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. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ spider!yuji x fem!reader

he hears your block get mentioned by a villain and shows up at your window shaking, calling your name as if he forgot the mask..you pull it off and it's yuji...wide eyed, wrecked, and looking at you like he’s been starving.

- mdni | 18 +

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The city’s heartbeat was a siren, a rhythm Yuji Itadori knew better than his own. His muscles screamed a symphony of agony, each fiber a frayed string pulled taut by the endless performance of heroism. He’d left a crater in a rooftop garden three blocks east, a web cocooned a trio of would be art thieves in a warehouse by the docks, and narrowly avoided being bisected by a laser grid in the financial district. All before midnight. The suit clung to him, a second skin of sweat and grime, the weight of responsibility a physical thing pressing down on his spine.

His phone buzzed in a hidden pocket of the suit. From: you. A simple selfie from a cafe, a latte art heart, and the text: thinking of u! hope ur having a better night than my stats textbook 😘.

A pang, sharp and acidic, twisted in his gut. He hadn't replied to your last three messages. He’d mentally drafted a dozen responses while web swinging through the concrete canyons, witty and warm, but his thumbs, numb and trembling, had never managed to type them out.

You were the quiet hum beneath the city’s roar, the one place he was supposed to land softly, but he’d been soaring too high… too fast, leaving you in the dust of his wake. The thought of you, tucked away in your apartment, probably curled up with a highlighter and a mountain of notes, was a beacon. You were real. This… the mask, the villains, the adrenaline… it was a waking dream he couldn’t escape.

Then, the guttural laugh of the Vulture’s latest lackey echoed in his memory. “Gonna hit that little bistro on Elm Street, then maybe work my way up to those fancy apartments on the next block over. Easy pickings.”

Your block.

Panic, cold and electric, jolted through him, overriding exhaustion. The world narrowed to a pinpoint, a single destination. His surroundings blurred into meaningless streaks of light and shadow as he launched himself into the air. The wind whipped past him, a raw shriek, but all he could hear was the frantic pounding of his own heart. Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay. It became a prayer, a mantra against the suffocating fear that gripped him.

He landed on your fire escape with a rattling clang that sounded like a gunshot in the relative quiet of the night. The sight of your light, a warm, golden square in the building’s facade, was a relief so profound it almost buckled his knees. But the fear still had its claws in him. What if the villain had already been there? What if he was too late?

He didn't knock. He beat against the glass of your window, the sound frightening and loud. A clumsy, desperate tattoo that was anything but the graceful entrance the city’s hero was supposed to make.

You jolted, the highlighter in your hand skittering across your textbook, leaving a neon pink streak across a diagram of cellular mitosis. The noise was violent, unexpected. Your eyes darted to the window, and your breath hitched.

A silhouette against the city glow. A figure in red and blue, hunched over, breathing heavily, rapping insistently on your windowpane.

spider-man.

Your heart hammered against your ribs, a wild drumbeat of confusion and alarm. You scrambled from your desk, fumbling with the lock on the old window frame before sliding it open with a rush of cool night air.

"Spider-Man!?" Your voice was a hushed, disbelieving whisper.

He didn't waste a second. He practically fell into your room, the scent of rain, concrete, and something metallic clinging to him. His gloved hands were on your face before you could even process his presence, cool and strangely gentle against your skin. His thumbs brushed over your cheekbones, a gesture so familiar it made your head spin.

"God- are you good? Are you hurt anywhere?" His voice was rough and so strained, vibrating with an intensity that made the air crackle.

You stood frozen, your mind a tangled mess. You could feel the fine tremor running through his hands, see the small rise and fall of his chest. Why was he here? Why did he look so… worried? About you?

"Y/n… answer me," he pleaded, and the sound of your name from that masked face sent a jolt through you like a physical shock.

You flinched back slightly, pulling your face from his grasp. "How… how do you know my name?" His hands dropped to his sides as if he'd been burned. He took a half step back, the picture of dejection. "Shit…" he muttered, the word so soft you almost didn't hear it.

He looked down at his gloved hands, then around your room…at the textbook open to a page about osmosis, the little potted succulent on your windowsill, the framed photo of the two of you at the beach when you were sixteen. He looked everywhere but at you.

The silence stretched, turning thick and heavy. You could hear the distant wail of another siren, the hum of your mini fridge, the loud, shallow breaths escaping from behind that mask. You took him in- the broad set of his shoulders, tense with worry, the way he held himself with an exhaustion so profound it seemed to radiate from him in waves.

Slowly, carefully, you reached out. Your fingers brushed against the raised, web like pattern of the suit on his forearm. He flinched but didn't pull away. Emboldened, you let your hand travel upward, tracing the solid muscle of his bicepes, over the curve of his shoulder. He was so solid, so …real?. Your own breath hitched as your fingers neared the base of his neck. You kept your eyes locked on the white lenses of his mask, searching for… something.

"You… know me, don't you?" you whispered, the words barely leaving your lips.

He said nothing. You saw the line of his throat bob as he swallowed hard. Then, the slightest, almost imperceptible nod.

It was your turn to swallow. The world tilted on its axis. A thousand half remembered moments, missed calls, and canceled plans flickered through your mind. The unexplained absences. The sudden bruises on Yuji's face that he'd laugh off as a new martial arts injury. The way he'd always know when something was wrong with you, even from miles away. A terrifying, exhilarating possibility began to bloom in your chest.

Your other hand rose to join the first, hovering near the bottom edge of his mask. "Do you trust me?" you asked again, your voice trembling slightly.

His hands moved, breaking the stillness. They found your waist, the fabric of your oversized sweatshirt bunching under his grip as his fingers dug in, a silent, desperate affirmation. He pulled you closer, until there was no space left between your bodies, until you could feel the rhythm of his heart beating against your own.

Taking that as a yes, you curled your fingers around the hem of the mask, the material rough and strange against your skin. You began to peel it upward slowly, giving him every chance to stop you. He didn't. He just held you tighter, his breath catching in his throat.

The mask slid over his jaw, revealing a stubborn chin dusted with stubble, lips parted in a silent gasp. And there, just to the right of his mouth, a thin, silvery scar.

A scar you knew intimately. One you had watched Yuji get when he was sixteen. One you had carefully dabbed with antiseptic while he winced and tried to say some jokes.

Your hands froze, the mask still covering the bridge of his nose and his eyes. "Y-Yuji?" The name was a fragile, broken thing in the quiet of your room.

He stopped breathing. He went utterly, completely still. Then, after a beat that lasted an eternity, he finally spoke, his voice muffled by the fabric but clear as a bell. "Do you- …do you trust me?" he asked, throwing your own question back at you.

You stood there, the weight of the revelation pressing down on you. Your childhood best friend. The boy who shared his popsicles with you in the summer. The teenager who held you while you cried over your first real heartbreak. The man who was currently holding you like you were the only solid thing in a world spinning out of control. He was also the hero swinging from skyscrapers, the city’s scarred guardian.

Slowly, you nodded.

That was all the permission he needed. He ripped the mask the rest of the way off in one fluid motion, tossing it carelessly onto your bed. And there he was. Yuji Itadori. His pink hair was damp with sweat, plastered to his forehead. His face, usually so full of easy sunshine and bright smiles, was etched with a bone deep exhaustion, but his eyes… his eyes were burning. Burning with a raw intensity you had never seen before, an inferno of longing and desperation.

Then he was on you.

His lips crashed against yours, and it wasn't a gentle kiss. It was a collision, a desperate, starving thing. It tasted of rain and salt and the metal of exhaustion. He poured everything into it…every missed phone call, every lie of omission, every moment of wanting you and being too afraid, too busy, to reach for you. He backed you up until your legs hit the edge of your desk, the wood digging into your thighs. Without breaking the kiss, he hoisted you onto the surface, the textbook and highlighters clattering to the floor.

"God-" he breathed out against your mouth, his voice a low and ragged growl. "I've wanted this for so long. You- you don't even know."

His hands were everywhere, roaming up your back, tangling in your hair, pulling you impossibly closer. He was needy, almost rough, like a man dying of thirst who had just found an oasis. You tangled your fingers in his damp, pink hair, pulling him closer, matching his desperation with your own. The months of quiet longing, of worrying, of missing him, all came rushing to the surface.

You bit his lower lip, and he groaned, such a deep and vibrating sound that you felt in your very bones.

His hands slid down from your waist to grip the backs of your thighs, yanking you flush against him. You could feel him, hard and insistent, pressing against the thin fabric of your sleep shorts. The realization sent a jolt of liquid heat straight to your core. You wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles behind his back, a silent invitation.

He took it.

His hands moved to the hem of your sweatshirt, his touch rough and impatient. He tugged it over your head in one swift motion, the cool night air pebbling your skin. His eyes, dark and hungry, raked over you, taking in the simple lace of your bra. He looked at you like he was worshipping at an altar, like you were the answer to every prayer he’d ever whispered into the dark.

"You're so beautiful," he rasped, his words thick with an emotion that went far beyond simple lust. Then he was on you again.. his lips trailing a scorching path down your neck, across your collarbone. He nipped at the sensitive skin where your shoulder near your neck is, and you gasped, your head falling back. His hands came up to cup your breasts through the lace, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, drawing them into tight, aching points.

"Yuji.." you breathed, his name a prayer on your sweet lips.

He groaned again, the sound sending vibrations through your chest. He reached behind you, fumbling with the clasp of your bra for a moment before it gave way. He slid the straps down your arms, his gaze never leaving yours. The intensity in his eyes was almost too much, a raw and unshielded thing that laid him completely bare to you.

He leaned down, taking one peaked nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it before sucking hard. The sensation was so god damn electric, a direct line to the throbbing ache in your pussy. You arched into him, your fingers tightening in his hair. He paid equal attention to the other, lavishing it with the same desperate attention, leaving you panting and writhing beneath him.

His free hand snaked down between your bodies, slipping past the waistband of your shorts and underwear. He groaned when he felt how wet you were, his fingers sliding easily through your folds.

"Fuck, y/n," he murmured against your skin. "You're so wet. All of this… for me?"

You could only nod, your words lost as he circled your clit with a sure and steady pressure. His touch was knowing, practiced in a way that made a fresh wave of dizzying arousal wash over you. He knew what he was doing. The thought was both thrilling and a little sad…how many other girls had he practiced on? You shoved the thought away, focusing on the here and now, on the way his fingers were making you feel.

He slid one finger inside you, then another, curling them just right. You cried out, your hips bucking against his hand. He set a rhythm, pumping his fingers in and out of you while his thumb worked your clit. The pressure built, a tight coil in your belly, threatening to break.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice low, turning a bit rough.

You forced your eyes open, meeting his burning gaze. The sight of him, Yuji, your Yuji, standing between your spread legs, his fingers buried deep inside you, his face contorted in a mask of pure, unadulterated need, was your undoing.

The coil snapped, and you came with a cry, your body convulsing around his fingers. He rode you through it, whispering praise against your skin, his other arm wrapped around your waist to hold you steady.

When you finally came back to yourself, he was pulling his fingers from you, bringing them to his lips and sucking them clean. The sight was so obscene, so fucking hot it made your spent body clench with renewed desire.

He stepped back, quickly shedding the rest of his suit, the fabric peeling away to reveal a body sculpted by years of rigorous training and nightly battles. Scars, old and new, dotted his skin, a roadmap of his double life. You wanted to kiss every single one.

He stood before you, naked and out, his cock standing proud and erect against his stomach. He was big, bigger than you'd expected from such a sweet man, and the sight of him made your mouth water.

He stepped forward again, his hands gripping your hips. "I need to be inside you.." he said, his voice turned into this raw and desperate plea at this point. "Now... Please, y/n. I need you."

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer. "Then take me…" you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

He needed no further encouragement. He lined his cock up with your entrance, and then he was pushing inside, slow and steady, stretching you in a way that was both painful and incredibly pleasurable. You gasped, your nails digging into the hard muscles of his shoulders.

He paused once he was fully sheathed, his forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing heavily. "Are you okay?" he asked, his sweet voice laced with concern.

You nodded, unable to speak. You felt so full, so complete, like a missing piece of you had finally clicked into place.

He started to move then, his hips rocking against yours in a slow rhythm. Each thrust sent a burst of pleasure through your insides, building the tension all over again. It wasn't slow anymore. it was deep and meaningful, a conversation in a language your bodies understood perfectly.

His hands roamed your body, relearning every curve, every dip. He traced the line of your spine, cupped the swell of your ass, tangled his fingers in your hair. He kissed you, a deep, sloppy yet tender kiss that spoke volumes of all the unspoken words between you.

"I'm sorry," he murmured against your lips. "I'm so sorry for everything. For being a bad friend, for lying to you, for not being there."

You shook your head, your hands coming up to cup his face. "You're here now," you said, your voice trembling. "That's all that matters."

He looked at you, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "I love you," he said, the words tumbling out of him in a rush. "I've always loved you."

The confession broke something open in you, a dam of emotion you hadn't even realized was there. Tears streamed down your face as you pulled him in for another kiss, pouring all of your love, all of your longing, all of your relief into it.

"I love you too," you whispered against his mouth.

He began to move faster then, his thrusts becoming harder, more demanding. The sounds of your bodies meeting, of your shared moans and gasps, filled the small room, mingling with the distant sounds of the city that never slept.

You could feel another orgasm building, this one more intense than the last. The pressure was immense, a gathering storm about to break. "Yuji- fuck-!" you cried out, your voice high and desperate.

"I'm-"

"I know," he grunted, his rhythm faltering. "Me too. Together. Let's cum together."

He reached between you, his thumb finding your clit, and that was all it took. You shattered, your orgasm ripping through you with the force of a tidal wave. Your vision went white, your body convulsing around him as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you.

With a hoarse cry of your name, he followed you over the edge, his hips jerking as he spilled himself deep inside you.

For a long moment, you just stayed like that, wrapped in each other's arms, your bodies slick with sweat, your hearts beating as one. He was still inside you, a warm, solid presence that anchored you to the earth.

Slowly, he pulled out, the loss leaving you feeling a sudden emptiness. He helped you off the desk, his arms strong and steady around you. He led you to the bed, pulling back the covers and tucking you in before sliding in beside you.

You curled into his side, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady, reassuring rhythm of his heartbeat. His arm came around you, holding you close. The mask lay forgotten on the floor, a symbol of a life you were now irrevocably a part of.

"What happens now?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering. "Now," he said, his voice soft but sure. "Now, I stop running. Now, I finally come home to you."

You looked up at him, at the boy you'd always known, the man you were just beginning to discover. The exhaustion was still there, etched around his eyes, but the desperate need was gone, replaced by a quiet contentment, a peace you hadn't seen in him in years. He was home.

And you were right where you belonged.

Morning arrived not with the usual blare of your alarm, but with the gentle, warm weight of an arm draped over your waist and the soft, even breaths tickling the back of your neck. For a blissful, hazy moment, the world was just the warmth of the bed and the solid presence behind you. Then, the events of the previous night crashed back into your consciousness with the force of a physical blow. spider-man. Yuji. The confession, the desperate lovemaking, the tears.

You slowly turned over. Yuji was still asleep, his face relaxed in a way it rarely was when he was awake. The faint morning light filtering through your window softened the angles of his face, made the scar by his lip look like a mere pencil stroke. He looked younger, vulnerable. You reached out, your fingers hovering just above his cheek, afraid to touch him and shatter the fragile peace of the moment.

His eyes fluttered open. They were still heavy with sleep, but they cleared instantly as they focused on you. A slow, genuine smile spread across his face, so purely Yuji that it made your heart ache.

"Morning," he rasped, his voice thick and husky. He shifted, closing the small distance between you and nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your skin. "I didn't dream it, did I?"

You shook your head, your hands coming up to thread through his messy pink hair. "Nope. Not a dream."

He sighed, a sound of pure, unadulterated relief. "Thank God," he murmured against your skin. Then he stilled, lifting his head slightly. "But... my phone's been buzzing. I should probably..." He trailed off, the familiar cloud of responsibility starting to creep back into his eyes.

You tightened your grip on his hair, pulling him back down. "No," you said, your voice firm but gentle. "Not yet. Just five more minutes."

He looked at you, a conflict warring in his expression- the pull of the city versus the anchor of your arms. Then, the city lost. He relaxed completely, melting against you, a deadweight of pure, relieved muscle. "Okay," he whispered. "Five minutes."

Those five minutes stretched into twenty. You just lay there, a tangle of limbs, tracing the new and old scars on his back and shoulders as he told you about them. The faint, circular burn on his left shoulder from a laser. The long, thin one on his ribs from a knife. The jagged one on his forearm that was still healing. You listened, your heart clenching with each story, your fingers gently memorizing the topology of his double life.

"I was so scared last night," he admitted, his voice muffled by your pillow. "When that guy mentioned your block... I've never been that terrified. Not even with the Green Goblin." He shuddered, a raw, visceral memory of the fear. "All I could think was that I'd been so caught up in being spider-man that I'd forgotten how to be Yuji, the guy who's supposed to look out for you."

"You're here now," you said again, the words a soothing balm. "That's what matters."

He rolled over, propping himself up on an elbow to look down at you. His expression was serious, the playful morning light gone from his eyes. "I want to be here for you," he said, his thumb stroking your cheek. "All the way. But you have to know... it won't be easy. This," he gestured vaguely at the world outside your window, "doesn't stop. People will always be in danger. I'll always have to run."

"I know," you said softly. "I'm not asking you to stop being spider-man, Yuji. I could never do that. I'm just asking you to let me in. Let me be the person you come home to. The one you don't have to lie to."

His gaze softened, a wave of emotion washing over him so strongly you could feel it in the air. "Yeah," he breathed out. "Yeah, okay." He leaned down and kissed you, a slow, deep kiss that was full of promise, a sealing of a new, unspoken pact.

A loud, insistent buzz from the pile of discarded clothes on the floor shattered the moment. Yuji groaned, dropping his forehead to yours. "That'll be frank. He's probably already bitching."

"Go," you urged, giving him a little push. "The city needs its hero."

He gave you a look of such profound fondness it made your breath catch. He leaned in for one more quick kiss before scrambling out of bed. He moved with an economy of motion that was mesmerizing to watch. He pulled on the bottom half of his suit, the material clinging to his thighs like a second skin. He found his phone, frowning at the screen.

"Nothing major," he said, relieved. "Just a multi car pileup on the expressway. I can help redirect traffic and be back in an hour."

He pulled the mask on, but before he covered his face completely, he looked at you one last time. "I'll come back," he promised. "For real. We'll get breakfast. I'll even let you pay."

You laughed, a genuine laugh that felt like sunlight after a storm. "It's a date, spider-man."

The white lenses of the mask narrowed, a silent, crinkling smile. Then the fabric smoothed over his face, and he was gone, disappearing out your window with a soft thwip that was quickly swallowed by the morning roar of the city.

You lay back in bed, the sheets still warm and smelling of him, a complicated tangle of exhilaration and fear swirling in your chest. You were no longer just y/n, some college student. You were the girl spider-man came home to. You were in love with Yuji Itadori, and your life had irrevocably changed overnight. A slow smile spread across your face. It was terrifying. It was wonderful. And you wouldn't trade it for anything.

True to his word, an hour later, a familiar knock echoed not at your window, but at your front door. You opened it to find Yuji, looking windswept and gloriously normal in a pair of sweats and a hoodie he must have stashed nearby. His hair was a mess, and there was a faint smudge of dirt on his cheek, but his smile was bright enough to power the entire block.

He held up a greasy paper bag. "I come bearing bagels and the finest mediocre coffee a corner bodega can offer" he announced with a grand bow.

You laughed, stepping aside to let him in. "The hero new york deserves."

"Just the hero you deserve," he corrected, his voice dropping slightly as he kicked the door shut behind him. He set the food on your small kitchen counter, but instead of digging in, he turned to you, his expression softening. He closed the distance between you, his hands finding your waist.

"Hi," he murmured, like he was seeing you for the first time.

"Hi," you whispered back, your hands coming to rest on his chest.

He leaned down and kissed you, slowly, a sweet kiss that tasted of coffee and the future you two had ahead. It was nothing like the desperate, frenzied kisses of the night before. This one was a promise.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours. "So," he said, a little breathless. "About that date."

"Breakfast is a good start," you teased, though your heart was thumping a fast, happy rhythm against your ribs.

"Nah," he said, pulling back just enough to grin at you, that familia, easy going Yuji smile that made your stomach have that tingle. "Breakfast is just the prelude. I'm thinking tonight. A real date. Dinner, a movie. The whole nine yards. No spandex, no secrets." He paused, his gaze searching yours. "Just me. And you. What do you say?"

You looked at this boy- this man…who you had known your entire life, who you had mourned in his absence, who you had just discovered carried the weight of a city on his shoulders. And he was asking you on a date.

You stood on your tiptoes and kissed him, pouring all your answer into that one, perfect touch.

That evening found you sitting across from him in a tiny, ramen shop tucked away on a quiet side street. The steam from the bowls fogged up the windows, and the air was filled with the comforting sounds of slurping noodles and quiet conversation. It was normal. So wonderfully, beautifully normal.

Yuji talked, his hands gesturing wildly as he recounted a story about a training exercise gone wrong with his "internship" mentor. You listened, mesmerized, watching the way the candlelight caught in his eyes, the way he smiled when you laughed. You were learning to read the subtle tells…the flicker of exhaustion in his gaze, the way he'd sometimes rub a sore shoulder, the split second delay before he answered a question about his day.

And you realized he was learning to be seen. Really seen. Not as the symbol, not as the hero, but as Yuji. He fumbled with his chopsticks. He told a dumb joke and laughed so hard at it himself that soy sauce nearly came out of his nose. He looked at you with such unguarded adoration that it made your cheeks burn.

It was perfect.

Later, walking home through the quiet streets, he reached for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. The simple gesture felt more intimate, more profound, than anything you had shared the night before.

"I forgot what this felt like," he said, his voice soft. "Just... walking. With you. Being a normal guy." "You are a normal guy, Yuji," you said, squeezing his hand. "You just have an... abnormal extracurricular."

He chuckled, warm sound that vibrated through your joined hands. He stopped walking, turning to face you under the glow of a streetlamp. He lifted his free hand, gently brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch was so tender it made your heart ache.

"Last night," he began, his expression turning serious. "I was so scared I'd lose you before I ever even had a chance to have you."

"You didn't," you whispered.

"No," he agreed, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. "And I'm not going to." He leaned in, his eyes locking onto yours. "I'm going to spend the rest of my life making sure you know how much you mean to me."

And then he kissed you, right there in the middle of the empty sidewalk. It was slow and deep and full of promise, a kiss that said everything words couldn't.

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