Ultra Responsibility (My Hero Academia X Spider-Man Reader)

Issue 42 - What Does it Mean to be Spider-Man?

The lock clicked behind me like it was trying to be polite about it.

Home.

Same hallway. Same tired carpet that always smelled faintly of curry, detergent and someone else's cigarette smoke sneaking in from the stairwell. Same little apartment door with the scratch at the bottom where May used to swear a neighbour's dog had "personality issues".

But it all felt... different. Like the air had changed its mind about me.

May kicked her shoes off with a soft little laugh, the kind that sounded like she was trying to convince herself it was real.

"Right," she said, clapping her hands once. "We should order pizza. Properly celebrate. You're home. You're safe."

Peni was already nodding, eyes bright, voice too eager in that way she got when she was trying to make a good thing stick.

"Yeah! And it's a dual celebration," she chimed. "Not guilty, and joining the hero course! That's huge, Y/N."

I swallowed.

"Yeah," I said. My voice came out flatter than I meant it to. "That... sounds great."

May beamed, and Peni's shoulders loosened like she'd been holding her breath for weeks.

I couldn't meet either of their eyes for too long.

"I'll be in my room," I mumbled, already moving.

"S-sure," Peni said, tripping over the word like it was a loose wire. "If you need anything, just... shout, yeah?"

May's smile flickered, bittersweet at the edges. "We're here, love."

I nodded like that was enough, and slipped away.

My room looked like a storm had come through and got bored halfway. Drawers pulled out. Boxes split open. A tangle of cables on the floor like metal vines. Where my gear used to sit neatly in hidden compartments, there were only rectangular ghosts in the dust.

They'd taken so much.

Web fluid. Spare cartridges. My suspension matrix prototype. The sonic blast emitter I'd been too scared to test properly. Even the stuff that didn't work yet, the little failed miracles.

And the suits.

Kraven's hunter skin. Gone.

My homemade suit. Gone.

It hit me harder than I expected, that last one. The hoodie-and-sweatpants monstrosity that I'd stitched into something that meant I could breathe. It wasn't just fabric. It was... me trying. It was the proof that I'd started, even when I had no right, no licence, no plan.

Now it was all evidence in a box somewhere, tagged and filed like I was a problem to be solved.

They said joining the hero course would fix it. They said I'd be "legit" now. Permission. Support items. A new suit, maybe something shiny, something that looked like a proper hero.

But sitting there in a room that didn't feel like mine anymore, I didn't feel like Spider-Man.

I felt like Y/N Parker.

Just a kid. Just a name in a case file.

I started sorting through what the police had left. Old school notes. Comic book stacks. A battered All Might pencil case that should've been retired two years ago. A half-melted stress ball shaped like a burger.

Then I found it.

A camcorder.

Old. Chunky. The kind of thing that made you look like a tourist even if you lived there. Uncle Ben loved it. Said the world moved too fast, and "sometimes you've got to pin a moment down before it flies off."