes, you caught him looking at you too. His gaze would quickly dart away, but not before you noticed a softness in his eyes that contrasted sharply with his usual gruff demeanor. It made you wonder what was going on behind that brooding exterior.
You'd exchanged a few more words since your collision â a quiet "hey" as you took your seats, a muttered "thanks" when he held the door for you. Each time, you felt a little thrill of... something. Anticipation? Curiosity? You couldn't quite put your finger on it.
It was Friday evening when everything changed.Â
The streets were unusually quiet for a Friday night. Most people were already indoors, safe from the impending downpour. You turned down a narrow alley, a familiar shortcut you often took when in a hurry. The light from the streetlamps barely penetrated the shadows here, and you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. You told yourself it was just your imagination, that the looming storm and the empty streets were playing tricks on your mind.
But as you reached the halfway point of the alley, you heard it â a soft rustling, followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps behind you. Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickened your pace, your breath catching in your throat.
"Hey, where are you heading so fast?" a voice called out. You didnât dare look back, your instincts screaming at you to keep moving.
The footsteps grew closer, the tension wrapping around you like a vice. You were almost at the end of the alley when a figure stepped out of the shadows ahead, blocking your path. He was tall, with a lean, wiry build and a predatory grin that sent a shiver down your spine.
"What's the rush?" he asked, his voice mockingly sweet. The way he stood, arms loose at his sides, suggested a confidence that chilled you to the bone. You were trapped.
Your mind raced, searching for a way out, but the options were grim. You could scream, but who would hear you? Your phone was buried in your bag, useless in the face of such immediate danger.
As the man stepped closer, you took a shaky step back, only to feel a solid wall of muscle behind you. Another one, you realized with a sinking heart. You were cornered.
You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for whatever was to come. But before the situation could escalate, a sound split the air â a sharp, almost imperceptible *thwip*.Â
And then, everything happened at once.
A blur of red and blue dropped down from above, moving with a speed and precision that left you breathless. The man behind you was yanked away, a startled yelp escaping his lips as he was thrown against the wall, his hands and feet bound by sticky webbing. The other barely had time to react before he too was disarmed and pinned to the ground, a web cocoon forming around him in seconds.
You stood frozen, eyes wide with shock, as Spider-Man â the Spider-Man â landed lightly in front of you. His eyes, hidden behind those iconic white lenses, seemed to scan you for any sign of injury. The air around you crackled with tension, but now it was a different kind â the kind that came with knowing you were safe, even if only for the moment.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice muffled but unmistakably concerned.
You nodded numbly, unable to find your voice. Up close, Spider-Man was even more imposing than youâd imagined, but there was something comforting in his presence, something that made the terror of the last few minutes begin to ebb away.
"Good," he said, his tone gentle now. He hesitated, moving to place a hand on your arm but not quite reaching you before he pulled back. âDo you need water or something?â
You glanced at the two thugs, now securely webbed to the walls, and couldnât help but feel a surge of gratitude mixed with disbelief. Youâd been saved by Spider-Man â a hero who was as much a myth as he was a reality in your mind. Unable to find your voice, you shook your head.Â
"Thank you," you finally managed to say, your voice shaky but sincere.
He tilted his head slightly, as if studying you. "Itâs no problem. But itâs not safe to be out here alone, especially this late. Do you need a lift home?"
The offer caught you off guard. A lift home? With Spider-Man?
You hesitated, then nodded. "That...that would be great."
Without another word, Spider-Man stepped closer, slipping an arm around your waist with surprising ease, as if heâd done this a thousand times before. Your heart raced â not from fear, but from the sudden closeness, the way his presence seemed to envelop you.
"Hold on tight," he instructed, his voice calm and reassuring.
Before you could fully process what was happening, he shot a web into the night sky and the ground disappeared beneath you. You clung to him instinctively, your eyes squeezing shut as the wind rushed past your face, cool and refreshing in the humid night air.
All too soon, after youâd instructed him the way to your home, the flight ended as Spider-Man landed gracefully on the fire escape outside your apartment window. He set you down gently, his arm lingering around your waist for just a second longer than necessary before he pulled away.
"Home sweet home," he quipped, his tone light.
You took a step back, trying to steady your breath. "Thank you," you said again, your voice softer this time. "Really, I donât know how to repay you."
Spider-Man didnât respond immediately. Instead, he seemed to hesitate, as if debating something internally. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he asked, "Mind if I hang out here for a bit? The viewâs not bad."
You blinked in surprise. Was Spider-Man asking to stay? With you? The night was full of surprises, it seemed.
"Sure," you said, moving towards the window and gesturing for him to follow. "Iâve never had a guest on my fire escape before."
He chuckled softly, a sound that sent a strange warmth through you. "First time for everything."
You both settled onto the metal platform, the city spread out before you like a living, breathing canvas. The air was cool now, the storm holding off for just a little longer, and for a moment, you simply sat there in silence, letting the night speak for itself.
"You live here alone?" he asked after a while, his voice quieter now, almost as if he didnât want to disturb the peacefulness of the moment.
"Yeah," you replied, glancing over at him. His mask hid his expression, but there was a certain softness in the way he held himself, a relaxation you hadnât expected. "Itâs not much, but itâs home."
He nodded, seemingly lost in thought. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, "It must get lonely sometimes."
The words hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken meaning. You werenât sure if he was talking about you or himself, but either way, you felt an odd connection in that moment, a shared understanding of what it meant to be alone in a city full of people.
"Sometimes," you admitted, your gaze drifting back to the city skyline. "But I guess thatâs just part of life, right?"
"Yeah," he murmured, his voice almost lost in the breeze. "Part of life."
For a while longer, you both sat there, the city a quiet hum in the background. And in that silence, there was a comfort, a sense of companionship that neither of you had expected but both seemed to need.
âDo you want pizza?â you asked, breaking the comfortable silence. At the mention of food, his head shot up.Â
âYouâve got pizza?â
You couldnât help but smile at the absurdity of it all. âYeah, I do. Itâs leftover from earlier. Itâs probably cold by now, butââ
Spider-Manâs enthusiasm seemed to overflow. âCold pizza is fine! In fact, itâs the best kind of pizza!â
You laughed, the sound bright and clear in the night air. It felt strange, yet oddly comforting, to share such a simple moment with someone who seemed so larger-than-life.
âAlright then, let me grab it,â you said, moving toward the window. As you opened it and stepped inside, you could feel Spider-Manâs eyes on you.
You retrieved the pizza from the fridge, the box still warm from its earlier stint in the oven. Returning to the fire escape, you offered it to Spider-Man with a shy, almost playful grin.
âHere you go,â you said, handing over the box. âCold pizza and all.â
He took it eagerly, setting it down beside him on the metal ledge.Â
You took a seat next to him, the cool metal beneath you grounding you after the adrenaline of the earlier encounter. The city lights below twinkled like stars, and for a moment, the chaos of the evening seemed to fade away.
Spider-Man popped open the pizza box, revealing a slightly congealed but still appetizing array of toppings. He pulled out a slice with deft movements and took a large bite, pulling up his mask just enough for you to not be able to make out his identity, his mask making the act look both humorous and oddly endearing.
"So," Spider-Man said as he took another bite, "late night at the library?"
You blinked, surprised by the casual conversation. "How did you know?"
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. "The stack of textbooks in your bag was a pretty big clue.â
You laughed, the sound mingling with the distant rumble of thunder as the storm prepared to make its entrance. "I guess I should have guessed you'd notice something like that."
Spider-Man nodded, a playful glint visible in the sliver of his eyes. "It's kind of my thing to notice details. Helps with the whole hero gig."
You bit into a slice of pizza, the cold cheese and slightly chewy crust a comforting contrast to the eveningâs chaos. Spider-Manâs relaxed demeanor made it feel like you were just two friends sharing a late-night snack, not someone in need of rescue and the rescuer himself.
"What's your favorite topping?" you asked, trying to steer the conversation to something light.
He looked at the slice in his hand, contemplating. "Pepperoni. Classic choice, but itâs hard to beat."
You grinned. âPepperoni?â you echoed, raising an eyebrow. âReally? I have to say, bacon is the superior topping.â
Spider-Manâs eyes widened behind his mask, and he mock-gasped, holding his pizza slice up as if it were a shield. âBacon? How could you betray the classic pepperoni like that?â
You chuckled, leaning back against the fire escapeâs metal railing.Â
âYou canât be serious,â Spider-Man said, feigning outrage. âPepperoni is a staple. Bacon is great, donât get me wrong, but it doesnât hold a candle to a well-cooked pepperoni slice.â
You raised an eyebrow, chuckling at his animated reaction. âBacon adds a crispy, savory kick that pepperoni just canât match. And donât tell me you havenât had bacon on pizza before. Itâs like a flavor explosion.â
âFlavor explosion?â Spider-Manâs voice was incredulous, but there was a hint of laughter in it. âMore like a greasy mess. And donât get me started on how bacon can overshadow the other toppings. Pepperoni complements the cheese, the sauce â itâs harmonious.â
You couldnât help but laugh at Spider-Manâs dramatic reaction. The absurdity of debating pizza toppings with a superhero in the middle of the night struck you as hilariously surreal.
âOh, come on,â you said, shaking your head. âBacon doesnât overshadow. It complements! Itâs like having a surprise party on your pizza. You take a bite, and bam! â thereâs the crispy, smoky goodness.â
Spider-Man pretended to shudder. âA surprise party?â he chuckled. âAgree to disagree. Iâm sticking with my classic.â
You smiled, âIâll take that as my win.â
You couldnât quite believe it. There you were, sitting on your fire escape, and locked in a passionate debate about pizza toppings with Spider-Man. Spider-Man. The same superhero who swung through the night, fighting villains and saving lives. And here he was, playfully defending pepperoni against your undying love for bacon.
It felt like a scene plucked from a dream â a surreal interlude where the chaos of the night melted away into a shared moment of absurdity and connection. Inside your tiny apartment, the city was a backdrop, a distant hum of life and noise that barely intruded on this bizarrely intimate conversation.
The superhero was right there, his masked face only partially visible in the dim light, but clearly animated and engaged in a debate over something as trivial as pizza toppings.
"I might have to swing by more often just to change your mind about that pizza."
Your heart skipped a beat at his words. "Oh?" you managed, trying to keep your voice steady. "And how exactly do you plan on doing that?"
Spider-Man tilted his head, and even though you couldn't see his face, you could almost feel the grin behind his mask. "Well," he said, his voice low and teasing, "I could always bring you some properly topped pizza. Show you the error of your bacon-loving ways."
You felt a flutter in your stomach at his words. The thought of Spider-Man swinging by again, just to bring you pizza, seemed both thrilling and strangely domestic.
"I'd like that," you said softly, surprising yourself with your honesty. "Though I think you'll have a hard time converting me."
Spider-Man chuckled, the sound warm and rich. "Challenge accepted," he said, his voice tinged with a playfulness that made your heart race.
For a moment, you both fell silent, the weight of the evening's events settling back over you. The pizza box lay empty between you, a testament to the strange normalcy you'd managed to carve out of this surreal situation.
Finally, Spider-Man stood, stretching as if preparing to leave. "I should get going. Thereâs always more to do."
You nodded, a pang of disappointment tugging at your heart. "Thanks again, for everything."
He turned to face you, and for a moment, you thought you saw a hint of a smile beneath his mask. "Anytime," he said, his voice warm. "Take care of yourself, okay?"
Before you could answer, he gave a final nod, and in a graceful, practiced motion, he leaped off the fire escape. For a moment, you watched as he soared into the night, his silhouette briefly illuminated by the distant streetlights. Then, with a soft whoosh, he was gone, disappearing into the urban tapestry of lights and shadows.
That night, as you laid in bed, your mind raced with thoughts of both Cregan and Spider-Man. The quiet, brooding boy from your class and the witty, heroic figure who had saved you â they couldn't be more different. And yet, there was something about both of them that drew you in, that made you want to know more.
Little did you know, across the city, Cregan was having similar thoughts about you. As he peeled off his Spider-Man suit, wincing at the bruises from his earlier fight, he couldn't shake the memory of holding you close as he swung through the city. He'd been drawn to you for weeks, admiring you from afar in class. But tonight, he'd gotten a taste of what it might be like to be close to you, to talk to you without the awkwardness that always seemed to plague him as Cregan.
As Spider-Man, he could be confident, even flirtatious. He could say the things he'd always wanted to say to you but never had the courage to. It was liberating, but also terrifying. Because now, more than ever, he wanted to know you, to be close to you. But how could he do that without revealing his secret? How could he be both the Cregan you knew from class and the Spider-Man who had saved you tonight?
_________
The week following your encounter with Spider-Man was a strange blend of normalcy and surreal anticipation. You went about your daily routine â attending classes, studying, grabbing coffee with friends â but there was an undercurrent of excitement, a constant awareness that at any moment, you might spot a flash of red and blue swinging between buildings.
For Cregan, the week was a torturous exercise in self-restraint. Every time he saw you in class or passed you in the hallway, his heart rate spiked. He found himself torn between an overwhelming desire to talk to you and a paralyzing fear of giving himself away.
The first few days, he limited himself to small, careful interactions. A wave as you entered the lecture hall. A nod of acknowledgment when your eyes met across the cafeteria. Each time, he felt a surge of warmth at your answering smile, but he always pulled back before he could do or say anything more.
At night, as he patrolled the city, Cregan found his thoughts constantly drifting back to you. He'd catch himself swinging past your apartment building, telling himself he was just checking to make sure you were safe. But deep down, he knew he was hoping for another chance encounter, another opportunity to talk to you as Spider-Man.
By Thursday, the tension was becoming unbearable. Cregan knew he couldn't keep this up indefinitely. He had to make a decision â either find a way to approach you as Cregan Stark or risk losing any chance of a real connection.
It was Friday afternoon when he finally worked up the courage to act. He spotted you entering the library, arms full of books. Taking a deep breath, Cregan followed you inside.
He watched as you settled at a table near the back, the same spot where he'd left you after your collision the week before. For a moment, he hesitated, second-guessing himself. What if you didn't want to be bothered? What if you preferred the quiet, grumpy Cregan from class and were put off by any attempt at friendliness?
But then he remembered the way you'd laughed with Spider-Man, the easy conversation you'd shared over cold pizza. He wanted that â not just as his masked alter ego, but as himself.
Squaring his shoulders, Cregan approached your table. When you didnât look up, he cleared his throat.Â
"Hey," he said softly, mindful of the library's quiet atmosphere. "Mind if I join you?"
You looked up, surprise evident in your eyes. For a heart-stopping moment, Cregan thought you might say no. But then your expression softened into a smile. "Sure," you replied, gesturing to the empty chair next to you as you cleared the table for him. "There's plenty of room."
Cregan sat down, trying to ignore the way his heart was hammering in his chest. Up close, he could see the flecks of color in your eyes, the same ones he'd admired from behind his mask. He cleared his throat, searching for something to say.
"Biochem midterm?" he asked, nodding towards the textbook open in front of you.
You nodded, a hint of frustration creeping into your voice. "Yeah. I'm still struggling with some of the enzyme kinetics concepts."
Cregan felt a flutter of excitement. This, he could handle. Science was his element, a language he spoke fluently even when words failed him in other areas. "I could help, if you want," he offered, his voice gruff but tinged with genuine eagerness. "I've got a pretty good handle on that stuff."
Your eyes lit up, and Cregan felt his breath catch. "Really? That would be amazing. I've been staring at these diagrams for hours, and they're still not making sense."
As Cregan leaned in to look at your textbook, he felt some of his nervousness begin to ebb away. This was familiar territory â explaining scientific concepts, breaking down complex ideas into simpler parts.
You shifted your chair slightly closer to his, your shoulder brushing against his arm as you both peered down at the open textbook. Cregan felt a jolt of electricity at the contact, his skin tingling where you'd touched. The air between you seemed to thicken, charged with an energy that made his heart race even faster.Â
He focused on the page, the neatly printed equations and diagrams suddenly feeling more daunting than they'd ever been in his own studies. But you were looking at him expectantly, and Cregan knew he had to push through the nerves that threatened to steal his voice.
"Okay, so," he began, his voice just above a whisper, "enzyme kinetics can be tricky because itâs all about how the enzymes interact with the substrates. Think of it like... a dance. Each enzyme has a specific partner, and the speed of the reaction depends on how well they fit together and move in sync."
You nodded, leaning in closer, your brow furrowed in concentration. Creganâs eyes flicked to your face, catching the way your lips pursed slightly as you tried to grasp the concept. He found himself lingering on the curve of your mouth, the soft glow of your skin under the libraryâs dim lighting.
As he explained further, your questions came, your voice soft and inviting, drawing him deeper into the conversation. Each time you spoke, Creganâs heart would stutter, your words weaving into the atmosphere between you. He would catch himself staring at your hands as they moved across the page, slender fingers tracing the diagrams he described, and wonder what it would feel like to hold them.
The tension from earlier began to melt away, replaced by a quiet intimacy that neither of you had expected. Cregan leaned in even closer, his shoulder now pressed fully against yours. You didnât move away â instead, you tilted your head towards him, so close that he could feel the warmth of your breath against his cheek.
The library seemed to fade around you, the hum of fluorescent lights and the distant shuffle of pages and whispers all but disappearing. It was just the two of you, cocooned in a bubble of soft words and shared focus. Cregan felt his guard lowering, the lines between Cregan Stark and Spider-Man blurring as he let himself enjoy this simple, honest moment with you.
Every time you asked a question, Cregan felt a little more of his confidence return. He could see the frustration in your eyes begin to ease, replaced by a spark of understanding that made him want to keep talking, keep sharing this part of himself with you.Â
Finally, after what felt like both a brief and endless stretch of time, you smiled â a real, bright smile that made something in Creganâs chest ache with warmth.
âThat actually makes sense now. I donât know how to thank you, Cregan.â you said, leaning back in your chair, though still close enough that your knees brushed his under the table.
Cregan's breath hitched at the sound of his name on your lips, soft and full of gratitude. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady as he replied, "Iâm glad I could help. Itâs, uh, nice to talk about this stuff with someone who gets it." His words trailed off into a nervous laugh, his gaze flicking between your eyes and the textbook.
You laughed softly, a sound that made Creganâs pulse quicken. "Well, Iâm lucky to have found the best tutor around," you teased, the warmth in your tone making his cheeks flush.
Creganâs mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, all centering on the impossible closeness of you, the way your laughter wrapped around him like a soft blanket. He wanted to say more, to tell you how much heâd been thinking about you, how every time he saw you, he felt a pull he couldnât explain. But he held back, scared to break the delicate balance of this moment.
Instead, he settled for a simple, "Anytime," the word heavy with everything he wasnât brave enough to say out loud.Â
As the silence stretched between you, neither of you moved away. Cregan's hand rested on the edge of the table, fingers inching just a bit closer to where yours lay, as if testing the waters, waiting to see if youâd pull away.
But you didnât.Â
âWould you tutor me for biochem? I can pay you,â
Your question hung in the air between you, and Creganâs heart skipped a beat. He hadnât expected you to ask, and the offer of payment made something in him twist uncomfortably. You were offering him something concrete, something logical â an exchange of services â but that wasnât what he wanted. Not really.
He hesitated, searching your eyes for any sign that you were asking out of more than just academic need. But all he saw was sincerity, a touch of hopefulness, and maybe, just maybe, something else â a faint flicker of warmth that made him wonder if you felt the same connection he did.
Cregan swallowed hard, feeling the tension rise in his chest. The last thing he wanted was for this to become transactional, something that would reduce your time together to a simple tutor-student dynamic. He didnât want your money. He wanted your company, your laughter, the way your presence seemed to quiet the rest of the world.
âNo, you donât have to pay me,â he stammered, his voice softer than he intended. âIâd be happy to help. Really. I mean, itâs kind of fun, right? We can just, uh, study together whenever you need. No strings attached.â
The words tumbled out awkwardly, but he meant every one of them. He watched you carefully, nervous about how youâd react. For a split second, he worried that maybe youâd misunderstand â that youâd think he wasnât taking you seriously, or that he was brushing off your offer.
But then you smiled, a slow, warm curve of your lips that made Creganâs pulse quicken again. âAre you sure?â you asked, though there was a lightness in your tone now, as if youâd already guessed his answer. âI donât want to take up your time for nothing.â
Cregan shook his head, his own smile starting to form. âItâs not nothing,â he said, feeling a bit of his confidence return. âBesides, I could use the review too. Biochemâs always easier with someone else to bounce ideas off of.â
You laughed softly, nodding in agreement. âOkay, youâve convinced me. But I owe you a coffee at least. No arguments. Thatâs non-negotiable.â
Creganâs heart soared at the thought of spending more time with you, of sharing something as simple and normal as a cup of coffee. It wasnât a date â not exactly â but it felt like a step closer to something more, something real. He nodded quickly, eager to accept any excuse to see you outside of class, outside of these quiet, studious moments.
âDeal,â he said, trying not to sound too enthusiastic, though he knew he was failing miserably. He could feel the blush creeping up his neck, his nerves returning in full force.
Your eyes met his, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence was comfortable, charged with an unspoken understanding that went beyond the words youâd exchanged. Creganâs hand was still on the edge of the table, close to yours, and he wondered if youâd noticed just how near they were.
But before he could overthink it, you shifted slightly, your fingers brushing against his as you adjusted your textbook. It was the smallest of touches, but it sent a shiver up Creganâs spine, his skin buzzing with the sensation.
âTomorrow?â you asked, your voice soft but steady. âFor the coffee? We can meet after class.â
Cregan nodded, his throat tight with emotion. âTomorrow,â he echoed, feeling like it couldnât come fast enough. The thought of seeing you again, of sitting across from you with a cup of coffee, made everything else fade into the background.Â
As he watched you disappear around the corner of a bookshelf, Cregan let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His mind was already racing ahead to tomorrow, to the coffee shop, to the prospect of spending more time with you outside of the confines of the classroom or library.
But as the initial rush of excitement began to fade, a familiar anxiety started to creep in. How was he going to balance this? His life as Cregan Stark, college student and potential friend (maybe more?) to you, with his responsibilities as Spider-Man? What if there was an emergency during their coffee... not-date? What if you started to notice his frequent disappearances, his unexplained bruises?
You found yourself replaying your conversation in your mind, smiling at the memory of his shy smiles and the way his eyes lit up when he talked. There was something about Cregan Stark that intrigued you, a depth that you were eager to explore further.
But as much as Cregan occupied your thoughts, you couldn't shake the memory of your encounter with Spider-Man. The masked hero's wit and charm had left an impression, and you often found yourself glancing up at the sky, half-hoping to catch a glimpse of red and blue swinging between buildings.
It was a week after your encounter when your path crossed with Spider-Man again. You were walking home late, having stayed at the library longer than intended, your mind still buzzing with biochemistry formulas and the lingering warmth of your interactions with Cregan.
The street was quiet, the air cool and crisp with the promise of autumn. You were so lost in thought that you almost missed the soft thud behind you. Almost.
"You know, it's dangerous to walk alone at night," a familiar voice called out, playful but with an undercurrent of concern. "Even in this neighborhood."
You spun around, your heart leaping into your throat. There, perched on a nearby lamppost, was Spider-Man, his masked face tilted towards you in a way that suggested he was smiling.
"Are you following me?" a mix of surprise and excitement coloring your voice.Â
He chuckled, the sound sending a small shiver down your spine. "Just keeping an eye on the city," he replied, his tone light. "But I have to admit, I'm glad I ran into you again. How've you been?"
You couldn't help but smile, the tension in your shoulders easing. "I've been good," you said, taking a step closer to the lamppost. "No more late-night alley adventures, if that's what you're asking."
Spider-Man laughed again, dropping down from the lamppost to stand in front of you. Even with the mask, you could sense his amusement. "Good to hear. Though I have to say, I was hoping for an excuse to swoop in and save the day again."
There was something in his voice, a hint of flirtation that made your pulse quicken. You raised an eyebrow, playing along. "Oh? And here I thought you had plenty of other damsels in distress to rescue."
"Ah, but none quite as intriguing as you," he quipped, his head tilting in a way that made you wonder what expression he was wearing beneath the mask.
You felt a blush creep up your neck, thankful for the dim streetlight that probably hid it. "Intriguing, huh? I'm not sure whether to be flattered or worried."
Spider-Man took a step closer, and you were suddenly very aware of his presence, the way he seemed to radiate a mix of confidence and nervous energy. "Definitely flattered," he said, his voice softer now. "Trust me, it takes a lot to catch a spider's attention."
You laughed, the sound slightly breathless. "Well, consider me honored then," you replied, surprised by your own boldness. "Though I have to say, you're pretty intriguing yourself, Spider-Man."
He seemed to stand a little straighter at that, and you could almost imagine the grin behind his mask. "Oh yeah? Care to elaborate on that?"
You pretended to consider for a moment, tapping your chin thoughtfully. "I hear you have excellent taste in pizza toppings."
Spider-Man laughed, the sound rich and warm. "Ah, so my reputation precedes me. Though I still maintain that pepperoni is superior to bacon."
You gasped in mock offense. "And here I thought we were getting along so well. Clearly, I was mistaken."
"Maybe I could change your mind," he said, his tone playful but with an undercurrent of something more. You didnât know how you hadnât seen the pizza box he was hiding behind his back until he held it up. âMight just change your mind.â
Your eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the pizza box. "You brought pizza? Were you planning this encounter, Spider-Man?" you asked, a teasing lilt in your voice.
He shrugged, the movement oddly graceful. "Let's just say I had a hunch I might run into you. And I never pass up an opportunity to prove the superiority of pepperoni."
You couldn't help but laugh, shaking your head in amusement. "Well, far be it from me to turn down free pizza. But where exactly are we going to eat it? I don't think the sidewalk is the most romantic spot for a pizza date."
The word 'date' slipped out before you could stop it, and you felt a blush creep up your cheeks. Spider-Man seemed to pause for a moment, and you wondered if he was blushing too, beneath that mask.
"Date, huh?" he said, his voice a mix of surprise and pleasure. "Well, if it's romance you're after, I think I know just the spot. Do you trust me?"
You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "I'm not sure if I should trust a man in a mask, but..."
Spider-Man stepped closer, and your breath caught in your throat. "Hold on tight," he said, his voice low and warm.
Before you could fully process what was happening, his arm was around your waist, pulling you close against his side. You barely had time to wrap your arms around his neck before he shot a web upwards, and suddenly, you were airborne.
The city rushed by in a blur of lights and shadows, the cool night air whipping past you. You clung tightly to Spider-Man, your heart racing from a mixture of adrenaline and proximity. His body was warm and solid against yours, and even through the suit, you could feel the strength in his arms as he held you securely.
After what felt like both an eternity and no time at all, you landed softly on a rooftop. Spider-Man gently set you down, his hand lingering on your waist for just a moment longer than necessary.
"You okay?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.
You nodded, slightly breathless. "Yeah, I'm... wow. That was incredible."
As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you gasped softly. The rooftop offered a stunning view of the city skyline, lights twinkling like stars against the night sky. It was beautiful, peaceful in a way you'd never experienced the city before.
"This is amazing," you said softly, turning to look at Spider-Man. "How did you find this place?"
He shrugged, setting the pizza box down on a nearby ledge. "I swing by a lot of rooftops. This one's always been a favorite. It's quiet, and the view... well, it speaks for itself."
You nodded in agreement, moving to sit on the ledge next to the pizza box. Spider-Man joined you, his movements fluid and graceful.
"So," he said, opening the box and revealing a steaming pepperoni pizza, "ready to have your mind changed about the ultimate pizza topping?"
You laughed, reaching for a slice. "We'll see about that. I'm not easily swayed."
As you both ate, you fell into easy conversation. Spider-Man was witty and charming, his jokes making you laugh even as you rolled your eyes. But there were moments, brief flashes when his voice would soften or he'd tilt his head in a certain way, that reminded you startlingly of Cregan.
You pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the surreal experience of sharing pizza on a rooftop with a superhero. As the night wore on and the pizza dwindled, you found yourself relaxing, leaning slightly closer to Spider-Man.
"Okay," you admitted finally, "I have to say, this pepperoni pizza is pretty good."
Spider-Man pumped his fist in victory. "I knew it! Another convert to the pepperoni side."
You laughed, nudging his shoulder playfully. "Don't get too cocky. I still maintain that bacon has its merits."
He turned to face you, and even though you couldn't see his eyes, you could feel the intensity of his gaze. "Guess I'll just have to keep trying to convince you," he said softly.
His words hung in the air between you, charged with an energy that made your heart race. You found yourself leaning in slightly, drawn by the warmth of his presence and the intimacy of the moment.
"Is that a promise?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
Spider-Man's hand twitched, as if he was about to reach out to you, but he caught himself. "It might be," he replied, his tone a mix of playfulness and something deeper, more sincere. "If you're interested in more rooftop pizza, that is."
You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "I might be," you echoed his words, your eyes never leaving his masked face. "Though I have to warn you, I'm not easily won over. It might take a lot of convincing."
He chuckled, the sound low and warm. "I'm up for the challenge."
For a moment, you both sat in comfortable silence, the city sprawling out beneath you like a living, breathing entity. The cool night air carried the faint sounds of traffic and distant sirens, reminding you of the world beyond this rooftop.
"Can I ask you something?" you said finally, turning to face him fully.
Spider-Man nodded, his posture shifting to give you his full attention. "Shoot."
You hesitated, wondering if you were crossing a line. "What's it like? Being... you? Having all this power, this responsibility?"
He was quiet for a long moment, and you worried you'd overstepped. But then he sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. "It's... complicated," he said finally. "It's exhilarating, knowing I can make a difference, save lives. But it's also terrifying. There's always the fear of not being fast enough, strong enough. Or, well  â  death."
His honesty caught you off guard. You'd expected a quip, maybe a lighthearted deflection. Instead, you got a glimpse of the person behind the mask, vulnerable and achingly human.
Without thinking, you reached out, placing your hand on his arm. "That sounds incredibly difficult," you said softly. "But for what it's worth, I think you're doing an amazing job. This city is lucky to have you."
Spider-Man looked down at your hand, then back up to your face. Even through the mask, you could sense the intensity of his gaze. "Thank you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "That... means a lot."
You smiled, giving his arm a gentle squeeze before pulling your hand back. As you did, you couldn't help but notice the firm muscles beneath the suit, the strength coiled just beneath the surface.
Clearing your throat, you looked back out at the city, trying to calm your racing heart. "So, um, do you bring all the girls you save up here for pizza, or am I special?" you asked, aiming for a teasing tone to lighten the mood.
Spider-Man laughed, the sound lighter now. "Oh, definitely special," he said, bumping his shoulder against yours playfully. "It's not every day I meet someone who can challenge my pizza topping supremacy."
You grinned, feeling the tension ease. "Well, I'm honored.âÂ
Before you could dwell on it, a distant siren pierced the night air. Spider-Man's head snapped towards the sound, his body tensing.
"I'm sorry," he said, turning back to you with obvious reluctance. "I have to..."
You nodded, understanding. "Go," you said softly. "Itâs okay, Iâll find my way back."
He stood, hesitating for a moment. Then, in a move that surprised you both, he reached out and squeezed your hand gently. "Thanks for... this," he said, gesturing vaguely at the rooftop, the remnants of your pizza dinner. "It was nice to just be... me for a while."
Your heart fluttered at his words, at the warmth of his hand on yours. "Anytime, Spider-Man," you replied, meaning it more than you'd expected to.
With a final nod, he stepped to the edge of the roof. "Hold on tight," he said, and before you could ask what he meant, he had scooped you up in his arms.
The journey back to street level was a blur of exhilaration and barely suppressed laughter. When your feet touched the ground, you felt oddly bereft, missing the warmth of his arms around you.
You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. "Would you want to do this again? I mean, maybe not the rooftop pizza â " you laughed lightly, â â but just, you know, hanging out. Talking. I like it. I like⌠getting to know you."
He seemed to pause, his head tilting slightly as if he was considering something. Then he nodded. "Iâd like that," he said, his tone softer, almost hesitant.
You found yourself smiling, a real one that reached your eyes, as you nodded back. "Great. Maybe... Thursday? Same time? We could meet on the fire scape, like last time.â
He mirrored your smile, though his was a little crooked, like he wasn't used to showing it. "Thursday works."
Neither of you moved to leave just yet. There was a comfortable silence that hung between you, the kind that didnât demand to be filled. The cool breeze tousled your hair, and you felt the weight of the evening settle in, a sense of contentment mixing with the anticipation of what was to come.
But eventually, reality seeped back in. He straightened, his hand gripping the railing as if grounding himself before he stepped back.
"Stay safe," Spider-Man said, already preparing to swing away.
"You too," you called after him, watching as he disappeared into the night sky.
As you made your way home, your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. The quiet, brooding Cregan Stark and the charming, mysterious Spider-Man occupied equal space in your mind, leaving you more confused than ever about your own feelings.
As Cregan swung through the city, responding to the siren's call, he couldn't shake the memory of your smile, the warmth of your hand on his arm, the way you'd spoken about him.
He knew he was walking a dangerous line, but in that moment, with the wind rushing past him and the city spread out below, Cregan couldn't bring himself to regret a single moment of the evening he'd just shared with you.
_________
Creganâs fingers drummed repeatedly on the paper cup in front of him. Your notes were scattered over the table, formulas and equations that had been giving you grief for days now.Â
He glanced up from the problem you were stuck on, his brow furrowed in concentration. âAlright,â he said, his voice low and deliberate. âLetâs go over it one more time. Youâre getting tripped up in the same spot.â
You sighed, feeling the weight of the frustration that had been building all week. âI know, itâs just⌠it doesnât make sense in my head. I donât see the connection.â
Cregan paused, his fingers halting their drumming. He leaned in slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he was holding back a reassuring smile.Â
âYouâre overthinking it. Youâve got the basics down, you just need to trust yourself. Here,â Cregan pointed to a specific equation on your notes, his fingers brushing lightly against the paper as he spoke.Â
"See here? This is where youâre losing the thread. Youâre thinking too far ahead instead of focusing on this step. Just break it down."
His voice was calm, steady, almost like a grounding force that pulled you out of your spiraling thoughts. You nodded, trying to absorb his advice. There was something about the way he explained things that made it easier to understand, like he knew exactly where you were getting lost and how to guide you back.
You worked through the problem again, this time more slowly, following his guidance. Cregan watched you intently, his gaze unwavering, as if he could tell you would find the answer just by being there. And then, finally, it clicked.
âOh!â you exclaimed, the solution suddenly clear as day. âI get it now. It was just that one step throwing me off.â
A small smile tugged at Creganâs lips, the kind of smile that was rare from him, but when it appeared, it felt like the sun breaking through clouds. âTold you. Youâve got this.â
You grinned back, the weight of your earlier frustration lifting. âThanks, Cregan. I donât know what Iâd do without you.â
He shrugged, trying to play it off as no big deal, but you could see the flicker of something softer in his eyes. âYouâd figure it out eventually. Iâm just here to make it easier.â
There was a pause, a comfortable silence that settled between you as you sipped your coffee. Outside, people bustled by, unaware of the quiet connection forming at your little table in the cafĂŠ.
You glanced at him, feeling a warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with the coffee. âYou know, youâre really good at this. Helping people, I mean.â
Cregan looked almost embarrassed by the compliment, his gaze dropping to his cup. âI just⌠I like helping you. Thatâs all.â
His words hung in the air, simple yet heavy with meaning. You felt your heart skip a beat, unsure of how to respond. Instead, you simply smiled, letting the moment stretch out between you, full of unspoken things.
Eventually, Cregan cleared his throat, breaking the silence. âSo, uh, you ready for the next problem?â
You nodded, grateful for the distraction but also for the time you had with him, these small moments that seemed to mean more than you could fully understand.Â
As you worked through the next set of problems, you found yourself more attuned to Creganâs presence than the equations in front of you. His focus was sharp, eyes scanning your notes with an intensity that seemed out of place for something as mundane as math. Yet, that intensity was what made him so good at this, at seeing what you missed and guiding you through it.
You started the conversation, your voice warm and inviting. "So, Cregan, what else should I know about you? Besides being a whiz at biochem, that is."
Cregan felt a flush creep up his neck at your teasing tone. "I, uh, not much, really," he mumbled, his eyes darting around the coffee shop before settling back on you. "I'm kind of a boring guy, to be honest."
You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Somehow, I doubt that," you said, leaning forward slightly.Â
Cregan's eyes met yours for a brief moment before he looked away, a faint smile breaking his usual reserved expression. âWell,â he started, his voice low and thoughtful, âI guess Iâm into photography. Itâs more of a hobby, but it helps me clear my head sometimes.â
You leaned in closer, intrigued by this small revelation. âPhotography? Thatâs really cool. What do you like to photograph?â
Cregan shrugged, a little more at ease now that the focus was off the math and on something more personal. âMostly cityscapes. Sometimes, Iâll catch the sunrise or sunset if Iâm up early â or late â enough. I like capturing moments that people usually overlook.â
There was something almost poetic about the way he spoke, as if he saw the world in a different light, a way that made you want to see it through his eyes. âThat sounds⌠peaceful,â you replied, trying to imagine him in those quiet moments, camera in hand.
âYeah, it is.â Cregan paused, as if considering how much more to share. âItâs⌠calming.â
You smiled, feeling a new level of connection with him. âIâd love to see some of your photos sometime.â
His eyes flicked back to you, surprised. âYou would?â
âOf course,â you said, your voice earnest. âI think itâd be amazing to see the world through your perspective.â
Cregan hesitated, but there was a softness in his expression, a slight warmth that hadnât been there before. âMaybe I could show you, then. If youâre really interested.â
âI am,â you assured him, your tone gentle yet firm. âI really am.â
The conversation took on a new rhythm after that, a quieter, more personal tone as you both opened up, bit by bit. Cregan asked about your own interests, your goals, the things that made you tick outside of the classroom. He listened intently, his focus unwavering, and even though his responses were often short and to the point, they were always thoughtful, as if he was carefully choosing each word.
You talked about books you loved, places you wanted to visit, dreams you had for the future. And in turn, Cregan shared more about himself â his love for science, his fascination with how things worked, and the quiet joy he found in those moments when he could just be himself, away from the pressures of school and life.
As the afternoon stretched into early evening, the cafĂŠ started to empty out, the bustle of the day giving way to a more relaxed atmosphere. The baristas began their end-of-day routines, but you and Cregan remained, the connection between you growing stronger with each passing moment.
At some point, your hands brushed across the table, and though it was brief, it felt like a spark of electricity passed between you. Cregan didnât pull away, and neither did you. Instead, you both let the touch linger for just a moment longer, a silent acknowledgment of the growing bond that was forming.
Finally, as the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the cafĂŠ floor, you realized it was time to go. You packed up your notes, the weight of the dayâs work feeling lighter than it had before.
âThanks for today,â you said, standing up and slinging your bag over your shoulder. âI really appreciate it.â
Cregan stood as well, his hands slipping into his pockets. âAnytime,â he said softly. âSame time next week?â
âDefinitely,â you replied, smiling at him. âAnd maybe we can talk more about photography, too.â
Creganâs smile returned, shy but genuine. âYeah. Iâd like that.â
As you walked out of the cafĂŠ together, the evening air cool and refreshing, you couldnât help but feel that something had shifted between you and Cregan. It was subtle, a quiet deepening of the connection you shared, but it was there, undeniable and strong.
You parted ways after Cregan insisted on walking you home and you refused, he opted for telling you to text him when you were at your door. His cheeks burnt red when he read the screen, with your newly added number and a âhome ;)âtext.
Cregan's phone buzzed again, and his heart leapt, wondering if it was another message from you. But as he looked at the screen, his expression darkened. It was a news alert: a robbery in progress just a few blocks away.
He hesitated, torn between the urge to respond and the desire to hold onto the warmth of the afternoon for just a little longer. But he knew he couldn't ignore it. With a sigh, Cregan ducked into a nearby alley, quickly changing into the suit he always kept with him.
As he swung through the city, the cool night air whipping past him, Cregan couldn't help but think about you. About the way your eyes had lit up when he explained a particularly tricky concept, about the soft brush of your fingers against his as you reached for your coffee cup. He thought about the promise of next week, of more conversations about photography and life and all the things that made you both who you were.
The robbery was dealt with quickly â a couple of petty thieves who were more surprised to see Spider-Man than they were prepared to fight him. As Cregan webbed them up for the police, he found himself wondering what you would think if you could see him now. Would you be impressed? Scared? Would it change the way you looked at him?
By the time Cregan made it back to his apartment, it was late. He collapsed onto his bed, still in his suit, feeling the familiar ache of exertion in his muscles. But as he closed his eyes, it wasn't the faces of the criminals he'd caught that he saw. It was your smile, the way you'd leaned in close as he explained a problem, the warmth in your voice when you'd said goodbye.
His phone buzzed one more time, and Cregan reached for it, his heart racing. It was you.
âthanks again for today. you really are my hero when it comes to biochem.â
Then another.
âsee you in class!â
Cregan read the message several times, his thumb hovering over the reply button. He wanted to say so much â about how much he'd enjoyed spending time with you, how he was already looking forward to next week, how beautiful you looked, how you made him feel like just Cregan, not Spider-Man or anyone else.
In the end, he settled for something simple:Â âAnytime. I had a great time too. Can't wait for next week.â
He knew it wouldn't be easy. Balancing his life as Cregan Stark with his duties as Spider-Man was already a constant struggle. Adding a potential relationship to the mix would only complicate things further. But as he remembered the sound of your laugh, the way your eyes had met his across the coffee shop table, Cregan found himself thinking that maybe, just maybe, it would be worth it.
The next few days passed in a blur of classes, patrols, and stolen glances across lecture halls. Every time Cregan saw you, his heart would do a little flip in his chest. Sometimes you'd catch his eye and smile, a small, secret gesture that felt like it was just for him. Other times, you'd be deep in conversation with friends or buried in a textbook, and Cregan would find himself watching you from afar, marveling at the way you moved through the world.
In class, Cregan found himself hyper-aware of your presence. He'd catch himself stealing glances at you, watching the way you chewed on your pen when you were thinking hard about a problem, or the way you'd tuck a strand of hair behind your ear as you leaned over your notes. More than once, he nearly missed a question from the professor, too distracted by the simple fact of your nearness.
But it wasn't just in class that you occupied his thoughts. As Spider-Man, swinging through the city at night, Cregan found himself taking routes that would bring him past your apartment building. He told himself it was just to make sure you were safe, but deep down, he knew it was more than that. It was a way of feeling close to you, even when he couldn't be Cregan Stark.
As Cregan swung away into the night, he couldn't shake the feeling that something had to give. He couldn't keep living these two separate lives, couldn't keep holding you at arm's length while simultaneously yearning to be closer. But what was the alternative? To tell you the truth and risk everything? To walk away and protect you from the dangers that came with being close to Spider-Man?
He didn't have the answers. But as he made his way back to his own apartment, Cregan knew one thing for certain: he was in deeper than he'd ever intended to be, and there was no easy way out.
_________
As the days passed, you found yourself drawn more and more into Cregan Stark's orbit. What had started as simple tutoring sessions began to evolve into something more. You'd catch yourself looking for him in the crowded hallways between classes, your heart skipping a beat when you'd spot that familiar mop of brown hair.Â
During your tutoring sessions, you started to linger longer, engaging Cregan in conversations that went far beyond the subject matter at hand. You discovered a shared love of obscure sci-fi movies, and soon found yourself suggesting meetups outside of your usual study time. When you had first asked him to come over to watch a movie, trying to keep your voice casual even as your pulse quickened, Cregan felt like his chest was about to explode.
Cregan seemed both delighted and nervous at these invitations, always accepting with an endearing mix of enthusiasm and awkwardness. You couldn't help but find his slightly fumbling manner charming, so different from the easy confidence you saw in many of your classmates.
But it wasn't just Cregan Stark who was occupying your thoughts. Your encounters with Spider-Man had been increasing in frequency as well. It started innocuously enough - you'd be walking home late from the library and suddenly he'd be there, offering to make sure you got home safely. Or you'd be grabbing a quick bite at a food truck, and he'd swing by, pausing just long enough for a quip and a smile that made your stomach flutter.
These brief encounters slowly became more frequent, more prolonged. Sometimes he'd perch on a nearby rooftop, and you'd find yourself talking for hours, sharing your hopes, your fears, your dreams. There was something freeing about talking to someone whose face you couldn't fully see, whose identity remained a mystery. You found yourself opening up to Spider-Man in ways you never had with anyone else.
As your connection with both Cregan and Spider-Man deepened, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was something you were missing, some connection you weren't quite grasping.Â
The day had been long, stretched out with a kind of silence that felt unnatural. Usually, Cregan would find some way to pop up â whether it was a quick text about a class assignment or a casual joke that made you smile. But the past three days, there was nothing. The hours ticked by, and with each passing minute, a sense of unease settled in your chest.
You missed Cregan, heâd become a constant presence in your life.
The evening of the third day rolled in, you tried to distract yourself with a book, but the words blurred together, your mind too bored and restless to focus. Every so often, you found yourself glancing at your phone, hoping for a message, some sign of Cregan.
The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across your apartment. You stood by the window, watching the city come to life with its usual rhythm â the distant hum of traffic, the occasional blare of a car horn, the murmur of voices drifting up from the street below. But something felt off, a tension in the air that you couldnât quite shake.
You were just about to turn away from the window, resigning yourself to another hour of waiting, when a sudden noise broke through the quiet. A thud. Heavy and sharp, it resonated through the walls and made you jump.
Your heart leapt into your throat as you spun toward the sound. It had come from the fire escape just outside your window, the metal groaning slightly under the weight of something â or someone.
With a shaky breath, you approached the window, your hand trembling as you reached for the latch. You hesitated for a moment, a thousand thoughts racing through your mind. Then, slowly, you pushed the window open, the cool evening air rushing in.
And there he was.
Spider-Man.
But not the agile, confident hero youâd seen swinging through the cityâs skyline. This Spider-Man was slumped against the railing of your fire escape, his red and blue suit torn and stained with dirt and blood. He was breathing heavily, each breath a ragged gasp, his masked head tilted down as if the effort of holding it up was too much.
âSpider-Man?â you whispered, your voice shaky with a mix of disbelief and fear.Â
He didnât respond at first, his head still bowed, but you could see his chest rising and falling in labored breaths. Panic surged through you as you realized just how badly he was hurt. Without thinking, you climbed out onto the fire escape, the metal cool beneath your hands as you knelt beside him.
âHey,â you said, louder this time, reaching out to touch his arm. âWhat happened?â
At your touch, he flinched, his head snapping up. For a moment, you saw the white lenses of his mask narrow, as if he was trying to focus on you through a haze of pain. Then, with a weak, shaky movement, he lifted a gloved hand to his mask, pulling it up just enough to reveal the lower half of his face.
Your heart nearly stopped when you saw it â Creganâs familiar jawline, his lips cracked and dry, blood trickling from a cut on his cheek. His eyes, half-hidden behind the mask, were glazed with exhaustion and pain.
âCregan,â you breathed, the name slipping from your lips before you could stop it. Fear and worry tangled in your chest, making it hard to breathe. You could barely recognize the boy whoâd sat beside you in the library just a few weeks before, explaining enzyme kinetics with a shy smile. Now, he looked so vulnerable, so fragile, it was almost unbearable.
âHey,â he murmured, his voice hoarse, almost too quiet to hear. His attempt at a smile faltered, his lips trembling. âSorry... didnât mean to drop in unannounced.â
You shook your head, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. âCregan, what happened? Youâre hurt â Oh my god, youâre bleeding!â
He winced as he tried to shift, his hand tightening on the railing. âJust... ran into some trouble. Nothing I couldnât handle. Just... just need a minute.â
But it was clear that he needed more than just a minute. His skin was pale beneath the grime, and when he tried to move again, his body sagged against the railing, his strength all but gone.
âCregan, you need help,â you said, your voice urgent as you scanned his injuries, not knowing where to start. You could see the gash on his side, the dark stain of blood seeping through the fabric of his suit. âYou canât stay out here â come inside, please.â
He opened his mouth to protest, but another wave of pain seemed to wash over him, cutting off his words. You didnât wait for him to argue. With gentle hands, you slipped your arm around his waist, feeling the tension in his muscles as you tried to support his weight.
âCome on,â you urged softly, âIâve got you.â
With a groan, Cregan let you help him to his feet, his body heavy and unsteady against yours. Together, you managed to maneuver him through the window and into your apartment, his breath hot and ragged against your neck.
You guided him to the couch, easing him down onto the cushions with as much care as you could manage. He slumped back, his head lolling to the side as he tried to stay conscious. You could see the strain in his face, the way his eyes fluttered open and shut as he fought against the overwhelming exhaustion.
âIâm gonna get some supplies,â you whispered, brushing a hand across his forehead. âJust hang in there, okay?â
Creganâs hand caught yours as you started to pull away, his grip weak but desperate. âThank you,â he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. His eyes met yours, filled with a depth of gratitude and vulnerability that made your heart ache.
You squeezed his hand gently, your voice soft but firm. âIâll be right back.â
As you hurried to gather what you needed â first aid kit, towels, anything that might help â you couldnât shake the image of Cregan lying there, hurt and vulnerable. This was the same boy whoâd laughed with you over coffee, whoâd explained complex science with an ease that belied his own brilliance. The same boy who now sat on your couch, barely holding on.
When you returned, Creganâs eyes were closed, his breathing shallow but steady. You knelt beside him, your hands trembling as you began to clean his wounds, doing your best to be gentle. Each time he flinched or winced, your heart clenched, wishing you could take the pain away, even if just a little.
âWhy didnât you tell me?â you murmured, your voice barely a whisper as you worked.Â
Cregan didnât answer right away, his lips pressed together as you dabbed at the cut on his side. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke, his voice rough and tired. âMissed you.â
Your chest tightened at his words, and you paused, meeting his gaze. âCregan,â
The words seemed to hang in the air between you, thick with emotion. Creganâs eyes softened, his expression crumbling into something raw and unguarded. âIâm sorry,â he whispered, his voice breaking. âI didnât want to drag you into this... but I didnât know where else to go.â
Your heart ached for him, and without thinking, you reached out, cupping his cheek in your hand. âYouâre not dragging me into anything, Cregan. You donât have to go through this alone.â
He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes as if trying to draw strength from your presence. For a long moment, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, tangled in a web of trust and unspoken feelings, holding on to each other in the quiet safety of your small apartment.
Creganâs eyes fluttered open as he leaned into your touch, a small, reassuring smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite the pain etched into his features.Â
âHey, donât look so worried,â he murmured, his voice soft but with a familiar hint of playfulness. âIâll be okay. Iâve got this whole⌠accelerated healing thing going on. Perks of the job.â
You tried to smile back, but the worry still lingered in your eyes. âI know, but that doesnât make seeing you like this any easier.â Your voice wavered slightly, and Creganâs hand found yours, giving it a gentle squeeze.
âCome on, donât I always bounce back?â he said, trying to inject some of that Spider-Man charm into his voice, though it came out weaker than usual.
âIâll be okay,â he murmured at your silence, his voice a rough whisper, as if he was trying to convince both of you. âI... I heal fast. It just takes some time.â
You frowned, your hand still cradling his face as you studied the cuts and bruises that marred his skin. âFast or not, youâre hurt, Cregan. Let me help.â
He managed a small, weak smile, one that didnât quite reach his eyes but was full of appreciation. âYouâre already helping.â
You started with the worst of his injuries, cleaning the gash on his side with careful, deliberate movements. He hissed at the sting of the antiseptic, his muscles tensing beneath your touch, but he didnât pull away. Instead, he let out a shaky breath and tried to relax, his eyes fixed on your face as if drawing strength from your presence.
He looked at you then, really looked at you, his eyes searching yours as if trying to understand how you could be so kind, so caring, even after seeing him like this. The world knew Spider-Man as a hero, invincible and strong, but here he was, laid bare and vulnerable, and yet you didnât flinch, didnât turn away. Instead, you stayed, your hands steady as you patched him up, your heart open and unafraid.
Once youâd finished with the worst of the injuries, you turned your attention to the smaller cuts and bruises, dabbing at the dried blood on his cheek, his neck, his hands. The silence between you was comfortable now, filled with the quiet rustle of bandages and the soft rhythm of your breathing.
Creganâs eyes drifted shut as you worked, the exhaustion finally catching up with him. âIâm sorry,â he murmured, barely above a whisper. âDidnât mean to worry you.â
You shook your head, your fingers brushing gently over a bruise on his temple. âYou donât have to apologize, Cregan. Iâm just glad you came here, that you trusted me.â
His eyes opened again, and this time, there was a softness in them that made your heart ache. âOf course, I trust you,â he said, his voice stronger now, more certain. âI just... I didnât want you to see me like this. Didnât want you to think...â
He trailed off, struggling to find the right words. But you understood what he was trying to say, the fear that had been gnawing at him, the worry that you might see him differently now that you knew the truth.
You offered him a small, reassuring smile, your hand still resting on his cheek.Â
He closed his eyes again, leaning into your touch as if it was the only thing keeping him anchored. You could see the exhaustion weighing heavily on him, the way his body sagged against the cushions, his strength nearly spent.
âGet some rest,â you urged softly, your fingers brushing through his hair in a soothing gesture. âIâll stay right here. Youâre safe.â
Cregan nodded, his breathing evening out as he let the exhaustion take over. His hand found yours, his grip weak but steady, and he held on as if afraid to let go.
As the minutes stretched into hours, the tension in Creganâs body began to ease, his breathing becoming slower, deeper. The silence in the room was peaceful, broken only by the faint sounds of the city beyond the window. You stayed beside him, your hand still holding his, your thumb brushing gently over the back of his knuckles in a soothing rhythm, trying to also calm yourself down.
Then, just as you thought heâd fallen asleep, Creganâs voice broke the quiet, a soft murmur that tugged at your heart. âI missed you these last few days,â he whispered, his eyes still closed, as if the words were pulled from him in a moment of vulnerability.
Your breath caught in your throat at the confession. âI missed you too,â you replied, your voice just as soft, filled with all the things you hadnât been able to say. You hadnât realized how much youâd been waiting for this moment, for the chance to be close to him again, until now.
Creganâs eyes fluttered open, meeting yours with a quiet intensity that made your pulse quicken. There was something raw in his gaze, a mix of relief and longing that you hadnât seen before, something that made the air between you crackle with unspoken emotion.
âI kept thinking about you,â he continued, his voice low and rough around the edges.
You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest as his words hung in the air. There was a vulnerability in his gaze that made it impossible to ignore, a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the bruises and cuts marring his face.
Creganâs lips, cracked and dry from days of struggle, curled into a weak but genuine smile. His eyes, half-lidded with exhaustion but alive with a mix of mischief and longing, met yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.
âHey,â he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper, âsince youâre already being so kind and caring, maybe⌠just maybe⌠a kiss for the wounded hero?â He tried to make light of his condition, the playful tone in his voice belying the pain he was in.
Your lips twitched into a small, incredulous smile despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. You could see the effort it took for him to joke, the way he was clinging to his usual charm even when he was at his most vulnerable.
âI suppose I could,â you said, leaning closer, âif youâre sure it wonât make you faint from excitement.â
Creganâs laughter was a soft, pained exhale, but it was there, and it was real. âI think I can handle it.â
With a tender smile, you brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, your fingers lingering for a moment as you took in the rawness of his expression. He looked at you with such intensity that it felt as if he was seeing right into you, beyond the superficial and straight into the heart of what mattered.
You leaned in, your breath mingling with his as you closed the distance. His lips were warm and dry against yours, and the kiss was gentle, almost tentative.Â
Creganâs lips, cracked and trembling from his injuries, felt delicate beneath yours. Despite his pain, there was a surprising gentleness in his kiss, a fragile vulnerability that made you want to hold him closer. The contact was brief, a fleeting brush of warmth and tenderness, but it was charged with unspoken emotions â fear, hope, and the deep relief of finally being close again.
When you pulled back, you barely heard Creganâs joke about ordering some good pizza, too focused on his cheeky smile and the few strands of hair that had fallen back to his face.Â
432 notes
¡
View notes