✷ kay !! ✷

Bakugou could count the amount of love interests he’s ever had on one hand, a plethora of them having not reciprocated his feelings. There was a stigma around his demeanor that most girls rather not get involved with, regardless of how pristine he held himself. There was an air of his pride that often scared them away, he had either yelled or cursed at them. He didn’t get it anyway, the interest some people took in him.

Of course they admired him, he was Katsuki fucking Bakugou– but love, he didn’t understand. What was lovely about him? Was it the high tufts of his honey blond hair that swished in his pursuit of villains during training, or was it his eyes, red with fury and yet an admirable passion? He didn’t know.

And sure he had friends, he supposed. Ones that followed him around and groveled at his every word. Ones that upheld his popular status, cheering on each decision, command– every vowel. He kept to himself most of the time, keeping only those who boosted his ego around before ultimately cutting them off as soon as the UA acceptance letter arrived in the mail. They were nothing to him, a cacophony of lies stringing their friendships for all those years, just fruit waiting to inevitably be plucked off, eaten. There was nothing… and then there was you.

Orientation week– you’d hand baked cupcakes in your mother’s kitchen and passed them out like a fucking girl scout, boxed in cute pink packaging and cute fuzzy stickers and all. You hadn’t missed a single person, icing and toppings decorated to match your first impressions of your new classmates to a tee. Ochaco had hearts on hers and so did Tsu, Deku having a small book charm on his. Pens and glasses littered Iida’s and a cold icey blue sprinkles coated Shoto’s. Bakugou’s, however, hadn’t a charm or a sprinkle– but a soft buttercream orange icing flavor within the middle of the cake.

“Oi, you. Bastard with the cupcakes,” He sneered at you, eyes narrowing as he studied you with contempt. His broad shoulders flexed as he tensed and clenched his fists, squeezing your squishy cupcake like a delicate stuffed animal.

“Why the hell didn’t I get a topping, hah?”

A soft, diplomatic smile had graced your lips, rendering his harsh words useless and giving him an odd flutter deep in his stomach. “It’s just that… I don’t know anything about you.” You mused, playing with a button on your uniform. An earnest look in your eyes while you glanced at him over once. You hesitated before moving towards him and giving a curt tug to his uniform jacket, fixing a wrinkle in the process. “Well– It’s blank because I’d like to learn.”

He didn’t know it then, but that’d be what did it for him. What prompted him to seek you out during team battles and one-on-one spars. Perhaps he just wanted to be in control of what you thought of him, your first impressions. Perhaps that was a load of bullshit he’d told himself over and over to justify wanting to see you every second of every day. Private karaoke nights that he’d always refused to sing at, hangouts in your room and cupcake making late at night.

That’s how he found himself in the dorm room kitchen, caked in flour and yolk and anything else you’d deemed necessary to toss at each other. He swore, breaking eggs with ease but spreading icing like a fool. He implored you both to try again, despite the late hour and bowls of dry and wet ingredients sat scattered across the surface of the counter. Katsuki mixed at the batter before him, aggressive and vigorous motions rocking the metal bowl like a choppy wave.

“I’m a damn chef, not a fuckin’ cupcake maker.” He grunted and you giggled, licking icing off of your thumb. You dusted flour off of your Mirko tee, bumping your hip with his and taking the wooden spoon from his hands.

“Sounds like you’re making excuses…” You hum and give him a grin, folding the flour into the silky batter gingerly. His eyes flicked over you curiously, and in spite of himself, he brought a hand to tug at your hair. His nostrils flared in resolve, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning in just inches away from your face. His breath fanned over your cheeks, making a heat slowly rise up your neck. It didn’t go unnoticed by him and neither did your hands tightening around the spoon handle. Didn’t go unseen when your face lit up after he’d ask you to join his teams either, or your constant invitations to class parties and hangouts. You liked him–despite his romantic reputation from middle school and the loud arguments you two would insist on finishing.

He’d even overheard those extras making bets on who’d make a move first, who’d just bite the bullet and ask the other out. It was 30 on you, 10 on him and 50 that he’d reject you– and he understood why. Katsuki Bakugou had no idea where to even begin with you, with having a crush or being crushed on… or– if he even wanted that at all. And his behavior towards other people reflected that; he knew his friends understood that too. But he knew he enjoyed your presence, loved your competitiveness, your passion for baking that almost rivaled that of your hero work. He loved fighting with you, loved that he knew you’d never hold back– and maybe he even loved the way your face lit up when you won a bet or an argument.

“I could bake circles around you, bastard.” He simpered and you grinned back with just as much animosity. You lean in and pluck a strawberry from the bowl in front of you. “Is that a challenge, suki?” You mutter, eyelids drooped with fatigue but mouth quirked up in spur.

A flutter lodged itself deep in his chest and a warmth spread across his stomach. Fuck.

“Fight me then.”

You laugh at the absurdity, though your features soften when you realize he’s completely serious. His eyes are set straight, even more so than his back as they narrow at you in pride. His powdered black tee ripples with each movement and his brows furrowed with every passing moment. He liked you, but he’d be damned if he didn’t take up a seemingly offered challenge. “I’m not fighting you over cupcakes, Kats.” You gesture for him to pass you the sugar.

“No– I mean… fight me– with cupcakes.” He managed, reaching out to hand your ingredients. “As in… a bake off?” You raise an eyebrow, a beaming smile graces your lips as you lean in towards him, popping another strawberry in your mouth. “You’re on.”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

He enjoyed watching you bake with such passion, your eyebrows knit together in concentration as you piped the last details onto the hand sized pastry. He almost forgot he was in a competition, simmering at the sheer perfection of your swirls of icing before looking over his own. He rubbed the back of his neck, frustration riddled on his face as he glanced over at yours.

“S’ not my best– okay?” The tips of his ears flushed a raspberry pink and he cleared his throat. His pastries flopped over, melted icing dripping off the side of the warm cake and sliding towards the dish. A sharp grin took place on your lips, putting your hands on your hips and tilting your head. “I guess I won, hmph?” You boasted. He pushed the side of your head, pulling a soft laugh from you. “Whatever, asshole. I’ll surpass you any day of the week in anything else.” He snarled, shuffling the cakes into the bin beside the counter. He carded a hand through his hair, light night rain drizzling off in the deep distance. The sound of running sink water whipped him sullen while he watched you work on dishes.

“How do you do this shit?” He moves over to you and looks over your remaining cupcakes, clearing his throat before meeting your gaze. Your eyes are wide with curiosity and raw patience, it makes his cheeks heat up. “The baking– I mean.” You furrow your brows in thought, scrubbing a small pot. You hesitate, pausing in your cleaning and finally speaking,

“It’s more important than just the baking, I think. For me… I think it’s about learning about someone and showcasing my favorite bits of them on a little sweet display. I think– it’s less of a cupcake than it is a love letter.” You finish, giving him a soft smile.

Katsuki’s breath caught in his throat.

Fuck, no wonder it meant so much to you.

And dammit if it didn’t make his heart beat a little faster.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Bakugou’s leg bounced underneath his school desk, his cupcakes for you tucked in the cubby and watched over every three minutes. He kept his head down to attempt to mitigate the warm rush of blood in his face. “Tch, it's just cupcakes, hm?” He mumbles, flushed and slumped in his chair like a degenerate. Still, he stared at the tin slid underneath his desk, contemplating his choices leading up to here. It was stupid, and he knew that, to work towards something so trivial and yet he couldn’t help but sit in his mother’s kitchen every other weekend, cursing over spilt ingredients and previous failed attempts.

His eyebrows furrowed, glancing every few minutes to check for your arrival, the steady scent of cupcake batter recognizable with your face. He only got whiffs of charred paper that he'd been burning through to keep his nerves at bay. He had half a mind to ask around, since you'd never been late to a class before, especially not one with him in it.

“Woah, Kacchan– What'd the loose leaf do to you?” Kamanari grinned, watching Bakugou slump further in his seat. He slid his arms across the surface of his desk, with a glimmer in his eyes that had him all figured out. He glanced at the tin tightly gripped in his fingertips, and then back at him. Katsuki simmered, bringing his eyes short with his yellow haired classmate in front of him. “Shut it, dimwit. I'm just waiting for the girl.” He snarled as he scrunched his nose in distaste and popped more paper in his palm. “Y/N? Oh, I just saw her. She's outside.” He hummed, sliding into the desk beside him and clicking a pen in his fingertips. Katsuki’s nostrils flared.

He pushed himself from his desk chair, tugging the tin along with him as he slid quietly out of the classroom door. He glanced in either direction, taking in the scent of your strawberry-vanilla perfume so obvious in the air. He listens for the click of those heavy shoes you wear so often, and he even looks out for the logo of a pop group you like, hoping it’d be on your shirt. And then, he heard it: your laughter coming from the other end of the hall. It was clear and so full of life–like a sudden burst of wind–and he couldn’t help the pang in his chest when he realized you were standing in front of some dork from 1B. Why would you be talking to him? And what could possibly be so funny? Was he somehow making you laugh like he always did?

“Oh, Bakugou!” You sighed when the two of you made eye contact, your hand raised in halfassed greeting while you gave him a once over. Ample and broad– and yet, chubby in the stomach and you had to force your gaze to the tin held in his hands just above his obvious pudge. His hair stuck up in all kinds of ways, which made you think he hadn’t gotten asleep last night. And you hated that you were so concerned. Hated that the vow you’d made to yourself was lost in translation as he stood in front of you right now. Why would you even be talking to him? And what’s with that smirk on his face? What could possibly be so funny?

You were about to make a snarky comment when he stomped over to the both of you, breaths concise and hard. His jaw visibly clenches, gaze trained on your schoolmate’s proximity to you.

“Hey.” He looms over you, though his eyes are trained on the boy from 1b. His gaze flicks to you for a moment, a solid, assured grin on his lips. “I got you something.”

“Oh?” You furrow your brows, tilting your head and hesitantly taking the tin from his fingers. His fingers brush against yours in a move you swear is anything but accidental.

“I’m— kind of in the middle of something—"

“You’re not busy are you?” He wraps his arm around your shoulder, breathing down your nape so you shiver. You couldn’t help but deepen your breaths at the nausea-inducing smell of caramel and warmth that made you just want to flop down onto him like a large pile of laundry. “I want you to taste what I made.” Bakugou simpers, batting his eyelashes in mock innocence.

You shoot him a look, one that’s wasted on him as he lifts his chin staring down his nose at the smaller boy in front of him. Your schoolmate rolled his eyes, mumbling a quick excuse before shuffling off towards his class at the end of all the hall.

“Who the hell was that loser?” Bakugou glanced over to you, slipping his arm from your shoulder and flicking at your nose. “He was just asking me out.” Your hand swats his away. His eyes narrow, eyes raking over you in that way that he does. Like it’s casual. Like everything you two do together can be regarded as platonic. Tufts of honey blond hair catches sunlight as he tilts his head. “Are you… are you gonna go out with him?”

You blink, scoffing in such a way that can only be considered a word to mind his own. What kind of say did he have over you, considering you were both just friends and all? “Well– maybe?”

“But I– I baked cupcakes.” He countered, mouth agape and brows furrowed as he gestured to the small tin clutched in your grasp. You scoff, trying to push past him. He catches your wrist, however, and his eyes soften slightly as they drag between yours. “You’re not seriously going out with him, right?” Your eyebrows furrow, the rough pad of his thumb gripping your pulse point. “Right?” You stammer despite yourself, your face ruddy with confusion. “I… I mean— I guess..”

“Fuck that.” He spits, and then his lips are on yours, hot and insistent. His large hands cup your face and the tin is long forgotten as it drops from your stricken hands. “Kats—“ Your muffled protests cut off, your body responding embarrassingly well, and your hands went to his hair to bring him closer. “M’damn cupcakes mean nothing to you?” He mutters, anger radiating from every peck to your cheek, neck and ear. “Hm? I… mm, baked. For you.” He chuckles almost sadistically, backing you into the lockers behind you. ‘The vow, the vow, the vow’ Your head pounded and somehow you’d found yourself drawn in as well.

“Shut up…” You snap weakly. You lead his lips back to yours, mouth agape as you seek his warmth and caramel smell again. You can feel his grin but he doesn’t say anything, trembling fingers finding purchase on his biceps. He licks inside your mouth, moving closer to you to press his body against yours, his moves quickening, groaning into you as the space gets hotter and hotter and hotter and– his movements suddenly still and he withdraws from you. Your lips chase after him for a moment before you peel open your eyes. You watch him, his eyes shut and he runs a large hand down his face. “Fuck.” He mutters, slightly out of breath, and damn it if that doesn’t turn you on. “Yeah.” You whisper. “You’re damn sweet, you know that?” His gaze runs you over, leaning down and returning your tin to you. It’s oddly casual for the heat coursing between you both. He leans in, breath brushing your ears and causing them to perk up. “Meet me in the kitchen tonight. We’re having a rematch.” Bakugou grins and presses a quick kiss to your cheek before pulling the both of you to class.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

The kitchen is dark, save for the city lights bleeding through the blinds and onto the countertops. Bakugou leaned against them, engulfed in darkness and yet somehow still just as handsome. Baking supplies were strewn across the table, but your focus is completely on him and the cupcake lit with a small candle in between the both of you. Hearts and little bursts of gold and yellow sprinkles decorated the pile of icing, the thought that this is what reminds you of him making Bakugou’s ears redden. “So?” He mumbles, focused on you across from him. “So, make a wish.” You giggle, hushed. He watches you before shifting his weight onto his feet like he was taking this more seriously than before, and whispering, “I wish you’d be my girlfriend.” A playful scoff leaves you as he whisks the flame from the candle, looking at you expectantly. “Is that really how you’re asking me?” You grin. “You want fuckin’ fireworks?” He teases, placing the treat on the counter beside him and using your belt loop to pull you closer. “Maybe.” He blows a hard breath from his nose while his hands work your waist. “Y/N?”

“Hm?” You smile.

“Please be my girlfriend.” He punctuates his question with pecks to your neck and chest.

“…Battle me for it.” You tease, pulling away and gathering the ingredients. He groans, though he’s still smiling. “You’re on.”

You weren’t making it to class on time tomorrow, you were sure of it. 

God, could their arguing get any louder? Why this late at night? What could it possibly even be about?

Something about rent… and then something else about another girl. Then an entire monologue about heroes and villains… was this guy serious? You stared at your apartment ceiling, two pillows pressed against your ears and a hopeful thought that a lighting strike would just take both of them down ringing through your head. Maybe then you could get a full night's rest, or at the very least, enough for your class tomorrow morning. You promised to yourself that you weren’t normally that violent, just particularly sleepy– and to be fair to them you weren’t a fierce arbiter of the complex rules either. There were three:

No Loud Noises After 10pm Keep Respectful of Complex Property  Absolutely No Pets 

It’s not like you strictly followed all three… you were housing a small dog, Kiwi, even though your landlord made it personally clear that there were no pets allowed. And you tried to get rid of her a few months ago when you first moved in, you really did. But her floppy ears, spots on her cheeks that were reminiscent of freckles, and lightly browned fur had you swooning, and before you even knew it, you were already hiding her toys during inspections. 

So, maybe it felt a little hypocritical to wish death upon the couple on the breezeway outside. Still, you had half a mind to go out there and lecture them until they both worked out whatever grudge they had against each other. A dog was one thing, especially if she never barked, not even once. But these people outside— they did a whole lot of barking. And you almost got up too, clad in your pajamas and all, ready to stumble into the outdoor hallway and curse until your point got across.  But a voice, smooth and decadent interrupted their yelling, so sweet you could practically hear the soft smile he wore. The man coaxed the both of them not only to calm down, but apologize too. And… god, was he making them hug? You were baffled by the sheer volume of the diplomatic people skills this person must have been sporting, you were sure it must be their quirk. Whatever it was it got them quiet enough for you to drift off to sleep, sullen and dreaming about a man that would whisk you away with a smile.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

A shuffling at your window the next morning awoke you, dazed and confused after the best sleep in your life. Something about that guy’s voice just brought you there, damn there hanging off your twin sized bed and drool swept against the inner corner of your mouth. You lifted your head, running a hand over your hair before sliding off your bed to make a quick coffee. You muttered something about a breezy shower and– was the sun shining a little brighter this morning? You swore your copious amounts of house plants looked fuller with life today, your posters of various heroes illuminated and basking in the glory of the bright sun. You swore your small studio looked bigger in a sense, more light as you took out your takeout from the fridge. You stood at your counter, shoveling noodles into your mouth and breathing in this much needed– and much limited– time of peace. 

Another shuffling at the window just above your bed startled you, setting the takeout box down and climbing on top of the bed built into the nook of your room between the apartment and bathroom wall. A small cat purred at your window, eyes wide and big and brown, brushing its fur at the glass. It meows loudly, putting its paw over the hatch and seemingly gesturing you to open your window. Candles and small potted plants lined the ledge of the window, making it hard for you to find the lock to click it open. When you finally did, the small thing leapt through the opening and straight onto your bed. You scoff, bewildered. You weren’t the only person in the complex breaking the rules, you guessed. 

“Hey there, sweet thing…where's your owner?” You scrunch your eyebrows together, watching the cat hop down from your bed and stretch over your floor like it owned the space it sat. It let out a soft meow, large eyes blinking back at you as it skipped over your furniture and picked at your plants. Then, that voice– rugged and clearly fatigued called out from the open corridors outside. 

“Neko?” He spoke, the sounds of clattering pots and keychains ringing from right outside your apartment door. He swore faintly when a pot shattered on the ground. Swept potting mix scattered under your door at the attempt of a makeshift cleanup, the whoosh of stray dead leaves catching the cat's attention and it scratched at the door.  “Neko, come on– I’ve got work…” 

“Is that you? Are you Neko?” You mumbled, clicking open your door. Reflected green shot across your vision, sun rays passing through his curls and painting your apartment walls like the Sistine Chapel. A light breeze whisked past the green’s hair and led your eyes to his tan, freckled face, one that knocked the thoughts right from your skull. He smelled of vanilla and freshly groomed puppies, like something soft you could just flop into, sleep for a little while. He swore, eyes widening at your sudden appearance, and carding a hand lightly through his tresses. Then he groaned, trying to brush white broken clay shards into his gloved palm. 

“Crap, I’m– I’m so, so sorry… I’ll replace this.” He hurriedly muttered, flicking his head down and furrowing his brows in contained frustration. Your breath left your body, face warming in silent attraction as you cleared your throat and leaned over him to check the damage. Hundreds of tiny bits of argil sat at his feet, littered across the breezeway and towards the edge of the corridor. Bits of thick pieces you’d hand painted sat face up on the concrete, and so did the small bud that had been slowly inching towards the complex ceiling for weeks.

“Don’t… stress about it, ‘s fine. Not your fault I was too lazy to take it inside.” You choke up and force a smile, playing with a pimple on the base of the back of your neck. God, you knew you were jittery, watching him stand to his full height and cup the pieces of pot in his clunky gloves. You were hardly able to force out a coherent sentence, nevermind keep up a steady conversation with your next-door neighbor. 

Here he was, donning his hero armor and flowing yellow cape that he barely tucked under grey sweats. Chunky red shoes and gloves that clanked against his midriff, and the designs on his chest were faded and worn out. “You’re– Deku… aren’t you?” 

“Ah–Izuku,” He gives you a soft smile. “I, uh…  don’t think there’s a need for titles, we’re neighbors.” You dorkily nod, keeping your eyes anywhere but his. His presence felt overpowering, yet friendly, fit for the number four hero who not only rocketed in the ranks, but in popularity too. 

“Oh– well, thank you.” You curse internally, wishing this morning would already end. He chuckles, and that only seems to make it worse for the raging embarrassment seeping deep into your chest. He lets out an exasperated huff, shaking his head and keeping a strict eye on the doors down the hall. “I should be thanking you for sweeping this little one up.” He scoops his cat up from the floor beside you before opening his door and pushing him into the room. “He likes to roam.” A fond grin crosses his face.

“Actually– I wanted to thank you… for last night?” Your eyes bounce back up to his, taking in the way his biceps flex with every indifferent movement. Your neck heated up when his yellow scarf, faded and caked in dirt stains, fluttered behind him in the chilly spring wind. And God, you wished he was still tired and didn’t notice your shameless, obvious– and oh so necessary– ogling of him through his hero costume. “It was you wasn’t it? I– was actually able to get the best sleep.” You gushed, fighting the urge to drop to your knees and thank him raucously until the neighbors filed a complaint. It was just that important to you. Your sleep, that is. 

 He stared at you for a moment, before looking at his shoes in modesty and giving you a weak thumbs up. “It’s… no problem, really. It’s still kind of my job even if I’m off the clock.” He shuffled his feet and looked away, curt wind rushing through your thin sweater and making you shiver like a stray dog. You nodded awkwardly, about to retreat back into your studio when his voice called out again.

“I’ve got another way you could thank me!” He suddenly and practically yelled at you, catching a wrist in his blushing hand before dropping his fingers and clearing his throat.

You paused, eyes widening as you looked back at him. His face was visibly red, eyes darting with a nervousness you’d never seen displayed on a pro hero. You flushed, lashes fluttering and you felt so sick. Were you seriously about to throw up in front of him like this?

“Sorry?” You manage to mumble.

“Would…a date be okay?” He swallowed hard, bringing a calloused, gloved hand to his neck and playing with a curl. Your fingers clenched around the handle of the door, blinking in surprise and pure confusion as he watched you carefully, awaiting an answer. The silence was deafening, save for the soft meow and scratching of Neko at the door and the calm breeze whisking past the both of you in waves. Something about his clear nervousness calmed you, giving you enough courage to nod and say, “That’d– be great.”

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

Izuku never had great luck with his words, his passionate spiels saved for the nassiest of villains who’d he believed deserved redemption. He just wanted to be a good person, someone that people regarded as a good man, like All Might. With that, his love for saving others always speaks for him, quickly leaving his mouth in perfect and persuasive sentences. With you, however? It was the most challenging thing he’s ever attempted. It'd been months before he finally spoke to you, and he was sure you hardly even knew he lived there due to your clearly starstruck expression. He’d watched you move in, heard you cursing up a storm over university homework, lugging in packages of dog food– which he knew you weren’t supposed to have. And yet still, he only hyped himself up in the expanse of his apartment, opting out of actually getting to the part where he might ask you out.

And so, he only watched you from afar– that was until today, when he’d haphazardly left his bedroom window ajar for his cat to sneak out and hop onto the flower boxes from flat to flat, keen on taking a rest in a particular someone’s bed. And now here you were, Neko languidly stretching at your feet like he hadn’t just ruined Izuku’s life. 

And Jesus did you look pretty, a thin sweater flanking a tank and pj pants hanging low on your hips. That was it, his life was ruined. He had no idea what to say to you, you who now looked at him with what he could only guess was annoyance at his breaking of your pot. And then you gave him a smile, assurance lacing your tone and a familiar excitement prevalent when you spoke again. 

“You’re Deku, aren’t you?” 

That just about killed him. And you were oh so pretty when you spoke– and when you thanked him profusely– that just about killed him too. 

Izuku scoured his brain, unable to flip through carefully picked notes and instead having to remember ounces of dating advice from Kacchan and Kirishima. His palms sweated and he brought them to wipe on his sweatpants. God, he felt like a highschooler again, that same dork who stuttered over every syllable. Kacchan would be confident, wouldn’t he? Loudmouthed, cocky– there was nothing keeping him from what he wanted. Izuku just had to channel all that. And that should be easy, right?

Shit, she’s walking away! He grimaced, feeling bile rise in his throat, catching your wrist, tongue finally betraying his mind’s first thoughts. 

“I’ve– I’ve got another way you could thank me.” He swallowed and allowed himself to meet your gaze, if only for a split moment. 

“...Sorry?” 

“Do you want to go out with me?” He tentatively asked, breach catching in his throat at your stricken expression. Your face was red, eyes widening in either shock or pure amusement. A cold wind passed, a moment passing seemingly even longer than that. And his breath all but left his body when you nodded and spoke, a smile widening on your face. 

“Okay.”

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

His apartment was quaint, similar layout to yours, save for the bathroom adjacent to his small bed. It was a wonder he could even fit in it, you thought, looking over his height and large arms as he stood at his kitchenette opposite of the door. This setting was a lot more intimate than the first few of your dates a few months ago, your first one being to a nice restaurant, and then a lunch picnic at his agency. He always said he wanted to cook for you, which is why now, a few months into your relationship, he finally felt confident enough to do so.

 The room smelled of sizzling chicken and boiling noodles, the green bouncing from appliance to appliance muttering recipe ingredients to himself. You watched from the small arm chair he’d forced you to take a seat in, a practically offended look on his face when you offered your help.

“Are you kidding me?” He’d gawked. “Sit, I’ll cook for you.” 

So, instead you stared at pictures hung high on his apartment walls, some of his mother and others of his former classmates. Dynamight still wore his signature scowl, even as a teen, and Shoto timidly smiled for the camera. Izuku, clad in his UA uniform beamed bright, messy curls hardly kept like bright, flickering fire catching a swift air. It reminded you of your friends at secondary school, enthusiastic and eager for the world the new heros had promised. And Midoriya’s passion all but reassured you that promise would be kept. 

A short curse came from the man and the sound of glass shattering made your eyes flick up to him, his eyebrows scrunched tightly wound as he tried his best to flick the pain from his hand. You rose, quickly moving to where he was crouched near a broken glass jar and a large gash was present on his palm. Neko stretched atop the counter, eyes slit and a guilty meow coming from him. You sank next to Izuku, looking over his wound and bringing a cloth hanging from the oven to his cut. “Thanks…” He muttered, an embarrassed look in his eyes when they finally flicked up to you, to your sympathetic focus. He had to admit though, you looked really pretty up close like this. 

“Damn Neko.” He chuckled and you followed suit, helping him up and to his bathroom. It was a simple four by four, the mirror decked with motivational sticky notes and inspirational All Might posters. He blushed even more, clearing his throat and coming to a stand in front of the mirror, standing taller over the posters. “Bandages?” You asked, too preoccupied with his palm to tease him about it. “Under the sink.” He answered, voice cracking and eyes widened when you sat him down on the toilet. A comfortable silence washed over you and you as you rushed warm water over the previously used cloth and pressed it to his hand. His hands were warm, soft– apart from the countless scars littering his skin. This one, this one was just another notch added to his countless array. 

“I never pegged you for the rule breaking type, Midoriya.” You raised an eyebrow, giving him a teasing smile and he gave you a soft one back.

You rummaged through his cabinet while he watched in barely contained awe. He held his wrist, now dripping with blood and a swallow bobbing his throat as he nodded. “He’s a stray. It was cold– and it was raining… I couldn’t find it in me to leave him alone.” 

“That… sounds just like you… actually.” You chuckled, running the cloth under the water again and watching the clear liquid turn crimson. 

“What, a hero?” He wore a half-hearted smile, eyes flicking between you and his palm.

“Mm… a good person.”

His heart stuttered in his chest, breath slowing while he watched you press the bandage across his rough skin. He didn’t wince, not because it didn’t sting, but because he couldn’t help but redirect all his senses to you. His chest warmed, spreading throughout and up his throat like a liquid. You were too good and apparently you thought he was too. 

“A good person, hm?” 

“Of course.” You hummed, oblivious to the rising warmth of his cheeks and the goosebumps prickling on his skin. Did you not know how much you affected him? 

And he can’t help but lean down and capture your lips with his, leaving his bandage half lifting in the hurry of his passion. He pressed his hand to your thigh and then under it, effectively lifting you and on to his lap. Izuku tilted his head, delving deeper as you cup his freckled cheeks and giggle a soft, surprised sound. 

“Izu–” 

A strangled groan left his lips at your nickname, a knowing grin smiling into his mouth. You pushed back with just as much fervor, running your fingers over his scalp and sinking them deep into his curls. You whined when he pulled back, pressing chaste pecks to your neck and collarbone and cheek, seemingly drunk off the mere thought of you. His eyes were glazed over, hair tousled from your fingers running through it and he kept pulling you closer like you were about to disappear. He’s clearly timid, shy– but he clumsily presses his lips onto yours like he’d known to do this his entire life. 

It’s only when he hears the smoke detector ringing that he pulls away,  slipping you off his lap. He presses another kiss to your face before going to the kitchen where smoke pillows, lifting off the now burnt food and straight into the detector. He curses once more, fanning away smoke like his life solely depended on it, trying to calm the device before it annoyed the neighbors enough to contact the landlord. He carded a hand through his hair, watching you softly giggle at the entire fiasco. He let out a somewhat dejected sigh, giving you a sloppy grin and sliding across the room to cup your face. 

“I’m– sorry about dinner, love.” He exhales, but can’t help but give you more kisses on your jaw and cheek. He seemingly couldn’t pull away, large hands locked onto you like a wayward lifeline. 

“It’s cool, Zu… let's order takeout, mhm?” 

And Neko yawned, meowing in agreement atop his wooden dresser.

Bakugou Katsuki hated asking for help.

His life completely operated on self-preservation, opting for earlier bedtimes and training times in order to avoid those loud-mouthed extras who constantly nagged him for support. 

“Do you need help with that?”

“Is that too heavy, can I get the other side?”

“Do you want to tutor with me?”

Their morale– though he knew they meant well– only pushed him to work harder on his own, shedding away from their kind smiles and cleverly disguised words. He felt their questions weigh down on him, not keen on the sense of pity they implied. Did he seem like he needed their fuckin’ help? Bakugou Katsuki didn’t make it to the top with help. He did it on his own and there wasn't a thing he couldn’t figure out by himself. 

Except for you.

He couldn’t put his finger on you… on the way his chest throbs when you’re near. The way you give him a big smile even when he calls you names or pushes you too hard during class combat training. The way you seem to lull him into contentment with just a touch to his shoulder or hand, or perhaps it's when you share your lunch when he forgets his in the heap of chaos between classes and hero work. It’s like the bright, beaming light of sun rays making its way into his gaze and his only line of defense is his hand raised high over his face. And it’s when he catches himself thinking about you while brushing his teeth that he realizes he is well and truly fucked. He thought about the domesticality of it all, like when you’d sleep over at his and wake up cursing because you were late for your first class. When he watched in the bathroom mirror, wishing he could see you like that every morning. 

Bakugou Katsuki wasn’t in denial, he understood that he was in love with you, he hadn’t doubted that. Still he both hated and loved the feeling. The searching for you in crowds or the classroom or doing your notes for you when you were sick. He loved to see your face but hated to be the one to seek it out. Did loving you make him weaker? Weren’t you just another distraction in the climb to the top? Another trivial matter that’d pass with time, if only he didn’t poke the fire?

He hadn’t known what to do, especially when it felt like his heart was about to explode when you were near. But this was nothing compared to what he deals with on a day to day. If he could handle being a hero in training, he could handle this one by himself too. 

When the Spring festival came around he couldn’t help but say yes. He’d known you’d be there and that was reason enough for him. Even though his friends endlessly teased him, trying to coerce him into something that sat too tight in the neck and gut. Instead he wore his black tee, skull print front and center on the chest, the one he liked– despite Mina’s disapproving pout. 

The festival itself was filled with streamers and balloons and crazy lights of blue, green and pink flashing in his peripheral. Food vendors lined the outside walkways of UA and sakura petals laid scattered across the brick floor. Crowds of hundreds of people littered the street shopping and gaming and listening to student performances. Night fell over the campus while he searched for you, still hot from the hoots of romantic encouragement from his friends. Loud noises of cheers and song drifted throughout as he cut through the crowds and Bakugou grunted in discomfort. How did he let you talk him into this shit?

Thud! 

There you were, in this sea of people, bumping straight into him and knocking the wind straight out of his chest. You must’ve been walking pretty quickly because the impact almost knocks you straight to the ground. Bakugou’s large, scarred hands go to your shoulders to balance you, his grip tight and he took in how pretty you looked in that dress. And fuck, did you look beautiful. More than he’d ever thought, causing him to clear his throat and look away from you, lest he say something he’d regret later. You who stared right into his eyes, hoping he’d look in yours. He was damned. How the hell did he let you talk him into this shit?

It’d been hard– and in the middle of an intense training session– but you’d managed to convince Bakugou to show up to the UA annual Spring Festival. You weren’t sure you heard him correctly at first, his head turned away from you and a quiet mumble left his lips. 

“Fine.” He’d grumbled under his breath and you’d perked up at the sound. 

Hm?” You furrowed your brows in confusion, unsure if the words you’d thought left his mouth actually left him. 

“I said I’ll go, damnit.” He spat, before he swept you off your feet with a quick kick and onto the bright blue mat below. You’d persuaded him to actually leave his dorm room for once under the pretense of a school festival, but what you really wanted to do was see the fireworks with him. It was stupid, really, but it’s been a little bit of a fantasy of yours since you and Bakugou first started becoming friends.

But despite all this, you insisted you did not have a thing for Katsuki Bakugou. Even when Mina and Kamanari made a bet to see who’d make a move first, you firmly explained your non-feelings for the blonde. 

Yes, you liked training with him, he was a good challenge. And yes, you enjoyed hanging out with him outside of school, he was okay company. And sometimes… maybe your face heated up when he’d ruffle your hair or prod between your eyebrows. But you asserted it didn't– doesn’t– mean anything, only that you’d gone particularly hard in a spar, or that it was kind of hot that day. You absolutely, positively did not like Katsuki Bakugou.

“Watch where you’re going, bastard.” He muttered, half-heartedly. “Could’ve knocked you down.” You grinned, a breeze of light content going through your body as you watched him. His eyes spoke of amusement and his usual scowl replaced itself with a playful smile. Even someone as not-in-love-with-Katsuki-Bakugou as you could admit how pretty he looked bathed under the pink and green spring lights, his ash blonde hair a natural mural of colors.

“Knocked me down? You wish.” You tease, smoothing down your skirt. His eyes trained on you, your words only making his smile wider.

“Oh, I wish, huh? How about practice last week, you smug asshole?” He prods between your eyebrows, a short laugh coming from him. You grin at his laughter, the ability to make him do anything but sneer a foreign concept for all but a few.

“I was distracted and it will never happen again.” You retort, your hands perched on your hips in stubborn challenge.

“Sure it won’t.” He grunted. Bakugou hesitated before drawing in a breath and slipping his hands from your shoulders down to your waist, feeling the embroidered details at the midriff. “Is– this…dress new?” He stumbled through his words, feeling a rising heat in his neck and jaw.

“It’s Ochaco’s,” You reply, pulling up at the skirt and looking over it, a soft smile on your face. “Does it look okay on me?” Your voice tightens and lowers, as you pick at the skin around your nails.

“Hm?” He scowled, clearly frustrated with something. “Do I look okay in it?” You spoke a little louder, clearer– bringing yourself higher and trying to match his height.

“You look perfect.” He suddenly rushes through his words, eyes widening like he’d let his own thoughts get the better of him. “I just mean– it just seems like a spring kind of dress.” He remarked, referring to the yellow and pink flower details running along the waist and chest.

You all but snorted at his demeanor, your lips softening and sliding your fingers to touch his black band tee. “You can just compliment me, Kats. It’s not a crime.” A mocking smile crosses your face and a resolute frown on the blonde’s.

“Tch. You– look okay, alright?” He spoke, a clear red coating his nose and cheeks. You’d thought it might be a trick of the light. There was no way he was blushing, least of all because of you. But was there? Was there a possibility he’d been thinking of you just as much as you’d been thinking of him?

Pops of color suddenly graced the sky, exploding into bits of dust and debris. You softly gasped and turned from him to watch them for a moment, the street now relatively empty from on-lookers moving to the hill. It was perfect, the mixture of yellow and pink explosions off from afar the most beautiful thing. It’s only when you hear a wince behind you that you whip your head back in concern, Bakugou’s hands leaving your waist and shooting up to his ears where he held them firmly. He let out a grunt of discomfort, squeezing his eyes shut. 

You only stared at him for a simple moment before grabbing his hand and leading him away from the clamor. You cut through the trickle of people snacking at vendors and winning games, onto the lawn of the school and up the brick pathway leading up to the main entrance. You cursed, messing with your keycard before finally pushing open the large wooden door.

He let you lead without complaint, focused on blocking out the noise above and keeping his eyes trained on you. 

He needed your help.

It was the first time he’d admit it, squeezing your hand in solidarity as you climbed the stairs of the UA dorm rooms. His ears rang, the now muffled fireworks a lost memory as he watched you– so determined to help him that he’d just let it happen, surrendering any dying protest deep in his chest. He desperately wanted your assistance, wanted to share your lunch when he forgot his or have you patch him up after a rough fight. He wanted you to hug him when he was tired, talk to him about your day while he cooked for the both of you. He wanted you, more than he ever thought imaginable. And he couldn’t bring himself to be angry about that.

You turned to him in the hallway of your dorms, taking his other hand and bringing him a soft, sympathetic smile. If it was anyone else he’d probably yell at them for their pity, talk himself up arrogantly, throw an explosion their way. But it was you, you who never pitied him over anything. And you knew he was strong anyway, so what was it? It wasn't unbridled sympathy you felt, so why did you stick your neck out for him each time? 

“The fireworks right?” You spoke slowly, gesturing a firework popping in your hand. Bakugou nodded, giving you a tight lipped smile, or at least what he knew how to give. “Yeah,” He croaked, red eyes searching yours in desperation. “That’s it.” Your face softened into a guilty frown, your gaze avoiding his. “I’m sorry, Kats.” You grimaced, playing with your fingertips. “I wanted us to see the fireworks–”

“Don’t make this about you, bastard.” He muttered, crossing his arms. “It’s— Jesus, it’s fine, you didn’t know.”

A soft silence fell over you both, save for the muffled pops of fireworks outside the window adjacent to you. It left him in his mental dilemma, unsure how to act alone with you. Did he touch you? Would you want that? Would that be weird? For someone who always seemed so angry and in the mood to yell, he stayed so quiet today, sullen almost. “Are you okay?” You asked, keeping your words clear as you spoke.

“I’m fine. You don’t have to ask every five seconds.” His words cut through the air, though they were soft, almost a mutter. “I mean– I just want to make sure you’re alright. Why didn’t you tell anyone your ears have been hurting?” You retort, resting a hand on his crossed arms. 

You watched his jaw tick with tension, dragging his eyes away from your face as another silence rested against the walls of the hallway. Against the pictures from freshman year and the lists of to-dos you knew most of your roommates never got to. “I know you don’t need or want my help but– I just can’t bring myself not to.” You explained. “So– let me help you for my sake.”

Bakugou lets out a breath of air and cards a hand through his hair, face warming in subtle red. 

His gaze finally flicks to yours again and he can’t seem to regret the decision more.

“That’s the issue, you’re just so— so fuckin’ sweet, you know that?” He scowled, shoving his hands in his pants pockets. “So peachy, I just can’t seem to keep up anymore.” Your eyes widened, surprise and clear confusion crossed your face as you dropped your fingers from his forearm. “Peachy?” A smile graces your lips and he scoffs. “You know what I damn mean, asshole.” His sneer deepens, bringing a hand to brush a stray hair away from your face. He pauses for a moment, his soft sigh fanning against your cheeks.

“I don’t know how to reciprocate it– and I damn sure don’t want to owe you anything.” The blonde furrowed his brows, concentrated on your hair and absolutely nothing else. “So if you’re expecting something in return… well, I don’t have it, okay?” You blink and let out a loud laugh, throwing your head back in raw amusement. His face morphs into one of discomfort, swallowing in embarrassment. Your breath finally manages to catch itself as you wipe tears from your pink face. “You don’t owe me anything, Kats. I help you because I want to– because it just feels right. ” You’re practically hopping on the tips of your toes, the emptiness of the hallway surrounding you making you bolder and the noises of cheers and pops lowering your inhibitions. “And not just ‘cause I'm a hero in training, okay? Because I really care about you.”

You give him an earnest smile and his breath catches in his throat when he realizes he can’t hide it anymore. He can’t hide his love for you, he can’t hide how much he wants to tug you in and kiss you breathless. Show you how strong he really is when he’s sweeping you off your feet. 

“Y/N?” He mutters, slipping his hand under the nape of your neck gingerly. 

“Mhm?” You hum, looking up at him through your lashes and nodding enthusiastically.

“I’m in love with you.”

A shock runs through your heart, breath now lost from your lungs. It thumps even louder now and it seemed like you could feel the beat in the floorboards. 

“Oh.” You manage to squeak, choking through most of it and your face warming. It was just the spring heat, you told yourself. “That’s—“

“I don’t know what I’m doing, and fuck it’s probably all wrong, but– there it is… all out on the table and… I just want you to help me.”

A long silence comes as you figure out how to even begin to respond to that. “I– I want to help you, Kats– honest, I do… but I don’t know how… in this situation.” You swallow. He watches you, face ruddy in exasperation or affection. It feels like your heart has never beat faster and yet you felt a tug in your chest, a yearning you’ve never understood. You’d felt it when you’d hang out or spar, your mind never quite letting him leave your thoughts. And you realized, face warming: You did have a crush on Katsuki Bakugou. A sense so strong that it felt unjustified to call it something so menial as a crush.

“How about dinner?” He manages, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away. A silence crosses through the room as you bring yourself to. Your face feels like it’s on fire when you’re looking at him, like a bright explosion glittering your world. He looks so nervous, yet so resolute like he was trying to hide his regret of telling you this way. Your silence seems to make him sweat, eyes widening in barely concealed panic. “It’s no, isn’t it? It’s fine– it’s no, fuck–”

“No, no– I mean…yes–! I want to go to dinner with you, Katsuki.” You rushed, playing with your nails and nodding. “I’d love to go to dinner with you.” You clarify, clearing your throat. “If… that’s okay.” 

“...Okay.” He grins to himself, stuffing his hands in his pants pockets. 

“Okay.” You parrot, giving him a soft smile.

You’d been dedicated in the past, sure. Reaching the top spot in your stem classes wasn’t a faulty mistake, it was a product of pure hard work, and staying up late studying for a test had never been an issue. That was until tonight. 

Notes flooded your small desk area, your laptop buried in the heaps of formulas coating the surface. You murmured to yourself, looking between your neatly organized folder of memos and the stack of notecards sprawled throughout. The juxtaposition undoubtedly left you even more overwhelmed as you tried your best to sort through it all. But it was nothing you couldn’t handle, after all, you’d graduated top of your class from Midtown High with an associates degree, what was college compared to that, right? Right?

A loud groan ripped from your throat, burying your head in your hands and finally regretting that celebratory outing you’d decided to treat yourself with the night prior. The noise only worsened your pounding headache and you chugged water from your Spider-Man themed mug to soothe your pain. You knew you should’ve refused immediately when Gwen first brought it up to the group– and you did attempt to–but when Gwen wanted something done, she usually got what she wanted. Joining your high school’s yearbook– which you totally loved–asking out your first boyfriend–who you totally hated– and even the choice of living off campus. Now you saw where that had gotten you, working at the Daily Bugle for just barely enough and even then you were cutting it close. You furrowed your brows, making a quick note: ‘Never Trust Gwen!!! (ever)’  

There was a blame on your part, however, your ache to get out of your apartment was not completely caused by academic burnout and friendly persuasion. Veering off your calculated path seemed so unlike you, though it became more and more common everyday. You tapped your Spider-Man bobble figure that sat on your desk on the head, watching the toy bob up and down in somewhat agreement.

Against your better judgement, you’d ventured out into the brisk night to maybe catch a glimpse of the webbed hero once more. 

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗

“That’s a lot of books.” He’d quipped, months ago, perched on the stone railing of your parent’s complex and stuffing his face with a deli sandwich like he’d been starved for weeks before. His mask, pushed up against the bridge of his nose revealed his face, scars littered across his rough skin. But his likeness, still round with youth and his lips still full with promises to be made. “You’re– young.” You deadpanned, unsettled, setting your pen down on the small garden table you’d sit with your notebooks. “Is… is Spider-Man supposed to be that young?” 

“Not the first thing people usually ask when they meet me…” He’d chuckled and tilted his head. His green coat ruffled in his movement, patches of his logo stretching across the fabric.

“N..No? Then… Sorry– if it’s none of my business… but– how old are you?” You’d asked, bringing a hand to play with your sweater. While you did, you’d seen the red and blue shirt you wore underneath, his logo large in the center of your chest. A blush crossed your face, clearing your throat and pulling your sweater tighter over your front. Whether or not his smile widened because of the shirt or the question you didn’t know. It made it hard to meet the large eyes on his suit. “As much as I’d love to tell you that, any info about me gotta stay top secret. You know, top secret identity and all.” He’d put a finger over his mouth, tightening the lock and flicking the key. Courage sprouted deep in your stomach watching him speak so casually to you like you’d been friends for years before this. Or maybe it was the cool weather lowering your self consciousness. “Any info… except that you really like sandwiches, yeah?” You’d shyly retorted.

He let out a laugh, one that made him throw his head back and his shoulders shake. You didn’t know you could be funny like that, like throw your head back kind of funny. The rough yet melodic sound of his laughter made your cheeks heat up and you’d touched them in the cold, winter air. You’d made Spider-Man laugh.

“That secret, you’ll have to take to the grave.” He grinned, pulling his mask back over his face and tossing his sandwich bag into a nearby bin. He watched you for a moment, soft, relaxed breaths showing in labored puffs of white air. “S’little cold out to be studying, hm?” He hops down from the brick, coming closer to you on your garden bench. There’s dirt smudged on his suit, in his hair. Rips line the curve of his chest and down underneath his arm. It’s when he gets closer, studying your area that you notice the large bruise on his lower abdomen. “...Cold? It– helps me focus– and think.” You stumble over your words, managing to pry your eyes away from his injury long enough to finally meet his buggy eyes. They moved with curiosity, as he tilted his head and crouched down in front of you. “You’re blue, did you know that?” He still has his mask on, but you can see the fabric ripple with a smile. One that’s negotiated peace between neighbors and eased traffic. And he’d looked no older than 17. “You take breaks often?” He asks, his words softer, kinder, reminiscent of a concerned hero. He takes your fingers in his, his eyes focused on the hue of them. “Breaks?” You cleared your throat, turning your face to hide the pink that now spread across it. A chuckle escaped from his mouth.

“Yeah, breaks. It gets cold out here, mhm? You gotta take breaks– or you’ll… wear yourself out.” It was you now that chuckled, looking down at your joined hands. “Rich coming from you, Spider-Man.” He smiled at you, though his next words came out in a tired sigh. “Unfourtenly, sweetheart, Spider-Man doesn’t get breaks.” 

“Everyone needs breaks.” You counter. His hand slips from yours and you shiver at the feeling. The webbed hero rises from his position in front of you, stretching and letting out a short scoff. “Then you should take them.” He flicks your nose before turning away and checking the large chunky web shooters on his wrist. “Okay. But I…only will if you will.” You get up from your seat, stepping closer to him. You internally groaned, cursing yourself out and listing out all the reasons why you should not get involved with Spider-Man. And number one on that list was your need to keep focus, to bring your eyes to the goal and let them stay there. No veering for you.

But when Spider-Man looks back at you, his eyes squinting with confusion, you can’t help but hope he’ll take the offer. You swallow, shrinking down from your confident stance. “I just…” You trail off, playing with your fingers. “...hate to see– someone I admire so much– suffering.” He lets out a laugh. You’d made him laugh again. “Is that so?” He turns towards you again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, then. We’ll promise.” 

You tried so hard not to smile so hard at that, a tiny victory for you. 

“30 minute break?” You ask.

“Mm-mm, 10.”  

“10?” You furrow your brows.

“A lot can happen in 10 minutes, y’know. People could get hurt.” He comes to a stand directly in front of you, your eyes trained on anything but the rip in his suit. “Think of it this way, then. Pick a time for me, that way… you'll be helping someone.” You offer, pointing to yourself. Spider-Man scoffs, but looks away as if in thought. “15 minutes. That sound good?” He puts his hands on his hips, leaning in towards you and tilting his head. “We’ll work on it.” You smiled.

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗

It was easier 8 months ago, when you weren’t moved into a new apartment, surrounded by an overwhelming amount of new people and an even bigger amount of work. It was easier to take a break when you knew you hadn’t had that much to come back to. Now, you sighed, looking over the heaps of work you still had to complete, all alongside your shitty job too. Looking for the webbed hero every time you walked to work eased the turmoil curling deep in your stomach, at least for a bit before you were thrown back into the wolves.  You knew he’d seen you too, when he’d swing past on your street more often, even helping you move your boxes up to your new complex that didn’t offer an elevator. You’d chat for a moment, inching closer to that line, the one you’d created in your head. The one that you both are shoved towards more and more with every glance, every chuckle, every touch gone far too long to constitute as casual. And then duty calls, ripping him away from you like picking flowers off a vine, your intimate, ‘just for us’ bubble suddenly burst. You’d take your 15 minute break every hour just to feel a little closer to him every time he had to run off, only for you to take 30 more later to patch him up after a rough fight. But you chased that feeling, the way his bloodied lips downturned in soft gratitude as you rubbed antiseptic on his wounds. The way he muttered a subtle thank you after you were done, like he didn’t know he didn’t need to, that you’d help him again and again if it meant he’d stay safe. Like he didn’t know you cared for him more than you’ve ever cared for anyone else.

A sudden knock at your fire escape window made you jump, knocking over your mug in the process. You cursed, trying to recover the now wet notes sticking to your desk. You called out to him, “One second!” while walking to the kitchen to rummage for paper towels and a first aid kit. When you finally found them and walked back, he was there again, clicking his knuckles against the glass in the same rhythm he’d done many times before. 

You pushed open your window, grunting at the effort. He sat crouched on your fire escape, clinging to his torn backpack and letting out a blow of air.

 “Hey.” Spider-Man leaned in, his mask pushed up onto his nose bridge. He squeezes a bouquet of flowers in his hands, petals falling from its stems. He sighs at the sight, rubbing the back of his neck.  

“Hey. Slow day?” You smile, looking him over. No bruises, cuts or broken bones and you let out a breath of relief. “You’re not hurt…What are you doing here?” 

“I’m on my break,” He replies, handing you the disheveled flowers. Your breath picks up in your chest and your smile widens as you realize what he’s said. “Your break?” You grin, leaning in through the threshold of your apartment window like his next words were just for you. He had been taking his breaks after all, as you had been. For some reason that made you blush even more.

You looked at the flowers in your hands, a seed of warmth sprouting deep within your stomach as you tried your best to thank him properly. “They’re… uh. It’s hard to keep flowers fully pristine when you’re swinging… so I’m sorry–” 

“No, No… I love them.” You interrupt, clearing your throat and picking at your nails. Slight surprise crosses his features for a moment, but he lets out a chuckle, looking down and shaking his head. “My aunt says… that– I… uh, I’m not allowed to talk about you again unless… I take you out on a real date.” He explains, bringing a hand to play with the zipper on his green coat. He looked away, a blush creeping up his neck. He itched at it, a swallow bobbing in his throat. 

 “So– I… uhm, I brought us sandwiches.” He clears his throat. Your face heats up again but you can’t seem to look away to save yourself from embarrassment. He looked so good, even with his mask still settled firmly on his head. 

“...You want to go on a date with me?” You mutter, smiling. 

“Yeah…I’ll uh– only stay for the 15 minutes– but I just… really wanted to see you.” He admits, a nervous chuckle leaving his lips.  “Is… that okay?” He mumbles, scratching under his mask. 

“Yes. Ehem… I mean, yeah… of course.” You nod, choking over your words like you were still in middle school. When he climbs through your window and stands at his full height you're reminded to fix your own posture, your eyeline at his chin. His soft, tired eyes wander to your room, the posters littering your wall and to your desk, tucked neatly in the corner near your door leading to the kitchen. You blush at the mess, at the papers and notes scattered across your desk and floor. Photos you'd made him pose for shoved messily, half peeking out of your manilla folder, awaiting delivery to your boss at the Daily Bugle.

 “Busy?” He grins, eyes drifting back to you. A chuckle left your lips, setting down the first aid kit on your desk and going to the kitchen to find a vase for your new flowers. When you return you can’t help but internally celebrate at the sight of him in your room. “A little. But I guess I can start my break now, Spider-Man.” His grin softens at that, bringing a hand to cup your face. He forces you to keep your gaze on him, unable to hide the blush creeping up your neck. “...Peter.” He speaks slowly, like he’s afraid something would happen once he spoke that name. You blink, eyes searching his in confusion. “...Sorry?” 

“...It’s Peter,” He clears his throat. “Parker. Peter Parker.” It feels like the room’s closing in, your breath catching so low in your throat and your heart clenching up in surprise at the rare intimacy. “Peter…” You let the name drag out, feeling it on your lips. His name felt incredibly warm and a smile crossed your lips as you spoke it again. He watched them, clearing his throat, letting his hands drop from your cheeks, and shifting uncomfortably. Like the room was too hot. “I just… thought if we’re gonna… you know– you should… know my name.” He explained, your hands wandering. Your touch was soft, gentle, as you laced your fingers through his. “...So, sandwiches?” You grin.

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗

He stood in front of you, delicate focus in his lips as he lit candles around you. You lounged on your bed comforter–now on the floor– grapes from your kitchen in bowls in between you both. His eyebrows cinched in concentration as he laid out your sandwiches before you both and poured your favorite soda into your Spider-Man mug. He fixed his work, moving it back and forth and stepping back to inspect his work. “Peter… Come sit down, it’s perfect, I promise.” You assured, patting the spot next to you. “I know… I just–” You give him a look, tilting your head. He gives you a tight lipped grin, hands placed firmly on his hips. “Alright.” 

“Are you nervous?” You raise an eyebrow, the smell of your candles wafting around the room. He watched you for a moment before tucking his lips in his mouth and shaking his head. “No… No, of course not.” He insisted, before bringing his eyes to yours. You hear his breath catch in his throat and you pray you don’t have something on your face. “Are you.?” He asks after a moment. You smile, looking at the array in front of you and shaking your head. “Why are you so jumpy, then?” You inquire, nudging his arm. He chuckles softly, catching your hand and playing with your rings.

“To be completely honest?” He sucks in a breath, face already red and a strong refusal to look at you. “I really want to kiss you tonight.” It’s your breath that hitches now, eyes looking over him like he’d take it back… like it was some sick joke. “You do?” You can’t help but crack a dorky smile. “We only have 15 minutes– we shouldn’t let our time go for nothing.” You hurriedly spit out, cringing in sheer embarrassment at your eagerness. He laughs as you cringe at yourself, a light layer of red on his face too. “You’re right. Wouldn't want to waste time.” He grinned, ripping off his mask and throwing it on your bed. And you’re met with pools of warm brown eyes blinking back at you, so big and still full of life. And his hair, so strikingly pretty. The curls you’d only ever seen poking out from under his disguise so defined and yet uneven like he’d cut them in his own bathroom mirror.

Your eyes snap back down, face heating up like you’d seen him completely naked. “Oh.” You spoke.

“Oh?” A smile crosses his face as he looks away. “I thought I was being jumpy tonight.” Peter teased, pulling a quiet laugh out of you. You find the courage to look back to his face, a soft dopey grin plastered on your lips as you take him in again. Small cuts scattered under his mask too and a cute tan line running from where’d he’d have it pushed up. You feel his rough hands slip right under your ear, cradling your neck and swiping his thumb lightly over your cheek. His touch feels so warm, like freshly dried laundry that you could just fall asleep in. “Is… it okay if I–” 

 Before he can even finish his sentence, you’d pressed your lips to his, hurriedly and messy. It’d only felt like a second before you’d pulled away, heart thumping like you’d just won an olympic race. Adrenaline and nervousness has you tapping your hands on your thighs and looking away from him. Instead you focus on your flower printed bed comforter, hoping he didn’t completely hate it. “Oh.” He laughs, eyes squinting in humility. “Oh?” You swallow, feeling all your worst wishes coming true. And then it hits you. “OH– oh! I’m so sorry… did… did you want to do it first?” He grins, nodding his head. “Ah!” You clenched your eyes shut, a quiet huff of amusement leaving your lips. “Okay, pretend it never happened. Go on, promise, won’t do it again.”

A beat goes by and a soft breath of laughter before his lips are on yours again, a soft groan leaving both your lips. It’s slower now, more candid as he tilts his head to slip his tongue past your lips. You grab his coat, bringing him closer as he grabs more handfuls of your hair. That flower of warmth sprouts once more, spreading throughout your body, up your arms and into your head, making you lightheaded. It feels like you’re about to pass out as he uses one hand to pull you over onto his lap. Peter pulls you impossibly close, lifting your head for better access as he presses open-mouthed kisses to your neck. Your hands leave his jacket, trailing from his chest up to his neck and then to the back of his head, fisting his brown curls and anything else you could find purchase on.

An alarm in the room went off somewhere, though you were too lost in the fog of your own beating heart to realize the sound. It’s only when he groans and pulls away is when you open your eyes, bringing your hand to brush where his lips had been. He’s checking his phone, eyebrows furrowed. “Sorry baby, break’s over.” Peter sighs, leading your face to his once more and pecking your lips. “I’m sorry, I’ll be back later, promise.” He grins, tugging his mask back on and you’re too dazed to do anything but nod. 

You only come to once he’s swung away, looking at the array before you and blowing out candles one by one. You knew this was your life now, one of panicked kisses before he was whisked away again and one of bloody touches after a specifically brutal fight. One of date nights on roof tops and game nights cut short. A smile crossed your face, as you brought a hand to where his hands had touched your hair. But you also knew his promised 15 minutes would be the most cherished moment of your stressful days. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.