StarWaves
patreon
Thunder and Black Wings! 46
🕑 Added 2026-01-19 10:31:48 +0000 UTCChapter 46:
Three months later…
– Peter Parker –
A lot of things had changed in Peter Parker's life.
Okay, not a lot of things. But some. Enough that when he caught his reflection in the subway window during his morning commute, he sometimes didn't recognize the guy staring back at him. Same messy brown hair. Same perpetually tired eyes from staying up too late doing—well, extracurricular activities. But something underneath had shifted. Hardened, maybe. Or just grown up faster than he'd expected.
He was still Spider-Man.
That part hadn't changed. Every night, he pulled on the red and blue suit he'd sewn together from scratch—upgraded now thanks to the efforts of two women, with better webbing and a mask that didn't fog up when he breathed too hard—and swung through the concrete canyons of New York City. Stopping muggers. Pulling people from car wrecks. Once, memorably, catching a kid who'd fallen off a fire escape while trying to retrieve a runaway cat. The cat had scratched him. The kid had cried. Peter had felt like a goddamn hero anyway.
But here was the thing that still pissed him off, even months later.
Nobody knew he existed.
Or rather, nobody was allowed to know. He'd figured that part out after the dozenth time someone he'd saved tried to post a video online, only for it to vanish within hours. Photos? Gone. Eyewitness accounts on local news forums? Deleted.
It was like some invisible hand kept reaching down and scrubbing any evidence of Spider-Man from the digital landscape before it could gain traction.
He'd asked Emma and Jean about it during one of their weekly check-ins—the two time-displaced telepaths who'd become something like older sisters to him over the past few months, even if their relationship with Blake was… complicated in ways Peter tried very hard not to think about.
"Government cover-up," Emma had said flatly, examining her manicured nails with practiced disinterest. "Anyone with actual powers gets erased from public consciousness. SHIELD, probably. Maybe the CIA helping them. Someone with enough resources to monitor social media in real-time and enough paranoia to think the public can't handle knowing that superhumans walk among them."
"That's bullshit," Peter had complained.
"Welcome to the real world, darling."
And it was bullshit. Especially because two months ago, Tony Stark had built a robot suit to fight off an even bigger EVIL robot suit, and then held a press conference, looked directly into approximately nine hundred cameras, and announced—with that trademark Stark smirk—"I am Iron Man."
The world had lost its collective mind.
Every news network. Every talk show. Every corner of the internet that wasn't actively on fire about something else.
Tony Stark, billionaire genius playboy philanthropist, had built himself a suit of flying armor and was now actively fighting crime and terrorism across the globe. The media couldn't get enough of him. They called him the "First Superhero Since Captain America." They ran retrospectives on Steve Rogers and drew breathless comparisons. They debated whether this marked the dawn of a new age of heroes.
And Peter was still swinging around Queens while SHIELD or whoever scrubbed his existence from the historical record.
I've been doing this for months, he'd thought bitterly, watching Tony's press conference on his cracked phone screen while sitting on a rooftop in his slightly-sweaty spider suit. Months. But sure. First superhero. Whatever.
But honestly? He couldn't stay mad at Tony Stark. Partly because the man was genuinely trying to make the world better—not just with the Iron Man suit, but with his money, his influence, his platform. He'd donated billions to disaster relief. He'd publicly called out corrupt politicians. He'd gone on record saying he was done manufacturing weapons and pivoting Stark Industries toward clean energy and medical technology.
And partly because of the university.
Stark Institute of Technology—or SIT, as everyone was already calling it, much to the amusement of exactly no one—had been announced six weeks ago. A brand new private university, fully funded by Stark Industries, located right in the heart of Manhattan. State-of-the-art facilities. World-class faculty poached from MIT and Caltech and Oxford. And most importantly, according to Tony Stark's announcement speech:
"Zero nepotism. Zero legacy admissions. Zero giving a shit about how much money your parents have. If you're brilliant, you're in. If you're not, go somewhere else. Simple as that…"
Peter hadn't believed it. Not really. Rich people always said stuff like that, and then somehow their golf buddies' kids still ended up with acceptance letters and corner suites in the nicest dorms. That was just how the world worked.
Except then he'd gotten a letter in the mail.
Addressed to him. Peter Benjamin Parker. Informing him that based on his academic record—valedictorian of Midtown High, perfect scores on every standardized test he'd ever taken, a science fair project that had apparently caught someone's attention—he had been awarded a full scholarship to the inaugural class of Stark Institute of Technology.
Full ride. Room and board. Books. Everything.
Aunt May had cried. Peter had maybe also cried, but he'd never admit it. And now, here he was, standing in the hallway of Himejima Hall, the newest and shiniest dormitory on SIT's gleaming campus, staring at the door marked 217 and trying to work up the nerve to meet his randomly assigned roommate.
His spider-sense wasn't tingling. That was good, right? No immediate danger. Just garden-variety social anxiety about sharing a living space with a complete stranger for the next four years.
You fight supervillains, Peter reminded himself, shifting the strap of his overstuffed duffel bag on his shoulder. You've been shot at. You fell off a building last week and caught yourself six inches from the pavement. You can handle meeting a new person.
He reached for the door handle.
Please don't be weird, he thought desperately. Please don't be one of those guys who clips his toenails in common areas or leaves passive-aggressive notes about dish duty or—
The door swung open. Peter's brain short-circuited.
Standing in the middle of the dorm room—their dorm room, apparently—was a tall figure with messy black hair and familiar blue eyes and a smirk that Peter would recognize anywhere, anytime.
Which, actually, Peter had been starting to worry might be the case. Because despite occasionally texting him on the phone, Peter hadn’t seen his best friend Blake in almost 6 months…
And even then, those texts Blake always sent Peter were incredibly vague.
And now. Now.
Blake was just standing there. In Peter's dorm room. Looking healthy and whole and maybe even a little bit taller than Peter remembered, wearing a casual black t-shirt that stretched across shoulders that were definitely broader than they used to be.
"Hey there, bro," Blake said, his smirk widening into something warmer, more genuine. "It's been a while."
Peter's duffel bag slipped from his nerveless fingers and hit the floor with a heavy thump. His spider-reflexes—the same reflexes that let him catch bullets and dodge punches from people three times his size—did absolutely nothing to help him. His body had simply forgotten how to function.
"You—" Peter's voice cracked embarrassingly. He cleared his throat and tried again. "You're—what—how—"
"Eloquent as always," Blake laughed, and God, that sound. Peter hadn't realized how much he'd missed that sound until it was filling the small dorm room, washing over him like a wave.
"You asshole!"
Peter didn't remember deciding to move. One second he was standing in the doorway with his jaw hanging open, and the next he was across the room with his arms wrapped around Blake in a hug that probably would've cracked the ribs of anyone without superhuman durability.
Blake hugged him back just as fiercely.
– Blake –
The campus sprawled before us in that particular shade of "obscenely wealthy institution" that only existed in places funded by billionaires with something to prove. Except it was one billionaire in particular and he wanted to prove he could create the best university in the world on a whim if he wanted to…
Gleaming glass buildings. Perfectly manicured lawns. Students and parents wandering around with maps and that slightly dazed expression people got when confronted with architecture that cost more than their entire neighborhood.
And for a moment—just a brief, flickering moment—it almost felt normal.
Peter walked beside me, gesturing animatedly about some professor he'd researched online. The mundane sounds of orientation day chaos surrounding us. If I squinted hard enough, I could almost pretend the last six months hadn't happened. That I was just a regular eighteen-year-old starting college with his best friend, not a fallen angel hybrid who'd killed people, fallen in love multiple times, and nearly died more often than he could count.
Almost.
"Okay, seriously though." Peter stopped walking abruptly, turning to face me with that expression I knew way too well—the one that said his patience had officially run out. "Where the fuck have you been all this time? And don't give me another bullshit deflection."
I raised an eyebrow innocently. "I texted you."
"You texted me vague cryptic nonsense!" Peter's voice pitched higher with indignation, drawing a few curious glances from a nearby family examining the campus directory. He lowered his volume but not his intensity. "Your messages were like—'Hey Pete, still alive, things are crazy, talk soon.' That's not communication! That's the bare minimum required to prove you haven't been murdered!"
"I mean, technically—"
"And then nothing for weeks! Then another text that just said 'Japan is weird' with zero context! Japan?! When the hell did you go to Japan?!"
I couldn't help the grin spreading across my face. I'd missed this. Missed being able to mess around with my best bro like this…
"I knew it would've been way more fun to tell you in person," I said, steering us toward a shaded bench near the central quad. Students milled around us, consulting maps, taking selfies, doing all the mundane first-day-of-college things that seemed almost absurd given everything I'd experienced since I'd last seen Peter face to face.
Peter dropped onto the bench beside me, shooting me a deeply unimpressed look. "Fun for who?"
"Also," I added, settling back against the new wood, "there's no way you would've believed half of it over text. You'd have thought I was having a mental breakdown."
"Try me."
"Peter—"
"No, seriously." He crossed his arms, jaw set with that stubborn determination that had gotten us both into and out of trouble countless times growing up. "Don't be so sure I wouldn't believe crazy. Because I don't think you'd ever believe my crazy stories either."
Something in his tone made me pause. There was weight there. Real weight. I tilted my head, studying my best friend more carefully than I had since our reunion in the dorm room. He looked different. Not just older—though he was that too, his features sharper than I remembered, the softness of boyhood finally giving way to something more defined. But there was something else. A tension in the way he held himself. A watchfulness in his eyes that hadn't been there before.
Fair enough. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, and decided to lead with the one thing I'd figured out months ago. "What? That you're Spider-Man?"
Peter's entire body went rigid. His head whipped around so fast I was genuinely concerned he'd given himself whiplash, eyes wide and panicked as they scanned the surrounding area. Parents helping students unload cars. A tour group following an enthusiastic upperclassman. Two girls taking photos in front of the library's dramatic glass facade. Nobody was paying us the slightest attention.
"How the hell do you know that?" Peter hissed, leaning in close enough that I could see the genuine fear flickering behind his shock. "Did Jean and Emma tell you? Because they promised—"
I blinked, momentarily derailed. "You're on a first-name basis with those two?"
"Answer the question!"
"No, they didn't tell me." I shook my head, filing away the Jean-and-Emma revelation for later examination. The fact that the two telepaths had apparently been checking in on Peter enough to be on casual name terms was... interesting? "My new stepdad figured it out."
Peter's panic shifted to confusion, his brow furrowing. "What new stepdad? Did you get adopted?" A pause, then his eyes narrowed. "Wait, weren't you already eighteen when you disappeared? You can't even get adopted at that age."
"I didn't get adopted," I said, unable to suppress the fond smile that crept across my face. The word stepdad still felt weird on my tongue. "I found my birth family."
Peter's expression transformed completely. The suspicion melted away, replaced by something bright and genuinely happy as he reached over to slap my shoulder hard enough to actually sting. "Dude, that's awesome!" He was grinning now, that infectious Peter Parker grin that could light up a room. "I'm so happy for you! Holy shit, Blake, that's huge!"
"Yeah." My chest tightened. "Yeah, it really is."
"But wait—" The grin faltered slightly as Peter's brain caught up with the implications. "If you found your birth family, why were you a foster kid in the first place? Why'd they give you up?"
The question sent a familiar ache through my chest. Not as sharp as it used to be—time and healing and the reality of having my family back had dulled the worst of it—but still there. Still tender, like a bruise that hadn't quite faded.
"They didn't give me up," I said quietly. "My family got attacked when I was younger. You know I don't have memories from before I was ten." I took a breath, organizing the chaos of the past months into something approaching a coherent narrative. "Anyway—my mom got isekai'd into another world."
Peter stared at me.
"She lived there for almost ten years," I continued, watching his expression cycle through disbelief, confusion, and something approaching concern for my mental health. "Then I got isekai'd to that same world, met up with her again, trained with her and some other people there, came back to Earth, found my long-lost older sister who's been living in Japan this whole time, my mom—who's a ninja, by the way—"
"A ninja?"
"—got together with my new stepdad Tony Stark, who built this university and also apparently figured out you're Spider-Man because he's Tony Stark and that's just what he does, and now here we are." I spread my hands expansively. "Minus a detail here and there."
Silence stretched between us.
Peter's face had gone completely blank. That particular blankness that I recognized from years of friendship—the expression he wore when his brain was trying to process something so far outside normal parameters that it had essentially blue-screened.
"I don't believe a single word of that," Peter said flatly.
I opened my mouth to respond—
"Hey, Blake! There you are!" The familiar voice cut through the ambient noise of orientation day, and I turned to see two figures making their way toward us across the quad. My heart did something complicated in my chest.
Akeno walked with that effortless grace she'd inherited from our mother, her long black hair swaying with each step, violet eyes bright with genuine happiness. Beside her, Rias moved with the confident poise of someone who'd been born to privilege and grown into genuine competence. Both of them were dressed down by their usual standards—tight jeans and casual t-shirts—but "dressed down" for supernaturally beautiful women still meant they drew stares from approximately everyone within visual range.
The shirts left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Akeno's clung to curves that made me have to forcibly redirect my thoughts toward more brotherly territory, while Rias's emphasized her generous assets in a way that was definitely, definitely intentional.
"Otouto!" Akeno reached me first, throwing her arms around my neck in a hug that pressed her body against mine in ways that still felt slightly surreal. Three months of having a sister and I still wasn't entirely used to casual physical affection from family. "We finally found you! This campus is enormous!"
"It's a university," I pointed out, hugging her back. "They're supposed to be big."
"Hmph. Kuoh Academy was big too, but at least I knew where everything was." She pulled back, her eyes sparkling with that particular teasing light that meant trouble. Then her gaze slid sideways to land on Peter, and her expression shifted to curious interest. "Oh? And who's this?"
I extracted myself from Akeno's embrace and turned to make introductions. "Akeno, this is Peter Parker. My best friend since we were kids. Peter, this is Akeno—my older sister."
Peter's mouth opened.
No sound came out.
His eyes had gone slightly glassy, fixed on Akeno's face with an expression I recognized all too well. It was the same look I'd seen on countless guys over the years when confronted with a woman who exceeded their brain's normal beauty-processing parameters. The complete system shutdown of higher cognitive function in the face of aesthetic perfection.
"Um," Peter managed. "Hi. I'm. You're. Sister?"
Akeno giggled—that melodic "ufufu" sound that I'd learned meant she was deeply amused and probably about to make someone's life interesting. "That's right! Blake's told me so much about you, Peter-kun. It's wonderful to finally meet the boy who kept my precious otouto company all those years I couldn't be there for him."
Peter made a sound that might have been words in some alternate dimension where language worked differently.
I was about to take pity on him when a warm weight pressed against my other side. Rias had apparently decided that Akeno had monopolized enough of my attention, and she was correcting that imbalance by molding her curves against me in a way that sent very specific signals to very specific parts of my anatomy.
"Our first day as university students," she murmured near my ear, her breath warm against my skin. Her generous chest pressed firmly against my arm, soft and insistent. "I'm so excited, Blake. This is going to be wonderful!"
"It's certainly going to be something," another voice called out.
I turned to see Sona Sitri walking toward us across the quad, her Queen Tsubaki falling into step beside her.
"Sona!" Rias released my arm so fast I actually stumbled, her warmth vanishing as she bounded across the grass to throw herself at her childhood friend. "You made it! Isn't this exciting? We're college girls now!"
Sona's carefully composed expression cracked slightly as Rias's arms wrapped around her in an enthusiastic embrace. "Rias, please—we're in public—"
"American college girls!" Rias continued, apparently deaf to Sona's protests. She squeezed tighter, practically bouncing on her heels. "Do you know what that means? Parties! Fraternities! All those things we've seen in human movies!"
"I am aware of what American universities are known for," Sona said dryly, though I caught the faint pink creeping across her cheeks as Rias's generous chest pressed against her. Her hands hovered awkwardly at her sides for a moment before settling, almost reluctantly, on Rias's waist. "And I'll remind you that we're here for an education, not... social frivolities."
"You're no fun at all!"
"One of us has to maintain standards."
These two had clearly known each other for years and it was fun watching Rias tease Sona.
A lot had changed in the two months since Kokabiel's defeat.
I'd learned the full scope of Rias's situation the morning after the battle in the park.
The marriage contract her family had arranged when she was barely old enough to understand what marriage meant. Riser Phenex, the arrogant pureblood devil who saw her as nothing more than a trophy to be claimed. The Rating Game system that should have given her a chance to fight for her freedom, if only she'd had the pieces to compete. But Issei Hyoudou—the perverted human she'd reincarnated as her Pawn, investing all eight pieces in his potential—had vanished. Turned stray. And with him went any realistic chance Rias had of building a peerage strong enough to challenge Riser's experienced team.
She'd been desperate. So we'd helped. Of course we'd helped.
Sona's older sister Serafall—one of the Four Great Satans, had agreed to provide magical shielding for Rias. Something about owing Sona a favor and finding the whole situation "dramatically romantic" in a way that made Sona visibly cringe when she'd relayed the conversation.
The magical protections would prevent Rias's family from scrying her location or tracking her movements through supernatural means.
The mundane side had been easier. Tony had then covered after Shuri asked him to help out. There was no way she wanted Akeno anywhere near such a creepy guy that was Riser Phenex. Apparently he wanted Rias to kick out Kiba and Gasper and only keep Akeno and Koneko to expand his harem…
Rias was hooked up with a new identity. Enrollment records that would pass any scrutiny. And JARVIS—Tony's AI system—now filtered every camera feed on campus, ensuring that no image of Rias Gremory would ever reach the internet where her family's agents might find it.
Ideally, she'd spend the next few years training. Building her strength. Learning to fight without relying on pieces she no longer had. And when she was ready—when she was strong enough—she'd return to challenge Riser on her own terms.
That was the official plan, anyway.
The unofficial plan involved me. Specifically, it involved Rias's increasingly unsubtle attempts to position herself as my fiancée, which would theoretically void her contract with Riser entirely if she could prove the relationship was... consummated.
I already had three girlfriends. Tsunade and Shizune, waiting for me back in the Elemental Nations whenever my powers decided to cooperate. Pepper Potts, who'd temporarily returned to Malibu with Tony but called me every night and sent texts throughout the day that ranged from sweetly affectionate to explicitly suggestive depending on her mood.
They’d be moving Stark headquarters to New York City soon enough though.
And somewhere in the background there was also Jean and Emma hovered—whose relationship with me was complicated in ways I still didn't fully understand. But I’d been talking a lot with both of them on the phone these past months as well.
And they also had been sending me quite a few suggestive pictures almost every day…
Adding a gorgeous, desperate devil princess to that mix felt like pushing it for how many girls I wanted to juggle at once. But Rias was nothing if not persistent, and her definition of "personal space" had grown increasingly... flexible... over the past two months.
"—and you need to keep your head down," Sona was saying when I tuned back into their conversation. She'd managed to extract herself from Rias's embrace, though her cheeks were still faintly pink. "This arrangement only works if you remain undetected. That means no drawing unnecessary attention to yourself."
Rias waved a dismissive hand. "Relax, Sona. I'll be fine. All the security cameras route through JARVIS, remember? My face will never appear in any recording. And it's not like anyone here knows what a Gremory looks like anyway—we're on the other side of the world from anyone who might recognize me. America is christian territory after all…"
"That's not—" Sona pinched the bridge of her nose, a gesture I recognized from my own moments of dealing with people who refused to take things seriously. "You can't just rely on technology and the faith of our oldest enemies to shield you. This is still a major American city—there could be agents from any number of factions operating here in secret."
"Then I'll be careful."
"You don't know the meaning of the word."
"I know lots of words. I'm very well-read."
“Manga doesn’t count as high quality literature!”
“GASP! How dare you say such blasphemous words as one of my best friends!”
Tsubaki coughed quietly into her fist, drawing both heiresses' attention. "Perhaps," she suggested diplomatically, "we could continue this discussion somewhere more private? We're attracting attention."
She wasn't wrong. A cluster of freshman guys had stopped pretending to consult their campus maps and were now openly staring at our group. I couldn't entirely blame them—four supernaturally beautiful women standing in a tight cluster would draw attention anywhere, and Akeno and Rias in particular seemed to generate their own gravitational field of male interest.
"Right, yes." Sona straightened her glasses with two fingers, visibly collecting herself. "We should find our dormitory assignments and—"
"Oh!" Rias's eyes lit up with sudden excitement. "Sona, this is Peter! Blake's best friend!" She grabbed Sona's arm and dragged her toward where Peter stood, still looking slightly dazed from his encounter with Akeno. My sister had that effect on people.
"H-hello," Peter managed, offering a somewhat shaky hand. "Peter Parker. Nice to meet you."
Sona studied him with those sharp analytical eyes, her gaze flickering briefly to me before returning to Peter's face. Whatever she saw there apparently passed muster, because she accepted his handshake with a small nod. "Sona Sitri. A pleasure."
"Sitri," Peter repeated, and I saw the gears turning behind his eyes. "That's... an unusual name."
"It's European," she lied.
"Ah. Cool. Very... European."
Akeno giggled, sidling up beside me and looping her arm through mine. "Your friend is adorable when he's flustered, otouto. Is he always like this around women?"
"Pretty much," I admitted, watching Peter fumble through introductions with Tsubaki. "He's better once you get to know him. Just needs time for his brain to reboot."
"Ufufu. I look forward to seeing him at full capacity, then." Her violet eyes sparkled with mischief.
I shot her a look. "Akeno."
"What?"
"Please try not to break him..."
"Ara Ara—only a little…?"
But, to our surprise, Peter had apparently found his footing, because when I glanced back over, he was actually maintaining a conversation with Sona without visible signs of panic. Something about their shared academic programs—both had been accepted into the advanced sciences track, which made sense given Peter's genuinely terrifying intelligence.
"—and the quantum mechanics lab is supposed to have equipment that doesn't even exist anywhere else," Peter was saying, his earlier nervousness melting away as he warmed to a topic he actually cared about. “We can even test the latest research thesis from—”
Sona's eyebrows rose slightly. "You're familiar with the latest theories in the community then?"
"Are you kidding? I read every thesis paper I can!” Peter declared proudly.
Sona had a greedy look on her face I noticed devils could get sometimes—it was just in their natures. Rias caught it immediately though and began dragging Sona away before she offered Peter a spot on her peerage then and there for his brain.
And she didn’t even know about the fact he was moonlighting as a superhero part time yet.
Before the group of four devil girls went on their way, Akeno leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my left cheek, her lips lingering just a moment longer than strictly sisterly. Not to be outdone, Rias mirrored the gesture on my right side, her breath warm against my skin as she pulled back with a satisfied little smile.
"We'll see you later, Blake," Rias said, her tone carrying promises I wasn't entirely sure how to interpret.
"Take care of yourself, otouto," Akeno added, squeezing my arm one final time before releasing me. "And take care of Peter-kun too. He seems... fragile."
"I'm not fragile!" Peter muttered, though his voice came out roughly an octave higher than normal.
The four devil girls departed across the quad, their figures drawing every eye in the vicinity as they went. Male students stopped mid-conversation to stare. Female students shot looks that ranged from envious to appreciative to outright hostile. One guy walked directly into a lamppost and didn't even seem to notice the impact, his gaze locked on Rias's retreating form like a compass needle finding north.
I watched them go until they disappeared around the corner of the engineering building, then turned to find Peter staring at me with an expression that suggested his entire worldview had just been dismantled and rebuilt using foreign parts.
"Dude." His voice came out strangled. "What the fuck was that?"
"That was my sister and her friends," I said mildly, already starting to walk again. My stomach was reminding me that supernatural drama didn't negate the need for lunch. "I told you—"
"Those were some of the hottest girls I've ever seen in my entire life!" Peter fell into step beside me, gesturing emphatically with both hands. "Like, genuinely, legitimately, unreasonably attractive humans—or, or whatever they are. Other than Jean and Emma, obviously, but those two terrify me on a fundamental level so that doesn't count."
I snorted. "Jean and Emma terrify you?"
Peter shuddered visibly. "I don't wanna talk about it—”
"Fair enough." I navigated us toward what the campus map indicated was the main dining hall, a sprawling glass-and-steel structure that looked like it had been designed by someone who really, really liked natural lighting. "The long-haired Japanese one was Akeno—my older sister. Rias is her best friend. And Sona and Tsubaki are... it's complicated. They're from a different family but they all grew up in the same social circles."
"In Japan," Peter said flatly.
"In Japan," I replied with a grin. Giving him the full story all at once would be no fun!
"Where you went. After you came back—from getting isekai'd to another dimension? With your ninja mom?"
"That's the gist, yeah."
Peter grabbed my shoulder, forcing me to stop walking. His eyes were wide, the gears behind them spinning so fast I could almost hear them grinding. "Blake. Blake. Did you seriously—you actually—the isekai thing wasn't bullshit?"
I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face. This was exactly why I'd wanted to tell him in person. "Pete, I don't even know the half of it myself sometimes. But yeah. It happened. All of it. The other world, the training, finding my mom, coming back, finding Akeno in Japan—all real."
"Holy shit." Peter ran both hands through his already-messy hair, leaving it sticking up at wild angles. "Holy shit, Blake. That's... I have so many questions. Like, so many questions that I don't even know where to start asking questions!"
"We've got four years," I reminded him, resuming our walk toward the dining hall. "Plenty of time to catch up on all the insane supernatural bullshit that's apparently just my life now."
"Four years," Peter repeated, nodding slowly as he processed. Then his expression shifted to something more curious. "Wait, you said you trained? Like, actual training?"
"Actual training. Combat, mostly. Chakra manipulation—don't ask, it's complicated. My mom's kind of a badass, and the women who saved my life when I first arrived were even more terrifying in their own ways." I rolled my shoulder, feeling the familiar flex of muscles that hadn't existed six months ago. "I'm not the same person I was when I disappeared, Pete."
"I mean, obviously." Peter gestured at me vaguely. "You're like... bigger? More confident? You've got this whole 'I've seen some shit' energy that definitely wasn't there before." he paused. “The only thing that’s the same is hot girls still throwing themselves at you…” he grumbled.
"I can’t help naturally being this handsome," I told him with a light shove that made him immediately shove me right back.
We reached the dining hall, and I pushed through the glass doors into a space that immediately made me stop in my tracks. Peter bumped into my back, muttering a complaint before he looked up and his jaw dropped.
The cafeteria was massive with vaulted ceilings that let natural light pour in from skylights thirty feet above our heads. Tables and booths spread across the polished floor in carefully arranged clusters, each section themed around a different cuisine. Italian on the far left, Asian fusion in the middle, American classics near the entrance, and what looked like a dedicated smoothie and health food bar along the right wall.
But none of that was what had stopped us both dead. Behind every cooking station, manning every grill and stove and prep area, were robots. Not clunky industrial machines or simple mechanical arms. These were sleek, humanoid automatons with polished chrome exteriors and glowing blue optical sensors, moving with fluid grace as they flipped burgers, stirred massive pots of sauce, and plated dishes with mechanical precision. One of them was currently tossing pizza dough with a flourish that would have made any Italian grandmother weep with envy.
This was tech that should be 20-30 years in the future, and yet here it was already!
"Oh my God," Peter breathed, his earlier confusion about my supernatural adventures completely forgotten. "Oh my God, Blake, are those—"
"Cooking robots," I confirmed, watching a particularly fancy unit slice vegetables at a speed that blurred its hands into silver streaks. "Because apparently Tony Stark can't do anything normally."
"This is the greatest thing I've ever seen in my life!" Before I could respond, Peter was gone—darting across the dining hall toward the nearest robot station with the excited energy of a kid on Christmas morning. He pressed up against the protective glass barrier, face inches from the surface as he watched a chrome automaton expertly sear a steak to medium-rare perfection.
I sighed, but it was a fond sound. Some things never changed. Peter Parker, faced with advanced technology, would always forget that anything else existed in the universe.
"Hi, Blake!" The voice came from behind me, bright and cheerful and immediately recognizable. I turned to find Asia Argento smiling up at me, her green eyes sparkling with genuine warmth. She looked different from the terrified girl Natasha had rescued from those stray exorcists months ago—more settled, more confident, with color in her cheeks and a lightness to her movements that suggested she'd finally stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop.
She was wearing a simple yellow sundress that made her look even more innocent and wholesome than usual, which I hadn't previously thought possible.
Standing beside her, looking significantly less wholesome in her current attire, was Natasha Romanoff. The former—well, probably still current, knowing Natasha—spy had apparently committed fully to her cover identity as a campus nurse, complete with form-fitting white scrubs that did absolutely nothing to disguise her figure and a name tag that read "Natalie Rushman, RN."
"Asia. Natasha." I nodded to each of them in turn. "Getting lunch?"
"The selection here is incredible!" Asia clasped her hands together, practically bouncing on her feet. "They have food from all over the world! I've never seen so many options in one place!"
"She's tried four different dishes already," Natasha said dryly, though there was unmistakable affection in her voice as she glanced at her adopted daughter. "I'm starting to think her sacred gear heals stomach capacity too."
"It might," Asia admitted, not sounding remotely apologetic. "Mother Natasha, can we try the robot-made sushi next? I really liked it when we were in Japan!"
"Sure, sweetheart." Natasha ruffled Asia's blonde hair gently before turning her attention fully to me. Those sharp green eyes—trained to notice everything, miss nothing—swept over me in a quick assessment. "You look good, Blake. Settled in okay?"
"Just got here a few hours ago. Peter and I are roommates, apparently."
"What a coincidence." Her tone suggested it was anything but. "I'm sure that random assignment had nothing to do with certain parties who have access to university housing systems. Especially since you and your friend are both enhanced…"
I let out a small sigh at those words. It seemed like if Tony could easily find out Peter was Spiderman, so could S.H.I.E.L.D.
I grabbed a tray and headed toward the burger station. The chrome automaton manning the grill moved with impressive precision—flipping patties, adding cheese at the exact moment of optimal melt, assembling buns with mechanical efficiency that somehow still looked more artistic than anything I could do with my human hands.
"Cheeseburger, medium-well," I told the machine. It didn't respond verbally, just inclined its head in acknowledgment before setting to work.
"Talking to robots now?" Natasha's voice came from behind me, tinged with amusement.
I turned to find her standing there with Asia, both holding trays loaded with what looked like the third or fourth round of taste-testing. Asia had a small mountain of different foods—sushi, pasta, something that might have been Thai curry, and what looked like three different desserts.
"They're better conversationalists than some people I know," I replied, accepting my burger from the robot with a nod of thanks that I absolutely did not need to give but somehow felt compelled to anyway.
Natasha's lips quirked at my small jab. "Tony Stark builds a university and fills it with autonomous cooking units. Because of course he does." She gestured toward an empty table near the windows. "Walk with me?"
We settled into a booth. Asia immediately digging into her sushi with the enthusiasm of someone discovering a new religion, while Natasha and I sat across from each other. She hadn't touched her food yet.
"Your friend Peter," she began, her tone carefully neutral. "He's settling in well?"
"He's been Spider-Man for months now," I said, keeping my voice low. "Pretty sure a fancy university isn't going to throw him."
"Mmm." Natasha's green eyes studied me with that unnerving intensity she had—the look that suggested she was cataloging every micro-expression, every unconscious tell. "And how do you feel about S.H.I.E.L.D. knowing his identity?"
I took a bite of my burger to buy myself time to think. The patty was perfectly cooked, the cheese melted to ideal consistency, the bun lightly toasted. Damn robots were actually good at this. "I feel," I said slowly, "like I don't have much choice in the matter. You already know. Tony knows. Probably half your organization knows by now."
"Just Fury, Coulson, and myself." She picked up a piece of sushi with her chopsticks, examining it like it might contain hidden intelligence. "We're keeping it contained. Peter Parker could be useful as a future asset if properly guided…"
"Guided." I didn't like the sound of that word.
"Gently," Natasha clarified, finally eating the sushi. She chewed thoughtfully before continuing. "Look, Blake. Your friend is out there every night stopping muggers and pulling people from car wrecks. That's admirable. It's also incredibly stupid if he doesn't have backup."
"What's S.H.I.E.L.D.'s play here?" I asked bluntly.
"We leave him alone," Natasha said simply. "Let him do his thing. Build his reputation as we slowly stop censoring all of his exploits online and on Tv. This will allow him to learn from his mistakes without the media hounding him constantly." She paused. "Unless he does something monumentally stupid and very public—like what Obadiah Stane tried."
My jaw tightened at the name. Yeah. Obadiah Stane.
That had been a fun welcome-home present after we'd returned from Japan. Tony's business partner and father figure, the man who'd kept Stark Industries running for decades, had apparently decided that Tony's change of heart about weapons manufacturing was bad for profit margins.
The man had been Tony's mentor. His father's business partner. A fixture at Stark Industries since before Tony was born. And apparently, he'd been the one who'd arranged Tony's kidnapping in Afghanistan in the first place, hoping the terrorists would finish what a lifetime of corporate backstabbing hadn't managed. Of course he didn’t count on me and my mom crashing that party.
Tony was close to figuring out who had tried to kill him and Stane had gotten desperate.
Mom had been at the Malibu mansion that night, curled up with Tony on the couch watching some documentary about marine life that she'd developed an inexplicable fondness for. She'd sensed the attack before JARVIS's alarms even triggered—years of ninja training leaving her perpetually attuned to killing intent. Stane had hired a team of mercenaries. Professional. Well-equipped. The kind of men who'd done wet work for governments and criminal organizations alike.
They lasted approximately seven seconds against Shuri Himejima. Stane himself had escaped in the chaos, fleeing into the night with his tail between his legs.
But the bastard hadn't stayed gone.
Three days later, he'd returned—and this time, he'd brought backup. Specifically, a truck-sized mechanical monstrosity his crazy ass science team built for him.
The Iron Monger, the news would later call it. And then Tony pulled out his own secret gold and red robot suit he'd apparently been working on in the basement all this time.
The fight between the two of them was pretty awesome to watch, but it also seemed pretty personal. Akeno and I had been waiting in the skies as back up in case Tony ended up losing, but he won and got his revenge.
It was a happy—if not violent ending.
"Blake?" Natasha's voice pulled me back to the present. "You zoned out."
"Sorry." I took another bite of burger, trying to organize my thoughts. "Just remembering how crazy that whole situation was."
"Crazy is relative when you're dating multiple women," Natasha said dryly. "Speaking of which—how is Pepper handling the distance? And since she’s not here in the city, maybe I could interest you in some sparring practice later?"
My cheeks warmed. "That's none of your business, and maybe..."
Asia looked up from her food, blinking innocently. "What are you two talking about?"
"Nothing, sweetheart," Natasha said immediately, her tone shifting to something gentler. "Finish your lunch."
"Okay, Mother!" Asia returned to her sushi with single-minded focus.
I shook my head, fighting a smile. Watching Natasha Romanoff—Black Widow, master spy, trained assassin—play protective adoptive mother was still surreal three months later. But she was good at it. Asia was thriving under her care.
Natasha's lips twitched into an almost-smile at Asia’s innocence. She stood, gathering her tray. "Come on, Asia. We should get back to the 'medical center' in case someone actually needs the nurse."
"Okay!" Asia bounced up, somehow having demolished her entire feast in the time it took us to have that conversation. "Bye, Blake! See you later!"
"With Asia interning as your assistant," I called after them, "nobody on this campus is ever going to stay sick or injured for long."
Natasha glanced back, that almost-smile turning genuine. "That's the idea. Try to stay out of trouble, Blake. And give me a call if you need help hiding the bodies, that’s what my bosses stationed me here for…”
She left, Asia chattering happily beside her about the different foods she'd tried. I watched them go, then returned to my burger with renewed focus. My mind was already spinning ahead to other concerns. Training. My own abilities. The teleportation power that had been growing stronger and more controlled over the past three months.
I could feel it now. The Elemental Nations were out there somewhere in the multiverse, and I was getting close to being able to reach them again.
Really, genuinely close. Not the desperate, uncontrolled flailing that had thrown me there the first time, but actual conscious travel.
I wanted to see Tsunade again. Shizune. Feel Tsunade's arms around me, hear Shizune's gentle voice, taste both of them on my tongue while they—
"Mind if we join you?"
I nearly choked on what was left of my burger.
Two beautiful women stood beside my table, both wearing expressions of amused awareness that suggested they knew exactly what I'd been thinking about. Of course they did. They were telepaths.
Emma Frost looked like she'd stepped out of a high-fashion magazine. White blouse, designer jeans, heels that were completely impractical for a university campus but somehow worked on her anyway. Her platinum blonde hair fell in perfect waves past her shoulders, and her blue eyes sparkled with mischief.
Jean Grey had gone for a more casual approach—fitted t-shirt, comfortable jeans, sneakers, but she was no less stunning. Her red hair caught the sunlight streaming through the windows, and her green eyes held that knowing warmth that had always made me feel simultaneously safe and completely transparent.
"Hey," I managed, swallowing the last bite of burger that had nearly just killed me. "Didn't know you two were... here. On campus..."
"We enrolled," Jean said simply, sliding into the booth across from me. Emma took the seat beside her, crossing her legs. "Figured if you were starting university, we might as well too. It's been a while since either of us sat in a classroom and might actually learn something though."
“Hey Blake! The specs on those robots were insane—ah crap—you two are here…” Peter stumbled over his words as he reached our table.
XXX
Comments
Christian E. Y.
I thought Peter was gonna find himself Shari a room with Akeno while Blake shared one with Rías. Still hoping for Tony x Shuri x Akeno but Peter x Akeno is fine too.
Aeden Emrys
Damn 🙄! Great 😸 developments! Thanks for another amazing ☺️ chapter 😁! I hope to be reading much more of this greatly interesting story 😁!
