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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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soulmate trope | shigaraki tomura
Shigarakiās route of soulmate trope.
"post-canon shigaraki? canon isn't even finished as of when this was posted on 4 january 2024!"
yeah. thank god. gives us time to write our own endings. and obviously i will be wrong about some things. i recommend you read at least one other route, preferably dabiās, before reading this one. warnings: female reader. manga spoilers up to around chapter 390-411ish, based on language used by others to describe shigaraki and his trauma. bodily consequences to his trauma (some things are intended to read as AFO having forced an ED on shigaraki, but this is not made definitive). sexual content. stalking. gore (in a game). reader is experiencing a type of gifted kid burnout.
~28k
Thereās a hentai book lying on your bed.
Youāve never seen it before.
Flipping through it, you winced at the positions the large-titted, ponytailed woman was manhandled into, and though you were frankly impressed that she managed to wear such intricate lingerie underneath her everyday business attire, the protagonist only just got home from work; let her decompress for, like, ten minutes before railing her against the window, please.
Whom did you know who would read volume four of something called GINSENG TEA X LUSTFUL BALLSACK?
Unfortunately, you were burdened with knowledge about your friendsā sexual habits, and some of them, therefore, were already ruled out: Shinsou only read erotica because he preferred his own imagination to any images hentai or live-action could provide, and Monoma only read hentai in which the womanās eyes had hearts in them to let the reader know sheās enjoying itānot to mention Monoma wouldnāt buy a hard copy of it, let alone a story that didnāt have more plot and character development to it. There wasnāt enough drool for Sero to be interested, and the male protagonist wasnāt enough of a twink for Kaminari to project onto, so whose was this?
Moreover, who the fuck would come all the way back to your old schoolās campus to break into your room to leave it on your bed? (Shinsou would be your best bet for that part, but whenever he finished a patrol nowadays, he went directly to sleep, and his and Monomaās flat was across town.)
You cat, Dango, jumped onto the bed, slithering up next to you and bumping her head on your elbow affectionately.
āIs this yours?ā you asked her, and she sniffed the book before climbing into your lap.
You tossed the book aside to pet your cat with both hands, and you resolved not to think about it any longer, even though the cringy way the mangaka depicted the female orgasm was burnt onto your brain.
***
Hopping to put your heel back into a ballet flat, you held the phone between your ear and shoulder while you struggled towards the lift. āIāve got to cancel on you, Ochaco,ā you said, flipping the back of your blazer collar down and adjusting the lapels, āIām, fuckāIām not gonna be able to make it this evening, so just go without me.ā
Uraraka sighed on her end. āOkay. I know a lot of us were excited to see you after so longāthereās a card Tsuās made us all to sign, and everythingābut weāll manage. āSpose weāll just have a routine night at the bar and reschedule when you can make it. I miss you,ā she said, āand Iām pretty sure I can say the same for everyone.ā
The elevator door slid open, and you entered. āAll of you are so clingy. Iāve only been away from the agency for around two months, and you know where to find me.ā You mashed the button for the ground floor. āIn fact, itās embarrassingly easy to access me.ā
āWell, weāre very busy,ā said Uraraka, āPeople are very eager to conscript us for missions, even if they really could be done by the police. U.A. alumni have somehow upticked in their popularity even more since we graduatedāā
āOchaco, I know. I was there. Allow me to weep for your success. I am playing the worldās tiniest violin.ā You shifted your bagās full weight onto your shoulder and exited into the commons. āBut listen. Iāve got to go; Iām running late this morning. I couldnāt find my pantyhose even though I laid them out last night, and they werenāt in any of my catās usual hiding places. I had to turn my flat upside down and still never found them.ā The outside doors slid open when you approached, and the harsh, morning wind upset your hair on impact. āGive everyone my love, O. Tell Todoroki to smile in his next interview.ā Eyes darting across your surroundings for any witnesses, you shrank in on yourself and bit the inside of your cheek. āAnd tell everyone Iām sorry, okay?ā
By the time you arrived at U.A.ās administration building, the wind had been joined by a light drizzle that would probably morph into a storm within the hour, a prediction compounded by a plethora of faculty umbrellas in and beside the stand by the sliding doors. The front office was gloriously vacant, though, so you were able to slip behind the front desk without someone rebuking you for beingāyou shook the computer mouse to wake it up, the clock popping up in the cornerāseventeen minutes late.
(Youād graduated with the rest of the class six months ago, and youād founded the all-girls agency uptown, with most of the women in the graduating class joining to form an instant powerhouse of the industry.
Founding an agency appealed to a good deal of graduates, but you were the only one to go the distance: you were the one to actually make the calls, fill out the paperwork, get aggravating shit done, and by the time to move into the building, it had pleased you to no end that Midoriya had asked you for help on kickstarting his own.
And then two months ago, youād pulled off, frankly, what was supposed to be an impossible rescue. For the first time, you were getting enormous amounts of attention, from civilians, from press, from other heroesāand you were being followed, never having more than a moment to yourselfāalways being watched, either from well-wishers or nay-sayersāand sometimes, the analytical critic, eager to point out your faults in the rescue mission to try to drag you out of the hero scene.
You hated yourself for this, but they won.
Too many expectations. All sinking down on you, as if no other hero existed while the light shone in your direction. [And you hated yourself for even daring to consider thisāwhat reprehensible audacity, butābut was this how All Might had felt?]
Youād had something next door to a panic attack when a convenience store, a regular stop in your weekly routine, filmed your reaction to how theyād auctioned off your signed receipt for over nine hundred thousand yen. Breaking their cameras, Shinsou had to escort you out of there in a rush and call Aizawa for help.
Sobbing into Shinsouās phone on the soggy concrete of a darkened alleyway, you did something you never fathomed youād ever do, something you could never see any of your friends ever doing, something that seemed as alien and unthinkable as sticking your hand into a pit of needles: you begged Aizawa to get you out of the hero business.
Youāve been handled with care and relocated into a surprising covert secretarial job in the U.A. admin, Nezuās logic was that youād adjust to one person needing you at a time, say, over email or at the desk, and if you only answered the phone with only a shortened version of your name, then no intruding civilian would be the wiser.
The job was easy, anyway. Paid well for what it was, but perhaps that was simply standard for U.A. Nowhere nearly as well paying or exciting as working as a hero, but you were adjusting into mundanity. Some days had stretches of hours in which you didnāt interact with anyone, sitting at the front desk without a task, and you even had a few days in which youād gone in, piddled around at the desk for your whole shift without seeing another soul, and gone home.
Your friends were always so busy. The two times youāve been able to meet with them contained nothing but conversation about hero work, or else everything was somehow tangentially related to it, and you found yourself unable to contribute to the conversation. Both times, youād left early, a little overstimulated, leaving Shinsou to make your excuses.
And Shinsou, bless him. Not avoiding you on purpose. In fact, you knew heād drop almost anything for you to hang out, but you knew his schedule and how little rest he got. So, it was more of a self-imposed boundary on your side, taking into account that he needed sleep more than he needed to spend time with you.
So, yes, some of it was directly your fault, but you were achingly, astonishingly lonely, with an ever-lowering threshold for tolerance of outside stimulation, ultimately feeling like you didnāt belong here.)
Pens aligned. Coaster. Check the school email forāgood, no emails. No voicemail. Get out your planner and write your hours in it to look busy. Hey, your water bottleās nearing empty; maybe you could go fill it or even waste time brewing coffee. But whereās your work mug? You probably left it on the cleaning rack next to the office sink. You should go check.
āHey,ā said Aizawa out of nowhere, ignoring how you jumped out of your own skin, āGood morning. Are you doing a specific job at the moment?ā
You gripped the arms of your swivel chair to ground yourself. Is this a test? āI was about to take a moment to make some coffee,ā you said, because never let someone in a position of authority know that you were doing jackshit, āIs there something I can help you with, Aizawa-sensei?ā
Frowning, he dipped his chin into his capture weapon, still tucked closely to his neck to shield him from the wind, and he shifted his weight to one leg, his fingers tapping in a ripple on the reception desk. āYou donāt have to call me that anymore.ā
āIām gonna,ā you said, āHow can I help?ā
Please donāt need anything. Please donāt need anythiā
āPermission has just cleared for me to assign you a long-term task.ā
Shit, you thought, internally wincing at how he used the term task and not mission, as if youād be plunged into the ice-cold water of a panic attack at the word. The kid gloves that everyone handled you with somehow both ingratiated and insulted you.
āYouāll be paid for it,ā Aizawa continued, āand itās low stakes interaction, not even face-to-face. Itās all online.ā Aizawa clasped his hands on the desk and hunched over the top of it, the ends of his scarf trailing down onto your keyboard. āYouāll recall moving some boxes into room 310.ā
āOf course.ā Early in your first month back at U.A., youād helped clean out and move some boxes into 310 in the same hall that housed Aizawa, Eri, and now youāyouād unofficially dubbed it as U.A.ās drawer to shove social rejects. āIs someone about to move in?ā
āHeās been moved in for a while,ā said Aizawa, pulling his capture weapon away from his neck, āKeep all of this quiet. Youāre allowed to know because Iāve advocated for you, because I trust in you and in your ability to do this well.ā Aizawa paused, the silence dragging on much longer than usual. His eyes glazed over, as if considering how to phrase his next proposal.
You waved your hand, prompting him to continue.
His eyes focused again. āThe new person is a ward of the school, but All Might and I are his primaryācaretakers isnāt quite the right term, and nor is supervisors, so perhaps itās better toāā
āNo, I get it,ā you said, āThis person is an adult, but theyāre not quite independent. Go on.ā
Aizawa paused, brow furrowed just slightly as he scrutinised you again, but he nodded slowly after a moment. āIāll allow him to introduce himself to you. He doesnāt need me to set up expectations. Whatās important for you to know, regarding your own participation, is that heās very new to the hero scene and is receiving his hero training later in life than usual. He wonāt be attending class but will be trained personally by select U.A. faculty, mostly All Might, Nezu, and me.ā
āIs he officially a student?ā
Ā āOn paper.ā Something strange passed across Aizawaās face, but you couldnāt name it. āWhere you come in is his socialisation. Heās spent most of his life in disciplinary isolation. Because of the adults raising him, his instincts trend towards distrust and animosity.ā
So, Aizawa wanted you spend time with him until he was no longer bad with people, like spending time with feral cats at animal shelters until theyāre ready to be adopted. āSo, heās distrustful. Hostile. Angry,ā you said, scratching the side of your head, āIs heādo you think heāll bring up bad stuff Iāve done to use it against me?ā
āHe doesnāt know who you are, aside from someone trusted by U.A. with hero experience,ā said Aizawa, shaking his head, āand you can choose what information you give him.ā
āDoes he,ā you said, sucking in through your teeth, āDoes this guy know about how youāre going about this? I thinkāwouldnāt he be insulted if he knew about how youāre socialising him like an animal?ā
Aizawa looked over his shoulder at the empty office, but he bent farther over the desk and spoke softly, anyway. āRecently, when I was training him at night, he expressed that he never knows what to do when someone wants to talk to him after mission, whether itās successful or not. He froze entirely when a senior citizen thanked him last week, and thatās when we decided something tactile needed to be done. Since heās grown used to me, youāre the solution.ā
Okay. A volatile man, someone who couldnāt go to U.A. at the average age but for whom Aizawa, Nezu, and All Might were making an exception, even going so far as to personally take him out at night to practise hero work.
Hm. Fishy.
But if the good, good men who took care of you wanted you take care of another misplaced person, then youāre going to do it to the best of your ability.
āI hope I can live up to your expectations,ā you said, making a note in your planner, āWhat am I doing?ā
āI need you to learn how to play a video game,ā said Aizawa, āand I need you to be absolute shit at it.ā
***
For you to help some loser with socialisation, he would be teaching you how to play some janky, twenty-five-year-old MMORPG called Cipherstoneāand not even the current, polished version of it; you had to sign up for an account on the version preserving the game exactly as it was in 2007. Nostalgia reasons, apparently.
You nudged Dango out aside to check your bedside clock. The discord call would start in five minutes, and you were making your Cipherstone account, completely unable to come up with a suitable username.
āDonāt connect it to your other online accounts or your actual identity,ā Aizawa had said that morning.
Dangoās tiny prance across your stomach was not helping, and you couldnāt use Dango in your username, because if someone knew about your cat (and hopefully no one did, because cats were not allowed in the dorms), then a Dango username could be linked back to the real you. You plopped your head back on your pillow, knocking against the headboard. Whatās something that couldnāt be traced back to you? Slumping, you let your head fall to the side and sulked.
The hentai book peeked out from underneath a jacket on your dirty clothes chair.
GinsengTea
That username is unavailable.
Well. You couldnāt use your birthdate as added numbers. You kept typing.
GinsengTea69
That username is unavailable.
Youāre not about to try Lustful Ballsack. Maybe if you put aside your secretarial propensity for being correct for a moment.
GinzengTea
Username available!
Oh, thank God. You sorted out your password and started customising your character, though you couldnāt do much with the negative six billion pixels you were dealing with, and oh, is that the noise discord makes for a call? You plugged in your earbuds and clicked the answer button.
āHello?ā you asked into the microphone on your earbud cord, narrowing your eyes at his profile picture of a rotund, cartoon mouse. Username Tenkopeito. Looks like he ran into the same spelling trouble you did.
āGreetings and salutations,ā he said, his tinny, rasping, just-got-out-of-bed, gruff-from-lack-of-use voice striking you with about fifty psychic damage, āI am Aizawa-senseiās pupil, here to teach you about the intricacies of Cipherstone. It will be my pleasureāā
āCut that shit out,ā you said, narrowing your eyes at his profile picture: actually, that mouse was so round because it had just swallowed an enormous piece of konpeito whole, with the little star spikes jutting out underneath its fur. āNo one talks like that. You sound fake as fuck.ā
āI see,ā he said after a beat, tone deflating to sound resigned (and though heād relaxed, it somehow sounded as if talking this way took more effort, like it physically strained his vocal cords). āAm I not supposed to be nice?ā
āYou werenāt exactly being nice. You were using a customer service voiceāwhich is being polite, not nice. Not even kind. Politeness is usually some sort of put-on affectation of niceness, forced for the situation. I understand if thatās what you think you need to do when you talk to people as a hero, but in hero work, since the stakes are high, you need to be genuine, or at least sound like you are.ā Dango crawled across your stomach again, but you lifted her off before she could settle into a loaf on your keyboard. āIn the field, itās often hard to be kind because of how involved you get as a hero; being kind takes effort and drains you emotionally. Kindness implies thereās some sort of reciprocity, some sort of ongoing relationship. You can choose to be kind if you want, but it may wear on you in the long run. What will probably be healthiest for you, on your side, is if you aim to be nice, meaning being honest in a gentle way, framing situations positively but realistically for listeners. The public doesnāt want to be lied to and told everythingās fine, but telling them the harshness of reality doesnāt go over well. Kills morale.ā
āHoly shit.ā He was scratching something close to his microphoneāit must be a fairly good mic, since you could deduce short fingernails against a dry surface. āThatāsā¦a lot.ā
āIt is. But you can do it. All it takes is practise, and thatās what Iām here for,ā you said, moving Dango from your keyboard again, āAnd I didnāt mean to overwhelm you with all of that; it just came outāI, uh, I happen to know a lot about the way heroes present themselves.ā Swallowing thickly, you ran your tongue over your lower lip. āWhy donāt we begin with what you were saying before? But in the actual way you talk, please. You need to be comfortable in your own voice.ā
His mic picked up the distant noise of slurping through a straw, against what sounded like the bottom of a metal cup, which clinked when he set it back down. āHave you played Cipherstone before?ā
āTotal newcomer. Though Iāve seen some screenshots in memes.ā
āCool,ā he said in a way that was clear it was not cool, āI canāt add you to my in-game friends list until you get off Tutorial Island. Share your screen with me until then.ā
All right. You can be bad at this. You can be so bad at this. āWhatās a screen?ā Not that bad, idiot! āI mean,ā you said, fumbling, āHow do I share my screen with you?ā
The scratching grew louder. āBottom left. Screen button. Right click. Share option.ā
āAh.ā You should probably lure him into thinking youāre competent while there was a literal tutorial onscreen so that he would be more frustrated with you later. āGotcha.ā
For a few seconds after your avatar popped onscreen for the first time, nothing came through but the 8-bit tutorial music. āIs that what you look like in real life?ā he finally asked.
āNo,ā you said, not exactly lying. The character had her hair down in her face (which you wouldnāt normally do when you were on patrol, since it could get in the way of physical hero work), and, hoping to endear yourself to this weirdo, youād chosen the sluttiest shirt: while none of the horrible pixelated options showed any boob whatsoever, the poor rendering still managed to convey that the top was off-shoulder. Again, not great for hero work. āIn real life, Iāve much, much more panache.ā
Another silence, during which you assumed he was looking up the word. āSo, you click on the screen to go where you want to walk, on either the overall game interface or in the mini-map in the corner. Your destination will show upāā
āWait, what should I call you, screwboy?ā
āāas a red flag,ā he said, frown audible, his rasping voice screeching to a stop the way brakes are slowly applied to the wheels of a train. āNot screwboy.ā
āIām not calling you by your handle. Not only is it cringe, but you wonāt have to answer to it anywhere else in your life. If you donāt want to give me your name, thatās fine. I could call you by your hero name, if you like; itād help you get used to answering to it. But no, Iām not calling you your username,ā you said, shoulders slacking once Dango finally settled in a ball at your hip, āEspecially since you couldnāt even get the correct spelling of Ten Konpeito.ā
āItāsāitās not supposed to say that,ā he said, sputtering with a groan coming in at the end, āItās a play on my name, and including the n makes it harder to say aloud. I think these things through; I have to be aware of my public image and branding now; thatās the whole point of this stupidāmy name is Tenko, you asshole.ā
āOh, youāre gonna call civilians asshole?ā You clicked your tongue. āBad. Bad and evil. Speaking from experience, people donāt like that.ā
āJust fuājust click on the map.ā
āFine. But you canāt fool me with your medieval, point-and-click game,ā you said, clicking to pick up a fishing net, āIncidentally, the oldest known fishing net is the net of Antrea, crafted of willow and dating back to 8300 B.C.ā
Tenko paused. āWhat would be the socially expected response to that?ā
Your avatar fished for shrimps. āOh, usually people yell at me. Get mad for bringing up total non sequiturs. My friend Bakugou is fond of telling me that Iām a collection of those bottle caps with facts printed on the inside.ā
āWouldā¦would you like me to get angry? Am I supposed to? I was under the impression I was supposed to curb my anger. To be nice.ā
Your inventory filled with shrimps.
āYou only need one shrimp,ā said Tenko.
āYouāll thank me when we have food later,ā you said, continuing to fish for shrimps.
āItās the tutorial,ā he said, frown creeping into his voice, āYou wonāt keep any resources from it. You should go chop the tree down to light a fire.ā
āWell, hell. I want my shrimps.ā You clicked away from the fishing spot and onto a tree. āNothingās happening.ā
Tenko cleared his throat. āYou need to talk to the woodcutting tutor first. Sheāll give you an axe.ā
āI thought this game had magic,ā you said, guiding Dangoās head away from blocking the screen, āCanāt I just get logs with magic?ā
āNo, itāsāyou must want me to get angry. As a test.ā Scratching. āMagic comes later. Not for getting logs.ā
You interpreted that as a sign to make the rest of the tutorial go smoothly. You followed the instructions for a few silent minutes, proving to him that you could read, and when you reached the end of the tutorial, a wizard teleported you to the crossroads of a town centre.
āAh,ā you said, genuinely surprised as other playersā avatars, decked out in what must be high-level gear, dashed past, āI donāt know where I am.ā
āYou can turn your screen-sharing off now.ā Tenko typed on what sounded like a mechanical keyboard. āIām over here. Iāve gotāby the fountaināwhite hair, all black clothes. Iām notāthere you are.ā
Dozens of other players were running past the two of you, the only bare, new players in the area. Tenkoās pixelated avatar waved at you. Cheeky bitch. Heās so poorly animated and so very 2007 that it gave no indication what he could look like in real life. But heās chosen to have a black t-shirt as his default, so he has to be a slut.
You resisted the urge to ask to feel his pixelated bicep. āYou donāt have any equipment. I thought youāve played Cipherstone before?ā
āMy main account is max-ed out. I started a new account to grow at the same rate as you. Before anything else, notice where we are,ā said Tenko, āWeāre in the centre of the city of Renfield. Get familiar with it. Think of it as home. Itās where youāll always come back to when you get lost.ā
Itās a barely animated town centre, with a short path up the stairs to a castle door and a few market stalls split between fountains.
āI have no idea what that means, Tenko.ā
āIt means thatāthat,ā Tenko said, and stopped.
You couldnāt stop grinning, biting at your lower lip to keep from laughingāheād let out a flustered huff, sounding a little strangled, because youād said his name for the first timeāand, judging by how long this delicious silence was dragging on, Tenko was probably his given name, not the family name. Beautiful, really, that a guy his age (however old he was, but heās at least the same as you, since he couldnāt attend U.A. at the usual time) could get this nervous over a woman calling him by his name.
Tenko recovered in a way that showed he didnāt: āIt means that you are always able to cast one spell, regardless of magic level,ā he said in a rush, āIt is a homing spell that teleports you back to this spot, so even if you get lost, you can always get back to Renfield. You can teleport other ways, too, but thatās for another time, and I need a cup of coffee.ā He inhaled sharply.
It's only the first day, so you should go easy on him. Let his moment of awkwardness go.
However, Aizawa gave you a mission.
Excuse you, a task.
āDo you plan on getting flustered every time a civilian calls you by name?ā you asked, petting between Dangoās ears, āOr are you planning on avoiding as much publicity as possible by being an underground hero like Aizawa?ā
āI donātātheyāre not going toāitās different with you. I can already tell,ā said Tenko (you froze, fingers curled into Dangoās fur), ābecause Iām going to have some sort of working relationship with you. I assume youāre here to stay.ā
Putting it that way made your heartbeat throb around your ears. You decided you could ask directly. āTenkoās your first name, then?ā
āYeah.ā He must have covered his hand with his mouth, muffling his voice at first. āBut people usuallyāpeople have been calling me something else.ā
āThen I can call you something else, if you like,ā you said, getting back to petting Dango behind her ears and resolving to treat him with the same tendernessāhe must need it, since no one in his life knows him well enough to call him by his given name.
āNo, I think you should,ā he said a bit too quickly, āCall me that. Tenko. Iām tired of that other stuff. Click on something to keep from logging out, by the way. Thereās a timer.ā Mechanical typing noises. āNo, Aizawa-sensei wants me to be better. Of all things, I need to learn to respond to my real name.ā
You squinted at your screen, as if the methodical rise and fall of his avatarās chest could betray how he was feeling. Something had to have happened to this guy to make him feel this way about such a basic part of his identity, to make other people avoid his real name so universally. Aizawa couldnātāve have assigned you this task just to socialise him; something else was unfolding here. How did you enter the equation? If youāre supposed to guide someone whoās also lost their direction in life, youāre a hell of a bad candidate.
But what if you fuck up Aizawaās plan, whatever it was?
Your recent history is riddled with things going downhill. What if you somehow screwed over Tenko? Youād be dragging someone else down with you, down toā¦the beginning again, a humiliating re-start, back at your fucking school, when the rest of your friends were out living the dream youād all crafted together, the dream that apparently could go on without you in it.
Well. Enough of that. Distract yourself. Distract Tenko, too. āGot it. I want a hat.ā
āWhat?ā
āI want a hat,ā you said, clicking the space around the fountain for your avatar to walk, āMy head is cold. How do we get a hat? Hats. You should get one, too.ā
āHats. Very well,ā said Tenko, clicking to face you across the shitty fountain, āDo you want one thatās purely decorative or one that has some sort of stats? Decorative ones we can get within a minute, with good RNG, by killing goblins across the bridge. Thereās a low chance we could get a low-tier wizardās hat doing that, too.ā
āThen it will be a pleasure killing goblins with you, Tenko.ā
āMm,ā he said at the back of his throat, āFirst, weāll need to obtain some sort of weapons, since bare-handed punching them will take forever. We could either talk to the melee tutor to get a temporary sword or start wiāactually, we should talk to the melee tutor. Melee will probably be the easiest fighting style for you right now, and itāll be the simplest, since you wonāt have to worry about running out of ammunition or runes.ā
āSure,ā you said, leaning back in bed, āDo we go starboard or port?ā
āYou can just call them east and west, yāknow. And we go north.ā
To be obstinate, you clicked the opposite direction that Tenkopeito was going, and the moment you ran offscreen, Tenko spoke in a low, grumbling voice into his microphone. āNo, donāt run away from me. Come back here.ā
The rumble in his voice shot warmth straight to your lower stomach, the nature of the encounter between the two of you changing in a second. Your avatar kept running to her destination, your hand frozen and hovering above the tracking pad. You blinked, your throat drying. Snapping back into it, you ran back to Tenko, who seemed unaware of what he just did to youāand he almost negated your arousal in the way he kept talking about sword upgrades and something called RNG.
Uh.
āānow, itāll take about ten minutes, but itāll seem like two hours of hard labour. Follow me across the bridge. Followāthereās a follow mechanic, if youāll right-click on me.ā
Oh, youāll right-click him, all right. You needed to know more about Tenkoāwhy youāve been paired off, what Aizawaās planning for him, whatāa tinge of shame soured at the back of your tongue, because what currently gripped you were minutiae: more about him, what he looks like, what he likes, what he does for fun, if youāreā¦the sort of person heād get along with in real life, if you hadnāt been forced together.
God, get over yourself. You spend two months away from men your age, and now, youāre thirsting over someone you donāt even know because he said one hot thing. You needed to be socialisedāno, stop. This isnāt about you. Stop thinking about what his hands would feel like on you, what heād sound like grunting into your ear as he ground against youā
āYouāve been quiet for a minute,ā said Tenko, slashing the first goblin, āAre you all right?ā
A very heroic question when you havenāt been thinking too heroically. The thought of his voice muttering against your neck still grasped you tightly. āIām havingātechnical difficulties.ā
***
Poking your head outside of your dorm/apartment door, you scanned the hallway for witnesses. You gripped the handle of Dangoās carrier, still hidden behind the door inside your dorm, and you nodded back at her when she meowed at you.
āI know, baby,ā you said, listening for footsteps, āWeāll be outside soon enough. Gotta check for people, though.ā
Okay, nothing coming. You shifted Dangoās carrier out of your dorm and pulled out your key, sticking it in the lock at the same time as a door opened down the hall.
Too fastāyou had to prod her carrier back inside, your foot stuck in the crack between wall and door, just asāas Midoriya strode down the hall. Keys jangling. Civilian clothes (a Froppy hoodie, in fact).
āOh, hello!ā Midoriya only seemed to notice you once you were struggling to close the door despite the carrier being the way, and hopefully you thrust it fully inside swiftly enough for him not to catch the flash of burgundy. He trotted up to you, hands in the pockets of his worn cargo pants. āI didnāt think youād be around. Do you not have work today?ā
Dango meowed mournfully through the door, and you stepped in front of it. āItās my lunch break. Iām going for a walk.ā
Midoriya nodded, and he glanced over his shoulder back to the room heād left. āGotcha, gotcha. Good weather for it, especially after that storm earlier this week.ā easy smile stretched across his face as he faced you again, but his gaze weighed down on you, as if the number one heroās attention magnified your failures in comparison to his rise to the topāand the fact that he didnāt mean to pressure you only exacerbated the feeling.
āUh,ā you said, stuffing your keys in your backpack and setting it on the ground, as if youāre not waiting to go back inside, āMay I ask what youāre doing here? Donāt you have betterāarenāt you busy?ā
Chuckling, Midoriya scratched the back of his neck (and oh, in that laughter, he was hiding something). āI make time. Iām just visiting,ā he said, jerking his head back towards the end of the hall, āA friend. I want to take care to see him regularly. I didnāt know you lived on the same hall.ā
āIf you can call it living,ā you said, and for some reason, Midoriya frowned, took a step closer to you, and said your name under his breath, eyes fucking wide and too damn concerned for your comfort. Fuck, you only meant to make a self-depredating joke, not make the situation serious.Ā
āYouāyou know that you can reach out to us. I mean that. If youāre scared youāre gonna burden any of usāā
Youād squatted down to go through your bag, just to have something to do, to have an excuse to not look him in the eyes. If you were going to cryāwhich you were not!āthen the number one heroās not going to get to witness it.
āāthen reach out to me, at least. Iāve got time, or else I can make it.ā Midoriya was kneeling next to you, and you kept your eyes on the inside of your backpack. āIf it makes you feel less like youāre bothering any of us, I could check in with you when I come see my friend. Iād already be on campus. I wouldnāt be going out of my way.ā He sighed to fill the space when you didnāt answer. āWhat are you looking for?ā
āI canāt find my planner,ā you invented, and, acting like you were upset, you zipped your backpack again. āI think I need to go back inside to locate it.ā
He shifted his jaw, and he glanced down at your bag and back at you. āCome with me to the vending machines, at least?ā
The new symbol of peace, asking to spend time with you. You didnāt deserve it, so you shook your head. āI donāt have much time left in my break. I think Iād better let you go.ā
Shifting his jaw, Midoriya tilted his head at you, his eyes glinting. āAll right,ā he said slowly, āYou know yourself better than anyone else. Do what you need to. Rest up.ā He started walking backwards towards the stairs. āAnd I want to see you moreāwe all do. Iāll see you the next time I come around. Maybe the three of us could hang out?ā
āSure,ā you said, shoving your key in the lock to let a thrashing Dango out of her misery.
***
āThe church. Itās the one with the altar icon in the minimap.ā
You clicked enough so that your avatar would backtrack. āHow am I supposed to know thatās the church? Is that icon supposed to be an altar? It looks nothing like an altar. It looks more like a steaming cup of tea.ā
āThatās fair,ā said Tenko into his headset, ābut this is the easiest quest in the game. How are you having this much trouble with it?ā
āOh, stop that,ā you said, reaching his character in front of the priest, āItās intuitive to you because youāve been playing this for years. Do we kill this guy?ā
āWhat? No. Heās going to give us each the key to a dungeon underneath the church.ā
āHow can he give us both a key if thereās only one?ā You clicked through the dialogue with the priest, and a key appeared in your inventory. āAlso, how accurate is this dungeon? Because if this is a broadly medieval game, then the dungeons will be closer to underground bathrooms rather than, like, creepy and wet with shackles and bones. That was popularised by Walter Scottās Ivanhoe.ā
āHow the hell do you know that,ā Tenko asked flatly, āNeānever mind. It doesnāt matter. Follow me to the trapdoor outside.ā
You did, and it was locked. āAre we allowed to do this?ā you asked, clicking on the key and then the lock, āWill we get arrested for trespassing?ā
āWhaāno. No, weāre supposed to in order to progress the quest. In fact, our characters do a frankly criminal amount of breaking and entering throughout the game and never get checked for it. Hey, donāt go down there without me.ā
Your character had only just gone down the trapdoor, prompting a blackout loading screen, but you popped back up to the surface before you could get a good look around. Your character stood next to Tenkoās, still next to the trapdoor. āWhatās the holdup? I thought the only step was to use the key on the door. Did I skip something?ā
āNo, Iāhuh,ā said Tenko, cutting himself off with a tinge of frustration creeping into his voice, āI lost the key.ā
Raising a brow, you tilted your head. āWhat? Howād you lose it?ā
āI donāt know. It was in my inventory one minute, and now itās not. I didnāt touch it.ā His mic picked up light scratching. āYouāre not supposed to be able to lose the key, but I guess I can go back to the priest to get another. You waitāā
āHold up,ā you said, brow furrowed, āI have it. Itās in my inventory.ā
āThe hell? Are you sure itās not just your own key?ā
āPositive. I have two of them now. Same key, right next to each other. Want me to share my screen?ā
āNo, IāI believe you.ā Tenko took a moment. āIām not familiar with this sort of glitch, where an item from one playerās inventory randomly transfers to anotherās. This doesnāt even happen, in my experience, but maybe itās because this is one of the earliest quests coded into the game. Itās twenty-five-year-old code at this point, and it might have glitched because weāre both trying to perform the same quest actions on the same game tick.ā
āSure,ā you said, āSo, what do I do? Do I drop the key for you to pick up, or?ā
āIt disappears if you drop it. Trade me. Right-click, trade option.ā
Once the key was traded, the two of you went down the trapdoor and wove your way back into the underground headquarters of a low-level cult, vacant for the moment but with evidence of rituals on the walls and floors, particularly in front of their bloodstained altar.
āOkay, weāre in their headquarters,ā you said, making your character walk up the aisle, āWhat now? Priest guy didnāt give us any instructions.ā
His avatar followed you and sat on the only programmed-to-be-sittable seat in the pew, his black cape (that he stole from a highwaymanās corpse) folding under his legs. āActually, he did. You just clicked through his dialogue.ā
āBecause youāre here to tell me what to do, Quest Man.ā
āClick on theāā Tenko heaved an enormous sigh, microphone sparking. āYou figure it out. Whatās clickable in this room? What has examine text?ā
You hovered your mouse over most of the room, and nothing popped up with the examine option, except for something on the altar. āItās this weird-looking, severed hand, isnāt it? This thing standing up on a slice of wrist by itself?ā Your character walked nearer to it, fingers splayed widely enough to hold an in-game apple. āWeirdest ring-holder Iāve ever seen.ā
When Tenko didnāt say anything, you glanced towards his character, but he was still sitting on the pew.
āIs this whole quest a pun? Because itās one of the easiest quests, so theyāre giving us a lot of guidance, so itās like theyāre holding our hands to get it through?ā
That broke his silence: he scoffed into the mic. āI doubt it,ā he said, āYou need to grab the hand for the quest to keep going.ā
āFine,ā you said, clicking the hand, and the instant your avatar touched it, a zombie spawned from the altar and began to attack you. āDude! Did you know that thing was gonna jump me?ā you asked, clicking away a few spaces but turning around to stab at it with your stupid bronze dagger, āAnd you just sat there? You couldāve warned me.ā
āI did, and the priest did, and the duke who gave us this quest did. Thatās why we went and baked all those pies in your inventory, yeah? For you to eat during this fight?ā
Your character kept missing hits. āYeah, butālike! I didnāt know the fight would be now.ā
āHey, relax.ā Tenkoās voice sounded muffled, like his mouth was smushed as his fist dug into his cheek. āItās only a level 12, and youāre level 9. Not too big of a difference. With your armour and weapon, you out-level it.ā
The miss sound effect spoke for itself.
āYouāll kill it eventually. You wonāt always hit zeroes, so itāll pass.ā
Though your character dealt her first damage, you frowned. āThatāsā¦thatās actually really good advice, Tenko. The stuff you just said would work well if you were trying to calm someone downāreminding people of reality and emphasising perseverance over luck or natural talent are some of the better ways to encourage people.ā
āIs that so,ā he asked flatly, trying to put off a yawn and failing, āI havenātāI wasnāt thinking about hero work. Just thinking about the game.ā
āWell, it was nice,ā you said, āand it seemed like it came naturally. Mind if I ask if something caused it?ā
He yawned again, but he must have leant away from the mic so that you wouldnāt hear anything besides the initial inhale. āNothing special happened today, but Iām too tired to get irritated. Therapy took a lot out of me today.ā
Therapy. Therapy. Okay, so heās got an official diagnosis somewhere. The word today implies that itās a regular thing, and for some reason, this session was more intense. Intense emotionally? Physically? What kind of therapy? Well, they offered cognitive behavioural therapy on campus, but considering his non-traditional student status, his might be outsourced. Plus, if you, a former hero but technically a civilian, are being implemented into his care plan without being informed directlyā
āYou usually donāt go this long without saying some inane non sequitur,ā said Tenko, that same, strange scratching picking up on the mic, āSnap out of it. Youāre gonna get killed by the easiest quest boss in the game.ā
Making an undignified noise, you shook yourself and spam-clicked on a cherry pie for your character to eat until she was healed completely, and then you clicked on the zombie to attack again.
āWhyād you pause when I said therapy? Surprised Iād go? Think that sort of thing is below me?ā
āOf course not,ā you said, trying to seem like you were focused on the fight so that he wouldnāt get nervous about sharing personal information, āTherapy good. Therapy great. Everyone needs to go to therapy.ā Since he appeared to be taking this casually, you could probably ask after the type without it seeming too intrusive. āWhat kind? CBT? Thatās whatāā
āYou think U.A. would arrange for me to get my cock and balls tortured? That wouldnāt qualify as therapy for me, certainly, and thereās no way that U.A. would pay forāā
āNot fucking cock-and-ball torture, you muppet; cognitive behavioural therapy. The sitting-down-with-therapist-to-talk-about-your-trauma-and-restructuring-the-way-you-think-through-practise type. You fuckinā pervert,ā you said, grinning at his avatar onscreen.
āGood to know. I didnāt know the name for it.ā
āItās good that you made this mistake with me instead of with Aizawa-sensei.ā
āHeās probably more inclined towards bondage. Congratulations on killing your first boss,ā said Tenko, and you blinked in surprise at your character: youād defeated the zombie while staring at him. It fell to the ground, dropping bones and some sort of arrows.
āTake those. Check to see if theyāre iron or steel. All right, equip them in your ammo slot for now so that they donāt take up an inventory space.ā
You did so. āWhy didnāt it attack me with the arrows if it were holding them?ā
āThereās no logic to it besides that arrows are on its drop table. Itās coded to attack by punching you in the face, which doesnāt involve arrows.ā
āSure. Now, letās get out of the cult basement; I wanna bake more pies until we can make apple ones. Did you know that the first record of fruit pies was around 1600? That means these fruit pies are anachronistic, since this game pitches itself as medieval.ā
āIs thatā¦ā The hesitance had you beaming, daring him to actually ask it. āIs that not medieval?ā
āTenko, get your head out of your ass. For reference, 1600 is arguably the year the Azuchi-Momoyama period ended and the Edo period began. The game frames itself as medieval European, and 1600 is hard Renaissance-slash-Early-Modern. Thatās Shakespeare times, screwboy.ā
Only silence on your headphones. Character still on the pew. You made your character walk over to his to perform the curtsy emote, and in real life, you frowned. āDid I go too far there? Bit too annoying? Iām really sorry if Iām bothering you with this sort of thing; my friends say that Iāā
āNothingās wrong. I needed a moment,ā came Tenkoās voice, quiet and steady, āI could hear you smiling, and it wasāit was good.ā
Inhaling sharply, you pressed a fist to your mouth. Great. Fucking fabulous. Goddammit, you hadnāt aimed for it to go this way, but were you now the one getting flustered at something as simple asā
āDo most people consider a long pause in conversation rude? Did I fuck up with that?ā
āNo! No, of course not,ā you were saying, trying to recover but still startled at how he was able to flip the vibe of your conversations in so few words, words that seemed so casual to him but grabbed you by the throat/cunt, āEspecially since you followed-up with a check-in of how it might be strange; a lot of times, people will be comforted by checking to see if somethingās okay with them personallyā¦ā
Frowning, you trailed off when another avatar entered the cultās sanctuary and strode up the aisle. You hovered over the new guyās stupid frog mask to see his username was Venomothman.
āFucking great,ā grumbled Tenko, āHere comes someone else to break our immersion. Ignore him. Iāll go ahead and fight the zombie so that we can get out of here.ā
āThe zombieās dead. You donāt have to fight him,ā you said, as Venomothman sat directly on top of Tenkopeito, with both avatars glitching as they took up the same space on the pew.
Tenko made some sort of noise in the back of his throat. āNo, I have to kill it, too. Itās like each of us is the only one doing the quest, so in your version, the evil has been defeated, but in my versionāitās this thing called an instanceāā
Venomothman: wow a couple questing together
Venomothman: bet ur one guy on two accounts
Venomothman: roleplaying that he can get a gf
The new guyās in-text chat appeared in yellow font above his avatarās frog-faced head, and somehow, the boggly, green eyes made his words more irritating.
Venomothman: leave the basement sometimes ya incel
āSome people are assholes recreationally,ā said Tenko, making his avatar stand to go to the altar as the clatter of mechanical typing came through the mic, āLet me get rid of this fucking scumbaāwait.ā
Ā Venomothman: ur doing too much work to stare at pixelated ass
āWould it be correct for a hero to insult someone online?ā
You shrugged, even though he couldnāt see it. āEh. Youāre not on duty, and youāre not under any persona connected with your public branding. I would say go for it, but since youāre trying to be better with people, you may want to practise.ā
Venomothman: somehow this is even more pathetic than never knowing the touch of a woman at all
āThen Iāll shut him down. The shit-talking isnāt bothering me so much as his breaking our immersion in the game,ā said Tenko, grabbing the hand on the altar to start his instance of the fight, āIām trying to cultivate a particular experience for you, and heās a fucker who wonāt stop yapping. Give me a second.ā
Venomothman: is this what does it for you??
Venomothman: why no response
Venomothman: hard to type with one hand, isnāt it, ******* shithead
You laughed through your nose. āCipherstone censors the word fuck?ā
āIt censors fuck; it censors cunt,ā said Tenko, avatar casting a weak air spell at the zombie, slowly, slowly draining its health, āEverything else is fair game.ā
āWill it censor variations of cunt? Like, if I typed in cuntbag? Orāactually, letās find that out later,ā you said, tapping the buttons on your earbud cord to turn up the volume, āLetās practise navigating difficult social interactions. Whatās our goal here in this conversation? Is it to continue to engage?ā
āNo.ā His spell missed, and the zombie landed a hit on his character, prompting him to eat half of a pie. āItās to close the interaction. Therefore, I need to say something concise that invites no response, right? Iām assuming that a simple fuck off is unacceptable.ā
āYouāre getting better at this, yāknow?ā
āIs that condescension I detect?ā
āOnly a little.ā You slumped back against your headboard and reached for the bottle of water on your bedside table. āActuallyāno. No condescension. Genuinely, Tenko, youāre picking up on this stuff easily, and itās impressive. Youāll be able to walk little old ladies across the street with style and flair in no time.āĀ
āHilarious,ā he said, voice restrained and tight at the mention of his name (too easyāhe gives himself away aurally so freely; who knows what you could read off of him when you had a visual?), āIām sure no one wants me touching them. Can Iāhm.ā He sounded like he was pressing his fist against his face somehow. āWhy you keep bothering to compliment me? Most people bitch down to me like Iāve spat my own cum in their coffee.ā
āWhaāhow about because you deserve to be complimented? Listen,ā you said, electing to brush over his vivid simile, āSilent admiration rots. By keeping in appreciation or gratitude, youāre not doing anyone any good. Kind regards are meant to be shared. Like, now, if I held back any positive thoughts concerning your growth, then you might not feel encouraged to keep going.ā
āLike Iām gonna go around fucking complimenting evāā
āIām not saying you have to,ā you said, ābut consider trying it more often. See if anything turns out better. And be sure to be sincere about itāobviously.ā
āThis is bullshit.ā
āJust consider it. So. What has he told us about himself based on how heās insulted you?ā
āHeās so low-level that it looks like he just created his account. His stats are even lower than ours,ā said Tenko, speaking more quickly now that it was a subject he was more comfortable with, unequipping his wand to punch the zombie instead, āBut heās gone out of his way to get the frog mask.ā
āHis words, Tenko,ā you said, unscrewing the cap and doing your fucking darndest to pinch your mouth from smiling at his slight hitch when you said his name, āIām trying to get you to notice on whom he looks down and what that means for his personal social status.ā
āRight,ā he said a bit too quickly, a bit of a break in his voice on the word, āHeās debasing me forāoh, youāre brilliant. How the hell do you notice these things? Heās using basement dweller as insult, meaning he considers himself above that. Leave it to me.ā
You muted yourself briefly to glug down water; you didnāt know how sensitive the mic was on your earbuds, but considering that you could catch onto Tenkoās occasional rustling of what sounded like plastic bags on his side or typing on his mechanical keyboard, as he was right now, you would prefer not to be emitting the same.
Tenkopeito: Your mom wishes you would come out of your room to talk with the rest of the family more often
You spluttered into your water bottle as the yellow text appeared above his head, and you unmuted yourself. āThat is not what I meant for you toāā
āWas I being mean?ā The mic caught the creak of Tenkoās chair as he leant back in it, and you could picture him defensive and pouting as he crossed his arms (and it struck you that you couldnāt imagine his face. Grimacing, you bit the inside of your cheek). āI wasnāt being rude. I could be so much crueller, but I thought this would be more of a devastating blow. Living on the same floor as your family isnāt the same as living in the basement, so Iām acknowledging his level of social power while still demeaningāā
Venomothman: i mean you right
Venomothman: lmao how tf did you know it was me
āI think we should log out,ā you said, wiping the water off of your chin with the back of your hand and setting the bottle back on the bedside table.
Over Tenkoās microphone, you heard the shrill pitch of a custom ringtone and a startled but violent shuffle at the noise. āHold on. Iām getting a call,ā he said, voice coming through at a distance, as if heād knocked his mic aside.
āOh? Who is it?ā
It took him a minute, but Tenko eventually replied, āA friend.ā
That must be a damn good microphone, because you could still pick up on Tenkoās side of the conversation a few feet away. āYes, hello?ā he asked, a bit more brusquely than youād heard him before.
āOh. I didnāt,ā he was saying, āHow was I supposed to know that youādāyes, thatās her. The one working with Aizawa-sensei.ā
Very nice, you were thinking, as you unlocked your own phone to check your messages. Very good for him to have friends. Not that you wouldāve pegged him as the absolute loner type, because he proved to be adaptable and quick on his feet, but since Aizawaād recruited you for interpersonal help, youād considered that he may not have friends. So, good on him for having at least one friend, it seemed, who cared enough to create an account on some stupid video game solely to annoy him.
āācool of you to make an account to hang out with me. Stop fucking laughing; I am trying to be kind to you, shitstain. Okay. I donāt know. I havenāt been in contact with him in the past two days. Iāve been busy. Let me check.ā Tenko leant back towards the mic to address you. āDo we have a schedule for the rest of the week? For instance, are we doing this again on Thursday?ā
āI thought we were,ā you said, scanning your room for your planner so that you could check your calendar, āDid something come up?ā
āItās not imperative that I go,ā Tenko was saying into your ear, while you picked up your laptop to walk over to your U.A.-issued desk, ābut another friend whoās been out of town will finally be back then. We might hang out.ā
āPsh, go with your friends,ā you said, delighted that he had more than one (fighting envy that it was so easy for them to meet up), āWe can do this another time.ā
āUnderstood,ā Tenko said and backed away from the mic.
Venomothman: so have you sucked his dick yet
Tenkoās incensed shout of āTouya!ā had you turning down the volume.
Venomothman: not to be the worldās worst wingman, but my dude is packing. and goes commando all the time.
Venomothman: and i would know. āiā sometimes ādidā our ālaundryā
You: whatās with all those quotation marks
Venomothman: and do you know the last time it was sucked? never
(Fucking hell. This Touya was walking you back into forbidden territory: the sexualisation of Tenko. After that first session, when youād been turned on by his confident, rumbling voice as heād given you an order, youād felt guilty for sexualising him for the rest of the night. It was as if instead of friend-zoning him, youād sex-zoned him, only able to see him as a sexual person/object. For the sake of your mission task, that felt unfair.
Or maybe you werenāt even sexualising him. Maybe your brain was appropriately interpreting what heād done as sexual.
Whatever. Something in your gut was begging you not to see Tenko only through romantic or sexual lenses right now, and you couldnāt explain why.
And talking about Tenkoās apparently massive dick was not helping.)
Tenkopeito: Touya if you donāt ******* shut up I am going to tear off your other arm
Venomothman: no need, boss man
You heard Tenko sigh and say into his phone, sounding exhausted, āIām not your boss anymore, Touya.ā
Venomothman: no need, douchebag
***
Draped over the side of your bed, you dangled a shoelace in front of the gap in an attempt to coax Dango out from underneath. āDango, sweetie,ā you said, whipping the shoelace to the side, āCome out here so that I can look you in the eyes. Where is my planner, you whore?ā
At a firm knock on your door, you shot up, dropping the lace. āNever mind,ā you said, sliding off the bed, āStay hidden.ā
You opened your door on Aizawa, bare arm raised in mid-knock, wisps of hair plastered to his forehead by dried sweat, and a sweatshirt tied around his waist. He took two seconds to look over you before saying, āGet dressed. Civilian clothes. You have three minutes.ā
Throwing on yesterdayās outfit, you rushed to follow Aizawa out of the dorm and off campus, nearly stepping on his heels while he wove through night pedestrians, pulling on his own sweatshirt to minimise skin contact once the crowd thickened.
You flipped up your coat collar to sneak a glance over your shoulder. āIs this a test?ā
Aizawa combed his fingers back through his hair, gaze straight ahead. āNot for you.ā
āRight.ā You stepped more lightly, naturally falling back into patrol patterns: noting exits (narrow alleyways favouring the left side, underground into the subway station), checking vantage points (upper-storey windows in the resident buildings, non-industrial rooftops), honing in on light sources (yellow- and LED-tinted streetlamps, ambience from open businesses) and physical presence (close enough to brush shoulders with passerby [putting you on edge, because the slightest touch could be pivotal]). You had to consciously unclench your jaw, body flooded with stress it hadnāt felt in months. Swiping at the inner corner of your eye, you asked, āDoes it have anything to do with the guy in the black hoodie and face mask following us?ā
Aizawa laughed through his nose, once. āAll right, then. Whatās that ice cream place you and Shinsou went to all the time? Take us there.ā
Bewildered, you changed directions to head towards Nekozawaās, with Aizawa placing a hand on your shoulder to slow your pace, and by the time you pushed open Nekozawaās glass door to the glowing, pink parlour, you were prepared to hold it open for your follower in the face mask. You watched his broad back as he ordered some ungodly, radioactive-blue ice cream with gummy bears before retreating to a table outside despite the dropping temperature, and Aizawa gestured you forward so that he could pay for the three of you.
Holding your ice cream, you hesitated at the door, swaying underneath the seasonal cat decorations dangling from the ceiling.
āGo on,ā said Aizawa, retrieving the U.A. card from his wallet, āIāve got to make a phone call, so donāt wait up. Donāt be too harsh on him; weāre here because he did a good job in the field today. Tailing you was extra practise.ā
Nodding, you nudged open the door, bracing yourself at the cold, night air, and let it drift shut behind you as you approached the table, the farthest one from the pink lights.
Hood pulled up, Tenko bent over his blue monstrosity, face mask hanging by a loop over his left ear. Scuffing your boots on the concrete to announce your presence, you sat across from him, setting your cup on the cast iron before swinging your leg over the bench. You managed a cursory glance over what appeared to be a sketchbook before he closed it, and once heād stowed it away, he swopped his spoon to his dominant hand to keep eating.
āYou draw, Tenko?ā To make him feel more comfortable, you kept your gaze towards Aizawa inside on the phone. āDo you think youāre any good?ā
āNot yet. But Iām gonna be,ā he said, clicking his pen and clenching it in his left hand, āIāve got all these fucking artistās gloves, so I might as well put āem to use.ā
āVery nice,ā you said, nodding, closing your eyes as you dipped your spoon into your ice cream, āBut as a reminder, you donāt have to be good at something to enjoy it. I love doing stuff Iām absolute shit at. It reminds me of medieval bestiaries. They didnāt know shit about animals, but, boy howdy, did they have fun illustrating them. Did you know a weasel used to be called a polecat?ā
Tenko huffed, his face mask fluttering. āIt really is you.ā
āOf course it is,ā you said, beaming, and for the first time, you looked at him.
Tension flooded your teacup of a body and overflowed into the saucer and onto the floor. Heightened by the cold, a vein on the back of your hand strained and pulsed visibly, and, jaw locking, you lunged over the tabletop to grab him by the shoulders, shaking him.
āWhat the hell is wrong with youā½ā You climbed over the table, pushed his ice cream out of the way (he shot out a hand to save it from toppling off the table, and he ripped off his face mask to set it aside before it fell to the ground), and planted your foot on his thigh and your elbows on his chest, caging him in as you forced him flat on the bench. āWhy the fuck are you using your real name in your fucking Cipherstone username, you fucking moronā½ People could fucking track you!ā
The man who had been Shigaraki Tomura eyed your fists in his hoodie and then his cup of ice cream. āYou didnāt have a problem with it before.ā
āIāā This idiot! āI didnāt know it was you. There are a lot of Tenkos.ā
āThen thereās my logic,ā he said, hands dangling by his sides, making no attempt to touch youāyou didnāt know if you appreciated it or not. āI thought you knew who I was.ā
āNo, I fuckingāI would have given you advice that was more specific to you, over the spiel I was giving interns.ā Releasing your grip on his hoodie, you sat back up and scooted over on the tabletop. Though you wanted to keep holding him, to hug him after all heās been through, he probably wouldnāt want that. āIāmāsorry about tackling you. I, uhāfuck,ā you said, and, grimacing, you slid his ice cream back to him and reached across for your own, pretending with everything youāve got that it was perfectly normal that you were sitting on a table next to Shigaraki Tomura, whoās been teaching you to play a video game, whoās apparently living at the end of the hall, whoās decorated his door with Eriās silver tinsel for Christmas, whoās banned from drinking caffeine, who could rest his fucking head on your thigh if he wanted. Normal. Yeah.
āAgain, Iām sorry.ā
āYou donāt have to keep doing that,ā he said, fishing out a gummy bear like you hadnāt lunged at him, āYour reaction was reasonable.ā
āItāit wasnāt, really,ā you said, laughing nervously, āI wasnāt expecting you. I mean, no one knows whatāwhat happened to you. Afterwards. It was really unclear.ā
āIt was that way on purpose,ā said Tenko, āIt was thought to be better to emphasise the total destruction of All for One instead of whatever happened to his leftovers.ā He shifted a bear to his back molars to bite into the frozen gummy better. āNezu-sensei decided it was better to keep it muddled for now.ā
Muddled was a good way to put it. Thereād been so much chaos at the end of the war that so much never was accounted for. Youād think that the location of Shigarakiās body would be high on the list, but satisfaction was found simply in the splintered, spectacular remains of AFO. Shigarakiās name wasnāt cleared, per se, but in the aftermath, Midoriya especially stressed that yes, Shigaraki committed atrocities, but heād been abused, groomed, and literally bodily possessed by AFO to think that way. Didnāt excuse him, but wasnāt entirely his fault.
The locations of the other PLF membersāwell, the core of the League, reallyāwere public, if not vague. Spinner was in the States at a rehab that specialised in heteromorph trauma; Toga was at a local womenās facility called Sakura Grove, and Dabi was living with his familyāhe must have been that Touya on the phone, holy shit.
So, here he was, sitting on the bench at the same ice cream parlour you visited with the same friends who fought him, hunched over in oversized, black clothes you suspected were Aizawaās, broad shoulders and faded scars out of place in the pink lights, white hair pulled back in a blunt ponytail with his bangs flopping over his forehead, seemingly unbothered by the toe of your boot pressing against his denim-covered thigh.
God. Heās scratched at his neck so much that it looks like heās been beheaded with a blunt axe.
Tenkoās eyes flickered up to you, their colour deepening to crimson in the tinted lights. āSo. Youāve got questions.ā
āAre you okay?ā
Tenko swallowed with effort, scowling. āDonāt start with a hard one.ā
āRight,ā you said, throat drying, āWho knows youāre staying at U.A.?ā
āFaculty and staff. My therapist. The police force. The ramen shop Aizawa-sensei and I go to. The intensive rehab I was at before. The top of the hero commission. Touya, Touyaās father, Spinner, Toga. Eri and Midoriya,ā he said, tongue swiping over his lower lip, āYou.ā
Somehow both fewer and more than youād figured. āWhat exactlyā¦is the situation? Aizawa-sensei was vague.ā
āOfficially, Iām like Eri: a ward of U.A. My old rehab thought I was good enough to live off their campus, so Iām back here, where I can be watched by people capable enough to bring me down if I go crazy again,ā he said, brow furrowed as he traced the side of his cup with his spoon, āI should resent that, but itās not like I have anywhere else to go, especially somewhere as comfortable as this. This is fucking stupid to say aloud, but fuckingāfuckinā All Might is the closest thing I have to family now, along with Midoriya.ā
āIām not following.ā
āMy grandma was the holder of One for All before All Might had it.ā He pointed at you with his spoon. āSo you can make the connection from there. But itās stupid; Iām stupidāā He was shaking his head and staring into his lap. āābecause itās like I have a brother in Midoriya and a goddamn father in All Mightāand then Aizawa-senseiās acting like a dad, too, to me and Eri, and Nezu-sensei? Nezu-sensei is so fucking cool,ā said Tenko, dragging his hand down his face, āHeās got a driverās license! I donāt even have one of those. And he can type fucking 210 words per minute with those little rat paws, and Iām still getting used to using all five fingers, fuck.ā
Cute. You scraped the bottom of your cup. āHey, I think you type well.ā
āYeah, well, thatās why it takes me so long to reply in the in-game chat function. Why I prefer communicating over voice call. Learning new habits, and shit.ā Tenko stabbed his ice cream with his spoon. āNezu-sensei has arranged for me to train as an aftermath-clean-up hero. I had beenāā His fingers on one hand circled the thumb of the other. āāin discussion with him in rehab about what I could do, and we decided I could consistently help when thereās collapsed buildings after attacks; I could dust the wreckage so that we could find hostages or make it easier to clean up and rebuild, and Aizawa-sensei and All Might-sensei have been working with me to control what parts of what I touch gets dusted so that I could create pitfall traps for holding criminals. Itāsā¦going. Itās going,ā he said, curling his lips in his mouth to moisten them, and with narrowed, determined eyes, he took another bite of ice cream, the blue staining the inside of his lips.
āTenko, thatās a really cool application of your quirk. I hope you can find more,ā you said, tilting your head and smiling down at him, ābutāI have to askāarenāt you tired?ā
Tenko rolled his eyes. āOf course. Youāre part of the group ensuring I donāt have caffeine.ā
āNo, I mean,ā you said, shaking your head, āI mean, you donāt have to be perceived as useful. Youāreāyouāre just fine if you wanted to rest. Youāre worthwhile just as you, not asāas a job, as a, I donāt know, a redeemed hero or anything. You can just be Tenko.ā
āI know. My therapist keeps reminding me. But one of the most vivid memories I have from when I was living in that house,ā said Tenko, sneering, āis that I desperately wanted to be a hero and that I would pretend to be one a lot. While Iām aware that I can never atone for what Iāve done, if I did nothing but rest, Iād be alone with my thoughts. And with what Iām learning to do, as a hero, someday, someone mightā¦need me. Need my help. I imagine thatās a good feeling.ā
You sat back, leaning on your hands, the cast-iron pattern cutting into your palms, to survey him. āYouāre very much re-writing my first impressions of you as my gaming buddy and as the post-war Shigaraki. Youāre surprisingly well-adjusted.ā
He snorted. āI shouldnāt think itās surprising. Iāve had almost a year and a half in intensive rehab, and Iām still in therapy every day.ā He started listing on his fingers, starting with his thumb. āIām on antidepressants; I know where my next mealās coming from and when Iāll get it; I consistently have a safe roof over my head, and I know my friends are getting that, too. I have mentors who care for me as a human person instead of as a tool. I get to stay in contact with my friends and get to make new ones,ā he said, nodding curtly at you before quickly looking away, āIām fucking away from that sadistic fuckface. Heās goddamn dead and burned away to nothing. Thatās the main thing. Everything else is a bonus.ā
Tenko sighed, bangs fluttering with the movement, his shoulders straining as he leaned onto both his elbows on the table. He sighed again and scooped the last gummy bear out of his cup, and you let the silence carry on while you finished eating.
āLong phone call,ā Tenko said eventually.
An increasingly grumpy Aizawa was leaning against the glittery wall inside, phone between his ear and shoulder, and furiously scraping the inside of his ice cream cup.
āYeah,ā you said, ābut itās been good talking to you, Tenko. I really appreciate you telling me all of this.ā
āI wouldāve talked about it sooner, but I figured you knew who I was and didnāt want to address it,ā said Tenko, tapping his fingers one by one on the table.
Pulling the collar of your coat closer to your neck, you frowned, hesitating on how to phrase it. You watched your breath cloud in the night air before settling on, āThereās an off-switch?ā
Brow pinching very slightly, Tenko followed your gaze to his hand, with all five fingers coming to rest on the cast iron, and he tapped all five of them on it for emphasis. āYeah. There always has been. All for One kept it from me. Power of belief kept me jittery and alert my whole life.ā
āSo long as you thought youād destroy anything you touched, you would?ā
He nodded. āThat bitch.ā
āAgreed. We should kill him.ā
And Tenko laughed. Just for a moment, barely making any noise, but he smiled with his teeth, grin stretching across his face as he looked away and eventually closing his lips, the smile lingering for a few more precious seconds.
***
You closed your laptop to answer the phone at work, clearing your throat to ready your receptionist voice before you picked up. āU.A. University Administration; how may I help you?ā
āI need you to fucking murder me,ā Tenko spat through the phone, angry and panicked, āI need you to rip out my bones and suck out my guts through a straw. He fucking let me hold onto them, and Iāve fucking gone and lost such a fucking iconic piece ofāā
āTenko, please, take a breath,ā you said, relaxing your customer service mode but clutching the phone to your ear, and after catching the eye of the woman with jars of strawberry preserves waiting to see Nezu, you slumped over in your seat so that she couldnāt see you over the deskās overhang. āTell me whatās wrong. We can fix it. Are you alone? Is everyone else busy? Do you need to come sit with me?ā
āIāfuck,ā he said, and you heard some deliberately slow breathing, but his voice still had an irate, twitchy edge afterwards. āDuring our practise patrol last night, Aizawa-sensei was talking about support equipment for me. Iād never given it much thought, because itās always been just me and my hands. He leant me his Eraser Goggles for me to think about for myāand I donāt know where they fucking are,ā he said, inhaling sharply on the last word, āIād left them on my desk, but Iād taken them up to the roof to sketch them, and then Iād brought them back to my dormāā
āAnd Aizawa-sensei must have swung by to pick them up since then,ā you said, pushing yourself back to slide in your swivel chair to the back of the reception desk, ābecause he was here at the beginning of my shift to print something off, and the goggles are on top of the printer. Relax, Tenko.ā
āHooooooly fuck, youāre kidding,ā said Tenko, audibly deflating, and you smiled to yourself as you slid their band around your wrist.
You kicked yourself back up to the front. āYouāre okay. Youāre not gonna get in trouble. Iāll bring them by at the end of my shift.ā You sat up straight, and the strawberry preserves woman was shooting a concerned look in your direction. āIām at work, though, so I think weād better end the call soon. Anything else you need?ā
Tenko hummed into the phone. āNot really. You canāt be that busy.ā
You smiled again, feelingāfeeling domestic, as if he were your boyfriend calling you during work hours. How strange, Shigaraki Tomura. How interesting. āWould you believe I was grinding in Cipherstone when you called?ā
āAnd you donāt call yourself a gamer,ā he said, clearing his throat multiple times, āWhat skills?ā
āWoodcutting and firemaking,ā you said, opening your laptop again, āAre you feeling under the weather? Your voice had a bit of a rasp there.ā Sounded like his old voice for a moment.
āFurther cementing that Aizawa-senseiās right to be worried about you. He says your brainās going haywire analysing any detail work you can get, because youāre not out in the field anymore,ā said Tenko, clearing his throat again (?), āAm I your new project?ā
āTell me whatās wrong, lest I pick up some damn throat lozenges for you before I come home,ā you said, and a voice in the back of your head screamed that that threat was extremely cosy and intimate, especially since youāre claiming both of you have a home in the same placeāwhich, sure, you both lived on the same hallway, but so did Aizawa and Eri, and please shut up; Shimura Tenko needs a friend, not a lover right now. Besides, that stupid hallway wasnāt really home for either of you but was more like a temporary holding cell.
āFine. Iāve been throwing up all morning.ā
āThank you,ā you said, electing not to make a pregnancy joke, āDo you need to see Recovery Girl?ā
āNo, Iām used to it, and Iāve already talked to her about it. I threw up a lot out of anxiety and stress when I was growing up with All for One, and now Iām throwing up because my body canāt handle the amount of food itās getting regularly, which is fucking ridiculous, since itās still less than a normal personās version of three meals a day.ā
What. The fuck. How can he casually drop details of deep trauma like itās nothing? How could AFO let a child keep vomiting out of stress for years and years and never interfere? Well. Yeah, he could. You supposed that Shigarakiās voice, as you first heard it as the USJ incident, was the ultimate result of that heavy strain on his throat for years. Explains some things about his teeth back then, too.
God. If AFO werenāt dead, youād strangle him. Keeping a child physically weak because heād be easier to mould. It was known that AFO had been psychologically manipulating Shigaraki, but now that you thought about it, manipulating his physical growth would have served AFO, too, since he was planning to move into Shigarakiās body.
And what did this guy do now that heās got bodily autonomy? Oh. Just. Play some video games. Talk with his friends. Try out some new hobbies. Make crafts with Eri.
Itās a shame AFO didnāt have a grave, because youād be skiving off work to drown it in acid.
āMy stomach is killing me,ā said Tenko, āIāve got to hang up to drink something and go to sleep. Knock on my door when you get home. I want to start a new quest as soon as you finish work.ā
Home. Heād said it, too. He probably didnāt mean it in the same, domestic way that youād been entertaining, but it made your heart swell. āOkay, Tenko. See you then.ā
***
His therapist had assigned him homework: go on a planned, public outing with a peer, and stay out for at least an hour.
It wasnāt exactly a picnic you were packing, you kept telling yourself, scooting behind Tenko to get to the spice cabinet in the dorm kitchen, because thatād be too close to a date rather than homework. But the two of you packed a meal to take, with Eri sitting on the kitchen counter while she nibbled at rabbit-cut apple slices, and she held the thermos of decaf tea in her lap until it was time to stow it away.
After a short train ride and a quiet walk through midtown, Tenko stopped you in front of the back gate to what appeared to be a restored, historical estate, judging by the golden shachihoko shibi on each corner of polished hip-and-gable rooftops of the extensively aristocraticāmansion? palace?āthat you could make out in across the distance of its sprawling grounds, the immediacy of which was the excessively well-kept, traditional garden that you and Tenko were breaking into.
āIs this legal?ā you asked as Tenko reached through the grate to unlatch the doorway.
āI have an in with the gardener,ā he said, sweeping the gate open for you and gesturing brusquely for you to enter.
āNo, that wasnāt a joke,ā you said, taking the few steps inside, finding yourself planted onto a polished, level stepping stone, and staring down a squeaky clean tsukubai despite the thin layer of frost over the waterās surface as the whole bowl began to freeze, āYou canāt be doing anything even vaguely illegal, Tenko.ā
When you said his name, he closed his eyes, pausing for just a hair in his relatching the gate, before facing you and shifting the strap of his bag farther up his shoulder. āPrude. Yes, we have permission from the owner.ā
He kept looking back over his shoulder at you as he led you through the gardens, hopping across stepping stones to pass over a carefully shaped brook that led to a tiny waterfall near stone lanterns, weaving through trellises with the wintry shells of wisteria vines and shaped evergreens. He tutted and rolled his eyes when you stopped at the waterlily-coated koi pond, its fish swimming and flicking their tails in the artificially heated water (for some, odd reason, what appeared to be a compact duck coop had been constructed near the pondās edge, its wood new and un-bleached by the sun like the rest of garden dĆ©cor). Youād been about to ask about it when Tenko had jumped out of his skin at the sound of a deer scare, bamboo tapping stone.
āStop laughing,ā Tenko said, cheeks burning (and you tried not to take too much pleasure in that, but you couldnāt help it).
āOh, a sensitive boy, a delicate boy,ā you said, grinning as you hopped onto the same stone as him, cool, clouding breaths mixing together in the proximity, and you yourself could feel heat rise to your face. āNothing to be ashamed of. Good traits to have, actually. Means youāre feeling secure and comfortable in your surroundings, if youāre off-set that easily.ā Feeling boldāit was the cold; it was how the proximity already flustered him; it was how his hands were full because of the bag; it wasāwhateverāyou reached for his silly All Might scarf and re-tied the front, fluffing it up to cover more of his neck.
You made the mistake of making eye contact: full of caution, his eyes kept darting from your hands to your face, searching for something, his lips parted, otherwise completely fucking frozen.
Were you making him uncomfortable? You stilled, your fingers still in the fringe of his scarf, tension tightening in your chest and jaw (clenching).
Tenko noticed. Andāand to this day, you canāt believe he fucking did thisāhe ran his tongue over his lower lip and lifted his chin, exposing more of his neck to you. He then was suddenly very interested in the koi pond, the ruddiness spreading from his cheeks to his ears.
Throat dry, you gave his scarf a final tug and patted it (?) to show (??) a job well done (???). āYeah,ā you said, smoothly, like a smooth person, like someone who adjusts scarves of hot, in-process-of-reformation villains on the regular, āWhere are we going?ā
Tenko spun on his heel and strode away, muttering what sounded like, āRight into my grave.ā
You pretended not to hear it and let him lead you to the only building unattached to the main house: a small, traditional teahouse that had a recent addition to it in the back. The creak of the bamboo engawa when you climbed onto it was muffled underneath the bright pealing of windchimes strung across the covered porch. Tenko was already kneeling at the tearoomās sunken fireplace inside, its handle carved into a fish, fiery as its kindling, and was unpacking the travel teacups from the bag as you closed the door behind you, shutting out the cold, enveloped by the comfortable heat trapped inside by the cushioned walls.
Tenko must have arranged for this space to have been prepared for you. A kotatsu with floor cushions was tucked near the fireplace, pre-heated, with two further space heaters in the unoccupied corners, cords trailing into what must be a hallway linking the traditional and modern rooms, the latter of which was shut off from view. Beside a red-tinted wooden dresser stood an oddly empty tokonoma, and instead of a scroll or painting, amidst bits of pieces of scotch tape hastily half-torn off the back was a shittily cut-out, paper heart.
Shaking your head, you took a step towards Tenko, and the floor chirped at you, freezing you in place.
āYeah, I donāt know why they do that,ā said Tenko, pushing on his knees to stand, āThey just do.ā
āThese must be nightingale floors,ā you said, crossing to the kotatsu, a bird under each step, āThe chirpingās caused by the way the nails rub against the v-shaped clamps holding the floor together. Have you been to NijÅ Castle in Kyoto? These are in the hallwayāsupposedly used as a security measure, but who knows.ā
āYou need a hobby.ā Tenko ripped the paper heart from the back of the tokonoma, crumpling it in his fist. A shred of it remained under the scrap of tape on the wall, which he bent towards to scrape off with a blunt fingernail.
āI have several,ā you said, easing down onto a cushion and unfolding your legs underneath the kotatsu blanket, the luxurious heat swaddling your legs and hips. You fought the urge to curl up underneath it entirely.
āHow many of them involve getting your ass thrashed by me in Cipherstone?ā Tenko retrieved the bag from the sunken fireplace before returning to the kotatsu, and he sat on your left, resting the bag between the two of you.
You took the thermos of decaf tea when he handed it to you. āTenko, youāve been playing that game for years, and I just began. Of course my ass is gonna be thrashed byāyou know how the game works. You have all of this previous information about the game that I donāt have.ā
Tenko scoffed and slid your teacup across the kotatsuās surface. Ā āAs if I could conceal any information from you. Youāre tooā¦eh.ā He waved it off, shaking his head.
āIām too what?ā You unscrewed the thermos lid, and steam surged upwards, rising to caress the planes of your face.
āItās been unfair of Aizawa-sensei to make me tail you,ā said Tenko, leaning your way, all five fingers curled around his own teacup as he stretched across the tabletop. āIād have a chance of success if it were anyone else.ā
āIāll give you that,ā you said, pouring steaming, amber tea with slices of yuzu into Tenkoās cup, āYouāre getting quite good at it, not that you were bad in the first place. But yeah, itās a bit mean of him to test your tracking skills on me.ā Heād never said to stop, so you poured until liquid almost overflowed at the rim.
He gasped at the heat but nudged his teacup back to his place at the table, unable to hold it in his palm anymore. āI think I wouldāve preferred working with Hound Dog-sensei for that. Heās less detail-oriented. I could win, if it werenāt you.ā Jutting out his lower lip, Tenko glared down at his tea for a moment before slumping in his seat to slurp at the tea without picking it up.
āDonāt feel bad about it. It was literally and actually my focus for hero work, profiling and detail shit and being aware of my surroundings. Information stuff. Infiltration stuff.ā Setting the thermos on the far corner, you cupped your hands loosely around your teacup, appreciating the warmth and getting cosier by the minute.
Tenko was rooting through the bag for the other thermoses, full of sukiyaki for each of you. āItās clear youāve worked hard to hone your skills. Were you this talented as a student?ā
You accepted the new thermos, fingers clenching tightly around it. āUh. I think I may have been better back then. More focused. More passionate, anyway. I had to think about it really hard back then, make conscious decisions to notice things, and now I think I do it instinctively. I think Iām slipping because of that.ā
āHm,ā said Tenko, tongue rubbing over his teeth behind closed lips, and he opened his mouth to say something but shut it, instead twisting off the cap to his soup thermos. He took the first sip of sukiyaki broth andāand was absolutely beautiful (you couldnāt make sense of it beyond that; he was a mess of details that you couldnāt fit together into a larger picture that made any sense: white eyelashes light against his cheeks as they fluttered shut, face muscles relaxed, scars overlapping with laugh lines, cracked lips becoming moistened by the soup, both hands cupped around his thermos like a child, no strain to his posture, baggy hoodie swallowing him up, kotatsu blanket yanked up to his hips to cover his crossed legs, scar on the corner of his mouth delicately shifting with his baffled smirk when he caught you staring, a strange pink rising to the tips of his ears). āWhat?ā
Uh. Hm. You pinched the bridge of your nose and then moved to rub your eyelids. āWhat were you going to say about me?ā you asked, and you withdrew your hand from your face to raise the soup thermos to your lips, taking a mouthful of noodles and the sweet, salty broth.
Tenko shook his head. āIām trying to avoid thoughts that fall back into my old habits.ā
āTry me,ā you said, holding his gaze when he met it, āI wonāt tell.ā
Weary, he broke eye contact, and he fixated on fishing out a certain slice of green onion. āWe needed someone like you back then.ā
Back then? When heāoh.
Back in the League.
Though you attempted to hide your grin by taking a sip of sukiyaki, you caught his eyes flicker to it. āYou wouldāve taken me? You wouldāve let me in?ā
āWould you have joined?ā he shot back, a bit too quickly.
āNo,ā you said, rolling your shoulders and settling down farther underneath the kotatsu, āNever. But since you shared something you shouldnātāve, Iāll do the same.ā You set your thermos down to rub your eyes againāGod, you couldnāt look at him for too long, lest your intrusive thoughts hand you your ass. āI thought about it. About joining you.ā
You dragged your hand down your face, peeking between your fingers at a muted clink. Tenko was staring at you, something fucking unreadable in his scrounched eyes, and both hands lay five-fingered and flat on the kotatsu, steam from his open thermos fluffing up hair on one side of his head. āYouāre not serious. You wouldnāt have.ā
āNot in the way you think,ā you said, tilting your head back, ābut I often thought, in the aftermath of the Paranormal Liberation Raid, what I couldāve done, if Iād known what I know now. And as the rest of the war was unfolding, I only wanted it more.ā
Tenko blinked, slowly. āTell me what you wouldāve done.ā
āOh, you wouldāve hated me, down to the dregs of my very soul,ā you said, shifting to sit on your knees, āI wouldāve started after your fight with Re-Destro, after the PLF was established. When you were letting allllllllll those heroes in, the sidekicks, the nobodies, anyone who seemed like they were with the cause. I wouldāve infiltrated. Slipped in without notice. Hawks did, with the Commission, but I wouldāve been going in as a free agent.ā
āNo one notices a U.A. student slide in between the masses. Re-Destroās lackeys wouldnāt notice you at the door like I would. You get in,ā Tenko said, taking his thermos in hand again but still engrossed in you, āWhat then?ā
āThere was a short period of time between the PLF establishment and your procedure, right? Around a month? Thatās when I go. I worm my way into the good graces of some of the nine lieutenantsāIāve decided my pipeline wouldāve been Geten to Toga to you. Youād just come out of an enormous battle, with Re-Destro and that city and Gigantomachia for a whole month. I heard you were bandaged up, on crutches, that youād lost fingers that you regrew in that regeneration tank,ā you said, eyes on his hands, one in a fist in his lap and the other around his thermos, five fingers pressing onto the grip but the pinkie finger hitched farther up than the rest, āThat youād given a speech and made your appearances regardless. That youād pushed yourself to your limit and then broke yourself a little more. And you wouldāve loathed me, because I wouldāve come in, earned my way to your side, and I wouldāve put my hand on your shoulder, slid it up your neck to cup your cheek to ask Arenāt you tired? Donāt you want to rest?ā You smiled and huffed, shoving it down, and though his hard stare shouldāve pinned you to your seat, you pushed on the corner of the kotatsu to edge yourself over to his side, a knee on his cushion. āI like to think that youāve sighed, sulked a bit, reluctant to admit anything was wrong at all, because back then, you had no use for moonlight. But I wouldāve made you look at me, taken you to a bed, made you lie down until your eyes fluttered shut and the tension swept through your body and left. And you would rest,ā you said, finding yourself leaning over him very slightly, knees touching his, just enough so that he leant backwards just a fraction, āI wouldāve made that month so soft for you. I wouldāve taken care of you, when nobody was fucking paying attention to you in the way that they shouldāve. I fuckingāI wanted it.ā You gripped the front of his hoodie, fist grasping more fabric than necessary to shake him. āI wanted it. I wanted to care for you. But I couldnāt. I didnāt know. And you were fucking alone, in an unfamiliar place, and it kills me to think about that.ā
You ducked your head to wipe your watery eyes on your sleeve, taking a breathāand realising what you were doing. You loosened your grip, but before you could pull away, Tenko was cat-like quick to grab your sleeveāwhy wonāt he touch you?
āI wouldnāt have accepted your help,ā he said, quiet, controlled, holding you down with his eyes, hand shifting to curve under your sleeved wrist, signalling that you could escape at any time, āThat was after the worst month of my life, fighting Machia, and I wouldnāt have accepted it. I had too much to do. I wouldāve shaken you off.ā
āNo, you wouldnātāve.ā
āI wouldāve,ā he said, a bare finger, featherlight, skimming over the tender, bare skin of the underside of your wrist (oh, wow), āI wouldnāt trust that easily in that short of a time. Youād have met me, and thatād be it. If youād persisted, I wouldāve ripped you to shreds and tossed you aside.ā
āTenko,ā you said, both relief and tightness blooming from your wrist, āYou couldnāt get rid of me if you tried.ā
The hallway shoji slammed open, somehow rattling as it slid in its tracks and shook the walls, and you and Tenko scrambled apart, with you jolting backwards on your hands, grappling for your seat cushion, and Tenko banging his thermos on the kotatsu, hastily wrestling with keeping it upright as he flung his body to the side.
āHey, fuck you, Touya,ā Tenko spluttered out, elbowing himself upright asāas fucking Dabi strode inside, hands in the deep pockets of his black sweatpants. āYou said youād stay in the main house.ā
āDonāt mind me,ā said Touya, cool as you please, raising both of his hands in defence, āI had to ensure youāre not fucking in my bed.ā
āWhat isāā Tenko clambered to his feet to cross to him, chirping with each stomp, and whisper-shouting once heād corralled Touya into a far corner. āI said weād hang out later today, Touya. You swore youād stay inside and watch Naruto this afternoon.ā
The polite thing to do would be to appear fascinated by the tea. You returned to your cushion and poured yourself another cup.
āYeah, but Iāve been told Iāve got shit to do later. Iāve got to go to this fuckināāfuckinā family stuff. I donāt wanna get into it,ā said Touya, at full volume, āand I wanted to check that your girl was real. Yāknow, she looks nothing like someone whoād have GinzengTea as her username. Have you given it to her already?ā
āShut the fuck up. I was just about to do that, if you hadnāt interrupted, cockhead.ā
āCool,ā he said, a bird-note as he shifted his weight, āI wanna see what she thinks.ā
āHell, noāā
āI helped pick āem out. Let me watch and have an ohagi, and Iāll leave,ā said Touya, chirping towards you before he finished the sentence, and Tenko followed him, muttering under his breath.
Touya sat on the bare tatami next to you, joints cracking as he yanked the kotatsu blanket up his legs, shooting you a small salute and a concerningly charming smile. āHey,ā he said, tilting his head, eyes half-lidded, smile stretching to show more of his even, white teeth, āIāve seen you before, yeah? When was the last time you laid eyes on me?ā
Tenko pelted him in the chest with a plastic-wrapped ohagi, cutting off the ooze of charisma. āShow-off,ā he said, nudging another sweetened rice ball your way.
You nodded but didnāt move to unwrap it, since you were still working on your sukiyaki. āIām surprised you remember, Touya,ā you said, the name feeling strange on your tongue, āIt mustāve been years since I elbowed you in the tit.ā
Eyes lighting the fuck up, you snapped towards Tenko when he laughed into his plastic wrap: still not loud, still not making any vocalisation with it, but releasing a heavy, sharp burst of air with a wide, open grin. He hunched over to hide more of it, using both hands to unwrap his ohagiāand in the moment he realised heād been unwrapping it with only his pointer fingers and thumbs, he dropped the rest of his fingers onto the rice ball, still smirking to himself.
Biting your lip in your own smile, you turned back to Touya (you caught his moment of mild alarm at how thrilled you were when Tenko laughedāor maybe it was alarm at Tenko laughing at allābut Touya relaxed his eyebrows and shut his mouth the second you faced him again). āGod, yeah, it must have been before that last battle that weād met in a fight, and Iād gotten close enough to hit you, andā¦ā You shook your head. āActually, I donāt wanna talk about that stuff. Itās not who we are now.ā
āThatās fine.ā Touya nodded towards Tenko and took a bite of his ohagi. āShimura, donāt you have something to give her?ā
Shimura. That was his last name, you supposed, but wasnāt it odd that Tenko called Touya by his given name and that Touya called Tenko by his family name? Tenko didnāt make you call him Shimura. Well, you supposed that thereās only one Shimura now, and because of the number of Todorokis, it paid to be specificā
āHere.ā Tenko set a flat box in front of you, flipping the buckle of his bag back over. āI was going to give it to you with more formality, but since this bastard showed up, Iām doing it like this.ā
Biting the inside of your cheek, brow furrowed, you unpacked a pair of pale blue headphones, soft to the touch with a mesh headband so that your head wouldnāt ache.
āNoise-cancelling,ā Tenko said, gabbling, frowning very slightly, āRechargeable. Thereās a detachable microphone so it can function as a headset. I wanted to do something good for you.ā His eyes darted towards Touya, and they dropped to his ohagiās bulging filling, seeping out onto the plastic wrap. āYou need them, anyway. Iāve been sick of hearing you through those shitty earbuds; their sound is terrible, and when you said youād lost your only pairāwhich I donāt fucking understand how you can lose those things, because they just fucking show up in my shit all the time, like a goddamn plagueāI thought you needed something qualityājust to make it easier on my end, obviously, so that I donāt have to tell you to yell into that shitty, built-in microphoāā
āTenko,ā you said, reaching over to place your tea-hot hand over the back of his, fingers curving with his along ohagiās edge, āThank you so much. I adore them. Iām really grateful that you would think of me.ā
Tenko froze, the same as he had when youād adjusted his scarf. Unable to look you in the eye, like a prey animal, stiff, shoulders tense, colour rushing up his neck to his face and ears againābut this time, he lifted his hand just a hair from his ohagi to press back into your palm, and the corner of his mouth twitched.
āHoo, boy,ā said Touya, startling the both of you when he slammed his hands on the kotatsu to push himself up, āIāve had enough. Iāve had my little snack. Iām leaving.ā Once on his feet, he stretched, pressing his hands to his lower back and arching it, grunting.
āGood fucking riddance, cocksucker,ā said Tenko, rising and grabbing Touya by the elbow to haul him to the door.
āYeah, yeah,ā said Touya, dragging his feet, chirping slurred and confused by his movement, and when Tenko had him at the wall, trying to shove him out, Touya, smirking under your watch, whispered something to Tenko while forcing something into his palm. Touya ducked out as Tenko looked at what heād accepted and, letting out a yelp, dusted whatever it was before he hurried back to the kotatsu.
(When you left the teahouse half an hour later, you discovered that heād decayed only the wrapper and not the condom itself.)
***
āOne moment, please. Nezu-sensei is in a meeting right now, but heāll be out momentarily. Please take a numberāyes, the ticket puncher when you first came in,ā you said to yet another impatient and pissed client in the admin waiting room, packed to the gills with parents, press, vendors, potential sponsors, and, for some reason, Mt. Ladyās entire representative team. āBy the door. If youāll take a seat, weāll be with you shortly.ā
God, you could punt Nezu for this. Not that there was anything wrong with establishing a new, annual event for U.A.āa cherry blossom garden-set, competitive scavenger hunt coming up in the springābut because of his casual comment that it would rise to the same importance as the Sports Festival, you were swamped with those eager to invest early. Unable to take a break, you had to work with your head bowed, desperately hoping none of these people recognised you and your failure, when all you wanted was to reply to Tenkoās messages on Cipherstone that morning.
Tenkopeito: Youāll like the next quest. You can pet a dog in it
Tenkopeito: Come over to my room this evening so that we can talk in person
Was he intending to speak with innuendo or with such sincerity that it cut right through you? Moreover, was he aware he was even doing it? Based on what youāve observed, Tenko had no idea what he was doing to you, nor did he know how hard you were trying not to act on your attraction, though you werenāt even doing a great job of suppressing it.
Itās strange: Tenko evoked some strange, unnameable emotion in you like nothing else. You wanted to coddle him; you wanted to play stupid video games with him; you wanted to sweep his hair out of his eyes, and though you kept telling yourself that you didnāt, you wanted him to tell you how to touch yourself, how to touch him. You brushed it off. Another time. Perhaps never.
āOh, hi!ā Former pro-hero Ragdoll squealed your family name, making you jump in your seat. āIt is you. I couldnāt tell from farther back in the line.ā Fuck, Ragdoll would recognise you, since she and the rest of the Wild, Wild Pussycats trained Class A, and she specifically spent time with you on your tracking skills because of her Search quirk.
Donāt cause a scene. āHello, Shiretoko,ā you said, doing your best not to let your face be seen from over the reception deskās overhang, āItās good to see you. How can I help?ā
When she beamed, she was as bright as ever. āOh! The Pussycats want to offer our services for the scavenger hunt! We wanna get back into charity and civilian events now that weāre back from our mission forābut wait, you know all about that!ā You didnāt. But her cheerful voice carried, and people were already turning towards Ragdoll, part of a hero team ranked in the top thirty. āI wanna hear more about what youāve been up to! Since you left the hero business, no oneās known where youāve been! Gosh, have you been behind this dreary old desk the whole time?ā Ragdoll leant over the overhang, flicking at a loose strand of your hair. āI thought you were sent out on missions out of the country! Like, really important, top-secret stuff. Itās weird seeing you in an office, especially since I consider you a mini me. Why are you back at your alma mater? Did your agency not want you anymore?ā
She wasnāt meaning to be cruel. Her loud, blunt sincerity, though, drew the attention of onlookers, and their flashes of recognition, subsequent judgment, and turning away made your chest tight. āI needed a break. Thatās all.ā
A thin, blonde woman in a burgundy overcoat leaning against the wall immediately next to the reception had been evaluating you, scanning you from top to bottom during the exchange. She didnāt bother hiding her curiosity, and when you shakily handled the rest of the conversation with Ragdoll, she turned to the short, softly featured man beside her. āYou know her?ā She hadnāt even tried to quiet her voice; it jolted you from Ragdoll, but you steeled yourself and continued printing off a schedule for herāand from the depths of your brain came the womanās identity: Uwabami, the snake hero, one who usually flaunted her celebrity status but currently dressed down, without her hair snakes (a rattlesnake, a yellow king cobra, and a Japanese rat snake, whichāshut up! You donāt need this information right now! Can you be fucking sane, please?).
Her sidekickāno, an intern, a student at U.A., some fuckinā twink in the year below you, name escaping you at the momentāhad some iota of tact when he looked you over, slanting his body away, as if he werenāt staring. āYes,ā he said, trying not to let you hear, āSheās my former senpai and nothing more to me. We didnāt run in the same circles. Sheās the one who made that rescue a few months back, the one that got a lot of online backlash.ā
āNo, seriously,ā Ragdoll was saying, āWhy are you back at U.A.? Donāt you have somewhere else to go?ā
āMyāā People behind Ragdoll in line were listening. Trying not to show it. Your throat ran dry, and you couldnāt think of a lie or a pleasant half-truth. āMy flat was compromised. My address was leaked, and eventually, people wereālook, Shiretoko,ā you said, forcing the words out of your mouth, āI really donāt want to talk about this. Hereās the printed schedule. Iāll talk to you later.ā
You slid the paper across the counter, and she took it, waving goodbye and still beaming.
āIs this what happens when a hero career doesnāt work out? They just shove you back where someone will take you? At any old office desk?ā that fucking twink was asking Uwabami, āI canātāit honestly scares me to think I could lose myself and be misplaced like that. Itās wasting talent, donāt you think?ā
āHow can I help you?ā you asked the next person in line through gritted teeth.
When Uwabami lowered her sunglasses to glance over them, you inhaled sharply and swung your swivel chair so that you wouldnāt see her. āI donāt know about that. Maybe this dreadful administration office is where sheās meant to be.ā
Biting his lip, he shifted his jaw and crossed his arms, slumping against the wall. āYouāll always have a place for me, right, Uwabami? I donāt want this to happen to me.ā
āYes, I can print you out a copy of the same schedule. If youāll allow me a moment to print.ā
āOf course, Kakeru,ā Uwabami said, ignorant of how you were gripping a pencil so tightly that it could snap any second, āYouāll never be left behind.ā But then she fucking stared you down, deliberately holding eye contact while you were at the printer, and she said, āYouāll never need a place to hide. Iāll make sure you donāt fail.ā
āHey, how about you shut up?ā you hissed, ripping the printer-warm schedule from the tray and storming back to your current client to shove it into their hands. āArenāt Japanese rat snakes supposed to be in hibernation this time of year, anyway?ā
***
Someone in Mt. Ladyās group recorded it. Someone posted it.
wizardjenkins11: jesus christ who knew u.a. had its own island of misfit toys
emotionalsupportdynamightsweat: nice to see that she kept her snark, but what is she doing back at school?? donāt heroes have some sort of paperwork component to their work. why isnāt she still at an agency
blood-is-thiccer: lol uaās the only one whoād take the bitch. sheās being rude as hell to an actual pro hero. lameass quirk anyway and ass flat as hell lmao she fucken deserved that guy lighting her mailbox on fire
LynchianTiddies: Youāre encouraging domestic terrorism???
blood-is-thiccer: thatās not domestic terrorism
LynchianTiddies: Then what, pray fucking tell, is it??
blood-is-thiccer: wikipedia.org/wiki/Vandalism
XylemPhloemBuckaroo: no but I get what that guy was saying about wasting talent tho. Out of everyone in that class a, sheās the only one not topping the fucking hero charts rn. Sheās the only one whoās left hero work. What makes her weaker than the rest of her classmates? What happened to her to make her like this?
koiboi69: wouldnāt you quit if people were camping outside your house/work/grocerystore? And also FUCK, man, thereās no fucking need to say sheās fucking weak. thatās kicking her while sheās down
XylemPhloemBuckaroo: Iām not kicking her while sheās down. Iām stating facts and asking reasonable questions.
koiboi69: bro wouldnāt YOU feel down if youād didnāt have a home to go back to??? going back to u.a. is like admitting defeat, like you couldnāt handle it on your own and need protection
mawatadaddysgorl: i love seeing updates on her bc it makes me feel so good about what iām doing with my life
***
Uraraka and Shinsou texted you but couldnāt call, let alone come from across town. Aizawa was AWOL, and Dango was hiding under your bed, so you, blotchy-faced and damp, were crumpled on the floor outside of room 310, eating vending machine bullshit and waiting for Tenko to return home.
Exactly all the insecurities youād been stuffing down for months and months, brought out to air in front of everyone. Instead of doomscrolling, you locked your phone and slid it across the hallway carpet, burying your face in your hands and stomach lurching to the thought that you might soon be plastered everywhere in sight, again. Another round of intensive laying low loomed on the horizon, especially now that your location was made public. Your little secretary job was good enough, and relocating elsewhere on campus would lead to more job training, which would be a bitch.
Where was Tenko? You needed him here to say something irreverent and vindictive. Something unhinged. Or you needed him to hold you, pull you into his lap, and bitch about the whole thing while watching a movie. Tenko had messaged you to come by after work, so why wasnāt heā¦?
The staircase door hissed open, Tenko pushing it with his back, reusable grocery bags on his arms, andāand wearing a cape? Who the fuck wears a cape casuāoh shit heās in his hero costume.
Youād heard that he had one, designed by the same company thatād made Midoriyaās and Shoutoās, and the similarities were clear: a boxy sort of design due to thick fabric that still somehow hugged his chest, a minimalist utility belt, and sturdy, knee-capping boots, positively flaming scarlet in contrast to the dark greys of the rest of his jumpsuit. The most obvious connection with another hero, though, made your chest throb: his cloak fastened with the same clasp his grandmotherās had. His dust-blocking respirator lay around his neck for the moment, but what was most embarrassing for you was how your brain fucking wheezed like a boiling kettle at his bare arms, biceps bulging, every fucking inch of skin down to his fingertips completely on display like a goddamn slut.
Whore behaviour. Whore behaviour! You had to duck your head when he squatted next to you, because oh, now you could see the stretch marks on his upper arms, because heād gotten large way too quickly to be healthy, and smell his fading Old Spice and sweat from being out on what must have been an emergency call, and he was setting his grocery bags aside, reaching out to graze your shoulder, and wow, heād been complaining about how he didnāt have abs yet despite working out five days a week now that his stamina had increased, but that fabric clung to his lower abdomen, looking very, very flat.
Initially pinching the fabric of your sweater, he shifted his jaw and laid his hand on your shoulder. āWho am I dusting?ā
āGod, Tenko,ā you said, trying to look anywhere but his arms, or his abdomen, or his fucking lips, but he was leaning so much over you that he occupied most of your line of vision, and the only way to avoid seeing anything besides wisps of white hair was to gaze at the popcorned ceiling. āYouāre not supposed to do that anymore.ā
āOh, yeah? Who am I dusting?ā He squeezed your shoulder, stretching his thumb out to rub at your collarbone.
āUnless you can dust everyone in the country, I donāt think decay will help.ā
Tenko clicked his tongue. āI have been explicitly told not to do that,ā he said, shifting to sit on his knees, āI haveāā He dug into a grocery bag for a moment. āāthis for you. You like this shit, right?ā Tenko pressed a bottle of pink lemonade into your hands.
āFucking. Fuck. I do,ā you said, passing the condensation-coated bottle from one hand to another, chest tightening, blinking to keep the water levels low, āThank you. You didnāt have to get me this.ā
āI know that,ā he said with a dismissive wave, and he paused, fists in his lap. āWould it help if I gave you a hug?ā
(What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what theā)
āYeah,ā you said calmly, like a calm person, and when Tenko opened his (muscular) arms, you crawled into them, wrapping your own around his back to rest between his shoulder blades. You rested your chin in a fold of his cape, cheek pressing against the side of his respirator, and you frowned as his embrace tightened, pulling you closer in a sloppy, unpractised sort of way, grounded by the steady rise and fall of his very solid chest.
(This feltā¦affectionate. Romantic, even.
But Shigaraki Tomura didnāt do romance, and you donātāyouāre notāyou wouldnāt dream of being conceited enough to read someoneās perhaps thoughtless actions as flirtation, because why would someone be flirting with you? No one did that in general, and being U.A.ās humiliating problem child exacerbated the fact.
Moreover, why would the man who was Shigaraki Tomura, in the middle of his rehabilitation and re-discovery of self, even in the microscopic chance that he had the mental energy to experience romantic feelings, aim that romantic impulse towards you? It would make more sense if he liked someone heād known for a while, like Touya or Spinner or Toga, and if his romantic feelings leant towards recuperative trauma-bonding, wouldnāt it be more apt to feel for someone at his rehab? His therapist, maybe? Heād idolised Aizawa before heād met him, and even that would make more sense than latching onto someone as late in the process as you.
Heād gotten flustered when youād tied his scarf, and Touyaās played terrible wingman. But still. You couldnāt know. You canāt read into this, even though reading into things had been your job, becauseābecause no one would want you. Youāll have toā¦Youāll have to gather more evidence. You couldnāt be certain.)
Tenko hummed, chin digging into your shoulder, blowing strands of your hair out of his face. āI calmed a kid down earlier by hugging her. Is this working for you?ā
(ā¦oh.)
You sniffled and hid your mouth in his cape so that he couldnāt catch your pout. āThatāsāthatās good that a kid allowed you to comfort her. What happened?ā
āPipes broke in an old apartment building in the Takoba district. The third floor collapsed under the pressure, and it trapped families in part of the building. I was called out to dust the rubble trapping them,ā Tenko said, tapping his fingers high on your back in a ripple, āand they had me dust some other walls to help start the repairs. It was cool. And this one little girl whoād gotten out before the rest of her family was really nervous, and she was sticking to me, holding onto my cape. I was telling her that everything was gonna be okay, like youāve taught me, and when I asked how she was doing, this fuckinā kid extended her arms to me. So, I fucking hugged her. Picked her up so she could see what was happening better. It was weird, but it felt good.ā Tenko sighed. āI hate how it wants me to be kind more.ā
And fuck, fuck, thatās the last straw to this horrible day, and youāre crying, silently, controlling your breathing to keep Tenko from finding out, because goddammit, this idiot bastard man was surprisingly easy to love.
You buried your face fully in his shoulder, hoping he couldnāt feel any wetness through his costume, and you and Tenko sat in the quiet of the hallway for a minute, interrupted only by the A/C kicking in.
Tenko tried to part the two of you enough to look you in the face, but you doubled down, curling your fingers into the fabric of his jumpsuit and keeping your head bowed. Scoffing, he sat upright, making you follow his movements to stay hidden. āYou gonna tell me whatās wrong yet?ā
āForget all that shit Iāve taught you,ā you said, grumbling to his tits now that heād changed positions, hating how stopped up you sounded already, āIt doesnāt matter what you fucking do in the publicās eye, because thereās always gonna be someone who hates you. You canāt please everyone, so just fucking be yourself. Thatās funnier, anyway.ā
āDid you psychoanalyse some press memberās pathetic sex life, or something? Deduce an affair based on the way he knots his tie? Announce the state of his dick to the whole room because of the length of his pants?ā
āFuck off, Tenko. Iām not some pretentious-ass Sherlock Holmes bitch,ā you said, pursing your lips and instinctively pulling back to glare at himā
And the moment you did, Tenko cupped your face in his hands, soft at the palm and strongly calloused along his fingers, keeping you facing towards him no matter how hard you tried to jerk away, struggling to stay upright. āYou are crying.ā
āNo, Iām not,ā you said, just as a falling tear touched his thumb. As you adjusted to his grip, your hands fell to his thighs, pressing against them in fists.
āHm. Well, you donāt have to tell me,ā he said, eyes on another tear trailing down the other cheek, ābut youāre joining me to watch a movie with Eri. I got snacks on the way home.ā
You sighed, taking in how big his hands were and how much of your face they encompassed, trying to memorise their feeling until they were snatched away forever. āI thought we were gonna start a new quest tonight. I was excited.ā
Tenko balked and shifted into a sceptical grin. āYou wanted to play Ciperstone tonight?ā he asked, both thumbs rubbing your cheekbones and moving to swipe underneath your eyes.
You sighed again, shoulders heaving as Tenko released your face to flick tears off of his hand. āI didnāt want to be myself for a few hours.ā
Tenko pushed on his knees to stand. āThatās actually related to what I originally wanted to talk to you about. Furthering the working-with-others mission,ā he said, and he extended his hand to help you up. āWhat do you know about Dungeons and Dragons?ā
***
āGod fucking dammit!ā Tenko slammed his palm to his forehead and leant back to balance on the kitchen chairās back legs and then combed his fingers back through his hair, upsetting some strands from his ponytail. Groaning, he crooked his face your way, smushed his face against the chair back, and pointed towards his forehead, where a red splot was forming. āHit me as hard as you can.ā
āBeing bludgeoned wonāt change the fact that you rolled a three,ā you said, nodding towards his d20, āI ignore his whining and continue to drain the fig tree to charge my spell.ā
Behind the DM screen, Shinsou rolled his own dice, and once his eyebrows had shot up to his hairline, he turned to Midoriya. āI need you to roll two d12s and a d4.ā
Tenko bolted upright, hastily sweeping his bangs out of his face. āWait, what does Midoriya have to do with it? Heās across the fucking grove! Heās engaged in close-ranged combat.ā
You turned away from Shinsouās sly grin and towards Tenko, mouth nearly a straight line, yanking another cluster of grapes from the communal bowl, and shoving two grapes in his mouth. He pinched at his lower lip as he chewed, twisting and peeling at dead skin, frowning as he focused on his character sheet, scanning it for some sort of information he was forgetting and absentmindedly raising his knee to his chest, the heel of his foot propped on the seat of his chair (thank God his jeans were from Best Jeanistās Moulded to Your Ass line: the denim strained with his muscles. Your eye twitched). In this particular morning, with the five of you squared off at Aizawaās kitchen table, papers and dice strewn among grocery store bakery cinnamon rolls and coffee cups (Tenkoās was full of gatorade instead of coffee, much to his chagrin), as Tenko was throwing grapes into Touyaās mouth while Shinsou did math, the narwhal house slippers dangling off Tenkoās feet, it struck you that Shigaraki Tomura had become just some guy. One who went for walks to clear his head, who spent hours failing to do a kickflip on Present Micās skateboard, who used emoticons over emojis, who got nervous in fast food drive-throughs, who collected hero merch (of Aizawa fervently and Present Mic against his will), who was losing his sensitivity to foods like leeks and onions, a man who was growing more and more exquisitely mundane.
And goddamn, heās clever and perceptive and patient and cheeky in a devastatingly attractive way, and heās flustered easily, eager to do a thing correctly, and utterly, totally captivating in his endless discoveries of what it means to be alive.
You timed it so that the shudder and shock crossing his face could pass as response to Shinsouās description of how Tenkoās enchanted crossbow bolt missed the Spirit Realm Necromancer entirely, instead sinking into the sacred Grand Oak and instantly shattering the tree as if it were glass, its elaborate root system holding up the floating grove splintering into thousands of tiny shards, the ground beneath your partyās feet crumbling at the slightest suggestion of the shifting of weight. But really he curled in his lips with a furrowed brow and stuttering breath when you reached underneath the table to graze the back of his hand, and when he forced himself to relax, shoulders slackening, frown fading, Tenko spread his fingers to cover more of his denim-clad thigh, which you took as a timid sort of consent. Biting the inside of your cheek, you eased your palm over the back of Tenkoās hand, lacing your fingers through his and going through the motions of reacting to Shinsouās shattered earth. Neither of you looked at each other while Midoriyaās character suffered the Necromancerās spell to increase gravity, each movement of Midoriyaās bulky, steel armour accelerating the fall of the floating grove. By the time each of you had had enough turns to land on solid ground, preserving little of the sacred grove but all surviving, Tenko finally squeezed your fingers back, curling his own to grip them more firmly, keeping your hand pinned to his thigh, steeling himself, sitting up straight, and proposing getting close enough to the Necromancer to drive a crossbow bolt directly into his skull.
Midoriya was already muttering to himself over the effectiveness of the action while Shinsou worked, and Touya irreverently flicked his dice at Tenko, chugging coffee with his other hand. āYou plunge the bolt by hand into the Necromancerās head,ā said Shinsou, ābut with your strength debuff still in effect, you only nick him.ā
āI try stabbing it through his ear.ā
āIt goes through,ā said Shinsou, nodding and running his hand back through his hair, which sprung back into place, āIt doesnāt pierce the neocortex, so he can still summon anotherāā
āI stomp him to death with my hooves,ā said Touya, picking at his teeth and running his tongue over the spot.
The rest of you turned to him slowly in various states of incredulity.
āYou donāt have hooves, Touya,ā you said, tilting your head at the same time Tenko rubbed his thumb over yours, prompting your breath to hitch and a strange warmth to travel through your body, making you feel dizzy.
Touya grimaced and reached for a cinnamon roll. āI take off my leather breeches and boots to reveal my hooves. I have been a satyr masquerading as a human this whole time.ā He leant forward on his elbow, glaring at Shinsou and gesturing with his cinnamon roll. āI stomp him. To death. With my hooves.ā
Tenko sneered, his teeth cutting into his lower lip, but he merely opened his mouth and closed it, poking his tongue into his cheek. āI suppose maiming a party member wouldnāt coincide with my characterās chaotic good alignment,ā he said, heaving a huge sigh toāoh, that cunning rat bastardāto conceal how he flipped his hand over in yours to touch palms, weaving your fingers back together and squeezing again, planting them back on his upper leg, massaging between your knuckles with his thumb.
āWhatād you just roll?ā
āNineteen,ā said Touya, casting Shinsou a slice of his most charming smile.
Midoriya let out a little laugh as Shinsou bitterly plopped his head on his fist. āFuck you, Touya. Congratulations. You clomp over to the Necromancer and stomp all over him. Stompy stomp stomp stompy stomp. Itās difficult to watch at the insane speed youāre going, so no one stops you from doing such a good job pounding him that heās ground into dust. Bits of him drift away in the wind.ā
Here Midoriya winced. āWerenāt we supposed to retrieve the soul crystal embedded in his gauntlet? We canāt get our reward from that Silver Age dragon rider if we donāt have it.ā
āCorrect,ā said Shinsou, glancing down at his notes, āIt has been stomped to smithereens. You canāt even make out what parts of the pile of dust were once flesh.ā
Ready to bolt, Touya was getting up from the table and holding up his hands in defence, but before Midoriya could start a speech that would have been more apt for the number one hero to use on patrol rather than during a DND game, the door to Aizawaās flat opened, and in he walked, covering his yawn with the back of his hand. He halted at the sight of the five of you around his kitchen table, taking in the scattered papers and remnants of breakfast before settling on your DM. āShinsou,ā Aizawa began, disappointment outweighing the exhaustion in his voice.
āYouāre the only one with a table that could fit all of us,ā Shinsou said, spinning in his chair to face him, āThis dormitory doesnāt have a good common area like the student ones do. Would you really prefer us toāā
āWe can find you a table; thereās plenty on campus.ā Aizawa lifted his goggles over his head to set them on the counter. āIs this why Monoma kept slowing me down during patrol?ā
āNo,ā you and Shinsou said, while Tenko said, āYes.ā
Aizawa actually smiled as he unwound his capture weapon from around his neck. āLook whoās the only one telling the truth.ā
āWhy would I lie to you, sensei?ā
Touya smacked Tenko on the arm. āSuck-up.ā
āYou promise?ā Tenko shot back, nose wrinkling with his grin.
āThis coffee had better be amazing, because itās the only thing keeping me from kicking you all out right now,ā said Aizawa, rubbing a dry eye with the heel of his palm, other hand outstretched for someone to pass him a mug.
Tenkoās thumb bent inward to swipe the inside of your palm, a silent protest while he drank from his stupid little mug of gatorade, and when he noticed what was at the bottom, he flinched. It must have been Touya whoād put your dice in Tenkoās cup.
***
Following the video of you insulting Uwabami, youāre garnering an unnerving amount of attention again, but itās clearly someone different than last time. Whoever your stalker(s) was this time around, they were careless and unsubtleāand this confidence to be careless left you jumping at the slightest sound when you were alone.
Furthermore, you legitimately couldnāt deduce your stalkerās motivations, because no clear message linked his actions. At first, you chalked it up to the dormās shitty dryer eating your bright blue thong, but when you couldnāt find your lip balm or trolley pass or eventually your favourite sweater, you concluded that something else was at play here, further cemented by more and more tiny things going missingāthings that, if you were stalking someone, you wouldāve selected as small enough not to miss.
But bizarrely, your stalker left shit of his own lying about. A phone charger appeared underneath your pillow; loose change and a travel pack of alcoholic wipes showed up in your bathroom sink. Hello Kitty band-aids, a hair clip that looked like one of Rumiās ears, deep-moisturising hand cream, a tiny lizard keychain with a white hamburglar mask drawn on. You couldnāt wrap your head around it. What could your stalker be trying to say besides he could access your personal space with ease? Hoarding it all in the drawer with the GINSENG TEA X LUSTFUL BALLSACK hentai, you were struck with the notion that this may have been going on even before the video.
God, you missed when this school felt more like home instead of a holding cell, back when Shinsou and Uraraka and the rest were all still living together with you, when you could simply turn the corner to the common area to demand who took your laundry detergent and get an answer immediately (you also missed taking Aoyamaās bougie food, though you suspected that towards the end he was buying extra specifically for you). You sent an email to Aizawa about the potential break in security, and he promised to monitor the situation, though there was no evidence of physical entry.
Evidence. Itās been on your mind.
Sure, Tenkoās done stuff that could be read as romantic: how he plops your hand onto his head to demand you play with his hair, how he hovers whenever Touya stands too closely to you, how he gets upset on your behalf when people glare at you in public.
(Tenko grabbed your elbow, breaking your focus on the clothing rank. āWeāre going.ā
āBut we havenāt found you a red coat yet.ā
He lifted the hangers from your arm and slid them back onto the rack, despite belonging elsewhere. āDonāt care. I donāt like the way the cashierās looking at you,ā he said, jerking his head their direction, and when you tilted your head to glance at them over his shoulder, Tenko tapped your chin twice, guiding you to look back at him. āYou shouldnāt have to be on guard when Iām with you.ā)
If you were reading into itāand you wereāTenko was being so careful with talking about the pro-hero scene around you that it was almost as if heād gotten a mission task from Aizawa to distract you from anything that might make you feel bad about yourself.
(āI hear youāre causing a lot of paperwork for my old man,ā said Touya, pulling out another floor cushion from the storage space in the teahouse wall, āHe hates that youāve had to dust so many structures near his agency. Heās a decrepit creature of habit, and now that his commute is different, heāsāā
āHey, Touya, tell us what flower bulbs you planted this winter,ā Tenko said abruptly, clamping the lid on the pot hanging over the sunken fireplace, āTell us what your gardenāll look like in spring.ā
You shut your book, even though youād just opened it. āWait, are you saying that Touya is the one who keeps this garden? Thatāsāā
āYou like it, sweetheart?ā Touya dropped his cushion next to yours, ignoring the way Tenko was glaring daggers into his back. āThink itās impressive?ā
āHoly shit; I thought we were in the back of some professionally restored historical site the first time we came here,ā you said, smiling at how Tenkoās petulant stomps to his seat chirruped, even when he scooted his own cushion towards yours (adorable; youād think he didnāt like you giving attention to anyone else).
āWell,ā said Touya, propping his hands on the kotatsu so that he could get a better view of Tenko, āWith enormous pride and a huge erection, Iām pleased to announce that this garden is all my hard work.ā
āStop that,ā barked Tenko, jabbing a finger towards Touya, āStop bringing up your cock.ā
āI could talk about yours, if you want. His monster cock is excruciatingly leaky and so shaped.ā
Groaning, Tenko clonked his forehead on the kotatsuās tabletop before Touya could say anything else, arm still outstretched. He peeked out from underneath his bangs towards you, tension leaving his body at your burst of laughter.)
Heās also taken your comment about silent admiration to heart. Over the discord call (through very comfortable headphones), youād made a dumb joke about not being able to play for long, and heād shut up immediately. When youād confessed to lying and hoping youād scared him, heād replied seriously: āI want to protect my time with you. I donāt like it being taken away. I feel better when youāre with me.ā
Youād frozen in the middle of weaving bowstrings while his character continued stringing them onto bows. Youād never have gotten that sort of remark at the beginning of your relationship. Tenko must genuinely be listening to you.
Anyway. You decided in the event that Tenko was collecting evidence, too, that you would leave him some.
The first time youād been in his room had been for a specific purpose, which was to help him rub in his new facial scar moisturiser (not to take them away, or anything, because Tenko wanted to keep them, claiming he wouldnāt recognise himself in the mirror if he didnāt have his scarsāand you thought they were devastatingly attractive, anywayābut just to keep them hydrated enough not to itch), but now you were here just to spend time in the same space. You were reading on his bed (oh, hohoho, his bed), and Tenko was drawing in his sketchbook on his couch by the window. With his mouth pinched in concentration, he squinted down at his paper, swiping away eraser shavings with his artist-gloved hand.
Drawing by natural light. Tenko was in room 310 because of its wide windows. It had been his one request when U.A. was placing him.
AFO had deliberately raised him in a bedroom without windows. Youād kill him if he werenāt already dead.
Thankfully, AFOās influence was absent from Tenkoās dorm: Naruto sheets from Touya, an old Nintendo DS on his bedside table with Nintendogs in the cartridge slot, Present Micās skateboard propped against the coatrack that held only a black hoodie, unfolded but clean laundry in a basket next to a dresser with prescription bottles atop it, a mirror that served more as a bulletin board of Eraserhead merch than as a way to check his reflection, red shoes by the doorway, books borrowed from everyone from All Might to Shinsou to the ramen delivery guy strewn across the room, on shelves, his computer desk, his rug. The thing Tenkoād had to explain to you was a therapist-assigned painting hanging over his desk: heād painted a murky, purple-blue, abstract sort of thing, and you were strangely touched when heād explained it was Kurogiri (and now that you were looking, among his bulletin board of Eraserhead, a few drawings of Loud Cloud were mixed in).
Thereās a lot of people in Tenkoās life who care about him now, and youāre happy to be one of them. Setting your book aside, you got up to sit next to him on the couch.
He paused when you sank into the cushion next toāwell, no, you were basically sharing the same cushion, especially since he unfolded his legs from underneath him so that you could get closer. You scooted over so that your shoulders touched (scandalous) and looked over his drawings.
Heās drawing your DND characters. While his sketches arenāt exactly good, you can clearly tell whoās supposed to be whom, and theyāre fun to look at, so thatās all that matters. At the centre is your character, Ginsengāyou named it after your Cipherstone account because why notāin the process of spell-charging. Your character relies on the traditional ritual of tea ceremonies, from the growing of the tealeaves to serving it, summoning whatever tools you needed, like the table and dishware, and if an enemy got caught by the conventions of politeness of the tea ceremony, they were trapped in it until theyād drunk their teacup dry. Tenko had drawn her early in the spell-charging process, with branches of tealeaves sprouting from underneath her skin, with her harvesting them from her forearm. Itās rather flattering, the way her determined expression lit up her face.
Next to Ginseng was Tenkoās character, Peito, also lifted from his Cipherstone character. He was sitting on the same log as Ginseng in the middle of camp, backs touching while he cut feathers as the first step in the fletching process. His carved-willow quiver leant against his knee-high boot, red even in a fictional universe. Peitoās hands were bare, five fingers pressed against his knife and arrows.
Further back in the camp (really just towards the top of the paper, since Tenko wasnāt good at foreshortening yet), Midoriyaās character, Jackrabbit, was holding up two hangers, one with his steel and the other with sleek, black leather armour. A nice touch, really, since Midoriya had swopped Jackrabbitās primary armour to the more lightweight leather since the shattered grove incident, and wow, you could even tell it was leather based on the pencil strokes.
Seated nearby, Touyaās character, Granddaddy Slapkins, roared with laughter at him. His shoes lay next to him, his hooves out. For some reason, heās not holding his pet duck; heās instead cradling what looks like your characterās wild shape, a cat with the same chocolate-point markings as your real cat (your characterās shapeshifted form was just Dango, but Tenko didnāt know that. He still didnāt know Dango existed, because cats were still illegal in the dorms, and Tenko, that little brown-nosing shit, would probably tell Aizawa about her. Cute how heās only a suck-up to Aizawa, though).
Your favourite detail, though, was how his character was smiling. Unabashedly. As if it were a no-brainer, as if doing anything else made no sense at all.
With a stab of affection, you nuzzled into Tenkoās shoulder, resting your chin there while he sketched loops of chainmail onto Granddaddy Slapkinsās shirt, and a shiver racked through him.
āOh, are you cold?ā you asked, sitting back up and heading over towards the bed, āLet me get your blanket.ā
āWhaāno, Iāsure,ā said Tenko, setting his pencil on his sketchbook and the whole thing on the arm of the couch, eyes half-lidded as you returned with his throw blanket.
And without thinking, you moved on impulse, as if all higher orders of cognition had checked out for the night, because you behaved like you did in your head whenever you thought about Tenko: casually, intimately, and domestically. You wrapped the blanket around yourself and knelt on the sofa before swinging a knee over his lap, and you snuggled into his chest, clutching his shirt and nosing at his neck.
Your eyes snapped open.
(What the fuck?
If this had been a planned attack, then it wouldāve been a thing of brilliance: casual, seeming to meet a physical need [heating a chill] in the name of physical closeness. But you fucked it. This wasnāt planned, and thus you donāt have a way out of it without otherwise betraying your romantically-motivated interior.
Thank fuck heās frozen up, too. But how do you get out of this? God, you really shouldnāt be teaching him how to navigate interpersonal relationships when you get yourself into shit like this.)
You swallowed thickly, pulse pounding in your ears.
āI need your advice.ā Tenkoās chest barely rose when he took his first breath since you climbed onto his lap. āWhat would be the socially expected response to this?ā
āUh. That depends on if youāre into it or not,ā you said, forcing yourself to sit back in his lap to give him some space, āIf you dislike it, then itās to get me to get off of you, and if you welcome it, then, uh. Anything else.ā
Tenko unclenched his fists at his sides andāa pause, shifting his jawāhe let his hands rest at a barely-there touch on your hips, dragging them upwards to your waist, applying enough pressure there for you to feel all ten fingertips through your shirt. āIs this,ā he said, wetting his lower lip, and he couldnāt continue, instead swallowing saliva.
Gathering your nerve, you wove your hand through his hair to scratch at his scalp in the way heād liked when youād played with his hair, and at the familiarity, Tenko huffed, shutting his eyes tightly and pressing his forehead to yours in a rush, almost knocking them together. He took another breath, heat washing over your face, and you slid your other up hand to cup his cheek.
Tenko shivered again, and he clamped his hand over yours to keep it there. āAre you sure this is what you mean to do?ā
He seemed receptive enough to it, but you couldnāt be certain. āYeah,ā you said, āIf Iām reading it right.ā
āBut it makes no sense. Iāve got to be reading it wrong,ā Tenko was saying, frowning, āNo one would willingly like meāā
āFor fuckās sake, Tenkoāā
Practically slapping your other hand to his cheek, you kissed him, pulling him closer, one of his hands still over yours with the other now gripping your waist as if heād never let you go. Tenko grunted into it, surging forward to keep his rough lips (sticky from his freshly applied pineapple-beeswax chapstick) seared to yours. You felt, more than heard, his miniscule whimper at the back of his throat when he opened his mouth, sliding his tongue into yours, and you could hardly keep kissing him for smiling. But he needed a breath before you did, so you broke it, sensing he wouldnāt do it out of wanting to keep you nearby.
Panting, Tenko tried and failed to push your hair behind your ear in an attempt to be suave. āNow, I perceived that as romantic.ā
āIt was romantic, you muppet,ā you said, thumping his chest with the back of your hand.
āGood.ā He cleared this throat. āCool. Excellent,ā he said, shifting underneath you (with difficulty, under the constricting denim of his Moulded to Your Ass jeans), āI want it to be, when it comes to you.ā
āThank God, I really want that, too,ā you said, sighing, ābut, like, I really donāt know if itās ethical to pursue a romance this early into your recoveryāā
āThe fuck is wrong with you? I want it. I want you.ā Frustrated, Tenko grabbed your hips in an iron grip and ground up into you, slowly, and that tight-ass denim let you feel precisely where in the drag of his hips his cock touched you, letting you feel the shift in pressure at his tip, down his shaft, to the first curve of his balls. āI thought I was alone. I thought no one else would ever be able to understand me, having fallen from what I was raised to be. Fallen,ā he said, spitting, āSuch a nasty word for what weāre actually doing: weāve been reborn together. We get to build our lives back up together. We get another chance at it. I wanna spend mine with you.ā
He strained his neck upwards to kiss you again, insistent, moving with confidence when he took your lower lip into his mouth but only nibbling on it once, despite being posed to bite down with vigour.
āI donāt give a ratās ass about what anyone else thinks of you and what anyone else thinks of me. Iāā
āThatās not true,ā you said, your turn to catch your breath, āYou care so much about what Aizawa-senseiāā
āYou know what I mean,ā he said, shaking his head, hair falling out of his loose ponytail, āYou think of me as me, and thatās all that matters. If youāre really that fucking worried about me getting into a relationship too early, go talk to my therapist. She says youāre good for me. A good influence, anyway.ā
āHoly shit,ā you said, mostly in reaction to how Tenko started trailing frantic, dry kisses down your neck, and, realising you should probably be doing something back, you rolled your hips, feeling awfully warm under the blanket.
He bucked back up into you, more out of desperation to keep you close over a need for friction but still giving you a taste of what it would be like to have him thrusting into you. āFuck,ā he said, almost grumbling, āIād say fuck being ethical about it, because Iāve wanted you for a long time. I got hard when you shook me by the shoulders outside of that ice cream shop; I thought my soul was gonna leave my body when you adjusted my scarf. Hell, Iāā He cut himself off, grinning in a way that, back before you knew him, you might have described as maniacal. āI wanted you back during the war. I saw you fucking elbow Touya during that battle, and the way you made him crumple to the ground was so fucking sexy. And you recovered from when he swiped at you so easily; you slipped around his attacks like it was fucking second nature. I thought itād be cool to have you by my side, having youāā He realised what he was saying, and he relaxed, smile fading into a curious, pensive sort of look while he brought his thumb to your kiss-swollen lips. āAnd now I get to.ā
You kissed the pad of his thumb, blinking slowly.
āSo. Yeah,ā he said, dropping his hand to your shoulder as he broke eye contact, a little red, āI think itād be cool to be with you, even if we have to be careful.ā
āThatās the thing, Tenko,ā you said, biting the inside of your cheek as you gathered your thoughts, āIām scared, because while I know that we should, because thatād be safe, I donāt want to be careful. Since Iāve quit being a hero, every single thing about how Iāve been living has left me feeling empty and alone, because itās like Iām wandering through limbo. Everything screams that whatever Iām doing now is temporary, that itāll pass, that I donāt truly belong in this situation, because Iāll find what Iām supposed to be doing later and my real home is somewhere down the line, butāfuck.ā You rubbed your eye with your fist. āYou, Tenko. You donāt feel temporary. You feel forever.ā
Underneath you, Tenko stretched to pop a crick in his back, and he tilted his head to lie on the back of the couch. His ponytail had come loose, and his hair splayed against the fabric as he stared at you, one hand idly rubbing at your waist.
āWell. Youāve got to belong somewhere,ā he said eventually, and he tapped all five fingers onto your thigh. āIt could be with me.ā
***
Dango was missing.
Incredible how the best evening of your life preceded the worst day youāve had in years. You called out of work and spent hours scouring the dorm and then campus. A gruelling, miserable sort of day, anyway, grey and rainy and cold, and the campus was swarmed with people setting up for the scavenger hunt event later this month, populating the area with non-U.A. personnel and construction. Your cat was out in that mess, and you didnāt even know where to search first. Itās loud, scary, and wet, so Dango would most likely be hiding and not come when sheās called.
Had Dango escaped your flat? Had your stalker stolen her? Had she been confiscated by U.A.?
You couldnāt call any faculty for help; theyād get onto you for having an illegal cat on campusāand Hound Dog, the one whoād be the most help, might just scare her to death. Too early in the morning to call any of your friends, and you doubted theyād alter their busy schedules to help you out of a situation you should be able to fix yourself. But damn it, how come your own tracking skills only worked on people?
You shook yourself, coming out of your spiral the best you could, and you were close to hyperventilating. You sat down on a curb.
You found yourself calling Tenko, despite it being too early in the day for him to be out of training, filling with dread about never seeing your cat again and having to clear out her stuff from your room. Pulling your soaked jacket closer, you wiped at your nose and waited at the dial tone.
āHey, I thought you couldnāt call during work. Miss me that much?ā
The second you heard his strangely chipper voice, you started crying into the speaker.
He inhaled sharply, tone shifting. āTell me who the fuck Iām stomping to death with my hooves.ā
Ducking your head, you managed a smile but continued to fucking sob. āYou donātādonāt have to kill anyone, TenāTenko. Iāve fāfucked up.ā
āWhatās wrong? Where are you?ā
āIām on camācampus,ā you said, unable to speak for a full sentence without having to cut yourself off to keep bawling, ugly and loud and getting snottier by the minute, āItās my fucking fault that I havenāt been taātaking my stupid staāstalker seriously, and I shouldāve reported it, butābut Iāgoddammit!ā The rain picked up again, coming down in rapid, fat drops, and, shielding your eyes, you rubbed your phone screen on your sleeve, not that it did much. āSorāsorry. Rain got heavier.ā
āWhere on campus?ā
āNo, TeāTenko, Iāll get up. Iām coming to you,ā you said, sniffling and pushing on your knees to stand, wet and hungry and ready to crawl into your sock drawer to sleep for days. āIāIām just so fucking pissed at myself, because my cat is fucking lost, and I couldāve stoāstopped it if I hadnāt been so secretiātive.ā Hands shaking, you yanked your soaked hood over your head and trudged towards your dormitory, and you kicked gravel, rocks scattering over the path, before losing your footing on it and nearly falling. Fuck this.
āYou have a cat,ā said Tenko, losing his fervent. āWhatās it look like?ā
āBeautiful.ā
āI need more than that.ā
āShe fuckingāI based Ginsengās cat form on her, okay? Sheās this enormously fluffy thing, mostly whitish with a brown face and legs, and it makes her look like sheās wearing a mask and thigh-high socks like Godās sluttiest little jester,ā you said, knocking on your dormās mailboxes for luck out of habit as you passed them, āAnd you canāt tell Aizawa-sensei about her, because if sheās taken away the moment I find her, then Iāā
āI have her,ā said Tenko, āSheās in my dorm with me.ā
You ran the rest of the way to his room, panting and absolutely disgusting by the time you got there, and when Tenko opened his door, there was Dango, loafing on the back of the couch and watching raindrops race down the window.
āWhat the fuck,ā you said, dropping your wet coat and toeing off your shoes, āHow the hell did she get in here?ā
Tenko shrugged and hung your coat next to his hoodie. āCan she open locked doors?ā
āI hope to fuck she canāt,ā you said, and you rounded the couch to wrap your arms around that dear little loaf, and Dango jumped off the couch to crawl underneath it before you could fully hug her. āOh, good. Sheās fine. Acting like normal.ā You sat on the couchās arm, adrenaline evaporating to render you boneless.
āShe was in my room when I came back from training. We ended early today, since Aizawa-sensei has something.ā Tenko stooped to yank two bottles of gatorade from their plastic rings and headed towards the sofa to offer one to you. āShe didnāt seem upset or hurt. Sheās been sitting there, napping on and off.ā
You accepted it and twisted off the cap. āSo, who put my cat in your room?ā
āWhy would anyone do that?ā
āI donāt know,ā you said, taking a shallow sip, careful not to overwhelm your agitated stomach, āTheyād have to know about Dango in the first place, and I suppose my stalker would, since theyāve theoretically been breaking into my room.ā
Tenko paused mid-sip, and he hastened to swallow. āSomeoneās been breaking into your room?ā
āYeah,ā you said, easing down the arm of the couch and onto its cushions, āI think. Thereās no physical sign of entry, but my shit keeps going missing, and stuff thatās not mine keeps showing up. Let me tell you, I need some of that shit theyāve stolen; itās hard to replaceāā
Tenko touched your lips with three of his fingertips to quiet you, and he gestured for you to stay put while he scrambled over to his closet, where he stood on his toes to retrieve a wicker basket from the top shelf. He dropped the thing into your lap. āAre any of these yours?ā
All of it was, missing things you blamed on everything from Dango to your stalker to your own forgetfulness: your favourite sweater, your trolley pass, lip balm, your shitty earbuds, your good pantyhose, your planner, your d10, and, among many smaller things, even that bright blue thong youād lost in the wash (Well. Itās better to find your thong with your new boyfriend over finding them returned to your dorm coated in your stalkerās cum, you supposed).
āI was losing my goddamn mind,ā Tenko was saying, āStuff kept showing up. I thought it was a test at firstāā
āI donāt have a stalker,ā you said, absentmindedly rubbing the fabric of your thong between your fingers, āYour shit has beenāyou read that GINSENG TEA X LUSTFUL BALLSACK shit? Tenko.ā
āOh, you have that?ā Tenko scratched the back of his neck, but not in his self-harm way; it reminded you of Shinsouās nervous habit more than anything. āHavenāt you read it? Isnāt that what you were naming your characters after?ā
āAh, ha, ha. Moving on. What is important, though, is why and how this is happening to us.ā
āYeah, I donātā¦ā
The two of you spitballed for a while, long enough for the both of you to finish your bottles of gatorade and for Tenko to start another, and neither of you came up with anything substantial.
āHell with it,ā said Tenko, standing to stretch, his movement disturbing Dango from her nap in his basket of clean laundry, āLetās go ask Aizawa-sensei.ā
Aizawa was not pleased when he discovered the both of you waiting in his kitchen, but he listened to the story, and when you were done, he stepped out of the room to make a phone call. When he came back, he looked even more exhausted than when heād first come in.
āIāve just gotten off the phone with Sakura Grove,ā said Aizawa, wincing when his bones creaked as he sat in his chair, āTenko, do you remember villain in-fighting within the PLF? In particular, Iām asking if you remember breathing in a pink dust cloud. It wouldāve been in Deika City, in the month between your fight with Re-Destro and your body modification surgery. If our sources are accurate, you wouldāve been with Touya.ā
Tenko scrunched up his face. āWhy would I have beenāhm.ā Frowning, he reached into the bag of popcorn youād commandeered from Aizawaās cupboards. āI know what youāre talking about. They were only letting me eat healthy stuff in the week before I went under. Touya was taking me to scrounge for something salty and shitty for me, because I couldnāt take it anymore. He started hitting on someone he thought was a waitress, and sheāthis is why I remember itāshe compared the width of her hand to his thigh and said no thanks.ā
āThatās Ito,ā said Aizawa, sighing and crossing his arms, settling his chin into his capture weapon, āWhen did she use her quirk?ā
āShe shoved her hand on Touyaās face when he opened his stupid mouth again, and he passed out with swarming, pink particles floating around his head. She turned to meāand she must not have recognised Touya, but she knew me, because her face lit the fuck up. She never touched me, but I remember having to sneeze.ā
āShe never told you what her quirk did?ā
āI woke back up in the PLF headquarters. I assumed whoever picked me up had killed her and that her death negated any effects.ā He narrowed his eyes. āWhy? What does it do?ā
Aizawa let out a soft laugh, muffled through his capture weapon, and he jerked his head in your direction. āYou tell him,ā he said, snatching the bag of popcorn and heading towards his bedroom.
***
Heād been nervous about wearing a suit. They reminded him of AFO.
But youād strayed away from dark colours and too much structure, so his light greyish-blue suit jacket stayed unbuttoned even as you leant across to the passenger seat to adjust his All Might tie for him (a Put Your Hands Up Radio tie had been offered, but Tenko had already closed his fist around the striped tie Midoriya would loan him). Part of his bangs had been pinned back to show off his annoyingly handsome face, especially in how his sharp, red eyes observed caught every movement of your terrible attempt to tie the tie based on the pictures Aizawa had sent you.
āWeāre not gonna be late, are we?ā Tenko drawled out, the corner of his mouth quirking upward, hand resting on the car ceiling as he angled his chest towards you.
āShush; we are in the parking lot,ā you said, looping the larger end. Or were you supposed to be looping the smaller one? āBesides, the world wonāt end if weāre a few minutes late to my classās annual reunion.ā
A flimsy excuse for a party, one made because hero agencies needed some sort of named event as an excuse to dismiss your friends en masse. But it was spring again, and they were coming out of the winter blues, and they wanted to see you again, so, hey, why donāt we work something in around your schedule? If you canāt come to this date, then weāll reschedule it until you can.
And, like. They knew. They knew Tenko was your soulmate. You suspected they all wanted to see what he was like now, too, because no one but Shinsou, Midoriya, and, apparently, Bakugou had known.
You undid the loose knot and tried again. āAre you nervous?ā
āNo,ā he said, scrutinising the tacky balloons and streamers swaying in the night breeze outside of the otherwise intimidatingly elegant venue, ābut those kids might be.ā
āThose kids happen to be friends my age,ā you said, āand Iām barely younger than you are. They know youāre coming. Youāre fine.ā
Tenko sucked in through his teeth, tapping the roof of the car one finger at a time. āThe last time they saw me was as a thing. An object of destruction.ā
āWell, theyāll definitely see you as a human person when I spill how you designed a unicorn DND character for Eri.ā You pulled the fabric taut but kept it from lying closely to his neck (a boy didnāt like feeling constrained). āYou know what? This tie is as good as itās gonna get.ā
He ducked his chin to examine its knot. āItās shit.ā
āIt adds to your devil-may-care, reformed-bad-boy sort of charm,ā you said, giving the tie a final smooth-down and poorly suppressing your smile when you felt his muscles through his shirt. āMathematically, there are only 85 ways to tie a standard tie knot. I donāt believe weāve reached any of them.ā
āHow do you know these things? Youāre unbelievāā Tenko jerked his face out of view of the window as Aoyama and Kouda, gesturing wildly, strode past the car and into the venue. āListen,ā he said, clearing his throat, āI know I donāt care and that you donāt care, but other people will. Your reputation is gonna plummet right into its grave if weāre out in the open together.ā
You shook your head, letting your smile show. āSo, I fucked part of a rescue job almost a year ago. So what. So Iām dating my soulmate. Am I supposed to do otherwise? Honestly, Tenko,ā you said, curling loose strands of hair behind his ear, letting your fingers linger around his cheek and neck (he leant into the touch), āI donāt care. I wouldāve chosen you even without the soulmate bond. Youāre too endearing to pass by. Youāre tooā¦babygirl.ā
Tenko had been guiding your hand to his mouth, and he snorted before it got there, warm air scattering in a short burst. āDonāt call me that,ā he said, pressing his lips to the centre of your palm and waiting until you met his gaze to retract them.
A different warmth shot to your lower stomach, but you had to keep pressing, for the sake of the bit. āOh, then what should Iādarling? Honey? Pookie bear?ā
He scoffed and nipped at your pinkie. āNone of those are good.ā
āTenko.ā
He breathed in, shoulders rising, eyes fluttering shut. Taking a moment to kiss the tiny bite mark on your finger. āYeah,ā he said, opening his eyes in a slow blink, catlike, āFeels good. Feelsālike coming home.ā
Beaming, you reached down to lace his fingers through yours. All five of them squeezed back. āThen letās go.ā
soulmate trope taglist: @bakugouspsycho, @pansexualproblemchild, @doonaandpjs, @sunsetevergreen, @the-coffee-is-on-fire, @liberace2, @ladymidnight77, @nonomesupposedto, @gooooomz, @kissmebakugou, @pachiibatt, @celestair, @tiredkittykat, @cheshireshiya, @90s-belladonna, @infjsnightmare
/teapot screaming noises/ FEM BUTCH!SHOUTO in a tanktop at the gym working out and not rly knowing how to deal with all the attention she gets from everyone who sees her -- sees you come in for the first time, can't keep her eyes off you, and she KNOWS how uncomfy it is to get stared at at the gym so she tries sooooo hard not to make it obvious but she can't help her eyes flickering over to you every couple of seconds when ur doing ur squats, and now she's lining up behind you for the water fountain and WELP she did NOT think of what to say she didn't even plan to be HERE behind you but WOW u smell kinda really fucking good and is it weird to be SNIFFING a strANGER at the GYM???? and for the first time, she feels kinda bad for not taking all the numbers she gets offered bc was it this nervewracking for everyone else who offered HER their number ????
CHEWING THROUGH THE WALLS. everyone please look away i truly do not go here iām just. hmmghgmgmghghggmmgh. sorry for the needlessly long response I JUST [DISTANT MEOWING AND SIRENS]
cw for 23 y/o shouto pursuing an older reader and . nothing actually much happening
Youāre going to have to find a new gym.
This is probably the worst heartbreak of your adult life so far, excusing the disastrous college breakup that your friends still delicately talk circles around. Older now, if not wiser, youāve done a decent job of steering clear of any genuine despair; you work an unremarkable but tolerable office job, get weekend drinks with your local friends, and spoil a disdainful old cat thatās declared himself emperor of your apartment. You go on infrequent, casual dates, then politely run for the hills before anything serious can ariseāwhich has left you as a guest to almost six different weddings where youād dated a bride, and two where youād gotten drinks with both brides.
Youāve not given up, because you never really had any hope to begin with, but youāve neatly restructured your own hierarchy of needs. You have hands, a vibrator, and a good paying job if you want to expand your collection further. Homemade lesbian porn is, frankly, the best itās ever been, and you tidily quash any leftover yearning with exercise. Hence, the gym, and your looming heartbreak.
Itās not a remarkable gym, but itās the perfect combination of both convenient and the one you like, and youād thought nothing short of an asteroid impact would get you to leave. You did not care what people thought of you, and youād aged out of any menās range of interest.
Well. Youād thought you didnāt care what people thought of you. Being stared down by what has to be a fitness model or professional athlete has made you realize your form must be absolutely horrendousāsomething you didnāt know was even possible with squats. You try to ignore the intense gaze, thinking intently of all your girl friends insistence your ass really did look great since youād started working out.
When you head to the water fountain, your fate is sealed; the goddman model or professional athlete or whoever the hell she is gets in line behind you. Then steps closer and inhales like sheās gearing up for the heaviest sigh of all history.
Youāre ready to sprint away as soon as youāve gotten waterāyou really are thirsty, and youāre not going to sacrifice your daily water intake and lose your gym, which is practically a spouse to you by nowābut fitness model steps right after you even though she stood in line and what, actually is her problem.
āHello,ā she says, fixing you with a gaze so intense you feel like sheās trying to reach into your soul. Then, with the delicacy of a housefire: āCan I give you my phone number?ā
āWhat?ā You recover, stepping back to lean against the wall. āIām not looking for a trainer or anything,ā you say, squinting at her. Yeah, fitness model, youāre pretty sure; sheās lean but still boasting muscle, a hint of definition to her biceps even relaxed. The shorter hair surprises you, but men have apparently come around to it, and you imagine worrying about hair on top of a fitness model lifestyle would be absolute hell.
She stares back at you for a moment. āI donāt want to be your trainer.ā A crease forming between her browsāthe split hair is really working for her, youāll give her thatāshe asks, āAre you interested romantically in women?ā
Itās so awkward you canāt help but laugh, āWhat?ā You gesture for her to follow you further from the audience thatās developed in the line to the water fountain. You notice the dusting of pink across her high cheekbones and backpedal, āIām gay, you just asked like an insane person. Is this your first time hitting on a girl? How old are you?ā
āTwenty-three.ā
āOh, cute,ā you say, briefly flattered you could mistaken for a recent college graduate, ābut Iām almost thirty. Thereās lots of girls your ageāthey should be in your Instagram DMs.ā
āI donāt have an Instagram,ā she says. āSo is twenty-three too young? I turn twenty-four in January.ā
āYou need to work on your flirting,ā you say, sidestepping the question entirely.
But you can tell this poor baby butch is going to get absolutely eaten alive without some kind of intervention, so you exchange phone numbersāāTo be friends,ā you stress, āand you should think of me as some old hag you go to for dating adviceāāand have a fantastic time recounting the bizarre story to your cat at home.
Shouto, your twenty-three year old gym acquaintance without an Instagram, does not come to think of you as an old hag.
You wear increasingly unflattering clothesāwithin reasonāto the gym, where she insists on working out at the same time as you as often as humanly possible. You arenāt sure why, since the two of you are working out on practically opposite sides of the gym, but itās a great final line of defense against days you feel a little lazy and consider skipping. While doing your squats, youāve watched a number of girls drift over to Shouto at the bench press, waiting between reps to shyly offer their number or getting coffee together sometime. Every time, Shouto declines; once, she even pointed across the gym at you in the midst of her rejection, and youād had to guess based on reading her lips, but youāre almost positive sheād said, Iām trying to date her.
Of course, you understand the appeal, at least abstractly. After your horrible college breakup, youād done as any recently heartbroken student would and fell hopelessly in love with one of your professors. Your friends, staging an entirely new kind of intervention, had delicately asked, Donāt you know sheās almost fifty, and youād huffed at their lack of understanding. Nothing had come of it, and you certainly hadnāt beelined to the front of the lecture hall to ask for her number. (Youāre also fairly certain she was completely, totally heterosexual in a way even your straight friends found a little disconcerting.) Itās practically a rite of passage, desperately pining for a woman too old for you, but every older woman knows the game and gently turns down their young admirers.
Shouto absolutely does not understand this tradition.
āWeāre only four years apart,ā Shouto told you solemnly after catching a glimpse of your ID. When youād corrected it was closer to five, sheād said earnestly, āIām a fast learner. I can make up for it.ā
Five years isnāt a huge difference by any means, and you know plenty of couples with even bigger gaps of age that are perfectly happy. So of course it could work, in theory, but youāre completely at a loss what it is about you thatās so attractive to a twenty-three year old. Your first guess, that maybe it was about money and established careers, isnāt even close; Shouto invited you once to her apartment and youād found out from a little snooping sheās in an entirely different economic bracket than you. Youād no intention to actually go to begin with, and this newfound knowledge only cemented your decision.
āWeāre just at different points in our lives,ā youād tried, dropping off Shouto at her apartment from the gym at her request. āIām basically a spinster; you should be enjoying yourself, figuring out what you like.ā
Sheād lingered in the passenger seat, studying your expression. āSo you want to be married?ā
āNo one should be married at twenty-threeāor twenty-four,ā youād said, before she could correct you of her approaching birthday.
Shouto at least took an interest in advice for dating, except sheās only interested in what you like. When you suggest bars she can try, she asks instead what wine you like and what TV she needs to watch to be good conversation. Frequently, youāre asked how she can improve her flirting, and Shouto wonāt be pleased with her progress until sheās successfully won you over. Shoutoās already invited you to her Christmas work party as her plus one, and did not care at all how insane of a thing it was to do, taking your rejection in stride and deciding she would just skip it. Youāve never met someone so stubborn in your life, which means itās probably karmic retribution.
It should be irritating, or at least a hassle, but you do like Shoutoājust not in the way she wants. For all her dogged persistence, sheās polite and soft-spoken and thoughtful in a way you certainly werenāt when you were her age. Youāve also read between the lines and can tell sheās lonely, some invisible wall between her and most of her peers beyond even her total disinterest in traditional femininity. Sheās both too aloof and intense at once, horribly awkward, and somewhere between reserved and a recluse.
Naturally, you canāt bear to throw her to the wolves.
Youāre not all that surprised when, in early December, you get a phone call seconds after a mostly coherent text of I want to talk you.
āHi, Shouto,ā you answer, muting a movie youāve only been half-watching while your cat makes a faint noise of enormous displeasure and hops off your lap to skulk beneath the couch. āHowās drinking?ā
āHow did you know?ā Shouto asks, sounding touched andāunsurprisinglyādrunk.
āJust a lucky guess. Whatās up?ā
After a beat of silence, Shouto announces, āMy friends told me to call you.ā You hum, Lucky me, deciding to wait out whatever it is that warranted a phone call. Youāre rewarded with: āYour thighs and hips are nice to look at.ā
āAw, Iām glad my workouts arenāt for nothing.ā
āWhat are you wearing?ā
That gets you to sit up, laughing out of shock. āShouto, what? Iām in my pajamas.ā You havenāt heard that line in years.
Seemingly undeterred by this profoundly unsexy information, she asks, āAre they soft?ā
Faintly, you hear someone in the background say, What the fuck are you doing, holy shit, someone stop her, and someone else furiously shushing the first voice.
āYes,ā you say, humoring Shouto. āIām too old to not splurge on soft pajamas.ā
Earnestly, she says, āYouāre not old, and youāre the most beautiful person in the world. Why are you laughing? I feel very lucky you let me have your phone number. But my friends told me I have to learn how to eat pussy beforeāā
āOKAY THATāS ENOUGH,ā a strangerās voice shrieks, increasing in volume as they must yank the phone away from Shouto. You hear the petulant complaintāāI wasnāt doneāāand then the frantic, āWeāre so sorry, Shouto is a lightweight, have a good night, bye!!!ā
Adrian chase brings up how he used to follow you home and watch you through your bedroom window before you started seeing each other while heās fucking you into the mattress
You really arenāt sure you hear him right at first. āWhatāoh, fuck,ā you ask, hands clawing into the bundle of sheets that you bunch up into your palms, the heavy slap of Adrianās hips agaisnt yours while your ass is perched up and your tits are pressed at a ridiculous arch into the mattress making your mind all fuzzy. He hums, a quick āUh-huhā while watching his cock go in and out of your pussy, leaking down his balls and all over the backs of your thighs.
āYeahāused to watch you come home after your shifts. Follow you out past the old route you used to takeāyou know, the one out by the mechanic shopāthatās really not a good area by the way youāre lucky I was there, oh fuck,ā he rambles, hissing when you clench around him, soft breathless pants coming from his mouth so he can keep talking. āOnly startedāahāwatching through the window after those break-ins started happening. Had to make sure no creeps were around. Woulda fuckinā killed any fucker who tried to come hurt you. Or take your stuff. Or slightly inconvenience youāfuck, you are so wet right now. Is this turning you on? God, please, please say yes.ā
You only reply in a broken moan, his cock ramming deeper into that spongy soft spot inside of you with eagerness, the crook of his arm coming under your collar to pull you up off the mattress and into his chest, your own hands clutching onto him to remain balanced. His pants fill your ear, glasses nudged up against the side of your skull, yanking you down onto his cock.
āGod, if I knew youād like it this much Iād have told you soonerāfuck, if you knew how many times I jerked off outside your bedroom window. Itās like an embarrassing amount. You look so cute when youāre sleeping. If I was lucky youād be fucking yourself with that vibrator under your bed and the windows would be openāfuckādid you ever know I was watching? Bet you wouldnāt have stopped if you did.ā
Adding onto this until u guys are sick of me, but he definitely came inside too. Crawling in through the window and watched you while you slept, pushed his hands under the covers and felt you up while you stirred. Pulled your sleep shirt up and groped your tits before you even knew his name, pet your clit through your panties while you writhed in your sleeping state and jerked it over your sleeping body and came all over your sheets
pleasant surprises
adrian is more versed in the concept than you, but, for him you'd really try anything with his guidance. [KINKTOBER'25] // [GEN. MASTERLIST]
pairing: adrian chaseĀ x f!reader tags: 18+ MINORS DNI, first time pegging, adrian has experience reader doesn't, established relationship, sub!adrian, doggy style, missionary, strap blowjobs, masturbation, handjobs, kinda fluffy // 7/13 ā PEGGING + SUB!ADRIAN word count: 2.3k+ a/n: i've literally never written a pegging fic so i really wanted it to reflect that lack of experience lol
You werenāt sure.
Adrian, staring up at you with sad, wet eyes, on his knees, had his bare chest pressed against your calves. Heās almost never this raw with you, resting his head atop his arms, weight on your cold legs. Heād certainly never asked for something this directly, this desperately.
āYou...have one already?ā You run a hand through his hair, tugging back the curls. He lets himself be pulled back, further and further with each course drag of your fingers over his scalp. You catch on a knot, and his voice runs thick as he responds.
āMm, duh, I have had other girlfriends.ā For however deep his voice ached, he held tight to that trademark indignance.
Narrowing your eyes at him, envy whirls in your gut, but you donāt like giving him what he wants when heās like this. Whether itās his erection in your mouth or your weight on his face, if heās clamoring for it youāre fighting to keep him wanting for as long as possible.
āI know.ā You close your fist at the crown of his head, staring down at him, making his eyes meet yours, āIsnāt it gross to use the same strap?ā
āUh, is it gross that Iāve used the same penis for ten years?ā
The corner of your mouth tugs, and you force it into a frustrated frown, nostrils flaring, āYouāve only been having sex for ten years?ā
He blinks hard, āYes.ā
You shove him away by the hair, āLoser. You know youāre not doing a very good job of begging.ā
Adrian comes back before youāve drawn your hand in, yanking it to his lips. He presses kisses to each knuckle before closing his mouth around your thumb. The wetness of his tongue swirling on the calloused skin shoots a rocket off in your gut, his eyes fluttering closed as he draws his mouth up the length of your finger.
āCome on,ā He whimpers, spattering kisses up your arm, climbing into your lap to suck a hickey at your collarbone. His torso is scalding hot compared to yours, the moisture between his thighs slotting him rightly on either side of your waist. You stick to him like dry ice on warm flesh as he clings to you, rocking his hips in time with his pleading kisses. Precum soaks a spot through his briefs and onto the curve of your stomach, and he cups the shell of your ear with his mouth, muttering, āWould you please fuck me?ā
The timbre of his voice travels straight to your brain, and you canāt stop the full body shudder that follows, hands finding his hips to dig your nails in. You can feel him smile against your ear before he presses a firm kiss to the nerve behind it. All you can do is nod.
āOh, fuck, thank you.ā He breathes, ducking to your mouth. The kisses are wet, open-mouthed, his tongue washing over yours. Gratitude falls from his lips, tiny platitudes again and again until you have to tug him back again, holding his chin between your thumb and forefinger.
āAlright, alright. Go get it, then.ā
A mild learning curve and Adrianās eager hands working the strap onto your body later, you were on the couch and he was on his knees, again.
āJesus, is this what I look like?ā You sit ram-rod straight on the cushion, knuckles pressing into the fabric on either side of you as Adrian lets a bulb of spit dangle over the pale blue dildo. It glides down the silicone before spreading out over his tongue as he runs down the shaft. He slips his tongue below the metal ring of the strap, prodding at your cunt underneath your underwear.
āWay hotter.ā He stares up at you, sucking at the cotton until itās soaked through, your hips hitching up with every jolt in your pelvis.
Adrian replaces his mouth with his fingers, shoving aside the hem to sink two fingers into you as he drags his tongue back up over the piece, taking it into his mouth. His fingers fucking into you keeps you hitching your hips up, and he moans around the strap.
Your hand finds its way to his hair again, and without conscious thought youāre pushing him down onto the cock, the lightest thrusts up into his mouth. His fingers fill you well, but itās the sight of his lips stretched around the strap that keep you from going passive with the feeling. Itās not that youāre a pillow princess, or even really all that submissive normally, but to see him the way he gets to see you is a privilege better than youād have ever guessed.
āFuck,ā He mumbles, fingers slipping from your cunt to instead grab at your thigh. You loosen your grip.
āSorry, is that too much?ā
He pulls back with a wet pop! and shakes his head furiously, āNo, no, fuck no. Please keep doing that.ā
You run a thumb over his glistening bottom lip, and shove it into his mouth, āGood, good Adrian.ā
His eyebrows kick up, eyelids fluttering closed. He swirls his tongue around your thumb, patiently obeying until you find yourself wanting for the sight of his mouth on the strap again. You re-situate your grip in his hair, eyes locked on each other as you guide him back down. Expanding black pupils swallow the tepid sea-green, and you watch the edges as they pulse at the full breadth of their circumference.
Adrian works the strap until heās drooling, silicone slick with his spit, his hand palming over his briefs.
āYou think youāre all set?ā You whisper, pinching at his cheekbone.
He darts up to your lips, the slightest chuckle in his throat, voice sweet, āNo, crazy, we need lube.ā
āHow would I know?ā You grab his jaw and squeeze, keeping him from indulging in more than a chaste kiss, āWe almost never use lube.ā
He remains unaffected, glad for whatever taking youāll give him, āAnd I wish I could get as naturally wet as your pussy, trust me.ā
The vulgarity breaks your facade, and you jump to swallow him with your lips, a little exclamation escaping as he taps your open palm with the lube bottle, a warning before he squeezes out the cold compound.
He pulls back to watch you slick up the strap, yanking down his briefs to tug at his own erection.
You ache at the sight of his pulsing cock, the harsh vein running along the side, tip red and dribbling precum. If you canāt have him inside you, at the very least you want your hands around him.
āWhat, um, what position?ā Adjusting on the couch, you feel yourself falter for a moment at the immediate prospect before you. Adrian is so eager, so needy, his free hand squeezing at your thigh, thumb running over the seams of the leather harness.
āWell, this one girl thought doggy was easiest. Then the next girl only liked missionary. And the one time with Chrisāā
Youāre propelling off the couch before he can finish the next syllable, clasping your hand over his mouth. You reach down to stroke his erection, the lube still on your hand making easy work, his cock jumping underneath your fingers.
āIf Iām going to fuck you, I donāt want to hear about anyone else fucking you, okay? Least of all Chris.ā You grind your forehead against his, āGot it?ā
He lurches away from you with a whine, hot breath hitting your hand, abdomen flexing as he tries to steady himself. He nods, screwing his eyelids shut.
āJust turn around.ā
He obeys, and you slot yourself behind him, reaching around to stroke at him for a few moments more. Confidence building, surely.
āKeep this up.ā You tug at one of his arms, guiding him along his own cock until heās sure of the rhythm.
You inhale enough breath to fill your lungs and then some, chest burning, before you exhale slowly through your nose, prodding the tip of the strap at his entrance. You work him open, an inch or two in and out, hands loose on his hips.
āHowās this feel?ā You lean to the side to look at him, and heās nodding, head hanging between his shoulders.
āI can take more, come on, please.ā His voice strains, and you back away entirely as he tries to shuffle backwards onto you.
āHey.ā You snap, fingernails digging into his hips, keeping him in place, away from your strap, āCanāt you be patient?ā
āNo! Fuck no.ā He whines, dropping to one elbow, hand on his cock still slow.
āNo?ā You lean back on your heels, sighing, āGuess weāll just have to wait till you work on that.ā
āOh, fuck, fine.ā He presses himself fully onto the carpet, stretching out an arm to grab at the beige threads. He hitches his hips forward, fucking into his hand, āIām sorry, okay? Iām sorry. Sorry.ā His voice fades until heās croaking out apologies and humping the carpet.
Your gut aches for him, the ridge of his shoulders tensing and flexing as he only grows more desperate, beads of sweat on reddening skin.
āThatās better.ā You mutter, edging towards him.
He lets out a throaty, full moan as you brush his entrance again, but keeps still. His body shakes with the effort, and as you sink into him in one slow push, he releases all the tension at once, torso going limp on the carpet. He pumps up and down his erection as told, but is otherwise enthralled by the whim of his body, convulsions coursing through as you build your own rhythm.
Everything in you aches with the desire to know what youāre unable to. How tight he is, what he must feel like pulsing on a real cock, how good it would feel to let your own orgasm loose inside him. The sight is almost enough, his toned back flexing as he lets you fuck him, the lightest jerk of his ass back onto the strap. Youāre certain he thinks heās going undetected, his gargled whines at the tail end of heaving breaths, his hand stroking harsh on his cock all enough of an excuse if you were to call him out. The thought kicks up admiration in your chest, and the depravity of his need is enough for you to let him continue his charade.
āAdrian,ā You groan, tugging back again.
He grumbles with dissatisfaction, voice airy, āYeah?ā
āCan you turn around?ā
He flips and hitches his hips up for you, cock falling fat and hard against his stomach. It twitches up once, twice, before heās wrapping a hand around it again.
Slotting yourself at his entrance, you take in the fucked out look on his face, lips pink and raw. His curls stick to his forehead, and the angles of his cheekbones are highlighted by a red flush on his skin. He grins at you, and you watch as it turns into a grimace, sinking the strap in one full go, faster this time, the head thudding somewhere deep inside him.
āI wanna see you cum all over yourself, okay?ā
He nods, planting a foot on either side of you to lift his hips at the right angle, but heās shaking more with every thrust. You wouldnāt be able to life his legs if you tried, but, reaching blindly behind you for a throw pillow, you place it under his lower back so you can keep as upright as possible without the added strain on him.
You hook your hands under his thighs, grinding your hips up into him, the base of the strap rustling the fabric of your underwear. It shifts light over your clit, sending a vague shock through you with every thrust. You hope Adrian will be begging for you to sit on his face after this, youāre sure he will, but more than anything you ache to see him covered in his own cum. Ache to lick it up and pretend itās your own, pretend youāve fucked him to your own climax and marked him with the evidence.
His free hand combs through his hair, forcing the sweaty strands off his forehead, skin pulled taut as he digs his head back into the carpet.
The tendons in his neck strain, Adamās apple caught in place. Thereās a whine stuck in his throat, and he freezes with his hand tight at the base of his cock. You can feel resistance against the strap, feel it hitting something deep in his gut.
āShit, are you gonna cum already?ā
He nods, mouth open and silent. He manages a few furious thrusts down his cock, endures a few more harsh thrusts from the strap before heās seizing underneath you.
Ropes of cum spurt across his chest in long, jerking stripes, dribbling down the valley of his pecs. His thighs convulse beneath your hands, and you hit him with a couple lazy thrusts, hitching to the back of his hole and dragging halfway before pushing into him again.
The moan caught in his throat echoes up to the ceiling, and a litany of grateful pleas follow in quick succession. Thank you and youāre so perfect and I love you over and over until theyāre jumbling into nonsense from his lips. He hisses as you pull from him, but satisfied hums rumble in his chest as you kiss up his torso, dragging your tongue over the spattered cum on his abdomen.
You press your fists on either side of his head, ducking down to kiss him before his hands snake around your back and pull you down on top of him.
Minutes pass like this, wet, tired kisses in silence, the strap slotted up beside his softening erection.
āWas that...good?ā You break to lay your chin on his chest.
āAre you fucking kidding me?ā Adrian raises his eyebrows at you, reaching to pinch your cheek, āI donāt even have the words.ā
āThatās a first.ā
āHey, no itās not.ā
You laugh, scooting back up to his mouth, warm kisses of salt washing between you both, building for whatever comes next.

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this is wholly self-indulgent because I had a really horrible day and got my period when all I wanted to do was not think about my day :)
Dick comes home and finds you asleep on the sofa, already in pyjamas.
Itās not even past 4:30 and youāre softly snoring with your hair in a braid thatās hardly useful now. Youāre wearing a pair of green and pink legged pants, a white sweater and your glasses are askew on your face.
The grin that splits his face would be blinding and embarrassing if his brothers could see him- not that heād really care, especially when he takes off your glasses and can see your cheek all squished up under your hands.
Heās quiet as he putters around the house, starting dinner, cleaning up and putting new sheets on the bed. Itās strange that youād stripped the bed, consideran youād put on fresh sheets on Sunday, but heās sure you had a reason.
When everything was finished and heād started a load of washing (the blood stained sheets had been the reason for stripping the bed), he came to you, ready to wake you up and get some food in you.
āPrincess,ā he starts softly, his hand sneaking under your sweater thatās really his, āSātime to wake up, lover girl.ā
When you donāt rouse, he leans forward, sponging soft kisses into your cheek. You hum and then groan and then you make Dickās favourite sound; a soft, sleepy mewl as you turn into him.
āHi, pretty girl.ā He pushes hair that had escaped your braid out of your face and as your eyes adjust to him, they fill with tears.
Heās panicked immediately. āWhatās wrong, pupi?ā
You sniffle, and turn into him even further. Youāre halfway off the couch and halfway in his lap.
āI had a really shitty day today. I pulled something in my shoulder, and when I got home I just wanted to change my clothes and lay in bed but I got my period and I didnāt know so I bled in the bed, and I was really meaning to change the sheets but taking them off hurt like a bitch because of my shoulder so I took a muscle relaxant and had a shower and I came down here with all intention of getting some work done, but I just fell asleep so everythingās a mess up there; and Iām really sorry Dick.ā
The words rush out of you all at once, and all Dick can do is oscillate between rubbing your back and wiping the tears from your cheeks.
āI sorted everything out, princess.ā He whispers the words into your hairline as he tugs you all the way into his lap. āI put the old sheets to wash, sorted a new load of laundry and I made the bed up.ā
You shiver from the force of more tears tumbling down your cheeks.
āI made you dinner too, Alfredās pot pie.ā
āIām sorry for crying.ā You hiccup and Dick tuts.
He smiles as he noses along your cheeks and then presses his lips to yours. āYouāre already my sensitive girl, you just get a little more delicate this time of the month. Sānothing wrong with that, lover girl.ā
You stay in his lap a little while longer, him fawning over you and kissing your cheek and browbone and temple; a much better end to your really crappy day.
mdni 18+
itās possible iāve begun to think about clark never wanting you to do anything during sex, not wanting you to have any work except coming. you try to fuck back onto him while youāre face down, ass up? no, heās holding you tight and saying ātell me how you want it, baby, donāt need to work for it. just tell me. harder? faster?ā you try to get your mouth on his cock? no, heās guiding you back up to his lips with a hand on your jaw. you try to ride him? no, heās thrusting up from under you, practically bouncing you on his hips from the force he puts behind his thrusts.
maybe, once, heās got you in missionary and you lift your hips a little so he hits just the right place inside you that sends your head spinning. he notices that youāre using your tummy muscles to lift yourself, meaning youāre not completely relaxed. he huffs, kisses your mouth once, then sits up on his knees and pulls you close to him by your thighs, holding the weight of your lower body so he can hit that spot inside you with ease and so you can relax into it.
it probably even happens when heās eating you out, you try to rock against his face so he can enjoy a little more and not be so focused on the rhythm, but he grips your hips to still your movements then immediately matches the pace and intensity you were just going at.
SKINSHIP . . . in which ways they show physical affection.
ft. kalim al-asim, jamil viper, idia shroud, silver
p.s! my first request, i hope this finds u anon!! part one here
KALIM AL-ASIM
heās sticky like glue, always needing a reason to be next to you.
honestly, you could be doing whatever and heāll be happy just to sit by your side and watch!
heās the type to play footsie with you beneath the table while you study, the one to brush your hair back from your face when it gets in your eyes. during dinner time, his food is the first to get cold, much more focused in feeding you, his fingertips skimming your lips with each bite. āsay ahh,ā his grin is contagious and he happily takes the opportunity to be fed by you as well.
(also the type to make a mess of crumbs from the desserts on the corners of his mouth, hoping you will kiss it off)
it should go without saying that he adores cuddling and sharing blankets with you. his arms spread wide like an invitation and he beams when you jump into his embrace.
even when it runs hot during the day he can't find it in himself to complain, not when you're curled up into his side, no space between your bodies. if you wear an oversized shirt, somehow, in his sleep, he sneaks beneath the helm. you wake up to his hairs tickling the spot beneath your chin, his cheek squished into your chest.
heās especially clingy during the early hours, stubbornly tightening his arms around you when you try to get out of bed. it always ends up with him sleepily following you around your routine, his nose pressed into your neck and arms loosely holding you around the waist, opening his eyes just enough to watch you brush your teeth.
when itās his turn to get ready, he purposefully raffles up the collar of his uniform just so he can have the excuse for you to fix him up.
as much as he enjoys you holding his face, he also undeniably loves to hold yours too. he squeezes your cheeks together, making your lips pucker before he presses his mouth to yours with an exaggerated mwah.
it rarely stops with one kiss, quickly leading into two then three, pressing his lips every part he could reach until youāre physically prying him off.
āsorry, i canāt help myself!ā his words vibrate off the curve of your cheek and you feel more than hear his giggle when he nudges his nose against yours. ājust five more?ā
his fingers curl beneath your jaw, tilting your head to the side so he can scatter more kisses.
āi canāt breathe, are you trying to suffocate me?ā he can hear the grin in your voice and he matches it.
āof course not,ā heās smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. ādo you want to switch spots? i want to be kissed a little too.ā
kalim likes to rest his head on your chest. it not only grants him the opportunity to be as close to you as possible and but also, maybe worm his way into getting his hair played with too. he nearly falls asleep on the spot the first time you scratched at his scalp softly with the blunt of your nails.
so, itās not surprising when he develops the habit of randomly grabbing your hands and plopping them into his head when he wants his hair to be played with, giving you a grin as though he was trying to convince you. āwe can take turns,ā he promises, already fitting into your lap when you donāt pull away.
itās also probably one of the few times you can get him to sit still. that or offering your hand for him to play with, flexing and unbending your fingers as he rambles about something jamil told him earlier that day.
big or small, he appreciates any and all opportunities for skinship. he matches your energy and will also gladly settle for holding your hand, drawing hearts on the back with his thumb instead if itās ever too much <3
⦠. ćāŗ ć . ⦠. ćāŗ ć . ā¦
JAMIL VIPER
sorry jamil fans this might be a little ooc
not the touchiest.
but he has a way of subtly showing off as your partner; itās the way he presses his hand to your back briefly when he passes you, shoulder nudging yours. he holds your handā fully holds, fingers slipped through the dips, squeezing, when the hallways are crowded, silently promising not to let go. when he sits next down to you, he places a hand on your thigh, grounding him to your presence.
can be a bit of a tease: flicking your forehead, pinching your cheek when you get sauce from the meal he cooked for you on your face. when he kisses you, he nips the bottom part of your lip before he pulls away. quite assertive really,,, holding you by the jaw, curling a finger beneath your chin if youāre shorter than him to lift your gaze. he sometimes sneaks his hands beneath your shirt, not bothering to hide his grin when you squirm.
but he also has his softer moments too. when it runs cold outside, he cups your hands, pressing hot puffs of air to warm them up. he absently adjusts your clothes, folding the cuffs for your sleeves or straightening your collar(even when itās already straight).
easily gets absorbed just tracing your arms and palms. he draws out the bone structure beneath your skin with his finger, tracing out the faint veins and scrunches in your palm. when he reaches the spot above your knuckles, he presses down with the flat of his thumb, squeezing gently. heās so mesmerized he doesnāt even realize heās subconsciously reaching out for your hand to play with when heās sitting to next you.
it takes some time before he lets you touch his hair. itās so soft and silky, evidently treated with care.
heās a bit shifty when you brush along his head at first, touch not belonging to him so foreign and rare. he struggles to suppress the tiniest of shivers when you trace his baby hairs, the cool of your fingertips like balm to his tensed figure.
ohh yeah heās addicted.
when itās time to sleep he wordlessly tucks his face into your neck, a secret code that heās ready to relax for as long as the universe would let him and his sigh gets muffled into the cotton of his shirt when you brush back his bangs.
he wonāt ever admit it out loud but he has a soft spot for when you hold his face between your palms. āitās like iām holding my whole world on my hands!ā you would give him a bright smile and jamil short circuits lol.
being taken care of by you is a guilty pleasure really; brushing out his hair for him, messaging out the knots in his shoulders, momentarily taking his mind away from the noisy routine.
critical hit if you pepper kisses all over his face. he rolls his eyes as though bothered but it quickly falls into a pout when you try to move away, his arms stubbornly tightening around you. āthat doesnāt mean you should stop.ā
⦠. ćāŗ ć . ⦠. ćāŗ ć . ā¦
IDIA SHROUD
the smallest of touches make him fluster.
you once asked him to compare hand sizes with him, and he nearly astral projects when you slip your fingers through the cracks. he opts to hold your pinky instead for the time being as he builds up his confidence for hand holding (so scandalous)
though, you catch him on occasion āaccidentallyā brushing his hand against yours, glancing at you from the corner of his eye before doing it again, mirroring off a scene he vaguely recalls watching. he chickens out before you could get hint and messily shoves his hands into his pockets instead.
truthfully, heād like to touch you. he often catches himself in his head, daydreaming scenes of his favorite anime and imagining him and you in place of the main characters. his hair sparks a familiar pink when he wonders how soft your lips would be on his or how nice it would be to hold you so close that there was space between your bodies. he promptly smacks himself on the forehead when his thoughts start to become indecent.
with time he loosens up a bitā> key word a bit.
youāre talking to him but heās struggling to understand your words when he spots a stray piece of your hair sticking to the corner of your mouth. waitā¦. he doesnāt mean to look directly at your lips!! though,,, itās very nice,,, it just happens to be in his line of sight, he swears.
heās internally screaming, his thoughts frazzled and it doesnāt occur to him that he's reached out and thumbed it away until you're thanking him with a smile. and. his. fingers.are. still. pressed. against. your. cheek. FAHH
before he could erupt into a concert of stutters and reel back, you hold his hand with your own, holding it in place. āi like this, you should do it more.ā
āiā huh?? oh.. o-okay.ā
playing video games with him is a must! ⦠though he's a bit distracted, admittedly. he doesn't mind it too much when he's missing a couple points, not when all he can think is how close you are to him and if he so much as twitches his knee it will bump yours. thatās how it was initially at least, his younger self would die if he knew the way you would drape your legs over his lap, playing with the long ends of his hair while he muses about a game and his terrible teammates. (heās grateful youāre not looking directly into his face but his hair, having a mind of its own, isnāt doing him any favors either).
it takes some convincing and small pleas but he eventually relents, letting you paint his nails. you have to hold his fingers still because heās so nervous heās shaking, the spots beneath his nose hidden behind the pillow he holds to his chest.
ādid i do a good job?ā he nods but he's not really looking, more focused on watching the way youāre cradling his fingers between your own. or the fact thatās he so close his knee is grazing yours or if he looks up he might head bump you or if he breaths too hard you might hear it and, wait, does that mean you can hear his heartbeat tooā or ifā
āp-p-perfect! thumbs up!!!ā he says, immediately flinching when his voice comes out shaky and loud.
he appreciates your small pats of support when he curls up in himself, burrowing into his bed for the rest of the day.
heās still learning, but heās willing to try, for you.
⦠. ćāŗ ć . ⦠. ćāŗ ć . ā¦
SILVER
the epitome of a gentleman
you could be dating since the crib and heās still going to ask before kissing you or initiating anything too intimate.
silverās the type of person to be satisfied in just being around you; he doesnāt need to be physically touched or showered in platitudes⦠though he certainly wouldnāt mind if you do.
you can ask him to kiss you anywhere and heād be more than happy to indulge you, but, if he had to pick a favorite, it would be the ones he can see your face, his heart racing without his permission when you thank him with a smile he adores so much.
his favorite spot to be kissed is anywhere; if itās coming from you thatās enough. more often not though, he enjoys when you brush your lips against his forehead. it gives him an excuse to hold you and maybe sneak some more kisses too.
you know he wants one when he looks up at you, sweeping his bangs back to expose the spot between his brows.
ānow i know i will have a good day,ā he says it so seriously but he pats his bangs back down like heās shielding your kiss for himself.
silverās the one to wordlessly offer his hand or elbow to you, always accompanying you to class despite his own being across campus. kisses the back of it before letting go; his smile is shy from behind your skin, cheeks rosy as he mouths a quick promise of finding you after class into your knuckles.
sleeping against you, itās a given.
his sleep spells can be frustrating but itās not too bad when you offer your lap to him. he wanted to say no at first, it might not be as comfortable for you as it would be for him; but you give him a look he knows he canāt argue with and he relents.
he canāt suppress his blissful sighs when you card your hands through his hair, and the hairs on his arms rise when you scratch the sensitive spot on the back of his neck.
heās grateful, and he tries to tell you as much while his eyes grow heavy and his sentences curl towards the end, telling you heās falling asleep. his kiss to your thigh is little more than a weak thump, his āi love you, you know that,ā fading into soft inhales and exhales.
heās a little dazed when he wakes up, his cheeks warm when you hold it. he wonāt question if you styled his hair in his sleep or slipped on any clips, he wonāt even bother to remove them, basking in your visible affection as long as he could. āyou okay?ā he asks because of course heās always thinking of you first.
āmhm, just want to hold you like this a bit.ā
āokay,ā he sags into your touch, his nose grazing your palm. āif you insist.ā
in the rare instances heās awake and youāre asleep he is always attentive. when pooling rays of sunlight make your eyelids twitch, he shifts to cover the glare. he holds your hand as you sleep, stroking the curves and indents of your knuckles and he only lets go to peel off his coat as a makeshift blanket.
heās also not against carrying you (on his back, by the waistā whichever you voice preference to) to a better spot if necessary. he lingers for as long as possible until his duties pry him away and he kisses the spot between your brows, whispering how he will be back later.
and he always keeps his promises to you
⦠. ćāŗ ć . ⦠. ćāŗ ć . ā¦
m.list
handed on a silver platter
well hellooooo!! so this is loosely inspired by this ask, only with a few tweaks of my own!! this is a b!adrian centric fic, our main boy is um- out for this one š«£, hope you enjoy! as always comments and reblogs are super appreciated xoxo <3
b!adrian chase x reader cw: SMUT, kind of what chris pulled with earth x emilia but worse OOP, reader is not aware it's b!adrian during, if you're not comfy with that please don't read!!!!!. Content is 18+, MDNI.
"Oh my gosh- why the fuck are you a chipmunk?" Adrian muses and cackles to himself when he sees the small critter figure that sits cutely at the front door of his house.
Well- okay, it's his mom's house. His alternate dimension mom's house more exactly.
Adrian believes this is where he'll finally get the help he needs to take down Peacemaker and the Top Trio back in his own hellscape of a dimension.
Because whats better than one Vigilante? Two Vigilantes.
Since he figured out the Blue Dragon's helmet has inter-dimensional portal capabilities it's all he's been able to think about. It's why he stole it in the first place.
And lucky for him, he's finding it more and more likely it will be a possibility when he opens the front door and his home looks to be mostly the same.
A 3 cat candle holder on the hallway cabinet? Well thats close enough, not as fun as a group of 6 cats having a seance. He thinks.
Theres a drawing of spider on the fridge drawn by little baby Adrian's fingers, only in his world it's supposed to be a bat.
"Holy shit this is awesome!" He whispers, elated and near wheezing when the keys to his secret room happen to open the one in this dimension too.
"What the- am i fucking a drug dealer?" Adrian questions out loud, finds at the center of his basement grams upon grams of what he could only assume are illegal substances.
But then- when he keeps looking through the room he finds his spare Vigilante suit hanged up in the same place he hangs his.
"Oh, hell yes!!" He jumps on the spot, elated, giggling. Tippy toeing on his feet at the confirmation that he's Vigilante in this world too.
He looks around, hoping to find himself in there only to open a door to a room filled with a crazy amount of stuffed animals stacked on the mounted shelves.
"oooookay, well thats fucking weird" he whispers to himself, before closing the door again.
He walks back upstairs, sees all the similar diplomas and pictures arranged on the wall. His strut is animated, elated, the excitement is getting the best of him.
Although, there seems to be no sign of other Adrian.
No sign of his mom either.
The door to his room is the same one, the same "No girls allowed" sticker that he had put on there when he was only 11. The colors are just as faded, the glue stuck stubbornly to the wood for all eternity.
He opens it to find that everything looks identical to his own room, his D&D posters, his make shift desk with his PC, same blankets on the- wait.
Adrian nearly jolts when he notices a figure sleeping in his childhood bed.
Is that me? He thinks. It has to be, they're wearing my favorite sweater.
A hand automatically reaches for his gun holster. Better safe than sorry, what if his other self turns out to be a massive asshole?
He takes a few deliberate steps forward, leans in to take a closer look.
And then he sees, something he cant quite believe.
No, turns out it's not him. It's you.
You, of all people. Leader of one of the factions of the Sons of Liberty back where he comes from.
The person Adrian had been more or less infatuated and obsessed with since the moment he decided to join forces with the militant group, the person he used to follow around like a shadow at any given chance.
The most badass, most ruthless and smartest person he'd ever met- sleeping in his bed, calm, almost snoring, wearing his clothes, hogging his blankets.
"What the fuck?!" It slips out before he has a chance to guard it down.
Adrian cant compute the scene before him, not even when you begin to stir, woken up by the sound of his voice.
"Ade?" Your voice comes out sleepy and groggy.
Adrian's stomach drops, his eyes grow huge as they stare at you.
They have a nickname for me. He thinks, and all the blood rushes to his face.
He stands still, literally freezes as you sit up and rub the sleep from your eyes.
"Oh- oh! uhh yeah- hiii-" He answers you before he has a chance to figure out what the hell he's planning on doing.
"I thought you said you wouldn't be back from the mission until later tonight?" You ask, a lazy smile laced with something that makes Adrian's insides start to flutter involuntarily.
Is it affection? fondness? he can't figure it out.
All he knows is that he's never seen that expression on your face before, even less so aimed towards him. Back in his world, it had been mostly rolled eyes or amused smirks.
You were always far too busy to give him the time of day to begin with.
But clearly not this you-
The realization makes Adrian's ego start to soar. He knows it's wrong, but it doesn't stop his selfish wants to resurface alarmingly fast after so much time swallowing them down and pretending they're weren't plaguing his psyche on a daily basis.
That even though he was happy fighting with you, for something bigger than both of you, there was always an itch, something that made him seek out your attention however and whenever he could.
Turns out, he was nearly starved for it.
He never imagined that same attention could ever take the form of something like this though, it was nearly unfathomable in his brain.
"Oh- that! right, um- It's just-" Adrians words die in his throat when you approach him slowly, the fabric of his favorite sweater falling freely over your bare legs when you climb out of his bed.
He cant stand to even look, his eyes focus at the corner of his ceiling if it means it will give him some reprieve of the sight of your exposed skin.
"You bought new glasses?" You ask, bringing his attention back to your face. Only this time around, you're mere inches from his, nearly breaching into his personal space. "I don't remember seeing them on you this morning"
Your facial expression is unreadable to him, but he thinks you're not growing suspicious at all.
You still think he's other Adrian.
It's evident with how you've forgotten about your first question completely in favor of talking about the rims that sit on his nose.
You trust him that much.
He should say something, he should definitely say something. So why isn't he?
"Uh huh, yeah i did-" Adrian lies on automatic, swallowing back his nervous spit right after. "I thought I needed an upgrade y'know?" he elaborates blindly, almost recklessly so.
You laugh at his comment, a sound Adrian completely forgot makes his inside stir and his heart rate pick up.
You're exactly like he remembers, except for a few tiny details-
For one- other you would have never given him a near heart attack by sliding and wrapping your hands around his middle.
Holy shit. His mind screams.
Adrian laughs nervously at your warm gaze. He never even dared to conjure up fantasies of this nature. Not even when you had to move away in exile to another state and all he had was his memories of you.
But now you're here, warm, real and oh so fucking close it's making him dizzy and restless.
"You're right though I think these make you look hot" You tease, giving him a look that somehow heats his insides far more than anything else ever has in his life. "Gold suits you"
Do you just look at his other self like this all the time? How does he even survive?
"You think I'm hot?" He asks on impulse, his brain still struggling to compute the situation he's gotten himself into.
Your only response is a mocking roll of your eyes.
An expression Adrian definitely recognizes on your face. You used to give him this look countless times.
"You're silly today." You say, with a teasing shake of your head.
He's barely gotten a chance to process your words before he's stumbling back against his door at the shock of you closing in the last remaining inches between you two.
Adrian isn't prepared for it, when you lift up on your tiptoes to connect your lips to his. Using your hands around his middle to pull him impossibly closer.
It's a quick peck, but it has his body going stiff, his hands frozen mid air in a pathetic and half-assed attempt to stop you.
The contact switches something inside him. Adrian's senses start to sharpen, his breathing becomes shallow.
He's shaking and he knows it. He knows you know it too.
"Everything okay?" You ask, smiling near his lips, as if entertained by his strong reactions.
Your hands travel all around his chest and suddenly, there's not further filter in his brain to stop him from getting exactly what he wants. Not when it's being handed to him on a silver platter.
Not when you're looking at him in the way he never even knew he needed you to. Not when he's already gotten a small taste of what it is to be Adrian Chase in this world.
Someone who gets to have you like this, looking up at him with hearts in your eyes.
His blood boils at the raging jealousy, the vendetta for his other self suddenly fuels his fervor.
"Yup. Everything's fucking fine, just perfect- can you kiss me again?" Adrian snaps, his words are curt but no less strained from the effort it takes to keep his cool. āļøāļøāļø It's not unlike your boyfriend to be eager whenever you two make out, it's just that you dont remember it ever being like this.
Not either the way his voice went down a few octaves to whisper a gravely and deep "fuck" when you reached up to kiss him again.
It's then that you felt the full force of his gloved hands squishing the sides of your face to lock you in place.
He kisses you hard and deep, you cant' stop the squeals and giggles that escape your mouth in surprise. But it's only seconds before those same sounds merge into audible and heated gasps when Adrian shoves his tongue all sloppy and messy inside your mouth.
He's being greedy, like he's trying to gorge up on your mouth and tongue.
"Adrian?" You whisper in question, more in shock at the intense fervor oozing from his body.
He's leaning in to walk you backwards, harder, insistingly. Edging you towards the surface of his dresser, the corner of it hurts as it hits your backside with the pressure of you being pushed against it.
"Adrian" You say again, a bit more firmly, "I thought you said you didn't want us to do this in your room in anymore, your mom might come home any minute now-" You whisper, your voice raising in pitch, feeling his neediness start to bleed into you.
Adrian groans in frustration, he nearly bites your bottom lip in retaliation.
He's never done that before. He's never been this aggresive.
"Yeah? Well- fuck! I've changed my mind, I wanna do this right here, like all the time actually-" He babbles, grabs at your waist to pull you up and over his, he lifts you only to throw the both of you down over his bed.
You squeak, you laugh at his impatience in between kisses. Meanwhile, Adrian's hands are fumbling to lift up his sweater that you're wearing.
"Whats got you so worked up today?" You laugh, but it's short lived with the way his gloved hands roam all over your stomach and slowly reach upwards, grabbing fistfuls of your skin.
Adrian whines, his head dropping to mouth at your abdomen. "I just- i want this, with you, i dont think i've ever wanted to do it as bad as i do right now, please please-"
Your brain doesn't even take a moment to register what he means when it all sounds so fucking wonderful to your ears, even more so when he's licking and sucking so desperately at your middle you begin to squirm.
Now you're just as desperate as he is.
"Then do it already" you gasp and he laughs, his eyes are shining with satisfaction, he's grinning from ear to ear when he lifts up to tug off his suit. āļøāļøāļø
Adrian has half a mind to still revel in the fact that he's fucking inside his doppelgƤngers partner, right on his bed.
The whole thing just screams of something incredibly wrong, so naturally- it's making him lose his fucking shit.
It plasters a wide grin on his face when he looks at your face contorting with a shout of his name.
"Fuck! Do you always get this loud around my dick or is it different this time around?" He asks, genuinely.
Is it different with me? Is what he really wants to ask though.
"Ade-" You sigh out in warning, like his words are already too much to handle.
He's beaming, elated that he gets to hear you call out for him like this.
"You just look so out of it-" He laughs straight to your face, some vile and evil thing rising inside him at the memory of you always acting cool, rigid and composed in his presence.
He didn't know it only took a few peeling of layers for all that to crumble completely before him.
Now- he watches as you drool, getting crossed eyed at every hard plunge of his dick inside you. Clawing at his skin, grabbing fistfuls of his hair. Crying out for him like theres no shame left inside your body.
"Am I that fucking good?" He asks, like he cant quite believe it himself either.
You moan, loudly. Desperate to give him an answer if it will keep up his severe rhythm. "Yeah. You're sooo good baby!"
The term of endearment nearly breaks him, his voice goes airy and tight when he curses in response.
"I had a feeling you wanted me like this, like- the way you stared at me when i was changing into my suit or like that time i helped you with target practice and you were pushing yourself harder against me- fuck! i just never thought it could be like this, If I had known i-" He babbles, reminiscing, smiling to himself but not faltering in his movements.
"What are you tal-?" You wonder out loud, your brain too fogged up and muddled on pleasure to really understand anything of what hes saying.
He's always had the tendency to run his mouth during sex anyways.
"Fuuuck- nothing- forget about it." He near growls, burying himself in the crook of your neck to muffle his running mouth before he accidentally reveals the awful truth in the throes of him growing increasingly possessive over you.
Well- his efforts are fruitless either way.
Because then- theres the creaking sound of his bedroom door opening.
"What the fuck?!" It's Adrian's voice again, only this time, it's coming from a different source.
adrian chase x reader
a better night (gn reader, established relationship, acts of service, gentle handjob)
a home in here (gn reader, developing relationship, first kiss, light angst, reassurances)
a warm safe place (gn reader, established relationship, post-injury, hurt/comfort, protectiveness)
and another (gn reader with vagina + womb, established relationship, breeding kink)
and youāll survive (gn reader, established relationship, pirate au, rescue mission, event fic)
another ruse (gn reader, developing relationship, jealousy, scheming together)
answer the call (gn reader, established relationship, kidnapping, hurt/comfort)
as long as you love me (gn reader, established secret relationship, jealousy)
baby, you and me (gn reader, established relationship, morning cuddling, kissing, fluff)
behind closed doors (gn reader with a vagina, established relationship, dom/sub)
behind door number one (gn reader, secret relationship, team catching you, relationship reveal)
best friends forever (gn reader, established relationship, best friends, gift giving)
borderline crazy (gn reader, established relationship, stalking roleplay, explicit)
brighter sun (gn reader, established secret relationship, protective/defensive behavior, beach visit)
bring a chain of love (gn reader, established relationship, telling him youāre pregnant)
bring it on home (gn reader, established relationship, bathtub sex, drabble)
by consideration (gn reader, new secret relationship, team finding out, drabble)
find your heart (gn reader, established relationship, adrian comforting you, drabble)
fire for a heart (gn reader with a vagina, established relationship, team movie night, exhibitionism)
for you, anything (gn reader, established relationship, hurt/comfort, rescue mission)
healing hearts (gn reader, established relationship, sickfic, protectiveness, love confessions)
help me down (gn reader, established relationship, sleepiness, drabble)
help my heart slow (gn reader, established relationship, cuddling, drabble)
i am the one who needs you (gn reader, established relationship, mission fic, protecting adrian, hurt/comfort)
if itās me or you (gn reader, established relationship, adrian takes a bullet for you)
in this world full of people (gn reader, secret established relationship, rescue, torture, relationship reveal)
in your arms tonight (gn reader, established relationship, five-parter, adrian holding you)
jawbreaker (gn reader, first kiss (and more), explicit for sex and violence)
join the club (gn reader with a vagina, mile high club, oral and vaginal sex)
let me feel your heartbeat (gn reader with a womb, established relationship, kidnapping, family)
like branches in a storm (gn reader, established friends-with-benefits to lovers sort of thing, protectiveness, hypothermia, hurt/comfort)
little games (gn reader, established relationship, flirting, drabble)
losing my mind (gn reader, established relationship, post-canon, hurt/comfort, love confessions, drabble)
more than flesh on bone (gn reader with a vagina, hot weather, sweaty sex)
-
my favorite experiment (gn reader, sharing clothes, size difference, developing relationship)
not while iām around (gn reader, pre-slash, comforting after nightmares, drabble)
now weāre partners in crime (gn reader, secret established relationship, las vegas wedding)
on my shoulders (gn reader, established relationship, graphic violence, helping you cover up a murder)
only in my dreams (gn reader, established relationship, fluff, idiots in love, video calls, drabble)
our love will never leave (gn reader, developing relationship, sharing a bed, gift exchange fic)
out of this world (gn reader, established relationship, adrian bringing home a new friend, drabble)
pick your poison (gn reader, first kiss, truth or dare, drunken confessions, drabble)
please, not like this (gn reader, established relationship, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence)
real-life fantasy (gn reader, established relationship, skinny-dipping, tumblr-exclusive drabble)
remember (gn reader, established relationship, secret relationship, sex at a mini-golf course)
say it like you mean it (gn reader, love confessions, beach mission)
scrub and start over (gn reader, acts of service, showering, hair washing/braiding)
so like porcelain (gn reader, established relationship, miscommunication, torture, hurt/comfort, proposal)
stuck on you (gn reader, developing relationship, literal sleeping together, cuddling, drabble)
such an instigator (gn reader, established relationship, making your ex jealous, public displays of affection, drabble)
sweater weather (gn reader, established relationship, sharing clothes, drabble)
take of my seeds (gn reader, accidental love confessions, first kiss, drabble)
take some of mine (gn reader, impulsive sex, wearing adrianās clothes)
tell me no lies (gn reader, friends to lovers, arguments, identity reveal)
the first wonāt be the last (gn reader, reader gunshot wound, love confessions)
the only thing left (gn reader, hurt/no comfort, reader death, drabble)
the way these things go (gn reader, established relationship, meeting the team, jealousy, reassurances)
these moments (gn reader, flirting, sleep deprived, almost-kiss)
things would get better (gn reader, established relationship, caretaking, washing)
this fire, these flames (gn pregnant reader, established relationship, domestic, baby fic, cozy, winter)
time left to be lazy (gn reader, established relationship, domestic, baby fic, drabble)
to sprinkle stardust (gn reader, established relationship, birthday event fic, rescue mission)
turn it over (gn reader, first kiss, flirting, sharing a bed, drabble)
under my hands (gn reader/afab sex descriptions, teasing, lingerie, explicit smut)
wind is really blowing (gn reader, established relationship, hurt/comfort, car crash)
with honors (gn reader, professor au, established relationship, making out in a lecture hall)
you are the only one (gn reader, established secret relationship, fake relationship for a mission, fancy outfit smut)
you will hold me (gn reader, established relationship, protecting adrian, hurt/comfort)
youāre mine all of the time (gn reader, established relationship, shower sex, pwp)
your candle burned my skin (gn reader, established relationship, powers and abilities, temporary character death)
adrian chase x ___________ x reader
adrian chase x bruce wayne x reader
gothamās triptych (gn reader, established relationship, polyamory, spitroasting)
when you cannot (gn reader, established relationship, caretaking, reassurances)
adrian chase x chris smith x reader
just dropping by (gn reader, casual sex, polyamory)
adrian chase series
cum laude (professor semi-au) (also on ao3)
pt. 1 ||
happy hauntings (ghosthunters au) (also on ao3)*
pt. 1 ||
kissed by the seaweed (pirates au) (also on ao3)
pt. 1 ||
these moments (colleagues to confessions) (also on ao3)
pt. 1 || pt. 2 ||
*ongoing

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i miss u open the door pls :3 | tasm!peter parker x reader
"Babe, be serious. Let me in!" his pleading was half joking. You smiled despite yourself at his antics. "Let me hold your hair back. It'll be romantic!"
"Nothing about this is romantic," you said unhappily.
"You're being very obtuse right now," Peter said.
summary: you get food poisoning. peter parker is a loving dork [2.2k]
warnings: fluff, slight hurt/comfort heavy on the comfort, does get a bit steamy, idiots in love, sick/throwing up, she/her pronouns used for reader, fem reader
On your fifth ever date with Peter Parker he took you out for Chinese food. He walked the 20 minutes to meet you at your apartment and then another 20 minutes to the restaurant and didn't complain once.
"All this walking," you said shyly, looking down at your place setting, "you must be so tired."
There was something mischievous in his eyes when he said, "I get around quick, bub."
"I still feel bad. You could've just met me here."
"And have my best girl walking alone at night? I don't think so."
You felt you face heat further and averted from his playful look. When he asked what you wanted you said, "I'll have what you're having."
"You don't like what I'm having."
You tried not to smile at the fact that he'd remembered. "Anything else, then."
He pestered you for something specific. You ignored him, stretching your hand out between you both to stroke the skin of his knuckles with your fingertips. You could've sworn they looked very red and a little bruised beforehand, but now they seemed perfectly fine. Must've been the lighting.
He stopped his suggestions to quirk a smile at your small actions, turning his hand upside down to offer it to you. You accepted. He twined your fingers together and squeezed them tightly, as if in confirmation.
The very tops of his ears were turning pink. He cleared his throat and turned back to the laminated menu in his hands, peppy as he listed things he thought you'd like.
"I'll have anything," you said again.
He looked at your face, at your joined hands and then quickly at your face again. "Fine, but if you don't like it you know who to blame."
"You?"
When the food came out it looked amazing. It smelled even better, and you were only marginally disappointed when Peter let go of your hand to start eating because you wanted two hands for your own meal too.
Why dates happened in restaurants, you had no idea. It had always felt so awkward to eat in front of other people, especially when you were trying to make that other person like you romantically. Peter didn't get this memo, as he ate like the food was going to run away. You wished you had it in yourself to be disgusted, but he was still polite enough and so earnest that you were pretty sure everything he did at this point would endear you to him.
He shoved prawn crackers on the edge of your plate pointedly and smiled to himself when you ate them. You weren't sure he even knew himself that he was smiling.
When you finished he would hear about going halfsies. You grinned like a maniac behind your hand when he said, "Pretty girls don't pay."
"That's not very feminist of you," you told him, brushing yourself down for crumbs. He'd already shrugged his jacket on and leaped up to help you into your own.
"I'm super feminist. How about you pay for the next one?"
You rolled your eyes: that's what he'd said last time.
"You can call me pretty without paying for dinner," you told him bravely, letting him lead you by the hand out of the warm, fragrant restaurant and into the cold clutches of the New York streets.
It wasn't raining now, though the streets evidenced a wet spell through the day, shining black from the headlights and streetlamps.
"Okay, pretty girl. I'll hold you to it," he said. He pulled you into his side as closely as you could get and you began down the sidewalk to your home.
Ever the gentleman, Peter made small talk whilst somehow finding ways to throw you little compliments and flirts throughout. By the time you reached your apartment you were warm in the chest and believed yourself half in love with him if you hadn't already been before.
The final straw had been when you came to a pause outside your apartment building. He'd taken both your hands, rubbed his thumb carefully over your knuckles and seemed so intently dedicated to them you'd felt butterflies in every part of your body.
"I love spending time with youā¦" he said, voice unusually shy. "Thank you for coming out with me tonight."
It was the way he kissed you, chaste and sweet, bringing his hand up to the side of your face - specifically that, was the final straw.
You pressed your hand over his and tried to catch his gaze. He was looking distractedly at your mouth.
"Peter," you said, voice lilting, his name like lyric in your mouth. "Do you want to come upstairs?"
He beamed and kissed the corner of your mouth. "Whatever you want."
"I'm trying to tell you- I want you."
You held your breath, almost afraid of his reaction to your blatant flirting. It was more outgoing than you usually were, and in your right mind you never would've said it. You were content and full-bellied, love drunk and feeling it in your veins. Peter was so nice and pretty and magnetic, and he liked you. So you forgave yourself for the vulnerability and invited him in and only felt mildly sick in the elevator after he said yes with a quirked up smile.
Peter seemed like the kind of guy to ruin you passionately where you stood, whereas you were so shy you couldn't order yourself a coffee without stuttering. You knew he took this into account and was softer, more careful with his pursuits, and figured he would never have made this move, so you'd made it for him.
In your apartment he was calm. He looked around at your things curiously as you fought with the zipper on your coat. He glanced over his shoulder from the living room at you still in the doorway, expression softening, drifting back to you to help you out of your coat. He hung it up on the hook next to his, visibly perturbed at your shaky hands.
He rubbed his hands down your arms. "Don't be nervous. We won't do anything you don't want to do. We can sit on the couch all night."
You nodded and kissed the line of his jaw. "I asked you up here, Parker."
His hands found the skin under your ears. He held you in place, head turned up, to gaze into your eyes. "You're beautiful, you know?"
You broke out of his hold, fleeing to the living room to escape his seduction for a moment. "You're such a womaniser."
"The insults are coming out of you on scooters tonight," he remarked, settling down on the couch next to you, though he faced you where you faced the small TV. His fingers found your skin again, flesh of his palm on your cheek. He pressed the very tips of his index and middle finger to the corner of your eye and stroked gentle semi circles. "You have nice eyes."
You closed them in response.
"Hey,"Ā he said, laughing through the word, "open up."
"No," you denied him, scrunching your eyes even further shut.
"That's too bad," he said, lips at your ear now, words quiet.
He shifted your head to bare your neck, and you stilled in anticipation of his mouth. Then, open mouthed, he scandalised your neck, hot featherlight things that ended at the collar of your shirt.
"Peter," you said, giggling madly as his free hand fiddled with the button at your neck.
"What, baby?" he asked, distracted.
"Will you kiss me?"
He happily fulfilled your request, catching your lips with his own. You grinned into his kiss, ticklish as his hand found your thigh and held it like you were something precious.
Your stomach slowly dissolved from butterflies into a dull ache. You couldn't help it as your eyebrows pulled together.
Peter retracted his hands immediately. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." You pushed in for another kiss.
He reciprocated, startled. His hands were tentative to return to your skin, so you took his hand and pressed it to your leg where it had been before.
Another roll of sickness. You grimaced, breaking the kiss to lean your head on Peter's shoulder. You looked down at his lap with your eyes wide.
"Whatās the matter?"
You felt an overwhelming sense of nausea and knew at that moment you would throw up. You clambered out of his grips and barreled for the bathroom doorway, almost slamming the door shut. You locked it without thinking and then you were emptying your stomach, a horror on white porcelain.
"Hey, Y/N. Y/N! Are you alright?"
"Yeah!" you said, and then heaved again. You could hear him fiddling with the door. When it didn't open he knocked against the wood.
"What's wrong?"
"I- threw up."
"I could hear as much. Are you okay? Was itā¦"
"I think it was the food," you said miserably, blinking stressed tears from your eyes. You sat roughly on the ground, hands on the toilet seat, swallowing in attempts to ease your nausea.
It didn't work. You chucked up again.
The door handle rattled more. "Let me in," Peter said, his usual easygoing drawl tinged with worry.
Was he crazy? He wasn't even officially your boyfriend and he thought you'd let him see you in this state? No way.
"Maybe," you swallowed, pressed your forehead to your hand, "you should go home."
"Babe, be serious. Let me in!" his pleading was half serious. You smiled despite yourself at his antics. "Let me hold your hair back. It'll be romantic!"
"Nothing about this is romantic," you said unhappily, though you could've used his hands. You spit bile into the dirty water and felt another bout of sickness. You struggled to your feet to flush the toilet.
"You're being very obtuse right now," Peter said.
"Obtuse!"
"Unkind," he amended.
"Go home, Peter."
"No, I don't think I will. Let me in though?"
You heaved again. Not much came up besides spit.
The door handle wiggled again. "Peter, go home, please. I'll call you when I'm not disgusting."
"You're not disgusting! You're literally sick!"
Of course that was the bit he would focus on. "Please, I'm begging you to go home."
"Can't I just wait out here? I'm not going until I know you're alright."
You heaved. He took this as an answer, and you heard his footsteps retreat into the kitchen. You were too focused on the toilet bowl to listen in on what he was getting upto.
You felt deservedly depressed. This was the opposite of sexy. You'd been looking forward to intimacy with Peter tonight. Now the thing getting ruined was your relationship instead of your underwear.
You pushed the hair out of your sweaty forehead and thanked God that at least you were only chucking up. It could've been worse, you realised, laughing under your breath.
A sound from the doorway, Peter had forced a post it note through the gap. You peered at it wearily. A second joined the first.
What's funny? :0 said the first.
i miss u open the door pls :3 said the second.
You laughed wetly. "Pete, you can just talk to me."
u wont listen to me :(
"What? Peter-" you were interrupted by the sound of him ripping a post it note off.
let me in!!!
"No, I don't want you to see me."
Angry scribbling ensued.
have u considered i don't care what u want?? i am selfish let me in the bathroom
"Peter⦠if you see me like this you won't like me anymore, I promise you."
I promise you I will! unlock the door pretty girl
You felt so sick and miserable and he was so nice and he liked you and it was a lot. You felt tears come to your eyes, pressing your hand over your mouth to sob. It wasn't a completely unhappy sob, more an overwhelmed keen.
"Please go home," you said.
You heard sighing from the other side of the door, and then Peter getting to his feet. You sighed in relief that he was finally leaving and you could be grim in piece when the door handle was rattling again, a quick snapping sound and then the door was opening.
"Was that always broken?" Peter asked, the copper door handle in his hand.
You looked at him with unbridled horror. He held his hands up in surrender.
"I'm sorry! It was loose, I swear!"
You covered your face with both hands.
Peter walked toward you, leaning down to put both of his hands on your head. He pressed your hair down gently. "Hey, why are you so upset, huh? You want some water?"
"I really don't want you to see me like this," you whispered, your traitorous body relaxing under his touch. You knew the room smelled of sick.
"Unlucky for you, I want to see you all the time. Told you I was selfish."
You moaned and pressed your face into his legs, wrapping your arms around him. "This isn't how I imagined tonight going."
"Yeah? And what did you imagine?" he asked. You knew he was smirking.
"Have you ever seen Silence of the Lambs?"
His laughter was roaring.
(Part 2) Lin Ling's guide to becoming an emotional support civilian [YANDERE EDITION]
[TO BE HERO X] x [LIN LING] [Part 1; Part 3 can be found here!]
Context warning: Cursing
Author's note: Finally! I'm finished! This took a hot second, but I hope you guys enjoy this as much as the 1st one!
Once again, thank you @kiraisrika for the idea! [ Also, @izarosf1833, you now owe me your firstborn. I'll be expecting it by mail on Wednesday >: ) ]
.
.
.
Lin Ling was having one hell of a weird day.
Not a bad day, not a good day.Ā
Just a weird day.Ā
Following Miss Juan and her crew into the lobby of Heroās Tower. (His heart was beating frantically in his chest. He can feel his inner child fist-bumping the air because heās finally here! After all these years, heās here-!) He canāt help but try to get out of Niceās grasp, his white hair tickling his jaw. āMan, can you likeā āstop clinging to me like a koalaā ānot?ā No matter how hard he tugged, Niceās grasp was as hard as steel.Ā
āNope!ā
And that was that.Ā
The elevator ride was an equally awkward affairāthe only sounds being the dull music, tapping of nails on tablet, and the light breaths of everyone in the elevator. The only one who wasnāt awkward was Nice, but Lin Ling, drunk off of hysteria and exhaustion, suspected that he had taken something and was high off his rocker, if only to make sense of this nonsensical situation.Ā
Like he knew he had ārelaxation powers,ā but his number wasnāt nearly high enough for this! Hell, it wasnāt even affecting Miss Juan and the other men who were standing at armās length of him! Really, the only thing his powers should be doing is offering the same calming effects as lavender, not acting likeā¦like-like catnip to drug-addicted cats!Ā
āHoly shit, I compared Nice to a drug-addicted cat. What is my life?āĀ
āWeāre here,ā Miss Juan announced, breaking him out of his thoughts before they could spiral even further. Stepping out into the apartment, he looks around, and he has to admit.
It sucks.Ā
Now, when he imagined a superheroās apartment, and one belonging to the 15th hero at that, he imagined something grand, with white walls lined with gold and classical elements strung around to give it a real luxurious, Victorian feel. But even without those expectations, this is just a sad apartment. What with its barren walls devoid of life, not a single small plant to liven the space, and the less said about the gaudy, grandiose statue in the middle, the better.Ā
āDo you like it?ā Nice ask, turning to look at him. Lin Ling doesnāt know what face he is making, but it must have shown his true feeling as Nice barks out a laugh. āYeah, me neither.ā He perks up. āBut! Since youāll be living here from now on, you can redecorate all you want! No budget! Here, let me give you a tour.ā Detaching himself only to immediately grab onto his hand, Nice floats into the sky and begins to tug him when-
āNot so fast.ā A hand shot out and grabbed onto Niceās cape, yanking him back down to the ground. āWe donāt have time for house tours. You two are coming with me and are going to sign enough papers to make your hands bleed, do you understand?ā All Lin Ling can do is nod. Nice rolls his eyes, but they both dutifully follow Miss Juan as she leads them to the office.Ā
The office was just as sparsely decorated as the rest of the house, with only two white couches facing each other, a long glass table in between, and bookshelves sandwiching everything together. The only good part was the window wall, letting in enough light that they didnāt need to turn on the lights if they wanted to.Ā
Sitting stiffly on one couch with Nice and Miss Juan on the other, what ensued was a full hour and a half of back and forth between Nice and Miss Juan that was one blow away from a full-blown fistfight. He also had to sign enough papers toālike she saidāmake his hands bleed.Ā
His vision started blurring around the fifth paper, and by the 20th, his eyes were gorilla-glued together. It took all his strength not to faceplant into the stack of papers and sleep away the next year and then some.
ā- He will not be joining you in your stunts with Wreck. How many times do I have to tell you before you get it through your thick skull?! āAnd how many times do I have to tell you that if heās not joining me, Iām out! Permanently! What? Do you want me to spell it in blood? Iāll do it!ā āOh, for the love of God, you are acting like a child!ā āAnd youāre acting like a bitch!ā āYou-!ā
Okay, thatās it. āCan I go to the bathroom?ā He asked quietly and flinched slightly as both snapped their heads at him. āFine. Be quick.ā āIāll go with you!ā They both said simultaneously. Miss Juan intensified her glare at Nice, but he was already getting up from the couch to follow him.Ā
āHuh? What? No! I- Thank you, but I really donāt want you following me to the bathroom.ā Realizing a beat too late that it sounded a tad too rude, he awkwardly tacked on āBesides, you two still need to finish up...whatever you guys were talking about! Donāt worry! Iāll be back in a flash!āĀ
Nice narrows his eyes, looking like he wants to argue further. After a second and a half of silence, Nice sighs.
āPromise?ā Lin Ling nodded in rapid succession, āPromise!ā
He jogged out of the office. The door clicks softly behind him. Not looking back, he runs.
He didnāt know where he was headed, and frankly didnāt care. This wasnāt how his day was supposed to turn out. He was supposed to be at work, hunched over his computer as he edited frame by frame, or he was supposed to be in his boss's office, getting yelled at over his promo videos. Or, he was suppose to be at the ledge, looking death in the face before chickening out and going back to his shitty one bedroom apartment to enjoy another cup noodle dinner.
He wasnāt supposed to be hereāwhy was he even still here in the first place? He should just take the elevator down and go back home. Leave this all behind him andā
āHey! Cheer up!ā
The elevator was in sight; just a few more steps to get there. But, even if deaf and blind, he would recognize that voice anywhere. Turning his head, he saw a blimp outside, displaying.Ā
ā....Moon?ā
āBeing alive means experiencing many challenges, but please, donāt lose faith!ā
Moon voices wash over him, and he canāt help but remember the long nights spent at his deskāthe only light coming from the bright LED monitor in front of him, burning his eyes with its glow, and how the only thing that kept him going was her encouragement.
Does he want to leave Nice?
Sure, the last few hours were the most overwhelmed he has ever felt and sure, Nice was- well pushy was to put it mildly. But, does he really want to leave? Leave Nice and go back home to no one?Ā Continue his life like this never happened?
You donāt have a responsibility to Nice.
No, he doesnāt; he knows that. But⦠Niceās mental state is clearly in tatters, and if his presenceāif his abilityācan bring him some peace, then heāll stay. He may not be a hero, but if he can help one person, then thatāll be enough.Ā
If Lin Ling can be a hero to one person, thatāll be enough.
.
.
.
Stepping back into the room (he did genuinely need that bathroom break), he was surprised to find the place as neat as when he first walked in. Honestly, he was expecting a war zone.Ā
Miss Juan looked like someone had pulled multiple teeth out of herāscowling and rapidly typing something away on her table. Meanwhile, Nice looked like he just caught the canary. His smile was wide, smug, and real. (Looking at it, he canāt help but compare it to all the others he's seen before- plastered on billboards and ads. He never noticed how fake they were before.) āYou came back.ā Nice tilts his head to look at him, his smile softening.Ā
Lin Ling tilted his head back at him. Of course he did. āOf course I did,ā he answers simply, taking a seat back on the couch. Nice wastes no time in scooting over until their bodies touch. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Niceās tense body relaxing, his shoulder slumping, and his perfect posture faltering just a bit.Ā
āEhm,ā Miss Juan cleared her throat, breaking Lin Ling out of his train of thought. He turns back to her, āWe finally managed to draft up a final contract for yourāā Wait, what? āHold on, what were the ten million other papers I signed before for then?ā She raises an unimpressed eyebrow. āNDAs, of course. Since you will be living here, you are bound to see other superheroes and their teams. So, you have to sign an NDA for every single one of them.ā
āNow thisāā She waves a single white paper up in the air before placing it on the table. Nice reaches out to straighten it out while she continues, āāis an offer of employment to join Treeman Corp as Niceās emotional support civilian. Inside, I have outlined all of the benefits you will receive when you join us.ā
Yeah, that makes sense- Hold on. Snatching the paper off the table, his eyes skimmed to- Holy shit, there it is. Written in bold black ink.Ā
āEMOTIONAL SUPPORT HUMAN!? Why is that the name!?ā He stares up incredulously at Miss Juan, only for Nice to reply.
āIt fits, no?ā He cocks his head as he skims the contract. āOriginally she wanted your title and job to be one of a personal assistant, but!ā His smile widened, bordering on blinding. āYou will not have to lift a single finger as long as you stay by my side! So, we changed it to this!ā
āā¦ā
āDo you like it?ā
āā¦Just hand me the pen.ā
.
.
.
Lin Ling was starting to get nervous.Ā
After signing the contract (He tried getting the name changed to anything- anything else, but, coupled with Niceās puppy eyes and Miss Juan pointedly looking at the clock, he gave up and just accepted his fate, his embarrassing, embarrassing fate), Miss Juan immediately chaperoned them to True Love Recipeās studio where they were shoved into the makeup room with what he assumed to be the script and were told to wait for the makeup artist.Ā
They were told that 30 or so minutes ago at 7:00 pm.
It was now 7:43 pm
The show starts at 8.
Lin Ling was getting anxious, and from the sound of Nice reshuffling every item on the desk and him glancing at his phone every minute, so was he.Ā
āShouldnāt the makeup artist be here by now?ā Nice looked up, offering a reassuring smile to Lin Ling. āDonāt worry, heās often late, so this isnāt out of the norm for him.ā He gnaws on his lip, glancing at his phone. āStill,ā He presses, āIt might be a good idea to do your own makeup, Nice. Just in case heās a no-show.ā
Nice hums, āI should." He pauses, "There is a problem, however.ā Holding up a finger, he turns to Lin Ling with an almost embarrassed smile, āI donāt know how to do makeup.ā
āFor real?ā āYes.ā He turns back to the assorted makeup, picking up two of the nearest bottles. āIt shouldnāt be too hard, though, itās just blush and cream, right?ā Lin Ling couldnāt help but snort, the sound making Nice blush a faint pink. āHere,ā Getting up from the couch, he walks over and plucks the two bottles out of his hands. āSit, Iāll do it for you.ā Nice stared at him in shock before immediately slamming himself down into the chair.Ā
Leaning in close, he canāt help but marvel at how smooth his face is, not an acne scar in sight. This will make his job real easy then. Looking at the makeup supplies on the desk, he picks up a highlight and contour palette along with a big bristle brush. Opening the thing up, he begins to paint.
He should keep the makeup light, he muses to himself as the soft, repetitive motion of blending and smoothing things out lulls him into a trance, just enough so the stage lights wonāt wash him out. Stepping back half a step and deeming the contour complete, he picks up a blush to continue the process.
Nice observes him with half-lidded eyes, āYouāve done this before.ā
āMmph,ā he nods, carefully applying the blush. āA coworker of mine got really sick and begged me to fill in for them as the makeup artist for some small commercial. Feeling bad, I agreed.ā A grimace tugged on his face as he further recalled the memory. āMy boss got on my ass about it, though. Assigned me so much work after because ā-If you have the time to play around with dress-up, you have the time to finish these by Monday!ā God, I had to pull so many all-nighters to finish those.ā During his semi-rant, he didnāt notice how Niceās eyes narrowed into slits, his hands clenching into fists.
āWhy didnāt you quit?āĀ
Lin Ling freezes for half a step, his hand reaching for the gloss. He laughs, āWell, because I liked the job.ā He starts, turning around with the gloss in his hands. Bending in closer, he uncaps the lid. āSure, it wasnāt my dream to work there, and my boss was an absolute grade A asshole, but,ā Tilting Niceās chin up, he began to apply the lip gloss, the stick sliding across Niceās lips, leaving them shiny and plump. āI always wanted to help, and whatās better than to help out heroes from behind the scenes?ā
(He doesnāt mention the fact that his actual want was to be a hero, to punch bad guys and save innocents. He doesnāt mention the fact that when he was a child, he would look up at heroes like Nice and want.) Dammit, a bit of the gloss got onto his skin. Swiping it off with his thumb, he steps back to admire his work andā
Niceās face was red. Pure tomato red.
Shit āDid I hurt you?" Fuck, fuck, fuck "I am so sorry! What do I do!? Are you allergic to something!? Hold on, let me go find a doctor!ā Turning around, he was about to sprint before a hand shot out to stop him.
ā...No, Iām fine. You didnāt hurt me.ā Turning back around, Niceās once tomato-red face has calmed to a dusty pink. āStill, shouldnāt you get checked out? I'm sure I can find a doctor before the show starts.ā Lin Ling argued. Niceās mouth opened to retort when-
Miss Juan bursts into the room, tablet in hand.Ā
āWhatās taking so long!?ā She demands, āWeāre airing in 5! Get your asses on set!āĀ
.
.
.
Oh, Lin Ling,
Does he know how much he is affecting him?
How must know. He must know how much he drives Nice mad.Ā
His heart is still beating uncontrollably in his chest, the touches left by Lin Ling burn on his skin, and the way his face was just a breath away, his cute eyes focusing on him and only him. Oh, how it took all his patience not to pounce on the boy and take him right then and there.
The angerāthe absolute fury he felt when Lin Ling began talking about the despicable man who was once his boss took him by surprise. A day ago, he could barely muster the energy to get out of bed, but now? His vision was filled with red and how he wanted to hurt. Hurt all who dared to lay a finger on Lin Ling. Lin Lingās boss is a dead man on borrowed time because the minute he gets his hands on himā
Perhaps heāll present his head as a gift to Lin Ling, showing him how deep his devotion goes. Show him that whatever he wants, Nice will provide.
Oh, Lin Ling, you truly are my heart.
Now, if only filming could end right so he can take Lin Ling back home. But alas, he must suffer sitting next to Moon as this new host, whatās-his-name, goes wildly off script, rambling about one thing or another. Really, the only thing stopping him from killing the guy was Lin Ling.
Lin Ling, who is standing behind the host. Far away from him so the camera canāt see, but close enough that Nice can see all the intricate details on his pretty little face. Nice smiles.Ā Ā
Ah, what a good day.Ā
I love your headcanons of Tasm!Peter x chubby reader on a fall day, and I was wondering if youād consider doing something similar but during winter/Christmas? I understand if not, because the headcannons were part of a follower celebration! Or maybe a fic with Peter and reader at a Christmas market? Sending you air kisses! š
Thanks for requesting lovely! I didn't really find ways to make this explicitly chubby reader but as always you're welcome to imagine her with any body type you like. Air kisses back! <3
cw: reader has hair long enough to put up/pull back
tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ā” 665 words
Peter finds himself obsessed with your ears. Youāve forgone a hat and your hair is up, but you seem overall less concerned with the crisp wind than Peter is. Every time you stop in a stall, his hands come up over your ears, trying to coax warmth into them. Youāre more or less ignoring him.Ā
āWe should get you some earmuffs,ā Peter says while you peruse a vendorās selection of ornaments.Ā
āWhy, when I have you?āĀ
āRude.ā He pinches the top of your ear. āIām good for more than that.āĀ
You step to the side, and Peter follows dutifully, not making his point very well.Ā
āYouāre the one who wants to do this,ā you argue good naturedly. āMy ears are fine. Also, weāre supposed to be finding things for other people, not ourselves.āĀ
Peter lifts one hand away from your ear, blowing hot air into his cupped hand. You jump and squeal, ticklish, apologizing hastily to the vendor when she looks your way.Ā
āStop that,ā you hiss at Peter, face still warm with the echo of your smile. When you take his hands and use them to pull him closer Peter doesnāt resist, his arms draping over your shoulders and his front against your back.Ā
He kisses your cheek complaisantly. āIf I bought them for you they wouldnāt be for myself.āĀ
āPeter. Focus.ā You hold up a small ornament. āDo you think your aunt would like this? She really likes elephants, right?āĀ
āShe does,ā Peter allows, ābut sheās got, like, ten jillion elephant ornaments already.āĀ
You frown. āDo you think that means she might want more?āĀ
He weighs this. āMaybe. Her treeās gonna collapse, though.āĀ
āThis oneās light. It wonāt be our fault.ā You hold onto the ornament. Peter grins and smushes his lips to your face again. You squeeze his hands, turning your face like youāre going to kiss him but stopping when something catches your eye. āOh.ā Your voice bends with adoration. āLook at this.āĀ
You reach out to pull an ornament off the wall. Itās a small wooden bird, intricate, with strings attached to its wings and belly. Its body has been painted with tiny, meticulous brushstrokes to give it feathers of various colors. You pull gently on the string, and its wings move up and down.Ā
āThat is cool,ā Peter says.Ā
Youāre charmed, eyes soft and happy. Itās the way you look out the window when itās snowing or at dogs walking past you on the street. āItās so lovely.āĀ
Peter has the urge to kiss you silly. āIt is.āĀ
āDo we know anyone that would want this?āĀ
āYou, obviously.āĀ
You give Peter a sideways smile paired with a playful glare. āAnyone else.āĀ
He hugs you close, mouth pulling to one side as he thinks. āI donāt think so, sweetheart. I mean, itās really cool, but I donāt know anyone who would like it as much as you.āĀ
You pull the string again, watching the wooden birdās wings flap ruefully. Peter knows youāll never get it for yourself.Ā
āHey,ā he says, āletās go get some shitty hot chocolate. Iām freezing.āĀ
Your smile renews. āYou are not.āĀ
āFine, you got me. I want to get you a hot chocolate because Iām worried your face is gonna freeze. Please?āĀ
āOkay.ā You return the ornament to its hook, dotting a kiss on Peterās cheek and gathering up the ones youāve already decided to get. āLet me just buy these and we can go.āĀ
You know your boyfriend well enough to be suspicious of him. You keep a close eye on Peter as you pay for your gifts, chatting with the vendor and beaming when she gives you a little pouch with a ribbon for each one. He smiles guilelessly and lets you take him by the hand to pull him with you out of the stall.Ā
Fortunately, Peter is quicker than you give him credit for. His cash is on the counter and your ornament safely in his pocket before you turn the corner.
keeping secrets [tasm! peter parker x reader]
"But," he murmured, "I'm not the only one keeping secrets. Am I, sweetheart?"
"I thought maybe you knew," you whispered. There was no reason for it, nobody was around to hear it, but something about secrets demanded whispering.
"I think maybe I did," he said back, thumb moving over your cheek.
summary best friends know everything about each other, right?
warnings blood, injuries, stitches, fem!reader, she/her pronouns used for reader, fluff, angst, low-key hurt/comfort, mutual pining <3
Your cell phone was ringing.
You sweared loudly and almost dropped your coffee, then remembered where you were and gave an apologetic glance to the other passengers on the train before answering the call and shoving the speaker close to your ear, fighting with the bag of groceries in your hand.
"Hi, Pete!" you answered brightly. "How are you?"
"Hey, bub. I'm okay, I'm great. How are you? I came by your apartment," Peter said, voice crackly with bad reception.
You held your phone to your ear with your shoulder and searched through your purse for your small eyeshadow compact, flipping it open to analyse your appearance in the mirror.
"I'm on the subway 2 stops from your apartment," you said, groaning. "This is why communication is important."
"We communicate all the time."
You chewed your lip. "Actually - I was trying to surprise you because, well, don't you feel like something is amiss lately?"
"Amiss?" he asked worriedly.
"I don't know. We're never on the same page these days," you sighed, taking the phone back in your hand.
There was a small silence.
"You're my best friend," Peter said, like he was telling himself that too.
"I know. You're my best friend too," you replied hastily.
"There's something I haven't been telling you."
You paused. "There is?"
"It's not bad. It's," he chuckled to himself, "it's actually a good thing. You might think it's great, I hope. After the shock wears off."
"Peter, what are you talking about?"
"Look, I'll meet you outside mine and we'll talk, okay?"
"Pete-"
"I'll tell you everything," his words were softer. "No more space. Okay?"
"Okay."
"Catch you in a few."
You wrestled your bags off of the train and through the crowded station, up the steep steps and the ten minutes to Peter's apartment. By the time you got there you were lightly perspiring and stressing about how your hair looked, and you were totally convinced that Peter Parker, your best friend since you were six years old, was about to tell you he was in love with you.
You loved him, of course. It was kind of hard not to love him. Peter was kind down to his bones, loving like you wouldn't believe. He was the smartest person you'd ever met and had ambition that felt almost unfathomable to you, oozed raw talent into his hobbies; he took gorgeous photos that had you in awe like it was no big deal and sewed anything you asked him to. Even the smaller things made you dizzy, like how he never killed a bug if he could help it, how he made you sandwiches every single day freshman year and didn't care if you didn't eat them, how he looked in the sunlight. How he yawned, how he hiccuped, how he laughed. The way he stretched when he woke up, how his muscles moved under his skin when you pretended to be suddenly and irredeemably interested in his wallpaper.
You could see him jogging toward you. When he got close enough he stretched out his hand for your groceries and then your purse.
"Peter, I can carry my own bag."
"Why should you?" he asked impishly, wrestling the strap from your fingers.
He kissed your cheek. "I've missed you, bub."
"I missed you too. It feels like I haven't seen you in a year," you said, glowing.
You fell into step beside him.
"Only 4 days and 5 hours."
"Why do you know that?"
"I know everything."
Right. Sometimes it felt like he did.
You looked at him out of the corner of your eye. He seemed anxious, his shoulders taut, mouth set in a determined smile that was fraying at the edges. You withheld the urge to bump his shoulder, poking fun at him verbally instead.
"Not often Peter Parker's scared to tell me something," you teased.
He grimaced. You watched his hands tighten around your bags, knuckles going white.
"I'm not scared," he complained at your word choice.
"Nervous," you compromised.
He turned his head and you turned yours.
"I'm not nervous."
"Good," you nodded, holding open the first door of his apartment building. He turned around so you could retrieve his keys from the front pocket of his backpack and you did, unlocking the door to begin up the stairs. "There's nothing to be nervous about," you said, hoping to hint at your returned feelings.
He heard the meaningful undertone, looking at you in a calculating way and then sighing, relieved.
"You know?" he asked.
You were at the second staircase now. You paused to clear your throat, feeling your bravado slip away. You grabbed at it with slippery fingers. "I had a hunch."
He tipped his head and groaned. You looked unabashedly at the curve of his neck.
"I suck at keeping secrets."
"From me? Yes, you do."
The third flight of stairs. Peter was unbothered by the weight of what he was carrying, making quick time. You rushed to keep up with him, pushing in front of him so you could open his door and let him in so he could put down the bags as quickly as possible. He laughed at you.
"Thanks," he said warmly.
After he put the bags down he hugged you tightly to his chest. You wormed your arms around his waist familiarly, leaning your head against his shirt. "I'm so happy you're okay with it."
He was being coy.
"Peter, why wouldn't I be?"
"Well," he looked down at you, eyebrows raised, "it's dangerous."
"Right," you said, laughing loudly. Love was super dangerous.
His hands were hot, one arm wrapped over your shoulder the other under. His hugs made you feel protected, undeniably safe.
"That doesn't worry you?" he said, nonplussed.
"Are you kidding?"
"No, I'm not."
"It's a good thing, like you said. It's a great thing."
He swayed you from side to side. "Yeah?"
"Of course it is," you said, shrugging. You looked up at his face, "it is, right?"
"Sure," he was grinning too, "not everyday your best friend gets superpowers."
"Exactly, and-" you blinked owlishly. The world was suddenly very loud in your ears. "What?"
Peter was still grinning. "This is so great. I've been dying to show you the suit ever since I made it. I could use your hands. Oh! You'll have a field day with my embroidering, I know you will, but I didn't have a lot of time. You'll have to-"
"Pete," you said, shrugging out of his hold. "What?"
He scrunched his eyebrows together. "The suit?"
"Superpowers?"
"What, you thought I was doing all that without superpowers?"
"You have superpowers?" you asked incredulously.
"Bub," he laughed, going to grab the hem of your shirt.
You stepped back out of his reach.
"What's wrong?" he asked, lips turning down.
What was wrong? What was worse? Peter wasn't telling you he was in love with you. Peter wasā¦
"You're Spider-Man?"
His apartment was still dark. The groceries were tipping over at your feet. You could hear Peter's upstairs neighbour watching TV.
His smile faded. "I thought youā¦"
Your chest clouded sharply with hurt and something else, unidentifiable and all consuming. Peter was Spider-Man, the masked superhero that had been protecting New York for literal years now. Years. And you'd had the idiocy to think a mutual crush was the biggest (badly kept) secret between you both.
No. It seemed like Peter was great at keeping secrets.
You shook it off as best you could, which wasn't well.
"This is amazing. It's amazing. How- how did it happen?" you said weakly.
He was squinting at you. "I got bit. By a spider."
You giggled. It was all wrong, pitchy and off center. "A spider?"
"A radioactive spider."
"Do you. Um. Do you have, like, pincers?"
"Bub, no."
You looked down at your hands. "Right."
"You sound disappointed."
"I'm sure I'll recover from your not having pincers, Peter."
"No, I mean- you sound disappointed that I'm Spider-Man."
You stretched out your fingers, struggling to look at him.
"It actually makes perfect sense. You're the only person I know who's kind enough to fit the bill," you said. As soon as you said it you realised it was true.
"But?"
"But what?"
"I can hear it in your voice. There's something you're not saying," he said. His voice was tight, like he was frustrated or about to be.
You squeezed your eyes shut tight and grabbed your bag, turning to his door. Peter's fingers landed at your shoulder, pulling you back in.
"Babe-"
You moved your shoulder from under his hand and flinched away, hands up as if to say please don't touch me right now.
"Y/N," he said.
"I don't feel well."
"Come on, come sit down. We'll talk about it."
"I'll text you when I get home."
"Don't go-" he started.
You shut his door behind you and stood at the doorway for a few seconds, heart racing.
Superpowers.
You blinked back embarrassed tears and started down his stairs. Peter had superpowers.
-
4.56PM
I'm home
alright
is everything okay ??
you left sort of quickly
i put the groceries away - were
you gonna make baked ziti?
7.00PM
we can still make it if you want
if you're feeling better tomorrow
8.00PM
I'm sorry I didn't tell you about it,
if that's why u were upset
bub, call me? or tomorrow, if you're
sleeping
I can explain everything
anything you need me to
You looked down at your phone screen and sighed. You didn't take any pleasure from ignoring Peter. In fact, you felt so guilty you worried people could see it on your face.
The longer you ignored Peter the more he would text you, until this morning when there'd been one last text. Since then, radio silence.
I'm sorry. I'll give you space.
You didn't really want space. You couldn't work it out.
For a while you'd thought it to be anger. He'd kept this from you for so long - he'd probably lied to you, a lot. And he'd been so reckless. How many Spider-Man versus supervillain showdowns had you seen since he'd begun protecting Queens?
And you definitely were angry, so angry, that he would risk his life like this. Every night. When he wasn't spending a night with his Aunt May or watching a movie at your place, somebody was hurting him somewhere.
That made you sick.
After the anger faded came the worry. You worried he was going to die, he was going to be fatally injured, he was going to bite off more than he could chew. You worried he might get knocked down and he wouldn't be able to get back up.
He was only one boy. He was only your boy. How had he done all this alone? It kept you up.
He was probably going to get himself killed and what - you'd have to sit back and watch?
And then, at the base of your isolation, the real reason you couldn't stand to see him. Peter was smart. He was a genius. He must've worked out exactly what you'd thought he was going to say, and so he must know how you felt for him. Suddenly your biggest secrets were laid out on the table and you were trying uselessly to go back to a time where they weren't. Time didn't ever move backwards. This was now. Peter was Spider-Man and you were in love with him. You were in love with Spider-Man. Being in love with Peter had come as easy as breathing. You worried loving Spider-Man would be much harder.
You were mulling this over in bed, staring morosely at your ceiling. The window was open, for once a warm summer breeze was floating in lazily through the gap. It was quiet enough to endure the cacophony of chaos outdoors, and it was the sound that helped you not go insane with your own thoughts. You'd call him, you resolved. You'd call him. You hadn't gone a day without talking to Peter since you were twelve years old when the weekends had felt so long that Peter had saved up enough allowance to buy you a flip phone and you'd cried and held his hand for five hours.
You wouldn't have lasted much longer without his company, anyhow, when your window was being pushed open.
You winced bodily, crawling backwards on your bedsheets to push against the headboard.
"Sorry, I'm sorry. Don't be scared," Peter pleaded, voice slightly muffled by the Spider-Man mask. He pulled it off quickly, and then slumped against your bedroom wall.
"What the fuck," you said, dropping your hands in your lap, "Spider-Man's a burglar now?"
"Breaking and entering ā I haven't stolen anything. And only on weekends."
His joke made you laugh, which in turn made you feel guilty.
"Pete, I'm sorry. Really sorry. I know I wasn't as excited for you as I should've been," you said softly.
Peter made a sound like you'd poked him, "That's alright," he said hurriedly, "that's just fine. I don't care."
You frowned, a little hurt. "You don't care?"
"Mind!" he corrected, gasping. "I don't mind."
You traced the gloves of his suit, one pressed tight to his side, and the fabric was all dark and wet and, "Peter, what's that?"
"Don't be scared," he said again, looking between you and the dripping wound, "I got stabbed."
"Stabbed!"
"Quite badly!" he said, tone echoing your own.
You crawled down the length of your bed and threw yourself at his side, trying to pull his hand away.
"Not a good idea, bub."
"What?"
"It's a pretty big gash."
"Gash!"
"Bub," Peter said, voice steady despite his injury, "stay calm. Everything will be okay. I need a - a towel, or anything to put pressure on it while it heals. Okay? Can you do that for me?"
"Right," you spun away from him and then spun back, "you're okay?"
"I won't die in the 30 seconds it takes you to find a towel."
You weren't so sure but you did as he asked and retrieved a clean towel for him to push against his abdomen. He hissed as he did it.
"You need to go to the emergency room," you told him, pressing your hand over his bloody one.
"I only need stitches."
"Only!"
"It's fine." He was looking at you strangely again, like he did that day in the stairwell.
"What if something important got all knifed?" you exclaimed.
He grabbed a hold of your face with a bloody glove, wincing as he did it. You could feel your heart beating out of your chest and your breaths were coming painfully quick. Held still, he looked from one eye to the other and didn't smile, didn't frown, just looked. You realised he was breathing purposefully and made to copy him.
"I'm sorry for coming here. Your place was closer and it's worse than usual, but. It isn't fatal. It isn't an emergency. I need a first aid kit and I'll be fine."
He was nodding as he said it. You copied him, huffing big exhales through your nose.
"How often does this happen?" you asked, stressed.
"Not a lot. Usually with much smaller knives."
You blew hair out of your face and marched into your bathroom for your first aid kit and the bottle of hydrogen peroxide, staining the doorway with blood as you pushed past it.
Peter sat heavily on your floor. You had a sneaking suspicion he was lying about how serious the wound was, as he'd begun to sweat badly. He pulled the gloves off of one hand with his teeth and then pressed his naked hand to the towel to replace the first and did the same, his blood staining his mouth red-pink, like kool-aid.
He looked up at you worriedly. "I got blood on your face."
"Should see yourself," you murmured, kneeling down. You helped him out of the suit's top half, revealing his chiseled chest and torso, his wound lazily sobbing blood. You pressed the towel back to his body and blinked.
"It's slower now," Peter said.
"And if it doesn't stop bleeding?"
"It will."
It did. Peter watched your pour peroxide on his stab wound and let you thread the needle for stitches, but when you moved to assess the cut he stopped you, putting a red hand over yours.
"I can do it."
You inhaled.
"I'm glad. I don't think I have the stomach for it."
"You don't have to watch if it's too much."
Even though he needed two hands and you didn't want to annoy him you still found a way to be close to him, digging your fingers into his thigh. He didn't complain though you knew your grip would've been bruising on anyone else.
You noticed his sharp inhales and knew when he was pulling the stitches tight. Once he'd finished he sort of deflated, clipping the string short and putting the stitching needle back in the plastic case.
Your knees ached from kneeling at his side.
He placed his hand over the bloody side of your face. Your skin burned under his touch. You wavered in that impenetrable bubble of silence for minutes, savouring the feel of his skin on yours, the drag of his thumb against your face.
"M'sorry. For keeping it a secret."
You leaned into his hand more, intending for it to serve as a you're forgiven. You worried if you opened your eyes you'd cry.
"But," he murmured, "I'm not the only one keeping secrets. Am I, sweetheart?"
"I thought maybe you knew," you whispered. There was no reason for it, nobody was around to hear it, but something about secrets demanded whispering.
"I think maybe I did," he said back, thumb moving over your cheek. You peaked at him out of one eye, pins and needles picking at your skin.
"You did?"
"Told you - I know everything."
You laughed and dropped your chin, looking at him from under your lashes, feeling humiliated. "You're full of it, Parker."
He pulled your chin up with his index finger.
"You love me," he said, more fact than question.
"Only since we were 6 years old."
"Watch my stitches," he advised, leaning in.
You squeaked, startled, "What are you doing?"
"No more space. Is that⦠okay?"
"What, just like that?" you asked, and then kicked yourself. He was trying to kiss you and you were trying your hardest to persuade him not to? Imbecile.
Peter traced the line of your half smile with his index finger. It was so gentle you almost forgot you were both covered in blood.
"We're in love, aren't we?" he asked, smiling softly. "What else do you do?"
You were at once overcome with affection for his worn, tired face, his bleeding body. You did as he said and watched for his stitches, pressing your hand against the space in the middle of his chest and leaned down.
You stopped above his mouth.
"You love me?" you asked. Not because you didn't know but because you were too selfish to wait.
"I love you. N'now I'm all out of secrets," he mumbled, darting upwards to catch your lips in a chaste kiss.
The pressure of his mouth on yours was familiar enough to leave you feeling blindsided and full of shocks, hand trembling over his heart. Peter tilted his head to open your mouth slowly and you moved your hand to his neck, anchoring yourself to his skin.
You broke the kiss, pushing your forehead gently against his chin. "You taste like blood."
He laughed hard enough to hurt, clutching his side.
"Kiss me anyway?" he asked you.
How could you deny him?
<3
thanks so much for reading
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Things between you and Peter change with the seasons. [17k]Ā
c: friends-to-lovers, hurt/comfort, loneliness, peter parker isnāt good at hiding his alter ego, fluff, first kisses, mutual pining, loved-up epilogue, mention of self-harm with no graphic imagery
ļ½”š¦¹Ā°ā§ā.į
FallĀ
Peter Parker is a resting place for overworked eyes, like warm topaz nestled against a blue-cold city. He waits on you with his eyes to the screen of his phone, clicking the power button repetitively. A nervous tic.Ā
You close the heavy door of your apartment building. His head stays still, yet heās heard the sound of it settling, evidence in his calmed hand.Ā
āGood morning!ā You pull your coat on quickly. āSorry.āĀ
āGood morning,ā he says, offering a sleep-logged smile. āShould we go?āĀ
You follow Peter out of the cul-de-sac and into the street as he drops his phone into a deep pocket. To his credit, he doesnāt check it while you walk, and only glances at it when youāre taking your coat off in the heat of your favourite cafe: The Moroccan Mode glows around you, fog kissing the windows, condensation running down the inner lengths of it in beads. You murmur something to do with the odd fog and Peter tells you about water vapour. When it rains tonight, he says itāll be warm water that falls.Ā
He spreads his textbook, notebook, and rinky-dink laptop out across the table while you order drinks. Peter has the same thing every visit, a decaf americano, in a wide brim mug with the pink-petal saucer. You put it down on his textbook only because thatās where he would put it himself, and you both get to work.Ā
As Peter helps you study, you note the simplicity of another normal day, and canāt help wondering what it is thatās missing. Something is, something Peter wonāt tell you, the absence of a truth hanging over your heads. You ask him if he wants to get dinner and he says no, heās busy. You ask him to see a movie on Friday night and he wishes he could.Ā
Peter misses you. When he tells you, you believe him. āI wish I had more time,ā he says.Ā
āItās fine,ā you say, āyou canāt help it.ā
āWeāll do something next weekend,ā he says. The lie slips out easily.Ā
To Peter it isnāt a lie. In his head, heāll find the time for you again, and youāll be friends like you used to be.Ā
You press the end of your pencil into your cheek, the dark roast, white paper and condensation like grey noise. This time last year, the air had been thick for days with fog you could cut. He took you on a trip to Manhattan, less than an hour from your red-brick neighbourhood, and you spent the day in a hotel pool throwing great cupfuls of water at each other. The fog was gone just fifteen miles away from home but the warm air stayed. When it rained it was sudden, strange, spit-warm splashes of it hammering the tops of your heads, your cheeks as you tipped your faces back to spy the dark clouds.Ā
Peter had swam the short distance to you and held your shoulders. You remember feeling like your whole life was there, somewhere youād never been before, the sharp edges of cracked pool tile just under your feet.Ā
You peek over the top of your laptop screen and wonder if Peter ever thinks of that trip.Ā
He feels you watching and meets your eyes. āI have to tell you something,ā he says, smiling shyly.Ā
āSure.āĀ
āI signed us up for that club.āĀ
āEpigenetics?āĀ
āMolecular medicine,ā he says.Ā
The nice thing about fog is that it gives a feeling of lateness. Itās still morning, barely ten, but it feels like the early evening. Itās gentle on the eyes, colouring the whole room with a sconced shine. You reach for Peterās bag and sort through his jumble of possessions āstick deodorant, loose-leaf paper, a bodegaās worth of protein barsā and grab his camera.Ā
āWhat are you doing?āĀ
āIām cataloguing the moment you ruined our lives,ā you say, aiming the camera at his chin, squinting through the viewfinder.Ā
āTechnically, I signed us up a few days ago,ā he says.Ā
You snap his photo as his mouth closes around āagoā, keeping his half-laugh stuck on his lips. āSemantics,ā you murmur. āAnd molecular medicine club, this has nothing to do with the estranged Gwen Stacy?ā
āIt has nothing to do with her. And you like molecular medicine.ā
āI like oncology,ā you correct, which is a sub-genre at best, āand I have enough work without joining another club. Go by yourself.āĀ
āI canāt go without you,ā he says. Simple as that.Ā
He knew youād say yes when he signed you up. Itās why he didnāt ask. Youāre already forgiven him for the slight of assumption.Ā
āWhen is it?ā you ask, smiling.Ā
ā
Molecular medicine club is fun. You and a handful of ESU nerds gather around a big table in a private study room for a few hours and read about the newer discoveries and top research, like regenerative science and now taboo Oscorp research. Itās boring, sometimes, but then Peter will lean into your side and make a joke to keep you going.Ā
He looks at Gwen Stacy a lot. Slender, pale and freckled, with blonde hair framing a sweet face. Only when he thinks youāre not looking. Only when she isnāt either.Ā
ā
āGood morning,ā you say.Ā
Peter holds an umbrella over his head that heās quick to share with you, and together you walk with heads craned down, the umbrella angled forward to fight the wind. Your outermost shoulder is wet when you reach the cafĆ©, your other warm from being pressed against him. You shake the umbrella off outside the door and step onto a cushy, amber doormat to dry your sneakers. Peter stalks ahead and order the drinks, eager to get warm, so you look for a table. Your usual is full of businessmen drinking flat whites with briefcases at their legs. They laugh. You try to picture Peter in a suit: youāre still laughing when he finds you in the booth at the back.Ā
āTell the joke,ā he says, slamming his coffee down. Heās careful with yours. Heās given you the pink petal saucer from the side next to the straws and wooden stirrers.Ā
āI was thinking about you as a businessman.āĀ
āAnd thatās funny?āĀ
āWhen was the last time you wore a suit?āĀ
Peter shakes his head. Claims he doesnāt know. Later, youāll remember his Uncle Benās funeral and feel queasy with guilt, but you donāt remember yet. āWhen was the last time you wore one?ā he asks. āI donāt laugh at you.āĀ
āYouāre always laughing at me, Parker.āĀ
The cafe isnāt as warm today. Itās wet, grimy water footsteps tracking across the terracotta tile, streaks of grey water especially heavy near the counter, around it to the bathroom. Thereās no fog but a sad rattle of rain, not enough to make noise against the windows, but enough to watch as it falls in lazy rivulets down the lengths of them.
Your face is chapped with the cold, cheeks quickly come to heat as your fingers curl around your mug. They tingle with newfound warmth. When you raise your mug to your lips, your hand hardly shakes.
āYou okay?ā Peter asks.Ā
āFine. Are you gonna help me with the math today?āĀ
āDonāt think so. Did you ask nicely?āĀ
āI did.ā Youād called him last night. You wouldāve just as happily submitted your homework poorly solved with the grade to prove it āyou donāt want Peterās help, you just wanted to see him.Ā
Looking at him now, you remember why his distance had felt a little easier. The rain tangles in his hair, damp strands curling across his forehead, his eyes dark and outfitted by darker eyelashes. Peter has the looks of someone youāve seen before, a classical set to his nose and eyes reminiscent of that fallen angel weeping behind his arm, his russet hair in fiery disarray. There was an anger to Peter after Ben died that you didnāt recognise, until it was Peter, changed forever and for the worse and it didnāt matter āhe was grieving, he was terrified, who were you to tell him to be nice againā until it started to get better. You see less of your fallen, angry angel, no harsh brush strokes, no tears.Ā
His eyes are still dark. Bruised often underneath, like heās up late. If he is, it isnāt to talk to you.Ā
You spend an afternoon working through your equations, pretending to understand until Peter explains them to death. His earphones fall out of his pocket and he says, āHere, Iāll show you a song.āĀ
He walks you home. The song is dreary and sad. The man who sings is good. Lover, You Shouldāve Come Over. It feels like Peterās trying to tell you something āhe isnāt, but it feels like wishing he would.Ā
āYou okay?ā you ask before you can get to your street. A minute away, less.Ā
āIām fine, why?āĀ
You let the uncomfortable shape of his earbud fall out of your ear, the climax of the song a rattle on his chest. āYou look tired, thatās all. Are you sleeping?āĀ
āI have too much to do.āĀ
You just donāt get it. āMake sure youāre eating properly. Okay?āĀ
His smile squeezes your heart. Soft, the closest youāll ever get. āYou know May,ā he says, wrapping his arm around your shoulders to give you a short hug, āshe wouldnāt let me go hungry. Donāt worry about me.āĀ
ā
The dip into depression you take is predictable. You canāt help it. Peter being gone makes it worse.Ā
You listen to love songs and take long walks through the city, even when itās dark and you know itās a bad idea. If anything bad happens Spider-Man could probably save me, you think. New Yorkās not-so-new vigilante keeps a close eye on things, especially the women. You canāt count how many times youāve heard the same story. A man followed me home, saw me across the street, tried to get into my apartment, but Spider-Man saved me.Ā
Youāre not naive, you realise the danger of walking around without protection assuming some stranger in a mask will save you, but you need to get out of the house. It goes on for weeks.Ā
You walk under streetlights and past stores with CCTV, but honestly you donāt really care. Youāre not thinking. You feel sick and heavy and itās fine, really, itās okay, everything works out eventually. Itās not like itās all because you miss Peter, itās just a feeling. Itāll go away.Ā
āYouāre in deep thought,ā a voice says, garnering a huge flinch from the depths of your stomach.
You turn around, turn back, and flinch again at the sight of a man a few paces ahead. Red shoulders and legs, black shining in a webbed lattice across his chest. āOh,ā you say, your heartbeat an uncomfortable plodding under your hand, āsorry.āĀ
āWhy are you sorry? I scared you.ā
āI didnāt realise you were there.āĀ
Spider-Man doesnāt come any closer. You take a few steps in his direction. Youāve never met before but youād like to see him up close, and you arenāt scared. Not beyond the shock of his arrival.Ā
āCan I walk you to where youāre going?ā Spider-Man asks you. Heās humming energy, fidgeting and shifting from foot to foot.Ā
āHow do I know youāre the real Spider-Man?āĀ
After all, there are high definition videos of his suit on the news sometimes. You wouldnāt want to find out someone was capable of making a replica in the worst way possible.Ā
You canāt be sure, but you think he might be smiling behind the mask, his arms moving back as though impressed at your questioning. āWhat do you need me to do to prove it?ā he asks.Ā
He speaks hushed. Rough and deep. āI donāt know. Whatās Spider-Man exclusive?āĀ
āI can show you the webs?āĀ
You pull your handbag further up your arm. āOkay, sure. Shoot something.āĀ
Spider-Man aims his hand at the streetlight across the way and shoots it. He makes a severing motion with his wrist to stop from getting pulled along by it, letting the web fall like an alien tendril from the bulb. The light it produces dims slightly. A chill rides your spine.Ā
āCan I walk you now?ā he asks.Ā
āYou donāt have more important things to do?ā If the bitterness youāre feeling creeps into your tone unbidden, he doesnāt react.Ā
āNothing more important than you.āĀ
You laugh despite yourself. āIām going to Trader Joeās.āĀ
āYellowstone Boulevard?āĀ
āThatās the oneā¦āĀ
You fall into step beside him, and, awkwardly, begin to walk again. Itās a short walk. Trader Joeās will still be open for hours despite the dark sky, and youāre in no hurry. āMy friend, he likes the rolled tortilla chips they do, the chilli ones.āĀ
āAnd youāre going just for him?ā Spider-Man asks.Ā
āNot really. I mean, yeah, but I was already going on a walk.āĀ
āDo you always walk around by yourself? Itās late. Itās dangerous, you know, a beautiful girl like you,ā he says, descending into an odd mixture of seriousness and teasing. His voice jumps and swoons to match.Ā
āI like walking,ā you say.Ā
Spider-Man walking is a weird thing to see. On the news, heās running, swinging, or flying through the air untethered. Youāre having trouble acquainting the media image of him with the quiet man youāre walking beside now.
āIs everything okay?ā he asks. āYou seem sad.āĀ
āDo I?āĀ
āYeah, you do.āĀ
āMaybe I am sad,ā you confess, looking forward, the bright sign of Trader Joeās already in view. It really is a short walk. āDo you everāā You swallow against a surprising tightness in your throat and try again, āDo you ever feel like youāre alone?āĀ
āIām not alone,ā he says carefully.
āMe neither, but sometimes I feel like I am.āĀ
He laughs quietly. You bristle thinking youāre being made fun of, but the laugh tapers into a sad one. āSometimes I feel like Iām the only person in the world,ā he says. āEven here. I forget that itās not something I invented.āĀ
āWell, I guess being a hero would feel really lonely. Who else do we have like you?ā You smile sympathetically. āIt must be hard.āĀ
āYeah.ā His head tips to the side, and a crash of glass rings in the distance, crunching, and then thereās a squeal. It sounds like a car accident. Spider-Man goes tense. āIāll come back,ā he says.Ā
āThatās okay, Spider-Man, I can get home by myself. Thank you for the protection detail.āĀ
He sprints away. In half a second heās up onto a short roof, then between buildings. It looks natural. It takes your breath away.Ā
You buy Peterās chips at Trader Joeās and wait for a few minutes at the door, but Spider-Man doesnāt come back.Ā
ā
I donāt want to study today, Peterās text says the next day. Come over and watch movies?Ā
The last handholds of your fugue are washed away in the shower. You dab moisturiser onto your face and neck and stand by the open window to help it dry faster, taking in the light drizzle of rain, the smell of it filling your room and your lungs in cold gales. You dress in sweatpants and a hoodie, throw on your coat, and stuff the rolled tortilla chips into a backpack to ferry across the neighbourhood.Ā
Peter still lives at home with his Aunt May. Youād been in awe of it when you were younger, Peter and his Aunt and Uncle, their home-cooked family dinners, nights spent on the roof trying to find constellations through light pollution, stretched out together while it was warm enough to soak in your small rebellion. Ben would call you both down eventually. When youāre older! heād always promise.Ā
Peterās waiting in the open door for you. He ushers you inside excitedly, stripping you out of your coat and forgetting your wet shoes as he drags you to the kitchen. āLook what I got,ā he says.Ā
The Parker kitchen is a big, bright space with a chopping block island. The counters are crowded by pots, pans, spices, jams, coffee grounds, the impossible drying rack. Thereās a cross-stitch about the home on the microwave Ben did to prove to May he could still see the holes in the aida.Ā
You follow Peter to the stove where he points at a ceramic Dutch oven youāve eaten from a hundred times. āThere,ā he says.Ā
āDid you cook?ā you ask.Ā
āOf course I didnāt cook, even if the way you said that is offensive. I could cook. Iām an excellent chef.āĀ
āThe only thing Mayās ever taught you is spaghetti and meatballs.āĀ
āHope you like marinara,ā he says, nudging you toward the stove.Ā
You take the lid off of the Dutch oven to unveil a huge cake. Dripping with frosting, only slightly squashed by the lid, obviously homemade. Heās dotted the top with swirls of frosting and deep red strawberries.Ā
āItās for you,ā he says casually.Ā
āItās not my birthday.āĀ
āI know. You like cake though, donāt you?āĀ
Youād tell Peter you liked chunks of glass if that was what he unveiled. āWhyād you make me a cake?āĀ
āI felt like you deserved a cake. You donāt want it?āĀ
āNo, I want it! I want the cake, letās have cake, we can go to 91st and get some ice cream, itāll be amazing.ā You donāt bother trying to hide your beaming smile now, twisting on the spot to see him properly, your hands falling behind your back. āThank you, Peter. Itās awesome. I had no idea you could evenā that youād evenāā You press forward, smushing your face against his chest. āWow.āĀ
āWow,ā he says, wrapping his arms around you. He angles his head to nose at your temple. āYouāre welcome. I wouldāve made you a cake years ago if I knew it was gonna make you this happy.āĀ
āIt mustāve taken hours.āĀ
āMay helped.āĀ
āThat makes much more sense.āĀ
āDonāt be insolent.ā Peter squeezes you tightly. He doesnāt let go for a really long time.Ā
He extracts the cake from the depths of the Dutch oven and cuts you both a slice. He already has ice cream, a Neapolitan box that he cuts into with a serrated knife so you can each have a slice of all three flavours. Itās good ice cream, fresh for what it is and melting in big drops of cream as he gets the couch ready.
āSit down,ā he says, shoving the plates with his strangely great balance onto the coffee table. āRemoteās by you. Iām gonna get drinks.āĀ
You take your plate, carving into the cake with the end of a warped spoon, its handle stamped PETE and burnished in your grasp. The crumb is soft but dense in the best way. The ganache between layers is loose, cake wet with it, and the frosting is perfect, just messy. You take another satisfied bite. Youāre halfway through your slice before Peter makes it back.Ā
āI brought you something too, but itās garbage compared to this,ā you say through a mouthful, hand barely covering your mouth.Ā
Peter laughs at you. āYeah, well, say it, donāt spray it.āĀ
āI guess Iāll keep it.āĀ
āKeep it, bub, I donāt need anything from you.āĀ
He doesnāt say it the way youāre expecting. āNo,ā you say, pleased when he sits knee to knee, āyou can have it. Sājust a bag of chips from Traderāā
āThe rolled tortilla chips?ā he asks. You nod, and his eyes light up. āYou really are the best friend ever.āĀ
āBetter than Harry?āĀ
āHarryās rich,ā Peter says, āso no. Iām kidding! Joking, come here, let me try some of that.āĀ
āEat your own.āĀ
Peter plays a great host, letting you choose the movies, making lunch, ordering takeout in the evening and refusing to let you pay for it. This isnāt that out of character for Peter, but what shocks you is his complete unfiltered attention. He doesnāt check his phone, the tension you couldnāt name from these last few weeks nowhere to be felt. Youāre flummoxed by the sudden change, but you missed him. You wonāt look a gift horse in the mouth; you wonāt question what it is that had Peter keeping you at armās length now itās gone.
To your annoyance, you canāt stop thinking about Spider-Man. You keep opening your mouth to tell Peter you talked to him but biting your tongue. Why am I keeping it a secret? you wonder.Ā
āHave something to tell you.āĀ
āYou do?ā you ask, reluctant to sit properly, your feet tucked under his thigh and your body completely lax with the weight of the Parker throw.Ā
āIs that surprising?āĀ
āIs that a trick question?āĀ
āNo. Just. Iāve been not telling you something.āĀ
āOkay, so tell me.āĀ
Peter goes pink, and stiff, a fake smile plastered over his lips. āMe and Gwen, weāre really done.āĀ
āI know, Pete. She broke up with you for reasons nobody felt I should be enlightened right after graduation.ā Your stomach pangs painfully. āUnless youā¦ā
āSheās going to England.āĀ
āShe is?āĀ
āOxford.āĀ
You struggle to sit up. āThat sucks, Peter. Iām sorry.āĀ
āBut?āĀ
You find your words carefully. āYou and Gwen really liked each other, but I think thatāā You grow in confidence, meeting his eyes firmly. āThat thereās always been some part of you that couldnāt actually commit to her. So. I donāt know, maybe some distance will give you clarity. And maybe itāll break your heart, but at least then youāll know how you really feel, and you can move forward.ā You avoid telling him to move on.Ā
āIt wasnāt Gwen,ā he says, which has a completely different meaning to the both of you.Ā
āObviously, sheās the smartest girl Iāve ever met. Sheās beautiful. Of course itās not her fault,ā you say, teasing.
āReally, that you ever met?ā Peter asks.Ā
āSheās the best girl you were ever gonna land.āĀ
He rolls his eyes. āYeah, I guess so.ā After a few more minutes of quiet, he says, āI think we were done before. I just hadnāt figured it out yet. Something wasnāt right.āĀ
āYou were so back and forth. Youāre not mean, there mustāve been something stopping you from going steady,ā you agree. āYou were breaking up every other week.ā
āI know,ā he whispers, tipping his head against the back couch.Ā
āWhich, itās fine, you donātāā You grimace. āI canāt talk today. Sorry. I just mean that itās alright that you never made it work.ā You worry that sounds plainly obvious and amend, āDoesnāt make you a bad person. Youāre never a bad person, Peter.āĀ
āI know. Thank you.āĀ
āYouāre welcome. You donāt need me to tell you.āĀ
āItās nice, though. I like when you tell me stuff. I want all of your secrets.āĀ
You should say Good, because I have something unbelievable to tell you, and I shouldāve said it the moment I got home.Ā
Good, because last night I met the bravest man in New York City, and he walked me to the store for your chips.Ā
Good, because I have so much Iām keeping to myself.
You ruffle his hair. Spider-Man goes unmentioned.Ā
āĀ
He visits with a whoop. You donāt flinch when he lands āyouād heard the strange whip and splat of his webs landing nearby.Ā
āSpider-Man,ā you say.Ā
āWhatās that about?āĀ
āWhat?āĀ
āThe way you said that. You laughed.ā Spider-Man stands in spandexed glory before you, mask in place. Heās got a brown stain up the side of his thigh that looks more like mud than blood, but itās not as though each of his fights are bloodless. Theyāre infamously gory on occasion.
āDid you get hurt?ā you ask. Youāre worried. You could help him, if he needs it.Ā
āAw, this? Thatās a scratch. Thatās nothing, donāt worry about it. Iāve had worse from that stray cat living outside of 91st.āĀ
You look at him sharply. 91st is shorthand for 91st Bodega, and itās not like you and Peter made it up, but suddenly, the man in front of you is Peter. The way he says it, that unique rhythm.Ā
Peterās not so rough-voiced, you argue with yourself. Your Peter speaks in a higher register, dulcet often, only occasionally sarcastic. Spider-Man is rough, and cawing, and loud. Spider-Man acts as though the ground is a suggestion. Peter canāt jump off the second diving board at the pool. Spider-Man rolls his shoulders back in front of you with a confidence Peter rarely has.Ā
āWhat?ā he asks.Ā
āSorry. You just reminded me of someone.āĀ
His voice falls deeper still. āSomeone handsome, I hope.āĀ
You take a small step around him, hoping it invites him to walk along while communicating how sorely you want to leave the subject behind. When he doesnāt follow, you add, āYes, heās handsome.āĀ
āI knew it.ā
āWhat do you look like under the mask?ā
Spider-Man laughs boisterously. āI canāt just tell you that.āĀ
āNo? Do I have to earn it?āĀ
āItās not like that. I just donāt tell anyone, ever.āĀ
āNobody in the whole world?ā you ask.Ā
The rain is spitting. New York lately is cold cold cold, little in the way of sunshine and no end in sight. Perhaps thatās all Novemberās are destined to be. You and Spider-Man stick to the inside of the sidewalk. Occasionally, a passerby stares at him, or calls out in Hello, and Spider-Man waves but doesnāt part from you.Ā
āTell me something about you and Iāll tell you something about me,ā Spider-Man says. āIāll tell you who knows my identity.āĀ
āWhat do you want to know about me?ā you ask, surprised.Ā
āA secret. Thatās fair.āĀ
āHold on, howās that fair?ā You tighten your scarf against a bitter breeze. āWhat use do I have for the people who know who you are? That doesnāt bring me any closer to the truth.āĀ
āItās not about who knows, itās about why I told them.ā Spider-Man slips around you, forcing you to walk on the inside of the sidewalk as a car pulls past you all too quickly and sends a sheet of dirty rainwater up Spider-Manās side. He shakes himself off. āJerk!ā he shouts after the car.Ā
āMy secrets arenāt worth anything.ā
āI doubt that, but if thatās true, that makes it a fair trade, doesnāt it?āĀ
He sounds peppy considering the pool of runoff collecting at his feet. You pick up your pace again and say, āAlright, useless secret for a useless secret.āĀ
You think about all your secrets. Some are odd, some gross. Some might make the people around you think less of you, while others would surely paint you in a nice light. A topaz sort of technicolor. But they arenāt useless, then, so you move on.Ā
āOh, I know. I hate my major.ā You grin at Spider-Man. āThatās a good one, right? No one else knows about that.āĀ
āYou do?ā Spider-Man asks. His voice is familiar, then, for its sympathy.Ā
āI like science, I just hate math. Itās harder than I thought it would be, and I need so much help it makes me hate the whole thing.āĀ
Spider-Man doesnāt drag the knife. āOkay. Only three people know who I am under the mask. It was four, briefly.ā He clears his throat. āI told one person because I was being selfish and the others out of necessity. Iām trying really hard not to tell anybody else.ā
āHow come?āĀ
āIt just hurts people.āĀ
You linger in a gap of silence, not sure what to say. A handful of cars pass you on the road.Ā
āTell me another one,ā he says.Ā
āWhat for?āĀ
āI donāt know, just tell me one.āĀ
āHow do I know you arenāt extorting me for something?ā You grin as you say it, a hint of flirtation. āYouāll know my face and my secrets and even if you tell me a really gory juicy one, I have no one to tell and no name to pair it with.āĀ
āIām not showing you anything,ā he warns, teasing, sounding so awfully like Peter that your heart trips again, an uneven capering that has you faltering in the street.Ā
Peterās shorter, you decide, sizing him up. His voice sounds similar and familiar but Peter doesnāt ask for secrets. He doesnāt have to. (Or, he didnāt have to, once upon a time.)Ā
āWhere are you going?ā Spider-Man asks.Ā
āOh, nowhere.āĀ
āSeriously, youāre out here walking again for no reason?āĀ
āI like to walk. Itās not like itās dark out yet.ā Youāre not far at all from Queensboro Hill here. Walking in any direction would lead you to a garden āFlushing Meadows, Kew Gardens, Kissena Park. āWalk me to Kissena?ā you ask.Ā
āSure, for that secret.āĀ
You laugh as Spider-Man takes the lead, keeping time with him, a natural match of pace. Itās exciting that Spider-Man of all people wants to know one of your useless secrets enough to ask you twice. The attention of it makes searching for one a matter of how fast you can find one rather than a question of why youād want to. It slips out before you can think better of it.Ā
āI burned my wrist a few days ago on a frying pan,ā you confess, the phantom pain of the injury an itch. āIt blistered and I cried when I did it, but I havenāt told anyone about it.āĀ
āWhy not?ā he asks.Ā
He shouldnāt use that tone with you, like heās so so sorry. It makes you want to really tell him everything. How insecure you feel, how telling things feels like asking for someone to care, and half the time they donāt, and half the time youāre embarrassed.Ā
You walk past the bakery that demarcates the beginning of Kissena Park grounds across the way. āI didnāt think about it at first. Iām used to keeping things to myself. And then I didnāt tell anyone for so long that mentioning it now wouldnāt make sense. Like, bringing it up when itās a scar wonāt do much.ā Itās a weak lie. It comes out like a spigot to a drying up tree. Glugs, fat beads of sound and the pull to find another thing to say.
āIt was only a few days ago, right? It must still hurt. People want to know that stuff.āĀ
āMaybe Iāll tell someone tomorrow,ā you say, though you wonāt.Ā
āThanks for telling me.ā
The humour in spilling a secret like that to a superhero stops you from feeling sorry for yourself. You hide your cold fingers in your coat, rubbing the stiff skin of your knuckles into the lining for friction-heat. The rain has let up, wind whipping empty but brisk against your cheeks. Your lips will be chapped when you get home, whenever that turns out to be.Ā
āThis is pretty far from Trader Joeās,ā he comments, like heās read your mind.Ā
āJust an hour.āĀ
āAre you kidding? Itās an hour for me.āĀ
āThatās not true, Spider-Man, Iāve seen those webs in action. I still remember watching you on the News that night, the cranes. I remember,ā āyou try to meet his eyes despite the maskā āmy heart in my throat. Werenāt you scared?ā
āIs that the secret you want?ā he asks.Ā
āI get to choose?āĀ
Spider-Man throws his gaze around, his hand behind his head like he might play with his hair. You come to a natural stop across the street from Kissena Parkās playground. Teenagers crowd the soft-landing floor, smaller children playing on the wet rungs of the climbing frame.Ā
āIf you want to,ā he says.Ā
āThen yeah, I want to know if you were scared.āĀ
āI didnāt haveI time to be scared. Connors was already there, you know?ā He shifts from one foot to the other. āI donāt think Iāve ever thought about it before. I wasnāt scared of the height, if thatās what you mean. I already had practice by then, and I knew I had to do it. Like, I didnāt have a choice, so I just did it. I had to save the day, so I did.āĀ
āWhen they lined up the cranesāā
āIt felt like flying,ā Spider-Man interrupts.Ā
āLike flying.ā
You picture the weightlessness, the adrenaline, the catch of your weight so high up and the pressure of being flung between the next point. The idea that you have to just do something, so you do.Ā
āThatās a good secret.ā You offer a grateful smile. āIt doesnāt feel equal. I burned myself and you saved the city.āĀ
āSo tell me another one,ā he says.Ā
ā
Maybe you started to fall for Peter after his Uncle Ben passed away. Not the days where youād text him and heād ignore you, or the days spent camping outside of his house waiting for him to get home. It wasnāt that you couldnāt like him, angry as he was; thereās always been something about his eyes when heās upset that sticks around. You loathe to see him sad but he really is pretty, and when his eyelashes are wet and his mouth is turned down, formidable, itās an ache. A Cabanel painting, dramatic and dark and other.Ā
It was after. When he started sending Gwen weird smiles and showing up to the movies exhilarated, out of breath, unwilling to tell you where heād been. Skating, heād always say. Most of the time he didnāt have his skateboard.Ā
Youād only seen them kiss once, his hand on her shoulder curling her in, a pang of heat. You were curdled by jealousy but it was more than that. Peter was tipping her head back, was kissing her soundly, a fierceness from him that made you sick to think about. You spent weeks afterwards up at night, tossing, turning, wishing heād kiss you like that, just once, so you could feel how it felt to be completely wrapped up in another person.Ā
Youād always held out for Peter, in a way. It was more important to you that he be your friend. You were young, and love had been a far off thing, and then one day you suddenly wanted it. You learned just how aching an unrequited love could be, like a bruise, where every time you saw Peter āwhether it be alone or with Gwen, with anyoneā it was like he knew exactly where to poke the bruise. Press the heel of his hand and push. The worst is when he found himself affectionate with you, a quick clasp of your cheek in his palm as he said goodbye. Nights spent in his twin bed, of course youāll fit, of course you couldnāt go home, not this late, May wonāt care if we keep the door open āthe suggestion that the door being closed mightāve meant something. His sleeping arm furled around you.Ā
Now youāre nearing the end of your second semester at ESU, Gwen is going to England at the end of the year, and Peter hasnāt tried to stop her, but heās still busy.Ā
āWhatever,ā you say, taking a deep breath. Youāre not mad at Peter, you just miss him. Thinking about him all the time wonāt change a thing. āItās fine.āĀ
āIād hope so.āĀ
You swing around. āDonāt do that!ā
Spider-Man looks vaguely chastened, taking a step back. āI called out.āĀ
āYou did?āĀ
āI did. Hey, miss, over there! The one who doesnāt know how to get a goddamn taxi!āĀ
āI like to walk,ā you say.Ā
āYeah, so youāve said. Have you considered that all this walking is bad for you? Itās freezing out, Miss Bennett!āĀ
āItās not that bad.ā You have your coat, a scarf, your thermal leggings underneath your jeans. āIām fine.āĀ
āWhatās wrong with staying at home?āĀ
āThatās not good for you. And youāre one to talk, Spider-Man, arenāt you out on the streets every night? You should take a day off.āĀ
āI donāt do this every night.āĀ
āDonāt you get tired?ā
Spider-Manās eyelets seem to squint, his mock-anger effusive as he crosses his arms across his chest. āNo, of course not. Do I look like I get tired?āĀ
āI donāt know. Youāre in a full suit, I canāt tell. I guess you donāt⦠seem tired. You know, with all the backflips.āĀ
āWant me to do one?āĀ
āOn command?ā You laugh. āNo, thatās okay. Save your strength, Spider-Man.āĀ
āSo where are you heading today?ā he asks.Ā
Thereās a slip of skin peeking out against his neck. Youāre surprised he canāt feel the cold there, stepping toward him to point. āI can see your stubble.āĀ
He yanks his mask down. āHasty getaway.āĀ
āA getaway, undressed? Spider-Man, thatās not very gentlemanly.āĀ
You start to walk toward the Cinemart. Spider-Man, to your strange pleasure, follows. He walks with considerable casualness down the sidewalk by your left, occasionally letting his head turn to chase a distant sound where it echoes from between high-rises and along the busy street. Itās cold and dark, but New York is hectic no matter what, even the residential areas. (Is there such a thing? The neighbourhoods burst with small businesses and backstreet sales, no matter the time.)
āLuckily for you, crime is slow tonight,ā he says.Ā
āLucky me?ā You wonder if your acquainted vigilante flirts with every girl he stalks. āYou realise Iāve managed to get everywhere Iām going for the last two decades without help?āĀ
āI assume there was more than a little help during that first decade.āĀ
āThatās what you think. I was a super independent toddler.āĀ
Spider-Man tips his head back and laughs, but that laugh is quickly squashed with a cough. āSure you were.āĀ
āIs there a reason youāre escorting me, Spider-Man?ā you ask.Ā
āNo. Iā I recognised you, I thought Iād say hi.āĀ
āHi, Spider-Man.āĀ
āHi.āĀ
āCan I ask you something? Do you work?āĀ
Spider-Man stammers again, āIā yeah. I work. Freelance, mostly.āĀ
āI was wondering how you fit all the crime fighting into your life, is all. University is tough enough.ā You let the wind bat your scarf off of your shoulder. āI couldnāt do what you do.āĀ
āYeah, you could.āĀ
He sounds sure.Ā
āHow would you know?ā you ask. āMaybe Iām awful when youāre not walking me around. I hate New York. I hate people.āĀ
āNo, you donāt. Youāre not awful. Donāt ask me how I know, ācos I just know.āĀ
You try not to look at him. If you look at him, youāre gonna smile at him like he hung the moon. āWell, tonight Iām going to be dreadfully selfish. My friend said heād buy my movie ticket and take me out for dinner, a real dinner, the mac and cheese with imitation lobster at Bennyās. Have you tried that?āĀ
Spider-Man takes a big step. āTonight?ā he asks.Ā
āYep, tonight. Thatās where Iām going, the Cinemart.ā You frown at his hand pressing into his stomach. āAre you okay? You look like youāre gonna throw up.āĀ
āI can hearā something. Someoneās crying. I gotta go, okay? Have fun at the movies, okay?ā He throws his arm up, a silken web shooting from his wrist to the third floor of an apartment complex. āBye!ā he shouts, taking a running jump to the apartment, using his web as an anchor. He flings himself over the roof.Ā
Woah, you think, warmth filling your cold cheeks, the tip of your nose. Heās lithe.Ā Ā
Peter arrives ten minutes late for the movie, which is half an hour later than youād agreed to meet.Ā
āSorry!ā he shouts, breathless as he grabs your hands. āGod, Iām sorry! Iām so sorry. You should beat me up. Iām sorry.āĀ
āWhat the fuck happened?ā you ask, not particularly angry, only relieved to see him with enough time to still catch the movie. āYouāre sweating like crazy, your hairās wet.āĀ
āI ran all the way here, Jesus, do I smell bad? Donāt answer that. Fuck, do we have time?āĀ
You usher Peter inside. He pays for the tickets with hands shaking and you attempt to wipe the sweat from his forehead with your sleeve. āYou couldāve called me,ā you say, content to let him grab you by the arm and race you to the screen doors, āwe couldāve caught the next one. Why were you so late, anyways? Did you forget?āĀ
āForget about my favourite girl? How could I?ā He elbows open the doors to let you enter first. āNow shh,ā he whispers, āfind the seats, donāt miss the trailers. You love them.āĀ
āYou love themāā
āIāll get popcorn,ā he promises, letting the door close between you.Ā
Youāre tempted to follow, fingers an inch from the handle.Ā
You turn away and rush to find your seats. Hopefully, the popcorn line is ten blocks long, and he spends the night punished for his wrongdoing. My favourite girl. You laugh nervously into your hand.Ā
ā
WinterĀ
Spider-Man finds you at least once a week for the next few weeks. He even brings you an umbrella one time, stars on the handle, asking you rather politely to go home. He offers to buy you a hot dog as youāre walking past the stand, takes you on a shortcut to the convenience store, and helps you get a piece of gum off of your shoe with a leaf and a scared scream. Heās friendly, and youāre getting used to his company.Ā
One night, youāre almost home from Trader Joeās, racing in the pouring rain when a familiar voice calls out, āHey! Running girl! Wait a second!āĀ
Him, you think, as ridiculous as it sounds. You donāt know his name, but Spider-Manās a sunny surprise in a shitty, wet winter, and you turn to the sound with a grin.
He jogs toward you.Ā
You feel the world pause, right in the centre of your throat. All the air gets sucked out of you.Ā
āHey, what are you doing out here? Did you get my texts?āĀ
You blink as fat rain lands on your face.Ā
āYou okay?ā Peter asks, Peter, in a navy hoodie turning black in the rain and a brown corduroy jacket. Itās sodden, hanging heavily around his shoulders. āCome on, letās go,ā āhe takes your hand and pulls until you begin to speed walk beside himā āitās freezing!āĀ
āPeterāā
āJesus Christ!āĀ
āPeter, what are you doing here?ā you ask, your voice an echo as he drags you into the foyer of your apartment building.Ā
Rain hammers the door as he closes it, the windows, the foyer too dark to see properly.Ā
āI wanted to see you. Is that allowed?āĀ
āNo.āĀ
Peter takes your hand. You look down at it, and he looks down in tandem, and it is decidedly a non-platonic move. āNo?ā he asks, a hairās width from murmuring.Ā
āShit, my groceries are soaked.āĀ
āItās all snacks, itās fine,ā he says, pulling you to the stairs.Ā
You rush up the steps together to your floor. Peter takes your key when you offer it, your own fingers too stiff to manage it by yourself, and he holds the door open for you again to let you in.Ā
Your apartment is a ragtag assortment to match the one next door, old wooden furniture wheeled from the street corners they were left on, thrifted homeward and heavy blankets everywhere you look. You almost slip getting out of your shoes. Peter steadies you with a firm hand. He shrugs out of his coat and hangs it on the hook, prying the damp hoodie over his head and exposing a solid length of back that trips your heart as you do the same.Ā
āSorry I didnāt ask,ā Peter says.Ā
āWhat, to come over? Itās fine. I like you being here, you know that.āĀ
All your favourite days were spent here or at Peterās house, in beds, on sofas, his hair tickling your neck as credits run down the TV and his breath evens to a light snore. You try to settle down with him, changing into dry clothes, his spare stuff left at the bottom of your wardrobe for his next inevitable impromptu visit. You turn on the TV, letting him gather you into his side with more familiarity than ever. Rain lays its fingertips on your window and draws lazy lines behind half-turned blinds. You rest on the arm and watch Peter watch the movie, answering his occasional, āYou okay?ā with a meagre nod.Ā
āWhatās wrong?ā he asks eventually. āYouāre so quiet.āĀ
Your hand over your mouth, you part your marriage and pinky finger, marriage at the corner, pinky pressed to your bottom lip, the flesh chapped by a season of frigid winds and long walks. āāM thinking,ā you say.Ā
āAbout?āĀ
About the first night in your new apartment. You got the apartment a couple of weeks before the start of ESU. Not particularly close to the university but close to Peter, your best, nicest friend. You met in your second year of High School, before Peter got contacts, ācos he was good at taking photographs and you were in charge of the school newspapers media sourcing. You used to wait for Peter to show up ten minutes late like clockwork, every week. And every week heād barge into the club room and say, āFuck, Iām sorry, my last class is on the other side of the building,ā until it turned into its own joke.Ā
Three years later, you got your apartment, and Peter insisted you throw a housewarming party even if he was the only person invited.Ā
āFuck,ā heād said, ten minutes late, a cake in one hand and a whicker basket the other, āsorry. My last class is onāā
But he didnāt finish. Youād laughed so hard with relief at the reference that he never got the chance. Peter remembered your very first inside joke, because Peter wasnāt about to go off to ESU and meet new friends and forget you.Ā
But Peterās been distant for a while now, because Peterās Spider-Man.Ā
āDo you remember,ā you say, not willing to share the whole truth, āwhen you joined the school newspaper to be the official photographer, and you taught me the rule of thirds?āĀ
āSo you didnāt need me,ā he says.Ā
āI was just thinking about it. We ran that newspaper like the Navy.āĀ
Peter holds your gaze. āIs that really what you were thinking about?āĀ
āJust funny,ā you murmur, dropping your hand in your lap and breaking his stare. āSo much has changed.āĀ
āNot that much.āĀ
āNot for me, no.āĀ
Peter gets a look in his eyes you know well. Heās found a crack in you and heās gonna smooth it over until you feel better. Youāre expecting his soft tone, his loving smile, but youāre not expecting the way he pulls you in āyouād slipped away from him as the evening went on, but Peter erases every millimetre of space as he slides his arm under your lower back and ushers you into his side. You hold your breath as he hugs you, as he looks down at you. Itās really like he loves you, the line between platonic and romantic a blur. Heās never looked at you like this before.
āI donāt want you to change,ā he whispers.Ā
āI want to catch up with you,ā you whisper back.Ā
āCatch up with me? Weāre in the exact same place, arenāt we?ā
āI donāt know, are we?āĀ
Peter hugs you closer, squishing your head down against his jaw as he rubs your shoulder. āOf course we are.āĀ
Peter⦠What is he doing?Ā
You let yourself relax against him.Ā
āYou do change,ā he whispers, an utterance of sound to calm that awful bruise he gave you all those months ago, āyou change every day, but you donāt need to try.āĀ
āI just⦠feel like everyone around me isā¦ā You shake your head. āEveryoneās so smart, and they know what theyāre doing, or theyāreā theyāre special. I donāt know anything. So I guess lately Iāve been thinking about that, and then youāā
āWhat?āĀ
You can say it out loud. You could.Ā
āPeter, youāreā¦āĀ
āIām what?ā he asks.Ā
His fingers glide down the length of your arm and up again.Ā
If you're wrong, heāll laugh. And if youāre right, he mightā might stop touching you. Your head feels so heavy, and his touch feels like itās gonna put you to sleep.Ā
Heās Spider-Man.Ā
It makes sense. Who else could have a good enough heart to do that? Of course itās Peter. It explains so much about him, about Peter and Spider-Man both. Why Peter is suddenly firmer, lighter on his feet, why he can help you move a wardrobe up two flights of stairs without complaint; why Spider-Man is so kind to you, why he knows where to find you, why he rolls his words around just like Pete.Ā
Spider-Man said there are reasons he wears his mask. And Peter doesnāt tell you much, but you trust him.Ā
You wonāt make him say anything, you decide. Not now.Ā
You curl your arm over his stomach hesitantly, smiling into his shirt as he hugs you tighter.Ā
āI was thinking about you,ā he says.Ā
āYeah?āĀ
āYouāre quieter lately. I know youāre having a hard time right now, okay? You donāt have to tell me. Iām here for you whenever you need me.āĀ
āYeah?ā you ask.
āYou used to sit on my porch when you knew May wouldnāt be home to make sure I wasnāt alone.ā Peterās breath is warm on your forehead. āI donāt know what youāre worried about being, but Iām with you,ā he says, āān nothing is gonna change that.āĀ
Peter isnāt as far away as you thought.Ā
āThank you,ā you say.Ā
He kisses your forehead softly. Your whole world goes amber. He brings his hand to your cheek, the thought of him tipping your head back sudden and heart-racing, but Peter only holds you. You lose count of how many minutes you spend cupped in his hand.Ā
āCan I stay over tonight?ā he utters, barely audible under the sound of the battering rain.Ā
āYeah, please.āĀ
His thumb strokes your cheek.Ā
ā
Two switches flip at once, that night. Peter is suddenly as tactile as youāve craved, and Spider-Man disappears.Ā
Heās alive and well, as evidenced by Peterās continued survival and presence in your life, but Spider-Man doesnāt drop in on your nightly walks.Ā
You take less of them lately, feeling better in yourself. Your spirits are certainly lifted by Peterās increasing affection, but now that you know heās Spider-Man you were waiting to see him in spandex to mess with his head. Nothing mean, but you wouldāve liked to pick at his secret identity, toy with him like you know heād do to you. After all, heās been trailing you for weeks and getting to know you. Peter already knows you. Plus, you told Spider-Man secrets not meant for Peter Parkerās ears.Ā
You find it hard to be angry with him. A thread of it remains whenever you remember his deception, but mostly you worry about him. Peterās out every night until who knows what hour fighting crime. There are guns. He could get shot, and he doesnāt seem scared. You end up watching videos on the internet of the night he ran to Oscorp, when he fought Connorsā and got that huge gash in his leg. His leg is soiled deep red with blood but banded in white webbing. He limps as he races across a rooftop, the recording shaky yet high definition.Ā
Itās not nice to see Peter in pain. You cling to what heād said, how he wasnāt scared, but not being scared doesnāt mean he wasnāt hurting.Ā
You chew the tip of a finger and click on a different video. Your computer monitor bears heat, the tower whirring by your thigh. Your eyes burn, another hour sitting in the same seat, sick with worry. You donāt mind when Peter doesnāt answer your texts anymore. You didnāt mind so much before, just terrified of becoming an irrelevance in his life and lonely, too, maybe a little hurt, but never worried for his safety. Now when Peter doesnāt text you back you convince yourself that heās been hurt, or that heās swinging across New York City about to risk his life.
Itās not a good way to live. You canāt stop giving into it, is all.Ā
In the next video, Spider-Man sits on a billboard with a can of coke in hand. He doesnāt lift his mask, seemingly aware of his watcher. You laugh as he angles his head down, suspicion in his tight shoulders. He relaxes when he sees whoever it is recording.Ā
āHey,ā he says, āyou all right?āĀ
āShould you be up there?ā the person recording shouts.Ā
āIām fine up here!āĀ
āAre you really Spider-Man?āĀ
āSure am.āĀ
āAre you single?āĀ
Peter laughs like crazy. How you didnāt know it was him before is a mystery āit couldnāt sound more like him. āIāve got my eye on someone!ā he says, sounding younger for it, the character voice he enacts when heās Spider-Man lost to a good mood.Ā Ā
Your phone rings in the back pocket of your jeans. You wriggle it out, nonplussed to find Peter himself on your screen. You click the green answer button.Ā
āHello?ā Peter asks.Ā
You bring the phone snug to your ear. āHey, Peter.āĀ
āHi, are you busy?āĀ
āNot really.āĀ
āDo you wanna come over? I know itās late. Come stay the night and tomorrow weāll go out for breakfast.āĀ
āIs Aunt May okay with that?āĀ
āSheās staring at me right now shaking her head, but Iām in trouble for something. May, can she come over, is that allowed?āĀ
āSheās always allowed as long as you keep the door open.ā
You laugh under your breath at Mayās begrudging answer. āAre you sure sheās alright with it?ā you ask softly. āI donāt want to be a burden.āĀ
āYou never, ever could be. Iām coming to your place and weāll walk over together. Did you eat dinner?āĀ
āNot yet, butāā
āOkay, Iāll make you something when you get here. Iāll meet you at the door. Twenty minutes?āĀ
āI have to shower first.āĀ
āTwenty five?āĀ
You choke on a laugh, a weird bubbly thing youāre not used to. Peter laughs on the other side of the phone. āHow about Iāll see you at seven?āĀ
āItās a date,ā he says.Ā
āMm, put it in your calendar, Parker.āĀ
ā
Peter waits for you at the door like he promised. He frowns at your still-wet face as he slips your backpack from your shoulder, throwing it over his own. āYouāre gonna get sick.āĀ
āIāll dry fast,ā you say. āI took too long finding my pyjamas.āĀ
āI have stuff you can wear. Probably have your sweatpants somewhere, the grey ones.ā Peter pulls you forward and wipes your tacky face. āI wouldāve waited,ā he says.Ā
āItās fine.ā
āItās not fine. Are you cold?āĀ
āPete, itās fine.āĀ
āYou always remind me of my Uncle Ben when you call me Pete,ā he laughs, āsuper stern.āĀ
āIām not stern. Look, take me home, please, Iām cold.āĀ
āYou said it wasnāt cold!āĀ
āItās not, Iām just dampāā Peter cuts you off as he grabs you, sudden and tight, arms around you and rubbing the lengths of your back through your coat. āHandsy!ā
āYou like it,ā he jokes back, his playful warming turning into a hug. You smile, hiding your face in his neck for a few moments.Ā
āI donāt like it,ā you lie.Ā
āOkay, you donāt like it, and Iām sorry.ā Peter gives you a last hug and pulls away. āNow letās go. I gotta feed you before midnight.āĀ
āThatās not funny.āĀ
āApparently, nothing is.āĀ
Peter links your arms together. By the time you get to his house, youāve fallen away from each other naturally. May is in the hallway when you climb through the door, an empty laundry basket in her hands.Ā
āI see Peter hasnāt won this argument yet,ā you say in way of greeting. Peterās desperate to do his own laundry now heās getting older. May wonāt let him.Ā
āNo, he hasnāt.ā She looks you up and down. āItās nice to see you, honey. And in one piece! Peter tells me youāve been walking a lot, and I mean, in this city? Canāt you buy a treadmill?ā she asks.Ā
āMay!ā Peter says, startled.Ā
āI like walking, I like the air,ā you say.
āCanāt exactly call it fresh,ā May says.Ā
āNo, but itās alright. It helps me think.āĀ
āIs everything okay?ā May asks, putting her hand on her hip.Ā
āOf course.ā You smile at her genuinely. āI think starting college was too much for me? It was hard. But things are settling now, I donāt know what Peter told you, but Iām not walking a lot anymore. You know, not more than necessary.ā
She softens her disapproving. āGood, honey. Thatās good. Peterās gonna make you some dinner now, right?āĀ
āYeah, Aunt May, Iām gonna make dinner,ā Peter sighs, pulling a leg up to take off his shoes.Ā
Peter shouldnāt really know that youāve been walking. He might see you coming back from Trader Joeās or the bodega on his way to your apartment, but you havenāt mentioned any of your longer excursions, and everybody in Queens has to walk. Thatās information he wouldnāt know without Spider-Man.Ā
He seems to be hoping you wonāt realise, changing the subject to the frankly killer grilled cheese and tomato soup that heās about to make you, and pushing you into a chair at the table. āWarm up,ā he says near the back of your head, forcing a wave of shivers down your arms.
He makes soup in one pan, grilled cheese in the other, two for him and two for you. Peterās a good eater, and he encourages the same from you, setting a big bowl of tomato soup (from the can, splash of fresh cream) down in front of you with the grilled cheese on a plate between you. You eat it in too-hot bites and try not to get caught looking at him. He does the same, but when he catches you, or when you catch him, he holds your eye and smiles.Ā
āI can do the dishes,ā you say. You might need a breather.Ā
āAre you kidding? Iām gonna rinse them, put them in the dishwasher.ā Peter stands and feels your forehead with his hand. āWarmer. Good job.āĀ
You shrug away from his hand. āLoser.āĀ
āConcerned friend.āĀ
āHandsy loser.āĀ
āShut up,ā he mumbles.Ā
As flustered as youāve ever seen, Peter takes your empty dishes to the kitchen. When heās done rinsing them off you follow him upstairs to his bedroom and tuck your backpack under his bed.Ā
You look down at your socks. Peterās room is on the smaller side, but itās never been as startlingly small as it is when Peterās socked feet align with yours, toe to toe. Quick recovery time, this boy.Ā
āThereās chips and stuff on my desk. Or I could run to 91st for some ice cream sandwiches if you want something sweet,ā he says.Ā
You lift your eyes, tilt your head up just a touch, not wanting him to think youāre in his space no matter how strange that might be, considering he chose to stand there. āIām all right. Did you want ice cream? We can go if you want to, but if you want to go ācos you think I do then Iām fine.āĀ
āThatās such a long answer,ā he says, draping an arm over your shoulder. āYou donāt have to say all of that, just tell me no.āĀ
āI donāt want ice cream.āĀ
āWasnāt that easy?ā he asks.Ā
āWell, no, it wasnāt. Saying no to you is like saying no to a puppy.āĀ
āBecause Iām adorable?āĀ
āPersistent.āĀ
āYeah, I guess I am.ā He drapes the other arm over you. The soap he used at the kitchen sink lingers on his hands.Ā
āPeterā¦?ā you murmur.Ā
āWhat?ā he murmurs back.Ā
You touch a knuckle to his chest. āThisā Youā¦ā Every quelled thought rushes to the surface at once āPeter doesnāt like you as you desire, how could he, you arenāt beautiful like he is, arenāt smart, arenāt brave, no exceptional kindness or goodness to mark you enough for him. Itās why his being with Gwen didnāt hurt; she made sense. And for months now youāve wondered what it is that made him struggle to be with her. And sometimes, foolishly, you wondered if it was you. But itās not you, itās never you, and whatever Peterās trying to do nowā
āHey, you okay?ā he asks, taking your face into his hand.Ā
āWhat are you doing?āĀ
āWhat?ā He pushes his hand back to hold your nape, thumb under your ear. āI canāt hear you.āĀ Ā
You raise your voice. āWhy did you invite me over tonight?āĀ
āāCos I missed you?āĀ
āI used to think you didnāt miss me at all.āĀ
Peter winces, hurt. āHow could you think that? Of course I miss you. What you said to May, about college being hard? Itās like that for me too, okay? I miss you all the time.āĀ
You bite the inside of your bottom lip. āā¦College isnāt hard for you.āĀ
āItās not easy.ā He frowns, the fallen angel, his lips an unsure brushstroke. āWhatās wrong? Did I say the wrong thing?āĀ
Youāre being wretched, you know, saying it isnāt hard for him. āYou didnāt. Really, you didnāt.āĀ
āBut why are you upset?ā he implores, dark eyes darker as his eyebrows tug together.
āIām notāā
āYou are. Itās okay, you can be upset. I just want you to feel better, you know that?ā He settles his hands at the tops of your arms. Less intimate, but something warm remains. āEven if it takes a long time.āĀ
āIām fine.āĀ
āYouāre not fine.ā
āHow would you know?ā you finally ask.Ā
Peter stares at you.Ā
āI know you,ā he says carefully, āand I know you arenāt struggling like you were, but that doesnāt mean it didnāt happen or that you have to be a hundred percent better now.āĀ
āI didnāt realise that I was,ā you say, licking your lips, āātil now. I didnāt get that it was on the surface.ā
Peter pulls you in for a gentle hug. āIām here for you forever, and Iāll make it up to you for not noticing sooner,ā he says, scrunching your shirt in his hand.
After the hug, he tells you to change and make yourself comfortable while he showers. So you put on your pyjamas and climb into Peterās bed, head pounding as though all your energy was stolen in a fell swoop. You press your nose to his pillow and arm wrapped around his comforter, gathering it into a Peter sized lump. The shower pump whines against the shared wall.Ā
Things arenāt meant to be like this. You thought Peter touching you āholding youā was the deepest of your desires, but you feel now exactly as you had before he started blurring the line, needing Peter to kiss you so badly it becomes its own kind of nausea. Why are you still acting like itās an impossibility?
When he comes back, youāll apologise. He hasnāt done anything wrong. He does keep a secret, but donāt you keep one too? Heās Spider-Man. Youāve had deep, complicated feelings for him for months. They are secrets of equal magnitude, and are, more apparently, badly kept.Ā
You wish you could fall asleep. Your heart ticks in agitation.
Peter returns as perturbed as earlier.Ā
āAre you sure thereās nothing wrong?ā he asks, raking a hand through his hair. A towel hangs around his neck.Ā
āIām sorry for being weird.āĀ
āYouāre not weird,ā Peter says, bringing the towel to his hair to scrub ruthlessly.Ā
āItās just ācos things have been different between us.ā And, you try to say, that scares me no matter how bad I wanted it. because youāre not just Peter anymore, youāre Spider-Man. Iām only me, and I canāt do anything to protect you.
Peter gives his hair a long scrub before draping the towel on his desk chair. He rakes it messily into place and sits himself at the end of the bed. You sit up.Ā
āYeah, they have been. Good different?ā he asks hesitantly.Ā
āI think so,ā you say, quiet again.Ā
āThatās what I thought.āĀ
āI donāt want you to feel like I donāt want to be here. I just worry about you.āĀ
Peter uses his hands to get higher up the bed. āDonāt worry about me,ā he says, āJesus, please donāt. Thatās the last thing I want from you, I hate when people worry about me.āĀ
You curl into the lump of comforter youād made. Peter lets himself rest beside you, his back to the bedroom wall, tens of Polaroids above him shining with the light of the hallway and his orange-bulbed lamp. His skin is glowing like itās golden hour, dashes of topaz in his eyes, his Cupidās bow deep. How would it feel to lean forward and kiss him? To catch his Cupid's bow under your lips?
You brush a damp curl tangled in another onto his forehead.Ā
You lay there for a little while without talking, listening to the sound of the washing machine as it cycles downstairs.Ā
āAm I going too fast?ā Peter murmurs.Ā
You press your lips together, shaking your head minutely.Ā
āIs it something else?āĀ
You donāt move.Ā
āDo you want me to stop?ā he asks.Ā
āNo.ā
Peter rewards you with a smile, his hand on your arm. āAlright. Let me get this blanket on you the right way. Youāre still cold.āĀ
You resent the loss of a shape to hold when Peter slips down beside you and wrangles the comforter flat again, spreading it out over you both, his hand under the blankets. His knuckles brush your thigh.Ā
He takes a deep breath before turning and wrapping his arm over your stomach, asking softly, āIs this alright?āĀ
āYeah.āĀ
He gives you a look and then lifts his head to slot his nose against your temple. āPlease donāt take this in a way that I donāt mean it, but sometimes you think about things so much I worry youāre gonna get stuck in your head forever.āĀ
āI like thinking.āĀ
āI hate it,ā he says quickly, a fervent, flirting cadence to his otherwise dulcet tone, āwe should never do it ever again.āĀ
āIāll try not to.āĀ
āWould you? For me?āĀ
You laugh into his shirt, feeling the warmth of your breath on your own nose. āIāll do my best.āĀ
āGood. Iād miss you too much if you got lost in that nice head of yours.āĀ
You relax under his arm. You arenāt sure what all the fuss was about now that he's hugging you. āIād miss you too.ā
May comes up the stairs about an hour later. To her credit, she doesnāt flinch when she finds you and Peter smushed together watching a DVD on his old TV. Heās holding your arm, and youāre snoozing on his shoulder, half-aware of the world, fully aware of his nice smells and the shapes of his arms.Ā
āDoor open,ā she says.Ā
āNot that either of us want it closed, May, but weāre adults.āĀ
āNot while Iām still washing your clothes, youāre not.āĀ
He snorts. āGoodnight, Aunt May. The door isnāt gonna close, I promise.āĀ
āI know that,ā she says, scornful in her pride. āYouāre a good boy.ā She lightens. āThings are going okay?āĀ
Peter covers your ear. āGoodnight, Aunt May.āĀ
āI have half a mind to never listen to you again. You talk my ear off and I canāt ask a simple question?āĀ
āI love you,ā Peter sing-songs.Ā
āI love you, Peter,ā she says. āDonāt smother the girl.āĀ
āI wonāt smother her. Itās in my best interest that she survives the night. Sheās buying my breakfast tomorrow.āĀ
āPeter Parker.āĀ
āIām kidding,ā he whispers, petting your cheek absentmindedly. āJust messing with you, May.āĀ
You smile and curl further into his arms. His voice is like the sun, even when he whispers.Ā Ā
ā
To your surprise, Spider-Man comes to find you after class one evening. A guest lecturer had talked to your oncology class about click chemistry and other molecular therapies against cancer, and the zine book sheād given you is burning a hole in your pocket. Peter is going to love it.Ā
You pull it out and pause beside a bench and a silver trash can, the day grey but thankfully without rain. The pages of your little book whip forcefully in the wind. Itās chemistry, sure, but itās biology too, wrapping your and Peterās interests up neatly. If it werenāt for Peter you doubt youād love science as much as you do. Heās always been good at it, but since you started college he's been a genius. Watching him grow has encouraged you to work harder, and understanding the material is satisfying, if draining. You take a photo of the middle most pages and tuck the book away, writing a quick text to Peter to send with it.Ā
Look! it says, LEGO cancer treatment!!Ā
The moment you press send a beep chimes from somewhere close behind you, all too familiar. You turn to the source but find nobody you know waiting. Coincidence, you think, shaking yourself and beginning the trek to the subway.Ā
But then you hear the tell tale splat and thwick of Spider-Manās webbing.Ā
You wait until youāre at the alleyway between Portoās Bakery and the key cutting shop and turn down to stop by one of the dumpsters.Ā
āSpider-Man?ā you ask, shoulders tensed in case itās not who you think.Ā
āWhat are you doing?ā he asks.
You gasp as he hops down in front of you, his suit shiny with its dark web-pattern caught by the grey sunshine passing through the clouds overhead. āShit, donāt break your ankles.āĀ
āMy ankles?ā He laughs. He sounds so much like Peter that you can only laugh with him. What an idiot he is for thinking you donāt know; what a fool youād been for falling for his put upon tenor. āTheyāre fine. What would be wrong with my ankles?āĀ
āYou just dropped down twenty feet!āĀ
āItās more like thirty, and Iām fine. You understand the super part of superhero, donāt you?āĀ
āWho said youāre a superhero?āĀ
āNice. What are you doing down here?āĀ
āI was testing my theory. Youāre following me.āĀ
āNo, Iām visiting you, itās very different,ā he says confidently.Ā
āYou havenāt come to see me for weeks.āĀ
āYes, well, Iāā Spider-Peter crosses his arms across his chest. āHey, youāre the one who told me to take a day off.āĀ
āI did tell you to take a day off. Itās not nice thinking about you trying to save the world every single night. Thatās a lot of responsibility for one person to have.āĀ
āBut itās my responsibility,ā he says easily. āNo point in a beautiful girl like you wasting her time worrying about it. I have to do it, and I donāt mind it.āĀ
āDo you flirt with every girl you meet out here in the city?ā you ask, cheeks hot.Ā
āNo,ā he says, fondness evident even through the mask, ājust you.āĀ
āDo you wanna walk me home? I was gonna take the subway, but itās not that far.āĀ
Spider-Man nods. āYeah, Iāll walk you back.āĀ
He doesnāt hide that he knows the way very well. He takes preemptive turns, crosses roads without you telling him to go forward. You canāt believe him. Smartest guy at Midtown High and he canāt pretend to save his life.Ā
āAre you having a good semester?ā he asks.Ā
āItās getting better. Iām glad I stuck with it. I love biology, itās so fucking hard. I used to think that was a bad thing, but it makes it cooler now. Like, itās not something everyone understands.ā You give him a look, and you give into temptation. āMy best friend got me into all this stuff. I used to think math was hopeless and science was for dorks.āĀ
āItās definitely for dorks.āĀ
āRight, but I love being one.ā You offer a useless secret. āI like to think that itās why weāre such great friends.āĀ
āMe and you?ā Spider-Man asks hoarsely.Ā
āMe and Peter.ā You elbow him without force. āWhy, do you like science?āĀ
āI love itā¦āĀ
āYou know, I really like you, Spider-Man. I feel like weāve been friends for a long time.ā Youāre teasing poor Peter.Ā
He doesnāt speak for a while. He stops walking, but you take a few steps without him. When you realise heās stopped, you turn back to see him.Ā
Peterās gone so tense you could strike him with a flint and catch a spark. Itās the same way Peter looked at you when he told you about his Uncle, a truth he didnāt want to be true. Seeing it throws a spanner in the works of all your teasing: youād meant to wind him up, not make him panic.Ā
āWhatās wrong?ā you ask. āCan you hear something?āĀ
āNo, itās not thatā¦ā Heās masked, but you know him well enough to understand why heās stopped.Ā
āItās okay,ā you say.Ā
āItās not, actually.āĀ
āSpider-Man.ā You take a step toward him. āItās fine.ā
He presses his hands to his stomach. The sun is setting early, and in an hour, the dark will eat up New York and leave it in a blistering cold. āDo you remember when we first met, the second time, we swapped secrets?āĀ
āYeah, I remember. Useless secret for another. I told you I hated my major. Itās not true anymore, obviously. I was having a bad time.āĀ
āI know you were,ā he says, emphasis on know, like itās a different word entirely.Ā
āBut meeting you really helped. If it werenāt for you, for Peter,ā āyou give him a searching lookā āI wouldnāt feel better at all.āĀ
āIt wasnāt his fault?ā he asks. āHe was your friend, and you were lonely.āĀ
āNoāā
āHe didnāt know what was going on with you, he didnāt have a clue. You hurt yourself and you felt like you couldnāt tell anybody, and I know it wasnāt an accident, so what was his excuse?ā His voice burns with anger. āItās his fault.āĀ
āOf course it wasnāt your fault. Is that what you think?ā You shake your head, panicked by the bone-deep self loathing in his voice, his shameful dropped head. āYes, I was lonely, I am lonely, I donāt know many people and Iā Iā I hurt myself, and it wasnāt as accidental as I thought it was, but why would that be your fault?āĀ
āPeterās fault,ā he says, though his head is lifted now, and he doesnāt bother enthusing it with much gusto.Ā
āPeter, none of it was your fault.ā You cringe in your embarrassment, thinking Fuck, donāt let me ruin this. āI was in a weird way, and yes, I was lonely, and I really liked you more than I should have. You didn't want me and that wasnāt your fault, thatās just how it was, I tried not to let it get to me, just there were a lot of things weighing on me at once, but it really wasnāt as bad as you think it was and it wasnāt your fault.āĀ
āI wasnāt there for you,ā he says. āAnd Iāve been lying to you for a long time.āĀ
āYou couldnāt tell me, right? Spider-Man is your secret for a reason.āĀ
āā¦I didnāt even know you were lonely until you told him. He was a stranger.āĀ
You hold your hands behind your back. āWell, he was a familiar one.āĀ
Peter reaches out as though wanting to touch you, but your arms arenāt in his reach. āItās not because I didnāt want you.āĀ
āPeter,ā you say, squirming.Ā
He steps back.Ā
āI have to go,ā he says.Ā
āWhat?āĀ
āI have toā I donāt want to go,ā he says earnestly, āsweetheart, I can hear someone calling out, I have to go. But Iāll come back, Iāllā Iāll come back,ā he promises.Ā
And with a sudden lift of his arm, Peter pulls himself up the side of a building and disappears, leaving you whiplashed on the sidewalk, the sun setting just out of view.
ā
You fall asleep that night waiting for Peter. When you wake up, 5AM, eyes aching, he isnāt there. You check your phone but he hasnāt texted. You check the Bugle and Spider-Man hasnāt been seen.Ā
You arenāt sure what to think. He sounded sincere to the fullest extent when he said heād come back, but he didnāt, not ten minutes later, not twenty. You made excuses and you went home before it got too dark to see the street, sat on the couch rehearsing what youād say. How could Peter think your unhappiness was his fault? Why does he always put the entire world on his shoulders?
Selfishly, you worried what it all meant for his lazy touches. Would he want to curl up into bed with you again now he knows what it means to you? Itās different for him. It isnāt like heās in love with you⦠youād just thought maybe he could be. That this was falling in love, real love, not the unrequited ache youād suffered before.Ā
But maybe you got everything wrong. All of it. It wouldn't be the first time.Ā
ā
You and Peter found The Moroccan Mode in your senior year at Midtown. The school library was small and you were sick of being underfoot at home. When you started at ESU, you explored the on campus coffeehouse, the Coffee Bean, but it was crowded, and youād found yourself attached to the Modeās beautiful tiling, blues and topaz and platinum golds, its heavy, oiled wooden furniture, stained glass lampshades and the case full of lemony treats. The coffee here is better than anywhere else, but the best part out of everything is that itās your secret. Barely anybody comes to the Mode on purpose.Ā
You hide in a far corner with a book and an empty cup of decaf coffee, a slice of meskouta on the table untouched. Decaf because caffeine felt a terrible idea, meskouta untouched because you canāt stomach the smell. You push it to the opposite end of the table, considering another cup of coffee instead. Itās served slightly too hot, and will still be warm when it gets to your chest.Ā
The sunshine is creeping in slowly. It feels like the first time youāve seen it in months, warming rays kissing your fingers and lining the walls. You turn a page, turn your wrist, let the sun warm the scar you gave yourself those few months ago, when everything felt too big for you.Ā
Looking back, it was too big. Maybe soon youāll be ready to talk about it.Ā Ā
The author in your book is talking about bees. They can fly up to 15 miles per hour. They make short, fast motions from front to back, a rocking motion. Asian giant hornets can go even faster despite their increased mass. They consider humans running provocation. If you see a giant hornet, youāre supposed to lay down to avoid being stung.Ā
You put your face in your hand. Next year, youāll avoid the insect-based electives.Ā
Across the cafe, the bell at the top of the door rings. Laughter falls through it, a couple passing by. The register clashes open. A minute later it closes.Ā
You donāt raise your head when footsteps draw near. A plate is placed on the table, pushed across to you, stopping just shy of your coffee.Ā
āDid you eat breakfast?ā Peter asks quietly.Ā
His voice is gentle, but hoarse.Ā
You tense.Ā
āAre you okay?ā he asks, not waiting for your answer to either question. āYou donāt look like yourself. Your eyes are red.āĀ
You lift your head. Wet with the beginnings of tears, you see Peter through an astigmatic blur.Ā
āWhat are you reading?ā He frowns at you. āPlease donāt cry.āĀ
You shake your head. Your smile is all odd, nothing like his, no inherent warmth despite your best effort. āIām okay.āĀ
He nudges you across the booth seat and sits beside you. His arm settles behind your shoulders. He smells like smoke and soap, an acrid scent barely hidden. āCan you tell me you didnāt wait long for me?āĀ
āTen minutes,ā you lie.Ā
āOkay. Iām sorry. There was a fire.ā He rubs your arm where heās holding you. āIām sorry.āĀ
āWill you go half?ā you ask, nodding to the sandwich heās brought you. Itās tough sourdough bread, brown with white flour on the crusts and leafy greens poking between the slices. You and Peter complain about the price. Youāve never had one. He passes you the bigger half, holding the other in his hand without eating.Ā
āI know youāre hungry,ā you say, tapping his elbow, ājust eat.āĀ
You eat your sandwiches. Now that Peterās here, you donāt feel so sick āheās not upset with you. The dull pang of an empty stomach wonāt be ignored.Ā
Peter puts his sandwich down, which is crazy, and wipes his fingers on the plates napkin. Youāve never seen him stop before heās done.
āIt was in the apartments on Vernon. Iā I think I almost died, the smoke was everywhere.āĀ
You choke around a crust, thrusting the rest of your half onto the plate. āAre you hurt?ā you ask, coughing.Ā
He moves his head from side to side, not a shake, but a slow no. āHow long have you known it was me?ā he asks, curling his hand behind your back again, fingers spread over your shoulder blade, a fingertip on your neck.Ā
You savour his touch, but you give in to your apprehension and stare at his chest. āThe night you caught me outside in the rain in November. You called me ārunning girlā. The way you said it, you sounded exactly like him. I turned around expecting,ā āyou whisper, weary of the quiet cafeā āSpider-Man, and I realised itās him that sounds like you. That he is you.āĀ
āWas that disappointing?āĀ
āPeter, youāre, like, my favourite person in the world,ā you whisper fervently, your smile making it light. You laugh. āWhy would that be disappointing?āĀ
āI thought maybe you think heās cooler than me.āĀ
āHe is cooler than you, Peter.ā You laugh again, pleased when he scoffs and draws you nearer. āI guess youāre the same person, right? So heās just as cool as you are. But why would being cool matter to me? You know I like you.āĀ
āYou flirted pretty heavily with Spider-Man.ā
āWell, he flirted with me first.āĀ
You chance a look at his face. From that moment you canāt look away, not from Peter. You like when he wears that darkness in his eyes, the hint of his rarer side so uncommonly seen, but you love this most of all, Peter like your best memory, the way heās looking at you now a picture perfect copy of that moment in a swimming pool in Manhattan with cracked tile under your feet. His arms heavy on your shoulders. You didnāt get it then, but youāre starting to understand now.
āIāve made a mess of everything,ā he says softly, the trail his hand makes to the small of your back leaving a wake of goosebumps. āI havenāt been honest with you.āĀ
āI havenāt, either.āĀ
āI want to ask you for something,ā Peter says, a fingertip trailing back up. He smiles when you shiver, not teasing, just loving. āYou can say no.āĀ
āYouāre hard to say no to.āĀ
āI need you to talk to me more,ā āand here he goes, Peter Parker, flirting and sweet-talking like his life depends on it, his face inching down into your spaceā ānot just because I love your voice, or because you think so much Iām scared youāll get lost, but I need you to talk to me. We need to talk about real things.ā
We do, you think morosely.Ā
āItās not your fault,ā he adds, the hand that isnāt holding your back coming up to cup your cheek, āitās mine. I was scared of telling you for stupid reasons, but I shouldnāt have let it be a secret for so long.āĀ
āNo, I doubt theyāre stupid,ā you murmur, following his hand as he attempts to move it to your ear. āItās not easy to tell someone youāre a hero.ā
His palm smells like smoke.Ā
āThatās not the secret I meant,ā he says.Ā
You take his hand from your face. Peter looks down and begins pressing his fingers between yours, squeezing them together as his thumb runs over the back of your hand.
āSo tell me.ā
The sunshine bleeds onto his cheek. Dappled orange light turning slowly white as time stretches and the sun moves up through a murky sky. āYou want to trade secrets again?ā he asks.Ā
āPlease.āĀ
āOkay. Okay, but I donāt have as many as you do,ā he warns.Ā
āI find that hard to believe.āĀ
āI donāt. Itās not a real secret, is it? Iāve been trying to show you for weeks, weā¦ā
He tilts his head invitingly.Ā
All those hand-holds and nights curled up in bed together. Am I going too fast? You know exactly what he means; it really isnāt a secret.
āIāll go first,ā he says, lowering his face to yours. You try not to close your eyes. āIāve wanted to kiss you for weeks.ā He closes his eyes so you follow, your breath not your own suddenly. You hold it. Let it go hastily. āWhatās your secret?āĀ
āSometime I want you to kiss me so badly I canāt sleep. It makes me feel sickāā
āSick?ā he asks worriedly.Ā
You touch the tip of your nose to his. āItās likeā like jealousy, butā¦āĀ
āYou have no one to be jealous of,ā he says surely. He cups your cheek, and he asks, āPlease, can I kiss you?āĀ
You say, āYes,ā very, very quietly, but he hears it, and his smile couldnāt be more obvious as he closes the last of the distance between you to kiss you.
It isnāt the sort of kiss that kept you up at night. Peter doesnāt hook you in or tip your head back, he kisses gently, his hand coming to live on your cheek, where it cradles. Itās so warm you donāt know what to make of him beyond kissing him back ākissing his smile, though itās catching. Kissing the line of his Cupidās bow as he leans down.Ā
āIām sorry about everything,ā he mumbles, nose flattened against yours.Ā
You feel sunlight on your cheek. Squinting, you turn into his hand to peer outside at the sudden abundance of it. Itās still cold outside, but the Mode is warm, Peterās hand warmer, and the sunshine is a welcome guest.Ā
Peter drops his hand. āOh, wow. December sun. Good thing it didnāt snow, weād be blind.ā
āI canāt be cold much longer,ā you confess. āIām sick of the shitty weather.āĀ
āI can keep you warm.āĀ
He smiles at you. His eyelashes tangle in the corners of his eyes, long and brown.Ā
āDid you want my meskouta?ā you ask.Ā
Peter plants a fat kiss against your brow.Ā
You let the sunshine warm your face. Two unfinished sandwich halves, a mouthful of coffee, and a round slice of meskouta, its flaky crumb and lemon drizzle shining on the table. You would ask Peter for his camera if youād thought he brought it with him, to take a picture of your breakfast and the carved table underneath. You could turn it on Peter, say something cheesy. This is the moment you ruined our lives, youād tease.
āYou never told me you met Spider-Man, you know.āĀ
You watch Peter lick the tip of his finger without shame. āThey could make a novella of things I havenāt told you about,ā you murmur wryly.Ā
Peter takes a bite of meskouta, reaching for your knee under the table. He shakes your leg a little, as if to say, Well, weāll work on that.Ā
ā
Spring
āSorry!ā
āNo, itāsāā
āSorry, sorry, Iāmā shit!ā
āāokay! All legs inside the ride?ā
āI couldnāt find my purseāā
āYou donāt need it!ā Peter leans over the console to kiss your cheek. āYou donāt have to rush.āĀ
āAre you sure you can drive this thing?āĀ
āHarry doesnāt mind.āĀ
āI donāt mean the car, I mean, are you sure you can drive?āĀ
āThatās not funny.āĀ
You grin and dart across to kiss his cheek, too. āNothing ever is with us.āĀ
Peter grabs you behind the neck āwhich might sound rough, if he were capable of such a thingā and pulls you forward for a kiss you donāt have time for. āIf we donāt check in,ā āyou begin, swiftly smothered by another press of his lips, his tongue a heat flirting with the seam of your lipsā āby three, they said they wonāt keep the roomāā He clasps the back of your neck and smiles when your breath stutters. You squeeze your eyes closed, kiss him fiercely, and pull away, hand on his chest to restrain him. āAnd then weāll have to drive home like losers.āĀ
Peter sits back in the driver's seat unbothered. He fixes his hair, and he wipes his bottom lip with his knuckle. Youāre rolling your eyes when he finally returns your gaze. āSorry, am I the one who lost her purse?āĀ
āPeter!āĀ
āI canāt make us un-late,ā he says, turning the key slowly, hands on the wheel but his eyes still flitting between your eyes and your lips.Ā
āAlright,ā you warn.Ā
He reaches for your knee. āItās a forty minute drive. Youāre panicking over nothing.āĀ
āItās an hour.āĀ
Your drive from Queens to Manhattan is entirely uneventful. You keep Peterās hand hostage on your knee, your palm atop it, the other hand wrapped around his wrist, your conversation a juxtaposition, almost lackadaisical. Peter doesnāt question your clinging nor your lazy murmurings, rubbing a circle into your knee with his thumb from Forest Hill to Lenox Hill. Thereās so much to do around Manhattan; you could visit MoMA, Central Park, The Empire State Building or Times Square, but you and Peter give it all a miss for the little known Manhattan Super 8.Ā
Itās been a long time since you and Peter first visited. You took the bus out to Lenox Hill for a med-student tour neither of you particularly enjoyed, feeling out future careers. Itās not that Lenox Hill isnāt one of the most impressive medical facilities in New York (if not the northeastern USA), itās that all the blood made him queasy, and you were panicking too much about the future to think it through. He got over his aversion to blood but chose the less hands-on science in the end, and you worked things through. Youāre a little less scared of the future everyday.Ā
You and Peter were supposed to get the bus straight back home for a sleepover, but one got cancelled, another delayed, and night closed in like two hands on your neck. Peter sensed your fear and emptied his wallet for a night in the Super 8.Ā
The next morning it was beautifully sunny. The first day of summer that year, warm and golden. The pool wasnāt anything special but it was invitingly cool, blue and white tiles patterned like fish below; you clambered into the water in shorts and a tank top and Peter his boxers before a worker could see and stop you.Ā
It was one of the best days of your life. When you told Peter about it last week, heād looked at you peculiarly, said, Bub, youāre cute, and let you waste the afternoon recounting one of your more embarrassing pangs of longing. A few days later he told you to clear your calendar for the weekend, only spilling the beans on what heād done when youād curled over his lap, a hand threaded into the hair at the nape of his neck, murmuring, Tell me, tell me, tell me.Ā
Heād hung his head over you and scrunched up his eyes. Cheater.
The best thing about having a boyfriend is that he always wants to listen to you. Peter was a good listener as a best friend, but now he has his act together and the secrets between you are never anything more than eating the last of the milk duds or not wanting to pee in front of him, heās a treasure. Thereās no feeling like having Peter pull you into his lap so he can ask about your day with his face buried in your neck, sniffing. Sometimes, when you text one another to meet up the next day, youāll accidentally will the hours away babbling about school and life and things without reason. Peter has a list on his phone of your silliest tangents; blood oranges to the super moon, fries dipped in ice cream to the world record for kick flips done in five minutes. Itās like when you talk to one another, you canāt stop.Ā
There are quiet moments. You wake up some mornings to find him awake already, an arm behind you, rubbing at your soft upper arm, fingertip displacing the fine hairs there and trailing circles as he reads. He bends the pages back and holds whatever novel heās reading at the bottom of his stomach, as though making sure you can see the words clearly, even when youāre sleeping.Ā
There are hectic, aching moments āvigilante boyfriends become blasĆ© with their lives and precious faces. Youāve teetered on the edge of anxiety attacks trying to pick glass from his cheek with a tweezers, lamented over bruises that heal the next day. Itās easier when Peterās careful, but Spider-Man isnāt careful. You ask him to take care of himself and heās gentle with himself for a few days, but then someone needs saving from an armed burglar or a car swerves dangerously onto the sidewalk and he forgets.Ā
He hadnāt patrolled last night in preparation for today.Ā
āDid you know,ā he says, pulling Harryās borrowed car into a parking spot just in front of the Super 8 reception, āthat todayās the last day of spring?āĀ
āAlready?āĀ
āTonightās the June equinox.āĀ
āWho told you that?āĀ
āAunt May. She said itās time to get a summer job.āĀ
You laugh loudly. āOur federal loans wonāt last forever.āĀ
āHarryās gonna get me something, I think. Do you want to work with me? It could be fun.āĀ
You nod emphatically. Itās barely a thought. āObviously I want to. Does Oscorp pay well, do you think?āĀ
Peter lets the engine go. The car turns off, engine ticking its last breath in the dash. āBetter than the Bugle.āĀ
You get your key from the reception and find your room upstairs, second floor. Itās not dirty nor exceptionally clean, no mould or damp but a strange smell in the bathroom. Thereās a microwave with two mugs and a few sachets of instant coffee. Peter deems it the nicest motel heās ever stayed in, laughing, crossing the room to its only window and pulling aside the curtain.Ā
āThere it is, sweetheart,ā he says, wrapping his arm around you as you join him, āthatās what dreams are made of.āĀ
The blue and white tiled pool. It hasnāt changed.Ā
Itās about as hot as itās going to get in June today, and, not knowing if itāll rain tomorrow, you and Peter change into your swim suits and gather your towels. You wear flip flops and tangle your fingers, clanking and thumping down the rickety metal stairs to the pool. Thereās nobody there, no lifeguard, no quests, and the pool is clean and cold when you dip your toes.Ā
Peter eases in first. Towels in a heap at the end of a sun lounger, his shirt tumbling to the floor, Peter splashes in frontward and turns to face you as the water laps his ribs. āItās cold,ā he says, wading for your legs, which he hugs.Ā
āI can feel it,ā you say, the cool waters to your calves where you sit on the edge.Ā
āYou wonāt come in and warm me up?ā he asks.Ā
You stroke a tendril of hair from his eyes. He attempts to kiss your fingers.Ā
āIām trying to prepare myself.āĀ
āMm, you have to get used to it.ā He puts wet hands on your thighs, looking up imploringly until you lean down for a kiss. The fact that heād want one still makes you dizzy. āThank you,ā he says.Ā
āYouāll have to move.āĀ
Peter steps back, a ripple of water ringing behind him, his hands raised. He slips them with ease under your arms and helps you down into the water, laughing at your shocked giggling āheās so strong, the water so cold.Ā
Peter doesnāt often show his strength. Never to intimidate, he prefers startling you helpfully. Heāll lift you when you want to reach something too tall, or raise the bed when youāre on his side to force you sideways.Ā
āOh, this is the perfect place to try the lift!ā he says.Ā
āHow will I run?ā you ask, letting your knees buckle, water rushing up to your neck.Ā
Peter pulls you up. He touches you easily, and yet you get the sense that heās precious with you, too. Thereās devotion to be found in his hands and the specific way they cradle your back, drawing your chest to his. āI donāt need you to do a running start, sweetheart,ā he says, tilting his head to the side, āIāll just lift you.āĀ
āLast time I laughed so much you dropped me.āĀ
āExactly, you laughed, and this is serious.āĀ
The world isnāt mild here. Car horns beep and tyres crunch asphalt. You can hear children, and singing, and a walkie talkie somewhere in the Super 8ās parking lot. The pool pumps gargle and Peterās breath is half laughter as he pulls you further from the sidelines, ceramic tiles slippery under your feet. In the distance, you swear you can hear one of those songs he likes from that poor singer who died in the Wolf River.Ā
Heās a beholden thing in the sun; you canāt not look at him, all of him, his sculpted chest wet and glinting in the sun, his eyes like browning honey, his smile curling up, and up.Ā
āYouāre beautiful,ā he says.Ā
You rest an arm behind his head. āThe rash guard is a good look?āĀ
āSweetheart, you couldnāt look cuter,ā he says, hands on your waist, pinky on your hip. āI wish youād mentioned these shorts a few days ago. I wouldāve prepared to be a more decent man.āĀ
āYouāre decent enough, Parker.āĀ
āMaybe now.āĀ
āWell, if things get too hot, you can always take a quick dip,ā you say.Ā
Youāre teasing, but Peterās eyes light up with mischief as he calls, āOh, great idea!ā and lets himself drop backwards into the water. You pull your arm back rather than go with him. You canāt avoid the great burst of water as he surges to the surface.Ā
He shakes himself off like a dog.Ā
āPete!ā you cry through laughs, wiping the water from your face before the chlorine gets in your eyes.Ā
āIt just didnāt help,ā he says, pulling you back into his arms, āyou know, the water is cold, but youāre so hot, and I actually got a pretty good look at them when I was under, and youāre just as pretty as I remembered you being ten seconds agoāā
āPeter,ā you say, tempted to roll your eyes.Ā
Water runs down his face in great rivers, but with the dopey smile heās sporting, they look like anything but tears. āTell me a secret?ā he asks, dripping in sunshine, an endless summer at his back.Ā
A soft smile takes your lips. āNo,ā you say, tipping up your chin, āyou tell me one first.ā
āWhat kind of secret?āĀ
āA real one,ā you insist.Ā
āOhā¦ā He leans away from you, though his arms stay crossed behind you. āOkay, I have one. Ask me again.āĀ
You raise a single brow. āTell me a secret, Peter.āĀ
He pulls your face in for a kiss. His hand is wet on your cheek, but no less welcome. āI love you,ā he says, kissing the skin just shy of your nose.Ā
Youāre lucky heās already holding you. āI love you too,ā you say, gathering him to you for a hug, digging your nose into the slope of his neck as his admission blows your mind. āI love you.āĀ
Peter wraps his arms around your shoulders, closing his eyes against the side of your head. You canāt know what heās thinking, but you can feel it. His hands canāt seem to stay still on your skin.Ā
The sun warms your back for a time.Ā
Peter lets out a deep breath of relief. You lean away to look at him, your hand slipping down into the water, where he finds it, his fingers circling your wrist.Ā
āThatās another one to let go of,ā he suggests.Ā
He peppers a row of gentle kisses along your lips and the soft skin below your eye.Ā
You and Peter swim until your fingers are pruned and the sun has been blanketed by clouds. You let him wrap you in a towel, and kiss your wet ears, and take you back to the room, where he holds your face.Ā
āIāll start the shower for you,ā he says, rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs, each stroke of them encouraging your face from one side to the other, just a touch, ever so slightly moved in the palms of his hands.Ā
āDonāt fall asleep standing up,ā he murmurs.Ā
Your eyes close unbidden to you both. āI wonāt.āĀ
He holds you still, leaning in slowly to kiss you with the barest of pressure. Every thought in your head fades, leaving only you and Peter, and the dizziness of his touch as he lays you down at the end of the bed.Ā
ļ½”š¦¹Ā°ā§ā.į
please like, comment or reblog if you enjoyed, i love comments and seeing what anyone reading liked about the fic is a treat āthank you for readingā¤ļø

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A little Lab Mistake: Sex Pollen
ā© Summaryā©: After smelling a strange and alien flower that makes you more horny and aroused than you have ever been in your life, Peter reluctantly helps you with your predicament.
ā© Pairing ā©: Peter Parker x Fem!Reader (uses She/Her pronouns.
ā© Warnings ā©: Dub-Con, Sex Pollen.
ā©A/N ā©: First fic posted on the new blog! <3 link to post on ao3 here
"I'm just saying, how hard is it to take a picture when you're on an alien planet in space? I mean, you had your phone with you or even took the picture with your suit."
Peter looks up from the microscope to look at you, amused, shaking his head lightly as he laughs.
"Well, I don't have an intergalactic phone plan, and I was kinda preoccupied with trying not to get killed and saving the world, babe." He returns to the microscope, analyzing the sample.
"Okay, but you don't need a service to take a picture." You spin around in the lap barstools, preoccupying yourself as Peter works.
"Yeah, maybe, but what was I supposed to do, ask for a time out while I take a few pictures because my girlfriend won't believe me?"
You hold the lab table to stop yourself from spinning, looking back at Peter, offended, hurt even that he would think that you don't believe him.
"Whoa, okay, I never said I believe you, I believe you, but just saying, it would be nice to see pictures, considering I'll probably never go to space. I mean, just one picture of the sky, maybe some moons are all I'm asking for."
"Okay, I promise I will. The next time I'm on an alien planet, I'll take a few pictures for you, my love, better?"
You nod, hopping off the stool, walking around the lab. "Yes, thank you."
Peter returns to the microscope samples he was examining.
You continue walking around, regretting not bringing a book or laptop to do your work on. Your phone was dead, charging on the counter. You spot a different greenhouse-looking room, noticing the different flora and plants in the white planters in the lab next door through the glass, but out of all of them, one specifically catches your eye. The prettiest flower you've ever seen has a blue stem and light purple flowers, with weird orb petals that bloom.
"Hey, babe, what are these plants?" You ask, stepping close to the weird orb petals, amazed by it. Assuming it was an alien plant from the planet they were just on. Wondering if it was a fruit, edible, or a flower. The alien planet's version of liac or roses, given to loved ones affectionately. Did they make a bouquet of these flowers? Or was it that it could be poisonous, and touching it could be the equivalent of a poison dart frog?
He doesn't even need to look up to know what you were asking about. Turning around to look at Peter, but he's writing something. His ability to multitask while completing his college labs never fails to amaze you. Easily able to have a conversation while he solves a complex math problem, you definitely wouldn't have passed your sophomore year college calculus course. It definitely takes
"Uh, I'm not too sure. I think Dr. Reeds and Dr. Banner are studying them."
"Is that what you're working on now?"
Peter's eyes meet yours, looking up from the microscope, and letting out a little nervous laugh. "No, I'm doing a lab for my class, the campus lab is always packed, and it's only open during specific times, it's justā¦easier for me to go to the compound than on campus." Forming a small, guilty smile as he looks back at you.
"I know it's probably not right, or fair, but-"
"Babe⦠Babe⦠I'm not gonna judge you, I mean, you were away on an alien planet for like 3 days, and honestly, I mean, you're an Avenger, so you can use the Avengers' Compound. I was just curious."
Peter pauses before smiling again, more relaxed. "I am an Avenger, huh? I forget that sometimes." He looks back at his notebook, working on his lab.
You look through the glass at the greenhouse-esque lab. Looking back, the blue flower and the weird obs as petals once again. You could swear it was glowing, and speaking to you, drawing you in.
Your feet follow the call. You feel like they're carrying you, floating over to it more than walking. You walk over to where it was planted and observe it. You can't resist leaning in, sniffing it. You aren't sure what you were expecting, maybe a foreign floral scent, a sweet scent, but instead, you're met with a familiar smell. You inhale, smelling it again, smellingā¦smelling Peter. It wasn't his cologne, or the scent of coffee he had earlier today, but him, you can't explain it any other way. You can't stop smelling it. You can't move away from the plant or flower. It was intoxicating.
Finally, you're able to peel yourself, feel your head pulsing, ringing. You step away from the plant, feeling dizzy, feeling a cloud of mist over your thoughts. You swear you're hearing a faint whisper calling his name. "Peter" "Peter" "Peter"
You step away from the flower, your vision blurring for a moment before returning to normal, but the fog over your brain remains as you walk back to the other lab. Maybe you're just smelling Peter since you were just with him, maybe the flower was unscented.
You close the greenhouse door behind you, still feeling partially out of your body. Peter is in the middle of packing up his backpack, having finished his lab. Feeling yourself float over to him, he seems to be the only thing you can think about. Still hearing that whisper in the back of your head. "Peter" "Peter" "Peter"
"Peter?"
"Yeah?"
"Huh"
"You said my name?"
You look at him, shaking your head a little. Cause you swear you didn't say it.
"I didn't."
Peter just nods, grabbing his backpack and putting it on his back as he grabs your hand. You hadn't realized you had just let out a moan the second he touches you.
"What happened?"
"Huh?"
"You just moaned, are you okay. You're sweating and burning up."
You let out a little, small, breathy moan again as he gently touches the back of his hand to your forehead, feeling your temperature with the back of his hand. Peter steps away, turning to look at the greenhouse lab where he saw you moments ago.
"Did you go near the alien plants?"
His hands carefully hold your cheek still, clearly concerned. You look into his brown eyes, his gorgeous, pretty brown eyes. You nod slowly, unable to take your eyes off of him.
"Fuck, babe, I don't know what any of those are. You could've touched something toxic."
"Iā¦I didn't touch anyā¦just smelledā¦one"
"Which one!"
"The⦠pretty glowing blue oneā¦"
Peter looks back into the lab, spotting the flower instantly, and he glances back into your dilated pupils. You can tell by how he's looking back at you that he was scared shitless about whatever toxin you had inhaled, if it was like you were just tripping balls or if it was like you were gonna die in the next few hours.
"Babe. I seriously have no idea what the effects are, how long they last, or if they're deadly. I'm unable to visit the doctor or call anyone. How do I explain that I accidentally exposed my girlfriend to toxic, poisonous alien pollen? I'd be arrested. Didn't you-Haven't you ever heard that when things are usually bright and colorful, it's usually poisonous? Dart frogs, baby Dart frogs." He rambles as you just stare at him with glossy eyes.
"But it's not a frogā¦" You whisper under your breath, like it was obvious.
"Pete.." you whisper again, making him turn his attention to you, worried you were feeling worse.
"What. What baby? What is it?"
"You're so hot." Peter's eyebrow raises, confused.
"Huh"
"You're really hot and sexy."
Peter glares, squinting his eyes, trying to understand why you were randomly talking about how attractive he was. He assumes it must be you tripping balls off the alien pollen, so he just nods.
"T-Thank you?"
Peter gently places a hand on the small of your back, rubbing it gently, and instantly, your brain is flooded with thoughts of him. Peter's hands and all the times he fingered you, while he kissed your neck. His finger thrusting inside you, curling up, making your back arch. Fuck you're horny. So horny, you swear you're dripping. You'd never been this horny in your life. Every time his hands are on you, you feel like you're on fire.
You walk with him as he guides you to the lounge in the compound. You're trying to ignore the ache between your thighs and focus on whatever he's saying, but it sounds awfully like he's doing an impression of the parents in the Peanuts. Your mind continues to wander to dirty places.
"Babe? Baby!" He calls your name, finally getting your attention.
"What? huh?"
"What are you doing?"
You follow his eyes, looking down, seeing your hand down his pants, the other on his belt, not even aware you were doing it. You move your hand away slowly.
"Iā¦I'm sorry, Peter, my brain is⦠it feels foggy or misty or something. It's like Silent Hill up there."
You smile, letting out a small laugh, but Peter isn't as amused. He doesn't laugh or smile. Instead, he frowns, having you sit on the black couch in the lounge.
"I should call somebody, Dr. Banner, Dr. Richards. Dr. Strange, if it's alien." He says more to himself than to you, pacing slightly before making eye contact again. "Okay, just sit on the couch. I'm gonna go call someone, get changed into my suit, and swing you home, okay? I really don't wanna waste time trying to get on the subway."
"Pete⦠I'm not sure if this is relevant, but since you're calling them, could you maybe just slip in that I'm really turned on? Like really, really turned on, ever since I smelled the plant."
Peter's eyes get a bit wider as his face flushes a faint shade of pink, staring back at you a bit, clearly confused.
"What?"
"I don't know, but ever since I smelled the flower, I've been like so so horny, but it's probably nothing. You're just really, really turning me on, more than usual, way more than usual."
Peter stares back at you, clearly flustered. There's a beat of silence between the two of you before he finally responds. You can tell you probably broke his brain a bit by the long pause. Silence wasn't something your yapper boyfriend was known for.
"O-oh, um, I'll tell them then, I mean, do you really want me to tell them? I mean, on the other hand, the pollen mixing with your hormones could result in why you're⦠horny and might be dangerous. We don't know how else it could be reacting with your body."
You watch as Peter mentally works through the possibilities of why you could be having such an intense reaction, and something about his science and biology knowledge is getting you going. Again, your brain drifts towards the dirty thoughts from earlier. As much as you try, it's getting harder to keep your mind on anything other than having sex with Peter.
"Babe?"
His voice once again draws you from your sex daydreaming, getting your attention, realizing you had zoned out and missed what he said.
"Huh?"
"I'll only bring it up if it's relevant, don't wanna embarrass you. I'll be back after I call."
Peter leaves the lounge, leaving you in the lounge. You sit on the black, expensive couch, turning the TV on, flipping through random channels to distract yourself and the urge to relieve the desire running through your brain and your body.
But it doesn't work. It only takes a few seconds for the dirty and filthy thoughts to come back to your mind. Recalling all the times you had sex with Peter and how amazing it was. The feeling of his hands gripping your waist, or running down your back. His breathing airy moans he would let out when you're lips were around his hard cock, taking him deeper in your mouth. The way his hand would gently hold onto the back of your head. The different positions we had you in: Doggy, Cowgirl, Reverse Cowgirl, the ones you didn't even know the name of. How he would move your legs over his shoulder fucking deeper and deeper into you. The time Peter fucked you against his desk, against the wall. When he webbed your wrist to his bed frame and made you cum 3 times.
Then another image pops up, flashing in your head. Peter's pretty big brown eyes gazing up at you, begging if he could cum, while your hand moves slowly up and down his gorgeous, pretty cock, edging him and- God, what the fuck was that flower?
You're subtly grinding your clothed core on one of the pillows, trying to relieve the ache between your thighs, when Peter returns, no longer on the phone but now in his familiar red and black webbed suit. Which, unfortunately, only made him even more attractive. You couldn't tear your eyes from the way the suit clings to his thighs, his very, very rideable thighs. His suit was always attractive to you and brought out your inner mask kink, but after smelling the flower, seeing Peter in his suit instantly made you wetter and aroused in ways you've never been before. You stare, trying to focus on what he heard on the phone that made him change clothes.
"Ok, so good news it's not deadly or harmful, but bad news is you inhaled some type of aerosol-inducing pollen, which explains your earlier horniess, are you grinding against the pillow?"
You pause a bit, moving the pillow out from under you. You probably should've been embarrassed than you were. "Sorry, I- um, anyways. So there's like an antidote or something I can drink or take or inject?" You hope, pray even, because as time passes, you can feel yourself losing your self-control, and the arousal in your brain increases. You hope that he will explain that it was in a different lab.
"No, um⦠Strange said they would have to create a new one from scratch, which could take anywhere from weeks to months. We also don't know what extended periods of being under the pollen's influence are.
You pause, looking at him a bit disappointed. You probably would've been more disappointed, but you are trying to remain slightly optimistic.
"So�"
"So. I'm going to swing you home so you don't grope me while we take the subway."
"Then you'll fuck me?" The words slip out, your mouth moving without you intending to, causing Peter to let out a small laugh.
"Jesus, baby. But no, I'm not having sex with you, not like this. I'm not gonna take advantage of you. I'm gonna take a sample of the flower and see if I can come up with something with that mini lab from Happy. Do you think I could swing you without you humping me?"
Peter teases, but the possibility was there, truthfully. You wouldn't put it past your aroused brain to try it.
"Don't joke, because at this rate, I don't know. I'll be honest."
Peter holds you in one arm, as he opens the window of his bedroom with the other, carefully helping you through, climbing in after you. The window is barely closed as he feels your hand pressing the black spider in the middle of his suit, causing his suit to slide off his body and pool around his feet. Leaving him in just his pink plaid boxers, the white ovals on his mask widen in surprise at the fact that you just stripped him down. Your nails run down his abs to his hips until he moves your hands away.
"Babe!" he pulls the mask off, leaving it with the rest of his suit, as your hands are already back on his waist, toying with the waistband of his boxers. Trying to pull him towards his bed as he resists. Peter sees the beads of sweat across your forehead. Slightly concerned.
"Peter, it hurts, I swear, is this what Viaraga feels, cause it's awful. Please just fuck me. Please, please."
He listens to your pleas and begs, still trying to move your hands from grabbing his cock. He pushes them away again, stating them gently as he backs away from you, trying to create some distance between you and him.
"Baby, just give me an hour or two to see if I can come up with something. Okay? I'll take a sample and come up with something. But I'm not gonna have sex with you under any kind of substance, especially an alien breeding pollen."
His explanation goes over your head and is disregarded as you continue. You are laser-focused on one thing. As you see his lips move, all you can think about is his pretty pink lips and how they would feel between your thighs.
"Baby, please just hold on for like an hour so I can at least try."
"Peter, I can't wait an hour. I need your cock like now. Please. Please. Peter, it hurts. I need you."
Peter steps back until his bed is between him and you. Trying to avoid you. Suddenly felt like he had been transported to one of those porn plot videos with the title: "Fucking my girlfriend's brains out to save her life."
He looks at you, seeing the sweat on your forehead, the desperation in your eyes. He knows deep down it would be an unknown amount of time to find an antidote, and you clearly weren't going to last longer than a few hours.
"Okay, I'll⦠we can have sex. But baby, there are some ground rules, okay?"
He looks up, slightly intimidated by the look in your eye and your gaze, like he was just a talking dildo. He places a hand on your waist, softly, gently guiding you to his bed to sit down.
"You gotta tell him if you feel dizzy or sick or vision blurs or if anything else doesn't feel rightā¦or good, you'll tell me. I mean it seriously, anything you have to tell me."
Peter gently holds your face in his hands, making you look into his eyes. Making you focus on what little restraint you had left.
You nod, moving your hands to his thighs, slowly moving to his cock, but he puts his hands over your wrist, making them stop their attempt to take his cock out.
"I need to hear you say it. Seriously, baby, we⦠can't do this if you don't tell me when something doesn't feel okay."
"I'll tell you. I promise. But right now, Peter, what doesn't feel right is my pussy. It hurts, and I'm so wet, please fuck me. I need you so bad."
Peter holds his face in his hands, softly kisses your lips as your fingers move to his hips, your hands find their way to his hardening cock, finally reaching his cock, you rub his length through his boxers. A tiny moan escapes from between your lips, and your eyes close as you kiss him back. Feeling Peter's hands wrap around your back, gently guiding you to his lap. His hand grabs your thighs, slowly rubbing them as you sit in his lap. His hands move up from your thigh to your waist, holding you tightly as he repositions both your bodies against the headboard of his bed. You quickly return to kissing him, placing your lips on his cheek, his jaw, and down to his neck.
"Peter, I love you. I love you so much." You tell him breathlessly in between your kisses against his skin.
Peter laughs lightly, rubbing your back softly as you continue kissing down his neck and his chest.
"I love you too."
You stop kissing him, living up slightly to unzip your denim jean shorts, hastily pulling them off and tossing them onto the carpet of his bedroom floor. Another whine slips past your lips as you feel Peter's hard cock rub against your clothed core. You go back to his lips, messily pressing your lips against his. Moving your hips slightly, grinding against him, desperately seeking relief for the ache between your legs.
In one smooth movement, Peter lifts you gently, flipping you onto your back against his blue sheets. He pulls the light blue fabric of your panties down your legs, tossing them aside with your jeans onto his floor. Then he lifts up your shirt over your head, taking it off, and your bra follows shortly after. He runs his fingers down your pussy, seeing how much wetter you are due to the sex flower.
"Jesus, you're so wet." He mutters before pressing a kiss against your folds, rubbing the inside of your thigh as he pushes them apart. Opening you up to him more. Causing you to moan out his name under your breath.
"Please, Peter. I'm dying. Please, I need you. I need you inside me, please. Please fuck me."
Peter nods, kissing your forehead. "And what did you promise?"
You pause, hesitating, trying to remember before it pops into your head what he was referring to.
"I swear I'll promise if anything hurts, or I start feeling strange. Now will you fuck me, please?"
He nods, smiling slightly at the absurdity. He tugs down the pink plaid boxers off his hips, revealing his hard, thick pink cock. He barely had them off as you're grabbing his hips, trying to pull him closer to you. He pauses, reaching over your body to his nightstand. He opens the drawer, taking out a condom. Peter stops thinking about the fact that probably one round wasn't going to be enough with his girlfriend on a sex pollen pheromone. He grabs the last of the pack of condoms he had left, praying and hoping it would be enough.
Suddenly feeling a sharp light pain in his ass, making him let out a high-pitched yelp, he looked down.
"Did you just bite my ass? How did you even manage to reach my ass?"
You ignore him, glazing over his questions, grabbing his hips again, trying to pull him to you.
"Fuuuckk meee." You whine, dragging your voice, begging him again.
"I'm getting there, relax."
Peter lets out a sigh, mumbling under his breath. "This is crazy."
He caresses your hips softly, as he grabs his cock slowly sliding himself inside your wet pussy fully. Knowing you were far wetter than you weren't under the influence of the sex flower, he pushes cock all the way inside you, bottoming out.
You moan, finally feeling the relief you've been needing. Peter slowly pulls his cock out before sliding back inside you, moving your hips softly, thrusting into you.
His thick cock reaches where you need, filling you as he continues to move his cock inside you, making you moan and whimper underneath him, your nails digging into his back.
He continues fucking you softly, grabbing onto your hips as he lets out a few moans.
"Oh my god, you're so wet. What the fuck does this flower do to you?"
Peter says, looking down, doing his best to hold his restraint, maintaining control. Your eyes close shut as you moan his name, reaching closer and closer to your release.
You grip onto his wrist as you moan his name over and over as you cum, waves of pleasure washing over you intensely. Peter comes shortly after, as he leans over you, his head lying on his pillow, letting out a low groan.
Thank God for Peter's heightened endurance after the bite, which allowed him to last through the multiple rounds of sex it takes to get the pollen out of the system. You weren't really sure how many times you and Peter had gone. Somewhere along the way, Peter had to opt for eating you out or using one of your toys in lieu of his cock cause he couldn't continue. But regardless, you had finally fucked the pollen out of your system and were feeling normal and could think of things other than Peter's penis. Peter hands you another Gatorade, from his convenience store run he had to make in the middle of fucking the pollen out of your system, worried when you started to look like you were about to pass out.
"Thanks." You take a sip of the blue Gatorade. Handing t back to him to set it back on his nightstand.
"What did it smell like?" He asks as you set the gatoade on the nightstand, then lie against him. You pause, thinking back to the blue plant.
"It smelled like you?"
"What, like my B.O. or something?"
You laugh, shaking your head at his ridiculous assumptions. "No, you idiot, like you in general, I can't really explain it. Kinda like when I wear your shirt or boxers or something, that's how it smells."
"Is that what Viarage feels like, cause that was probably the worst thing I've ever experienced."
Peter's head snaps over to you, looking both offended and confused.
"How would I know! I have never taken it, do you think I have?"
You shrug as you shift, laying your head against his chest. He wraps his hand around your shoulder, pulling you closer under him.
Peter smiles, satisfied, making you curious.
"Why are you smiling like that?"
"Well, Strange explained that on the planet, the flower is from they smell their partner, it's like their soulmate, because of how it impacts the brain and hormones, so-"
"So are you saying that you're my soulmate or something, webs?" You catch what he's saying, seeing his cheek flush a bit as he shrugs.
"Can't argue with weird sex pollen, babe."
You woke up in the world of Twisted Wonderland in this NSFW Choose Your Own Adventure -- and now the Great Seven keep popping up in your dreams. Will you find out what it all means?
TWST Boys x Reader NSFW Choose Your Own Adventure
š READ/PLAY HERE š®interactive fanfic "Abracadabra" by vanillapuddingcup š Episode 2 of ?



