Talk later, that's why I'm going tonight.
Harringrove Summer Bingo 2026 @harringrovesummerbingo
Prompt Fill Bingo card: Fingers through wet hair
ao3 link
Steve crouches low at the edge of the rooftop terrace, half-hidden behind the rusted skeleton of a fire escape.
Rainwater still slicks the concrete from an earlier downpour, leaving every surface treacherously wet. He keeps both hands pressed against the ledge, fingers spread wide for purchase as droplets roll from the red fabric of his gloves and disappear into the darkness below.
Far beneath him, New York hums.
Traffic crawls through rain‑glossed streets, headlights smearing across puddles like molten gold and white fire. Sirens wail somewhere in the distance. Somewhere else, music spills from an open apartment window before being swallowed by the city’s endless noise.
For one very specific problem.
A figure emerges from the maze of rooftops several buildings away, little more than a shadow among shadows. Were it not for the striking shock of blond hair, almost silver beneath the moonlight, they would be impossible to spot.
Steve’s mask narrows reactively.
The figure approaches with infuriating confidence, neither hurried nor cautious. As they near the terrace, they vault effortlessly over a ventilation unit before flowing into a graceful cartwheel across scattered construction materials. Not a single piece rattles beneath their boots.
In one gloved hand rests a small black drive, the sole reason Steve has spent the last three hours freezing on this rooftop instead of doing literally anything else with his life.
The wind shifts, carrying a familiar scent toward him.
Steve inhales before he can stop himself, drinking in the deep amber and honey.
Still smelling like a cologne ad, I see.
Lucky for Steve, the breeze keeps him concealed.
He inches forward, moving carefully across the concrete; the last thing he needs is to slip on wet concrete and faceplant his way into what’s supposed to be a heroic interception.
His voice carries across the rooftops.
Black Cat doesn’t startle. Doesn’t tense. Doesn’t even grant Steve the dignity of turning around.
Instead, he merely tilts his head to one side in a lazy acknowledgement, a gesture that says, I heard you, while simultaneously saying, and I don’t particularly care.
Steve resists the urge to sigh.
Some things never change.
Billy finally straightens, taking a slow, casual step backwards toward the edge of the building.
The dewy nightlights catch on the black fabric of his skin-tight suit, tracing sleek lines across his shoulders and chest. A domino mask conceals the upper half of his face, but it does absolutely nothing to hide the amusement curling at the corner of his mouth.
Steve’s Spider-Sense should settle, but they don’t.
Billy has always been… unpredictable.
“Aw, I do miss our little chats...” Billy’s voice carries easily through the damp night, low and teasing, like he’s savouring every syllable.
Steve rolls his eyes, but his gaze never leaves the other.
Billy does a lazy stretch, forcing the suit to pull at his body just so, enunciating the curves, and, from where Steve’s standing… the enticing shape of his ass.
Billy turns fully toward him. His hair has been pulled back into a loose bun, though a few damp curls have escaped and now frame the edges of his mask. One hand brushes them aside while the other drifts casually toward his utility belt.
The motion is so natural that Steve barely notices it.
“But,” Billy continues, flashing him a grin, “I’ve gotta run.” The metallic click reaches Steve a fraction of a second too late.
Something small flashes through the air.
Steve throws himself sideways just as the device strikes his chest.
Electricity erupts through his suit.
Pain tears through his limbs as blue-white sparks dance across the spider emblem on his chest. His knees buckle, and he crashes onto the tiles, helplessly watching as Billy gives him an apologetic little salute.
Black Cat springs backwards off the ledge.
“No—!” The paralysis begins to fade almost immediately, but the few seconds are enough. By the time Steve forces himself upright, Billy is already crossing the next rooftop.
“That was cheap!” Steve shouts.
Billy grins from across the alley.
Steve launches himself forward.
Water splashes beneath his feet as he sprints toward the edge. He leaps into open air and instinctively triggers his web-shooters.
He shorted out my webshooters with an EMP! Steve fires again, and the shooters simply let out a pathetic little mechanical whirr.
Gravity takes over, and instead of soaring gracefully through the New York skyline, Spider-Man plummets.
He barely has time to catch himself as he slams into the pavement shoulder-first and skids across the asphalt. Stinging heat erupts through every bone in his body as momentum carries him several more feet before he finally comes to a stop.
A blur of black sails over a roadside barricade at the mouth of the alley, and with that, fading laughter. Steve groans and pushes himself upright.
“Guess we’re doing this the old-fashioned way!”
Steve barrels through the crowded evening streets, never letting Billy disappear for more than a second. Years ago, that would have been impossible. Billy had always been infuriatingly good at vanishing.
He follows the scent as Billy bolts over a stack of newspaper boxes. Billy plants a foot on a concrete barrier and flips over it cleanly, but Steve follows a heartbeat later. They move through the city like reflections of one another. The gap between them stretches and shrinks, but Steve makes sure it never truly disappears.
They’re evenly matched in all the worst ways. Both fast, stubborn and entirely unwilling to quit.
A pedestrian yelps as Billy darts past, sending a shopping bag tumbling into a puddle. Usually, Steve would be apologising and helping them up, but he is too preoccupied. Billy is apparently willing to risk getting himself killed for whatever ridiculous plan he’s cooked up this time.
“C’mon!” Steve calls, weaving between clusters of startled pedestrians. “I want to help!”
The other glances over his shoulder, and that gives Steve enough time to gain some ground. The sight of it seems to annoy Billy, who responds by hopping onto a roadside barrier before springing onto the roof of a parked delivery van and back down again without losing speed.
“If you’re in trouble, just tell me!” Steve shouts. Billy’s shoulders visibly tense. Steve presses harder. “You can’t do this alone!”
Billy suddenly dives through a narrow gap between two vendor stalls.
Canvas awnings whip overhead, and the vendors shout in protest as the pair streak through the crowded market.
“Why not?” Billy yells back.
He launches onto a bench, runs three steps along its backrest and hurdles over a metal railing. “I’ve done everything else alone!”
The confidence is gone from Billy’s voice, something raw slipping through.
Steve hears it, and judging by the way Billy immediately accelerates afterwards, Billy knows he heard it too.
“I’m saying you don’t have to!” People whoop and holler as they fly past. Billy takes the lower route, slipping between construction barriers and traffic cones, and Steve goes high.
He plants a foot against a lamp post and swings himself around it, using the momentum to fling himself ahead and cut off Billy’s path.
Billy knows him too well.
The instant Steve commits, Billy pivots sharply around a corner so tight that it should be physically impossible to maintain speed. Steve lands exactly where Billy would have been.
Billy’s cackling echoes down the street.
God, he hates that laugh.
Steve pushes harder. His legs are burning from the strain, and without his web-shooters, this is rapidly becoming the most exhausting chase of his life. “Why won’t you trust me?” Steve huffs, “We’ve worked together before!”
“Answered your own question, didn’t you?”
Billy rounds another corner.
That’s when something finally clicks.
The towering skyscrapers rise into the rainy night above them. Billy knows every rooftop in Manhattan, yet he hasn’t climbed a single building. If he truly wanted to lose Steve, he would already be gone.
He’s keeping Steve close enough to follow.
Ahead of him, Billy jumps another barrier and disappears into the glow of a crowded intersection.
For someone supposedly desperate to get away...
He’s doing a remarkably bad job of it.
Steve renews his efforts. If Billy wants distance, he’s not getting it.
Billy crashes through a crowd gathered beneath a shop entrance, slipping through gaps that shouldn’t exist. People shout in surprise as he shoulders past them.
“Why didn’t you come to me with this?”
The accusation slips out before he can soften it.
“’Cause it’s not your problem, it’s mine. And I’ll handle it.” Billy fires back immediately.
Ahead, a poor street vendor’s stall blocks the sidewalk. Billy doesn’t even break stride. He puts both hands on the table and sends the entire display tumbling. Watermelons, oranges, and apples explode across the pavement like colourful landmines.
Steve loses his balance, but he manages to push himself upright against a table. He sends a hasty look of apology to the dumbfounded vendor before continuing the chase.
Steve grabs a lamp post to propel himself forward. For a brief, glorious moment, he’s directly in Billy’s path.
“Maybe I don’t think it’s a problem, Billy!”
Billy arches an eyebrow, which should be impossible when you’re running. Steve backpedals. “U-unless you mean the gang war, that’s a problem”
The other man darts across the traffic with the confidence of someone who has never once considered consequences. Steve follows behind, considerably less graceful.
A sedan slams on its brakes directly in front of him, and he nearly goes through the windshield.
He pushes both hands on the hood, flips over the vehicle, and lands awkwardly on the opposite side. The driver shouts several things, but Steve barely hears any of it.
Because Billy looked back, and Steve saw that.
The instant their eyes meet, Billy realises he’s been caught, and the concern disappears beneath a scowl. He immediately starts climbing the nearest fire escape.
“Let it go, Spider!” Billy calls down. The metal staircase rattles beneath his feet as he climbs, “I can take care of myself!”
“Funny way of showing it!”
He’s closer now. Rain dribbles from rusted metal platforms, slowing them both down, but Billy still isn’t trying nearly as hard to get away as he pretends
“You’re impossible!” Steve shouts.
Billy reaches the next platform.
His hand catches Billy’s shoulder.
In one glorious second, Steve thinks he’s won, but Billy immediately proves otherwise. The world suddenly turns upside down as Billy hurls Steve over his shoulder and to the ground. He crashes onto the metal railing with a painful clang, and by the time he looks up, Billy is already backing away, snickering.
“That doesn’t count!” Steve sputters. He struggles to his feet, and Billy reaches into his utility belt. Steve immediately points.
Billy pulls out a small metal sphere, smiling devilishly. He hooks the pin out with his teeth, “Good catching up, Stevie.” The pin comes free with a metallic ting.
The world explodes into blinding white light. Steve’s vision vanishes instantly as stars erupt across his eyes. Somewhere above him, retreating footsteps echo across wet metal.
The grenade he threw is only a dud, a few precious seconds of confusion that will give him enough time to finally shake the other off. The rain has followed them all the way downtown, pooling in the cracked pavement as Billy races through the streets.
This was supposed to end twenty minutes ago.
He’s wasted too much time.
Billy bounds down a flight of subway stairs three at a time.
Commuters crowd the platform beneath harsh fluorescent lights, and a train sits waiting at the station, its doors already beginning to close.
Billy breaks into a final sprint just as the warning chime sounds. The train starts moving.
His fingers catch the rear ladder, and a breathless laugh escapes him. Billy twists around to glance back toward the platform one last time—a final goodbye.
His smile dies instantly.
Steve comes tearing down the station stairs.
How in the hell did he recover that quickly?
The train gathers speed, and Billy stares in disbelief as Steve reaches the platform edge. Steve leaps, and a web shoots from his wrist.
His slingers are working.
Billy gravely underestimated the time of the EMP
The train hurtles deeper into the tunnel. Steve swings after him.
Water drips from his suit as he arcs through the darkness, the occasional station light flashing across the red and blue fabric. Billy watches in growing horror as the distance between them steadily shrinks.
“I can help you stop Vecna!”
“How?” Billy screams back. The train rattles violently beneath him. He tightens his grip. “No killing? No breaking the law?” His gloves have become slick from rain and sweat—every muscle in his arms strains against the wind, trying to peel him from the moving carriage.
“Your way won’t get it done!”
Steve swings closer. The train bursts past another station without stopping. Passengers waiting on the platform stare at the two masked lunatics racing past attached to a moving train.
“Billy! About your kid! I need to know, is he—?”
“He’s mine, and I’ll take care of him.”
A second train passes through the neighbouring tunnel, blowing enough wind to slam Billy off course. The passing carts thunder by only a few feet away.
Billy grits his teeth and tightens his grip on the rear carriage.
Why won’t he just give up?
The train hurtles deeper through the darkness, steel wheels screeching against the rails. Wind tears at Billy’s suit and tugs loose the remaining strands of hair from his tie. The city has disappeared entirely now, replaced by endless concrete walls and flickering tunnel lights.
Steve vanishes from sight.
The train rounds a sharp bend, and for the first time since this ridiculous chase began, Billy feels the smallest flicker of relief.
Maybe the idiot lost momentum.
The answer arrives immediately from somewhere behind him.
“I could go all night if that’s what it takes.”
A reluctant smile threatens to tug at the corner of his mouth. “Now you’re getting my attention.”
A hand appears on the edge of the carriage roof.
Billy hurriedly scoots backwards, pushing the hair out of his face as he watches Steve haul himself onto the train. The man’s chest rises and falls heavily from exertion, and one shoulder bears the evidence of several less-than-graceful landings.
The train emerges from the tunnel, and darkness gives way to the open sky.
Cold droplets streak across the roof of the speeding train as it chugs forward. New York dazzles them both with the sudden barrage of lights. Steve stands at one end of the carriage, and Billy stands at the other. The distance between them is barely twenty feet.
Billy turns, just as Steve begins advancing towards him.
“Guess I gotta play harder to get.”
Billy raises the grappling launcher. He probably knows more than anyone else how much stamina Steve’s got, but if Billy can confuse him for even a single heartbeat, that’s all he needs.
“Last time,” he says quietly. The playfulness fades from his voice. “Don’t look for me.”
The grappling hook fires, the cable streaking through the rain and latching onto the side of a nearby building. Steve’s expression hardens.
He launches himself from the speeding train just as it disappears beneath a latticework of elevated tracks.
It’s an exhilarating moment when he’s weightless—flying. Billy peeks at the city shrinking beneath him in a dizzying tapestry of lights. New York at night is a cathedral of sparkles, and Billy feels it in his chest every time.
His boots slam against the side of a building, and the skyscrapers become his pavement. Glass blurs past on either side as he sprints upward, using the momentum to carry him along the vertical plane before hopping toward the next ledge.
He doesn’t need to look back.
Sure enough, the familiar thwip of web-shooters cracks through the night. Billy vaults over an air-conditioning unit. A web splatters against the wall inches from his shoulder.
Billy ducks beneath a maintenance bridge connecting two rooftops. Steve sticks to the underside and slides across it without breaking pace. The whistle of more web-shot cuts through the air. One strand catches his ankle.
His foot jerks backwards, just enough to throw him off balance. Billy tumbles across a lounge area, narrowly missing a row of expensive deck chairs before rolling back to his feet.
“Stop running!” Steve shouts.
Billy doesn’t even bother turning around.
The rain intensifies around them.
He doesn’t have long left with the upper hand before his muscles start straining. Billy sprints down the side of a building, using windowsills and decorative sills as footholds. Another web missiles toward him.
This one catches his calf, and Billy nearly faceplants.
”Why are you webbing me?”
He manages to rip the substance free, but yelps as the next narrowly misses his head. He does not want to spend his whole night trying to get the wretched stuff out of his hair.
Steve lands atop a nearby air unit.
”Because I’m trying to slow you down!”
Billy reaches into his belt. His fingers find another EMP charge. His last one. He twists and hurls it. The device spins through the rain.
The EMP sails harmlessly past. Billy blinks for a second before continuing his stride.
He propels himself onto the next building. Every muscle in his body protests now, fatigue slowly catching up after what feels like half a marathon across Manhattan.
He changes direction abruptly. Left, right, left again.
It works for a bit, as behind him, web-shots whistle harmlessly through the air. Billy clears the gap to the next building.
Steve is suddenly there with no warning.
He pounces from nowhere and manages to clip Billy on the shoulder. Billy reacts on instinct, hooking an arm beneath Steve’s to send him sailing over his shoulder and across the roof.
He doesn’t wait this time to admire his work; freedom is one leap away. Just as he’s about to jump, something catches his ankle.
A single white strand stretches between his foot and Steve’s wrist.
Steve grins from where he’s sprawled on the concrete.
He yanks down hard, and Billy’s feet disappear out from beneath him. The impact knocks the breath from his lungs, water turning the rooftop into polished glass beneath him.
Billy goes sliding across the surface. His claws scrape desperately against concrete, but it isn’t enough to stop him.
The edge rushes toward him.
Billy shoots over the ledge, and the city yawns beneath him, thousands of feet of empty air. The wind roars in his ears as he squeezes his eyes shut, praying he’s not about to die in the stupidest way possible.
A hand is wrapped around his wrist.
Steve is dangling over the edge with him. One foot braces against the building, the other scrapes for purchase against the wall. Rain pours down, soaking them both as Steve strains to hold their combined weight.
Droplets bead off the fabric of his mask. His breathing comes hard and uneven, the rise and fall of his breath visible around where his mouth should be.
Suspended high above the city floor, held only by Steve’s grip, Billy sees nothing else.
He inhales without thinking.
Vanilla and fresh spice. Warmth beneath the cold. A scent he hasn’t been this close to in a long time. Steve glares at him for it, but Billy doesn’t even bother pretending he isn’t doing it on purpose.
“Now,” Steve pants once Billy blinks back to reality, “Can we please talk like normal human beings?”
Billy manages a tired smile as he gets hauled back onto the rooftop. “This feels pretty human to me.”
They collapse onto the wet concrete together. For several long moments, neither speaks. Far below, cars honk and hiss through puddles. Billy closes his eyes and tilts his head back. The cool rain feels good against overheated skin.
He tries to focus on anything other than Steve’s scent, and fails.
The last time he smelled this clearly, they were still sharing the same bed.
Beside him, Steve finally breaks the silence.
“I know what’s on the drives you’ve been stealing.”
Billy sighs, shaking his head clear. “Brawn and brains.”
“You can’t hand over that last drive.” Steve sits up, and Billy follows. “Once Vecna has what he wants...” he hesitates, “Your kid will just be a loose end.”
Billy stares out over the city lights.
He already knows that. Every scenario he’s played through ends the same way. The gang gets what they want, and his leverage disappears.
Billy shuts his eyes; a sharp sting burns behind them.
A hand settles gently on his shoulder, hot against his cool skin, and for one dangerous second, he wants to lean into it, wants to let himself fall into the comfort he’s been avoiding for months.
Instead, he stays perfectly still.
Billy exhales slowly. Rain drips from his hair as he runs a hand through the wet strands; they curl around his shoulders now, wild and wind‑tossed. The truth is, he doesn’t have many options left. Not good ones, anyway.
Steve shifts so they’re facing each other. Billy can’t see his eyes beneath the mask, but he knows that look—the same one that chased him across half of Manhattan. Determination. Stubborn, immovable, infuriating determination.
Billy raises an eyebrow as Steve continues. “So we give ourselves time.”
Of course, Steve has already decided what matters. Something warm settles in Billy’s chest, softening edges he’s tried to keep sharp. He suppresses a smile, but it still tugs at the corner of his mouth.
They stand nose to nose. Steve’s eyes are blown out, and Billy bets his are the same. Their scents mingle, something reminiscent of long before. His fingers lift before he can stop them, brushing lightly against Steve’s cheek. Steve leans into it.
“I missed you,” Billy says softly.
“I know,” Steve answers, just as quietly.
Billy lets out a single, bitter‑edged chuckle. “Glad we’re back together again.”
Steve reaches up and gently catches Billy’s wrist. Not pushing it away, just holding it.
It’s the answer Billy expected.
He pulls his hand back and looks away before Steve can see too much. The city stretches endlessly beyond the skyline.
“I can probably buy us a few days,” Billy says after a while.
Steve nods. “We’ll make them count.” The certainty in his voice is absurd. And yet Billy finds it strangely, strangely comforting.
The other rises to his feet, and for the first time since they stopped, he seems hesitant, nervous, even.
Something in his tone makes Billy look up. Steve shifts awkwardly. “A-about your kid, is there a chance—“ Billy quickly stands and presses a finger to Steve’s lips, cutting him off.
He trails one claw finger down Steve’s chest, dragging slowly over his pec. He stifles a smug grin as Steve lets out a sharp intake of breath. “For now, let’s find him.” His half-lidded eyes meet Steve, and Billy cracks a small smile.
Before Steve can respond, Billy steps backwards toward the ledge. The rain catches on his lashes as he gives a final grin. The grappling line fires into the darkness, and Billy swings away into the glowing maze of New York.
Steve remains where he is.
Billy looks back once as he disappears between the buildings.
For some reason, that makes the impossible task ahead feel just a little less impossible.
First entry for the Harringrove Summer Bingo 2026! I hope you guys enjoy. I got a bit carried away with this one. xD I know y'all were probably not expecting superheroes, but I absolutely adore Black Cat x Spiderman, and it gives such Harringrove Vibes to me! This was going to be longer (and include some smut), but the rules are one prompt per fic, so that part will be coming later, stay tuned!
