For 30+ Advance/Early chapters :p
atreon.com/ScoldeyJod
Peter didn't so much walk into his dorm room as he did vibrate into it. He shed his suit, his hands moving on autopilot, but his mind was still on the Brooklyn Bridge, replaying the events in a high-fidelity loop. He took a shower so hot it was almost painful, trying to scrub away the smell of smoke and the lingering ache in his muscles, but he couldn't wash away the image branded into his brain.
Wonder Woman.
He kept saying the name in his head. She hadn't just lifted the bus. She had held it as if it were a child's toy. The sheer, casual display of power was unlike anything he'd ever seen. It was clean. Controlled. Not the raging, collateral-damage-heavy strength of the Hulk or the Abomination. It was the strength of a goddess.
A wide, giddy grin spread across his face. He wasn't alone. He'd always felt like such an anomaly, a freak of scientific nature. But there was someone else out there. Someone... magnificent. He felt a surge of something he hadn't realized he was missing: camaraderie. And a healthy dose of professional curiosity. How does she fly? Is it psionic? Gravitational manipulation? And that strength... is it biological? My God, I have so many questions.
He threw on a fresh change of clothes, his movements jerky with restless energy. Then he remembered. The library. Diana.
The excitement in his chest instantly morphed into a familiar knot of anxiety. He had to go and sit across from the most captivating woman he'd ever met and pretend that the most incredible thing that had ever happened to him... hadn't.
Diana stood under the spray of a hot shower, letting the water sluice over her armor before it dissolved back into the ether. Her body was unharmed, but her mind was in turmoil. The incident on the bridge had been a necessary intervention, a fulfillment of her duty. But it was the other variable that occupied her thoughts.
The Spider-Man.
He was a paradox. His strength was considerable, but it was his speed, his agility, that was truly astounding. He moved with an inhuman grace that defied the very laws of physics. And his strange ability to produce those adhesive, tensile webs... it was a power she could not begin to comprehend.
But it was his spirit that truly intrigued her. In the face of death and destruction, he had been a beacon of levity and courage. He'd thrown his body into harm's way for the mortals trapped on that bus without a moment's hesitation, all while making... what were they called? Jokes. She had fought alongside gods and warriors for centuries, and none of them had ever fought with such reckless, selfless, and bizarre humor. He was a warrior, but he was a protector first. A true hero.
She felt a flicker of kinship with the masked man. A shared purpose in this strange, chaotic new world.
She dressed slowly, her thoughts heavy. She had a meeting. A study session with a boy who was the complete opposite of the hero she had just encountered—a boy who was clumsy, anxious, and utterly endearing. And she had to pretend her afternoon had been perfectly ordinary. The art of deception was not an Amazonian virtue, and she was finding it increasingly distasteful.
When Peter arrived, Diana was already at their outdoor table, a history book open but unread in front of her. She looked up as he approached, and her eyes, if possible, seemed even deeper and more intense than before.
"Peter," she said, her voice a low murmur. "Is everything alright? Your aunt?"
"Yeah, she's fine," he said, dropping into the chair opposite her. The lie came easier than it should have. "The errand was just a mess because of that whole thing on the bridge. Traffic was a nightmare. We were stuck for ages." It was the truth, just a carefully edited version of it. "What about you? Your family thing?"
"It was dealt with," she said, her tone leaving no room for follow-up questions. "It was a difficult situation, but it has been resolved."
He noticed a small, faint smudge of soot on her cheek, just near her jawline, that she must have missed. The sight of it made his heart skip a beat. She must have been close to the bridge, too. He fought the urge to reach out and wipe it away.
"Well, I'm glad it's resolved," he said, forcing his eyes down to his textbook.
They tried to study. For fifteen minutes, they made a valiant effort. But the words on the pages were just meaningless symbols. The real story was the unspoken one unfolding between them. Peter kept glancing up, catching her staring off into the distance, a thoughtful, far-away look on her face. Diana, in turn, noticed the restless energy radiating from him. He couldn't sit still, his leg bouncing under the table, his fingers drumming a silent, frantic rhythm on his textbook.
"You seem distracted," she finally observed, her gaze analytical.
"Do I?" He let out a nervous laugh. "Sorry. Just a lot of adrenaline from the traffic and everything. Hard to switch my brain back to cellular biology." He looked at her, and in the soft afternoon light, he saw it. A new scratch, thin as a hair, running along the back of her hand. It was the kind of scrape you'd get from jagged metal. From a torn bus frame.
His brain short-circuited. The soot. The scratch. The "family matter." The impossible strength. It was all there, a constellation of impossible facts. But his mind refused to connect the dots. It was too insane. It was like suspecting his chemistry professor was secretly a space alien. It was a leap of logic too vast to even contemplate. He dismissed it as coincidence.
"You know," he said, changing the subject, "I think my brain is officially full for the day. I can't look at another diagram."
"I confess, my focus is also... elsewhere," she admitted, finally closing her book.
"Do you want to get out of here?" The words tumbled out before he could stop them. "We could just walk. Or find a place that isn't a diner and doesn't serve pancakes. My treat."
Diana looked at him, a real, unguarded smile spreading across her face. It was like watching the sun break through the clouds. The intensity in her eyes softened, replaced by a simple, uncomplicated warmth that made his stomach flutter.
"Yes, Peter," she said. "I would like that very much."
As they stood up to leave, their hands brushed, just for a second. The same jolt from the diner passed between them, a familiar spark of static and heat. But this time, it felt different. It was no longer just a spark of attraction. It was a spark of recognition