☆ i don’t take requests but please do send me your own ideas and scenarios if you’d like! i’d love to elaborate on them or just go crazy over them. my asks are open.
★ warnings i literally eat sleep and breathe dabi so instead of seeing a therapist about it i sometimes write out my little scenarios. 99% of my works on here are about him. i don’t write super dark content but always read the tw/cw just in case! this blog interacts with 18+ content!
♡ TAGS: gender neutral reader, reader has a vagina but that's all that's described physically, slight role-reversal / reader reads a little dominant. one good boy in there for katsuki. unprotected sex. riding position but lovey-dovey 18+.
♡ A/N: happy birthday my beautiful boy i love you more than words.
You think it's cute.
The way Katsuki's neck gets red, blush-toned and blistering, all the way down his spine, no matter how often you two have sex.
His skin tans evenly in the summers, but he pales in the winter. By spring, he's somewhere in the middle. Where the sun hasn't been out long enough, burned hot enough to do anything but wash him with a faint golden light.
Where winters paleness lingers, indulging in the slow melt of summer sun.
Katsuki is cute like this. There's some kind of novelty in it. He always gets red, but when he's in this spring-time inbetween, the shade just seems to be deeper. Winter cools it, summer masks it.
But spring highlights it. Shows off the ruby of him much better than any other time of year. A spring flower among water dappled grass.
His longing wets his face. His lashes, his upper lip, the crown of his forehead.
With the way he looks at you, you might venture to think you're inside of him, not the other way around. But you're spoiling him, so not today. Maybe later, if you're looking to exhaust him.
(Katsuki always looks at you that way, you realize. Almost pained by the weight of his feelings, like it's all intimate and he needs you to relieve him of some of the weight.)
Feeling somewhere between lovesick and sadistic, you lean in and press a kiss to the base of his throat. You lick a line, tracing a vein, all the way up past his jaw, up to the lobe of his ear. Your tongue traces the shape of it, the outer and inner.
Katsuki gasps like he's been struck. The swollen head of his cock, already nudged so deep inside of you, seems to swell and twitch. The grip he has on your waist tightens, the flesh of your hips spilling between his fingers.
His voice is coarse and rough - a complete contrast to the rest of him. There's no bite to his words but they come punched out.
"Fuck, you fucking succubus," He shudders, pre-cum spilling into you. "I can't—I'm gonna cum if you keep—"
"So what?" You suggest, rolling your hips delibrately. You can only keep so much composure, so you go slowly. Wait until he gives up a little. "It's your birthday, isn't it? Cum as much as you want."
"I'm not wearing a condom," He says seriously.
This you laugh at. Irritation mars his face.
"What? Were you gonna try to pull-out? It's a little late to be worrying about it. We'll go to the Hero Comission and get some morning after pill. Alright?"
He doesn't relax hearing this. In fact he looks distressed by the idea. Not by any of what you said, you've come to learn, but the reality of how it feels.
You love the face Katsuki makes when he feels good. You can always tell. He's got a quiet air of concentration about him, but everything about him gets so rigid. Some days, he's okay about letting go, but he's usually stiff. Always uptight.
He can't handle pleasure. He has no tolerance for it, or for you. Doesn't know how to handle wanting you. It's too much for him. You're his first everything, in all the ways that would give him skills to handle it. But he's notoriously bad at it, and hasn't much improved in the years of your relationship.
His jaw tensed, his eyes lidded, the vein in his jaw and neck straining against his skin. The occasional deep, heavy breath he takes and sharp groans. It looks like your pussy feels so damn good around his cock, grips it so good it's killing him a little, and he falls in love with you about it over and over. Every time you grind your hips, like casting a spell.
A sharp little groan leaves his mouth. "Fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,"
Your body becomes eager for it when he moans for you. Want propels you forward, gets you closer to your orgasm. You let yourself take from him, like he likes. Pull away some of the attention with your arms around his neck, grinding your hips.
Your eyes roll back a little, praise spilling from your lips with the ease and candor of wine.
"You feel so fucking good. Your dick is so perfect." His cock twitches with need, as he buries his face into your neck, just above your chest. "Don't cum yet."
He garbles something incoherent into your chest, but then grips you tighter like he's listening.
"Good boy,"
That earns a whimper and only pushes you closer. He really is so good to you. Gruff but kind. Strong but careful. Prideful but introspective. Always actionable, always good, always striving for better and trying. Always, always trying his best for you, even now.
You cum hard, your nails digging into his shoulders. The warmth of your belly, the slow ache of pleasure, comes toppling and lands heavy and your back arches. Your hips stutter in the chase, the elongation of pleasure until you can't.
When the highs over, you lean back in and breathe the words softly against Katsuki's ear.
"Your turn. Happy birthday, baby."
Katsuki shudders, moves quickly, holding you up before gently laying you on your back. Without warning, he puts his hands under your hips and moves.
His thrusts are imperfect. Messy and hurried and desperate, eagerly fucking into you as he muffles every moan into your neck. It's a steady stream, broken up by short whimpers. You mostly hear him curse, each word coming out so heavy. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh fuck."
It sends a delicious wave of pleasure through you as he does. Katsuki cums with a cry, his hips jolting as he buries himself deep and cums in thick, heavy ropes. You smile as you feel yourself fill up warm and Katsuki collapses into your chest.
You reach up, your fingers caress the short hairs on the back of his neck where his hair cut starts. Smiling, you nudge him. He leans up, so fucked out you laugh, and you use both hands to cup his face and kiss him.
"I love you," You say, sincere. Katsuki goes even redder, if you could believe. "Let's grow old together,"
"Shut the hell up," He offers. Then, more weakly. "...Yeah. Whatever. Love you too."
thinking about barou carrying you back to your room on vacation (you’re drunk over his shoulder) and getting stopped by some very well meaning drunk girls that he has to show multiple-picture proof that you’re his girl and he’s not abducting you
You give a little shriek of a giggle as Shouei throws you over his shoulder. You’ve been stumbling on the marble floor of the nice hotel, far passed buzzed and no longer tipsy. He tugs your short hemline down to cover your ass fully, and sets off towards the elevator.
“Hey!” A girl calls, coming over to Shouei’s side. She’s drunk too, with a little sway of her step. She looks at your face: “You know this guy?”
“Mhm,” you reply, dopey grin on his face.
She’s clearly not satisfied.
“‘S m’boyfr’nd,” you slur out.
“Is he?” She crosses her arms and looks at Shouei, “Prove it.”
He huffs, “I promise I’m her boyfriend. By the end of this trip I’ll be her fiancé.”
“Oh!” Excitement blooms across her face before she frowns again. “I don’t believe you.”
“Here.” Shouei shifts to pull his phone out, showing his lock screen of the two of you. Golden hour at a winery back home in Italy. “She’s my love.”
The girl scrutinizes the picture. Shouei long presses on the screen, swiping through his other lock screens. You at an art museum, at the beach, gazing at a menu, with a big plushie he won for you; the two of you at a wedding, kissing after he’s won a game (you beautiful and him sweaty), next to each other in a booth at a chain restaurant that your sister took.
“Listen, I’ve got to get some food in her before she goes to bed,” Shouei says. “I’ll take good care of her, I promise.”
The girl nods slowly, through her gaze trails over to you. Your eyes are shut lightly, drunkenly, but your hand rests on the swell of Shouei’s ass.
“Okay,” she says, taking a step back.
“Are you ladies going to make it back to your room safely?” Shouei asks.
The girl who had approached, the outspoken one of the group, nods at him. “Yep! We’ll be back safe and sound.”
“Good. Have a good night,” Shouei says with as warm of a smile as he can muster. Then, he’s off towards the elevators again, your hands kneading at his ass.
boyfriend iwaizumi hajime tries his best to have self restraint when you’re ovulating.
he notices immediately when you were staring at him like a predator on the hunt.
“…why are you looking at me like that,” he asked, voice slightly tinged with fear as he paused mid–pull-up stretch. to your eyes, his sweaty tan skin looked so hot right now. his spiky hair that stuck to his forehead seemed so attractive. his slight groaning made you press your thighs together.
you just squinted at him, inhaling.
“haji,” you said thoughtfully, “you look really… scrumptious today.”
he nearly dropped the dumbbell, now realizing what was going on, he blinked.
“what?”
you tilted your head, eyes tracing him like you were appraising a five-star meal. you make a squeezing motion as you stared down at his biceps, biting your lip in the process.
“hon, are you ovulating right now?” he asked, defeated.
“did you just ask me if you want me to be stuffed and filled with your babies? yes.” you admit, walking over to him and trailing your fingers down his chest.
god, help me. he thought to himself.
—
he rolled up his sleeves to wash the dishes.
he immediately looks at you when you gasp.
“what’s wrong?” he asked, concerned. you just bite your nail.
“your forearms,” you whispered, reverent. “why would you do that to me this early.”
“…they’re just arms.” he says, drying his hands on the towel.
“no,” you corrected. “they’re your arms. I want them wrapped around my neck. although if you want, your hands are fine too.” you say, he just showed a tight-lipped smile, like he’s trying not to laugh.
he thinks you’re dangerous.
you leaned against the counter, chin in your hands.
“do you work out for me specifically?”
his brain malfunctions, what was he supposed to say to that?
“I guess?”
“is that right?” you ask, smiling mischievously as you squeeze his arms. you caressed the skin on his arm, then bit your lip.
"ah-ah, hon I know what you're planning to do." he says, immediately covering your mouth with his palms, which you lick in return. he looks unfazed, you pout and just turned your back on him and walked once corner of the kitchen and laid your forehead on the pillar.
"that's right, give yourself a timeout." he teased.
—
later, you were curled up together on the living room couch, some show playing in the background neither of you was really watching.
your legs were draped over his lap, his arm solid and warm around your shoulders. he was focused on the screen, jaw relaxed, thumb absently tracing slow circles against your arm.
you can feel his broad chest and strong shoulders.
god, please hold me back. you thought.
you tilted your head back to look at him, eyes lingering shamelessly.
“haji.”
he hummed without looking away. “what.”
without thinking, no filter, no hesitation, you blurted, "haji, let me have your babies.”
the sound he made wasn’t quite a gasp, not quite a choke.
the show kept playing but he did not move.
then very slowly he turned his head to look at you.
“…excuse me.”
your eyes widened. you clapped a hand over your mouth. “I DIDN’T MEAN IT LIKE THAT—”
“yes you did.”
“I MEANT IT AFFECTIONATELY.”
“there is no affectionate way to say that.”
you were already laughing, face burning. “I can't help it!”
he dragged a hand down his face, ears glowing red. “I am begging you to consult me before speaking.”
“I can’t,” you said helplessly, snuggling closer. “my brain is offline.”
he exhaled slowly, then shifted so you were straddling his lap and his hands settling firmly on your hips like he needed the grounding.
“you’re lucky I know what’s happening,” he said, voice low but fond. “otherwise I’d think you were trying to ruin me.”
you grinned up at him. “would it help if I said I just think you’d be a really good dad.”
that did it.
his grip tightened just slightly before he pulled you into his chest, forehead resting against yours.
“…you’re not allowed to say that right now,” he muttered.
you hugged him back, content, cheek pressed to his shoulder.
“you’re very headlockable.”
"I'd love it if you did that though." you smirked against his skin.
he snorted despite himself, pressing a kiss to your hair. "hon, just sit still and watch the show before you say something insane.”
"no." you muttered stubbornly, trailing kisses down his jaw.
well, who was hajime to deny you of your needs anyway.
"fine." he said, you grinned victoriously, immediately getting to your feet and practically dragged him into the bedroom.
—
a/n: okay, I'm in a creative slump, and busy finding an internship. boyfriend!iwaizumi is all I can give for now, sorry for being inactive. also, this is boyfriend iwaizumi hajime (27) athletic trainer okay. I love this series.
it’s 6:08am. the sun isn’t even fully up yet. and baby yuji is already in full goblin mode - sockless, giggling, and currently trying to climb nanami’s leg like a tree trunk.
nanami is in his work clothes. hair styled. dress shirt crisp. tie halfway done.
“he wants your tie,” you mumble.
nanami glances down. yuji is clinging to his knee, making grabby hands.
“you can’t have papa’s tie,” nanami says, crouching down. “you’ll chew on it again.”
yuji immediately tries to bite it.
nanami sighs.
“see?”
you snort into your mug.
eventually, nanami picks him up - effortlessly, with one hand under his bottom and the other steadying his back. yuji squeals, clings to his dress shirt like a koala. and nanami just… lets him. presses a kiss to his chubby cheek. holds him like he’s the most fragile, precious thing in the universe.
(he is.)
“you should leave soon,” you murmur. “you’ll miss your train.”
nanami looks at you.
then at the clock.
then back at you.
and then he sits down beside you with a baby on his chest and a tie still undone.
“they can wait,” he says softly.
you smile so hard it hurts.
you shift closer, curling into his side. baby yuji hums softly, chewing on his own fingers now instead of the tie. your head rests on nanami’s shoulder. his arm wraps around your waist without even thinking.
he’s still in his dress shirt. still in his slacks. the most put-together man in tokyo, probably. and yet here he is, willingly trapped under a sleepy baby and a sleepier spouse, forehead resting lightly against yours like this is all he’s ever needed.
and maybe it is.
he presses a kiss to your temple.
“love you,” he mumbles.
“even when i let your son chew on your expensive italian tie?”
you have a good hold on your mouth when you’re drunk. you learned early and hard not to let things slip, even when you’re bent over a toilet, even when you’re in an unfamiliar bed.
you don’t even have to be drunk to want to tell iwaizumi everything.
he just has this vibe that attracts gossips. you know it well, all the people who go to strong, solid iwaizumi to confess. you can count on one hand the things you haven’t told him on purpose.
you know, even now, slumped in his lap before the new year turns golden and fireworks shower around you, your feet over the arm of the courch and your eyes full of stars, not to tell him how pretty his mouth looks, stained with red wine, how bitable his throat, how thick his shoulders.
but you’re bubbling over, a champagne fountain, so you let yourself have this:
“not fair,” you say.
“isn’t it,” he says, indulgent. hard, strict iwaizumi, indulgent with you because you are soft in his lap. you let yourself pretend for a moment.
“mmh,” you say, trying to look pathetic. your hair is probably flopping into your eyes in a bad way. no one has ever believed your crocodile tears. “sad. sad, sad day.”
“why is that?” he rubs a thumb back and forth over your cheek, cool against your warm flesh.
“everyone else knows,” you pout. “but you wouldn’t get it. everyone else thinks—thinks i’m pretty, the prettiest. you must be blind or stupid.”
he doesn’t respond, just makes a shape with his mouth you can’t read.
“see?” you shake your head. your hair grits between your skull and the fabric of his pants. “so tonight i’m not pretty.”
“don’t say that,” he covers your mouth loosely with the palm of his hand. you nose toward the heel, seeking the salt leftover from the shots you’d taken together earlier. “you know not to talk like that.”
“but i’m drunk,” you say into his palm, spreading your hands wide like a lawyer on a tv show. you feel loose, ungrounded—you accidentally knock into his chest. he takes the warm weight of his hand away to fold your hand carefully in his before you can do more damage. like you could break that brick wall. “i can say whatever i want. who cares?”
“someone’s gonna hear you,” hajime says. “someone you care about more than me. they’re gonna get the wrong idea.”
“who’s that?” what a stupid statement. stupid iwaizumi, who doesn’t know that you’ve lived and breathed for his good opinion since you were a kid.
“i don’t know,” he says. “you tell me. which one of them were you hoping to be your new year’s kiss?”
you squint up at him, blocking out his features through your drunken haze. his caramel skin, the dark hollows of his eyes, the scar at the corner of his mouth that matches the starburst on his shoulder, souvenirs from trying to teach you to ride his too-big bike down the big hill behind kitagawa daiichi.
“how much did you drink?” you accuse.
“only what you told me to,” he laughs. “and i can hold my liquor a lot better than you, little one.”
you choke on your inhale, caught between a snort of laughter and a flustered gasp.
“i could drink you under the table any day,” you retort. “who’re you gonna kiss?”
he pauses. “nobody.”
“i don’t believe you.”
“don’t disrespect your elders like that,” he says. “i’d never lie to you.“
you want to believe him, but you’ve been coming to his family parties for years, watched every time he’d brought a girlfriend back and the one time he kissed mattsun because neither of them had one that year. you’d sent a video to oikawa out of spite, knowing he’d take the revenge you couldn’t.
around you, the beginnings of a countdown chant start.
“shit, it’s later than i thought. you gonna go find your kiss?” iwaizumi asks.
“uh-huh,” you say, wiggling up a little so he’s pinned further by your weight.
“thirty!” shout the people around you. he waves a hand in your face, wiggling his fingers.
you grab at him and suck a finger into your mouth.
“twenty!” the chorus around you sing-songs. he stares down at you, jaw slack, keeping his hand carefully still as you lick between his digits.
you pull away with a pop! that echoes in his head like firecrackers. you’ve always had a good hold on your mouth when drunk.
he hauls you up into a sitting position, a look on his face so fierce you half-sober up, an apology climbing up your throat.
i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i know i’m not the one you want.
iwaizumi kisses you and you only faintly hear the cheers around you, not for you but they feel like they could be. he wasn’t yours but he feels like he could be. his right hand presses into the small of your back like he can’t take you close enough, his mouth less yielding than you’d imagined, just on the verge of hurting so you know this is real. his left thumb strokes your face; when you pull away for breath, he ducks to press kisses into your neck and you think you hear something like not pretty, my ass, always the prettiest, idiot.
“not nice,” you whisper into his hair and feel him smile as he kisses you again.
“i’ll be nicer to you from now on,” he vows right into your mouth. iwaizumi, who’s always been indulgent with you, who feeds you with his own chopsticks, who bears the scars of his determination to teach you, makes you a promise.
tags: pro hero bakugou katsuki, shameless smut, soft sex, vaginal sex, explicit language & sexual content, begging, praise kink (gentle), morning sex, inappropriate use of a window sill, bakugou katsuki is vanilla and vulnerable, light angst, porn with feelings, soft bakugou katsuki, mdni!
summary:
The first time you send Katsuki a nude is a funny occasion.
Or, in which the sun reveals what the night already knew—you and him, made to meet.
notes:
i missed my explosion baby.
The first time you send Katsuki a nude is a funny occasion.
It’s a rare morning where you get to sleep in, and your body feels like it’s made of warm molasses and cake batter—soft, heavy, deliciously sore. There’s a pleasant ache between your legs, the kind that lingers after a night well spent.
Katsuki had been relentless. That wicked grin against your neck, sharp teeth leaving evidence of his handiwork down your collarbone, broad palms gripping your waist like he wanted to mold you into the shape of his hands. His voice—gruff, desperate, breaking apart in those trembling moans that sent shivers down your spine—still echoes in your head.
You sigh, stretching against the soft covers, and lazily reach for your phone. The screen lights up with a few notifications: messages from colleagues, probably nagging about work. Some friends too. And, of course, a string of texts from Katsuki, sent earlier in the morning.
HR meeting. This shit is dumb.
Dumbasses talk too much.
You better still be sleeping.
I know you’re not, don’t fucking lie.
You grin, shaking your head. Overprotective. As if he wasn’t the reason you barely got any sleep.
You swipe to close your messages but accidentally open the camera app instead. Your blurry, just-woke-up reflection stares back at you, and for a second, you blink, adjusting to the sight.
You look… good. Sexy, even.
Your skin is warm and bare against the sheets, the faint bruises on your thighs and collarbone proof of last night’s fun. There’s a hazy glow to you, the kind of effortless, post-fucked radiance that models would kill for. The gold chain at your neck catches the sunlight, the first kanji of his name resting right over your pulse like it belongs there.
And that’s when the idea hits you.
Grinning, you shift slightly, angling the camera just right. You don’t go all out—just enough. The sheets drape teasingly over your curves, a bit of your smile visible, soft and knowing. It’s not just about the nudity; it’s about the suggestion, the implication of it. You know how to drive him crazy.
You attach the picture to a text, keeping it simple:
good morning honey i miss you :(
And then, satisfied with your work, you toss your phone aside and sink back into the pillows, stretching lazily.
You don’t expect the immediate reaction.
Your phone starts ringing.
Once. Then twice. Then a third time in rapid succession.
You bite your lip, eyes gleaming with amusement. Of course. You don’t pick up.
Then the texts start rolling in.
What the fuck.
Answer the ducking phone.
Fucking
Now.
You snicker to yourself before typing out a response, you’re working, silly!! :p
The phone rings again.
This time, you pick up, barely suppressing your laughter as you answer, “Good morning, sunshine.”
“What the fuck,” Katsuki snaps, voice low and strained. “You can’t just send me this while I’m in a goddamn meeting.”
Your grin widens. “Why? Are you getting horny?” you tease. “Might need to jerk off in the bathroom stalls like you used to do.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end. “That was one time, you idiot. And you were the one callin’ me in bed, so don’t even start.”
“Oh, right,” you hum, smug. “Our little impromptu phone sex call while you were on patrol. Real sexy, by the way.”
“Don’t change the fuckin’ subject,” he growls, voice tight. “You know what you’re doin’. Stormed outta the goddamn conference room like an idiot’cause of you.”
You prop yourself up on one elbow, smirking. “I was sending my wonderful boyfriend a nude, honey. Do you like it? I can take some more if you want.”
Katsuki makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl. There’s a beat of silence where you just know he’s pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut. You can picture it perfectly—the clench of his jaw, the way his knee probably bounces in agitation.
Your phone is tucked between your shoulder and your ear, and you swear you can hear the way Katsuki’s blood pressure spikes through the receiver. There’s a low, murderous inhale—sharp, tight, shaky—followed by the faint rustle of fabric like he’s dragging his hands down his face.
“You’re killin’ me,” he mutters, voice all gravel and restraint. “I’m sittin’ in a room full of extras who don’t know how to shut up, tryin’ to act like I’m payin’ attention, and you—”
He stops abruptly; breathes, and then tries again, slower, lower, like the words scrape up his throat:
“—you send me that.”
The way he says it makes something inside you curl warm and triumphant.
You bite your lip, teeth catching on the smile you can’t hold back. “It was just a good morning picture, honey.”
“Bullshit,” he snaps immediately, like the denial physically hurts him. “You know exactly what the hell you’re doin’. Fuckin’—” he exhales hard, “—teasin’ me first thing in the morning while I’m trapped with these idiots.”
You flop onto your back, stretching like a satisfied cat in warm sunlight, the sheets slipping lower on your bare hips. “You liked it though.”
There’s a sound on the other end—something between a groan, a curse, and a prayer.
“‘Liked it’—” he scoffs, voice rising before dropping again into something ragged, “…you’re outta your goddamn mind. I had to put my fuckin’ forehead on the table so no one saw my face.”
You laugh softly, delighted. “Oh? Did you blush?”
He makes another wounded, strangled noise. “Stop talkin’.”
You can imagine it perfectly: Katsuki hunched over the stupid conference table, jaw tight, cheeks burning, glaring so hard the HR lady probably thought she was gonna combust on the spot. His knee bouncing under the table. His pulse hammering at his neck.
And all because of you lying in bed, glowing in the morning light.
The power trip feels divine.
“What are you doing now?” you purr.
“Left the room,” he mutters. “Pretended I had a fuckin’ migraine.”
You snort. “You are having one. A dick migraine.”
“Shut up.”
He says it, but the words have no bite—the softness bleeds through, like he’s secretly glad you’re ruining his morning. Like he’s desperate for more.
You drag a hand slowly down your torso, fingers ghosting over the faint marks he left last night. The memory makes your thighs shift, makes your breath catch.
“Y’know,” you murmur, letting the sheets rustle deliberately, “if you’re already out of the meeting… I could send you more.”
Silence. A loaded, electric silence.
Then:
“… Don’t,” he whispers. Whispers—like he’s begging. Like he knows he’ll fold instantly if you do.
Your heart does a molten little somersault.
“Katsuki…”
You hear the thud of his back hitting the wall as he leans against it. A long exhale. His voice comes out rough, fraying at the edges:
“I’m already hard.”
Heat blooms across your cheeks, but your grin is wicked. “Already? From just one picture?”
“No,” he growls, “from you.”
There it is. That raw honesty he only ever gives you in pieces—gruff and reluctant and trembling under the weight of how much he loves you.
Your stomach flutters.
“I miss you,” you say softly, meaning every word.
He huffs, like the confession twists something too tender inside him. “Miss you too. Can’t fuckin’ think straight.”
“Well,” you say, voice lilting with mischief, “you could come home early…”
“And say what? ‘Gotta leave, my girl’s makin’ my dick cry’?”
You choke on a laugh, burying your face in your pillow. “Oh my God—”
“It’s not funny,” he insists, but you can hear the small, helpless smile in his voice.
“Then come deal with me.”
A beat. Two.
You hear him breathe—inhale, exhale, something heavy settling in his chest.
“…I’ll be home in twenty.”
Your grin turns slow and devastating. “Good. I’ll be waiting.”
“Don’t you dare send another picture,” he warns.
You hum innocently. “No promises.”
“Oi—”
But you hang up before he can finish, rolling onto your back and letting your phone drop onto your chest, laughing softly to yourself.
Katsuki comes home fast.
Thirty minutes, give or take. You’ve had just enough time to shower, rubbing in your favorite oils and lotions, letting the warmth of the steam and the softness of the scents wrap around you like silk. Your skin glows, dewy and warm, smooth under your fingers as you slip into a robe—thin, soft, teasing against bare skin. Of course, this little ritual is for you, or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.
The front door slams shut.
Heavy footsteps echo up the stairs of his penthouse, fast and impatient. The sound makes you smile as you finish tidying up, the scent of your perfumes still lingering in the air. You don’t even turn around when the bedroom door swings open, but you feel him—his presence alone filling the space, crackling like static electricity before a storm.
Eventually, you do.
Katsuki looks wrecked.
His hair is even messier than usual, strands sticking up in chaotic spikes like he’s been running his hands through it in frustration. His black t-shirt is slightly rumpled, stretched tight across his chest, and his grey sweats hang low on his hips, revealing the distinct, heavy bulge pressing against the fabric. His red eyes, sharp and dark with want, land on you and immediately narrow.
Your smile widens.
And before you can so much as open your mouth, he moves.
One second you’re standing by the dresser, the next you’re gasping, laughing, as he’s on you, strong arms wrapping around your waist, face burying into the crook of your neck. His breath is hot against your skin, hands gripping your ass in a way that is both desperate and possessive, kneading, fingers pressing into soft flesh like he needs to ground himself.
It’s a collision, controlled only by the fact that he loves you too much to barrel you straight into the wall.
“Katsuki—” You laugh, breathless.
“Shut up,” he mutters, voice low and rough, muffled against your skin. It’s the softest shut up you’ve ever heard in your life.
You don’t make it easy for him.
Stepping out of his grasp, you put just enough space between you to be annoying, letting your silk robe sway as you move, the delicate fabric kissing over your skin. You keep your touch light, trailing your fingers along the windowsill, pretending to clean, though you’re fully aware that Katsuki sees right through you.
The tension is delicious.
You can feel the weight of his stare—heavy, dark, heated. You don’t even need to turn around to know he’s watching the way your hips move, how the robe flutters with each step, the faint glimpse of bare skin underneath.
And then—warmth.
Katsuki presses up behind you, caging you against the windowsill. His broad chest is firm against your back, his arms bracketing you in, his body solid and hot as he leans in, the hard press of his cock fitting snug against the curve of your ass.
“You’re evil, baby,” he murmurs, his voice a gravelly drawl against your ear.
You smirk, pushing back against him just slightly, enough to feel the twitch of his cock through his sweats. Teasing. “Am I?”
Your robe slips off one shoulder, the silk cascading down your arm like liquid moonlight, exposing the smooth curve of your bare shoulder. A little gift, just for him.
Your Hero takes it with eager hands.
His mouth finds your neck, nose nuzzling into the sensitive skin as he presses slow, open-mouthed kisses, warm and wet, tongue flicking against your pulse. He lingers, savoring the way you shiver under him before his teeth sink in just enough to make you gasp. A soft, pleased hum rumbles in his chest as he soothes the spot with a kiss, mapping out familiar territory.
He lingers near your shoulder for a moment like he needs to breathe before pulling back. You take the moment to steady yourself, lungs filling slowly, heart still learning how to behave around him.
You tilt your body back just slightly, closing the last bit of space between you—not enough to surrender, not enough to give him what he’s aching for, just enough to let him feel the warmth of you on his mouth—and you press a kiss to his lips.
Gentle. Soft. Innocent in a way that should be criminal.
A brush. A whisper; barely a promise.
The kiss is featherlight, nothing more than the soft drag of lips against lips, but when you pull away with that tiny, wet little sound, Katsuki jolts forward like the air has been punched out of him. His mouth follows yours instinctively—mindless and needy—like a plant bending toward the sun.
He barely catches himself in time, fingers twitching at your waist as he stops just short of kissing you again.
But you don’t give him more.
Not yet.
You let your lips hover over his, close enough that they almost touch, close enough that he can feel your breath warm against his mouth—sweet, teasing, intentional torture. The space between you hums, charged, electric. His hands clench at your hips, thumbs brushing your skin like he’s trying to steady himself.
You know exactly what he likes. You know exactly what ruins him. So you slip into the role he melts for—the soft one, the warm one, the tender one that unravels him with a whisper.
Your voice comes out sweet and slow, dripping honey, soft enough to feel like velvet against his skin. “I missed you, honey,” you murmur, your nose brushing his. Your fingers trail up the strong column of his neck, barely touching, light enough to make him shudder. “Thought about you all morning…”
His breath catches.
It’s subtle, but you feel it—his entire body falters, like you just cut the last thread holding him up.
And it isn’t even a lie.
You did think about him. You thought about the shape of him in your bed, about his voice—rough and unsteady—when he had you under him last night. You thought about the way he begged without using the word, the way his breath trembled when he was close, the way he came apart in your arms like you were the only thing keeping him whole.
(You thought about how you loved him, how thoroughly he ruined you.)
Katsuki sways, forehead dropping gently against yours, eyes hazy and dark, pupils blown wide. His mouth parts like he’s struggling to breathe right, and he wets his lips with a shaky flick of his tongue.
“Y-Yeah?” he manages, voice torn to shreds—rough, trembling, barely there.
It’s rare to see him this undone—this soft, this open, this needy. Katsuki is always the strong one, the sharp one, the loud one, the one who takes on the world with his teeth bared and his fists clenched.
But with you?
With you, he cracks open at the seams.
And yet, beneath that softness, there’s something frantic simmering—an intensity he tries and fails to hide, a hunger that makes his grip on your hips tighten painfully sweet.
You smile slow, warm, wicked, letting your fingers trail down the plane of his chest until they settle over his heartbeat—racing, uneven, thunderous beneath your palm.
“Yeah,” you whisper, kissing him again. Another soft kiss, another tease, another promise just out of reach. “All morning.”
He inhales sharply. His hands flex—strong, desperate, clutching. He tries to steady himself, but you feel the tremor in him, feel how close he is to breaking.
His forehead presses harder against yours. You hear the low, shaky sound he exhales, feel the way his breath stutters against your lips like he’s trying to hold himself in place.
But he can’t.
His hands tighten at your waist—firm, decisive—and in a single fluid motion he lifts you, pulling your body flush against his. You gasp softly as he places you onto the windowsill, the cool surface beneath you contrasting the heat of his chest pressed to yours.
Your legs fall open effortlessly, instinctively, welcoming him between them.
Katsuki steps in without hesitation, crowding into you, fitting himself into the space you make for him with a kind of desperate certainty—like this is where he belongs.
And then he kisses you.
Not soft. Not tender. Not innocent.
His mouth crashes onto yours—hot, hungry, messy with want. He kisses like a man starved, like he’s been holding himself back since the minute he saw your picture this morning. His hands grip your thighs hard, spreading you wider, thumbs digging in just enough to make your breath catch.
You feel the press of him, heavy and insistent through his sweats, sliding perfectly against the heat between your legs. You feel the tremble in his arms, the low growl in his chest, the warring storm of relief and desire crashing inside him.
“You drive me insane,” he breathes into your mouth, voice breaking, lips brushing yours between kisses. “Fuck—don’t ever do that shit in the morning again, I swear—”
His words stop the instant you pull back.
Your robe slips from your shoulders like it’s been waiting for permission, the silk whispering down your arms until it pools at your elbows. The light washes over your skin—soft gold on soft curves—illuminating the swell of your breasts, the delicate rise and fall of your breathing. You don’t miss the way Katsuki’s gaze drops.
It’s fast—barely a second—like a spark jumping a gap.
But for him? That’s enough to betray everything.
His pupils dilate. His throat bobs. His fingers tighten on your hips—just a twitch—but the kind that says he’s holding himself back by the thinnest thread.
And you smile. Slow. Knowing. A little cruel, a little sweet.
You lean in again—but not urgently, not hungrily—no. You kiss him like warm honey dripping over a spoon. Deep, slow, languid. Your lips slide against his, coaxing him open, and the moment your fingers slide into his hair—scratching gently at the sensitive nape of his neck—Katsuki groans into your mouth.
It’s low. It’s rough. It’s a crack in his armor.
He pulls you closer, like he physically cannot do otherwise, like gravity itself has shifted just for you. His body crowds into yours, hard and warm and shaking faintly as he kisses you back—messy now, losing rhythm, losing breath, losing everything but you.
And right when he starts to drown—right when his breath stutters and his fingers dig into your thighs, right when he leans in deeper like he wants to crawl into your lungs—you pull away.
Katsuki blinks at you. Dazed. Ruined.
His lips are wet, parted, flushed a little darker from the friction. A thin gleam of spit stretches between your mouths before it snaps. His eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown wide and dark, breath unsteady like you’ve just punched the air out of him.
He looks like a man halfway to begging without even realizing it.
And you tilt your head, voice sweet as sugar:
“How was your meeting?”
Katsuki stares at you. “Hah?” It’s not even a word. Just a sound dragged straight from disbelief and the ragged edges of desire.
You laugh. Soft. Effortless. Like he isn’t standing between your legs with a hard-on that could knock over furniture. Like you’re not perched on the windowsill half-naked, robe slipping, legs parted around his hips.
“Your meeting,” you repeat, tracing a finger down his chest in a slow, teasing glide. You don’t even press down—just skim over the thin cotton of his shirt, just enough for him to feel the ghost of your touch. “With HR. How was it?”
Katsuki blinks, like his brain is lagging behind his body. The hand on your thigh flexes. His jaw clenches. His nostrils flare with the kind of slow-building frustration that always, always makes him want to kiss you or fuck you—or both. He looks like he’s trying to decide if you’re joking or if you’re actually this evil.
Then his face twists—into a scowl that can’t hide the heat simmering under it. “Fuck that,” he growls.
You grin—bright, wicked, triumphant.
He’s so easy to rile up, and you love every second of it. You love the way his voice scratches when he’s desperate, the way he looks at you like he wants to devour you whole, the way he can’t decide whether he wants to lift you onto his cock or throw you over his shoulder.
“But I want to know…” you purr, legs brushing against his thighs, teasing him with every shift of your hips.
He cuts you off immediately. “I didn’t finish the goddamn meeting,” he snaps. “You know this.”
And you do, but teasing him is half the fun.
You drag your fingers down the line of his collarbone, barely touching his skin, and his breath stutters again. His hands tighten on your thighs like he’s ready to shake you—or kiss you until you forget your own name.
“So dramatic,” you tease, hooking a leg around his hip, pulling him in even closer, letting him feel—fully and undeniably—just how affected you are too.
Katsuki’s breath catches.
His bulge presses thick and hot against your folds—right against the soft, slick heat of you—and even through the thin stretch of his sweats, even through the pulse of your own arousal, you feel the shape of him. Heavy. Hard. Familiar in a way that makes your breath tremble.
And he feels you too.
You know he does by the way he freezes—just for a heartbeat—as the wet warmth of you blooms through the fabric. The way his fingers tighten around your thighs, digging into soft skin like he’s grounding himself. The way his throat bobs in a hard, visible swallow, like he’s trying to force breath back into his lungs.
The closeness becomes a heat that hums quietly between your bodies. Not a wildfire. Not a burn.
But something steady. Ancient. The warmth of embers held under ash—the kind of heat that never fades, the kind you could tuck yourself into for a lifetime.
The morning sun sinks over your collarbones like it’s trying to worship you, soft light kissing every inch he hungers for. And Katsuki looks at you—really looks—and something shifts in him. His breath stutters, chest rising sharply before he exhales like he’s been struck by something tender and impossible.
He says your name and it isn’t spoken like a call or a question. It’s worship. It’s wonder.
It slips from his lips warmer than the sunlight, softened into something sweet, like honey left out in summer. His voice trembles slightly, like he doesn’t understand what’s happening inside him, like he doesn’t know why you—just you, just your touch, your body, your breath—undo him so completely.
Your name sounds different when he’s like this. Like he’s tasting it. Like he’s trying to memorize the shape of it. Like it feels too small for what he means.
And your heart folds in on itself, soft and molten, because this is him—this is your Katsuki—raw-edged, fierce, and still so unbelievably vulnerable when it comes to you.
His forehead leans into yours, noses brushing, and for a moment, everything slows. The sunlight. The air. Even the ache between your legs.
And then instinct takes over.
You tug him closer with a soft, desperate noise escaping your lips, your hands sliding down to the waistband of his sweats. Katsuki reacts instantly—like a spark to gasoline—cupping your thighs, pulling you forward on the windowsill until your bodies align perfectly, until his cock is pressed right where you need him most.
You kiss him—deeply, hungrily—as your fingers slip past the elastic of his waistband. His hips jerk when you brush hot skin, when you help shove the fabric down just enough. He fumbles with his own clothes too, hands shaking with impatience and want, trying to drag his sweats and boxers low enough to free himself.
He breaks the kiss with a ragged gasp the moment his cock springs free, flushed and heavy, the tip brushing against your slick folds. His breath leaves him in a shaky exhale, and he looks at you like he’s witnessing something holy.
You hook a leg around his waist, pulling him in. He grips behind your knee, spreading you open. Your robe slips fully from your body, pooling beneath you like a fallen halo.
You guide him—slowly, intentionally—your hand curling around the thick base of him as you line him up with your entrance. He groans, low and guttural, head dropping to your shoulder as he feels how wet you are for him.
And then—
You both move at once.
Your hips tilt forward. His hips push in.
The thick head of his cock sinks into you, stretching you, filling you, something inside you both clicks together—like a lock meeting its key, like constellations aligning after centuries apart.
For a moment, the world holds its breath.
It feels like the universe has been waiting—pages written in the stars eons ago, promising that you and he would find your way back to each other. Promising that this, right here, was always meant to be.
His name falls from your lips in a shaking sigh. His breath stutters against your mouth.
He sinks deeper into you—slow, reverent, overwhelmed—you feel it: two bodies becoming one shape. Two souls folding into each other like it was always written.
His teeth sink into your shoulder—not cruel, never cruel, but deep enough to draw a ragged gasp from your throat, deep enough that your back arches and your head knocks softly against the cold glass behind you.
Katsuki moans into your skin—low, broken, unguarded—and the sound vibrates through you, tightening everything low in your belly. His hips stutter, just once, like the pleasure shocks him, like he can’t quite believe how good you feel wrapped around him after days apart. But then he draws back, the thick drag of his cock slipping from your warmth, only to push back in with a slow, devastating force that steals the air from your lungs.
When he lifts his head, his eyes open drowsy and dazed, heavy-lidded with lust, but there’s something else there too—love, raw and overflowing, painting him in warmth that softens his every sharp edge. You cup his jaw in both hands, guiding his lips to yours, kissing him slow and deep as his fingers flex against your hips, tightening, adjusting you, tilting your pelvis just right so he can thrust deeper, smoother.
And gods, you feel it—every vein, every throb, every thick curve of him as he ruts into you with a need that borders on reverence.
His touch isn’t fire—not the explosive kind he wields in battle, not the flash-bang destruction the world knows him for.
His touch is the promise of heat; the hush before flame. The orange glow that paints closed eyelids at dawn; the warmth that sinks into your bones and stays there.
Your breath breaks on a moan. “Oh—Katsuki…”
He groans at the sound of his name, hips rolling in a deeper, more deliberate rhythm now, each stroke hitting a place inside you that makes your thighs tremble. You slip fully into the role he aches for—the one he can’t resist, the one he melts under. Soft voice, soft hands, soft love. The sweetness he pretends he doesn’t crave but falls apart for every single time.
Your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him closer, drawing him in, molding your bodies together like you’re trying to fuse with him. His breath shudders hard against your throat, coming out in sharp, ragged bursts as he loses himself in you.
You cradle his face, whispering between gasps, “I love you—I love you so much…”
The effect is instant—violent in its tenderness.
Katsuki’s eyes roll back for half a second, unguarded and undone, his mouth falling open around a soft, helpless sound he will never admit to making. His thrust falters, his grip on your hips tightening, trembling with how hard your words hit him.
Because you know him. Down to the bone. Down to the trembling center of him.
Your Hero—the man the world thinks is made of explosions and anger—is nothing but vulnerability wrapped in heat when he’s with you. He is raw emotion, fierce devotion, and quiet yearning threaded through muscle and flame. He loves with a ferocity that could level cities, but he gives it to you gently. Always gently. Always with trembling hands and a heart he doesn’t know how to hide.
To everyone else, he is sharp edges and hard lines. To you, he is soft thunder. A storm learning how to open. A man learning how to be loved.
His forehead presses to yours, his breath shaking as he thrusts into you again, deeper, slower, a rhythm that feels less like sex and more like confession.
You see everything in him—the boy who once thought he wasn’t enough, the man who thinks too much, the lover who gives you every inch of his heart without realizing he’s doing it.
His love spills out of him in the way he holds you, in the way he trembles against you, in the way he whispers your name like a prayer he never believed in until you.
(He is the most naked with you—not when his body is bare, but when his heart forgets how to guard itself.)
Katsuki angles his hips just slightly—tiny, intentional, devastating—and the world inside you detonates.
You whimper, the sound torn from somewhere soft and shaking, your thighs trembling around him as he hits that spot. That spot. The one that feels like a star is blooming behind your ribcage, like a piece of the sun outside has slipped through your skin and burst open inside of you, molten and bright.
Your hips react before your mind can catch up, rising to meet him, moving with him in a rhythm older than thought. You remember him like this—before morning, before light, before reason. Your body knows him the way dawn knows color.
You move together the way heat folds under linen—quiet, slow, devastating. Not frantic, not rushed, but deep, steady, consuming. A burn that builds from ember to fire with each thrust, each breath shared between you.
His pace shifts—just enough to make the room tilt—and gods, it’s perfect. When dawn opens its colors, orange bleeding into gold, it looks like two bodies wrapped so tightly they become a single gradient. That’s what this feels like: a merging, a dissolving, an almost-spiritual surrender to warmth.
Katsuki’s breath is hot and ragged against your lips, every inhale brushing your mouth, every exhale trembling with restraint.
“Y-you close?” he pants, voice barely holding itself together.
You nod frantically, another broken sound slipping from your lips as the coil in your belly tightens, tightens, tightens. “Y—yes, but I wanna come with you,” you breathe out, voice high and trembling. “Please, Katsuki—wanna feel you.”
Those words ruin him.
Absolutely annihilate him.
A wrecked noise spills out of him—half moan, half gasp—as his lashes flutter and his thrusts falter for a beat, his entire body clenching like he’s fighting a losing battle. His jaw locks, the muscles in his neck straining, his grip on your hips tightening as if he needs you to survive this moment.
“Don’t—shit—don’t fuckin’ say that,” he rasps, breath breaking apart. “You’re gonna—fuck—gonna make me come.”
But you don’t stop.
You pull him in by the jaw, by the neck, by the need that runs molten between you, and kiss him—slow, deep, claiming. Your tongue slips into his mouth, swallowing every sound he makes, every trembling gasp, every desperate moan like it belongs to you. Your hands cradle his face, your fingers trembling against his cheeks, pouring your entire self into him—your love, your want, your tenderness, your undoing.
You melt together, slick and hot, the rhythm of your bodies syncing so perfectly it feels orchestrated by something divine. Every thrust pushes you closer to the edge, every pull burns you hotter.
When you break the kiss, your lips still brushing his, your breath mingling, you murmur, soft as moonlight:
“Come with me, Katsuki. Please. I love it—love you.”
His breath hitches—sharp, wounded, worshipful. He looks at you like you have unmade him. Like you’ve rewritten his gravity. Like you’re something holy and he’s kneeling without realizing it.
His throat bobs; he swallows hard. A nod—small, frantic—shakes through him. “Y—yeah,” he chokes out. “Whatever… whatever you want, baby.”
You soften beneath him—pliant as warmed wax, shaped only by his staying, his loving, his presence pressed against your skin.
And then—
He breaks.
Katsuki comes hard, his entire body seizing, a guttural moan ripping from his chest like he can’t contain the force of it. His hips jerk, stuttering, as he spills deep inside you—hot, thick, overwhelming. The flood of warmth, the trembling of his body, the sound of your name torn from his throat—
It all snaps your control.
Your orgasm slams into you like lightning—sharp, blinding, consuming. Your head knocks back onto the window with a soft thud, your mouth falling open around a breathless cry as pleasure bursts through you in waves. Your walls clench desperately around him, milking him through every pulse of his release, drawing out every last tremor, every last groan.
He shudders violently, forehead falling to your shoulder, arms wrapping around your waist like he’s drowning and you’re the only thing keeping him afloat.
Outside, the sun keeps rising.
(Inside, so do you.)
The slow, honey-warm ribbons of the sun touch your skin, gilding the sweat along your collarbones, catching in Katsuki’s hair like it’s made of wildfire. Morning curls itself around the two of you, thick and soft, the kind of quiet that feels earned.
Your bodies stay linked for long, breathless moments, his cock still nestled inside you, softening but not leaving, like even his body refuses to pull away yet. His breath fans over your shoulder—uneven, shaky, trying to calm the frantic rhythm still thundering through him. Your chest rises and falls against his, your heartbeats still stumbling into each other, finding their way back to steadiness together.
Eventually he lifts his head, slow and heavy, blinking through the haze. His lashes look darker with sweat, clumped and damp, and his pupils are blown, softened by something brighter than lust. His throat bobs once—twice—as if he’s trying to swallow down the emotion gathering there.
You can’t help it.
You smile—small, teasing, tender. “By the way,” you whisper, voice still ruined and breathy, “this was so much better than your meeting.”
A surprised sound escapes him—half scoff, half laugh, breaking apart in his chest. He snorts, shaking his head, and leans forward to knock his forehead against yours with a gentle thunk, the touch warm, intimate, grounding.
You both laugh—quietly, lips brushing, breaths mingling—until the laughter turns into something softer. His mouth grazes yours, not quite a kiss yet, just a promise of one. But then the promise becomes real, and he kisses you slow, deep, like he’s taking his time rebuilding you with his lips.
He kisses like he loves: thoroughly, quietly, with every part of himself he never learned how to share until you.
His mouth is a warm place you forget yourself in—a place where sound dissolves into prayer, where restraint slips out of his grasp and devotion spills through his hands.
When he pulls back for air, only an inch, you see it clearly.
In the red of his eyes, softened to a molten hue; in the slight tremor of his breath; in the way his hand slides up your spine like he’s trying to memorize every vertebra under his palm.
Love.
Real, raw, unguarded love.
The kind he once thought he’d never be capable of. It sits there, unhidden, glowing beneath his skin like a second sun.
You melt into him instinctively, nestling closer, letting your bare chest press against his still-clothed torso. His shirt is warm and damp against your breasts, and his arms curl around you with the reverence of someone holding a miracle. His hand spreads across your back—broad, calloused, steady—pulling you impossibly closer until your bodies fit together like a single silhouette carved from light.
He shifts slightly, and the soft slip of his cock inside you makes you exhale a tiny, involuntary sigh. He feels it too—his breath stutters—and his hands tighten ever so slightly on you as if the sensation reverberates straight into his chest.
There is no urgency now. No rush. Just the afterglow—the tenderness—the remnants of something holy.
You tuck yourself beneath his chin and he folds around you, strong arms caging you gently, shielding you even from the morning air. His heartbeat slows under your ear, steadying, syncing with yours until you can’t tell which is which.
Outside, the sun keeps rising. Inside, the two of you stay still, wrapped in warmth and breath and the softness that follows being unraveled by love.
The morning finds you both unfinished—not lacking, not incomplete—but open.
there's a specific leather jacket of dabi's that you've stolen from him. it smells faintly of smoke, and it's oversized to the point where it's only a couple of inches off from reaching your knees—but you wear it regardless whenever you miss him.
he thought he'd lost that stupid jacket. one day it's in his closet, the next it's not. dabi never did care much about materialistic things like clothes and such—but to you? this jacket was special. you normally hid it whenever dabi came over, but he didn't text you beforehand today, and you weren't awake to hear him walk in nor hide it.
he enters through your back window like usual to avoid being seen before he hears the muffled sound of your tv playing. his feet naturally take him towards your living room, and he pauses in the doorway when he sees you wrapped up in his jacket like it was a blanket instead as you slept peacefully on the couch.
"so that's where it went." dabi drawls, taking a moment to observe the sight in front of him before he exhales quietly through his nose. he walks over to the couch, footsteps muffled and quiet before he stops right in front of you. there's a trickle of drool running down the corner of your mouth, and his lip twitches at the sight before a scarred hand is reaching out to swipe it away. he cradles your jaw for a moment afterwards before pulling away
"you're seriously not awake?"
he waits for something to indicate you might be pretending to sleep, a twitch of an eye or a subtle movement from under his jacket—but you remain still and unaware of his presence.
just for good measure, dabi presses a finger against your nose to see if your eyelids react at all to the touch—a trick he's used on victims before to see if they're playing dead—but still, you remain motionless.
he pulls away slowly. now that he's confirmed you're asleep, he lets himself lean forward and place a gentle, lingering kiss onto your temple.
"missed ya today. can't believe you stole my jacket and never said a word about it... you're lucky you're a pretty thief." he murmurs quietly to no response
he stands up afterwards, tucking his hands into his pockets. dabi could leave a note to let you know he visited your place while you were asleep on the couch, but that would mean acknowledging the fact that you stole his jacket—and that would mean he should rightfully demand you return it.
but, the thing was, the sight of you curled up in it was something that made his chest feel tight. he doesn't want his jacket back knowing you wear it, but outright saying you could keep it made him sound soft—and dabi wasn't soft. he was all rough edges and sharp tongued.
touya... touya was soft, but not dabi.
so, he'll pretend he doesn't know you have his jacket. he'll leave your apartment quietly and show up a couple days later acting as if he has no idea you're deliberately hiding something of his—and you'll never know that dabi came by at all.
ʚ⁺˖ » synopsis: your roommate and childhood best friend, yuji itadori, has two secrets he swears he'll drag to his grave: 1) he has a crush on you. 2) he's spider-man. spoiler: he's awful at keeping either.
ʚ⁺˖ » w.c: 18k, art cred: ig@/baaoozhe〃fluff, angst, smut, spiderman au, college au, living together, childhood friends, domestic fluff, cuddling, dogs, cooking together, kissing, tooth-rotting fluff, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), implied domestic abuse, happy ending.
ʚ⁺˖ » songs: playlist〃notes: part 1, part 2, part 3 in wip!! i love spider-man and yuji so much like this actually feels like a proposal omg... ps: the playlist is like vibes i think this spider!yuji fic would have- hope you guys enjoy!!
Yuji Itadori has never wanted to be the centre of attention. Not even when he lands the biggest home run of the decade, or when he crosses another finish line first, smashing records the campus won’t stop bragging about.
As soon as the clock strikes seven, he’s gone.
No frats, no parties, no messy drama. In the kindest, nicest phrasing possible, he’s a dud. He’ll even disappear mid-conversation too, sprinting off with some sorry excuse of a “study session.” And if you’ve ever seen his grades, you’d wonder how these “study sessions” even happen at all.
Well, he is a jock—and he is reciting his script for tomorrow’s anthropology presentation... Just with someone else hanging upside down beside him, cocooned in sticky white web on some cityside rooftop.
...Hold up. Rewind one hour.
Gunshots echoed, bullets ricocheting, and in the midst of this circus of a firework show, there Yuji was—dodging clattering cans, cartons, and cereal boxes he was trying to save.
“Okay, think, think—don’t die, don’t die.”
The robber, in his ridiculous ski mask, barreled through the aisles in his frantic craze with his crowbar.
“Out of my way!” he shouted, knocking over another pyramid of canned chickpeas.
Yuji smirked.
Suddenly, a web shot out from his wrist, and the robber yelped as the strand snagged his ankle, tripping him into innocent chips. It’s almost pitiful as his arms flailed helplessly, packs crashing at the spectacle. With a grin, Yuji shot another string of white around the man’s torso.
“Relax! I’m the friendly neighbourhood jock—wait, superhero! Friendly neighbourhood superhero!”
Though the robber still spun in place, tumbling like a washing machine on spin cycle,
“You little—”
Yuji fired again, webbing his arms and yanking him upright,
“Ohhh, you like being dramatic? We can do dramatic.”
Another around the legs, another around the torso, and suddenly the man found himself dangling midair like a piñata—arms pinned to his sides, legs stiff as broomsticks.
A jar of olives bounced off his head for emphasis.
“PUT ME DOWN! WHAT IS THIS—?!”
With a swing from the shelf, Yuji landed with flair, crouching on a layered stack of cereal boxes as he grinned in amusement.
“Relax, dude. You’re… uh… artfully suspended. Also, please stop moving, you’re making me dizzy.”
To his dismay, the robber still gyrated, knocking over carts and cans skittering across like tiny rockets. Thankfully, Yuji ducked just in time. With a sigh, he simply shot another web again.
“Hold still! Or I swear, I’ll—wait, nope, I’m not threatening you. I’m… just trying to help! With style!”
So, fast-forward to now, and really, it’s just another Tuesday in 2010s New York.
“The main cultural differences shape America in—”
“Hey! Can you let me down already?!”
Yuji, eyes squinted, snaps his head toward the man, coins jingling from his pockets. But he isn’t frowning at the robber… He just can’t read his notebook properly, especially with the thin fabric over his eyes. Each word is blurred into hazy smudges of grey.
Sometimes, Yuji Itadori doesn’t mind being the centre of attention.
Not when he's wearing the tight red-and-blue jumpsuit Nobara had stitched for him, seams puckered in all her nagging perfection.
Not when Megumi’s tech—definitely not borrowed, not stolen from his lab—glimmers faintly at his wrists.
And not when local news crews are scrambling to post grainy cellphone footage online, captions labelled with ridiculous, corny hashtags like #NYCSpidey, #OvercaffeinatedAcrobat, and #UnmaskThisGuy.
As soon as his last lecture of the day ends, he pulls down the mask, slips into the famous suit, and swings through the empire city that never sleeps.
He’s not Yuji Itadori anymore. He’s Spider-Man.
But tonight, though, he has an even greater problem than petty robberies and saving cats in trees. He has college.
“Dude, can you keep it down? I have an assignment due tomorrow and I’m stuck here babysitting you—”
Police sirens wail in the distance, cutting him off. And underneath his mask, he simply smirks, snapping his notebook shut as red and blue sweep across the graffiti‑scrawled walls.
“Aaand that’s my cue.”
With a flick of his wrist, the man is left gaping, flailing uselessly as Yuji leaps from the ledge.
The moon hangs low and full tonight. In the midst of its glow, he arcs over streets, headlights glinting like glass, weaving in between scaffolding poles. Trash swirls in the gusts around him, while faint damp concrete lingers as he glides past flickering streetlamps.
The grids of blocks lie dark, the breeze sharp, yet every window glimmers with golden light; they’re constellations scattered across the city that guide him home.
Even if what he does is nowhere near world-changing, he’s always reminded that the city is full of life, narratives. Every window, every golden light that spills through each pane of glass, hides a story—a heartbeat—and that fact alone is enough to lessen the weight of his double life just a bit.
As always, while swinging past, his gaze skims the streets, searching through the blur of headlights and shadows. He finds you like clockwork. Trudging home, arms full of groceries: a paper bag with lettuce, a baguette tucked under your arm, and vegetables brimming atop. You’re humming a song from your dangling earbuds, oblivious to the world around you.
He doesn’t mean to stare, but when you live in the same flat, coming home at the same time he clocks out from patrol… well, it’s only natural he makes sure his crush roommate gets home safe, too, right?
“I wonder what she’s making tonight…” he mutters.
With one soft push, he slips his window open and dives back inside.
The wooden floor doesn’t even creak under his landing, and the globe lamp atop his desk glows like a dim moon over scattered paper. He passes sticky notes plastered across his wall, zipping out his suit and tossing his book onto the bed. Stepping out, he flicks on the hallway lights—and it isn’t long before he hears the usual.
Your keys, the gentle click of the lock, and the first step you take inside, wrapped in the flat’s cosy warmth.
“Welcome back!” Yuji beams, hair tousled.
You nod back with a smile, shutting the door behind as you toe off your shoes. As you set the bag of groceries onto the kitchen island, you give him a smug smirk,
“Did you just wake up?”
His eyes dart away, guilty, all while he rubs the back of his neck. A sheepish chuckle escapes.
“...Maybe?”
You raise an eyebrow, sighing as he pulls a chair from the island.
Ever since you moved in together with your childhood friend, you’ve learned three things about him: he eats terribly, naps like a cat, and will stare at you from the corner of the room with glassy, desperate eyes if he ever smells food.
And whether he admits it or not, you know when to drag him by the wrist, plop him down in front of a bowl, and pour him something warm. You’ve done it since high school. You’re still doing it now.
Sure, he’s stubborn, but so are you, and tonight is no different.
“I’m just making some simple tomato soup,” you say, spreading the groceries across the counter.
The city skyline glitters faintly from behind him, setting aglow the twinkling fascination in his golden eyes.
“Because you—” you tap his forehead with a finger, nudging him back, “are finishing your presentation script tonight. And I’m helping you with it.”
His eyes widen.
“What?! How do you know about that?”
“If I have to hear Megumi complain one more time about you cramming your share of the load,” you groan, washing the vegetables, “I might start seeing both of you in my dreams.”
“Oops…” Yuji whistles, caught red-handed.
In the corner of your eye, you see him drift over as you slice the tomatoes.
“Can I help you cook then? Y’know… as repayment?”
You nearly slice the tip of your finger at the audacity, but his hands, as usual, catch your wrist before anything disastrous happens.
“You?”
You turn to look at him, his smile as bright as ever.
“The last time you offered, everything tasted bland.”
He pouts under your gaze—lips pursed, brows scrunched.
“I’ll never learn if I don’t try...”
A beat passes.
You sigh in resignation, and that’s all he needs. Yuji’s already pumping his fists triumphantly in the air, snatching the spare apron hanging off the oven handle.
“Let’s goooo!” he cheers.
You giggle at his flippant victory cry, but you don’t notice how his gaze lingers on you in the soft golden kitchen light—the curve of your eyes, the bloom of your cheeks. He’s taller than you, so it goes unnoticed, hidden in the shadow between you.
“And this time, don’t forget the salt,” you tease, stepping toward the pot.
“Yeah, yeah—oh! Put on that Cowboy Bebop opening. It’s been stuck in my head all day.”
You frown, eyeing the tiny apron stretched ridiculously over his frame. Your thumb’s already swiping across your battered iPhone 4, searching. When the first chord blasts, Yuji just stares.
“Based on how you’re holding that knife,” you chortle, “this feels more fitting.”
“…You think I’m gonna break into kung-fu fighting?!”
You shrug mockingly, moving to boil the water as he sputters just beside you. And it isn’t long before the kitchen settles into a cosy rhythm—the chop of vegetables, the hiss of butter, the soft swirl of simmering broth—and of course, your constant two-minute interval scoldings.
“W–Why are the tomatoes diced like that?”
“I—I swear someone did this on Hell’s Kitchen last night—”
“I told you a little oil. Why is the pan half full?!”
“Uh…”
“I’m monitoring what kind of weird cooking shows you’re watching from now on.”
The soup’s fragrance fills the room—sun-ripe tomatoes, roasted garlic, and basil blooming bright with butter. It smells like warmth, like home, and the little life you’ve carved out together. Even Yuji stops mid-chop, knife still hovering in the air, just to inhale.
“Here you go,” you say, sliding the bowl toward him.
He drops into his chair—shoulders rolling, a quiet sigh slipping past his lips. He thinks you don’t notice, but his fingers are still faintly red around the knuckles. The moment his eyes land on the bowl, something bright flickers in him.
The soup glows a deep orange-red, thick and velvety, droplets of olive oil shimmering across its sheen like tiny flecks of gold. Steam curls upward, brushing his cheeks, and in the dead of winter, the warmth blooms against him like late summer. Softening the night sky, brightening it like morning light.
When he takes the first spoonful, his eyes go wide.
Silence hangs in the room, but he just sets the spoon down gently, shoulders dropping another inch. He takes another bite, slower, and holds it in on his tongue. Under the table, his foot taps out its usual restless beat to a steady rhythm.
You have no idea what kind of day he’s had to be this hungry.
You don’t see the scuff on the side of his shoe, from where he landed too fast on the rooftop across the street. Or the tiny tear at the hem of his sleeve, where something sharp grazed him. Or the way he’d winced when you turned away earlier, instantly straightening as if nothing had happened.
All you see is Yuji—sunshine, sweetness—devouring the soup as if it’s literally saving him. You quietly rest your chin in your hands, grinning while he inhales spoonful after spoonful, like it’s the single greatest thing he’s tasted all week.
“Is it good?” you coo.
He nods so fast his hair bounces, and a smear of soup ends up on the corner of his lip. He doesn’t notice, but you do, and you’re giggling before you can stop yourself.
You turn toward the window, watching the city smear into streaks of gold and red, and in that split second, he lifts his gaze, eyes catching on you. His spoon pauses halfway to his mouth, suspended in midair, forgotten for the still of a heartbeat.
His breath stumbles, chest rising too quickly in the quiet. Goosebumps prick along his arms, and this time, it isn’t from the danger his sixth sense is warning him of. It’s from the way the skyline burns in your eyes, as if every light in New York decided to gather just to admire you with him.
He catches the soft amber strokes on your cheeks as your small smile curls like cotton-soft warmth—and underneath the dim neon glow, you look too gentle for the shadows, too bright for the night. For a breathless moment, he wants to steal you away.
To borrow you from the world, and keep this evening tucked somewhere only for the two of you.
“...Let’s go see something.”
The words slip out before he can catch them.
You blink up at him, and the room instantly falls away, softened to all but a hush of the world.
“What?”
He’s already getting up from his seat, draping his jacket over your shoulders as he takes your bowl. He reaches out your hand, and after a few seconds, you finally cave in. Leading you to the window, he pushes it open to the rushing cold air.
“What are you—”
“Trust me.”
He steps onto the fire escape’s metal platform. You hesitate for only a heartbeat, then follow, fingertips brushing the cold iron railing. Halfway up, he glances back at you, and his smile spills across the dim rooftop glow. Brighter than Manhattan’s windows, brighter than the neon signs, and even more so than the giddiness in your chest.
Your heart stutters for a bit.
The hum of traffic drifts up from below, weaving through the gaps in the grating, and when you reach the rooftop, the wind tugs at your clothes, ruffling hair and jacket alike. Stretched beneath you was the entire glitter of New York ahead, a glowing chaos of gold veins and shadows.
You suck in a breath, clutching Yuji’s jacket tighter around your shoulders.
“...It’s beautiful,” you whisper.
He doesn’t look at the shimmering skyline, but only at you. The spark in your eyes catching the glint of distant lights. Sitting down, he pats away the dust beside him, pulling you down to follow him. You plop yourself down, knees brushing.
“Right? When things are heavy, I like to sit and just watch the lights from above.”
Giggling, you take the warm bowl from his hands, the heat spreading through your fingers and mingling with the steam curling like tiny ghosts between you.
“I didn’t know you were also a rooftop climber.”
He flinches slightly, but you don’t notice, lost as you are in the flickering tapestry of lights and the comforting weight of his jacket draped around your shoulders.
“...Thanks,” you murmur.
He tilts his head to your voice, and his smile blooms like a lantern in the cold fluorescent glow of the city. He notices the dark circles under your eyes, the slump of your shoulders while cooking, and the faint, heavy sighs. Time hangs between you, quiet.
“Is it because of your mother?”
He doesn’t mean to pry. He simply waits, patient and quiet.
Years ago, when he was fourteen and the weight of the world had abandoned him to debt and despair, it was you who had pulled him into the light.
You, who had brought him home, were pleading with your parents to let him stay, working alongside him through three jobs, shielding him from bullies, and carving out space for him in a world that had none.
And it wasn't because of pity—it was simply because it was right.
And that small, steady truth had been more than enough for him to realise, walking home together one evening, that life without you was unthinkable. Impossible.
But ever since that incident, Yuji spends his nights differently now, wondering if he even still has the right to be sitting next to you. Perhaps that’s why he’s swinging across buildings now, a distraction to the ache he can’t name. The tugging knot of fear that writhes from his core.
“Mm… same old,” you murmur, eyes drifting to the golden veins of streets below, lids heavy.
“You know I’m always here for you, right?”
You shift your gaze toward him. His brows crease, jaw tight, lips parted, as if he’s waiting for a question you’ve buried too deep to speak. Yet your hands move betrayingly, fingers brushing against his, seeking him out over the coarse, cold brick beneath you.
He threads his fingers through yours with an ease so natural, it terrifies you. A knot coils low in your stomach, tightening with every heartbeat, your hand trembling beneath the gentle heat of his.
The wind tugs at your hair, lights flickering beyond the skyline like tiny stars. Amidst the faint hum of traffic and the electric scent of the city, each glow pulses, just like the racing of your heart.
You can feel it, the quiet certainty in his touch. You know he means it. You really do.
But even so, your lips betray you. They tremble against a single word, from the weight of too many nights spent replaying every thought, every fear.
“...Thanks.”
A fragile whisper, soft as paper, heavy as stone.
Somewhere far below, a taxi honks. Somewhere far above, a neon sign blinks. But in between both, it’s just the two of you. And even with all the uncertainty, the nights, and the unspoken truths that linger between breaths, you settle.
This litany of quiet is enough.
It’s eleven o'clock out, the sun is stupidly bright, and you want to die. Like—crawl six feet under and stay burrowed in there—die.
“See you tomorrow!” the woman calls as you leave, a paper bag of tangerines digging into your fingers.
You flash her a beaming smile, hiding your soul-rotting exhaustion. The door’s jingle follows you onto the bustling sidewalk.
New York is already in full chaos mode. Yellow cabs are barking at each other, crowds are shoving downstream like human traffic jams, and tourists are wrestling with crumpled city maps like they’re cursed.
When you glance up, you see the usual pigeons parading shop awnings, lined like entitled landlords. Scaffolding poles crisscross above you, towering between skyscrapers, and your earphones dangle uselessly around your neck.
No song is strong enough to fight the throbbing migraine pulsing behind your eyes, and it’s probably because you were up until 5:00 a.m. helping Yuji.
The memory punches you in the brain.
“Why the hell is it blank?” you’d blurted—because how else were you supposed to react to that monstrosity?
You were both on the living room carpet, his laptop glowing tragically atop the coffee table. Yuji jerked his head toward you, scandalised.
“Um, no? There’s the title slide, the body slide, and the bullet points. It’s got everything it needs.”
You didn’t need a degree to see all the ways that was a crime, and maybe you’re just a saint—that’s what he thinks—but you were already storming into your room, grabbing your laptop.
“Okay, you—” you pointed at him, “write your script. I’m fixing your slides.”
His eyes widened, watching as you flipped open your laptop, copied the link, and sent it over.
“We’ll revise the whole thing on four, and—”
Bla bla bla… your words were already blurring into the mindless static of Yuji’s head. In that deserted hollowness of a brain, there was just awe.
The way your focus sharpened, the way your brows pinched, the way you sank into a task like the world around you melted away… it was the same look you’d had four years prior.
When both of you still worked for some cramped, greasy kitchen in Queens—and then, he’d been elbow‑deep in suds, wrist aching, sweat sticking his bangs to his forehead.
Suddenly, you burst through the door.
“What the—” Yuji had jumped, nearly dropping a plate.
You didn’t even flinch at his shock. You were already rolling up your sleeves, sweeping half his stack of dirty dishes into your arms.
“No wonder you’re coming home at ten every day,” you muttered, scrubbing. “I asked the manager how many extra shifts you took. Care to explain?”
Yuji immediately paused. Your eyes still stayed focused on your side of the sink, though. The plate in his hand, the steam, and the music drifting faintly from the restaurant’s old radio all seemed to stop.
“We need the money,” he said gently, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a hopeful smile.
He reached to take the plate from you,
“Come on—hand it back. It’s my responsibility.”
Your grip didn’t budge. You just glared at him from under your lashes.
“We promised not to keep secrets from each other,” you murmured.
Silence fell. Only the muted hum of jazz seeped in from the dining area, trembling throughout the fragile string in the air.
Then you whispered, almost too quietly for him to hear.
“...It's not like I want to stay home either."
His stomach tightened.
You weren’t supposed to say—even, feel that kind of hurt. Hell, he didn't want you to think of uttering those words... At least when he was by your side.
He opened his mouth. Closed it. But after a few moments of still silence, he dug his fingers into his palms.
His chest paused mid-rise.
“We’re moving out as soon as I get paid.”
Your head snapped toward him. And there it was—that boyish grin. The same one he’d given you at six years old on the playground, when he offered you half his juice box just after you scraped your knee.
“I checked our savings,” he said softly. “We’ll have enough by this month.”
Your lips parted. Your eyes widened. And when the realisation hit you, Yuji quickly stripped off his gloves and ruffled your hair with a warm, shaking laugh.
“New York, angel. New life.”
Your throat tightened. Your heart stopped.
And before you knew it, your vision was blurring up like fog. His hair still spun rose-gold, soft and shimmering through the garble—and somehow, even through the haze, he was still the brightest thing in the room.
He had prayed to every God he knew to do anything, to never see you cry again. That if sadness ever had to choose, it would pick him, and not you.
So when your tears finally spilt under the cheap fluorescent lights, he didn’t hesitate. He pulled you in, firm arms wrapping around you as you clung to the back of his hoodie, shoulders shaking.
You choked on your own soft sniffles, finally surrendering to the dam of emotions you’d bottled all these years. All the while, he quietly kept his hold on you, whispering it again, breath warm against your ear.
New York. New life.
Flash forward four years—after the spider bite, after the powers, after the secrets that clawed at his nights—and some things never changed.
“Angel…” he murmured, stunned all over again.
Sure, he saved cats, strangers and entire banks on his better days, but it came at the cost of everything else.
His friends all think he’s unreliable, a dud, and weirdly bad at showing up—college deadlines slipped, plans fell apart, and every time the hairs on his arms stood up, that electric buzz tingling in his bones—he had to go. He just had to.
He knew what happened when he ignored it, and even in the darkest of nights, he still hears the crackle of fire from the apartment next door.
But you stayed.
You always stayed.
He wanted to hug you.
To kiss you.
To press his forehead to yours and promise that he’d protect you from everything—even himself.
But he swallowed it down, locked it away where it couldn’t slip out too easily.
And he just… smiled.
That boyish, earnest smile he never realises has the power to crumble all your walls.
Enough to also keep your whole world from collapsing. Enough to make you brave. Enough to make you trust him even when everything else in your life feels like it’s slipping between your fingers.
For as long as you can remember, it’s always felt like you and him against the world.
You know how he disappears every night, how he’s never on time for anything, how he comes back scraped or breathless or exhausted—but you never ask. You don’t pry. You don’t push.
Because Yuji is the one person you’d bend your whole life around if it meant easing his burdens. You trust him—you trust him in a way that terrifies you. You’ve known him long enough to understand the softness of his heart, the way he tries to carry everything alone, the way he refuses to let people worry for him.
And you know, deep down, that he’d never hurt anyone.
He’d never hurt you.
So you keep your silence with that one line he’s unknowingly drawn between you.
Even when you feel his gaze lingering on you longer than it should.
Even when goosebumps rise along your arms in the soft, living warmth of the room.
Even when you ache to reach out, to cup his face, to ask him why it feels like something is always slipping away.
Neither of you speaks. Neither of you steps forward.
Your fingers twitch at your sides, his hands clench slightly at his thighs.
Even when this fragile string you’re threading so carefully on is the very thing hurting you both.
You’re slipping through the afternoon crowd like a loose page torn from a book, shoving past another tourist whose camera strap is swinging wildly. The air smells faintly of burnt bagels, exhaust, and wet asphalt from last night’s rain. Metal trash cans clatter in the wind, lids rattling against their rims, and somewhere above, the faint screech of the subway reverberates from the tracks overhead.
Footsteps echo around you, tyres hiss against the wet asphalt, yet even in this city that never sleeps, your thoughts drift as you shuffle through the bustle.
I wonder how Yuji’s presentation went?
Hopefully well. Otherwise, you’ll have to suffer through the hell of Megumi’s complaints for at least another month.
You yawn, squinting as your vision blurs slightly against the harsh reflection of the rising sun on glass skyscrapers. The traffic light clicks, the pedestrians’ signal flipping to red, but suddenly, your eyes catch something else entirely.
Something small, trembling, utterly out of place in the chaos. A golden-furred bundle curled in the middle of the crossing.
A puppy.
Your heart stutters.
Everyone sees it, yet no one moves. Cars keep rolling, and the pup curls in on itself, shaking so violently you can feel it even from the curb.
What the hell?
Your mind scatters in ten directions at once, tripping over every worst-case scenario. Logic screams, Don’t run into traffic, so you're forced to stand there—foot tapping, throat tight, breath trapped—waiting. As soon as the pedestrian light ticks green, your legs run before you can even think.
You sprint.
Your sneakers slap against the asphalt, the city blurring around you in a rush of horns and exhaust. With a quick drop of a crouch, breath heaving, you slowly stick out a hand for it to sniff, but it shrinks back, paws skittering against the cold pavement.
It’s terrified. Of everything. The honks, the stomps, the chatter—New York’s roar is swallowing the tiny thing whole.
The pedestrian countdown crackles overhead, each tick like a punch to your ribs, and your heartbeat syncs with it—frantic, stuttering, racing.
“It’s okay, it’s okay…” you whisper.
But it’s not. Not even close.
You glance up.
Ten seconds left.
Fuck it.
You drop the paper bag. Tangerines scatter across the crosswalk, bumping under shoes, rolling into gutters as you sweep the trembling puppy into your arms. Its ribs flutter against your palms frantically. You whisper whatever calming nonsense you can manage—
HOOOONK.
The blare is so loud it splits your thoughts in half.
Before you even fully straighten, the world explodes into white behind your eyes. You snap your head toward the sound.
A truck is barreling toward you.
Too close.
Too fast.
Your entire body locks. There’s no time to run, no time to scream. The world narrows to the shadow swallowing you—
An arm suddenly clamps around your waist.
The ground vanishes, wind knifes past your ears. In a blink of an eye, you’re off the asphalt and slammed into the blur of motion.
The city snaps back into focus just as your feet touch down on solid pavement, and right behind you,
“Whoa there—careful!”
You freeze, heart slamming into your ribs.
You know that voice. You’d know it in a thunderstorm, a blackout, a dream.
“Yu—”
But when you whirl around, ready to scream at him, you freeze. The person holding you isn’t Yuji.
It’s Spider-Man.
The spandex, the mask, and the red and blue in all its stupid glory—standing right in front of you, fingers still trembling slightly where they had been gripping your waist. He slowly lets go of it, watching as you spin to face him, face shaken.
As more and more people start to crowd the two of you, they’re lifting phones, shouting.
It’s his voice. You know it.
But there’s also absolutely no way that Yuji Itadori—your perpetually late, starving, ghost of a roommate—is the same Spider-Man plastered all over the Daily Bugle every day, busy saving lives.
You swallow hard.
“…Thank you.”
He glances down, raising his knuckle for the shaking pup—and after a few sniffs, he boops its nose, its tail giving a tiny, shy wag.
“What a cutie,” he says softly. “Is this yours?”
He knows the answer. He shouldn’t even be talking this much. But when you look up at him—stunned, scared, and shocked—he stays.
You pause for a moment, brain short-circuiting before shaking your head.
He gestures gently.
“I can take him to a local shelter, if you want.”
What?
Your arms instinctively tighten around the pup, but after a few beats, the tension in your shoulders eases. With a hesitant nod, you slowly pass it over—and to your surprise, he holds the little thing way too gently, cradling it close to his chest.
Then, he asks,
“Do you want to come with us?”
Your head instantly perks up to him.
He wants you to come… with him.
Your heart thuds against your ribs, the cluster of crowds sending your brain into cartwheels now. Your fists are still against his chest, clenched, and after a few beats, you nod once.
“...Please?” you add, voice barely above a whisper.
Something in him melts.
“Alright,” he murmurs, hooking an arm around your waist with the pup. “No tall skyscrapers this time, though. Gotta make sure I don’t scare the pup.”
Before you can even process what he’s saying, a white web shoots out from his wrist—
And you’re fucking airborne.
“AAAAA—!!”
You’re screaming as the wind whips across your face, the ground blurring beneath your feet.
One awning leads to another, gilding just above the traffic—and somehow, that makes it even more terrifying; you can see the cars, the flashing lights, the stunned pedestrians filming you as you pass.
You cling to him like your life depends on it, your yell trembling amidst the racing wind as your arms stay wrapped tight around his neck. Meanwhile, this idiot is laughing. Laughing. And even the puppy is having fun, tail wagging like a metronome of betrayal.
You swear you can even see his tail wagging as well, burrowing your face even deeper into his neck as you shut your eyes.
“WHAT THE HELL?!” you shout, voice cracking.
The idiot of a vigilante only laughs harder, grip still strong on your waist.
He doesn’t know how his heart nearly stopped when he saw you kneeling in front of the barreling truck. He doesn’t know how close he came to losing his mind. And he doesn’t know how many Gods he’d prayed for the shortest split second.
“Put me down, put me down, put me down!” You’re sobbing into his neck, eyes glued shut as the wind smacks the hair into your face.
Finally, the world slows to a stop. He lands softly on the asphalt, and everything stills—all but your trembling breaths. Shallow, shaky, and way too embarrassingly loud in your own ears.
He leans in, voice low enough that only you can hear it through the muffled city noise.
“We’re here,” he whispers.
You refuse to move. Absolutely not.
Your face stays buried in the crook of his neck, arms locked tight, fingers curled stubbornly. He chuckles softly.
Cute.
The pup wiggles out from between you two, popping its head out. It yaps once, twice, and you slowly crack open one eye, hands weakly releasing their grip on his suit. A shaky breath leaves your lips as you finally peel yourself off him, stumbling back—only for him to catch you again by the elbow.
“And we haven’t even reached forty feet yet,” he teases, head tilted.
You glare weakly, voice hoarse.
“I am never doing that again.”
He doesn’t even need to say anything; you can feel the smug grin through the mask.
With a soft spin on his heel, he steps past you toward a storefront wedged between two towering brick buildings. The sign above it is faded, chipped around the edges, and the door’s chime jingles as he slips inside with the puppy nestled in one arm.
You stand there in the midst of the pavement, though, heart still thundering, sneakers planted on solid ground, and even if you’ve touched the ground for at least a few minutes now, it feels like you’re still up there mid-swing.
The city moves like normal around you. Horns, footsteps, conversations—it all feels muted, stuffed cotton in your ears. You’re floating.
Absolutely floating.
A few moments later, and the chime rings again. He steps out… with the same puppy still in his arms. You blink as he gives a tiny shrug.
“Sooo… turns out they’re totally out of vacant spots right now.”
He glances at the pup, the critter innocently tilting its head.
“I can swing to another one, maybe—”
“I’ll take him.”
The words leave your mouth before you even think them through, cutting through the fragile string of silence.
He looks at you, stunned. You’re taking it in?
Before he can say anything, you crouch immediately, scratching the puppy under the chin as it whines into your palm, tail flailing like a fuzzy little helicopter.
Sure, why not?
Maybe Yuji will finally start showing up more. Maybe he’ll actually help take care of it. Maybe—
“Uh—you sure?”
All the while, Yuji, as mentioned above, is panicking to death in his head. He’s not even there for half the night, how the hell is he gonna take care of it? But there’s you, of course, so it can’t be that bad, right?
“Mhm,” you nod, scooping the warm ball of golden fluff against your chest. “Look, it loves me already!”
You giggle as it barks happily, tiny paws scrambling at your collar as it leans up to lick your jaw. Warm little breaths puff against your skin, sunlight breaking through the thinning clouds overhead, catching on its fur and turning it into a tiny halo of honey-gold—soft enough to melt winter, blithe enough to quiet the city.
He goes still.
Of course, it loves you.
The breeze rolls by, threading through the loose strands of your hair, and he watches the sunlight kiss them the same way it kisses the dog’s fur, as if the two of you were made of the same warmth.
He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to. The tilt of his head, the stillness of his hands, the way he forgets about the crowd, the noise, the city—all of it betrays him.
You’re shining underneath the bleeding sun, laughing even with the trembling puppy in your arms, and for one still second, the weight of what almost happened hits him harder than any fall he’s taken tonight.
Harder than any punch, any rooftop landing, any sprint through the freezing wind.
And he knows it. He knows exactly what that ache is.
“Where do you live?” he asks, voice lower than before, too casual even to be casual.
Your gaze snaps to him. And the second you see the curve of his masked grin—smug, obvious, and entirely too proud of himself—your stomach sinks.
“So…” he drawls, head tilting. “Round two?”
You groan, clutching the dog a little tighter like it might suddenly save you.
“God, save me.”
“Roger that, Ma’am.”
You smack his arm. He laughs.
And the sun, traitorous as ever, lights you up like something worth falling for.
The metal railing trembles as he steps onto your balcony, but unlike it, you don’t steady—not even after your sneakers touch the concrete. Your knees are still jelly, your stomach is still somewhere midair, and you’re pretty sure you’ll never get used to this.
Frankly, you’re praying you won’t ever have to.
Behind you, the sun melts into winter’s edge, streaking the clouds with bleeding crimson.
“Welcome home!”
“Thank you,” you breathe.
The golden pup squirms in your arms, and the moment you crack open the balcony door, it launches inside. You can’t help but laugh as it bounds across the living room, sniffing corners, trotting in frantic circles, all while its tail wags with a delirious joy only pure innocence can have.
You’re tired—he can see it. The slope of your shoulders, the soft drag of your steps, the yawns you pretend are subtle. Even your laughter sounds like it’s holding up the walls of a crumbling day.
He leans against the railing behind you, watching with a chuckle, and he knows he shouldn’t linger, shouldn’t risk even this much, but it’s you. And tonight, for reasons he can’t name out loud, he wants to show you something special.
“Hey,” he calls softly, “ever wondered what it’s like sixty feet up?”
You turn. He stands there with his arms crossed, head tilted, grin smug enough to see even beneath the mask.
“You’re kidding.”
He shrugs.
“You look like you need a pick‑me‑up. And I think I know just the thing.”
Before you can argue, his hands are slipped around your waist already, like he’s done this a million times before.
And somehow, like your body recognises him from somewhere you can’t name, you don’t pull away. You only lift a brow, smirking.
“Literally?”
He huffs a boyish laugh and reaches past you to slide the balcony door shut. His gaze flickers to the puppy already curled on a cushion, drifting into a soft nap after its chaotic afternoon.
“The vet said he’s trained and vaccinated. So…” His voice dips, playful. “It wouldn’t hurt if I steal you for a few minutes, right?”.
You pretend to think about it.
“Maybe.”
Maybe.
Damn, if he didn’t have his stupid mask on, you’d see the way his whole face breaks into the most hopeless grin ever. God really does send his hardest missions to his strongest soldiers.
“Hang on tight.”
He doesn’t need to tell you twice. Your arms loop around his neck, and just as quickly as you can breathe, you’re suddenly up in the air—you still can’t help but scream at the sudden jump in height.
A strangled cry rips out of your throat as the city drops away beneath your feet. He’s still laughing at the ridiculousness of your reaction, and for once in both your lives, you’re screaming with the sort of freedom that only comes with the wish of a shooting star.
You definitely feel like one, too.
Skyscrapers streak past, wind clawing at your clothes. Your face is buried in his shoulder—because looking down might as well kill you—but even through your terror, a traitorous warmth swells in your chest.
He hears every sound you make, every breathless scream, and he’s stupidly amused. Even when your eyes are screwed shut from how fucking terrifying this is.
Finally, he lands on what sounds like concrete with a soft thud, steadying you before your knees can give out. Your fingers are still clutched to his suit, but he pries them off gently, turning you around.
You crack open one eye.
Then both.
And instantly, your breath catches.
The horizon is on fire.
The wild, bright yellow flame burns in the centre of the molten gold, every skyscraper splinting it in fractured sheets of amber and rose. And as it dips right across the water, your heart skips a beat, the sky bleeding with streaks of orange and bruised violet. Light scatters from the heavens, a shower that shimmers just across the horizon’s sea—a ramp of falling stars just for the two of you.
“…It’s beautiful,” you whisper.
The same words you told him the first time he brought you to the rooftop. He remembers. God, he remembers everything. He turns his head.
The horizon is burning in the distance, but he doesn’t glance up. His gaze lingers on you, tracing the way the light brushes your hair, the tilt of your jaw, the slow inhale of your awe—and in that moment, the city, the sunset, the wind, nothing else exists.
You outshine every single drop of light in the bleeding sky, and he hates that he can’t even tell you.
Something in your chest loosens, then gives. For one strange, impossible moment, the pressure of everything—your deadlines, your rent, your exhaustion, the heaviness of simply existing—feels lighter.
You turn to him, smiling.
“Thank you.”
The sun flares behind you, painting you in gold, and he thinks helplessly that even this sunset pales beside you.
His heart punches against his ribs, hammering hard enough to bruise.
He keeps his hands in fists so you won’t see them shake, nails digging into his palms, trying to anchor himself.
Because if he doesn’t, he’ll do something reckless.
…Like pull his mask up and kiss you under a dying sun.
He jabs a gloved knuckle against the glass of Nobara’s bedroom window—once, twice, thrice—fast. Even muffled behind the mask, Nobara can recognise it anywhere. Especially when it’s coming from her window on the tenth fucking floor.
“Knock, knock! House of fabulous engineers and fashion icons! Hellooo?”
A muffled groan leaks from the glass.
The window slides open with a wet creak, and Nobara leans out—hair damp from a shower, hoodie half-zipped, face frowned. She’s literally one inconvenience away from shutting it on his fingers.
“What,” she deadpans, “the hell do you want?”
Yuji straightens proudly, chest puffing out.
“Guess who just saved someone from a truck, carried them to a view that’d make Van Gogh rise from the grave, and completely turned their day around! And they don’t even know it was me!”
His words are tumbling over like runaway marbles, tripping out of his mouth in the sudden rush of excitement. Each breath fogs the inside of his mask, tiny clouds drifting up as he gestures wildly, eyes sparkling even behind the webbed veil.
From behind her, Megumi’s voice drifts, monotonous as ever.
“You look like a five-year-old who drank too much espresso.”
Yuji spins halfway, giving him a thumbs-up.
“And you built the tech that made that possible! So technically, I am a caffeinated genius who saves people, sooooo—you’re the genius behind the genius!”
“Obviously it’s about her,” Nobara says, arms crossed, one brow arched. “Why else knock on my window like some homicidal pigeon?”
Yuji grins boyishly beneath the mask, tilting his head.
“Because someone had to tell the people who made me this awesome that I did something awesome!”
He hops back onto the slick rooftop, landing with barely a splash. Rain glazes over the red and blue of his suit, gloves leaving faint smudges of rain, but he doesn’t care. He crouches—knees loose, fingers tapping, eyes flicking between Nobara and Megumi—and he rambles.
“You’d be so proud. I got her out of danger—like, barely-saw-my-life-flash-before-my-eyes danger—and she held onto me and we just… we ended up on this roof where the whole skyline looked like it was melting gold. And she laughed! And I—”
His hand stills over his heart.
Nobara squints at him, expression softening for half a second before she ruins it deliberately.
“You’re ridiculous. Just confess already.”
Yuji crouches lower, fists on his knees, eyes practically sparkling. The rain slides off his mask in thin streams, glossing over like small scattered stars. All the while, the skyline stretches behind him, windows blinking like constellations.
He’s glowing too, like he can’t hold all his giddiness inside.
Behind her, Megumi doesn’t move, but there’s a faint, reluctant curve tugging at the corner of his mouth. They’ve both seen this a million times.
Yuji, hopelessly in love. Yuji, trying not to be obvious. Yuji, failing.
But then, he thinks of you, back in your apartment, probably waiting for him with that puppy curled on your lap—probably wondering why he’s coming back late again.
His heart kicks.
Without warning, he shoots a web to the edge of the rooftop.
“Okay—gotta go—BYE!”
Before Nobara can yell, he launches himself into the storm-soaked night, flipping once, twice, and vanishing into the wind.
“YOU’LL HEAR ABOUT THIS TOMORROW, I SWEAR!” he hollers back, voice bouncing between the buildings.
Nobara sighs dramatically and shuts the window, all the while Megumi’s smirk survives exactly three seconds before he wipes it off.
As he disappears into the glittering darkness, the city continues to shine. But it’s obvious who he’s rushing home for, and somewhere below, the night hums with the secret only three people know:
Spider-Man Yuji Itadori is swinging through New York like a boy in love.
When Yuji comes back, he’s yelping in surprise when the little rascal of a pup rushes over to him. Its paws are already scattered across the wooden floor for a launched attack.
“What the—?!”
He picks up the pup in his arms, snuggling into it as you appear from the corner of the hallway, snickering at the scene.
“Kiniro likes you already.”
It takes everything in him to bite back his laughter and act surprised. After all, he can’t quite literally tell you he was the one saving you both just earlier today, right?
“I didn’t know you brought back this little pup,” he giggles, letting it lick his face. “You even named him?”
You sigh, plopping yourself onto the carpet.
“He was in the middle of a pedestrian street. Thankfully, Spider-Man saved him.”
You pat your lap, Kiniro eagerly running straight back to you,
“The animal shelter was full, though, but I think we’re stable enough to afford just another pet, don’t you think?”
Yuji’s already walking over to you, slinging his bag across the couch as he ruffles your hair.
“I can just pick up another job if you really want to.”
He doesn’t miss that you don’t include yourself in being saved, but he doesn’t nag. All that matters is you’re safe and sound, and with the arrival of little Kiniro, your grin seems just a tiny bit wider.
“Ugh, you’re not even home half the time,” you groan, tugging him down to sit next to you, “Don’t.”
He smirks at your comment, simply shrugging.
“You would not believe my day, though,” he starts, running a hand through his hair.
“Coach made us do sprints at 8 a.m. Eight. A. M. The sun was barely awake. I was barely awake,” he plops himself down beside you.
“Then I had to do that boring presentation for Anthropology.”
You snort.
“What about it? Did you actually, I don’t know—not screw it up?”
“Ohhh, the presentation? Killed it. Destroyed it. Megumi totally knew you helped, too.”
You shake your head, smiling as he continues. With a soft sigh, you raise both hands behind you as you stretch out your sore arms.
“Thank God. We still need to go grocery shopping, though… We don’t have food for either him or us.”
“Do you want me to go?”
You’re already getting up, though.
“Nah, let’s go together, like usual.”
He smiles. Yeah. Like usual.
So flash forward now, one hour later—
He’s tossing all sorts of odd combinations into your trolley, and when he’s the one pushing it, that means you’re going to be barely stopping him from picking yet another pack of chips in the aisle beside.
Because, seriously, what kind of trolley has fruits, meat, chips and dog food all at once? Any other college student, he says. Well, you don’t complain further, because you’re already busy thinking about what to cook for dinner.
Metal shelves press together like metro train commuters, all the while humming coolers whisper across aisles—stacked with the classic 99¢ ramen, chips, and plastic-wrapped bagels. The overhead fluorescent lights buzz faintly amidst the static hiss of the radio’s pop song, always a little too bright, and it cuts through the shuffle of tired locals grabbing dinner after work.
Both of you pass each aisle, and when he reaches up just one more time, he says, for the latest bag of chips, you slap his hands away. He gives you a pout, but you shoot it back down, eyes still peeled ahead, while the trolley miserably follows behind now.
“So what’s on the menu, Chef?” Yuji asks, arms on the handle.
“Japanese curry,” you hum back, already tossing the small sticks of chives into the trolley behind.
His eyes glisten at the thought of it, his mouth watering already.
“You always make the best dinners.”
With a mere huff and the slightest curl of your lips, you refuse to turn back to face him. You can already feel the piercing stare of awe on your back, but it does little to keep the budding brim of pride at bay.
Because honestly speaking, that’s all you need.
When the tiny 2010s New York apartment smells like onions sizzling in butter—warm, sweet, it seeps both into the walls and your mind that you’re actually home.
The window above the stove rattles a little every time a subway roars somewhere underground, but inside, it’s just the two of you, moving around the cramped kitchen like you both have a hundred times.
“You’re cutting them too big,” you tease, nudging his elbow as he chops another carrot chunk.
“They’ll shrink in the pot!” he fires back, puffing his cheeks. “Plus, big pieces are funner to chew.”
“That’s not how carrots work.”
“Sure it is.”
You break into laughter, and he falters into the same grin behind his ever-so-bravado.
Before you can turn back to the stove, his hands slip around your waist from behind, pulling you just close enough that your back warms against his chest. It’s second nature to him by now—but somehow, this time, his touch reminds you of someone else just earlier this afternoon.
“Hey—hey,” you giggle, trying to stir the pot while he sways you side to side, “I’m gonna spill the roux.”
“That’s the plan,” he murmurs, chin gently resting on your shoulder as he watches the stew bubble.
“Teamwork, right? I’m moral support.”
“Moral support doesn’t usually involve hugging me every five seconds.”
He gives a soft, guilty hum.
“Hmm. Guess I’m extra supportive.”
Outside the window, the streetlights of early-night Manhattan cast a warm orange glow across the counter, mixing with the flicker of your old fluorescent kitchen light, and somewhere below, a taxi honks, someone yells. Your radio’s playing the classic pop songs on repeat rotation this week, and inside, tucked within the mellow warmth, there’s just the soft simmer of curry and the occasional clatter of utensils.
Yuji leans forward to peek into the pot, arms tightening around you as if he can’t help it.
“That smells so good,” he says, voice a little softer now.
You feel your cheeks warm more than the stove ever could, but you still shove him with your hip anyway.
“Then set the table, you sap.”
He laughs boyishly before finally letting go. Grabbing bowls, he’s humming off-key to the radio, and when you glance back at him, his sleeves are already rolled up. He plates the curry bubbling behind you, and the two of you settle snuggishly into the couch, blanket tossed over both of your legs.
As usual, Yuji sits close, stretching his arm along the backrest so that he can tug you closer whenever he feels like it. He’s already rambling off into the darkness, and long before you know it, you’re both talking over the show more than actually watching it.
“But, uh… lunch was good,” he adds quietly.
“Ate outside. Weather felt nice. I kinda wished you were there, though.”
He doesn’t look at you when he says it; Yuji seldom does things like this. He just rubs the back of his neck, cheeks burning pink.
“Y’know… campus stuff is better when you’re around,” he murmurs.
“Feels less like I’m just running around all day and more like…”
He pauses, searching for the word.
“…I’m just living day-to-day.”
You snort.
“You’re such a dork.”
“A dork who had a rough day,” he huffs, nudging your knee with his.
You card your fingers through his soft pink hair despite yourself, and he melts instantly, like he’s been waiting all day for this. At some point, the warmth of the curry settles into your stomach, the weight of his arm drapes heavier against your shoulders, and your eyelids grow heavier with each second.
His heartbeat is steady, right under your ear, and beneath the warmth, you don’t even notice when your bowls slide onto the coffee table. You just fall asleep tucked into his side, wrapped in his hoodie and the low hum of the city outside the window.
He simply watches, and somewhere, underneath the warmth of the quiet, his hand stops just a beat from tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
You don’t know how long you’ve slept, but when the sudden, distant siren of an ambulance cuts through the silence, you wake. The apartment’s dark except for the TV’s dim blue, and your head’s still snuggled against the couch cushion, but Yuji isn’t there.
His spot is still warm, yet the empty bowls are already in the sink.
“Yuji?” you whisper, sitting up as the floor creaks softly beneath your bare feet.
Silence echoes, and only the faint late-night wail follows through the room, the ticking of your clock.
It's dead midnight.
Outside your window, a breeze seeps softly from the fire escape. The curtains shift, and you turn to read the single sticky note pasted on the coffee table, scribbled in his ever-so messy handwriting:
“Sorry. Something came up. Didn’t wanna wake you.
Be back soon :)”
You run your thumb over the smiley face, feeling the echo of warmth where he’d been.
You don’t know why he disappears every night.
But for now, all you know is the apartment still smells like curry and him—and the couch feels just a little too big without his arms around your waist.
Dawn breaks as gold washes over the pavement, daylight spilling into the still-waking streets. You’re shuffling along beside Yuji, shoulders brushing now and then. In both your hands are cups of cocoa from the corner cart, each crowned with a swirl of whipped cream he swears is just “the best in the city.”
Steam lifts from the paper cup, curling into the damp morning air, all the while streets still glisten from last night’s rain, passing headlights shimmering in fractured streaks. Inhaling, the air smells of salt and roasted peanuts, tinged with the sweet bite of chestnuts toasting somewhere behind you.
“You’re going to burn your tongue if you sip that too fast,” you tease, nudging him lightly with your elbow.
He sticks his tongue out at you, laughing even harder when you snort back at him. You simply shake your head as he bumps your shoulder, grinning.
The crowd hums around you, a river of people rushing with purpose, but you walk slower than usual, matching his pace. His hair catches the sunlight in golden highlights, and as he turns to glance over at you, the corners of his mouth tilt when he notices you staring.
“And you’re gonna spill your drink if you keep staring,” he laughs, holding out his hand.
You giggle, letting him grab your wrist gently, tugging you just slightly forward as you step over a puddle. His warmth lingers a second too long, and as the sun rises a little higher, he watches you sip from your cup—eyes soft and warm.
Kiniro’s barking as well, his leash wrapped just around Yuji’s knuckles.
Yuji gives it a little tug, but for a split second, his shoulders tense. He’s distracted for a moment, silent.
There’s a siren somewhere uptown. A horn blast. Something sharp flickers across his expression before he smooths it away.
You pretend not to notice. Instead, you just nudge your shoulder into his again.
“You okay?”
He grins.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”
But his fingers tighten just slightly around your wrist.
You tilt your cocoa toward him.
“Trade?”
He huffs a relieved laugh.
“Fine, but only because I know mine has more whipped cream.”
You swap cups, and his shoulders loosen, the tension in his jaw melting away.
The warmth of the moment softens the city around you—right up until your phone buzzes. You glance down, frowning.
“Did you eat yet?”
“Are you really out with him again?”
Your chest tightens. No matter how far you’ve moved, her messages still slice like winter wind. You shove the phone deeper into your pocket, just as Yuji starts rambling about some comic he swears he didn’t dream up.
“Everything okay?”
It’s his turn this time, unaware of the text buzzing under your coat. You nod in response, though, forcing a smile.
“Yeah… just distracted.”
He doesn’t probe, and you just follow him down a narrow side street, fire escapes shadowing over cracked sidewalks. The city hums with distant trains, honking taxis, and the usual rumble of early traffic. He twirls you once in the crosswalk, and for a brief moment, your worries fade. Laughter bubbles up easily, sunlight spilling through breaks in the buildings.
Everything is gold.
You don’t even pass five blocks before you hear the sudden strum of a guitar, faint from a musician tucked just beside a subway entrance, tin cup right at his feet.
Yuji’s eyes sparkle instantly like a kid spotting magic.
“Dance battle?” he asks, grin stretching mischievously.
You nearly choke on your cocoa.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He’s already bending his knees, taking a fighting stance. “You. Me. Right here. Winner gets bragging rights for life.”
You groan, trying to pull him away, but the way he bounces on the balls of his feet, the laughter in his voice, makes it impossible to resist.
And before you know it, both your cups are set on the window ledge just beside, and he’s twirling you gently in the middle of the sidewalk, weaving through the small cluster of pedestrians staring in a mix of confusion and amusement.
“Yuji! Stop, I’ll—” you squeal, laughing so hard your stomach hurts.
He only snorts harder, spinning you until your hair whips across your face and you bury your head against his shoulder.
“You’ve got moves,” he teases, voice softening. “Better than I thought.”
When the music shifts to a slower melody, he doesn’t let go. His grip on your waist pulls you closer, his forehead resting lightly against yours, eyes half-closed. The rest of the city fades, and in the midst of it, there’s only the pulse of your laughter, the warmth, and the soft brush of his breath against your cheek.
For a second, it feels like the world stopped just to let him hold you.
Everything melts away, and time stills.
Then—he freezes. The sparkle in his eyes dims.
“I—I gotta—” he starts, pulling back slightly, fingers brushing yours.
You frown, confused. This isn’t the first time he’s bailing midway, and suddenly, the warmth’s twisting with the usual tension.
“What?” Your voice cracks. “Where are you going?”
He bites his lip, hesitating.
“Something came up… I’ll be back as soon as I can. Promise.”
Before you can argue, he’s already turning, weaving through the crowd and quickly disappearing like he’s done so a hundred times. You watch, heart sinking, as the tide of bodies swallows him.
Your phone buzzes then—again—in your pocket.
Your stomach knots, all the while the sweetness of the morning is turning brittle at the edges.
You frown at the screen, fingers trembling slightly—another message.
You take a breath, lukewarm cocoa in your hand, and look back down the street where Yuji vanished.
For a heartbeat, the world was quiet.
Almost enough to drown out the buzzing phone. The crawling ache.
Almost.
The campus is loud as usual, and your bag is slung lazily over your shoulder. It’s field day, and Nobara’s perched by your side like a hawk.
Field day always turns the campus into a festive frenzy—music blasting, banners everywhere, and the smell of grass and sunscreen wafting with the crispy fry of food from student stalls. The sun’s golden light is just enough to dust everything with a warm edge, shedding the tiniest bit of warmth amidst the early winter, but your chest still feels tight, and every cheer from the bleachers is just another headache pulsing beneath the last.
Your fingers curl around your bag strap.
“You better scream your lungs out for him,” she says, flipping her hair as the two of you shuffle through clusters of crazed students.
“He made me promise I’d drag you here even if you tried to run.”
You roll your eyes with a huff of disbelief, but still, your chest warms at the mention of him. In the midst of it, Nobara pauses.
“Hey, you okay, though?” she asks, nudging your side. “You’re quieter than usual.”
“I’m fine,” you say, forcing the words past the tightness in your throat.
The football field is already swarmed by the time you reach it. Voices rise and fall like crashing waves, bleachers trembling under stampeding students trying to get good seats. You spot Megumi standing near the edge in all his emo glory, stretching like he’s prepping for a battlefield instead of just another friendly match.
He sighs when he spots you and Nobara, but you don’t miss how the corner of his mouth twitches just a bit upward.
“Told you she’d come,” Nobara smirks.
He mutters something along the lines of “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” but his eyes flick briefly toward the locker tunnel—where Yuji should be…
And right on cue, the man himself bursts out.
Yuji comes sprinting with his helmet in hand, hair ruffled, grin stretched wide enough to split galaxies. His jersey clings to his shoulders, the number glowing against the sunlight. He’s sprinting across the grass like his body was built for this—shining, bright, unstoppable. His hair catches the morning light like rose-gold flames, the soft pink of it glowing warm against his skin.
But he’s late again, and not just a little—ten minutes behind schedule. Yet no one seems to mind except you.
Your chest twists. The familiar pang rises again.
The moment he notices you, he practically trips over his own feet from how fast his attention snaps your way.
“There you are!” he calls, waving the helmet wildly above his head.
Nobara snorts. “Lord, he’s so lovesick it physically hurts.”
You pretend not to hear her.
Yuji jogs up to the fence separating players from spectators, leaning against it with both forearms as if he can’t stop himself from getting closer. His breath comes out quickly from the run, but his grin is wide and bright.
“You made it,” he says too eagerly.
“We always make it,” you scoff, nudging your bag up your shoulder. “Don’t disappoint us.”
“Yes—yes, Ma’am,” he salutes, cheeks pink. “I’m gonna win extra hard now.”
Behind him, the team captain shouts his name. Megumi’s barking at him,
“If you miss the huddle again, I’m making you run laps.”
Yuji jumps, jolting upright.
“Coming!”
But before he turns, he reaches out—fingers brushing yours through the fence. Just a fleeting drag of warmth, but enough to leave your pulse scrambling.
“I’ll look for you after every play,” he says sheepishly. “So… don’t leave, okay?”
Nobara rolls her eyes so dramatically she might strain something. “He’s going to combust.”
You’re definitely not telling her you just might too.
Yuji runs back to his team, helmet tucked under his arm, shouting something stupidly upbeat that gets the whole bench laughing. The field hums with energy, sunlight bouncing off jerseys, the grass almost glittering.
The game commences.
And Yuji—it’s like he was born for this.
He’s fast. Focused. And ridiculously competent.
Every time he steals the ball, the crowd roars. Every time he dodges someone twice his size, Nobara shrieks. And when he scores—an impossible curve just inside the goalpost—he swings both arms up, searching the stands until he locks eyes with you.
He beams like you just handed him the universe.
And the whole world feels golden—sunlight, victory, thrill. Megumi is yelling instructions, Nobara’s screaming insults at the opponents, and Yuji’s just there in all of his radiant glory—shining without even trying.
It’s warm. It’s bright. It’s alive.
You’re cheering too, but your smile still falters, tight around the edges. Your fingers tighten around the edge of your bag strap.
But for now—
Yuji wins.
And he looks at you like you’re the reason he did.
He barely hears the final whistle over the roar of the crowd. One second, he’s sprinting across the field, cleats kicking up dust, teammates shouting his name—
And the next, he’s tearing off his helmet and running straight for you.
You barely get a sound out before he crashes into you—arms around your waist, lifting you clean off the ground in a dizzying spin. His laugh bursts warm against your neck, almost boyish in how free it is.
“You saw that, right? You saw that, right?” he breathes, grin blinding, forehead pressed to yours as if he needs proof—needs you—to make it real.
Nobara’s whooping behind you. Megumi’s pretending not to stare, and he’s shoving his hands in his pockets like he didn’t just sabotage two passes solely so Yuji could score. The field is a riot of noise—whistles, cheers, the brass band warming up again—but all of it blurs around him.
Yuji’s still holding you there, thumbs brushing your ribs. The pink of his hair, the warm brown of his eyes, the soft grin that always pulls at the corner of his mouth. His hair brushes your forehead when he leans in.
A voice cuts through the crowd.
“Congratulations, you all! What a play!”
It’s a senior guy from another team—someone charming, loud, the type Yuji knows people tend to gravitate to. He jogs past, tossing you a quick smile like it’s nothing.
“You were cheering SO loud,” he tells you, laughing. “Honestly, I think you were louder than the team.”
Yuji’s smile twitches.
The guy just continues, leaning in a bit too close,
“You coming to the afterparty? Nobara said you might—”
Yuji steps in without thinking, placing a hand on your back.
“Oh,” the guy says, blinking. “Hey, Itadori. Great game, man.”
“Thanks,” Yuji answers—but something in his eyes dims.
Nobara simply smirks with a cross of her arms.
His eyes flick back to you. Quick. Searching.
Did you smile back? Did you think the guy was cool? Did you—
Suddenly, the team crowds around him—slapping his back, grabbing his shoulders, shouting over each other, and you’re both separated from the wave of intrusion.
“You’re coming with us tonight, right?”
“Yo, we’re buying you dinner!”
“We’re gonna replay that touchdown like a hundred times—”
Yuji’s flustered, overwhelmed. His chest is heaving, and sweat trickles down his forehead. He doesn’t like the sudden attention, and he keeps looking back at you over their heads—checking, making sure you haven’t drifted away in the crowd, but he loses you just as quickly as they came.
Megumi sighs, nudging him.
“Go,” he mutters. “We’ll catch up.”
And that’s all he needs.
He practically breaks out of the huddle just to run over to you—soft murmurs of apologies as he bumps into someone else’s shoulder.
Everything else is noise to him, and it isn’t long until he catches the familiar sight of the back of your head again.
He settles beside you, still breathless. His fingers hover, then hook lightly around your wrist, tugging you closer.
“You’re walking with me, right?” His voice drops.
“Please?”
Nobara wiggles her eyebrows.
“You two are disgusting,” she groans, then pats your shoulder.
“I’m getting drinks. Don’t do anything gross while I’m gone.”
She disappears. Megumi drifts off too, yelling something at a teammate.
And suddenly, it’s just you and him again.
The air is warm from the sun, the grass glittering with confetti. His hand is still curled around yours.
“I’m really glad you came, y’know.”
You smile softly.
“Of course I did.”
“And… that guy earlier,” he adds too casually, “Do you… know him?”
There it is—the tiny crack in his voice.
And something sinks in your stomach. You’re exhausted—raw beneath the skin. And you’re way too tired to explain the history he’s scarred you. Not today. Not after this win. Not when he’s glowing like a sun you don’t want to dim.
So you answer gently,
“Not really. Don’t worry about it.”
Yuji’s silent.
But you can feel the tension humming beneath his ribs as he tries to read your face. After a few steps, he murmurs, barely audible,
“Hey, so… did you really cheer that loud?”
You grin.
“Yeah. For you.”
“Then why do you look so tired?” he asks.
Your steps falter. “I’m fine.”
His brows pinch. He looks at you closely.
“You don’t have to say ‘fine’ just because you think it’s easier,” he says. “I can handle it. Whatever it is.”
But your mind is still tangled from the morning, from the noise, from everything you haven’t wanted to burden anyone with. You look away.
It should’ve been easy—Yuji’s arms around you, the campus buzzing with leftover cheers, Megumi shouting something smug in the distance, Nobara somewhere in the corner of your eye. Everything is loud, and warm, and safe.
But Yuji doesn’t see the phone screen still lighting up in your pocket.
He doesn’t notice how your fingers have been curling in on themselves, and suddenly, the sunlight feels too bright. Your pulse crawls up the back of your throat, and softly, without meaning to, you’re muttering under your breath.
“You’re not even here half the time. How are you gonna handle it?”
He catches it too, but he doesn’t say anything. You don’t even know he heard it.
He’s been either late or disappeared midway through the last three times you hung out. Last weekend, he ditched you mid-dance, and you told him it was fine—of course it was fine—it just stung more than you want to admit, and today, he barely made it to field day on time.
Something about helping someone, getting caught up, you weren’t even sure.
He’s always trying, always running. Always tired.
You don’t want to be another thing that drags him down.
“It’s nothing. You don’t have to worry about me today. You’ve got more important people to celebrate with.”
Yuji stops walking altogether. The shift is small—barely a misstep on the pavement—but it feels like the ground trembles.
“What?” he asks quietly.
“Everyone’s congratulating you. You should enjoy it. You don’t need to be glued to me.”
His face falls in slow motion.
“Is that… what you think? That I’m only here because I feel like I should be?”
You don’t answer fast enough, and your silence hurts him more than any shouted insult could’ve. The tension that holds in the air now is unbearable.
His face contorts into a frown.
“Seriously?” he murmurs. “I just ran straight to you after the biggest game of the semester, and you think I wouldn’t choose you?”
His voice wavers, and you quickly shake your head, tilting your head to look at him.
“Yuji, that’s not—”
“No, it’s okay,” he says, stepping back, eyes darting everywhere except your face.
“Yuji—” His expression ruins you, and now, you wish more than anything but to take back your words.
He swallows hard.
“I get it."
There it is.
The crack in the glass. The place where he breaks. You reach out for him, but all he does is step away.
“You know I didn’t mean that, I was just tired—”
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
The cheering behind you erupts, but the world between you stills. The stadium burst into cheers for the next round of the competition, and his teammates are shouting his name, waving him over for the afterparty.
“Yuji! Let’s go!”
He hesitates.
Because he wants to stay, and you can see that. But still, he pulls his hand back.
“I’ll be right back, okay?” he says, smiling the way he always does—the one that makes your chest warm and ache and twist all at once. “Promise.”
You just… nod. It’s easier than saying you’re not sure you believe it anymore.
And even in the blinding afternoon sun, the warmth he leaves you with still feels cold.
The bleachers, the crowd, the pats on his back—they all drift into nothing.
Nothing matters.
Not when guilt claws at him with each step he takes further from you. He can’t stop himself, though.
He doesn’t deserve you, and even when he sees the faltering pain in your eyes, when it seems like he’s ripped your whole heart out, even when he didn’t mean to—
He should walk away from you.
You deserve better.
But when the hair on his skin stands, the jolt of every nerve in his system sparking up, the dread of what he’s always feared crawls back up into him.
He runs straight back to you.
You slowly step away from the crowd, letting the chatter fade into the background. The noise of the campus stadium and cheering grows distant, muffled, yet every step feels heavier than the last. Your bag drags against your shoulder, but truthfully, that’s not even what’s weighing you down.
Each breath catches in your chest as you walk through the shortcut through the science wing. Home. You just want to go home now.
The afternoon sun glares against the metal supports of the demo tents. You barely notice them. Instead, your mind is wrapped up in everything, and you hate that you even feel this way. Hate that even until now, every time you think you’ve grown to be logical enough, your heart always gets the better of you.
Your steps echo softly within the hollow of your mind, seconds stretching into minutes, minutes into hours. You don’t even know how long you’ve been walking. How far you’ve wandered. All you know is that you’re all alone—both literally and in your head.
A loud metallic groan rips through the air.
Suddenly, the metal pole just above the building snaps. There’s no thought, and only the sudden, sickening realisation that it’s coming down.
Oh.
You just stand there, memories flashing through your eyes in replay.
Yuji flashes through your eyes.
This is it—
But suddenly—all you see is a blur of red and blue.
Your chest slams against a familiar chest, and the world flips upside down for a heartbeat. Air screams past your ears. The pole crashes behind you, scattering debris, a deafening clatter that reverberates in your bones.
You gasp, clutching him, every nerve ending on fire. Pain lances through your arm where the pole grazed you, and your knee scrapes against the pavement as he manoeuvres you away.
The wind tears at your hair, and even in the chaos, your mind reels.
“You… you okay?” His voice is low, urgent, but behind the mask, it trembles.
It’s Spider-Man.
But you can’t answer. Your body shakes, each blink glowing hotter and hotter as the weight of everything finally crashes.
“I—I—”
You can’t finish.
Your throat tightens, and you simply break in his arms.
His grip tightens, swinging you back toward a safer alleyway, ignoring the chatter, the noise, and everything else.
“It’s okay… you’re okay. I’ve got you,” he whispers, and somewhere in the midst of it, his voice cracks.
“Hey, look at me. Just—just look at me,” he lowers himself beside you, knees hitting the cold concrete, his hands closing around yours with a trembling gentleness.
You choke on a breath, shaking your head furiously, face buried in your arms.
“I can’t… I can’t—”
His voice softens, frays at the edges.
“Please. Breathe. Just breathe.”
The tears spill faster, hot and relentless. You’re folding in on yourself, small and shaken, and the words slip out in pieces you can’t hold back.
“I—Yuji… I can’t… I just…” Your voice quivers. “I don’t want to be a burden. I don’t want to—”
“You’re not!” he almost shouts, but it cracks, breaking down into a whisper.
“Do you hear me? Your life matters. It matters.” His breath trembles.
His hands cup your face now, fingers digging into the sides of your jaw as he kneels beside you.
“And if no one else can keep you safe, then I will. I will. So don’t ever—ever say that again.”
Your sobs shake all the way through you, and he pulls you into him, arms banding around your body, holding you. Even then, the panic still claws at your ribs. He presses his forehead to yours, his voice barely holding itself together.
“I’ve got you. Just… just trust me. Do you want to go home?”
You’re sobbing into his chest now. Your ribs are aching, your shoulders throbbing, and you’re stuttering in shallow gasps, yet somehow, with the last tiniest bit of strength left in you, you manage a nod.
His arms wrap around you again, lifting you gently. The wind roars past as he swings, your body cradled against his chest. The city blurs into streaks of silver and orange, but none of it grounds you. Everything still bites.
By the time he lands on your balcony, your legs buckle, and he sets you down with a quick turn away. Like he thinks he should leave. Like he thinks he’s the problem.
Your chest caves in.
“I can’t… I don’t—” you whisper, and then, with trembling fingers, you grasp his wrists.
He freezes, panic flashing behind the mask.
You tug him down to your level, breath shaky, heart ricocheting against your ribs.
You look up at him, heart pounding so loudly you can barely hear the storm around you—and for the first time, Yuji wants nothing more than to rip off his mask. Right here. Right now.
Because trust has always felt like something he wasn’t allowed to have… yet here you are, the one constant in the chaos of his double life, holding onto him like he’s the only steady thing in your world.
The home he was never sure Yuji Itadori deserves, not when Spider-Man’s saving lives, all the while Yuji is running late for another hangout somewhere else.
The slope of his jaw beneath the mask, the shape of his shoulders beneath the soaked suit, the faint scent of detergent he always uses at home. You’re exhausted—tired of the uncertainty, tired of the guessing—everything about him feels almost too familiar.
It breaks something loose inside you.
“Yuji…?”
Your voice is barely more than a breath, but to him, it lands even harder than lightning.
He freezes.
He doesn’t breathe, doesn’t even move a muscle.
Not even when your fingers slide to the edge of his mask, and in a heartbeat of terror and clarity, you pull it up.
Your world stops.
The way his voice cracks in the exact shape of Yuji’s kindness, the way he whispers comfort with words only Yuji has ever spoken to you. The way he knows exactly how to hold you, just like Yuji did when you both danced in that one street.
And now, seeing him—wet-faced, trembling, eyes glassy with fear and relief—it hits you like a punch straight through the ribs.
“Y–You…” His voice breaks. “I’m sorry—I was going to tell you, I swear, I just—”
You don’t let him finish.
You lean in and kiss him. Desperate, shaking. Relief, anger, and love all at once.
Fear—that you could’ve lost him before you ever got to say any of it.
He goes stiff with shock… then melts with a shaky exhale, pulling you so close your feet practically leave the ground.
“You… you’re alive,” he whispers into your hair as he pulls back slightly, forehead resting against yours.
“I thought—God, I thought I lost you.” His voice cracks as he buries himself in the crook of your neck, arms still locked around you.
Your fingers curl into the back of his suit.
“...Don’t go.”
He lifts his head, tears dripping down his cheeks. His forehead presses to yours, his breath shuddering.
“Stay. Please.”
You’re whispering, shaking. He looks at you for a second—and it doesn’t take another until his lips crash into yours again.
The floorboards creak. The air is heavy. Kiniro’s sleeping somewhere in the kitchen, but your legs are wrapped tight around Yuji’s waist now. He’s holding you up, fingers digging into your thighs.
“Wait—”
He cuts you off with another kiss as he stumbles into the living room, lights still off. Your hands gently clutch the back of his suit even tighter. Your kisses are sloppy, frantic, and desperate. He quickly yanks his mask off, throwing it straight at the couch while he lifts you like nothing with one hand.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, but he’s already back to nibbling your bottom lip, working his way up to your breathless gasps.
“Mm… Yuji,” Your fingers lace through the pink threads of his hair, ruffling through them as something pools just beneath your stomach.
The door rattles behind you as he pushes it open with your back against it, a creak rattling across, and when he does pull away, a drool lingers just between the two of you, and he looks up at you, lifted, like the most gorgeous angel ever. You pant, hand grasping his clothed bicep, as he presses a thumb under your chin, tipping your head further back.
He’s wanted this for the last five years of his life, and now here you are—lost in it and in his arms—he just might explode into a million pieces.
“I love you,” he peppers even more kisses, agonizingly dragging a trail from your chin, all the way up to your drooped eyelids, hazy, muzzy even as your breath heaves with each gasp. “So fucking much.”
Your heart’s also pounding loudly, and even when he plops you down on his bed, you refuse to let go. You watch as he fumbles the unbuttoning of your clothes, and you tilt your head back as he trails even more wet kisses from your face. His knee slides right between your legs.
Goosebumps trail each time his lips meet your skin, and his fingers are still gripped tight onto the flesh of your thighs. His bed, his taste, your head is so intoxicated with him, it’s driving you insane. Even inhaling the fresh lemon detergent of his sheets makes you nuzzle against it, whining as he plants yet another kiss on your neck.
“Slow down,” you sigh, threading your fingers through his hair as he trails down to your stomach, nails scratching his scalp as he nuzzles into your touch, kissing the thin fabric separating you from his desperate mouth.
But as drunk as he is, lost in the whirlwind of your moans driving him insanely, unbearably hot amidst the cold air, he pauses for a second.
Just above your stomach, he slowly turns to look up at you.
“...Are you okay with this?”
He looks up at you like he’s worshipping a goddess, because even in all your dazedness, you’re drop-dead gorgeous—eyes glossy, lips curled, breath panting.
“Mhm…”
He instantly snuggles his face into your stomach, making you giggle,
“What the—Yuji!”
Every kiss feels like worship, his mouth tracing shakingly down the insides of your thighs until he reaches the heat between them. With a gentle press of his hands, he nudges your legs apart and slips your pants down your hips, letting them fall away completely.
He goes utterly still.
God, he thinks, it’s so fucking pretty. And even though he’s never done this before, not really, he’s seen enough, learned enough, to know what to do.
His thumbs glide through your slickness and gently spread you open, baring every trembling part of you to his stare. The cold whisper of air makes you shift and whimper, embarrassment warming your cheeks. You don’t see it, though—the way his gaze drops, dark with want, his breath nearly catching at the sight of you.
Slowly, he leans in, breath warm against you before his tongue draws a long, deliberate lick through your folds. He can’t help but utter, a low, hungry groan rumbling from his chest.
“Fuck… taste so sweet,” he mutters against you, hips pressing hard into the mattress as if he can’t help himself.
“Yuji—”
Your back bows off the sheets in an instant, a startled cry slipping out as your thighs snap around his head. But he only growls softly in response, arms locking around your legs to hold you open for him. He doesn’t stop—not for a second—as he devours you, messy yet greedy, drinking down every drop of your sweet slick.
His throaty groan vibrates straight through you, sending shivers up your spine. Your jaw falls open, eyes fluttering shut as you melt back into the mattress.
"You're so beautiful— so..." He can’t help it—can’t help melting into your taste.
His mouth grows sloppier, jaw loosening so he can slurp louder, tongue moving with sprouting confidence. He circles your clit again and again, then dips lower, pushing his tongue clumsily but tenderly into your heat. His lashes brush his cheeks as he moves, muddled and klutzy—yet careful, and worshipping you with every greedy stroke.
Your fingers glide down your stomach, trembling as you reach for him, burying your hand in his hair. Your nails drag lightly across the nape of his neck as you tug him closer, guiding him deeper between your thighs. He groans into you, then pulls back only long enough to slick his fingers with his tongue before rubbing your clit in slow, deliberate circles. He watches your slick drip down, following the trail with dark, dilated eyes.
Your tongue slips out, thumb brushing your lower lip as you look down at him. The sight alone makes him shudder.
“Are you okay?” he murmurs.
Heat flares over your cheeks, but you nod with a soft, breathy hum, lips parted as he lowers his mouth again. He laps at your folds slowly, savouring you, sweet warmth spilling over his tongue while he keeps his gaze on you.
“Mhm… Yu…” you breathe, a small moan escaping as your lids grow heavy again.
Something warm blooms in his chest at the sight of you weakly squirming, voice all soft and sweet, and he dives back to your clit. His tongue flicks over the sensitive bud until your moans climb higher, your hips jerking. He’s rutting subtly into the mattress.
“Yu—ahh, I’m gonna—gonna cum—”
Your legs tremble, thighs trying to snap shut on instinct, but he only tightens his arms around them, holding you open as his mouth works you through it—pushing you right to the edge.
And then you’re falling.
Your jaw drops slack, tongue lolling slightly as stars burst behind your eyelids. You gasp out a broken “Haagh—” all the while, soft, desperate moans spill from your lips.
The sound you make has him tensing all over again, breath catching as he leans in to press a soft kiss to your inner thigh. His eyes are half-lidded, lips parted, watching the way your lashes flutter, and how your body trembles with the aftershocks he pulled out of you.
He stares like he’s mesmerised.
And in the heat of it, he just can’t stop himself.
His thumb finds your clit again, pressing lightly, and your words dissolve into breathy whines. He's talking you through it.
Watching as your pretty lashes kiss your cheeks as your hips lift, chasing more, and he gives it to you—sliding a finger inside with a low, desperate sound.
“Your voice… fuck—” he groans, the sound almost a plea.
You yelp, grip tightening—one hand buried in his hair, the other fisting the sheets.
Then he adds a second finger.
He hums as your walls stretch around him, giving you barely a heartbeat before he’s thrusting them in and out, building pace. Your eyes go wide, back arching sharply, nails sinking into his bicep as he peppers kisses up your neck.
“I—Y-Yuji—ahh, please—I just came—” Your voice breaks so sweetly it nearly kills him, and maybe he should give you a second to breathe—but he’s already kissing down your chest, already pulling your top up without you noticing, clumsily unclasping your bra with unsteady fingers.
He’s dreamed of tasting you like this for years.
His tongue drags over your nipple, lips closing around it as his fingers keep working you open, and all he can think—watching you squeeze his arm, bury your face in his shoulder, thighs trembling around his wrist—is how heartbreakingly cute you are, and how intoxicatingly soft your breasts feel.
Your legs shake as he finally pulls his fingers out, and he pops them into his mouth, sucking them clean while staring right at you in all his dazed hunger.
Your lips part in silent awe, chest rising and falling as you watch him. He reaches for his suit, unzipping it and letting it fall to the floor. His hands fumble with his boxers—slow, torturous—and you can’t tear your gaze from the dark shape straining against the fabric.
When it slips free, your breath catches—your heart stutters.
It’s fucking huge.
Your pupils blow wide, a tiny sound catching in your throat. He gathers the pre-cum on his thumb, spreading it over the swollen head before settling beside you on the bed.
“Okay, angel…” he exhales, voice shaking, “think we’re… good…”
Your face burns, dizzy with need. His lips find yours again as he rocks his cock through your slick folds, coating himself, teasing you both. You grind up instinctively, but he pulls back with sudden panic in his eyes.
“Shit—condom—”
You cut him off.
“I’m safe.”
He freezes. Looks at you once, and his fingers tremble. Both of you are flushed, breathless, then he kisses you again—harder, desperate.
“I fuckin—“ he’s gasping through each clumsy kiss, “fuck—I love you—so fuckin’ much.”
The words—messy, breathless, dripping with sincerity—turn your mind to nothing but mush. By the time he settles back between your thighs, lifting your legs high around his waist, you’re already trembling. A slow, burning stretch blossoms inside you as he presses just the head of his cock in.
“Tell me if it hurts,” he murmurs.
“Ngh—Yuj—” you start, but he kisses you before the rest can leave your lips, fingers threading through your hair with such tenderness it makes your chest ache.
“You’re, urgh, doing so well… Yeah…” He watches in fascination at the lewd scene of your cunt taking in his cock. “Fuck—so fuckin’ good—“
He's panting, eyes fixed on where your body’s parting around him. He’s only seen stuff like this on his phone, but it doesn’t compare to the real thing, and the sight alone makes him choke on a groan.
Your moan breaks loose, higher and needier as he rocks his hips, inching in deeper. You’re tight—so tight—and the mix of pressure and pleasure has you clinging to him, whining when his hand squeezes your thigh.
“I-It’s okay, angel—fuck, b-breathe,” he huffs, eyes squeezing shut as a low groan rumbles out of him. “I’m not gonna last like this, baby.”
The name hits you like a spark—your body involuntarily clenches around him, and he notices instantly. He lifts his head despite the sweat trailing down his temple, a breathless, smug little smile tugging at his lips.
“You l-like that, baby?” he teases, voice cracked and warm. His hand cups your chin, guiding your gaze back to him as he pants through the ache.
“Y-Yuj…” you whisper, gasping as he sinks in deeper.
You nuzzle instinctively into his palm, stroking your cheek.
And fuck—you can’t expect him to hold back when you’re kissing the rough heel of his hand like that.
He can’t doesn’t wait for you to adjust fully. His mouth crashes onto yours, tongue greedy and eager as he kisses you like he’s drowning. His knees shake as he digs into the mattress, all before he slowly thrusts forward—each controlled drag burying more of his thick length deeper inside you.
You cling to him, nails digging into his broad shoulders, into the hard cut of muscle beneath his skin, and he grunts at the sting, hips rutting deeper, each movement slow and heavy enough to make your breath stutter.
You feel everything—every ridge, every pulse, every maddening inch of him, and your moans twist into soft, breathy cries, mixing with his low, guttural groans against your lips.
You don’t even hear how the room’s engulfed with nothing but the lewd squelches now, his hips softly plapping against you, grunting in your ear whenever you unintentionally clench around him.
Your soft whines turn into sweet cries, and his eyes dilate in awe, cheeks flushed as your vision blurs. Your wet lips part, crying his name over and over, and with each cry, you can feel him somehow grow even larger as he kisses your cervix like he’s addicted.
“Angh—wait!” you whine, grasping his nape, back arching as he continues his torturous pace, the burning yet filling stretch leaving you breathless.
Your mind is scrambled, completely lost to the pleasure as you try to adjust, but he’s already slowly picking up his pace. And it didn’t matter how pathetic your whines got, or how much you came, because he's just kissing you with worship, peppering every part of you like you’re heaven itself, tongue peeking into your mouth again.
And he’s hooked. Hooked with how every time he tries to pull, you’re sucking him back in.
“It’s too much—Yuj—Please—“ and he’s also whimpering right above you.
“Haah—Fuck, fuck, I’m close, baby—“ his lips part, groaning when you instinctually clench around him again.
He swallows each pathetic whine of yours and vice versa as he grunts into you with every thrust, panting against each other.
Your mouth’s dangling open with trails of drool, and each time he whispers sweet praises of how gorgeous you are, you can’t help but string out moans and whimpers, filling the thick air of his bedroom.
“You’re taking me… so well… ”
You can hardly squeeze any comprehensible thoughts out of you, and your head falls back against him, strength slipping away, hips quivering as quiet whimpers escape you.
“Hnngh, Y-Yujiii..."
“Can I cum inside?”
“M-Mhmm,”
You agree instantly, breath catching as your body betrays you. You’ve forgotten long ago, anyways, how to resist him.
A certain shiver ripples through you, and Yuji’s pace picks up even more, breath even heavier for the release he's been saving just for you, his whole life.
“Baby,” He pleads. “Fuck, baby, please—Look at me,”
The same strong hand on your jaw softly tilts your head to turn, and your eyes meet his dilated pupils,
“Can you feel that? Feel what you do to me? What you’ve been doing to me, baby? Ngh—”
You feel him rolling the rest of his cock deeper inside you while he’s whimpering, and all at once, the air seems to leave your lungs as he slides his arms beneath your thighs, lifting you effortlessly. Before you can even register what’s happening, he’s standing with you in his arms, the weight and closeness leaving your heart racing.
"Does this feel better for you?”
As if. Your legs go weak in his arms, trembling as your body twitches now with every subtle movement he makes. You’re completely at his mercy, breath catching and chest rising and falling faster than you can control. Tiny, messy traces fall from your lips, dripping out onto the floor with soft splatters down below.
He spreads you out wider, aims sliding beneath your thighs, and fingers digging into the plush of your thighs. You feel like you’re simply floating, all whilst he hauls you up and down his cock, leaving you helpless as you sink back into everything he’s sliding desperately into you.
“N-Ngh, Yuj—” Your voice catches, eyes misting as he burrows closer into the crook of your neck.
A deep, almost dizzying warmth pulses through you, and suddenly, it all bursts. Your hands claw at his back, squirming and desperate for the grounding presence of him. He huffs against your skin as well, breath ragged. His voice drops eager, and you feel it shiver straight through you.
“Haah… I’m so close.”
All you can do is tremble around him, giving a slow, lazy nod, lost in the crazed intensity between you.
He’s spilling every rope of cum inside you, and even through it, he doesn’t stop. He keeps a slower, gentler pace, thrusts kissing your cervix even more like he’s thanking you, same as how he’s peppering your face with kisses now.
"Yuji…"
He pants softly in your ear, plopping his cock out tiredly from your hole and onto your bed below. Both of you are still heaving, your bodies stay pressed tightly together.
You murmur from underneath his weight, voice muffled against his shoulder, and it makes him melt as he still holds you close.
“I love you so much... Fuck, I’m sorry I acted like a jerk,” he whispers, gazing into your tired, adoring eyes. “I’ll jump off a cliff if I ever make you cry again.”
You laugh, playfully punching his arm. With a quick peck to his nose, you’re already readjusting so you can straddle him again.
He traces a finger gently along your lips, a little grin on his face.
You raise a brow.
“What?”
“Can we um—“ he leans in for a quick kiss, “Can we try doggy style now?”
Okay, cross his weird cooking shows—you’re monitoring his weird porn stash too.
Everything aches when you wake up. Your arms are stiff and your legs are all sore, peppered with bite marks and faint crescents from last night. Sunlight filters through the peeping blinds, painting golden stripes across the bed, but that’s not the only weight you’re feeling on top of you.
Yuji’s arm is draped over yours now, warm and comfortably heavy. He’s sprawled on his stomach beside you, hair a chaotic mess, eyelids shut, face practically buried in the pillow. You shift slightly, wincing at the soreness, and his eyes snap open like he’s sensed you awake.
Under his breath, a groan escapes him, followed by a tilt of the head as he glances at you, face squished adorably into the pillow.
The memories of last night hit you like a freight train, and your face instantly blooms scarlet.
“Good morning,” he whispers, lips curling into a smile.
“…Morning,” you croak, voice hoarse.
He instantly breaks into laughter, rolling lazily onto his back beside you while you frown at him, still too self-conscious.
Your gaze drifts over him unconsciously, eyes tracing over last night’s scratches on his broad back. The little ridges where his elbows pressed into you, his chest rising and falling from sleep and… other marks. His ears are pink, warm under the sunlight, and he buries his face into your hair, all snuggled with you. Both of you stay like that for a few heartbeats, breathing each other in, disbelief lingering like the soft haze after fireworks.
Eventually, you reach for your phone, which you’d carelessly tossed on the bedside table yesterday. But when the lock screen lights up, your heart nearly jumps out of your throat.
“What—” Yuji murmurs, groggy and confused.
“I have class in thirty minutes!” you gasp, scrambling off the bed despite the soreness. “I cannot miss this one!”
His eyes instantly widen, and before you can blink, he’s already on his feet. He rushes over to your side, scooping you into his arms as he carries you to the shower.
“I’ll get your clothes, hold on!” he calls, and just like that, he’s darting to your room, leaving you blinking and flustered.
The shower’s warmth does little to soothe the ache of your limbs, but you linger just long enough to pull the towel tight around yourself. When you finally do open the bathroom door, you freeze.
Spider-Man. In. The. Flesh.
He’s standing there, folded clothes in hand, looking every bit like the superhero he is. Though the awkward, nervous smile beneath it? 100% Yuji. You pause, staring, and when you finally reach for your clothes, you whisper a hurried thanks, cheeks burning.
He gives a little wave back at you.
You’re not telling him thanks, this time, though—when fast-forward five minutes, you’re in the air, soaring past skyscrapers, strapped in some ridiculous ghost mask he bought last Halloween.
Your stomach flips every time the wind picks up, hair whipping across your face, and the city below blurs into dizzying streaks of light. When you eventually land in a quiet alleyway, you’re gasping for breath, legs trembling, and he finally lets go of your waist. You glance at your watch.
Ten minutes left—cue panic.
You start to turn and dash, but can’t resist sneaking one last glance over your shoulder. Yuji simply stands there, chest heaving, mask slightly crooked, head tilted. He's waving you to get moving already.
But you can’t leave it at that. You run back, grab his clenched fists gently in one hand, and lift his mask just slightly to plant a quick peck on his lips.
“Thanks,” you whisper.
And before he can say a word, you’re off—rushing back into the bustle, heart hammering, adrenaline still sending quivers through your shaky legs.
"Oh my god...."
He dramatically leans back against the cold alley wall, sliding down slowly while clutching at his own head beneath his zipped get-up.
His suit definitely needs an upgrade from Megumi, he thinks, because you’d left him totally knocked out.
And right now, his brain is half-filled with how easily you just slipped away—the other half overclocking on how he's so, so down bad for you.
Somewhere above, a pigeon coos from above, judgmental in its stare.
Class has barely ended when your phone buzzes. The hallway is in its usual chaos—sneakers squeaking across scuffed linoleum, laughter ricocheting, backpacks slung over shoulders. You’re juggling your bag, your water bottle, and an overdue sense of exhaustion as you pull out your phone, fully expecting a group chat notification or a calendar reminder.
But then you see the name on the screen. Yuji.
Yuji: look at the manhattan bridge :))
Your brows knit, but curiosity wins, and you turn toward the tall window overlooking the city, breath fogging faintly against the cold glass. The sky is rinsed in a soft apricot glow, dripping over the skyline like spilt honey. Its golden hour tints with warmth, enough to melt even the sharpest edges of steel and glass.
And that’s when you see it.
Strung between the beams like frost, shimmering in the golden, like it’s snared a wandering cloud amidst the bleeding sky—three words are strung across the Manhattan Bridge in enormous, gleaming webs.
Each letter was woven thick, looped around half a dozen times so they wouldn’t blow away in the wind.
Your eyes widen.
No way.
I LOVE YOU.
Your heart skips violently, and your breath stumbles out of your chest in a gasp.
A stupid, giddy laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it, and your hand flies to your mouth as if you can physically push your stunned smile back in.
“Idiot…” you whisper.
Around you, other students press against the windows, whispering, pointing. Someone mutters,
“Brother did a whole Hollywood sign…”
“Is Spider-Man in love?? With who??”
Your phone buzzes again.
Yuji: empty classroom, east wing. the one w the broken light. hurry! :(
You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to fight off the warmth spreading through your chest as you practically float down the hallway. Your steps are light, your face is on fire, and your heart's busy doing backflips inside.
By the time you reach the forgotten old classroom in the east wing, your pulse is sprinting. The door sits slightly open, the flickering ceiling light casting lazy pulses of brightness across the desks like it’s trying, yet failing, to stay conscious.
You push the door open.
And there he is.
Yuji stands near one of the desks, mask pulled back and tucked into his hood, pink-peach curls mussed from the wind.
His cheeks are flushed, hoodie slightly crooked, and even though he’s leaning like he’s been waiting forever, he probably swung here mere seconds just before you arrived.
How do you know that? Because the flowers in his hands look like they've just gone through hell and back.
When he sees you, something in him softens so completely it makes your breath catch.
“Hey,” he says, smile tugging gently at the corners of his mouth.
It’s so pure, so bright, it almost tricks you into thinking he didn’t just do something as insane as webbing a literal confession across a whole bridge.
You let out a breathy laugh as you approach him.
“Yuji… you webbed the entire Manhattan Bridge.”
He rubs the back of his neck, practically glowing.
“I—uh—wanted to make sure you saw it?” He winces. “And that you didn’t think I was joking.”
His voice gentles.
“I mean it.”
Before your brain can even catch up with your racing heart, he reaches out. His hands slip like usual to your waist.
He looks at you like sunlight through glass, stars folding into themselves—unfathomable heaven of devotion graced into every line of his expression.
“You ready to go home?” he asks softly.
You wrap your arms around him.
“Yeah,” you whisper, and his forehead drops to your shoulder in the tiniest, softest surrender.
He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply as you giggle and ruffle his hair.
“I love you too, silly.”
Outside, the sun sinks slowly behind the skyline, ember light scattered across the room as it catches on a stray fleck of web on Yuji’s sleeve. It glows like silver fire as he lifts you effortlessly, stepping toward the window. You simply cling to him, heart soaring as he pushes the pane open and the cool wind rushes in.
With a soft laugh, Yuji leaps, both of you cutting through the evening breeze as the city roars beneath.
Taxis honk, trains rattle, pedestrians shout, but everything muffles the moment his arm curls tighter around you.
With him, flying feels safe.
With him, the city feels small.
With him, the skyline with I LOVE YOU strung across it feels like the only world that matters.
He steals a glance at you mid-swing, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.
New York watches as he swings past skyscrapers—and this time, he isn't alone. He holds you like he has nowhere else to be but by your side, basking in the afterglow of a love he had written across the skyline just for you.
Petals float below from the two of you, and you say his words back. Barely louder than the wind, but just enough for him, and only him, to hear.
It's what you’ve found between this litany of quiet you’ve both settled into:
“Home.”
(wip) part 2 જ⁀➴ just when the spider that bit yuji back then brings more trouble, your past decides to catch up too.
touya loves to take you in all positions, really, but nothing beats the one where he’s got you all sprawled out, legs spreading farther than they should, wrists collected in one of his huge hands and his cock hitting parts you didn’t even know existed.
sure, he loves having you in doggy position, where you usually arch your back like some desperate slut, all while he trails his hand down your spine, finger tips heated just enough to scare you and make your walls flutter around him.
or you riding him. he enjoys that, too. loves to see your breasts basically falling into his face as he trails his nose all over them, licking your nipples and taking them into his mouth while you whine out of exhaustion.
still, not knowing touya, one might assume his favourite position just had to be something like doggy or anything where he can treat you like a cumdump.
but it’s not.
not when your heels are digging into the spot slightly above his own rear, whereas his balls smack against your own with how fast and deep he’s going. and the filth he’s spewing all the while, his hand warming up around your wrists as he nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck— bathing, no— drowning himself in your scent.
“what’re you cryin’ for? you wanted this ‘n I’m givin’ it to ya— ngh- fuck!-“
“what? you wanna kiss? ‘s that why you’re bein’- shit- a crybaby?”
you sob, tears running down your cheeks, bucking your hips harshly into his, causing his dick to go particularly deep, making you see stars.
“please! p-please tou-!”
“puh-please what?”
he’s mean. you know that. always did.
touya has been the best fuck you’ve ever had, and presumably the best you’ll ever have, too, but he’s mean. he’s mean, and you know if you don’t play into whatever scene he’s created for you, he’ll leave you high and dry, all while emptying his own cum in your abused hole.
touya’s mean, maybe probably even a bit sick, especially when it comes to sex, but you wouldn’t like him any differently.
“I don’t fuck stupid girls. don’t like them. where’s your bold attitude from e-earlier, huh? could’ve sworn you had a lot on your mind to say to me- or did I fuck you stupid already?”
“n-no! touya please!” you sob, feeling his pace slow down, knowing what he’s about to do.
“tch- again! is that all you can do? beg like a little whore? fuck, in that case—“
he’s pulling out. just when you were so close, so, so close, he’s ready to pull out—
“no! no, ‘m sorry! I sh-shouldn’t have been so m-mean earlier, please tou fuck me!”
and he grins, his staples pulling and tugging on the corners of his mouth.
you should feel sick.
you should push him off and finish the job yourself.
but you’re ruined to his liking.
you know you’re ruined, carved by his love, because all you want to do is kiss him, pamper him until you can’t no more.
so you dig your heels into his back and use all your strength to keep him in place, even as he tuts at your behavior, your shameless, slutty, behavior.
“please touya. f-fuck me and tear me in half- f-fill me up-“
and he does. he does, because, despite all his harsh scolding, he’s just as desperate as you are. especially in this position, where he can piston into your hole until your pelvis bruises from his abuse.
he loves it.
and so do you.
“relax- stop c-clenching so hard or I’ll—“
he grunts, watching as your lips curl up into a grin.
stop clenching so hard or I’ll cum.
touya barely has any self control over his body when it comes to you.
and he knows that this simple fact stokes your ego, maybe a bit too much.
therefore, he feels absolutely no remorse fucking you harder, making you mewl like a stupid bitch in heat.
“c-cum touya, ‘m gonna-!”
“I know. I know, shh. relax, doll. ya killin’ me here- ngh-!”
you cry, because your walls clench hard and you feel his painfully hard cock hit that spongy spot inside of you, over and over again.
and contrary to what most might think, touya gets touchy, especially when he’s just about to bust a nut—
he’s nuzzling into you, white hair brushing against your jawline and oh, what you’d give to pull and tug at it right now, if it weren’t for his hands holding your wrists together. his staples are harsh against your soft skin, and so are the pearly whites he sinks into it, one final act he does before cumming deep, white seed burying into your hole.
you cum with him, a loud moan of his name being the only warning as he buries himself deeply, cursing under his breath.
you feel the way his pulsating cock goes soft, and gosh, you feel his cum leaking out of you.
you know looking down will probably cause you to clench down on him, overstimulating you both.
but touya has a high sex drive, so it’s little to no surprise when you feel him get hard again, even if it hurts. you mewl, and he shushes you with a harsh kiss, the uneven texture of his lips feeling familiar.
it’s not long before he’s slowly and surely rutting into you again, this time with more passion and love, because he knows you must be overstimulated right now.
he rubs your clit lovingly, all while letting you have your way with your hands now, letting them tug and pull on his soft white strands.
“my beautiful baby. you gonna give me one more, right?”
so yeah, touya loves to take you in all positions. but nothing gets him going like where he’s got you fucked stupid on his cock, and he gets see, touch and kiss that beautiful face of yours.
he could, and does, end up fucking you through the whole night everytime you two end up like this.
its intoxicating, maybe even wrong, given of how harsh he can get, but it’s just the way you love it.
a/n: I’m not beating the gooner allegations. therefore, I shall deliver a meal to my fellow gooners.
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to t.t. my star, my perfect silence @phantasmiac - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
