Authors note 💌- Hi guys I’ve quite literally fallen in love with tom holland as spider-man so here you go! I’m also still inexperienced with writing smut so I’m sorry for inaccuracy or lack of description.
Summary- after being untouched for so long, peter can’t help but lose his control once you come into the picture making him chose between staying alone or letting someone in.
Word count- 3.9k
Warnings- porn with plot!!, mentions of injury, mentions of being scared to get close to someone, fluff, kissing (lots of kissing), pet names (baby, sweetheart, sweet girl), unprotected PinV (DONT DO THIS), Dacryphilia (if you squint), multiple orgasms (2) (r receiving), fingering, peter acts differently around reader (his arachnid side, but not extremely crazy) and aftercare (ofc).
Masterlist
Peter had become exceptionally good at being forgotten.
Not literally forgotten, perhaps. New York still knew Spider-Man. There were children who pointed excitedly whenever a red-and-blue figure swung between buildings, strangers who lifted their phones whenever he appeared on a rooftop, and police officers who occasionally offered a weary nod when he passed them during one of his nightly patrols.
But Peter Parker?
Peter Parker had become a ghost. Years ago, the world had forgotten him. There had been no grand funeral, no memorial service, no photographs framed in black. No one had mourned Peter Parker because, as far as everyone else was concerned, there was no Peter Parker left to mourn.
He had watched people he loved look directly through him. He had stood in places that had once felt like home and realized, with a peculiar numbness, that he was the only person carrying the memories.
So he had adapted.
He worked,studied and patrolled then he would come home to his small apartment, take off the mask, and listen to the city breathing through the thin windows. And, eventually, he stopped expecting anyone to stay.
That was why you unsettled him.
Not because you were particularly different, but that was precisely the problem. You were ordinary in all the ways Peter had come to cherish. You remembered the little things like how he took his coffee or when he was tried with those obvious dark circles formed under his honey brown eyes. You asked him questions and, unlike most people, actually waited for the answers.
Yet you had no idea who he was. And somehow, without meaning to, you had begun making him feel wanted again.
It started with something as insignificant as a broken cabinet door. Peter had been standing in the hallway of his apartment building with a screwdriver between his fingers when he heard the unmistakable sound of someone muttering furiously behind the neighboring door.
“Come on.” A pause. “You have got to be kidding me.” Another pause.
“I swear, if this thing falls on my head—” A loud crash interrupted you.
Peter winced.
Then came your voice. “I’m fine!”
He stared at your door. He had never truly spoken to you before, despite living across the hall from you for almost three months. He knew you existed, obviously. He watched you coming and going, usually carrying too many grocery bags or balancing a stack of books against your chest. And Peter also knew you occasionally sang under your breath when you thought nobody could hear.
He had never mentioned that though and it would probably never be said.
Another crash came from your apartment.
Peter sighed and walked across the hall to your door and he knocked.
The door opened several seconds later. You stood there holding a screwdriver in one hand, your hair slightly disheveled and an expression of profound irritation on your face.
“Hi.” You smile which such a soft expression, which Peter noticed quickly.
“Hi.” He replied subtly.
Your eyes flicked toward the screwdriver. Then toward Peter, then back to the screwdriver you were holding in your hand.
“I promise I’m not committing a crime.” You laughed awkwardly like you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to.
“I wasn’t going to say that.” He looked at you with confusion.
“You looked like you were going to.”
“I was actually going to ask if you were okay.” Peter explained.
Your expression softened. “Oh.”
Peter immediately regretted asking.
“I heard the noise.”
“Right.” You glanced behind yourself. “The cabinet attacked me.” You joke even though the cabinet had been giving you so many unnecessary issues.
“Cabinet?”
“It’s been plotting against me for weeks.”
Peter smiled despite himself. It was brief like he didn’t want to show too much emotion.
But you caught it anyway.
“You smiled.”
His expression immediately flattened. “No, I didn’t.” He immediately got defensive.
“You absolutely did.” You look at him with a smug ‘yes you did’ look.
“I think you’re imagining things.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
Peter stared at you, and you stared back. Then, unexpectedly, you laughed. And something inside him shifted. Just enough to remind him that he hadn’t heard someone laugh because of him in a very long time.
“Do you want help?” he asked.
You hesitated. “You know how to fix cabinets?”
“I know how to fix a lot of things.”
There was something strange about the way he said it. Almost as though the statement meant more than it should.
You stepped aside. “Come in.”
Peter did. He shouldn’t have and that was the first thought that crossed his mind when he stepped across your threshold.
He should have just remained a neighbor to keep things subtle, and just be someone who said hello in the hallways and someone whose life didn’t overlap with yours enough to become complicated.
Instead, he crouched beside the cabinet and examined the hinges.
You sat on the counter, watching.
“You’re quiet,” you said.
“I’m usually quiet.” He focused on the cabinet to avoid looking at you.
“I noticed.” You replied.
“You noticed?”
“You barely talk to anyone in the building.” You said with a tone of curiosity in your voice, like you wanted to know why he never talked to anyone.
Peter’s fingers paused then he glanced at you.
You shrugged.
“Not in a creepy way. You’re just… noticeable.” You said to quickly back up your comment.
“That’s unfortunate.” He replied with a blank expression on his face.
“Why?”
“Because I prefer being unnoticed.”
You studied him for a moment. Then you smiled faintly.
“Well, you’re going to have a hard time with that now.” You laugh.
He looked at you admiring your sweet smile. “Why?”
“Because I know you exist.”
Peter didn’t have an answer for that. So he looked back at the cabinet.
That evening was the beginning. Neither of you called it anything. There was no declaration that you were becoming friends, no sudden transformation in the way you interacted. It simply happened gradually, almost imperceptibly.
You began knocking on his door. Sometimes you had a question or needed his help and your favorite excuse ‘I made to much food it shouldn’t go to waste’.
Peter suspected that last one was frequently an excuse, yet he never complained.
He started spending time at your apartment because your place was warmer than his. Not physically, necessarily, although it probably was. It had something to do with the fact that your apartment looked lived in. Books were stacked haphazardly on shelves. A blanket was perpetually draped across the back of your couch. There were photographs scattered around, little pieces of a life Peter had never been allowed to have. He found himself staring at them sometimes.
You noticed. “You can ask.”
Peter looked away. “Ask what?”
“Anything.”
He swallowed. “What?”
“You keep looking at the pictures.”
Peter glanced toward them again. “I was just wondering who they were.”
“My family. Mostly.” You answered his question. “Do they live nearby?” He asked wanting to know more about your background. “Some of them.” You smiled.
“You don’t talk about your family much.” Peter’s expression changed. Only slightly, but enough. “I don’t really have one.”
The words were quiet. You didn’t press. That was another thing he liked about you. You knew when silence was kinder than curiosity. So instead, you handed him the remote.
“Pick something.”
“What?” He asked confused at what you were asking of him.
“A movie.”
“You trust me with the remote?”
“Not particularly.” You now questioned your choices.
He raised an eyebrow. “Then why give it to me?”
“Because I’m curious what kind of terrible taste you have.” You say while giving him a unserious look. Peter laughed. Actually laughed. It startled both of you then he immediately covered it with a cough. You smiled. “You’re weird.”
“I’ve been told.”
“Frequently?” You asked.
“More than you’d think.”
You settled beside him on the couch. Not too close. Peter had developed a sensitivity to proximity which was odd for him because he could fight criminals without hesitation. Or leap from rooftops and could hurl himself through a collapsing building and trust his body to find a way through. But sitting beside someone he cared about? That terrified him. Because physical danger had rules.
People didn’t. People could disappear.
They could forget.
They could die.
They could look at you as though you were a stranger.
So Peter kept his distance.
Even as he began spending more and more time with you. Weeks became months. You learned things about him. Small things like how he hated his coffee to sweet and he liked watching nerdy movies and he had odd habits of not being able to keep his body still.
But then he disappeared unexpectedly. A lot.
At first, you assumed he was simply busy. Then you started noticing the injuries a bruised cheek, a split lip and worst of all bandages wrapped around his ribs.
One evening, he appeared at your door with a cut along his eyebrow.
You stared at him.“What happened?”
“Nothing.” He quickly tried to calm your worry.
“Peter.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“You’re bleeding.” You make it sound like a big deal.
He touched his eyebrow and looked at his fingertips. “Oh.”
You sighed. “Come inside.”
“I should probably—”
“Peter.”
He stopped and you held the door open Peter then stepped inside your apartment.
You cleaned the wound in silence. Peter sat unnaturally still.
“You’re shaking,” you murmured.
“I’m not.” He argued.
“You are.”
“Maybe I’m cold.”
“It’s seventy degrees.” You laughed.
“Then I’m… unusually cold.”
You smiled slightly. “You’re terrible at excuses.”
“Yeah.”
The quiet returned. You dabbed antiseptic near his eyebrow. Peter watched your face. He hated how much he wanted to stay. That was the terrifying part. He wanted to tell you everything about why he sometimes disappeared in the middle of conversations or why he knew how to bandage injuries with alarming efficiency. And how sometimes he looked at strangers as though he were searching their faces for someone who no longer remembered him.
But he couldn’t. Not yet.
Because Spider-Man was not simply a secret. He was a liability. Anyone connected to Peter Parker became vulnerable. He had learned that lesson too many times. So he pulled away whenever things became too comfortable. You noticed. Of course you noticed. One night, after Peter had spent nearly four hours at your apartment, you walked him to the door. “Are you avoiding me?”
He froze. “No.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“You’ve been doing this for months.”
“Doing what?” He acted as if he done nothing wrong.
“Getting close and then disappearing.”
Peter looked at you. There was something almost wounded in his expression. “I don’t mean to.”
“Then why?”
He opened his mouth. Nothing came out. You waited, and he looked down.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” Peter whispered as if he didn’t want to say it at all.
The words were so quiet that you almost missed them. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
“I do.” He answered.
“Why?” You questioned obviously confused.
“Because that’s what happens. His jaw tightened. “People get close to me, and eventually something goes wrong.”
You studied him. “Peter, I don’t know what happened to you.” You looked at his figure in front of you “But whatever it was…” You hesitated. “You don’t have to deal with it alone.”
His eyes lifted to yours. For one suspended moment, he looked younger. Not physically, but something deeper. Like someone who had spent years pretending he didn’t need anyone and had suddenly forgotten how exhausting the pretense was.
“I appreciate that,” he whispered.
Then he left. For three days, you didn’t see him. On the fourth night, there was a knock on your window. You nearly dropped your phone because your apartment was several floors above the street.
Slowly, you approached.
Peter stood outside on your window ledge. You stared and he waved awkwardly. So you opened the window the window to let him in. “What are you doing?”
“Hi.” He looked at you.
“Peter.” You said his name sternly.
“Yeah?”
“You’re standing outside my window.” You questioned like it was so hard to understand how he got all the way to your apartment.
“I noticed.” He smiled softly.
“How?” You needed an answer. He looked down. “Because I’m currently standing outside your window.” You stared at him. He stared back. Then you noticed his knuckles were scraped again. You frowned when you saw his hands bloody from god knows what.
“You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.” He said looking at your sad expression his cheeks turning a soft shade of pink. “You always say that.” You say knowing he always shows up injured.
“Because I’m usually fine.” He smiles at you.
“You’re bleeding.” He glanced at his hand. “Right.”
You stepped aside so that he could climb inside your bedroom. You had no idea that this was the first time Peter had entered someone’s apartment through a window without wearing a mask. You also didn’t know that it was the closest he had come to telling you the truth, but he stayed that night. You simply sat together on the floor with takeout containers between you while an old movie played in the background. Peter laughed at something you said while you leaned against the couch and he rested his head against the cushion. For once, neither of you seemed concerned with what came next. And Peter thought, perhaps foolishly, that maybe this could work. Maybe he could have something resembling a normal life, or maybe he could allow himself one person.
One person who knew Peter.
Not Spider-Man.
Just Peter.
That thought frightened him enough that he nearly ruined everything. The truth came several weeks later. It happened at his apartment.
You were sitting at his kitchen table while he paced across the room. “Something’s wrong,” you said. “Nothing’s wrong.” He stared at you showing something was clearly wrong. “You’ve walked past the same chair fourteen times.” Peter glanced behind himself. “I like the chair.”
“You’re nervous.” You knew he was lying.
He stopped. There it was again. That terrible honesty in your voice. Peter exhaled. “You remember when I said I didn’t want to hurt you?”
“Yes.” You look at him intrigued.
“I wasn’t talking about myself.”
You frowned. “What do you mean?”
He looked toward the window. “I need to show you something.”
“Okay.”
Peter disappeared into the bedroom. You heard drawers opening. A moment later, he returned carrying something beneath his arm.
A red-and-blue suit.
Your heart stopped and you stared at it like so much was unfolding at once. You looked at him, then at the suit. “Peter..” He didn’t speak he just placed the suit on the table. You looked at him like you couldn’t believe this was happening, that your neighbor could keep this take to the grave secret.
He swallowed. “I didn’t want you to find out like this.”
“You’re—”
“Yeah.”
“You’re Spider-Man?” You said the name like it was bitter on your tongue.
He nodded.
You stared at him and for several seconds, neither of you moved. Then you laughed once, breathlessly. Not because it was funny. Because you had absolutely no idea what else to do.“That explains the window.”
Peter gave you a nervous smile “Yeah.”
“And the injuries.” You said connecting all the dots.
“Yeah.” He said, knowing you were putting everything together “And the disappearing.”
“Also yeah.” You looked at him. “You’re Spider-Man.”
“I am.” Peter waited for anger. And he prepared for the worst. Instead, you whispered, “How long?” You continue to focus on his face. “Since I was a teenager.” You looked down at the suit he held tightly in his large hands. “You’ve been doing this all this time?”
“Pretty much.”
“And nobody knows?”
“A few people.” He says, looking down because those people aren’t in his life anymore.
“Not many?”
“No.”
You looked back at him. Peter’s expression had become strangely fragile. “I wanted to tell you.”
“But you were scared.” You tilted your head and looked at him.
He nodded. “I’ve lost people because of this.”
His voice cracked slightly. “I’ve watched people I cared about get hurt because they knew me. I’ve had people forget me. I’ve had people disappear from my life without even knowing they were leaving.”
He swallowed hard, like this was difficult for him to say, or to be this vulnerable. “So when I started caring about you, I thought the safest thing I could do was stay away.” You were quiet. Peter looked down. “I know that’s not fair.”
“No.” You said with a hint of overwhelming sadness in your eyes.
His shoulders fell when he saw the look on your face, knowing he was the reason. “I know.”
“But I understand.” You said with a soft tone like you wanted him to know everything was okay. Peter looked up. “You do?”
You nodded. “I don’t think you’re afraid of me.” He stared at you. “I think you’re afraid of what happens when somebody matters.” He had no response to that because you were right.
And Peter Parker had spent years convincing himself that loneliness was safer than love. Now, sitting across from you, he wondered if safety had ever really been the point.
After that night, things didn’t suddenly become perfect. Peter still disappeared sometimes. You still worried, but there were still evenings when he sat silently beside you, staring into the middle distance while you resisted the urge to ask what was happening inside his head. But he stopped pretending he didn’t care.
And that mattered. He began coming over more often, like he was happy to be welcomed into your presence.
He would appear with groceries and you would make dinner, and watch cheesy movies together. And, slowly, Peter began learning that being known did not always end in catastrophe. Sometimes being known meant someone remembered how you liked your coffee. Sometimes it meant someone noticed when you were unusually quiet.
Soon months passed. The two of you grew closer in a way neither of you ever formally defined. It wasn’t perfect. But it was real.
And Peter had begun to believe that perhaps real was enough. Until one night, long after midnight, you heard the window open.
You were half-asleep when you sat up. The room was dark except for the faint glow of the city beyond the glass.
Peter climbed inside.
But something was wrong.
Immediately.
He moved differently, and his shoulders were rigid. His breaths were severely uneven. He didn’t even bother to look at you he just stood there, his back turned like he was hiding something.
Silence crept into your bedroom causing you to feel eerie at the sight of Peter in front of you.
You slowly pushed yourself upright. “Peter?”
Nothing.
He remained near the window, his back partially turned toward you. You noticed the way his hands trembled. The way his head tilted slightly, as though he were listening to something you couldn’t hear. There was something almost instinctive in the way he moved.
Something strange. He looked less like the man you knew and more like the creature beneath the mask the part of Spider-Man that Peter rarely allowed anyone to see.
You climbed out of bed. “Peter?”
Still nothing.
He finally turned.
You froze. His face was shadowed, but you could see his eyes. There was a darkness in them that hadn’t been there before.
Something you couldn’t name. You took a cautious step toward him. “What’s wrong?”
“I c-can’t” he said in a breathless voice like he was struggling to speak.
“You can’t what Peter? What’s going on?” You said with a shake in your voice.
“I can feel— no I can smell everything.. y-your scent. Like you won’t leave my mind.” He said with subtle whimpers, trying to contain himself at the same time before he does something stupid.
He turned to face you, the bulge in his sweatpants doesn’t go unnoticed. “I don’t know what’s happening— it’s too much.” He whines his eyes still low and darker than ever.
You look him up and down, his toned figure and abnormally large biceps poking out to you more than all those time before. “H-how can I help? Peter what do I do..”
“I-I can’t. No it wasn’t supposed to be like this.” He stepped closer to you. “I haven’t even properly taken you out yet— it’s too much. F-fuck it hurts.” His voice became more desperate.
Seeing him all whiny definitely did something to you all his pleading went straight to your already soaked core. “I’ll help you.. it’s okay don’t worry.”
Peter looks at you, quickly grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you to kiss him. The kiss was desperate messy all teeth and tongue. You felt your saliva dripping down your chin along with Peter’s lips drifting down to your neck sucking on the sensitive skin beneath your ear, making you shudder in response.
He pushed you backwards until your body hit the soft mattress with a thud. He wasted no time crawling on top of you, his large hands exploring your body like he’s trying to learn everything about you. His hands came down and tugged at the hem of your shirt which was quickly removed and tossed to the corner of your room. His right hand found your breast as his lips latched onto the other, his tongue swirling against the sensitive bud making you moan in response. “You’re so fucking perfect. Do you know that baby. So fucking perfect.” His lips found yours once more before his shirt came off revealing his toned chest.
His hands found their way to your shorts before he roughly pulled them down along with your panties quickly discarding them. “hey!” You screeched at the sudden force of your sleepwear being torn from your now exposed body. “Shhh.. it’s okay sweet girl I got you. Don’t worry.” His long fingers found your overly sensitive clit, he rubbed tight circles over you while you moaned, “o-oh Peter..!”
His fingers teased your entrance before pushing his two digits all the way in, curling them just right. “Look at you? So pathetic, just sucking me right in.” He looked at you while his fingers plunged in and out of your tight hole, drinking up the pleasure shown across your face.“Peter! Don’t stop.. please” you moaned, your hands gripping harshly at his biceps. “I-I’m gonna come.. Peter!” Your back arched off the bed while your hole clenched around his fingers. “Yes baby let me feel that pretty pussy around my fingers— yeah? You like that hm?” You nod in response to his words unable to form a sentence.
As you get over the aftershock of your orgasm he moves to take off his pants revealing the dark wet patch in his boxers. He pulls you closer to him and slides his boxers down like he’s already impatient. His cock is already leaking precum that is dripping down the side of his shaft. He lines himself up with your entrance and starts to slowing push himself him without warning. “Oh fuck! Peter!” You gasp at the sudden stretch and burn of his cock forcing into your pussy. "o-oh god baby." he whines, under the feeling of your pussy clenching down on him. your nails claw at his back leaving red streaks that will definitely be there tomorrow, but he couldn’t care less.
You moan around him, listening to his mix of whimpers as the wet sound of his cock pouring into your tight heat. "f-fuck peter! Don’t stop please don’t stop!” He picks up his pace at your words, like they were duke to his fire. Peter only groaned louder when your fingers start to create more markings onto his back. his senses are going crazy, impossible to control with each stroke of his dick. "feels good baby? Your pussy was made for my cock, huh sweetheart?” He brings a hand down to your clit, rubbing tight circles on it, trying to bring you closer to the edge. “I’m gonna come Peter!” You moan loudly, fingers tangled in his soft brown hair, tugging harshly. “Yeah baby? Come on my cock. Let me feel you.” You come with a loud whine as tears stream down your cheeks. Peter keeps thrusting into you chasing his own high as he kisses the tears on your face, moaning at the salty flavor.
“Gonna fill this pussy s’so fucking good baby!” He whimpers loudly. He gives one more hard thrust before his seed in spurting inside of your abused hole. His cock stays inside as his come starts to ooze out from the sides. “You did s-so good sweetheart thank you. Thank you so much.” He presses his forehead against yours his eyes returning back to normal. “Are you okay?” He asks looking into your eyes searching for anything wrong. “Y-yeah I’m ok.” He slowly pulls out of your cunt, you whine at the loss of contact, the warmth he brought to you. He grabs a towel hanging from your door and cleans you up with it with such gentleness you swear you could cry. He then dresses you in some fresh clothes before fixing himself up with the clothes he discarded on the floor.
He lays down on the bed next to you his large frame making the bed dent inwards and he brings you to his chest. “I promise to do it the right way next time” he says with a smile. “I believe you Peter.. I’ll be waiting” you say as you press a kiss to his red cheek, snuggling up against him too tired to ask why he entered your apartment with his eyes dark and head low, unsure of how to even bring it as your eyes start to close.
Summary: Peter Parker and his arrogant charm thrive on the ability to get under your skin. When you reluctantly spend your Saturday night partying at his fraternity, he finds the perfect opportunity to torture you in all the ways he knew how to. However, you offer him a few new ways to not only get under your skin, but in it.
Warnings/Tags: cocky! peter parker, frat boy! peter parker, athlete! peter parker, light angst, reader can’t stand him, peter’s obsessed with reader, (lowkey) academic rivals, enemies to (something much worse than) lovers, smut, rough oral sex (m receiving), multiple sex positions, multiple orgasms (f), rough sex, bondage (belt), unprotected p in v, creampie, dirty talk, finger sucking (kind of), (a bit of) aftercare. read responsibly! mdni, 18+
Word Count: 9.3k
Author's Note: I had a little too much fun with this one. Frat boy!Peter is so hot, I’ve gotta write more of him immediately. Wrote based on this request (original was deleted, oops).
Inspiration: “Good Girls Go Bad” by Cobra Starship and Leighton Meester.
It was another lively Saturday night at Empire State University when your best friend convinced you to escape the solitude of your quiet dorm room and go out with her to some party at the Kappa Tau Zeta fraternity house. You had put up your best fight, like you always did. Telling her things like you needed to study for your upcoming psych exam, all of your going-out tops were dirty, you had a killer migraine. But she was persistent, like she always was.
Ten minutes into your battle, she fled the room long enough to fix all of your poor excuses. She returned to your dorm with some fruity seltzer beer that tasted like TV static, a skimpy little top of hers that you could borrow, and a bottle of Advil.
She sat cross-legged on your twin bed, droning on about the guy she had all intentions on bringing back to her dorm after the party. Every few minutes, while you sat in front of your desk, using the small mirror to fix your appearance, she would pause to answer your “does this look good?” every time you completed a step of your makeup routine.
“God, you’re sickening,” she gaped when you stood in front of your over-the-door, full-length mirror, analyzing your outfit and everything else about you that felt a little too different.
Your head craned back at her. “Like, sickening in a good way, or…”
“In a great way,” she urged, sliding off your slightly-lofted bed to stand next to you before the mirror.
Her eyes hung on the royal blue, cropped, tight-fitting baby-Tee that said “Stevie Knicks” in orange vinyl lettering. It was the shirt your best friend had made a few months ago when the New York Knicks were heading into the NBA Finals. She saw Taylor Swift in the same shirt and just had to recreate it for the Finals watch party she attended.
You didn’t know shit about basketball, and you didn’t really listen to Taylor Swift, but you didn’t entirely hate the way it clung to your curves. Plus, it paired nicely with your black, cut-off, denim shorts that were fraying at the hem from the number of wears and washes they’d been put through.
Your best friend smirked up at you in the mirror’s reflection. “Parker’s gonna lose his shit when he sees you.”
The sound of his name sent your eyes rolling, an agitated groan spilling from your glossed lips.
“Ew.” You feigned disgust, slamming your closet door shut. “Don’t speak that asshole into existence, please.”
She snickered in response, rolling up the bag of Doritos she’s been munching on and chugging the last few gulps of her black cherry-flavoured White Claw. “You know he’s gonna be there.”
“Why do you think I didn’t want to go?” you deadpanned, flattening your lips.
“It’s so obvious he wants to fuck you,” she countered with a sigh. “It’s kind of sad, actually.”
Your brows stitched together. “He does not want to fuck me—God, don’t even say that. I’m, like, actually gonna hurl,” you protested, feeling an odd sense of dread as you zipped up your makeup bag and flipped the switch on your lamp.
“No one—” she pulled open your dorm door “—and I mean no one, fucks with someone as much as Peter Parker fucks with you unless they have some ulterior motive.”
Slipping past her, you fumbled with your key, locking up and trying to find a reasonable response. But, for some reason, your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
“It’s called arrogance, babe,” you countered, shoving your keys into your front pocket. “That’s his motive. He does it with everyone.”
Falling into step next to you, she shrugged. “I don’t know…” her voice trailed, ending in a high-pitched tone, which told you she actually did know.
The walk across campus was gruesome. The late-spring mugginess combined with the complete and utter dread pumping through your veins made it nearly impossible to focus on anything your best friend was saying.
Your hands were clenched into fists at your side, your chipped, polished nails digging into the delicate skin of your palms. It hurt in just the right kind of way—just enough to distract you from the string of tainted memories that floated through your mind.
It came like a supercut of doom and despair, Peter Parker’s face at the center of them all.
That cocky bastard.
You met him in your first year seminar class. It was a course taught by people in the admissions building and its sole purpose was to help students become more acquainted with college life. But that wasn’t at all what it turned out to be.
The woman who led the class every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from 12:30 to 1:45 was barely twenty five. She had just graduated from grad school the summer before and she cared far too much about the freshly eighteen-year-old guys in your class. Peter, specifically.
He fucking loved it, too. He loved the attention anyone gave him, really—especially if they had what he wanted between their legs.
When he rushed Kappa Tau Zeta that September, no one was surprised. All guys like that joined posh fraternities, thinking the Greek letters they sported on their too-tight T-shirts and vinyl stickers on their car’s back glass somehow made them superior.
You hated it. You hated him even more so.
Ever since he claimed the seat next to you in that pointless, mind-numbing seminar class, it seemed as though his only passion in life became making yours miserable.
He would comment on your outfits, always hitting you with the same “did you wear all that just for me, baby” every time you walked into the lecture hall with more makeup than usual or wore something other than athleisure.
But even when you came to class bare-faced, hair tied up in some mess of an up-do, in sweatpants and a sweatshirt two sizes too big, he would still find ways to get under your skin.
You gave it right back to him, of course. Replying to his snarky remarks with something even more devious, just to watch the way he smirked back at you. Even when you would get one over on him, he fucking ate it up. It was like diesel to a flame.
The second semester of your first year, you found out he was majoring in the same thing as you, which meant his presence became agonizingly consistent.
He didn’t sit next to you in any other class, but he always made sure you were within earshot. He wanted you to hear the way he said all the same things to other, more naive, girls who folded under his smug charm, just like he had expected you to.
He liked getting under your skin the most, though. It wasn’t the same with the others. It was too easy, too predictable.
He liked that you kept him on his toes, constantly dodging his existence like the plague, and didn’t fall for the filthy things he’d whisper in your ear every time he found you alone or a little too close to him. He liked that you seemingly couldn’t care less about him.
Knowing all of this made walking through the fraternity house’s back door (because the front one was for “brothers only”) so much worse.
The chorus of Sammy Adams’ “All Night Longer” blared at max volume from an over-sized speaker resting on top of the make-shift bar in the center of what was supposed to be the house’s living room, but there wasn’t a couch or chair in sight. It was just sweaty bodies littering every square inch of the space, all nursing red Solo cups full of cheap-smelling vodka, and dancing to the rhythm of the bass-loaded song.
Your best friend wasted no time, letting the guy behind the bar who was sporting a T-shirt with Greek letters stitched on the front pour her some of the concoction everyone else was getting buzzed on into a cup.
“She needs one, too,” she shouted over the ear-piercing music, gesturing to you from where you stood next to her.
The guys scoffed. You knew him, of course. He played lacrosse and was the one who shared that video of one of the sorority presidents sucking off his teammate with the entire campus.
“Oh, is little miss Dean’s List gonna have some fun for once?” he jested, smirking up at you as he poured some pink-tinted liquid in the red Solo cups on the bar counter.
You sighed lamely at the use of that frustrating nickname. “If I wanted to have some fun, Harry, I’d go somewhere else,” you countered, tone calm and even despite having to shout so he could hear you.
He didn’t respond, just coughed out a laugh and handed over the cups.
Peter was the one who started the whole Dean’s List thing.
Despite his incredibly unfortunate attitude, he was pretty smart. No, he was a fucking genius, actually. Which made the way he acted really disappointing. All those brains and not a single good thing ever produced from them.
It was the end of your first year when he told you that the two of you were tied GPA-wise, both taking up the top of the Dean’s List, which was a literal list of students who had the highest academic achievement.
He wanted it, of course. He wanted his name to be posted in big, bold lettering. He wanted the dean himself to hand over that trophy, placing it in his sleazy hands just so he could brag about it, and flaunt it to the next girl he wanted to get in his bed.
But it was your hands the trophy went to. It was your name that ended up at the top of the list, his right under it.
He feigned indifference. Riffing off things like, “nobody cares about that stupid shit.” But you knew better than that. Unfortunately, you knew him better than that. You saw the way his mood soured when it was announced at the end-of-year award ceremony.
Beneath his subtle disappointment, though, he was still Peter Parker. Your win turned into just another one of his tricks to get under your skin.
There suddenly became a Dean’s List for anything. His Dean’s List for “best dick sucking” was his favorite though. You could still remember the way his breath felt on your skin when he whispered, “I bet you’d be at the top of that list, too.”
You took it on the chin, like you did with all of his sly taunts. “I bet you’d like to know, wouldn’t you,” is what you’d replied with.
The nickname caught on quickly, just like everything did at your small university—forcing you to remember his breath, his voice, his words, every time someone said it.
Peter was in what was supposed to be the house’s dining room, playing a game of beer pong with a few of his fraternity brothers and whatever girls they’d roped into joining their teams. There was a separate speaker set up in there, playing Cobra Starship and Leighton Meester’s “Good Girls Go Bad” at an even more mindnumbing volume.
His left hand was toting a half-empty cup of cheap vodka mixed dangerously with half of a strawberry-lemonade-flavoured Crystal Light packet. It tasted like poison, but the effects of it felt nice pumping through his system.
The short blonde girl next to him was taking her turn at tossing the ping-pong ball into the cups lined up accordingly at the other end of the painted, plywood table. They were winning, but it wasn’t anything to do with her persistence.
Every toss Peter made landed with a splash in his opponent’s cups, causing them to dreadfully chug its contents. His fraternity brother was rambling out taunts, trying to get under Peter’s skin, but it went in one ear and out the other.
He was immovable. Plus, he always won. No matter what it was—beer pong, lacrosse matches, fucking pop quizzes—he was always determined to win. Some people said he was just doing too damn much, but he called it charming competitiveness. Sounded less desperate that way.
The only thing he couldn’t beat, though, was you. Even after knowing you for three years now, in just about every single one of your classes since freshman year—he just couldn’t win with you.
The minute his eyes landed on you, catching the way you were being dragged by that girl you always kept around into the crowd of dancing bodies in the living room, the game of beer pong unfolding before him became an afterthought.
He turned his back to it, earning a few groans from his opponents and a pout from the blonde who had thought she had all of his attention. He took slow sips of his drink, eyeing you through the massive sea of people flooding his living room.
All bets were off then. Literally. He’d bet a lousy twenty bucks on winning against his frat brother. But he didn’t care if it was twenty dollars or a hundred that he lost. His favorite victim was here—fuck everything else.
“The fuck, Parker,” the guy behind him cursed, tossing the ball right at his back out of irritation, but it missed him by a few inches, bouncing onto the sticky wood flooring and rolling under one of the other tables.
Peter laughed, glancing back at him for only a brief moment. “You weren’t winning shit anyway with a toss like that.”
His attention immediately flew back to you, desperate to figure out a way to get close to you.
There was not one good intention flowing through that mind of his when he walked through the doorway leading into the living room, ignoring the sound of someone shouting his name, and making a slow, calculated beeline to where you were moving around in the crowd.
The room was dark, the only light that illuminated your face was the cheap, party store strobe lights set up on various tabletops. Every second, your face would disappear in the darkness only to reappear a moment later, in a different position.
He watched you with a precise gaze, slipping through sloppy, drunk bodies to get to you.
As the color of the lights flashed different hues of blue, green, purple, and red on the soft outlines of your features, the music seemed to slow and distort, his vision tunneling in a way that felt intoxicating.
Your back was pressed against your best friend’s front, grinding on her to the beat of the music in a platonically seductive way that caused Peter’s gaze to drop to the shape the arch of your back was creating. His eyes twitched at the sight of your ass spilling out of the hem of your too-short shorts.
It pissed him off more than anything.
The song faded into the next, some other song about partying, sex, and drinking that he knew came straight from Harry’s endless Spotify playlist. It was a remix of 3OH!3’s “DONTTRUSTME,” he immediately clocked it based on the first note. He’d heard the same songs every weekend, the lyrics and rhythms were basically engraved in his mind.
The second the chorus hit, your eyes met his.
Your dancing halted abruptly, causing your best friend to frown, immediately clocking your shift.
“The hell?” she mumbled, stumbling back a bit, already too tipsy for her own good and desperate to find that guy she was supposed to meet up with.
You unintentionally ignored her, too distracted by the way Peter made his way in front of you, glaring down at you from his height.
“Lookin’ good, Dean’s List,” he smirked, his tongue running along his top row of teeth, taking his time to rake you over with his dark eyes.
The sight of him—the way he violated your body with his gaze—made you want to throw up. “What do you want, Parker?”
He sarcastically frowned down at you, his bottom lip pursing out. “I missed you.”
Your face became riddled with disgust, but the liquid courage pumping through your system had you feeling mouthy. “Oh, did you?”
“Mm-hmm,” he mumbled, sipping his drink. “Did you miss me?”
“No,” you deadpanned, giving him a phoney sympathetic look. “Not even a little.”
He scoffed, offering you a toothy grin. You pried your attention away from the way muscle in his chiseled jawline ticked when he did it, meeting his gaze with feeble confidence.
His eyes flashed to your tits, where “Stevie Knicks” was printed out on your borrowed T-shirt. Shamelessly, his fingers traced over the lettering.
The touch sent a shockwave through your system, something like white-hot lightning ricocheting in your nerves. It wasn’t an enticing feeling. It was the opposite, really. It was more like a big, red, flashing siren sounding in your ears, telling you to get away from him while you still stood a chance.
“God, does it ever get boring being so basic?” he sneered, hand moving away from your heaving chest. “The Taylor Swift shit? I expected more from you, baby.”
The way his voice sounded when he called you baby was like nails on a chalkboard. “But I thought you liked basic, Pete.” You batted your lashes up at him. “I did all this just for you,” you added, using an artificial high-pitched voice before hardening your features.
His lips curled again, fingers moving back to your chest. He tapped the fabric, feeling the outline of your bra. “Mm,” he hummed, sinking his tongue in his jaw. “You’re feisty this evening, aren’t you? Tequila’s got you needy?”
He liked you best like this. At some party in a tight-fitting outfit, buzzing off cheap alcohol, and willing to entertain his bullshit. He liked having your attention. He liked pissing you off to the point that you felt the need to slap him.
Hell, he wanted you to slap him.
“Maybe,” your voice trailed, peering up at him over your drink with your sharp eyes. “But not for you.”
The muscle in Peter’s jaw ticked. “Oh, you got your sights on someone else?”
You shrugged your shoulders, head turning to scan the party. There wasn’t anyone you were looking for. You just wanted to show Peter the number of options you had. “Maybe.”
He knew there were countless guys at the party who wanted their chance with you. He would hear them talk about you in the back of class, every time you would bend down to pick up something, your ass in the air. Sometimes they’d talk about you in the locker room at lacrosse practice, too. They would drone on about your recent sighting at some party, reeling in the way none of them could ever get you in their beds even after you drank too much to walk yourself back to your dorm.
Peter wouldn’t ever really entertain it. He’d tell them they were all idiots, warning them to stop trying with you because you were too “uptight” and didn’t “put out.” But he knew the reason you never gave into their attempts was because it didn’t excite you.
“You should put your sights on me,” he said with full confidence.
You coughed out a laugh, nearly choking on your drink, causing him to wonder if you would sound the same choking on his dick. “You fucking wish, you creep.”
“I’m a creep now?” he pried, narrowing his eyes on you as the two of you stood unusually still in the center of all the commotion.
“You’re something, that’s for sure.”
He liked that. “Something’s a little too vague for me, baby. Tell me what I am.”
“You’re disgusting,” you quipped, eyes betraying you when they fell to the rigid outline of his biceps that were being suffocated by the hem of his T-shirt sleeves. “And I don’t want to waste my night out standing here with you.”
“Disgusting?” Peter feigned hurt, cocking his head back. “Oh, come on. Now you’re just being mean.”
You rolled your eyes dramatically, turning your head to the side.
Peter felt his dick twitch at the sight despite himself, that imagination of his working tirelessly to picture the way he could make you do that—make you roll your eyes to the back of your head.
He would never admit—even to himself—but he wanted you in a way that bordered obsession. He wanted to see what the fuss was all about. He wanted to be the one to break down those impenetrable walls of yours, spreading you open and learning his way around those venomous curves of yours.
“I’m bored,” you sneered, taking a quick step away from him, realizing your best friend was long gone.
Peter blinked, knocking himself out of his stupid thoughts long enough to reach out and grab your wrist. It was a firm grasp. The tips of his fingers dug into your soft skin, forcing you to stumble back in front of him.
“Don’t walk away from me,” he bit, but his voice was unusually soft and vindictive. “I’m not done with you.”
Knocked off balance from the tug, he shifted his free hand from your wrist to your waist in an attempt to steady you. The fact that he didn’t let you fall flat on your ass was even more dizzying.
“You’re not done with me?” Your brows pinched. “Oh, come on, Peter. Don’t be desperate.”
He smirked devilishly. “You think I’m desperate for you?”
Narrowing your eyes on his, you refused to respond.
“That’s cute,” he went on to say anyway. “You think I want you?” His head bowed slowly, his hand still tight on the curve of your waist. “You think that’s what this is, baby—” his nose nudged the line of your jaw, causing your head to tilt up “—that I’m all needy for you, falling to pieces every time you walk away?”
Your body went rigid, feeling his warm breath on the crook of your neck. The way your skin prickled, a shudder coursing through you as the hairs on your arm stood straight, irritated you far more than his words. The feeling was so distracting, you couldn’t manage another snarky response.
The two of you had been in this position before. It was common—second nature, even. That didn’t make it any easier, though.
“What?” Peter snarled in your ear, soft lips grazing the delicate cartilage. “Can’t speak?”
Your teeth ground, jaw taut with tension as you used your free hand to shove him off you.
He let go of your hip, taking a stuttering half-step back. That smug, toothy little smirk spread on his face.
The people behind him shouted a string of obscenities at him, pissed that his movement had caused one of the girls to spill her drink. But Peter didn’t offer them a single glance. His eyes were glued to you.
The second your small hand had shoved him—that touch, that force—he keeled. There was a newfound hunger in the way he was looking at you. Once he regained his stability, he was right back flush against you.
“What do you want from me, Parker?” you snarled, glaring up at him. His eyes flicked back and forth, not able to choose one to hone in on. “If you don’t want me—what is it that you’re trying to do?”
Peter shrugged, but it didn’t meet his eyes. “Just want to see how long you can take it.”
“Take what?”
“That puddle forming in your panties,” he stated in such a calm tone, it made your skin crawl.
You scoffed, not necessarily surprised but just as shocked. “You’re fucking sick.”
His head tilted slightly to the side. “I bet you’re soaked right now, aren’t you? Putting your hands on me like that get your panties all wet?” His eyes dropped to your shorts. “What color are they, I wonder.” You inhaled sharply, growing restless. His head lowered slightly, your foreheads a dangerous inch apart. “Probably something skimpy.”
Your eyes flashed up to his. “Guess.”
The corner of his lip rose, nodding slowly. “You could show me.”
“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Your head was spinning when you inched closer to him, the hand you’d had at your side slowly moving to graze the bulge forming in his suddenly too-tight jeans. You stood on the tips of your toes, mimicking his early actions by digging your nose into the chiseled line of his jaw.
“You’re all hard and desperate and I haven’t even touched you,” you whispered before quickly ripping your hand away and falling back on your heels. “So pathetic.”
It took Peter a moment to get control of himself. You noticed it, relishing in the power you’d taken over him. But—like all accomplishments pertaining to Peter—it was a short-lived win.
His tongue slipped out between his lips, wetting them with a slow graze. “Disgusting… pathetic…” he talked slowly, a lazy sigh escaping him. “God, I love it when you talk dirty to me.”
You tilted your head. “Oh, that’s what you want, huh?” You coughed out another laugh. “You want me to be mean to you, Parker? That your kink, or something? You like when girls degrade you. That’s what gets you off?”
“No.” He shook his head nonchalantly. “I just like when you do it.”
You hated how bold he was. You hated even more that you couldn’t ever tell when he was being serious or messing with you. The lines between his truths and his teases was a fine one. One that you refused to fall for.
But there was no denying the way it made you feel. There was no denying that knowing how hard he was after just talking to you wasn’t driving you absolutely crazy. And there was definitely no way to deny the arousal puddling at your core, the warm flutters aching in your lower stomach.
It was a dangerous curiosity, wondering what it would feel like for him to be on top of you—inside you. You had thought about it before, of course. But the two of you had never been this close before.
You had never been caught before him like this, suffering the consequences of too much cheap vodka with music muddling the outside world. The bass was so loud, vibrating the floor beneath your feet and ricocheting through your bones, that it drowned out the sound of your heart racing. It drowned out the sound of everything around the two of you.
For a moment, you forgot where you were. You forgot you were surrounded by a bunch of your peers, not caring about any lingering glares.
The only thing you could think about was the way Peter was standing before you, smirking down at you in a way you couldn’t hide from.
“Where’s your head at, baby?” Peter probed, noticing your trance-like state as you were so deep in thought. “You're thinking about it, aren’t you?” He grinned pridefully. “Now that you’ve touched it, you want it, don’t you?”
You blinked hard, eyes dropping to the floor in defeat. Your thoughts were becoming a tangled mess. Lust and desire was meshing with your reluctance and hatred.
His hand slowly raised to your face. The pad of his thumb grazed your glossed bottom lip while his fingers slipped the side of your jaw, tugging slightly to force your gaze up at him.
The sticky feeling of your lip gloss on his thumb caused him to bite down on his lip. He wanted to taste it. He wanted it around his throbbing dick, becoming a sticky mess with your spit.
A wave of confidence coursed through you, thrumming with newfound adrenaline with his hand on you. “Is that what you want?” You parted your lips, tongue slowly creeping out to graze the tip of his thumb. “You want me to want you?”
“Oh, I know you want me,” Peter quickly countered, his dick painfully hard in his pants.
He wanted so desperately to move closer to you. He wanted to grind his hips against you so you could feel how much he wanted you, but he didn’t want you to have that power yet, nor did he want to corrupt the way your plump lips were closing around his thumb.
What you did next was just cruel, really. You bobbed your head forward slowly, welcoming the way his thumb slid right into your mouth. You suctioned your lips around it, tongue swirling over the skin. The salty taste flooded your taste buds as your lashes fluttered up at him.
His jaw went slack, his chest rising as he sucked in a sharp breath at the sight.
You repeated the motion once more, showing him exactly what you were capable of before pulling away.
You reeled in it for a moment. The way you had Peter Parker folding in front of you just by sucking his stupid thumb. The guy who thrived on having the power over you was biting down on his lip hard enough to cause injury, absolutely lost in the shape of your lips.
The thought entered your mind before you could brace yourself.
You liked it.
Peter’s hand dropped to the waistband of your shorts, slipping two fingers in the gap and tugged you flush against him. A gasp tore from your tight throat when you felt his length press against your stomach.
God, he could’ve came just by the sound you made.
His head bowed down once more, his lips returning to the place he loved for them to be—right at your ear. “We’re gonna go up to my room,” he hissed, his arm creeping around your waist to keep you from moving away from them, “and you’re gonna do that to my dick.”
You chuckled, placing your hand on his shoulder to shove him off, but it only led him to squeeze you tighter.
“Uh-uh,” he warned in a devastatingly deep tone. “Stop fighting it, baby.”
He reared his head back, immediately making eye contact with you. Something had shifted, you realized. He wasn’t fucking around with you anymore.
“Go upstairs,” he whispered. “First door on the right.”
You swallowed hard, rethinking every single decision that had led you to this moment, wondering if you would regret any of it.
He released you, causing you to fall back on your heels with a stutter, unable to find a single coherent thought in your dizzied, lust-clouded mind.
You both remained dangerously still for a moment. His eyes were staring into you with such viciousness, it felt like a dagger to the heart.
The muscle in his jaw ticked. “Go.”
You reeled in your defeat, feeling an overwhelming sense of disgust with yourself when you walked through Peter Parker’s bedroom door.
His room, however, was exactly how you thought it would be. His bed was unmade, pushed into the corner of the small room. It was the cleanest disaster you’d ever seen. There wasn’t enough stuff to categorize it as messy, but the stuff that was there was all disorganized.
His navy-blue comforter was tangled up on the mattress, paired with his grey sheets. On the wall above the headboard was a Star Wars poster and it smelled the same as the rest of the frat house did—like they tried to smother the filth with a can of Febreze.
You closed the door behind you, more afraid of someone catching you in his room than what you were getting yourself into.
Inching further into his room, your eyes danced around, analyzing the open Altoids tin with a few pre-rolled joints in them. There were a few crushed beer cans littering his desk, where he had a mountain of books and a lamp draped with a red T-shirt, casting an ambient maroon lighting on the room.
Sucking in a sharp, weighted breath, you sat down on the edge of his bed and combed a hand through your hair, tugging slightly at the root in a feeble attempt to bring you back to reality.
But every time you thought about how poor of a decision you were making, you recalled the feeling of him up against you—the size of his bulge and the way his breath felt on your skin.
But it was Peter fucking Parker.
You couldn’t let him win.
You were about to stand up and walk out when his bedroom door creaked open. Your eyes shot up, jolting at the sudden sound. Peter walked in nonchalantly, closing the door behind him and locking it.
When he saw you sitting on the edge of his bed, your curves illuminated under the soft glow, he couldn’t conceal the sly smirk on his face.
You stood up, the regret washing over you as soon as that cocky expression of his reappeared.
“This was a mistake,” you mumbled, taking a step towards the door.
He side-stepped, blocking your path. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” you snapped, glaring up at him.
“Don’t act like you don’t want this.”
“I don’t.”
He tilted his chin up slightly, features hardening. “Then why’d you come up here?”
“Because…” You shook your head, not able to obtain a single viable reason. “I wasn’t—I wasn’t thinking.”
“I think you were,” he whispered. “I think you were doing a whole lot of thinking, actually.”
Your nostrils flared when you peered up at him.
His hands snuck to your waist, gripping the skin with just the right amount of pressure. “I think you were wondering what this would be like,” he added, taking a step forward, which caused you to take one backwards. “I think you were wondering what it would feel like to have me completely to yourself. No, I know it—I know you want me all to yourself like this. You’re fucking crazy for it, aren’t you?”
Your eyes remained glued to his as he continued forcing you to walk backwards until the back of your legs hit the edge of his bed.
“Say it,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Tell me you want me.”
You scoffed. “I’m not entertaining your ego.”
“Fine.” His hands gripped tighter. “Then just say stop when you want me to,” he said so quickly, you barely had time to realize what he was doing.
The moment you fell back on the bed, Peter climbed on top of you. He used his knee to spread your legs so he could fit himself between them. His lips immediately crashed onto yours. It was the roughest kiss you’d ever had. It was like he couldn’t get enough of it.
His tongue slipped through his lips as they moved in sync with yours, fighting for a way into your mouth. You let him continue doing that for a few moments, enjoying the way his hand trailed down to your thigh that was hiked up against his waist.
He squeezed, nails digging into the skin, until you parted your lips and let him in.
When his tongue finally tangled itself with yours, a rugged moan broke from his throat. It vibrated your entire body, ricocheting all the way down to your needy center.
He pulled away from the kiss, leaving you a panting mess beneath him. But he didn’t stay away for long. His head dug into the crook of your neck, using his nose to push your head to the side so he could suck on the sensitive skin just below your ear.
Your jaw went slack as a shudder rolled down your spine, causing your hips to buck against his bricked erection. The friction it induced against your clit drew a soft moan from your throat that Peter desperately wanted to hear again.
“You want me to stop?” he asked, voice muffled against your neck and gruff from his rugged breathing.
In absolutely pitiful desperation, you shook your head.
He pulled away from your neck, holding himself over you with his hands pressed into the mattress on either side of your head. When he ground his hips against your pulsating center again, his bulge rubbing the outline of your slit beneath your shorts, he smirked at the sounds you made.
“I need to hear you say it, baby,” he whispered, repeating his rough humps. “You gotta tell me you want it—gotta use your words.”
You knew the potential threat of admitting it—the way you’d never be able to return from it—but you just couldn’t help yourself. It was too consuming, too good. He felt too good.
Your eyes screwed shut, jaw going slack at the sensation building beneath your shorts.
“I want it,” you hissed, bringing your arms over his shoulders, interlocking your hands to pull his face closer to yours so you could taste his lips again.
Fuck, you thought. You actually wanted it.
“Come here” he ordered, crawling off of you.
He stood up off the bed, crooking two fingers, gesturing for you to sit up. When you complied, sitting up straight on the bed with your legs falling off the side, he looped his fingers under your T-shirt. In one swift motion, he brought it up over your head, discarding it on his bedroom floor.
Your bra came off next. He urged you to lean forward, reaching behind you to unclasp it. The entire time he worked with the hooks, your eyes were trained on the pulsating length suffocating in his jeans.
“Fuck…” he groaned, watching you shrug off the black bra. “You look so good.”
“Shut up,” you mumbled, reaching out and gripping him by the waistband of his jeans, using all the strength you had to pull him closer to you.
You were working to undo the button and unzip them when he ran a hand through your hair. “Oh, you want it rough—that it?”
Your eyes flicked up to him, pulling his jeans down over his muscular hips. “Take your shirt off.”
He chuckled, taking a half step back, tearing out of his T-shirt.
You took a second to rake your gaze over his tanned, rigid abdomen, analyzing the way his muscles flexed in the soft light every time he moved. When your eyes moved back to the jeans barely holding on, you sat up further on the bed, bringing your ass to the very edge.
His words replayed in the back of your mind. “We’re gonna go up to my room, and you’re gonna do that to my dick.” All of your hesitance went out the window, knowing how eager you had him.
He stepped forward until his shins met the bed, his erection inches from your face.
By the time you worked to get his boxers off, letting them fall around his ankles, you could barely think straight. The only thing on your mind was the way his throbbing cock slapped his lower stomach when it sprung out of its confines.
It was exactly like you thought it would be. Girthy in a way that matched the rigid muscles of his toned build, and just as formidable in length.
Peter smirked down at you, hands working to gather your hair as your hand wrapped around the base of it. “You nervous?” he probed, clenching his fist around your strands. “Too big for you? Don’t think you can take it?”
You worked him in your hand for a minute, eyes fluttering up to where he was towering over you. In one slow movement, you leaned forward, sticking your wet tongue out, leaving a sopping wet trail of your spit at the base of him, all the way up to his sensitive, pink tip without breaking eye contact.
He brought his bottom lip between his teeth, biting down hard as a grunt vibrated from his throat when your tongue swirled his tip, licking up the bead of pre-cum dripping out.
“Stop… fucking… teasing,” he grunted, hips bucking against the hold you had on him. Your nails dug into the skin of his thighs, managing to keep him still. He gritted his teeth, feeling you lick his tip again.
“Open your fucking mouth,” he ordered.
Complying, you parted your lips and welcomed the way he slid into your mouth as you leaned forward. You wanted so badly to be able to take all of him, pushing yourself until your nose came flush with his base. A gag tore from your throat, causing your throat to squeeze tight around him.
“Mm,” he sounded, watching you bob your head along his throbbing cock in all the ways he once dreamed of. Your lips suctioned around him, tongue swirling around his dripping tip every time you moved away before pushing him back down your throat.
“Yeah, look at you—talking all that shit just to have my dick down your throat,” he grunted.
His words, combined with the way he tugged your hair, forcing your head to move at the rhythm of his choosing, was enough to cause a shallow moan to escape you, vibrating against his dick as you intentionally swallowed, keeping him deep in your throat.
“Fuck…” he moaned, growing more rough with the way he was forcing your head to move on him.
Your spit, combined with the salty taste of his pre-cum, was dripping down your chin when he suddenly let go of your hair, grabbing your hands from where they were gripping his thigh.
The sudden movement caused you to push away from him, his dick coming out of your mouth with a wet pop.
Panting, you eyed him. “What are you—”
“Put your hands behind your back,” he demanded, an air of aggression in his voice that awoke something inside you.
Your hands moved behind your back, interlocking with one another. His dick throbbed in front of you as he reached over to his bedside table, grabbing the belt that was rolled up.
Something akin to pure fire sparked inside of you, understanding his attention. “Oh, you want to tie me up?”
His jaw was taut with tension as he reached behind you, wrapping the brown leather around your wrists, tightening it until it almost hurt.
“You’re such a freak, Parker,” you laughed, your chin glistening with the remnants of your spit.
He knotted the leather, binding you before bringing his hands back to your hair. “You like it,” he snarled, clenching his fist back around your strands, tugging. “Now—” he breathed, taking a hold of himself, aligning his tip back with your dripping, swollen lips “—shut up and let me fuck that throat, baby.”
And that was exactly what he did.
Unable to tame his movements due to your hands being tightly bound behind you, he was the one to control his thrusts into your mouth, causing your jaw to grow sore.
He worked quicker the more you moaned against his shaft, feeling the tightness of your throat every time he pumped himself deep.
His biceps flexed from how hard he was tensing. When he lulled his head back, your name rolling off his tongue in the form of a deep grunt as you gagged on his length.
He let his head fall forward, watching the way you took him so perfectly.
His eyes were glued to your face, watching the way your eyes rolled back the harder he thrusted into your tight throat, admiring the way the wetness was leaking down your chin, dripping into your lap where your legs were trembling, desperate to be touched.
“Yeah,” he moaned, moving your falling strands of hair away from your face, ensuring he always kept a perfect view of you taking him. “You’re gonna think about this the next time you call me pathetic, baby—you’re gonna think about the way I fucked your tight little throat, aren’t you?”
Your response came as muffled moans against his flesh that he couldn’t get enough of.
His release was coming quickly, like an atomic bomb readying to detonate within him. You could tell based on the way his thrusts got sloppy, going back to using your head instead of bucking his own hips.
But, as much as he craved the feeling of shooting his warm release down your precious throat, he didn’t want to do it yet. Not until he explored the rest of you.
He pulled out of you slowly, taking half a step back while panting raggedly.
It took every sliver of self-restraint he had to keep himself from busting all over you when he saw the way your jaw went slack, panting with soft, pretty little breaths, and blinking slow, completely drunk off the way he’s been working you.
“You good?” he asked you without thinking.
Your eyes sharpened up at him, reverting back to your soured self despite the way he’d numbed your mind with his cock.
A smile broke through your defeat. “What? You worried about me, Parker?”
Fine, he thought, be that way. “Stand up.”
You tried to, you really did. But with your hands tied up behind you, it was impossible. Peter knew that would happen, of course.
When he snickered, you glared up at him.
“You struggling, baby?”
You refused to respond, not giving him anymore verbal ammunition.
He reached around you, undoing the belt in one quick motion. “Try now.”
Finally able to rise on your own two feet, you rolled your wrists at your side, already secretly missing the constriction.
Peter took a second to admire you. His eyes traced a devious glare down your entire frame, stopping where your shorts were. His jaw ticked. “Take ‘em off.”
You tilted your head. “Gonna make me do it all by myself?” you pouted teasingly, meeting his gaze. “Where’s the fun in that, Peter?”
Beneath your sly taunts, he read right through your intentions. He knew that was your way of begging him to undress you. So, he did. He did it all with one hand, actually.
Pulling you closer with his finger hooked around the denim waistband, he undid the button and lowered the zipper, shoving them down your legs. He brought your black panties with it, spending a little too much time eyeing the drenched spot in them.
“Lay down,” he urged, taking a step forward that forced you to back up.
“Uh-uh,” you mumbled, shaking your head and stopping yourself when the back of your legs met the edge of the bed once again.
Peter’s brows furrowed, his saturated, throbbing dick pressed between the two of you.
Your eyes fell to the belt on the bed, then back up to him.
A despicable expression formed on his face as the realization dawned on him. “That what you want?”
Reluctantly, you nodded.
“Words, baby,” he grumbled.
“Yes.” You huffed. “That’s what I want.”
By the time the belt returned around your wrists—tighter this time—your back was flush with his front. The sticky wetness of his dick was pressed against your ass when he put his lips close to your ear, coaching you into slowly lowering down on the bed.
“I got you,” he whispered, gripping your arms to help you down slowly, even if he really wanted to throw you down and watch you squirm. “Yeah… just like that. Good girl,” he added when you laid flat on the mattress, ass arched up in the air.
You turned your head to the side, catching him reaching over into the top drawer of his nightstand, returning behind you with a condom in his grasp.
“No.” The word came out of you before you could think.
Peter’s eyes flashed to yours. “You want it raw?”
“Don’t make me fucking say it,” you groaned, pushing your ass up against him, desperate to relieve the neediness at your core.
“I’m clean, just so you—”
“I know,” you interjected, growing irritably restless. “So am I.” You exhaled heavily. “Just put it in. I wanna feel you—please.”
The desperate sound of your voice was enough to drive Peter mad. He had never heard that side of you before.
He wanted to hear more of it. A lot more.
One of his hands fell to his pulsating length, the other planted a firm grip on your ass as he guided his tender tip to your swollen, needy entrance. His teeth ground together as he slowly inserted himself inside you.
Your walls immediately clenched around his size, a high-pitched moan tearing from your throat as he spread you open more and more the deeper he went.
“Fuck…” he hissed, watching the way your slippery cunt suctioned him in. “You’re so tight, baby. And so… wet—Oh, fuck…”
He drew out of your partially, not taking his eyes off the way your pussy gripped him as he made another slow thrust deeper inside of you.
You could feel the exact spot his tip was hitting deep in your core. It was the exact spot you needed him to be.
“Oh… my God,” you cried out as he picked up the pace, driving himself into you with ferocious thrusts. “It’s so deep.”
That only made him want to fuck you harder. He moved his grip on your ass to where the belt was fastened around your wrists, tugging at the leather as he bullied his cock into your tight pussy.
“Has anyone ever fucked you this good, baby?” he taunted, watching the way your body dug deeper into his bed as he slammed into you over and over and over again. The sound of your ass clapping against him was almost too loud, but he didn’t care.
He wasn’t going to give up his rhythm for anything. “Anybody ever been this deep inside your pussy?”
Your teeth bit down on the bundle of sheets beneath you to keep the screams that threatened to escape you in. “N—No,” you cried out through your gritted teeth. “Ne—Never.”
He couldn’t cope with the way you were squirming in front of him, back arched in a way that shouldn’t have been possible.
“Peter,” you moaned out, your entire body shaking violently, toes curling. “I can’t—I’m gonna—”
“I know, baby,” he grunted out, reaching to grab your hair and pull you off the bed.
The stinging sensation on your scalp was mind-bending. But when he brought your back flush with him, still deep inside you as he wrapped one arm around your waist to brace you before moving his other hand to your clit, you just couldn’t fucking take it.
Your head lulled back on his shoulder, back arched as he bucked his hips up into you faster and faster while working his fingers in circles over your swollen clit.
“Oh, God, yes,” you nearly screamed.
He gripped you tighter, feeling the way you clenched around him, your arousal dripping down his balls.
“Not God, baby,” he breathed into your ear. “Just Peter.”
“Shut up,” you tried to jest, but it just came out as a pathetically high-pitched moan.
With your arms fastened behind you, your release came quick.
Peter held you as tight as possible, his muscles flexing as you convulsed against him, trembling from head-to-toe. “Look at you, cumming all over my dick like that.”
You could barely feel anything. Every single nerve in your body was coursing with an all-consuming pleasure unlike anything you’d ever felt before. You became completely slack in his big arms, like a rag doll, as his pumps became sloppier.
“Your turn,” you managed to say, feeling how close he was to his release.
His breathing was uneven and deep when he asked, “Where, baby?”
“In me,” you replied.
His heart nearly stopped beating, but he played it off. “Want me to fill you up?”
He had never done that before, but he was more than willing to do that for you if it was what you wanted. He was highly certain he’d do just about anything for you—and to you—as long as it was what you wanted.
“Mm-hmm.” Your head nodded sloppily, unable to lift it on your own. “IUD,” you added, already knowing where his thoughts went.
The last thing this world needed was another Peter fucking Parker.
“Hold on.”
He pulled out of you so fast, it caused you to wince. The sudden emptiness felt disparaging, but it didn’t last long. In one gentle move, he turned you around, quickly tore off the belt around your wrists, and pushed you back on the bed.
Your breath was caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan when he climbed on top of you. He wasted absolutely no time, aligning himself with your slick entrance and pushing in as deep as he could.
“Hands,” he grunted.
He remained deep inside you as he took your hands, forcing them down on the bed above your head. Squeezing your wrists with his big, tough hands, he started thrusting himself into you.
“I wanna look… at your face while I fill you up,” he bit out through pants.
“Mm,” you smirked, hearing the squelching sounds echoing off the walls of his bedroom every time he pounded himself inside you. “You’re such a fucking freak.”
“Only for you, baby,” he grinned devilishly down at you, eyes staying glued to yours as he continued hammering into you. “Only… f—for you.”
He was so close, he could taste it. It was a fucking miracle he’d lasted this long, only able to do so because of the dangerous levels of adrenaline pumping through his system.
Peering up at the grip he had on your hands, he let one go.
“Touch yourself,” he ordered, holding himself up with only one hand as he eagerly brought your other one down to your clit. “Cum with me.”
You were going to cum even if you hadn’t started rubbing your clit as he worked himself into you. But as soon your fingers touched your swollen flesh, your head tilted back against the mattress, digging into the fabric as a moan escaped you.
“That’s it,” Peter coaxed. “Doing s—so good.”
Your legs clenched around him as you met your second release. His thrusts became sloppy and slow, telling you he was right there with you.
His head fell into the crook of your neck, lips parting to bite the skin as he pounded his hips against you one last time.
The minute his warmth shot inside you, you gasped.
A shudder rolled through him, all the way down to his cock still inside of you, as he filled you with his sticky seed.
He rode out his high with slow, quivering pumps until there was nothing else to empty out of him.
Forcing himself up, he slowly pulled himself out of you. The second his tip popped out of you and his eyes fixed on his white cum seeping out of your throbbing pussy, he moaned.
“Shit,” he mumbled, bringing his fingers to touch the puddle oozing out. “I like that.”
You watched him with illicit precision, smirking. “You never done that before?”
He shook his head, unable to look away. “No.”
When your hand trailed down your body, reaching to where you felt his seed dripping out of you, you spread the thick liquid on your fingers.
Peter watched you with a slack jaw as you brought your fingers to your mouth, sucking the remnants of his release.
“F—fuck…” he gaped, eyes wide at your actions. “You’re gonna make me bust again, acting like that, baby.”
You snickered, swallowing the salty sweetness of him. “Tastes good.”
He shook his head, coughing out a laugh. “You’re fucking sick.”
When he could finally stand again, you watched as he walked over to his door, grabbing the white towel that was hanging on the over-the-door hook. He brought it back over to you, wiping up the mess he’d left inside you.
After he cleaned you up, he fell back on the bed next to you with a thud.
You turned your head to the side, chest heaving as your breathing slowed. “So…” you trailed, exhaling raggedly. “Did I make it to the top of your fucking Dean’s List?”
“Something like that.”
hope you enjoyed it!
pls leave a comment/like/reblog. if you have a one shot request, you can send it through my “ask me.”
୨ৎ─ delaney!
Author’s note 💌- I can’t stop writing for him omgg.. ALSO guys pls send some requests I need help 😅
Warnings- honestly none?? (Fluff)
Word count- very short (sorry :c)
Masterlist
The rain had been falling for nearly an hour, turning the city into a blur of silver beneath the streetlights.
You stood beside the window of Mark’s apartment, watching droplets race down the glass while the distant rumble of thunder vibrated through the walls. Behind you, the television played quietly, its light flickering across the room, but neither of you had paid attention to it for the last twenty minutes.
Mark was sitting on the opposite end of the couch, still wearing the remnants of his superhero uniform beneath an oversized hoodie. There was something different about him tonight. Usually, he filled every silence with some sarcastic remark or awkward joke. Now, he seemed content to let the quiet linger.
“You’re staring,” you said without turning around.
“I’m not.”
“You definitely are.”
A pause.
“Okay,” Mark admitted. “Maybe a little.”
You finally looked over your shoulder. “Why?”
He shrugged, suddenly fascinated by the sleeve of his hoodie. “I don’t know.”
That answer made you smile.
“You’re terrible at lying.”
“I know.”
You walked over and dropped onto the couch beside him. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The space between you was small, but neither seemed willing to acknowledge how easily it could disappear.
Mark glanced at you.
“You worried about me tonight?”
“A little.”
“You didn’t have to be.”
“I know.”
His expression softened.
“You always say that.”
“Because it’s true.”
Another silence settled between you, quieter than the first.
Mark had spent most of his life believing that being strong meant never hesitating, never admitting fear, never allowing anyone close enough to become something worth losing. Yet sitting beside you, he was beginning to understand that vulnerability wasn’t synonymous with weakness.
“You know,” he murmured, “sometimes I think you’re the only person who actually sees me.”
You frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”
“Everyone else sees Invincible.”
He looked down at his hands.
“You see Mark.”
Your expression softened.
“That’s because that’s who you are.”
He looked at you then, and something unspoken passed between you.
“You make it sound simple.”
“Maybe it is.”
Mark laughed quietly. “You’re really good at making complicated things sound easy.”
“Someone has to.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. For a few seconds, neither of you moved.
Then Mark reached for your hand.
His fingers intertwined with yours cautiously, as though he were giving you every opportunity to pull away. You didn’t.
Instead, you squeezed his hand.
The gesture was small, almost insignificant, yet Mark’s entire expression changed. Some of the tension he carried in his shoulders seemed to dissolve.
Outside, the rain continued to fall.
Inside, everything felt strangely still.
“You know I’m here, right?” you whispered.
Mark looked at you.
“Yeah.”
“Even when you’re being impossible.”
He smiled.
“Especially then?”
“Unfortunately.”
He laughed, and you couldn’t help joining him. For the first time that evening, Mark looked genuinely happy. And perhaps that was all either of you needed.
Not a grand confession.
Just this.
Two people sitting together while the storm passed, quietly choosing not to leave.
Author’s note 💌- Haven’t posted in a while and I missed my man so here you go!
Mark Grayson x fem!reader
Warnings- friends with benefits, kissing, confusing relationship and mentions of sex
Word count- 770
Masterlist
Mark sat on the edge of his bed, shirt half-buttoned, hair still messy from your hands. The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the city outside. He didn’t look at you couldn’t not right away. He’d been thinking about this for weeks.
You two had fallen into something easy and hot, late-night hookups after patrol, stolen kisses in empty hallways, tangled sheets every weekend. No labels. Just you. And it felt good too good to mess up.
But now? Now he turned slightly toward you, voice low but careful like he was disarming a bomb.
"So… what are we?"
Not accusing. Just confused?
His dark brown eyes finally met yours as he waited not pushing but needing an answer that made sense to both their hearts... The silence stretched, thick and fragile like the steam still curling off the shower you’d just left.
You sat cross-legged on his bed, wrapped in one of his oversized hoodies the same one he’d worn all week and your fingers fidgeted with the frayed hem. You knew what this question meant. What are we? Not who, not how long, but what. Because up until now? It was simple you were Mark’s best friend who also happened to be sleeping with him whenever either of you felt lonely or turned on or just… wanted each other.
He wasn’t asking as your best friend he was asking as someone who cared too much to keep pretending it didn’t matter.
Mark exhaled sharply through his nose and leaned forward, elbows on knees. “I mean… I like hanging out with you,” he started slowly, choosing words carefully a rare thing for someone so blunt by nature “and yeah I love kissing you and being close but I don't know if that's... enough?”
His voice dipped lower at "enough."
Mark reached out then hesitant, almost shy and brushed a strand of hair from your face. His touch was warm, familiar in the way it always melted you.
But this time? It felt heavier. Like every stroke said I care too much for this to be casual anymore.
"You know I'm not good at talking about feelings," he admitted with a small, self-deprecating smilethe kind that made his cheeks dimple but didn’t quite reach his eyes. "But… I think about you all the time."
He swallowed hard.
"And not just when we're hooking up or laughing or whatever. Even when you're across town doing hero stuff I catch myself wondering if you ate yet, or if someone pissed you off today." A quiet pause. "That's not 'just friends' energy." His thumb traced your cheekbone gently before pulling back slightly as if giving space so he wouldn’t kiss instead of talk... The tension between you was electric like the air before a lightning strike. Mark’s confession hung in the room, raw and real, and for a second neither of you breathed.
Then it happened.
You surged forward closing the distance and kissed him. Not soft or sweet like your first kiss months ago when he’d fumbled his way through it like an awkward teenager. This kiss was needed. Your hands found his face immediately, fingers tangling into that messy hair as your lips crashed against his with everything you couldn't say out loud yet, I feel this too, don’t let us be confusing anymore.
Mark gasped slightly against your mouth but then melted instantly into it.
His arms wrapped around your waist tight, pulling you flush onto his lap as he kissed back with equal fire a low groan escaping him when one of your knees pressed between them on instinct... The kiss deepened and Mark tilted his head to get closer like he’d die if there was even an inch between you.
His hands slid under the hoodie you were wearing the one that smelled like him and found bare skin. His touch sent sparks up your spine. He kissed with a kind of urgency that surprised even himself: not just passion but something deepened like claiming confessing without words. Like this kiss could rewrite everything they’d been pretending not to feel for weeks. One of his palms cradled the back of your neck while the other gripped your hip hard enough to leave a faint mark later.
When air became necessary, he finally broke away but only far enough to rest their foreheads together again, both breathing heavily through parted lips…
And then… softly… almost reverently…
Mark whispered "So... does this mean we're dating now? You still haven’t given me an answer yet." You look at him before a small breath leaves your kiss swollen lips. “Yeah. I guess it does.” You smile at your words.
Mark then places one more warm kiss to your cheek before laying you down on his chest.
Author’s note 💌- first Cassie McKay fic added to the collection!!
Word count: 0.7k
Warnings: girl on girl!, kissing and sexual tension
Masterlist
The ER was chaos on a Friday night.
Monitors beeped nonstop, nurses rushed between rooms, and the overhead speaker kept calling for attendings every five minutes. You were halfway through updating a chart when you looked up and caught sight of Cassie across the nurses’ station.
And she was already looking at you.
Not casually either.
Her dark eyes held yours for just a second too long before she glanced back down at the patient file in her hands. Still, the corner of her mouth twitched like she knew exactly what she was doing.
Your stomach flipped.
“Room twelve needs another set of vitals,” one of the residents said, breaking the moment.
“Right,” you muttered quickly.
You grabbed the chart and turned away before anyone noticed the heat climbing into your face.
The problem with Cassie was that she made everything feel charged.
A brush of her hand while passing supplies suddenly stayed on your skin for hours. A tiny smile from her during rounds could distract you for the rest of the shift. And the eye contact? That was the worst part.
Or maybe the best.
Because all night it kept happening.
Across trauma bays.
Over the tops of computer monitors.
While a doctor explained scans during rounds and you looked up only to find Cassie staring at you instead of the X-rays.
It was driving you insane.
“You good?” another nurse teased quietly after catching you nearly walk into a supply cart.
“Perfect,” you lied.
Across the hallway, Cassie hid a grin behind her coffee cup.
By midnight, the ER finally slowed down enough for everyone to breathe.
You were reorganizing medication trays when Cassie appeared beside you without warning.
“You missed a vial,” she said softly.
You looked over. “Where?”
Instead of answering, she leaned around you, close enough for you to catch the clean scent of her shampoo, and reached for the tray. Her arm brushed yours.
Completely unnecessary.
Your breath caught.
Cassie noticed.
Of course she did.
When she pulled back, her expression had changed into something warmer. More dangerous.
“You seem distracted tonight,” she murmured.
You tried to stay professional. “Maybe you keep staring at me during rounds.”
A tiny smile tugged at her lips.
“So you noticed.”
Before you could answer, someone called her name from down the hall. Cassie stepped away, but not before her fingers lightly brushed your wrist.
“Storage room three,” she said quietly. “Five minutes.”
Then she walked off like she hadn’t just completely ruined your ability to think.
The storage closet was small, cramped, and smelled faintly like antiseptic and clean linens.
You had barely closed the door behind you before Cassie spoke.
“I was starting to think you wouldn’t come.”
“You literally told me five minutes ago.”
“Still.”
She was standing close already, one hand resting against the shelf beside your head. Your pulse hammered so loudly you were sure she could hear it.
The tension from the entire shift sat heavy between you.
Every glance.
Every almost-touch.
Every unfinished thought.
Cassie looked at your mouth for half a second before meeting your eyes again.
“You have any idea how hard it’s been to focus tonight?” she asked softly.
You laughed nervously. “You’re blaming me?”
“Yes.”
Her grin was quick and unfairly pretty.
Then neither of you spoke.
You just moved toward each other at the same time.
The kiss was immediate and breathless, like both of you had been holding it back for weeks. Cassie’s hand slid gently to your waist as you grabbed lightly onto the front of her scrub top.
Nothing rushed.
Just warm lips, quiet laughter between kisses, and the feeling of finally giving in to something that had been building all night long.
Someone pushed a cart past the closet outside, making you both freeze for a second before dissolving into muffled laughter.
“We are absolutely going to get caught,” you whispered.
Cassie leaned her forehead against yours, smiling.
I have had so much time on my hands so here is the last requested fic!!
Requests are always open 💌
Goals
Sinister!mark x fem!reader
Author’s note 💌- finally finished another request! Please send more
Word count: 1.4k
Warnings: mentions of destruction,fluff and kissing
Masterlist
Request here
The sky above Chicago burned orange.
Smoke curled between shattered skyscrapers while alarms screamed somewhere far below, drowned out by the sound of cracking concrete and collapsing steel. Cars littered the streets like discarded toys. The city had tried to fight back hours ago. Now it was just noise and ruin beneath the feet of gods.
Floating high above it all was Mark, blood smeared across his suit, chest rising slowly, eyes glowing with adrenaline instead of guilt.
And beside him was you.
Your fingers were laced lazily around his wrist while the two of you hovered over the destruction like it was artwork instead of disaster. Wind whipped through your hair, carrying ash around you both like black snow.
“You missed one,” you teased, pointing toward a building still standing several blocks away.
Mark glanced toward it, then smirked.
“You want the honors?”
“Obviously.”
You shot downward before he could answer, a blur tearing through the smoky air. The glass tower barely had time to reflect your grin before your shoulder slammed into it. The entire structure folded inward with a deafening crash, floors pancaking one after another while dust exploded into the streets below.
The shockwave rippled through the city.
You floated back upward laughing breathlessly, bits of debris drifting around you.
Mark watched you like you’d hung the stars yourself.
“That,” he said, grabbing your waist the second you reached him again, “was hot.”
You grinned. “Thought you’d appreciate it.”
There was something terrifying about the two of you together. Everyone who’d ever tried stopping Mark had expected rage, brutality, destruction.
They hadn’t expected devotion.
You encouraged every violent impulse he had without hesitation, and Mark adored you for it. While the world called him a monster, you looked at him like he was unstoppable.
Like he was meant for this.
Down below, fires spread through the streets. Military helicopters circled cautiously in the distance, too afraid to come closer after the last wave had been ripped apart.
Mark noticed them immediately.
“They never learn,” he muttered.
“You could scare them a little more.”
His grin widened at that.
In less than a second he launched himself forward.
The first helicopter exploded before the pilots could even react. Metal spiraled through the air in flaming pieces. The others scattered instantly, but you darted upward and cut one off, landing hard on its roof.
Inside, terrified soldiers stared up at you.
You just smiled sweetly before punching straight through the engine.
The aircraft spun wildly toward the streets below.
Mark caught you before you hit the ground, laughing under his breath as he pulled you against him midair.
“You’re getting better at this,” he said.
“Good teacher.”
His hand slid along your jaw, thumb brushing away a streak of ash on your cheek. For a second the chaos around you faded into background noise.
That was the strange thing about loving Mark.
The world could be ending and he’d still look at you softly.
“You know,” he murmured, forehead resting briefly against yours, “I think you’re the only person who’s ever understood me.”
You tilted your head. “That’s because everyone else is boring.”
He laughed quietly at that an actual laugh, rare and rough around the edges.
Below you, another explosion lit up the streets.
The orange glow reflected in Mark’s brown eyes as he stared at you like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to destroy the world or kiss you more.
Eventually, he chose the second option.
His hand tightened at your waist as he pulled you closer, kissing you hard and quick while smoke drifted around the two of you. It wasn’t soft or gentle nothing about either of you was anymore but there was still something real underneath it.
Something dangerous.
You kissed him back immediately, gripping the front of his suit while the city burned beneath your feet.
When he finally pulled away, both of you were breathless.
“You wanna know the best part about all this?” you asked quietly.
Mark smirked. “What?”
“No one can stop us.”
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Then Mark grabbed your hand tightly, eyes gleaming with excitement.
“C’mon,” he said, looking toward the distant skyline. “There’s still another side of the city standing.”
The two of you vanished across the skyline like comets.
By the time dawn began creeping over the horizon, the other half of the city looked no better than the first.
Bridges had collapsed into the river. Entire streets were swallowed beneath rubble and fire. Smoke clouds stretched for miles, blotting out the morning sun while emergency sirens echoed weakly through what remained of the city.
And through all of it, you stayed by Mark side.
You fought together effortlessly like you’d done this for years. Whenever Mark ripped through buildings or sent shockwaves tearing through entire blocks, you were right there beside him, laughing breathlessly, finishing whatever destruction he started.
At one point he caught you watching him with that same admiring look you always gave him, and he practically glowed under it.
Nobody else looked at him like that anymore.
Nobody else saw greatness instead of horror.
But you did.
Hours later, the two of you finally returned home.
Your shared house sat far outside the ruined city, isolated and quiet compared to the chaos left behind. The second you stepped inside, the silence felt almost unreal.
Mark shut the door behind him before tugging off his gloves, streaks of blood and dust still smeared across his suit. You dropped onto the couch with an exhausted laugh, tilting your head back.
“That was fun,” you sighed.
Mark stared at you for a second from across the room.
Then he crossed the space between you almost instantly.
“You were incredible tonight,” he said softly.
The sudden sincerity in his voice made you blink.
“What?”
“I mean it.” His hands settled on your hips as he stood between your knees. “You never hesitate. You never look at me like I’m wrong for this.”
His expression softened in a way almost nobody ever got to see.
“You help me,” he admitted quietly. “More than you know.”
Your chest tightened slightly at the honesty in his voice.
Mark rested his forehead against yours, eyes half-lidded as his thumb traced slow circles against your side.
“I’m proud of you,” he murmured. “For standing beside me. For supporting me no matter what.”
You smiled faintly. “Someone has to support world domination.”
That pulled a tired laugh out of him.
Mark leaned down and kissed you again slower this time, less adrenaline and more affection. His hand slid gently into your hair while the other stayed firm against your waist, holding you close like he couldn’t stand even an inch of distance between you.
And for the first time all night, with the world still burning somewhere far away, Mark finally looked at peace.
Author’s note 💌- my first Rex project so I hope all of you lovelies enjoy!
Word count: 2.1k
Warnings: mentions of injuries, partying, fluff, use of Y/N and kissing
Masterlist
The bass from the club pulsed through the floor hard enough to feel in your ribs.
Lights flashed pink, blue, violet washing over crowded bodies packed shoulder to shoulder beneath the glowing ceiling of the dance floor. The entire place smelled like expensive perfume, sweat, and sugary cocktails. It was loud, chaotic, alive.
And honestly? You looked good.
Your heels clicked against the polished floor as you made your way back from the bar, drink in hand. Your fitted jeans hugged your hips perfectly, paired with a soft white top that left just enough skin showing. Gold jewelry glinted against your skin every time the lights hit you. Your makeup was flawless sharp liner, glossy lips, lashes that made people stare too long when you looked at them.
You were used to attention.
What you weren’t used to was him.
Because the second you stepped back toward your friends, someone bumped into you hard enough to nearly knock your drink over.
“Whoa—shit, sorry.”
A hand caught your wrist before you stumbled.
You looked up. Tall, broad shoulders, messy hair, cocky grin and pretty like… annoyingly pretty.
The guy blinked at you once before his eyes traveled over your outfit and immediately widened a little.
“Oh,” he said slowly. “Wow.”
You raised an eyebrow. “That your apology?”
“It can be,” he answered smoothly.
Your friends behind you snorted. You laughed despite yourself.
The stranger leaned against the edge of the bar like he belonged there. “Lemme restart. Hi. I’m Rex.”
“You always walk into girls to introduce yourself?”
“No,” he said. “Usually they walk into me.”
You stared at him for two seconds before laughing again. Definitely cocky, but charming enough to get away with it.
“Cute,” you said. “I’m Y/N.”
“Y/N,” he repeated like he was testing how your name sounded in his mouth. “Yeah. Fits.”
Before you could respond, the beat shifted something louder and heavier flooding through the speakers.
Rex glanced toward the dance floor. Then back at you.
“Dance with me.”
Not even a question.
You should’ve said no. You didn’t.
Turns out Rex was good at dancing.
One second the two of you were joking near the bar, and the next his hand was on your waist while the crowd moved around you in flashing lights. He was warm. Confident. The kind of person who acted like he had known you forever after ten minutes.
You usually hated that.
But with him, it felt natural. Easy.
“You come here a lot?” he asked over the music.
“Sometimes.”
“You break hearts here often?”
You rolled your eyes. “You think every girl you meet is dying for you?”
“No,” Rex said, grinning. “Just you.”
You laughed loudly enough that he looked proud of himself for earning it. The music pounded harder while your hands slid against his shoulders. Rex’s movements grew more relaxed the longer you danced together, until eventually he leaned closer.
Close enough for you to smell his cologne.
Close enough to notice the tiny scar cutting through one of his eyebrows.
“You’re staring,” he teased.
“You have a scar.”
“Oh.” His fingers tapped the side of his face casually. “Work accident.”
“Dangerous job?”
“You could say that.”
There was something odd in his expression for a second. Something guarded.
But then it disappeared beneath another grin.
“Well,” he said, “whatever I do clearly pays enough to afford your attention.”
You smirked. “Barely.”
“Cold.”
“You like it.”
“Maybe I do.”
He really did.
By the end of the night, Rex had somehow ended up sitting beside you outside the club while your friends waited for rides. The city glowed around you in streaks of neon and headlights. Rex leaned back against the wall beside you, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket.
“You know,” he said casually, “normally girls ask for my socials first.”
You glanced at him. “Normally guys ask for mine.”
“Damn,” he muttered. “Guess we’re at a standstill.”
You laughed softly before taking his phone from his hand.
“There,” you said after typing your username into it. “Problem solved.”
Rex looked at the screen.
Then at you.
His grin turned softer this time.
Less cocky.
“Cool,” he said quietly.
Your ride pulled up moments later.
As you stood, Rex caught your wrist gently.
“You gonna answer when I text you?”
“That depends.”
“On?”
“How embarrassing your messages are.”
“Oh, they’re gonna be horrible.”
You smiled.
Then leaned down just enough to kiss his cheek.
“Guess I’ll see.”
And you left him sitting there stunned.
The first message came twenty minutes later.
Rex:
u made me look stupid in front of my friends btw
You smiled at your screen.
You:
Good
Rex:
evil
You:
and yet you’re texting me
Rex:
yeah unfortunately i’m obsessed now
You stared at the message longer than you should have. Then smiled anyway.
Talking to Rex became part of your routine faster than expected. Morning texts, late-night calls, random selfies and videos of him ranting dramatically about terrible takeout food.
You learned quickly that Rex was funny without trying to be. He hid sincerity behind sarcasm constantly, but every now and then you caught glimpses of something softer underneath.
Like when he remembered tiny details about you.
Your favorite drink.
The exact shade of lip gloss you liked.
How you hated scary movies but watched them anyway.
And somehow, despite acting cocky all the time, he paid attention to everything you said.
A week later he asked you out properly. Not over text.
Over FaceTime.
“Okay,” Rex said dramatically, pointing at the screen. “Official question.”
You laughed from your bed. “Why do you look nervous?”
“I’m not nervous.”
“You’re literally sweating.”
“It’s hot in here.”
“You’re such a liar.”
Rex groaned. “Can I finish my speech?”
“Go ahead.”
He sat up straighter.
“Y/N,” he began with fake seriousness, “would you do me the honor of going on a date with me this Friday?”
You smiled before you could stop yourself.
“Maybe.”
His jaw dropped.
“Maybe?”
“You’ll survive.”
“Actually no,” he replied. “I’ll die.”
You laughed.
Then finally nodded.
“Yeah, Rex. I’ll go out with you.”
The smile that spread across his face afterward was so genuine it caught you off guard.
Like he hadn’t expected you to say yes.
Dating Rex was… surprisingly sweet.
You expected cocky flirting and chaos.
Which you did get.
But you also got late-night drives with music blasting while he held your hand over the center console. You got him carrying your heels after your feet hurt. You got flowers he pretended he “didn’t put thought into” even though they were your favorite color.
He looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were real sometimes, and you started looking at him the same way.
Still, there was one thing that bothered you. He disappeared randomly.
Not ghosting.
Just… gone.
Hours without answering.
Sometimes entire days.
Whenever he came back, he looked exhausted, bruised sometimes too.
You noticed it during dinner one night.
Rex reached for his drink and the sleeve of his hoodie slid up slightly, revealing purple bruising around his wrist.
Your brows furrowed immediately.
“Rex.”
“Hm?”
“What happened to your arm?”
His eyes dropped to it instantly before tugging the sleeve down.
“Nothing.”
“That’s definitely not nothing.”
He looked away for a second.
Then sighed.
“It’s complicated.”
You leaned forward slightly. “Then explain it.”
For the first time since meeting him, Rex looked genuinely nervous.
Not playful nervous.
Real nervous.
“I need to tell you something,” he said quietly.
Your stomach twisted the entire drive back to his apartment.
Rex barely joked the whole way there.
Which honestly scared you more than anything else.
Once inside, he paced across the living room while you sat on the couch watching him.
Finally he dragged both hands through his hair.
“So,” he muttered. “This is either gonna go really well or horribly.”
“Rex.”
“Right. Sorry.”
He stopped pacing.
Then looked directly at you.
“You know the Guardians of the Globe?”
Your eyebrows lifted immediately.
“Obviously.”
Everyone knew them.
The most famous superhero team on Earth.
You sat up straighter slowly.
“…What about them?”
Rex rubbed the back of his neck.
“I’m on the team.”
Silence.
You blinked once.
Twice.
Then—
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
You stared at him.
Then burst out laughing.
Rex looked offended instantly.
“Why is that funny?!”
“Because there’s no way—”
Before you could finish, something glowing appeared in his hand.
A small metal spoon from the kitchen he lifted off the counter and held toward himself.
Your mouth dropped open.
Rex flicked his fingers.
The spoon exploded into glittering sparks midair.
Silence filled the apartment.
“Oh my god,” you whispered.
“Yeah.”
“You’re actually serious.”
“Very.”
You stared at him another moment.
Then suddenly everything made sense.
The bruises.
The disappearing acts.
The weird excuses.
“You’re Rex Splode,” you said slowly.
He winced. “Yeah. Not my best superhero name.”
“Oh my god.”
“You’re not freaking out enough.”
“I think my brain stopped working.”
“That’s fair.”
You stood up abruptly and walked toward him.
Rex tensed immediately.
“You okay?” he asked carefully.
“You’re a superhero.”
“Mhm.”
“You fight villains.”
“Unfortunately.”
“You could literally die.”
His expression softened slightly.
“Yeah,” he admitted quietly.
That hit harder than expected.
Because suddenly all the bruises and exhaustion didn’t feel abstract anymore.
This wasn’t just some fun secret identity thing.
He was risking himself constantly.
And apparently had been terrified to tell you.
Rex looked down at the floor.
“I get it if this is too much,” he said quietly. “I know it’s not exactly normal dating material.”
Your chest tightened instantly.
“You thought I’d leave?”
He shrugged, but it looked forced.
“People usually do when things get complicated.”
Something sad flickered across his face so quickly you almost missed it.
You stepped closer.
“Rex.”
His eyes lifted to yours.
“I don’t care that you’re a superhero.”
“…You don’t?”
“No.”
He blinked.
“You’re still you.”
For a second Rex just stared at you. Like he genuinely didn’t know what to say. Then he laughed softly under his breath.
“Wow,” he murmured. “You might actually be insane.”
You smiled a little.
“Probably.”
And before he could overthink it again, you reached up and grabbed his face gently.
Then kissed him.
Rex froze.
Completely froze.
Like his brain short-circuited.
His hands hovered awkwardly near your waist for half a second before finally settling there carefully, almost hesitant.
The kiss started soft.
Sweet.
But the second Rex realized this was real, he melted into it completely.
Like he’d been wanting this forever.
He kissed you like someone starved. Not messy. Just full of feeling.
His hands tightened slightly against your waist while he kissed you deeper, forehead bumping yours when you finally pulled away.
For once in his life, Rex Splode looked speechless.
You smiled softly.
“There,” you whispered. “Happy?”
Rex stared at you another second before laughing breathlessly.
“I think I’m in love with you.”
Your heart skipped embarrassingly hard.
“That fast?”
“You have terrible timing,” he informed you. “I was trying to play it cool for at least another month.”
You laughed while he pulled you against his chest. And for a while neither of you spoke.
You just stood there together in the middle of his apartment while the city lights glowed through the windows.
Eventually Rex rested his chin on top of your head.
“So,” he said lightly, “you’re really okay with all this?”
You looked up at him.
“Rex, I met you at a club while wearing five-inch heels and enough lip gloss to blind people.”
He snorted.
“I think I can handle the superhero thing.”
He smiled at that.
A real smile.
Warm.
Soft.
Yours.
And in that moment you knew you had fallen in love with him too.
Author’s note: just something I had saved in my drafts and I thought should post!
Word count: 1.6k
Warnings: Mean pope (angst),kissing, fluff and apologies
Masterlist
The apartment was quiet except for the sound of the refrigerator humming and your sock covered feet shuffling across the kitchen tile.
“Pope.”
No answer.
You leaned around the doorway into the living room where Pope sat on the couch cleaning one of his tools with that intense focus he always got. His shoulders were tense, broad back hunched slightly forward, eyes narrowed at whatever he was working on.
“Pope,” you tried again, softer this time.
“Hm.”
You grinned immediately at the acknowledgment and wandered over, dropping dramatically onto the couch beside him. “You know what I was thinking?”
He didn’t look up. “That’s dangerous.”
You gasped. “Rude.”
A tiny twitch hit the corner of his mouth. Barely there. But you caught it anyway.
You always caught it.
You scooted closer until your thigh pressed against his. “I was thinking we should go get tacos.”
“No.”
“Okay… burgers?”
“No.”
“Ice cream?”
“No.”
You frowned at him dramatically before laying your entire weight against his shoulder. “You’re boring.”
“And you talk too much.”
“You like when I talk.”
Silence.
Then finally: “Sometimes.”
You smiled victoriously and wrapped your arms around his bicep. Pope never admitted things easily. Every tiny confession from him felt precious.
You rested your chin on his shoulder while he worked. “What are you fixing?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is if I don’t wanna explain it.”
You laughed quietly. “You’re impossible.”
Pope exhaled slowly through his nose, still focused on the tool in his hands. Usually he tolerated your constant touching and talking. Most days you could follow him around endlessly and he’d just grumble under his breath while secretly letting you stay glued to his side.
Today, though, something felt… off.
His jaw was tight.
His movements sharper.
You noticed it, but you kept trying anyway because making him soften was one of your favorite things in the world.
So you slipped your hand into his free one.
He stiffened.
“Baby,” you said carefully, “you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“I said I’m fine.”
The edge in his voice made you blink.
You pulled back slightly but still stayed close. “Okay.”
A few minutes passed in silence before you nudged him again.
“Can I show you something funny?”
“No.”
You made a face. “You don’t even know what it is.”
“Don’t wanna.”
You stared at him for a second.
Usually he’d at least look.
Your smile faltered a little.
Still, you tried again because you hated distance with him. Hated when he got quiet in the bad way instead of the comfortable way.
You leaned against him once more. “You’ve been weird all day.”
Pope suddenly set the tool down harder than necessary.
“I just need you to stop for five minutes.”
The words hit harder than they probably should’ve.
You froze.
“What?”
“You’re always on me.” He rubbed a hand over his face, clearly irritated. “Talking, touching, following me around constantly Jesus Christ.”
Your chest tightened instantly.
“Oh.”
Pope sighed, already sounding frustrated with himself, but he kept going anyway.
“You don’t gotta cling to me every second.”
The room went painfully quiet.
You slowly pulled your hands away from him and sat back.
“Sorry,” you whispered.
Pope didn’t answer.
That somehow made it worse.
You nodded once, staring down at your lap before standing up quietly. “I’ll leave you alone.”
He still didn’t look at you.
So you walked to the bedroom and shut the door behind you.
At first, Pope thought the silence was a relief.
No questions.
No chatter.
No constant warmth pressed against his side.
He sat there alone on the couch for nearly twenty minutes before something started feeling… wrong.
The apartment felt empty.
Cold.
He glanced toward the hallway automatically, expecting you to come bouncing back in with another random thought or story or some dumb meme you wanted to show him.
But you didn’t.
Instead, the bedroom door stayed shut.
Pope frowned.
He looked down at the untouched tool in his hands.
Then at the TV.
Then back toward the hallway.
His chest felt strange. Tight.
Annoying.
He muttered a curse under his breath and stood up.
The bedroom door was cracked open slightly now. He pushed it wider and found you sitting on the bed scrolling on your phone quietly.
Too quietly.
You looked up when he walked in.
“Oh. Sorry.” You immediately started getting off the bed. “I can go in the living room instead.”
That made something twist painfully in his chest.
“No.”
You hesitated.
Pope stood there awkwardly for a second, towering in the doorway like he suddenly forgot how words worked.
Which… honestly, happened often.
“You don’t gotta leave,” he muttered.
You gave a small nod and sat back down.
But you didn’t look at him again.
Didn’t smile.
Didn’t scoot over for him like you normally did.
And Pope realized with sudden clarity that he hated it.
He shut the door behind him and crossed the room slowly.
“You’re mad.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You are.”
You shrugged without looking up. “You wanted space, so I’m giving you space.”
The softness in your voice made him feel worse than if you’d yelled.
Pope stared at you for a long moment before sitting beside you on the bed.
“You weren’t bothering me.”
You finally looked at him then. “You literally said I was.”
He clenched his jaw.
“I just…” He struggled for the words. “Had a bad day.”
“That doesn’t mean I should annoy you.”
“You don’t annoy me.”
You gave him a look.
Pope sighed heavily and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “Okay. Sometimes you do.”
A tiny hurt expression crossed your face.
“But not like that,” he said quickly.
He wasn’t good at this. At apologizing. At explaining feelings. Everything inside him always felt tangled and sharp and impossible to get out correctly.
“I’m not used to…” He paused. “All this.”
“All what?”
“You.”
Your expression softened just a little.
Pope looked down at his hands. “People don’t usually wanna be around me all the time.”
“Well, I do.”
The quiet sincerity in your voice hit him hard.
Pope swallowed.
“I know.” He finally looked at you. “And I shouldn’t’ve snapped at you for it.”
You studied him carefully. “You hurt my feelings.”
“I know.”
“And you called me clingy.”
His face tightened immediately. “Didn’t mean it bad.”
“It felt bad.”
Pope nodded once slowly. “Sorry.”
The apology was rough and low and clearly difficult for him to say.
Which made it mean even more.
You sighed softly. “I was just trying to love you.”
That one nearly broke him.
Pope moved before he could think too hard about it, grabbing your wrist gently and pulling you closer until you were practically in his lap.
“You do,” he murmured.
Your arms instinctively wrapped around his shoulders again, like muscle memory.
The second they did, Pope relaxed.
Actually relaxed.
His forehead pressed against yours.
“Missed you.”
You blinked. “It’s been like thirty minutes.”
“Still.”
A tiny laugh escaped you, and relief immediately flooded his chest at the sound.
“There she is,” he muttered.
You smiled a little. “You’re so dramatic.”
Pope’s hand slid up your back slowly. “Thought you were gonna stop following me around.”
“I was trying to respect your boundaries.”
“Don’t like that boundary anymore.”
You laughed again, brighter this time, and Pope finally cracked the smallest smile.
Then he leaned down and kissed you.
Slow at first.
Careful.
Like an apology all on its own.
You melted against him immediately, fingers slipping into his hair while he kissed you deeper, one hand firm on your waist like he was anchoring you there.
When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours again.
“You can be clingy,” he murmured quietly.
You grinned. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
Your smile turned teasing. “Even if I follow you around all day?”
“Probably.”
“And talk too much?”
“You definitely do that.”
You gasped dramatically.
Pope kissed you again before you could start fake arguing with him.
This time he was smiling against your mouth. Small. Barely noticeable.
AUTHORS NOTE: I am so sorry for not posting in about a month. I was piled up with work and had to take a short break so here is finally a promised request! I am working on catching up so feel free to keep making requests. Thank you all for being patient 💘
Missed you (part 1)
Fluff version
Mark Grayson x fem!reader
Word count: 1.5k
Warnings: sickeningly sweet fluff!
Masterlist
Request here
The apartment was quiet except for the steady tapping of rain against the windows.
You sat curled up on the couch with a blanket over your legs, the soft glow of the TV flickering across the room even though you hadn’t really been watching it. It had become background noise weeks ago something to fill the silence while you waited.
Three months.
Three months since Mark had left Earth on a mission halfway across the galaxy. Three months of rushed calls that cut out from bad signals, worried nights spent staring at the ceiling, and mornings waking up instinctively reaching for someone who wasn’t there.
You missed him so badly it physically hurt sometimes.
And apparently, he felt the exact same way.
A sudden knock rattled the window beside the couch.
You jolted upright.
Another knock came gentler this time.
Your heart nearly stopped.
You threw the blanket aside and rushed to the window, fingers fumbling with the lock before sliding it open.
The second the glass lifted, Mark practically collapsed inside.
“Hi,” he said breathlessly.
He looked exhausted.
Not hurt exactly, but worn down in a way you’d never seen before. His suit was scuffed and torn in places, his hair messy from the rain, dark circles sitting beneath his eyes. But the moment he looked at you, something in his face softened completely.
Like finally seeing home.
Before you could even speak, Mark wrapped both arms around your waist and buried his face against your shoulder.
“Oh my god,” he whispered shakily. “I missed you so much.”
The force of the hug nearly knocked you backward, but you held onto him immediately, fingers sinking into the damp fabric of his suit.
“I missed you too,” you said quietly.
He made this tiny sound against your shoulder something halfway between a laugh and a relieved sigh.
Then he tightened his grip.
“You have no idea,” he mumbled. “No idea.”
You smiled softly and ran your fingers through the curls at the back of his hair. He practically melted.
That was the thing about Mark.
People saw Invincible. The hero. The strong one. The guy who could fly through buildings and survive battles in space.
But with you?
He was just Mark.
And right now Mark looked like he’d been holding himself together for months purely on the promise of coming home to you.
He tilted his head up suddenly, eyes searching yours almost nervously.
“Can I kiss you?”
The question came out so soft it nearly broke your heart.
You cupped his face immediately. “You never have to ask.”
The second you said it, he kissed you.
Not rushed.
Not desperate.
Just full of overwhelming affection.
Like he’d thought about this exact moment every single day he was gone.
His hands shook slightly where they rested against your waist, and he kissed you slowly, carefully, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he moved too fast.
When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours.
“Again,” he whispered.
You laughed quietly. “Again?”
“Please.”
You kissed him again, and this time he sighed into it so deeply your chest ached.
The tension in his shoulders started easing little by little beneath your hands.
“You’re warm,” he murmured against your lips.
“You flew through a rainstorm to get here.”
“I didn’t care.”
“I can tell.”
“I just wanted you.”
The honesty in his voice made your stomach twist.
Mark pulled you into another hug almost immediately after, arms circling you tightly while he pressed kisses all over your face. Your forehead. Your cheeks. Your temple.
“You’re real,” he muttered between kisses. “You’re actually here.”
“Where else would I be?”
“You don’t understand, space is awful.” He groaned dramatically into your shoulder. “Everything smells weird and everyone’s trying to kill each other and I swear I almost lost my mind.”
You laughed softly.
Mark groaned again, wrapping himself around you even tighter at the sound.
“There’s the laugh,” he mumbled happily. “I missed that too.”
“You missed everything.”
“Yes.”
No hesitation. No embarrassment.
Just yes.
You guided him toward the couch, but the second you sat down, Mark immediately followed, practically collapsing on top of you.
“Mark—”
“I know,” he sighed. “I’m being clingy.”
“You’re literally crushing me.”
“Sorry.”
He did not move.
You snorted.
After a moment he tilted his head up from where it rested against your chest, looking genuinely exhausted.
“Can you hold me?”
Your expression softened instantly.
“Come here.”
That was all it took.
Mark practically folded into you, arms wrapping tightly around your middle while you pulled the blanket over both of you. The second your fingers slipped into his hair again, he melted completely.
“There it is,” he whispered.
“There what is?”
“That.” His eyes drifted shut. “You playing with my hair.”
You smiled and continued gently combing your fingers through the damp hair.
Mark let out the softest sigh imaginable.
For several minutes neither of you spoke. The rain tapped softly against the windows while he stayed curled against you like he never wanted to leave again.
Eventually he pressed a sleepy kiss against your collarbone.
Then another.
You laughed quietly. “What are you doing?”
“Kissing you.”
“I noticed.”
“I missed doing this.”
His voice had gone soft and sleepy.
He looked up at you again, eyes warm despite how exhausted he clearly was.
“You know what got me through most of that mission?”
“What?”
“Thinking about this.”
You blinked. “Sitting on the couch?”
“Sitting on the couch with you,” he corrected immediately. “Big difference.”
Your chest tightened.
Mark reached up to hold your hand, intertwining your fingers carefully.
“Every time something went wrong, I’d just think…” He swallowed slightly. “I just have to make it home to her.”
The sincerity in his voice made your eyes sting a little.
“You did make it home.”
“Barely.” He buried his face into your neck again. “I thought I was gonna lose it by week six.”
“Week six?”
“I’m serious.” His grip tightened around you. “I need affection to survive.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Mhm.”
“And dramatic.”
“Very.”
“But you still love me.”
You smiled helplessly. “Unfortunately.”
Mark gasped softly and lifted his head again, staring at you with mock betrayal.
“Unfortunately?”
You barely got half a second to react before he attacked your face with kisses again.
“Take it back,” he mumbled between kisses.
“No—Mark”
“Take. It. Back.”
You laughed harder as he continued peppering kisses everywhere he could reach.
“Okay! Okay!” you squeaked. “I love you very fortunately.”
“That’s better.”
He settled back against you triumphantly.
A few quiet moments passed before he spoke again, voice quieter this time.
“Can I tell you something kinda embarrassing?”
“You’re currently using me as a human pillow. I think we’re past embarrassing.”
Mark huffed a laugh.
“When I got back to Earth’s atmosphere,” he admitted softly, “I almost cried.”
You blinked down at him.
“Because I knew I was close to home,” he continued. “Close to you.”
Your heart melted completely.
Mark noticed your expression immediately and groaned.
“No, don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re about to cry.”
“I might.”
“That’s not fair,” he muttered. “You know I can’t handle when you get emotional.”
“You literally just admitted you almost cried thinking about me.”
“Yeah, but that’s different.”
“How?”
“Because I’m baby.”
You burst out laughing.
Mark grinned sleepily at the sound, eyes crinkling at the corners.
You leaned down and kissed his forehead gently.
“I’m glad you’re home.”
The words seemed to hit him hard.
All the teasing faded from his expression instantly, replaced by something soft and aching.
“I’m glad too,” he whispered.
Then, quieter.
“You have no idea how much.”
He shifted closer somehow, despite already being practically attached to you.
“You know what I missed most?” he murmured.
“What?”
“This.”
“This” apparently meant being held, because he tucked himself even further into your arms and sighed happily the second you wrapped both arms around him again.
“I could stay here forever,” he mumbled.
“You need food. And probably sleep.”
“I need you more.”
Your face warmed immediately.
Mark smiled lazily without opening his eyes.
“See? I missed making you blush too.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And you love it.”
You did.
Entirely too much.
After another few minutes, you noticed his breathing getting slower.
“Mark?”
“Mhm?”
“You’re falling asleep.”
“No I’m not.”
He yawned immediately after saying it.
You laughed quietly and brushed your thumb across his cheek.
“Go to sleep.”
“But then I can’t kiss you.”
“You can kiss me tomorrow.”
Mark frowned slightly, clearly unhappy with this arrangement.
Then he tilted his head up one last time and pressed a lingering kiss against your lips.
Slow.
Sleepy.
Full of affection.
When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours again.
“Promise you’ll still be here when I wake up?”
Your expression softened immediately.
“I promise.”
Only then did he finally relax completely.
Within minutes, he was asleep in your arms.
Still holding onto you tightly.
Like even in sleep he couldn’t stand the idea of letting you go again.
Outside, the rain continued softly against the windows.
But inside, with Mark warm against your chest and his heartbeat finally steady beneath your hands, everything felt peaceful again.
