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If Izuku was to think about it any other day, he might be a little shocked, a little weirded out. Having a superhero for a boyfriend wasn’t typical, by any means. How many were there even in the entirety of the universe? It wasn’t like there were radioactive spiders or goo or some other freak science experiment lying around to turn just anyone into a human with ridiculous abilities but it was still an occurrence that could happen.
Which is exactly why Izuku can’t help but roll his eyes as he stops on the street, as he turns his eyes to the towering skyscrapers and the video footage currently being played across the large screens mounted all around. He sees yet another horrible villain that came out of nowhere attempting to destroy some part of the city or another and how Spiderman got involved all over again. Stupid, he thinks. Stupid how he knows who is under that mask and fighting and putting himself in trouble. Izuku really can’t blame him for it, understands why he fights to keep the city safe. He knows if he was in Shouto’s shoes he would do it, too – knows he has to do what he can with the papers to keep Shouto’s name clear and highlight the evils within their society so people understand.
He’s beginning to think about the coverage that he might need to have on this report, the questions he’s going to have to ask to have an insider source that no one seems to question. He fiddles with the camera around his neck anxiously while still watching the screen, nerves brewing in his stomach as the fight unfolds. Things seem to be going relatively well until he sees his favourite Spiderman take a horrible hit, one that makes Izuku wince. It makes him nauseous, causes him to feel numb in his fingers and his toes because it looked bad.
And it’s so, so long before he sees Spiderman come out of the rubble, before he’s able to fight again. Izuku knows his movements as well as he knows his own name, knows that Shouto is hurting something fierce and probably shouldn’t be standing. It has Izuku gnawing on his bottom lip, worried sick. He should be calling Shouto, see how he’s doing and where he’s at. He feels a visceral need to know whether or not he’s at home, how he’s fairing, if he needs to call out from the meeting he’s supposed to have so that he can go home and tend to his potential wounds or anything else that he needs.
The worst is that the footage isn’t live, that this happened not too long ago today and how can he only be hearing about it, now? Realistically, he should be a little angry that Shouto hadn’t bothered to call and tell him, though he understands why. Izuku had an important meeting with the paper. He’d had information from Shouto and plenty of his own photos to incriminate a large underground organization that was a little too vast for Spiderman to take down, himself. It was important for Izuku to present the information, the photos, and the article that he fought tooth-and-nail to get approved. He needed to prove the horrific things this organization was doing as well as show the trouble that had been consistently brewing within the city. They needed a sense of peace, and Izuku happened to be able to provide that. He had to have this published to expose their misdeeds and have the private judicial sectors take it seriously.
But that’s far in the back of his mind. Yes, his meeting had gone well despite how much he had to explain himself. He went in furious circles for a better part of the morning, constantly repeating himself until everything was settled and the article was due to be published in the paper this coming Friday. Izuku knew it was important, that he needed to stay on his toes because his name would be glaring at the top of that news column but that didn’t matter, right now. Right now, Shouto mattered and where could he be? Was he ok?
Izuku fumbled with his satchel in an attempt to quickly pull out his phone to call Shouto or to see if he’d missed any calls during his walk. He was so concentrated on finding just what pocket he had stashed it in, the sounds of the city droning around him, the newscaster still going on and on about how they were so lucky that Spiderman came to save the day again, that he doesn’t even notice someone barreling towards him, the shouts around him that Spiderman is here! It isn’t until his feet have left the ground and his stomach has been left on the city streets below that he feels the swoop inside his chest, the sharp feel of alarm and relief warring as he sets his eyes on the mask inches from his face.
“You–!”
His voice is trapped in his chest, words lost to the air as Shouto sharply drops them towards the ground before swinging back up, webs precisely placed as he takes them higher and higher. He’s flying them towards their apartment, Izuku belatedly realizes.
And he loves and hates this part. He likes feeling secure within Shouto’s arms but hates the way his hands tremble when they’re too high in the air. He can’t imagine how Shouto does it every day, how he drops from buildings and free falls like it’s nothing. Izuku often watches in awe and horror every time he drops from the top of a building with the smallest of waves, leans over the edge to see if Shouto’s on the ground only to find him swinging between one structure and another.
They land on top of the roof to their shared apartment, Shouto slowly lowering him until the tips of his tennies scrape the asphalt. He settles down, grounds himself in the touch on his waist and the solid surface under his feet. He still feels like he’s buzzing from the adrenaline and his anxieties, stomach in a different kind of knot. Izuku doesn’t know if he should shake Shouto for scaring him or wrap him up in his arms because he’s just as happy to see him. Someone makes the decision for him, tugging him into a tight embrace that he’s helpless to melt into.
His fingers come up, clutch at the back of thick and textured spandex with a different kind of desperation. Izuku feels his breath hitching, the telltale sign that he’s about to cry. Tears are pricking at his eyes, barely soothed by the gentle hands on his back, the quiet voice in his ear.
“I can’t believe you–” he chides, fingers curling tighter. He feels the twinge in his scarred hand, allows it to keep him in the present. “I saw that hit that you took. Do you know how horrible that looked? How the heck did you just pick me up and bring me home after that? You should be in bed! Resting!”
Izuku pulls back just enough to glare up at that damned mask, a pout on his lips because the audacity that this guy has.
“It wasn’t as bad as it looked,” Shouto murmurs, attempting to placate Izuku. He knows that Shouto is aware of how often he worries, how any little thing has him ready to hunt down whatever villain was bold enough to fight his Spiderman and give them a curt word or two.
“You’re sure?” he asks, doubt lancing through his tone, eyes wandering across his dirtied suit like he could pick out where the injuries are. Izuku knows that he’s probably hurt somewhere , that he’s brushing this off like Shouto tends to do.
Shouto stays quiet a moment too long and it spurs Izuku to move, to lace their fingers together and hurriedly tug him downstairs to their apartment. He might as well be shouldering the door open and breaking it down for how fast he moves. Yet Shouto still follows diligently despite knowing that Izuku will probably scold him well into the night for making him worry. It’s how this typically goes, after all.
When they’re inside, Izuku picks him up and dumps him unceremoniously onto the couch. He knows that Shouto’s probably hiding a smile behind that insufferable mask that is still on. He’s determined when he slides fingers underneath it, eases it over his head to get a good look at Shouto. He’s straddling his lap while he’s at it, determined not to let him leave.
There’s a bruise blooming high on his cheek that won’t be easy to cover up or explain. Izuku tsks quietly, fingers soothing as they brush against the mark, lips following where they drag across marred skin. His other fingers trace the edge of Shouto’s scar as he looks at him intently, brow still furrowed. He’s trying to convince himself to not be so upset, knows it’s unrealistic that he have any other expectation for Shouto. He will always be selfless and go out to save this city despite the way they talk about him in gossip rags and try to tarnish his name. And he knows that Shouto doesn’t really care, that he’ll continue doing what he does best, but Izuku wants them to just be kind and realize how good Shouto is, how hard he tries.
“You don’t have to look so serious, you know,” Shouto says into the air between them, teasing. His thumb drags across the furrow between Izuku’s eyebrows as if he’s trying to iron it out. “You look the way you do when the paper gives you a difficult task and you’re dead set to prove them wrong.”
“Because you are a difficult task,” Izuku huffs, pressing his forehead to Shouto’s.
And Shouto smiles, that soft and private one that's always reserved for Izuku.
“I’m just a task, now?” he prods again, gloved hands sliding underneath the hem of Izuku’s shirt to graze his sides. He knows that Shouto’s attempting to lighten the mood, poke fun at him a little, get him to relax. It’s an awful distraction. One that unfortunately works. Izuku can’t help the way he arches into the touch, pushes closer into Shouto’s lap where he’s perched.
“You will be if you keep making me worry the way you do. I swear, you’re going to scare me into an early grave one of these days.”
“And you won’t do the same for me?”
Izuku turns his gaze to the side, knows exactly what Shouto’s talking about. There have been too many instances where he’s had his own close calls – sneaking around on the scene of a crime, snooping around for the scoop on one villain or another, skirting bases riddled with evil to take his own pictures and make his own notes. Shouto knows all of the times where he’s come home breathless, ruffled, barely having run with a folder in hand full of incriminating files and photo evidence. He’s had his own times where Shouto’s had to come save him, prevent him from falling to his doom whether pushed over the edge of a bridge or trapped within a room because he decided to stick his nose too far into someone else’s business. Yet Shouto is just as accepting of this. Knows he can’t stop Izuku or his curiosity or his need to bring justice to villains in his own way. While Shouto soars in the skies and dominates from the rooftops, Izuku has eyes and ears on the ground. They have each other’s back in that way.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, nosing at the curve of Shouto’s cheek. “You know I can’t help but worry. And I know I always get into trouble and sometimes you have to save me, but you know how I am. And – and I know how you are, too, but watching you take a hit like that and take so long to come back to the forefront of the fight was scary, Shouto.”
He feels the drag of textured spandex up his spine, a shudder following.
“I know. That was… unexpected. I’ll try to be more careful next time.”
Izuku breathes out a sigh of relief, presses his lips to the corner of Shouto’s mouth, the bridge of his nose, his forehead, and finally his lips. He really feels like he’s the one in need of comfort but Shouto deserves the attention, deserves to know Izuku loves him, deserves to see how important he is so that he doesn’t continue to put himself in harm’s way too horribly like he used to.
“ Please,” he all but pleads, fingers tracing the edge of his suit along the side of his neck.
“I will. But–” And Shouto pauses, winces a little when Izuku stares at him and waits for him to continue. “I do need a little help. I did get banged up back there but I wanted to see you first.”
Izuku blinks before he’s moving again, fingers deft where they find the hidden zippers in Shouto’s suit. He’s shoving it down while still trying to be gentle, sees the ugly purple spreading along his ribcage. Anything else covering his torso is superficial, more bruising than anything. He smiles, something shaky at the edges.
“Can you stop making it sound like everything is worse than it is?”
Shouto huffs out a laugh, raises his brows a tad.
“Is that possible? I do think one of my ribs is broken.”
Izuku rolls his eyes fondly, crawls off his lap and saunters off into the other room. He grabs some ice packs and the almost empty tin of arnica salve before making his way back to the living room where Shouto dutifully sits and hasn’t moved.
He’s quick to settle back in his lap, craving the closeness. His fingers are kind as they warm the salve between his fingers, as he spreads it across his growing bruises and then some. As he works, he quietly gauges how Shouto is handling the treatment and if there are any areas he needs to be particularly ginger with. When he’s finished and pressing an ice pack into the ugly mottling on his side, Shouto finally decides to move. He’s so quick that Izuku doesn’t know what’s happening until his back hits the couch with an oof.
He looks up to see a smile stretching Shouto’s lips, now bare hands returning under the edge of Izuku’s shirt. And Izuku can’t help but laugh, throw his head back into the cushions and bare his throat as Shouto swoops down to kiss him everywhere he can reach.
“Hey– I thought you were injured. Shouldn’t you be resting?” he admonishes, though it’s incredibly half-hearted. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy or crave the attention from Shouto.
Shouto just hums, nips at the edge of Izuku’s jaw.
“And if I don’t rest?” he asks.
“Then I’m going to have to force you to!”
“I’ll allow it after I’ve had my fill of you.”
“Fine,” he agrees with a tittering laugh, hands finding purchase against bare skin where he can.
He knows they’ll talk more about this later, but for now Izuku just wants Shouto and everything he can give.
He can make a concession, this time.