Imagine Dan Heng being utterly terrified for his rebirth, solely because he fears not being able to find you in the next life.
Or even worse. What if in his next life, he's just as stubborn as he is now? Wanting nothing to do with anything from his previous life, wanting nothing to do with you?
Just the thought makes him sick to his stomach, along with the realization at just how much of a lack of control he'll one day have over his life.
So, he holds you tighter at night, nuzzling into you so hard it almost aches. You know something is wrong, but until he confesses his greatest fears, you'll be right there next to him.
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synopsis: post shibuya leaves yuji a hollow shell of the sunshine boy he used to be, grief carving through him until his perception of love begins to warp. trapped between constant arguments over your safety and the unbearable fear of losing him, you’re left pleading for him to let you in—until he drops to his knees all marred skin and tears, and you’re left searching through the wreckage for the heart buried beneath the curse.
content warnings: yuji itadori x fem reader, smut, p in v, heavy angst, arguments, hurt/comfort, post shibuya arc, sorcerer au, jujutsu college au, yuji + reader attend jujutsu college, guilt, grief, self-blame, emotional breakdowns, lots of praise + reassurance, soft/sensual smut, emotional, possessive/protective yuji, crying, happy ending (i promise). word count 6k, reblogs are appreciated!
The rain pours relentlessly, carving jagged lines into the pavement while thunder growls somewhere in the distance, low and violent. Lightning flashes close enough to bleach the world white for half a second before everything sinks back into muted gray again, the sky completely drained of color.
The only thing that seems to cut through the deafening silence is the sound of footsteps splashing through puddles on the walk back toward the shared hideout, an abandoned building you and Yuji have been calling home for the time being.
You trail behind him quietly, eyes fixed on the broad line of his back beneath his rain-soaked jacket. The orange fabric clings to him, damp and worn thin, outlining every shift of muscle underneath, the muscles in his back rippling as rain trickles down the expanse of him. Even now, angry and closed off, he feels painfully familiar.
You can still smell him through the rain, something sweet and citrusy, green tea mixed with something warmer, deeper. A scent you only ever catch properly with your face buried in the crook of his neck, tangled together beneath blankets while his calloused hands hold yours tightly against his beating heart, fingers tapping absentmindedly against his chest.
It feels like a memory you’re walking through.
A smell that transports you back into his arms, back to when things were simple.
This walk feels endless.
And you’re stuck watching him unravel, all while his back is turned toward you, refusing to look at you.
Please, just turn around and face me.
It’s the only thought that seems to ring endlessly through your skull.
His fists clench and unclench over and over again, fingers stretching taut before curling shut hard enough to make his knuckles pale. His shoulders are tense, rigid, but there’s something shaky beneath it all. He’s angry, exhausted, but underneath it, he’s trembling.
It’s rare seeing him like this.
A few steps behind him, your hair hangs damp and frizzed from the storm, eyeliner smeared beneath your eyes from rain or tears. You’d bet on tears.
Your chest aches with that awful kind of melancholy that settles deep between your ribs and refuses to leave, pulsing there in a dull, persistent ache.
You’ve been arguing for nearly fifteen minutes now. The rain softened it for a while, drowned the words out enough to pretend things weren’t splintering apart between you. But the closer you get to being alone with him, hidden away from everything else, the more that fragile pause begins to feel like it might snap.
And he still won’t stop clenching his fists.
Over and over.
Clenching. Unclenching. Clenching again.
“Can you fucking quit that, please?”
His footsteps stop immediately.
The sudden silence twists something ugly in your stomach.
His head tilts slightly, almost like he’s trying to understand why you even spoke in the first place. Rain drips from the strands of pink hair hanging in his face, sliding down the sharp line of his jaw.
“Why do you care?” he spits, voice low and rough, stripped completely of the warmth that usually accompanies his words. One scarred hand drags through his soaked hair, pushing it back shakily. “Why should I stop doing something you don’t like when you never listen to what I want?”
The words hit your lungs hard, knocking the breath out of you. You feel it in the way your heart responds to him, rattling violently inside your chest at the way he disregards you so easily.
Hot tears, warm against the cold rain pouring down your face, begin to prickle your vision, frustration tightening painfully in your throat as you scrape desperate words out.
“Can we just—”
“Just stop.”
He cuts you off immediately, tone clipped of any emotion. His voice sounds like static buffering through a speaker, completely unrecognizable in its morphed sound.
Your body goes still for a moment, frozen there in the rain.
It takes a second too long for you to remember how to move again. His words lodge themselves into the valves of your heart, pressing painfully against something already fragile, your heart beating too rapidly yet somehow feeling painfully still. For a fleeting second, you think his tone alone might be enough to stop it entirely.
You and him used to never fight.
Before Shibuya. Before this world stole pieces of Yuji until there was barely anything left untouched. Before he was doomed.
Before this society ripped pieces of his humanity out one by one. Before being a vessel became a death sentence hanging over his head. Before his life was valued by the higher-ups only when he was useful to them, a puppet forced to dance in a world that would discard him the second he stopped serving a purpose.
He’s still kind. Still loving. Still the boy who holds doors open for strangers, cries over movies, and kisses your forehead absentmindedly when he thinks you’re asleep.
But he’s lost hope. Lost passion.
He exists because he has to.
Because Jujutsu society has its claws buried straight through his beating heart, and if he dares to squirm, to defy it, that same heart will still and grow cold.
As silly as it was, he reminded you of Fluttershy.
You remember how quickly he intertwined himself with you, how he understood you in a way no one else ever could. You remember the foggy night spent in his dorm, legs pressed against the wall, a flimsy magazine discarded between the two of you while you passed around a bag of sour candy, neither of you able to sleep.
You remember when Yuji started talking.
About his home life. His old school. Friendships long gone. His grandfather.
And you remember the way his voice cracked ever so slightly over the word.
The way he tried to hide it.
The way he finished everything off with a bright laugh and an almost nostalgic tone.
“Y’know, I always wanted to be a firefighter.”
The lamp cast his face in a hazy glow as he toyed with the end of your jacket, a nervous habit of his, always needing something to fidget with. He let his head rest against the wall, a soft sigh slipping from his lips.
“If I wasn’t a jujutsu sorcerer, I think that’s what I’d do. I could fulfill my grandfather’s wish that way.”
Ever since that night, you saw through the cheerful facade.
You saw the way it was beginning to crack, slowly, carefully, like a neglected porcelain doll left untouched for too long, revealing the rot he tried so desperately to bury beneath all the good.
He just wants to be good.
But sadness has stolen him from himself.
And now there’s something heavy living inside him, something worn painfully thin by the endless need for others. It feels like there isn’t a single organ in his body functioning for himself anymore. Everything inside him beats in the name of someone else.
The rusted handle to the underground bunker creaks as his large hand wraps around it.
For a moment, petty and irrational, you think he’ll slam it in your face and disappear from you completely.
You lose your breath waiting for it, eyes blinking shut for half a second, a decision you regret immediately.
Because when you open them again, the door is being held open by his fingers stretched wide, palm steady as he waits.
“Come,” he urges, voice barely above a whisper.
You oblige, following him inside.
The air changes immediately, drier, heavier, strained with tension. Floorboards creak beneath your shared weight. His pace quickens while you linger near the now-closed door, nerves buzzing beneath your skin in a strange, bittersweet way.
You feel fifteen again.
Staring at the back of the boy you loved, heart hammering violently in your chest as you tried to gather the courage to say the not-so-secret secret lodged at the tip of your tongue.
You feel small again.
Struck by love, Halted by nerves.
Hopelessly in love with the loud boy who smiled too easily and held your hand like it was second nature.
Except now, you’re standing in front of another version of that sunshine boy, one where things are no longer trapped beneath a golden haze.
A nervous laugh escapes you anyway.
You decide that instead of withering away in silence, you’ll play it off.
“Yuu, c’mon, let’s just drop thi—”
His feet stop abruptly, shoes scraping against the floor as he steadies himself. The sharp inhale he takes leaves him rough around the edges, exhaled out like gravel, shaky and uneven.
He turns around.
Fully facing you.
And his expression is something you know will torment you for the rest of your life.
You see it all at once.
The sullen expression. Lips drawn tight. Eyes wide for only a moment before narrowing into slits.
His gaze is empty in a way that makes your stomach twist. Desolate and vacant.
Like something alien has taken hold of him.
Oh.
Right.
It did.
“Why can’t you just listen to me?” he raises his voice, rough and cracking at the edges. “If you would’ve just listened instead of being so careless—”
His words are harsh, stinging like cigarette burns pressed into skin, ash ground into a table.
Everything he says is cold.
yet your eyes catch it the way his lips wobble at the very end, knowing he’s the one about to break.
The faint twitch at the end of his sentence, like his body is betraying him, something in him still reaching for you even while he does everything he can to push you away.
You catch it for only a second.
But you see it because you always see him.
Every version of him.
Even the ugly parts he tries to bury far away from you.
Just like you catch the way regret flickers across his face the second the words leave him.
Your lips part instinctively before pressing shut again.
His eyes lock onto your mouth almost immediately.
Glossy. Lower lip trembling, That familiar expression he’s memorized too well.
The same one you wear whenever you’re trying not to fall apart.
The same softness he’s traced with his lips and tongue, soft pecks dissolving into scattered makeouts.
It’s something he knows.
And for one selfish moment, you wish he’d stop fighting with you.
You wish he’d pull you close, warmth vibrating between your bodies.
You wish he’d kiss you hard enough to bruise your lips, hard enough to taste the salt lingering there, hard enough to taste your tears.
But you’re not going to shrink yourself for him.
You’re not going to sit here, and stay quiet, he needs to understand that you aren’t going to quit him.
You scoff, voice crying out, every word sounding like a plea. A desperate, ever-clinging, hopeless plea. He can hear it lingering on the edge of your voice, hear the way it trembles despite how hard you try to bury it beneath anger.
Shame you’re both pleading for the opposite.
“Careless? How is me wanting to fight being careless when everyone else I love is throwing their lives out on the line and I’m supposed to stay back because you love your girlfriend a little too much?”
You find your eyes refusing to meet his as you scream it.
The last line drags a jagged hole straight through his skull.
Dumbfounded, he’s left lost in the words you seethe through such pretty lips. Lips he now knows can leave behind a stinging, bloodied bite in their wake, all bitten tongue and swallowed frustration.
He opens his mouth, closes it again.
Stumbles over whatever defense he was about to spit back.
Confrontation has never been something he likes.
Especially not like this.
Not with you.
His love.
He’s used to yelling, to fighting, to blood splitting marred skin and bones aching until they feel like they’ll break, but this?
This sick, twisting feeling in his chest whenever the person he loves looks at him with tears staining their cheeks and hurt spilling from their mouth.
It’s something he doesn’t think he can survive.
Something that hurts more than any curse he’s ever fought.
Something entirely different, a feeling so foreign he isn’t sure he could even describe it.
Something that can only be felt.
Consumed.
Lately, life has been forcing him to confront too many things all at once.
Things he’d rather avoid.
Grief.
Fear.
Guilt.
An endless cycle repeating itself, pressing against the awful realization that loving someone means knowing exactly where to hurt them.
You don’t let him get another breath out before exhaling cruelly, words sharp with irritation but laced with something softer beneath it.
For half a second, you sit there studying the hopeless, contorted expression stretched across his face with something almost sympathetic.
A martyr wrapped in broad shoulders and bruised hands, so desperate to be your knight that sometimes he forgets how to just be your lover.
You’re both human.
Your life does not hold more value than his, despite what he tells himself, despite the way he twists himself apart trying to shield you from dangers you knowingly signed up for.
“I want to stop fighting with you,” your voice comes quieter now, exhaustion bleeding into your tone.
“I’m tired and done, Yuji.”
Yuji’s mouth falters.
His gaze drops to the floor, jaw tight enough to grind his teeth, aching beneath the pressure before he finally looks back up.
He wants to run over and hug you.
To cradle your head, or let you cradle his, to intertwine so deeply your hearts beat in sync.
He also wants to walk away.
To curse you, to say something so cruel it would make you stop loving him entirely, something hateful enough to finally sever yourself from the hopelessness he drags behind him, to let him go and stay safe.
But more than any of that, he wants to protect you so badly he thinks he’d willingly let you despise his very existence if it meant you stayed alive.
Even if you were the one dragging the sword through his heart, twisting until it carved through the very organ keeping him alive. Even through every sharp pang of hurt, every mistake lodged deep within him, he knows he’d still remember the sound of your voice calling out to him, clinging to it long after pain begins to blacken his vision.
He’d do all of it if it meant you survived.
He thinks somewhat bitterly, maybe this was the heartbreak Gojo-sensei was talking about.
“There’s no curse more twisted than love.”
Gojo had said it so often it became engraved into the walls of his memory, imprinted so deeply he could hear it even now. But there’s a difference between simply knowing something and understanding it.
Yuji had never understood what Gojo meant by those words until now.
Standing here with you.
There should really be a rule written in stone somewhere.
Mapped across jagged rock that says you will always fall in love, and it will always feel like your throat is being cut open. And even as scarlet red pours from your mouth and severed flesh, you’ll still cling to that last breath, fighting to keep your eyes open, desperate to see them one last time, gasping out a confession meant only for them.
Loving someone is a weakness.
And weakness is a fault, something jujutsu sorcerers aren’t allowed to have.
See, jujutsu sorcerers aren’t meant to love.
They aren’t human.
Not really.
They’re simply born to be strong, forced to bear any and every burden alone.
They’re made to absorb the emotions of others, it’s their job to notice and fix it. It’s their job to lose sense of self, buried in the carcass of a curse who’s only a mangled mix of everyone’s pathetic suffering in life, the polluted decay swallowing a body of water whole.
They aren’t allowed to be selfish, or greedy, only good, only strong.
Maybe that’s why he’s failing so badly at this whole sorcerer thing.
Because when it comes to you, Yuji has always been selfish.
Always.
Ever since the moment he saw your smile.
The way your eyes caught sunlight, tiny flecks trapped inside your irises, making them shine in a way he couldn’t stop staring at.
The way he could never get enough of your voice, always hanging onto every word with something embarrassingly intoxicated written all over his face. Waiting for excuses just to hear you talk again. Sitting there looking at you for too long, too soft, too enamored with everything you are.
Oh fuck.
The inhale that leaves him is sharp and involuntary, his chest seizing tightly, burning his throat and making it hard to even breathe.
He struggles to stop the tears cresting over his lash line, fingers turning bone white where they curl tightly into themselves, fighting against the sting burning behind his eyes.
He takes a few slow breaths, trying to regain his composure.
When he finally looks at you again, his eyes are red-rimmed, lashes low, expression tinged with softness, but still, the shadows on his face contort with anguish.
“Because I’m trying to protect you,” he says quietly.
His voice is so quiet it almost sounds broken.
So painfully restrained.
You feel wound impossibly tight, muscles weak, exhaustion dragging heavily through your bones. Your head throbs with a sharp, pulsating ache at your temple.
All you want to do is cry. All your body calls for is the rush of his skin against yours, aching with the simple want of needing to be engulfed by his muscled arms, to be held by him, humming with contentment, wanting to curl inward into the cavity of his chest, and bloom anew from his soul, to sprout and flourish, to become one with him.
It feels like a sickness, a spreading poison that roots itself in your heart. Love is a sickness, causing you to always want someone no matter how frayed things are, to crave them even in the cruelest moments, it’s always blindly loving them.
Even when they stand in front of you, ripping themselves apart with blunt fingers, all because they care, all because of their love for you.
Love is cruel in the way it lingers, the way it blinds even the clearest judgment.
You find the courage, or maybe it’s the blind rage pooling into your veins, the overwhelming need that overpowers it, to spill your truth at his feet and pray he’s gentle.
“You never let me protect you, though,” you say softly, sadness bleeding into every word. “What about you, Yuji? Someone has to care about you when you’re too busy taking care of everyone else.”
His features strain, skin stretched as his jaw tightens, teeth grinding together for a mere second as the expression settles.
The sharp click of his tongue comes next, frustration flickering across his face before something close to regret settles in, his gaze dropping to the floor. His expression falls flat into something almost helpless, lips turned into a soft pout, brows scrunching together before relaxing again, bottom lip wobbling slightly.
His voice comes out hoarse, emotion spilling through the cracks in every word.
“Every second you spend with me…” he swallows hard, throat tightening, “every single second you’re around me, you’re in danger.”
His fingers dig hard into his clenched fist. Nails burrowing into flesh until skin breaks beneath the pressure, velvet blooming steadily as it drips from his scarred hand.
He doesn’t seem to notice.
You watch helplessly as tears finally spill over, clinging to his lashes, droplets morphing into tiny specks of glitter in the dim light, hazel eyes boring such a somber gaze before slipping down his cheeks.
His hands drag harshly against his face, rough palms scraping skin hard enough to redden it, smearing metallic blood and salty tears together, only aggravating lingering injuries.
Ugly, matted purples blooming beneath skin.
Forceful swipes of his palm against his face continue, the tears continuing until he’s a complete, blubbering mess, grief cracking through him so violently it’s intrusive to witness.
He finally yells, the words tearing from somewhere so deep inside him that it causes your skin to erupt in goosebumps, making you physically flinch away. You’ve never heard him yell with this much pain and sorrow embedded into every word, so raw it feels as though both your soul and his are cracking beneath the weight of it all.
“It’s because of me!” he shouts, voice wavering. “It’s my fault. Everyone is dead!”
“It’s because of us,” you cut in, voice louder than his in a way that surprises even yourself.
Your tone lowers as you repeat yourself.
“It’s because of us.”
He looks up.
Bottom lip trembling into something pitiful, brown eyes wide and glassy as he blinks back tears.
“No,” he says, voice hoarse. “Me. It’s because of me, y/n.”
His breathing turns uneven.
“I ate the goddamn finger,” he chokes out. “I started all of this. It’s my fault Gojo-sensei is gone. My fault Kugisaki got hurt. Nanami—”
He fractures.
Breaking apart completely now.
His knees buckle beneath him as another sob tears free, rough hands desperately wiping at tears that won’t stop falling, his entire face crumpling beneath the unbearable weight of grief he’s been carrying alone for far too long.
You rush over, moving before you even realize it, pure instinct guiding your every step as you catch him in your arms, pulling him close. He folds into you immediately, his body giving out as ragged sobs wrench from his throat, hiccups catching between uneven breaths, the wet sound of him trying and failing to pull himself together.
He feels fragile. You can tell from the way he shakes, from the way his knees finally knock against the cold wooden floor.
You go down with him without hesitation, cradling him there, fingers trembling despite how gently they comb through petal-pink strands, nails lightly scratching at his scalp, trying to soothe him, to quiet the storm inside him the way a lullaby might.
Your hand eases toward his jaw, careful, soft, coaxing his tear-streaked face upward.
You blink back your own tears.
Not now.
You need to stay strong for him.
“Yuji,” you murmur gently.
He looks up at you, pupils dilating at the sound of your voice, your fingers still cradling his jaw, skittering softly across flushed skin.
“I begged Gojo to save you,” you whisper, your voice catching despite yourself. “That day, I faltered, not you. I kept you alive knowing what it could mean, knowing what it might cause.” Your voice shakes, quieter now, thick with honesty. “I let my feelings cloud my judgment. I listened to my heart instead of my head, and maybe… maybe that will always be my fault.”
Your thumb strokes slow circles against the warmth of his cheek.
“But I don’t regret it.” Your voice steadies, firmer this time. “I don’t regret keeping you alive, Yuji. Not for a second.”
He stares at you, frozen.
“So when I say it’s my fault, I mean it.” Your breath catches. “It’s mine to carry, my burden to bear… but I know you.” A small, shaky laugh escapes you, fond despite the nauseous pang curling in your chest. “And I know you won’t let me carry something like that alone.”
Your forehead nearly brushes his.
“So let it be ours.”
The word fills the space between you.
“Ours to survive. Ours to grieve. Ours to carry.”
Your fingers tighten ever so slightly against his jaw, afraid he’ll disappear if your touch slips away.
“So let me, Yuji Itadori,” you whisper, your voice cracking at the edges of every word. “Stop pushing me away because somewhere along the line, you convinced yourself you’re just a cog in some cruel machine.”
Your brows draw together, pinching tightly as tears finally slip free.
“You’re not.” Your voice turns impossibly kind. “You’ve never been just that. You’re kind even after everything. You keep trying even when everyone is against you. You constantly carry the wants and needs of others with you, even when you’re breaking.” Your thumb brushes beneath his eye again. “You’re so much more than what suffering has convinced you you’re worth.”
Yuji only blinks at you. He finds it hard to breathe in this moment, all the air trapped in his lungs. His mouth parts silently before shutting again.
“You really…” His voice cracks, rough from crying. “You really mean that?”
You nod immediately.
“Always.”
“Let me be your hope,” you whisper. “And you can be my forgiveness.”
Your thumb smooths over heated, damp skin, tender and patient.
“And I’ll forgive you too. Again and again, if that’s what it takes.”
Something inside him caves.
He surges forward, crashing his lips against yours, asking for permission with every clumsy plea of his mouth against yours, begging for forgiveness in the only way he knows how, in a way words can’t replace. His lips taste of salt from smeared tears, and there’s blood streaked across the pads of your fingertips where they rest against his injured face.
His breath is warm against your lips as more tears begin to well in his eyes.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, baby. I’m sorry for yelling and pushing you away, and I’m sorry I’m constantly throwing myself into danger—”
He starts to hiccup, tripping over his own words and sobs, his breath uneven and broken between apologies.
“Shh, shh, it’s okay, it’s okay, really, Yuu.”
He lets his forehead rest against yours, his hands slowly crawling toward your own, cradling where your palms are splayed across his cheeks.
“No, it’s not,” he says, his voice trembling. “I made you feel weak when you’re not. It’s my insecurities I pushed onto you… my fear of losing you that made me push you away.”
He’s a pathetic mess of tears when he leans in again, muttering sorry over and over in quiet, hushed whispers while your reassurances melt softly into his feverish skin. He swallows the unbearable heaviness of it with a searing kiss.
Your bodies slot together, limbs tangling as you fall back against the floor, his hand cradling the back of your head while you lie beneath him.
The kiss turns heated, messy in the way only something starved can be. When you finally pull away, breathless, you whisper, “I’m going to enter the Culling Games. I’m gonna fight beside you. You can’t stop me.”
He hovers above you now, golden-brown irises fixed on yours, your shared gaze melting into something soft, something hauntingly intimate. He laughs quietly, the sound making your heart flutter, cheeks dusted pink despite everything.
“Yeah, I know,” he murmurs, almost defeated, though there’s fondness buried beneath it.
“But…” A small grin pulls at his lips, canines glinting pearly white in the dim light, “I’m still gonna do everything I can to protect you.”
You smile as his head falls against your shoulder, pink strands of hair wisping against your skin and softly tickling you. His hands are warm where they settle against your waist, large palms engulfing your frame as though he can anchor himself here, tied only to you.
“Just this is okay… right?” he asks quietly, his face buried in the scent of your shampoo, slow kisses scattered against your neck as you exhale shakily. His hands grow restless against your skin, fingers kneading gently before he lifts his head again, eyes blown wide with devotion, still shining from crying.
“Can I make it up to you?” he asks, voice breathy, hesitant in a way that only speaks to your heart.
“Yes, please… I’ve missed you so much…” Your voice dips at the memory of the past week spent alone, the arguments, the self-blame, how badly you longed for him while he kept himself hidden away from you.
His hand reaches up, thumb brushing loose strands of hair away from your eyes before he presses a soft kiss against your temple.
“I know, I know, baby. I missed you so bad too,” he says quietly, huffing out a small, sheepish laugh, guilt still lingering in his expression.
“Man… I’m such a dumbass.”
You laugh softly, pulling him in for another kiss, desperate to lose yourself in him, to bury the sadness somewhere between his warmth and the way his fingers dig into the plush of your flesh.
His hands are quick but careful, and with every kiss and touch there’s always a quiet check-in following, “Is this okay?” or “Do you like this?” You nod, your skin tingling with need as his fingers skate down toward your inner thigh, his touch featherlight.
Then he’s spreading you open for him, fingers kneading the plushness of your thighs, bunching your skirt up at the waist with one large hand while the other tugs your tights down, careful not to rip them in the process.
The cool air hits your exposed pussy, already glistening with need, the fabric of your cotton panties turned sheer against you. His breath hitches. “Jeez, baby… you’re really wet. Is this because of me?”
It sounds teasing, but you know it isn’t.
His eyes widen, nerves flickering through him as he swallows. You grin and lightly smack the side of his head.
“Don’t be mean, Yuji.”
His face goes blank for a second before realization hits.
A sharp, bright grin spreads across his face as he hovers above yours, the scar on his lip caught in the moonlight spilling through the window. Pink strands of hair tickle your skin, his lashes brushing softly against you as he kisses your nose, your cheek, your eyebrow, your eyelids—murmuring a soft “sorry” over and over until the words dissolve into kisses.
His hand finds yours, fingers threading together against the floor. You feel the way his grip flexes. He glances up at you for a split second, a small wobbly smile breaking across his face, warm amber eyes glowing like the last flicker beneath ash, faint traces of orange burning in the dark. He chews lightly on his lower lip, teeth pressing into the skin, leaving faint marks against chapped flesh.
“S’okay,” he says softly, almost to himself.
“I’ve got you.”
You feel him then, the sticky tip of his cock tracing your folds, his pants and boxers pushed down just enough to free himself. “Just the tip, okay? I’ll be slow. Gentle.”
His hand brushes sweat-slick strands from your forehead, his deep, bark-colored eyes fixed on you, studying every shift in your expression, drinking in the way your body reacts, intent on your pleasure.
You suck in a sharp breath as he pushes in, half of him easing inside you, the first stretch making your body tense before slowly melting around him. He savors the way you cling to him while he rocks his hips, pushing the rest of his length into you.
He tries to keep himself together, but the way you take him—soft gummy walls warm and tight gripping around him, sucking him in inch by inch—has him faltering fast.
His head drops into your neck, soft groans leaving his throat, words abandoning him completely as he presses closer, hips nudging deeper until the tip of him grazes your cervix and steals your breath.
Instinctively, he keeps pressing into your cunt, hips meeting yours in a relentless rhythm, as the rush of pleasure builds alone, He rocks into your greedy heat, his thrusts slowing, your fingertips dancing around his jaw, ghosting over warm skin as he keeps unwavering eye contact with you—eyes honey-brown, soft in their focused, devoted gaze.
His lips find yours, and suddenly the air he just breathed is filling your lungs—what keeps him alive now yours to take in. His breath is warm against your tongue, sweet and unsteady as his mouth melts into yours, kissing you with a desperation that pulls his whole body into you.
Your hands leave his face, sliding into the soft pink at the nape of his neck, gripping, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between you at all, bodies collapsing into one another, everything blurring at the edges as souls claw at the confines of skin and muscle, desperate to merge and become one.
His hips rock in and out of you, soft squelching sounds filling the room. The friction builds as his pace quickens, and your nails dig into his tanned skin, flush against the broad expanse of his back. The scars littering his skin form constellations beneath your touch, long red scratches drawn across taut muscle. He breaks the kiss with a sharp gasp at the sensation, only for his lips to find yours again immediately, kissing you feverishly, teeth catching your bottom lip just enough to sting.
Your hips are locked around his waist, molded to his body, clinging to him with quiet desperation. His lips are puffy and flushed red, messy with spit as he trails kisses down your exposed neck and collarbone. One hand bunches the fabric of your shirt, fingers ghosting across your back before undoing the clasp of your bra with practiced ease.
His hands settle at your waist as he glances up at you, flushed and beautiful, utterly wrecked with desire.
Petal-pink hair falls messy around his face, pushed back just enough to reveal his forehead, the jagged scar through his eyebrow more prominent now. His cheeks burn red, hazel eyes glossed over and warm.
He’s asking for permission, and you nod.
His lips close around your nipple, tongue circling your areola, making you squirm beneath him from the feel of him inside you and the wet heat of his mouth. Soft nips follow, each one soothed by the slow sweep of his tongue.
He sinks deeper into you, burying himself in your warmth. His head lifts, strands of hair falling around him like a halo, his lip caught harshly between his teeth, hard enough to bruise. He fights back the urge to spill inside you, desperate to see your face twist with pleasure when he finally brings you to release.
His thrusts grow slower, his thumb rubbing steady circles against your clit as he continues to fill you. Your legs tighten around him as you moan his name in drawn-out, breathless whines. Yuji looks close to whining too, overwhelmed by the way your body orbits his.
“Shit, baby, gonna cum, she feels so good. You feel so good.”
“Come on, baby, come for me. I wanna cum with you.”
You nod, hair damp with sweat, hands buried in his hair as you tug at soft strands. Your body trembles, warmth coiling tighter in your stomach as your cunt flutters around him. Your hips roll, chasing the feeling, your body buzzing at the edges until the tightness in your stomach snaps, his final sharp thrust pushing you past the brink as a rush of ecstasy washes over you.
“Yuji,” you gasp, cursing. “Pull out.”
His head spins with pleasure, barely holding himself together. “I know, I know, shit.” He pulls out with a soft plop sound, spilling his milky white seed across your lower stomach and inner thighs, his cock coated in the shared release.
He steadies himself, head tilted slightly as his hair falls with the movement. He looks completely awe-struck, eyes dazed and blown wide with adoration.
His lips part at the sight of you, legs sticky with his kids, skirt bunched at your waist, skin flushed, hair clinging to your sweat-slick face, chest rising and falling unevenly. He’s staring, cock already hard again.
“You’re so beautiful. So pretty. My gorgeous girl.”
His words come out like hushed confessions, etching themselves into the hollow of your ribs. His fawn-like eyes blink slowly as his thumbs rub soothing circles into your skin. He leans down, pressing soft, tender kisses across you, murmuring soft I love yous against your flesh until the words lay to rest in your beating heart.
masterlist - kofi - emergency commission info!
note: i fear my writing in this is horrible plz stick with me. . this fic sat in my drafts for two months because i was scared to post and kept wanting to rewrite and change stuff </3 divider creds @/mieluno
taglist: @seraphsmuse @xoxojisu @esilek @candiiee @cvnt4him @panchikogirlfriend @lotusstarr @cupkiki @3lenaatvt @the-faceless-bride @badslittlemuffin @dreamcastgirl99 @wonubby @dienamiight @sofi4dsam @kawaiiclubdaily @therefore-evermore @luckybibucky @sk1ppy-art @myths-and-ledgends @icanread-icantwrite @changkyunnnie @twoplayergaymers @socialobligation @calliopemanga @izutwos @doubelieveme @ivankinnieclatter @roronoafushiguroaratakahakari @green-orange-bloom @sparklylanddetective @lem-hhn @gaige312 @ryobaby @hrts4cupid @buuxbear @b00rants @v4mp1r3b4tzz @trilxogyyy @loveergirll @searchingfornothinggg @megumisrighttoe take a look at this post to be added, or removed!
How the characters reacing if their S/O pulls the “I’m pregnant” prank on them?
"Pregnant Prank!"
This is not related to the Papa pasta series in any way
Usual characters, silly, for pure entertainment
Jeff
You do it so casually and so randomly. Like you're eating a snack in the living room watching some movie and flat out say. "I'm pregnant." He yelps and actually falls to the floor. "Oh fuck are you serious!?" He grabbed his hair. "I'm not cut out for this. What if i gut him. WHAT IF HE LOOKS LIKE ME!?" He was full on spiraling, pacing like a caged animal. "Jeff baby it was just a prank." You say weakly. He stops and narrows his eyes. "Not fucking funny holy shit." He collapsed next to you. You wrap your arms around his neck and press small kisses to his scars. "And for the record...I'd love it if our kids looked like you."
BEN
Imagine you're playing Mario kart and he's so into it, kicking your ass. And to get him to drop his gaurd you think of something evil. "Oh by the way I'm pregnant." His controller hits the floor, character flinging off the side. "WHAT! WHY THE FUCK ARE SO CASUAL ABOUT THIS-" his eyes snap back to the screen to see you cross the finish line, eyes narrowing. "Wait..." You started laughing and he looked mortified. "Not funny babe! This is serious! What if you get hurt I'm not exactly compatible with your biology! I'm...I'm a freak..." you stop laughing immediately and hold his face in your hands. "You are not a freak Benny. But dont worry it was just a joke." He looked relived but also slightly let down.
Toby
It was supposed to be a joke. You've seen people do it online but maybe you should've realized your boyfriend isn't exactly normal. He looked at his hands and back at you. He looked like he was considering it, then panic hit like a train. Hyperventilating thinking he wouldn't be good enough, then denial insisting you must've misread it. When you finally told him it was a joke he curled up on your lap, face in his hands. "N-not funny pretty girl." He seemed genuinely distressed. You swore to never do it again while you stroked his hair.
LJ
You tell him while sitting on a ferris wheel you reach the tippy top and when you say it you swore he was planning on flinging himself off the top. You had to grab his arm, pure panic in your eyes. "Cake pop you know I'm not good with kids what if I hurt him!" He's practically hysterical. "What if I'm so bad they go no contact!" He practically screeches. After you reassure him you were just joking he slumped against you. A flash of disappointment in his eyes. "Don't tease me like that kitkat." You squeeze his arm reassuringly the rest if the way down, you let him practically lay on you too.
EJ
It was a random Tuesday, he was ignoring you. You're just dramatic, he was just busy in the basement. He learned to tune out your constabr bugging until you thought of something that would get his attention immediately. "I'm pregnant." His response was immediate. "Liar." Though you could see the tense, would he actually consider it? Or would he rather refrain from creating more monsters like him?
Liu
You and Liu regularly did small pranks on each other. Today you had the perfect scheme to get him back for this morning's sugar salt switch incident. When you told him, he dropped his mug, eyes flashing for a minute. It almost looked like Sully was there. Did this trigger him? Being in charge of something so small and vulnerable. Big brother memories from back then... You regret it immediately "I failed Jeff...I couldn't...wouldn't be able to live with myself for failing my own baby."After assuring him it was a prank, "sully" still lingered. "I promise you'd be great because we would get through it together." You insist."Don't tease me like that unless you want me to knock you up." Then he just held your chin with his forefinger and thumb.
Helen
You smiled deviously at your plan. When you dropped the ball he dropped his brush slowly turning to you with wide eyes. "You. What." They narrowed. "The mess...the noise. I'd snap. I'd harm my own kid." He stared down at the hand that took thousands of lives imagining the blood there, and permanent reminder. "I'm not that selfish." His face twisted, he was conflicted and trembling. "Helen- it was just a prank I'm sorry..." you try to calm him down. He froze instantly. "Thats...not funny. Why would you..." He couldn't finish it. You wrapped your arms around him from behind reaching around to kiss his fingertips. He didn't push you away, just sat there for once in his life feeling regret. That he was missing out on a great joy to show his child what he never had.
Candypop
He pranks you all the time, whats a little payback. You plop next to him while he attached new bells to his hair. "I'm pregnant." The bell jingled loudly rolling on the floor. "You...you're carrying a demon spawn? But how you have to give me your soul...I don't." He looked confused, confusion slowly morphing into hurt then anger. "You let someone else inside you? You betrayed me." All humor vanished, air leaving your lungs. "What?" He stood up. Towering over you terrifying and intimidating. "You...you let someone else release their spawn inside you..." you scrambled up. "No no! Candy is swear its a joke!" You panicked, this wasn't supposed to happen. "A...joke?" He repeated. "Jokes they're supposed to be funny this..." He had to stop himself from saying it hurt him. But you could tell. You wrapped your arms around him. "I'm sorry candy." Hos clawed hand rested on the back of your head. "You better be Jingles."
Did I say silly and fluffy? Oops~ Anyway o
If you're wondering how candypop got you pregnant even though you didn't give him your soul (this is about papa pasta) its more like a metaphor, during intimacy one time you gave him complete trust and it was like he got to hold your soul close to him. So your baby was made not out of just sex like humans but pure love.
Anyway hope you liked it<333. You can imagine this as like first started dating, and young couple stuff if you want it to relate to the main story in someway.
( 𝑛. ) ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ༦ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ 𝗷𝗷 𝗺𝗮𝘆𝗯𝗮𝗻𝗸 𝗑 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 ✶ 𝟐.𝟔𝒌 words ˑ ִ Part II of Slut Era Interlude. JJ can’t seem to get over what he never thought he had.
𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗅𝗎𝖽𝖾 ﹕ more angst﹐ jealousy﹐ adult language﹐ sexual content﹐ misogynistic comments (not from jj)﹐ some violence﹐ lots of insecurity﹐ alcohol intoxication﹐ overall more sensitive topics in this part so read with caution
𝓨ou gasp as he was currently hitting a particularly rough spot, pounding into you from behind while you were bent over the bathroom counter. You didn’t know whose house this was, or how you got here. You were just happy you were currently getting railed by some hot blond.
Except the hot blond was not JJ.
It’s ironic, how the pogue had used you to get over someone else, and now you were technically doing the same thing. Except to be fair, the guy who was currently drooling over you probably didn’t pay any mind to the cause of your newfound eagerness. None of them ever did.
You were never the type to get laid at parties. Until that one time with JJ. And now that you two were over, there was this emptiness inside of you that needed to be filled. You assumed it was because of the sudden lack of sex after so many consecutive weeks spent in JJ’s bedroom.
In reality, you felt a need to feel wanted in the way JJ never made you feel. And lots of kooks were very willing to take advantage of that opportunity.
“Fuck, can’t believe all it took was a broken heart to finally get in this bitch’s pants…” You heard the stranger say. You look up in the mirror, and discover that he’s on the phone while he’s still moving inside of you.
He kept bragging about things you didn’t bother to listen to. You felt humiliated. Was this really what you’ve become? Some cheap slut desperate for male attention because your lover from The Cut couldn’t get over his ex? You always made fun of those types of girls described in the movies. Always so stereotypical. Turns out, you were now one of them.
You didn’t come even when the stranger did, and he didn’t work to make sure you were going to. Yet another thing that reminded you the man you were currently with was not JJ, because he always made sure you finished first.
You don’t even glance up as the guy behind you pulled his pants up. You felt dirty. Used in a way far worse than you had been previously.
You didn’t think as you left the bathroom only a few seconds after the stranger did. It didn’t matter to you, your reputation was already in ruins. He had already bragged about it to his friends before he even pulled out. It was hard to muster up enough care to try and wait it out at least a few minutes.
But as you emerged from the doorway you’re met with piercing blue eyes that are burning lasers into your form.
“Y/N?”
JJ’s voice snaps you out of your daze. He kept on staring at you. You didn’t understand why, until you looked down at your ruined clothes, brought a hand to your disheveled hair, and finally felt the smudged mascara on your face. You quickly wrapped your arms around yourself, eager to shield yourself from him, despite him having seen you in much more compromising positions in the past.
“Hi JJ…”
“…Hey.”
He glances around, as if taking into account the amount of people who were present.
“Can we talk? In private?”
“I don’t have time—”
“But you had time to fuck some rich asshole in the bathroom?”
So he noticed that.
“I’m worried about you,” his voice almost cracked, sounding pitiful as if you were the one who broke his heart. Like your self-destructive actions were worse than his selfish ones.
“You don’t have to be.”
“I kinda feel like I do though…” he ran a hand through his sun-bleached hair, something he always did when he was frustrated. Another one of those little things you hated that you noticed.
“Let’s not do this JJ…”
You brush past him without another word, eager to find someone else who would take your mind off of the boy you couldn’t have.
➽──────────────❥
JJ hadn’t been the same since you left. He was only able to convince himself you didn’t mean anything for about five minutes, and then he finally realized that any excuse he somehow could conjure up was bullshit.
He never outright offered you any comfort, any affection or love or reassurance, because he thought you didn’t need it. That no matter what, you’d stay with him like some loyal, love-sick puppy.
But you didn’t. You realized your worth and left, like any rational person would’ve done.
Except you didn’t really realize your worth, did you? Because you were letting guys humiliate you left and right, for what, a quickie to satisfy your needs? That of which you weren’t getting from him anymore? You weren’t like that.
JJ had done that to you.
But why was he so worried about you?
He didn’t want you, right? He wanted Kie. It was always Kie.
But he also didn’t want you with somebody else. Some random kook who would show you off like a trophy instead of worshipping you. Someone like Rafe or Topper or anyone else he despised with every inch of his being because they never had anyone else’s best interest at heart. They walked over people without a care in the world—
Which is exactly what he did to you.
And in the weeks he hadn’t seen any sign of you following the party, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. After he had a bad day, he wanted to be able to look forward to seeing you over the weekend. Those soft, delicate hands running through his hair when you were making out, soothing every worry he had.
He was once so adamant about the fact that he had no feelings for you because you were so different from Kie. You were cautious about everything, soft in a way that hurt to look at. He didn’t want to be with someone like that. It would only result in someone trying to ‘bring down’ his way of living. His impulsive nature. How he had fun.
But no, in reality it gave him balance. It healed something in him. But he didn’t realize it until you were gone.
He missed you so much.
He finally saw you again after a month. Of course it was at another party. This time you were even more drunk than you were the last time. Barely able to stand upright. It made his heart ache. He was about to force himself to look away, go back to his friends because you clearly didn’t want anything to do with him.
But someone was trying to pull you away.
Someone who JJ had never known before, it looked like one of the guys who hung out with Kelce’s group. He was taking you away even though it was obvious you couldn’t consent.
It made his blood boil. And his feet were moving before his brain was fully processing.
“HEY!” he shouted out, loud enough to draw the attention of bystanders.
The asshole who was gripping your nearly limp form had the audacity to hold you tighter, about to tell JJ to back off.
So the latter raised a fist and sent a swift punch to the former’s nose.
JJ kept hitting, even as his opponent was almost passed out in the sand. He wouldn’t stop hitting until he was fully convinced the kook wouldn’t get up. As he finally turned away, he grabbed your hand and you didn’t protest as he dragged you to his bike.
“Get on.”
His voice was gruff, but you weren’t coherent enough to focus. He scoffed and then lifted you on the bike himself, shoving a helmet on your head and then got on himself. He made sure your hands were firm around him as he drove off.
His initial plan was to take you home, but knew your parents wouldn’t like it very much if they found you in this state, with a pogue like him no less.
So with that, and knowing his dad had been gone for days, he took you to his place. Following your arrival he guided you inside, to the same bedroom you had been to so many times.
Your mind, distorted by alcohol, started kissing him. But unlike times before when he usually would’ve been kissing back and gripping your ass, he pulled back.
“Woah woah woah…”
“JJ,” you half whispered, half whimpered. You threw your arms around him again, moving in for more sloppy kisses.
But he pulled away again. You whined.
“You’re drunk. Like, super drunk.”
“I want you—” you attempted to plant a kiss on his lips once more, but ended up stumbling and almost falling over your feet, however he was fast to hold you by the waist.
Before your mind could process it you were being tucked into JJ Maybank’s bed.
“Shhh, go to sleep…”
He shushed you, even though you hadn’t really realized you were trying to talk.
You looked so vulnerable in his eyes, and it made his head hurt. He hated himself for what he did to you, for unintentionally harming someone so good. But he also didn’t regret it. Because in a way, it brought him to you in the first place.
You kept mumbling while half-asleep, but three words he was able to decipher perfectly.
“I love you.”
Your eyes finally closed. You wouldn’t have said that if you weren’t intoxicated. JJ was sure of it, wasn’t he?
But he also was starting to be sure that he may have felt the same way. And he didn’t know how to handle it.
So he just watched as you slept, your body finally getting your much needed emotional relief by sleeping. Maybe one day, he could be your relief again.
➽──────────────❥
You woke up the next morning with a pounding headache. Your memory was foggy, but you remembered the sight of blood on the beach.
You remembered how someone was pulling you away, how you didn’t fight it, but then—
JJ had taken you home.
Your first instinct was to curse yourself. You had promised yourself you wouldn’t go back to him, yet when you looked under the covers that enveloped your frame your clothes seemed to still be on. Is it possible you could’ve put them on yourself after JJ had undressed you? It didn’t seem very likely, given the state you were in.
A hoarse voice snapped you out of your thoughts before you could spiral.
“Hey…”
He gave a soft smile directed towards you, but it didn’t quite reach the rest of his face. His hair was tousled and messy, and his eyes looked red. You looked next to the empty space beside you and it didn’t look like it had been slept in.
You were so confused you couldn’t force yourself to make small talk, so you asked the question that had been on your mind since you first woke up.
“Did we have sex?”
He hesitates, and you almost think he’s about to say yes until he shakes his head.
“No.”
“No?” your voice held disbelief.
He almost looks offended.
“You think I would do that with the state you were in while I was stone cold sober? Hell no… I know I’ve done some real shitty things, but i’m not that kinda guy.”
His words sink in, and you realized he was right. He wasn’t like the other guys who were in your own social class. He hurt you, yes. Made you feel used and dirty. But he never made you feel unsafe.
That was part of the reason you fell so hard for him. The boy was reckless and impulsive, but you always felt this imminent sense of safety whenever you were with him. Something no one else had ever quite managed to make you feel.
“Sorry I… I didn’t mean to accuse you… I-I just… don’t really remember last night,” you admitted quietly.
“Yeah…you were pretty whacked out of your mind,” he laughs at the memory. But again, it didn’t reach the rest of his face. “can’t help but feel like that’s my fault.”
You look away, suddenly all to embarrassed to face him.
“Look… i’m so sor—”
You cut him off before he could finish.
“JJ… I don’t… I don’t want to talk about this, okay?”
“But nothin’ about this is okay—”
“Just… can you just take me home? Please?”
He hesitates, a growing habit given the prominent tension between the two of you, before finally nodding.
Soon enough you were on his bike, hands wrapped around his waist, albeit reluctant to be there.
“I know you’re not happy with me right now, but you gotta hold on tighter or else you’ll fly right off.”
You take a breath, tightening your grip in a way that made your stomach hurt. You hated being this close to him. It reminded you of all the times he disappointed you. Broke your heart. All of the times he touched you, a feeling you once never wanted to trade for anything else in the world.
“Hold on.”
The bike takes off.
It felt like someone hit ‘fast forward’ on the remote that controlled your life as once you open your eyes, you’re outside your house.
You let go, muttering a ‘thanks’ before hopping off and making your way to your residence.
He watched as you hurriedly marched up the steps.
JJ thought to himself that maybe it would be better for the both of you if he just let go.
➽──────────────❥
“I don’t think i’m hearin’ you right, John B”
JJ felt like his whole body was on fire, and nothing but confirmation from John B that this was just some twisted joke could put out the flames.
“What’s the big deal? It’s just some random girl Sarah used to know in middle school—”
“And you’re saying she’s with Topper?!”
“I should be the one worked up here! It’s my girlfriend’s ex who’s still stuck up on trying to make her jealous!”
JJ rubbed his hands over his face, trying to calm himself because clearly his best friend could recognize something was up.
“Hasn’t he tried that before?”
“I mean… yeah but, this girl? Sarah told me she used to totally be that good girl type, right? Rejecting guys left and right. But then a month ago she completely changed, started getting with a gazillion different guys at different parties. And now all of a sudden she’s dating Topper, even though he doesn’t even try to hide the fact that this is all some elaborate scheme to get Sarah back. He thinks that if he bagged ‘the nice girl’ she’ll have to see what a good guy he is, right? And this girl’s just going along with it because she clearly doesn’t have enough self respect to—”
“Shut the fuck up John B!” JJ snapped. He regretted the words as soon as he said them, but also, who did John B think he was gossiping about you like this was some high school drama? Granted, JJ would’ve usually been all for hearing dirt on kooks before, but you were a different case. “I mean… you shouldn’t talk about shit you don’t know, man”
“…Since when do you have a moral high ground to stand on?”
“Since I… fuck, it doesn’t matter.”
JJ paced, and the brunette’s eyes stayed glued to him the entire time.
“Dude are you like… going through something?”
“No! I mean yes… I mean no! I don’t know!”
His voice cracked and he pulled out a joint. If there was anything JJ could always rely on, it was weed.
“I mean I know I really fucked up but… Topper? She doesn’t even like the guy!”
“Who are you—”
“I gotta go… but you should really stop spreading rumors, John B!”
JJ scurries off, ready to get answers.
Because he’d be damned he was loosing his girl to Topper Thornton of all people.
In which;; Satoru Gojo cheats on you the day after your wedding.
contains;; heavy angst (I tried), pregnancy, unreliable narrative, gojo lowk don't fw you, but you can't tell, feeding yourself propaganda, overthinking, satoru is a BITCH, maybe ooc?, no happy ending, gojo grovels, you run away
wc: 3k
requested by;; one of my friends!
AN • | bro my fingers are sore from writing this, anyway I hope y'all enjoy and I'll try to post more often (school has been killing me). But honestly this didn't feel like my best work, I could've done better ! :p
People say that a woman's wedding day is the best day of their lives, a magical, blissful day filled with flowers, family, friends and best of all
your husband.
The man you get to share the rest of your life with. Have children and grow old with, he's meant to be the love of your life. He's meant to stick with you through thick and thin, through the hardest times in life. Hes meant to love you, to truly believe you're the most gorgeous person he has ever met.
It was a day after your own wedding, and you were starting to think all of that was lies. Propaganda to feed the lonely women who will eventually never receive true love from her spouse.
December 3rd, the day of your wedding. Which was currently yesterday, you wouldn't exactly say your supposed 'magical day' was bad. Because it wasn't good either.
For some reason, you felt an uneasy twisting feeling in your stomach the entire ceremony. Maybe it was because how tight your white dress was? You didnt even want to wear a white dress in the first place, but Satoru insisted you did. And how could you say no to your husband, he just wants the best for you.
It was suppose to be your day, so why did it feel like his. He chose the cake, dress code and even the guest list. Satoru said for you to 'sit back and let him handle this.' so you did. It didn't matter, because the wedding was for both of you.
When you stood on that high pedestal, staring down at all of these people in the white benches, half of them you didn't even know. That twisted feeling was back in your stomach, like you were doubting this entire thing. Breath escaped your lips as you concluded that you were just nervous, it was your first wedding after all.
Your voice trembled ever so slightly as you spoke your vows, barely even able to make eye contact with your own husband. Eyes traveling down to his suit or the bouquet in your hands— praying that no one else noticed the uneasiness in your tone, but you were sure Satoru did. He noticed everything.
Satoru stared you down, from your face down to your gown. His icy blue eyes trapping you, it felt like you couldn't even breath. But you lied to yourself, reassuringly thinking 'hes just in awe. I'm his wife after all.'
Finally the priest slipped the rings onto both in your fingers, there was a gorgeous diamond in the center of yours. But you told Satoru you wanted a ruby, maybe he forgot.
"You may kiss the bride." Realization hit, and all that filled your ears was an annoying hum, a buzz like you were trying to forget something. You fixed your lips to lean into his arms, Satoru's hands moved to your waist, your own hands pressed against his chest. Feeling the fabric of his suit underneath your skin, the kiss didnt feel like anything. It was suppose to feel special , but it felt like any other kiss. No it felt like he practiced it, it didn't feel real. His lips were cold, not warm like everyone said it'd be. His touch felt rehearsed, and almost like hes done this before. You wanted it to be real, to feel real, a little messy, and maybe a few gasp of giggles in between. But before your even knew it, the kiss was over.
Unusual, it was. Because all the other times Satoru kissed you it felt beautiful, he held you like you were delicate and could break at any moment. Kissing you like he needed air and you were the embodiment of it. This time being different is unusual, especially since today is your wedding.
You expected a wedding kiss to be like a seal, to officiate the bride and groom. For it to be better than any of the kisses they shared before that. But for you, it felt worse somehow.
Hours passed and you tried to forget it, but throughout the rest of the celebration you didnt feel exactly there in the moment. Dozing or gazing off, it was embarrassing how people had to keep snapping you out of it. Satoru joked it off and said you had new wedded nerves, whatever that meant.
Soon, it reached your honeymoon, which was the immediate day after your wedding. Satoru drove you both to a hotel in Hawaii the night before. The wedding happened in Hawaii, you'd forgotten so easily, maybe it was because you wanted it in your home town.
The rumbling of the car stopped, the outside hotel lights shimmered on your face— still painted with excessive makeup. As your heels clicked against the ground, walking inside with your arm around his, the thought of what a honeymoon actually was finally hit you. An entire week alone with your newly wedded husband, that sparked excitement inside of your stomach. Easing that twisted feeling, finally.
Sure you had Satoru had sex plenty of times before, but tonight was going to be special, maybe even better than your wedding. A smile perked up on your face.
All that excitement quickly came pummeling down the moment after Satoru led you to your shared hotel room.
"Sorry baby, I can't stay tonight." You felt the soul drop out of your body when you heard those words.
Thoughts filled your head, what felt like millions. But only one kept circling again and again— 'why can't you stay?'
Those four words ended up leaving your trembling lips, Satoru must've seen the horrid on your face because before you could sense it. His hand was on your waist, pushing you towards him— he presses his warm lips against yours, kissing you with what felt like pure awe this time, better than earlier. All your thoughts melted away from just one kiss, it was pathetic how easily he could control your own feelings.
"I know sweetheart, I'm sorry. I have very important business. I tried to cancel it because of our honeymoon, but I couldn't."
His words sang to you like a lullaby, you couldn't even be mad— the way he was holding you and staring at you was addicting.
"I promise I'll be back before you know it."
And just like that, you took Satoru's word. Watching him leave and shut the door behind him. You stood there for a minute, fidgeting with your fingers and not sure what to do.
Solutions came piling up after, showering, getting dressed in comfortable clothes. Unpacking a few items from his and your suitcases, cleaning up even though the place was spotless. You did all of that.
2 hours passed, you were counting the seconds by staring at the clock on your phone screen; 11:43 PM. You were starting to give up hope, maybe he'd never come back and he was ditching you for good. He knew you were an over thinker, usually he'd reassure you. Answer ever single one of your 20+ texts you'd send him.
30 unread texts covered your screen, all yours and not a single one replied to by him. Finally it all just broke, like a dam. Tears welded up in your eyes, tonight was suppose to be blissful, full of pleasure and skin to skin. It was suppose to be special for the both of you, first it was the wedding going wrong (for you) and now it was the honeymoon.
Maybe you had made a mistake saying yes to Satoru's proposal, maybe it was all a mistake. A mistake meeting him in the first place. You couldn't do anything, feeling helpless and pathetic. All you could do was over think, again.
You cried yourself to sleep that night, the wet tears stained your cheeks. Even in your worst moments, drool still trickled down your cheek as you slept peacefully. Phone in one hand and the other under your head.
The door clicked open, finally, it was 1:02 AM. Satoru came back. The sound of his feet on the ground woke you up quietly, eyelashes fluttering against your tear stained cheeks.
His suit was messed up, wrinkled and his hair was disheveled too. Which was weird, because why would a business trip cause him to be wrecked like this.
You pretend to be asleep, to not notice his heavy breathing and shuffle of his clothes slipping off. To not notice the sink of the mattress as he laid down, snuggling towards you and spooning your backside.
His hands slipped under your shirt, fingers tickle the side of your stomach and you flinched with a slight huff. Satoru let out a breathy laugh.
"I know you're awake, pretty." He whispered.
And suddenly all your worries were gone once again, just from a laugh that escape his lips. All the thoughts and tears from earlier, you'd forgotten them already. It was unfair how easily he could get you to forget.
Satoru's lips were on yours the second after, tongue exploring your mouth with a groan while his fingers dug into you waist.
That night, you felt asleep peacefully in his arms. The warmth radiating from his skin causing you to feel somewhat safe, and unharmed. It almost felt like a luxury to be this close to him, to kiss him really. You thought it was a miracle how you managed to marry him in a first place. You were lucky, some women had men who couldn't even do the bare minimum, satoru did that and everything else.
A day passed, the sun rose upon the blue sky. Radiating and shining over everything else, the sight reminds you of satoru in a way. Satoru was gone, again. You thought this honeymoon was gonna last atleast a week, maybe even more. But your husband had other plans, apparently he wanted to get home as soon as possible. So he was currently stuffing your bags into your car downstairs, while you gazed at the sunrise. Fully dressed for the road trip back home, not knowing what to think.
You did, really did want to stay here alone with Satoru longer but, he wanted to go home. And you didnt want to displease him. There wasn't much wrong with going home earlier anyway. Satoru and you could have alone time in the comfort of your own home.
Atleast, that's what you assumed. When Satoru parked in your driveway, you expected only just a few days with him. Just you and your husband home alone together, but, he left the moment you arrived. Excusing it with 'business' again. Not once did you think he was truly busy, it was suspicious definitely. But you wanted to lie to yourself, to cover up the truth because you couldn't accept it. It was too hurtful.
You tried to occupy yourself with solutions again, relaxing in a bath, cleaning, unpacking a few things, sorting the food in the pantry, organizing almost everything in the house. None of it worked, because you still kept your mind on him.
It peaked midnight once again, you didn't realize until you checked the clock. The dinner on the table was cold, and you were drowning yourself in your phone. Mostly to forget the nauseating feeling in your stomach. It got unbearable to a point you scrambled to the bathroom, dropping to your knees to puke in the toilet.
Sickness kept coming and going in your uneasy stomach, you puked a few more times, smaller than the first time. Although you were nauseous, all you could think about is when Satoru would be home again. And if he forgot about you again. Would he even care you were throwing up right now? You hated how much he took over your mind, especially when he wasn't even here.
Both of your shaking hands trembled down to your belly, holding there. Maybe you were pregnant, that could be it. It would explain everything, the major overthinking, weeks without your period and the twisting feeling in your stomach.
The thought of pregnancy left you ecstatic. Raising a child with Satoru sounded amazing, suddenly you didn't want anything else but that. You stumbled off the ground, quickly slipping on your shoes and jacket to rush to the corner store and buy a pregnancy test. Part of you thought the only reason you were excited about this was cause you just wanted a reason for Satoru to care, because it felt he didn't anymore.
Maybe that was it. But it didn't matter, you got side tracked while buying the test. Walking home felt like a huge suspense for some reason, you'd realize you had forgotten your phone. It didnt matter, Satoru probably wasn't home anyway.
Except he was, he was home. Standing at the doorway, towering over you as you stood there. The door knob in hand and the plastic bag with the pregnancy test in the other. He stated you down with a mix of disappointment and fury. It felt terrifying, you'd never seen him this angry before.
"Where having you been, y/n?" He practically groaned, teeth gritting against eachother.
"I.. I was at the corner store, getting something—"
"Doesn't matter, I was worried sick. You can't just leave like that, do you understand?"
It was hypocrisy how he was getting mad at you for being gone for what, 20 minutes? And hes been gone for 5 hours straight, today and yesterday, and maybe even tomorrow.
But you didn't yell, scream, or fight back. You kinda wished you did, but you were honestly just glad he was back. And Satoru being mad that you were gone showed he cared, right? So you forgave him, again.
Satoru went to bed without another word that night, not even an 'I love you'. He was just tired, stressed from all the 'work' he had today. . .
While he was sleeping without another care, you were in the bathroom— leg bouncing rapidly on the toilet. You stared down the test like it offended you, the anticipation was killing you practically.
Finally it beeped, and results came back.
Positive.
You wanted to scream, to jump up in excitement, to celebrate with your husband. You didn't though, just sat there in a bit of confusion and worry. Processing the means of being pregnant, you'd tell Satoru eventually.
Sleep was all that mattered in the moment, you were exhausted even though you barely did any thing today. It was mental exhaustion, from everything, the wedding, honeymoon, your own husband barely even being present only 2 days after your wedding, and now the pregnancy. A good rest would fix everything, almost everything.
So that's exactly what you did, crawled into bed, barely acknowledging Satoru— though he probably wouldn't have noticed anyways. And you slept, it wasn't a peaceful sleep but it wasn't bad either, just a blank moment of rest.
The morning hit again, the sun didn't shine as bright as it did before, maybe a symbolism.
Satoru wasn't even in bed this morning, which was weird, because he didn't warn you this time. It was like he was caring less and less as the days passed. You didn't want to leave the bed at all really, it felt like a chore to get up and actually be productive. So you laid there, in silence, for what felt like hours— it probably had been. You couldn't tell.
Today felt pointless, you did purely nothing, if breathing and blinking wasn't a necessity, you'd be too tired to do that too.
If this was going to be the rest of your marriage, the rest of your life, you wanted to end whatever this was now. It was painful, mentally and physically.
Hours passed once again, you managed to get up halfway through. Cleaning up the bedroom, fixing the sheets until you felt something heavy drop on your foot.
You bent down to pick it up, it was Satoru's phone. He had left it, must've been in a rush. The password to his phone was easy, it was your birthday, always had been. Maybe he never brought himself to change it. You hoped he never would.
Looking through his phone isn't a bad thing, he always says how he has 'nothing to hide from the love of his life', you smile to yourself remembering his words.
And you wish you didn't, you wish you weren't so curious, because you'd rather to live a lie then find out the truth.
You looked through his messages, it was harmless at first. His most recent messages were for business, and his pinned contacts were you and his best friend; Suguru. It was sweet.
Until you scrolled too far down, finding chats from only an hour ago. The contact name was a woman's name, surely he wasn't this stupid enough to not even try to hide it. Unless he wanted you to find it. To crack the lie.
Your smile immediately dropped as you tapped on the chat, most recent text was an image, a naked women, it was a boob picture, or something else. You couldn't really tell because tears filled your eyes the moment you realized the image was seen, and hearted by your own husband; Satoru.
You couldn't control your finger as it scrolled farther in the chat, or maybe it was the tears spilling from your eyes and splattering onto the screen. But you found out more that you shouldn't have.
That uneasy twisting feeling in your stomach was back again, you wanted to puke, to scream and throw the phone. It was hard and impossible for you to even believe this. The man of your dreams, lusting over a woman that wasnt you. All of it made sense now, why he left on your honeymoon, why the kiss felt practiced and how much knew exactly what to say. It disgusted you to your core. Those vows meant nothing, he was just pulling words out of air. His kisses were never pure, and he never cared about you. It was his wedding, not yours.
And suddenly tears drowned your cheeks, all of the memories flooded your head. When Satoru gave you your first kiss, taking you out on those sweet dates. The moments when you he made you laugh so hard your stomach squeezed. 'Were they all fake?' you accidentally said out loud.
In a pure act of emotion, you stand up. Fumbling your feet and hands to move quickly as you packed your bags. You were leaving, you weren't gonna stay with a man who thinks he can just play with your feelings like it was nothing, like it was a game. Satoru lied to you more times than you could count, and probably even more, you just didn't know.
Hands trembled as they pulled the zipper of your jacket, feet stomping against the floor as you stormed to the front door— suitcase in hand and backpack on your shoulder.
You most likely left some things, but it didn't matter, you didn't care, he never cared anyway.
It was still hard to believe, after all those years together he still had the audacity to do this to you. Especially after your wedding, after you practically gave him everything you could. And he just tossed it in the dirt.
The rest of the night was a blur, you drove to your friends house crying. They allowed you to stay there while you collected your thoughts, that nights sleep was the worst you'd ever have.
Satoru came home to an empty abyss of a home that night, it felt weird. He couldn't feel your presence or the smell of that perfume you always wore. He couldn't hear the sound of your humming, or the taste of some dish you were making at the stove.
The house was completely dark, like no one had been there in days. Or years even.
Satoru set his bags down, slipped off his jack and shoes, as he walked to the bedroom he called out for you— no answer.
It was starting to worry him now, did you fall asleep? Or maybe run away to the corner store again.
Finally he twisted the door knob, it creaked as he peeked inside. The lights were on and the room was a mess, blankets and clothes everywhere. The closet door wide open and so was the bathroom, the light on in both of the rooms.
Panic started to settle in, his eyes searched the premises, looking for any source of life or you anywhere.
When he couldn't find any, he stepped in the room slowly. Looking for signs of struggle, maybe you were kidnapped, or hurt. All these thoughts racing through his head until his sight landed on his phone.
It was on the floor, cracked, someone must've thrown it. He picked it up in a swift motion, Quick to unlock it.
His heart dropped when his screen flipped and it was opened on the chat of him and his ex.
You found out.
Fear trickled through his skin as he scrolled up, he had no idea why. Maybe he thought somewhere it'd read 'April Fools' even though it was December.
Satoru didn't mean for this to happen, he thought he would be able to end whatever this was before you found out. But he was too late. Suddenly all the memories of you flooded his brain, your laughter, smile, the way you'd look at him, your touch, your skin, your eyes. Everything.
His phone dropped to the floor, a terrified expression on his face. His hands ran through his snowy hair.
"Fuck."
Satoru groaned, he stumbled to the bathroom. Splashing water in his face, hoping he'd wake up from some sort of dream.
His eyes searched the bathroom automatically, until he caught eye of your pregnancy test.
'You were pregnant?'
Satoru mistakenly whispered out loud. Now everything was clicking to him, it was all making sense, and he felt horrible. Disgusted with himself, all you wanted was his attention, for him to hold you with pure intentions. And he gave you none of that.
He wanted to run to you, to feel your skin again. To kiss you again. But it was too late for that now.
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gojo hadn’t slept. his mind had been loud all night, replaying the way you had looked at him. quiet and unreadable. that expression had followed him into every hour of darkness.
by 6am, he gave up on even pretending to rest. he slipped out, hands shoved deep into his pockets and walked the near-empty streets until he found a pharmacy that had just opened. gojo grabbed the painkillers, then went to the convenience store to grab you a snack he knew you liked to eat when you were stressed. it wasn’t much, but it was something tangible to bring back, something to say i remembered, i care and im sorry.
now, the small bag sat on the counter, untouched. while he leaned against the sink with his arms folded, waiting. His chest felt heavier than ever.
when the bedroom door finally creaked open, his head shot up. you stepped out slowly, your steps quiet, eyes downcast. he noticed everything. how you didn’t look at him, how the redness around your eyes gave away a night of crying, how your shoulders sagged like carrying yourself was its own battle.
his throat tightened "hey"
you didn’t respond, just went to the cupboard for a glass. the silence was unbearable.
“i went out this morning,” he tried again, voice awkward, “got the painkillers. and,.. some stuff I thought you’d like.” He gestured vaguely to the counter. “It doesn’t erase last night, but…”
the words died in his throat, leaving heavy air between
you finally glanced at him, and gojo felt like he’d been punched. your eyes were swollen, and there was no heat in your gaze, just a kind of quiet sadness that made him want to shrink. he stared at the floor because facing it felt unbearable.
“i shouldn’t have yelled at you,” he said at last, the words scraping out raw. “you didn’t deserve that. you just wanted help. and instead, i-” his voice cracked, and he cursed under his breath. “i failed you. i should’ve been better.”
silence again. he braced himself for rejection, or worse, nothing at all. but then you set the glass down and murmured so softly he almost didnt hear.
“I’m the one who should be sorry.”
gojo’s head snapped up. “what? no-”
“i should’ve known you were exhausted,” you continued, folding your arms around yourself like you needed to hold yourself together. “you come home carrying so much, and i just… added to it. I couldve gotten the painkillers myself like you said. i shouldn’t have put that on you.”
he blinked, stunned. for a beat, he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. A humourless chuckle slipped out anyway as he dragged a hand through his messy hair. “youre apologizing? to me? after I went off on you? that’s-” He stopped himself, exhaling sharply. “god, you’re too good for me.”
before you could protest, he crossed the kitchen in two long strides and rested his hand gently on your arm. “hey, no. don’t do that. don’t make this your fault.”
you looked up at him, guilt still clouding your eyes, but he pressed on, his voice low and steady. “you had a bad day too, right? and plus, you weren’t asking for much. wanting help doesn’t make you a burden. remember that.” his thumb brushed over your sleeve, slow and reassuring. “you never have to feel guilty for needing me.”
your throat tightened, eyes burning. “but sometimes I think I make it worse,” you whispered. “you already have so much on your shoulders… and i still need you, even when you’re falling apart yourself.”
that broke him. he leaned down so his eyes were on level with yours, all traces of the cocky, untouchable satoru gojo gone. “you don’t make it worse,” he said, every word deliberate. “you’re the only reason I even have the strength to keep going. you’re the one thing that reminds me I’m still human, not just… some weapon people could use.”
your lips trembled, and this time, you didn’t resist when he pulled you into his chest. his arms wrapped around you with a desperate kind of tenderness, like he’d been waiting all night to hold you again. he tucked his face against your hair, breathing you in as if to ground himself.
for a long time, neither of you moved. you listened to his heartbeat. fast, uneven,. and he held you tighter, as though afraid you might slip away if he loosened his grip.
when you finally spoke, your voice was muffled against his shirt. “i don’t want to fight with you. not over things like this.”
he exhaled shakily, lips brushing your temple. “me neither. we’re both gonna have rough days. but I don’t ever want you to go to bed thinking I don’t care about you. not again.”
you tilted your face slightly, meeting his pale eyes. he looked exhausted, guilt etched into every line of him, but his sincerity was overwhelming. slowly, you nodded.
relief softened his features, and finally, finally, his usual grin ghosted back, though smaller, gentler. “good. because I’m not great at sleeping on the couch.”
a weak laugh slipped from you, breaking the tension. gojo grinned wider, pressing a kiss against your forehead. “come on and sit down. take the medicine. ill make breakfast. or… at least attempt it. no promises it’ll be edible.”
Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader
(Doesn't follow the events of anything, established relationship)
Synopsis: Peter is extremely concerned about his girlfriend's safety, she doesn't really share the same sentiment, and they fight, like a lot
Word Count: 10,8k
"You can't be serious”
“I'm sorry, Y/n, but you have to choose”
~
Peter and Y/n rarely fought.
They just got each other. They understood each other on a deeper level; their shared traumatic experiences definitely played a part in this mutual understanding. Their love had been tested and tempered, growing stronger with every challenge they faced together. Throw some ever-growing affection and trust into the mix, and there you have it: a happy, healthy relationship.
Sure, they had their fair share of squabbles and petty arguments, just like any couple, really. But they both valued honesty and communication. They were open about their feelings in any and every given situation, always making sure they see eye to eye, always trying to find middle ground. After all, that's what relationships are for, right? Compromise.
Peter was willing to give up a lot of things to ensure Y/n's happiness. Nothing mattered to him more than making sure his beautiful girlfriend, his best friend, the love of his life was perfectly contented with how things were between them. Well, almost nothing.
The one thing Peter would never budge on was Y/n's safety. That was non-negotiable. He felt it was his duty as her boyfriend, as her superhero -superpowered superhero- boyfriend, to protect her, to make sure she never got hurt.
Now, Y/n Stark was no damsel in distress and by no means a stranger to danger and all kinds of superhero-related adventures and difficulties. Having grown up with the Avengers, her involvement with the team of heroes was inevitable.
She was –according to the rest of the team, Peter included- a vital part of the Avengers. She took part in missions, though in a less dynamic and active sense, usually helping come up with different strategies and plans (you can never be too careful!). She brought a “much needed unique and fresh perspective to the team", as her dad used to say (“I just overthink a lot, it's not that big of a deal", she would always mutter under her breath, causing Peter to roll his eyes and playfully flick her on the head).
Even though Tony (mostly Pepper) didn't want his daughter risking her life and getting caught up in the superhero world, he knew that if push came to shove, she needed to be able to protect herself. Plus, he couldn't deny that she had a talent. Her combat skills, ideas, creations, and great planning and thinking ahead skills were more than appreciated within the community. She was trained by the Black Widow herself for god's sake, she knew what she was doing.
So what could have caused this schism between them, causing Peter to leave the comfort of their bed, deciding to spend the night on the couch instead, away from the feeling of her warm body next to him?
Peter knew what she was doing. Sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night, right after he'd come back from his own patrol. She thought she was being sly about it, too. Really, Y/n? Now you're just insulting my intelligence.
It's one thing to play vigilante and another to outright lie about it. And Peter hated lies almost as much as he hated not knowing whether she was safe or not. And these late-night activities of hers were starting to piss him off. They were not good for his heart, either. Every time he heard the soft sound of their bed creaking as she got out of it at ungodly hours, he could feel his chest tightening. He always tried to fight the urge to get up and immediately follow after her, just to make sure she wasn't doing anything reckless.
He didn't realize right away. She didn't look like she had spent half the night fighting crime, at first. She'd return a couple of hours before he was supposed to wake up. She'd make sure there were no visible injuries and she'd go on with her day. She really thought he'd never find out (or at least not before she felt he was ready to find out).
After a few days, the lack of sleep was apparent. And no matter how hard she tried denying it, or playing it off, Peter could tell something was up. It didn't take him long to start putting one and one together; her tiredness, some unexplainable scratches here and there, the fact that crime in NYC seemed to have subsided.
Peter knew. And he didn't like what was happening, not one bit. They had talked about it once, a while back. She had done this before-gone around his back to play hero-, or at least attempted to, before Peter (with a little needed help from her overprotective, over the top father, the little snitch) brought an end to it. He thought she had understood, that she saw how she was being ridiculous and unreasonable. Recklessly throwing herself in danger, all in the name of proving something? That didn't sound like his very intelligent, very MINDFUL girlfriend.
He tried talking to her again. He gave her the chance to come clean about her activities. She denied everything.
He was mad. He was hurt. He felt betrayed. Not only did she ignore his warnings and went about it behind his back, she was also lying to his face.
And they fought. It was bad. It was unlike any previous fight they had. They were screaming at each other, hurtful words flying in the air, the tension in the room palpable. It was getting late, they were both tired, frustrated and upset.
"Y/n, for the last time. You're being stubborn about this. All I'm saying is there are ways for you to help without being ON the field. Without recklessly risking your life-"
"For god's sake, Peter. You're acting like I'm some adrenaline junkie, picking up fights with random people at the bar! I am helping you-"
"Helping me? You think making me stay up all night, worrying if you're gonna make it back in one piece, is helpful? Geez, what would I ever do without you?", he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm
"No one asked you to stay up. I know what I'm doing. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I'm trained and-"
"Oh, you're trained? Why didn't you just say so?"
She sighed heavily and rubbed her temples.
"Are you done? I'm trying to talk here and you're acting like a child!"
"I'm the one acting like a child? You're acting like an angsty teen, sneaking around, ignoring everything and everyone!", he realized his voice came out a bit higher than intended. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.
"Listen, Y/n, this isn't a game. Your life is not a game. You're putting yourself in danger. Hell, you're putting civilians in danger! What do you think you're doing, running around playing hero? Hm? You think you're tough for going out there all on your own? You're not tough, Y/n. You're dumb. You're dumb and reckless. What do you think will happen? You think you'll be lucky every time? That nothing bad will ever happen because you are trained? All it takes is one miscalculation, Y/n, one wrong move on your end, for things to take a really bad turn. Your luck will eventually run out. You could get hurt or..."
He took a deep breath. He didn't dare finish that sentence. The thought of ever losing her was too much for him to handle.
"You're not invincible, no matter how hard got try to convince yourself. You don't have healing factor, you don't have super strength, enhanced senses. NOTHING. You're intelligent, yes. You're incredible, you're creative, innovative, truly one of the smartest people I've ever met. You've got heart, I recognize that. But it's not enough. Your gadgets and devices won't save you every time."
"One bullet", his voice cracked, "one bullet, Y/n, and you're gone. Do you get it now? GONE. DEAD. Do you understand the severity of the situation? You're risking your life. And for what? Five seconds of fame? To prove you're worthy of being your father's child? What are you trying to do?", he shook his head, frustration evident in his mannerisms.
He took a good look of her. The sight immediately broke his heart. Her gaze sparkled with a delicate brightness, the unshed tears amplifying every flicker of emotion. He felt the need the need to reach out to her, to touch her (whether that was in order to hug or strangle her he didn't know for sure). But he didn't give in. He couldn't back down. Not when her safety was on the line. He needed her to understand, to see where he was coming from.
The tears in her eyes refused to fall, clinging stubbornly to her lashes as her glare cut through the air like a blade. Who does he think he is?
"This is what you think I'm doing? Showing off? Trying to prove a point?", a bitter chuckle escaped her. "No, Peter. I'm being helpful. I'm helping you, the cops, the people of New York. Why do you always do this? Why do you have to be like this? Why do you think you get to decide what’s best for me? I’m trying to help you, and you're out here treating me like I'm some kind of criminal, some kind of liability, an inconvenience to you! Do you think I don’t know the risks? Do you think I’m blind to the danger? I know what I’m walking into, but it’s my choice to make, not yours! You act like I’m some fragile thing that needs protecting, but I’m not, so stop acting like it.”
“I'll stop when you start acting like a responsible adult for once”, he replied bitterly.
“You're not a little girl anymore, Y/n. Tony won't be always there to save you and -as much as it pains me to say- neither will I”
“I never-”
"You never asked me to?", he run his hand through his hair in a frustrated manner.
“I know. God, Y/n, I know. You're so goddam stubborn. You'd rather die than ask anyone for help. You're always so eager to prove your independence, that you don't need anyone to have your back. Well, news flash! You're not invincible. You're not some kind of god. And you're certainly not a hero. You can't just shrug off a bullet or an explosion or whatever insane thing you decide to get involved in next! You're human, so start acting like it. You're not expendable. Selfish is what you are.”
"Selfish? You think I'm selfish? For what? For wanting to help people? Don't you see the irony of this coming from you?”, she let out a laugh in incredulity, unable to even fathom how he could ever say that to her.
“You think this is about me? You think I'm just out here looking for glory or some kind of thrill? I’m doing what needs to be done, and if you can’t see that, then maybe you don’t understand me at all. You’re calling me selfish, but the truth is, you’re the one being selfish here. You’re more concerned with your own fear, your own worries, than you are about the bigger picture. I’m not out there for me. I’m doing what I can, what I have to, because I don’t want to sit back and let things happen when I know I can make a difference.”
Peter was fuming.
"God, this is ridiculous. I can't keep doing this, I just can’t! You’re out of control! Every damn time I turn around, you're throwing yourself into some insane situation, thinking you’re some kind of superhero. What do you think this is—some kind of game? You act like nothing can touch you, but that’s bullshit! You’re human, you’re not indestructible, and I’m getting sick of it.
What do you think happens if you get hurt? Or worse, if you die? Oh, wait, you don’t think, do you? No, you’re too busy basking in the glory of your own self-righteousness to realize the mess you’d leave behind. Because, guess what? I’m the one who’d have to pick up the pieces. Me. The one who’s standing here, constantly worried, because you’re too damn reckless to care about the people who love you.
You want to help people? Fine, but not at the expense of your own life! You think I’m just supposed to stand here, watching you put yourself in danger, all for some stupid idea of being a hero? Are you kidding me?! What the hell is wrong with you? Why can’t you just be safe for once? Why do you have to go and do these reckless things that make my heart stop every single time? Do you even care about the people who love you?”, his chest rose and fell in sharp, measured movements, a betrayal of the battle raging within.
She crossed her arms, her fingers digging into her skin as if trying to tether herself to composure
“I know what I'm doing.”, she spat out. That was... a weak argument, that much she knew. But in her ~slightly~ emotional state, it was all she could over without completely breaking down in tears.
It seemed like that single comment angered Peter to no end, making him laugh bitterly in return.
“Do you think growing up in the Avenger's Tower makes you one of them? Here's a reality check: your little stunts don't make you a hero. They make you a liability. And if you keep this up, I don't know how much longer I can deal with it. Because I can't spend my life wondering if the next time you pull this crap will be the last time I ever see you”
But Peter was on a roll, he couldn't stop there.
“And you know what’s even worse? You don’t even care. You don’t care that you scare the hell out of me. You don’t care that I am waiting back here, while you do something so unbelievably reckless that might result in me losing you. Because it’s always about you, isn’t it? Your need to prove something, your need to feel important. Never mind the people you leave behind to pick up the pieces!”
And... silence. Complete and utter silence.
It wasn’t the kind of silence that comes from comfort; it was loaded with the weight of accusations and defenses that would never be voiced.
Peter winced. He regretted saying those words as soon as they came out of his mouth. He was getting to her, he could tell. He also knew he was being kind of an ass about the whole thing, but he really needed her to understand how unreasonably stubborn she was being. He needed her to be safe, but it seemed like she didn't value her wellbeing all that much. He couldn't stand that.
Ouch. That...yeah, that did the trick. It wasn't just what he said, it was mostly how he said it. So... cold and distant, poisonous almost. Like he was taunting her. She could barely recognize the man in front of her. That wasn't her sweet, loving boyfriend, her Pete, her biggest supporter.
She understood his point of view. She is less experienced than him, especially in the sense of getting personal with the villains. The fact that she doesn't have any powers didn't help her much either. She knew he was worried about her safety, that all his anger was stemming from a place of love (even though it wasn't that evident that particular moment). But she also hoped he'd have more faith in her. After all, she is always careful, with at least three backup plans ready, just in case. She always follows protocol, doesn't make any rush decisions. And she's Iron Man's daughter for fucks sake, she does know what she's doing.
“A liability, huh?”
Her eyes were distant, gazing at something far beyond the room, avoiding contact like it might burn. It felt like there was an invisible wall around her, not built to shut others out but to keep herself from crumbling
He sighed and spoke again, this time in a slightly softer tone.
“I didn't mean it like that... I'm sorry. Look, Y/n, what I'm trying to say is I’m scared out of my mind, and I can't keep pretending like I’m okay with this. Every time you leave, I’m terrified you won’t come back. Every time you walk out the door, I wonder if I’ll be standing at your grave one day, all because you thought it was some heroic act to put yourself at risk. You think that’s noble? It’s selfish! It’s selfish because you’re not just risking yourself—you’re ripping apart the people who care about you.”
He took another shaky, deep breath and spoke in a gentle, yet firm tone, his gaze intense.
“I can't lose you, okay? I won't. And you doing this-this reckless, stupid, selfish thing- is how that's going to happen. If something ever happens to you... I won't forgive you for it.”
His voice lowered but remained firm, trembling slightly.
“And I won't forgive myself either”
Silence settled over them once again. It was thick, like a fog settling over the room, muffling everything but the sound of their breathing. It was the kind of silence that pressed against your chest, making it hard to breathe, as though the room itself disapproved. They sat stiffly, their gazes deliberately avoiding each other, the distance between them more like a chasm than a few feet.
Peter cleared his throat.
Things were not looking good for them right now. He didn't like it, not one bit. The room felt suffocating, the once light and warm atmosphere long gone. He truly hated fighting with her. He wished this conversation never happened. They'd be laying on the couch now in each other's arms, with her on top of him, her head on his chest, her arms lazily draped over him as he'd run his fingers through her hair, holding her close. Just talking about their day while some movie played in the background. That's what we should be doing, Peter thought. Instead, here they were, avoiding eye contact like they were about to face Medusa. But this conversation couldn't be held off any longer.
Soon enough the silence became unbearable.
“Maybe it's best if we just-”
“I should-”
As soon as they heard the other person talking, they both closed their mouths, resulting in yet another moment of awkward silence. So in sync these two, it was almost endearing.
Peter tilted his head slightly toward her, eyebrows raised in a silent invitation to speak.
Her eyes closed briefly before they looked up, a flicker of acknowledgment passing over her face as she nodded weakly before speaking in an uncharacteristically quiet tone.
“Maybe we should take some time alone... to...cool off...you know...?”
Peter sighed. This conversation hadn't led to anything. Anything other than hurt, frustration and a headache, that is. Hours of an endless emotional back and forth, all for nothing. They hadn't reached an agreement and he was certain they weren't seeing eye to eye. And this wasn't a matter he was willing to back down from, she had to realize that her actions affected him as well.
He understood where she was coming from, he really did. He understood better than anyone the burning need to help, the desire to make a difference, that deep sense of responsibility to the world. He *is* Spider-Man after all, that's his thing; he cares, he acts. He feels the moral duty to use his abilities to protect others, often at great personal cost. He doesn't mind. Or, at least, he didn't in the past (it is kind of different when you have someone at home waiting for you, you just got to be more careful, you know?).
But he doesn't want that for her. Never for her.
Maybe he was the selfish one for getting mad at her. Maybe he was selfish for hating knowing she was out there somewhere, all alone, taking justice into her own hands. But is it really selfish of him not wanting to see her getting hurt over something completely preventable? Why would she be out there risking her life when HE could be doing that instead? Did she not realize how much she meant to him?
He didn't want them to separate, not like this, not right now. But he really didn't feel like continuing this conversation. He was exhausted, his emotions all over the place, a hint of irritation still lingering. He could tell she was tired too. Plus, he still had today's patrol.
He reluctantly nodded.
“Yeah...maybe we should. I have to go anyway. We'll talk about this later, okay?”
She just nodded in response and retreated to their bedroom. Peter stood there for a moment, contemplating his next move. He hesitantly made his way to the door. He didn’t want to go, not really—but a small, guilty part of him was already savoring the thought of the space he'd have once he left. There was a flicker of regret in his eyes as he turned away, quickly replaced by a soft exhale and a lighter step. He hesitated at the threshold, his hand hovering over the doorknob for a moment longer than necessary before finally turning it. As he stepped out, he paused for a moment, as if expecting Y/n to call him back, but when she didn't, his posture eased, and he moved forward with renewed purpose. This is gonna be fun.
Peter soon disappeared into the night, busying himself by fulfilling Spider-Man's duties. He went about with his usual routine, swinging around the most common areas, the sketchiest ones, the streets most accidents happen on. But it was an uncharacteristically quiet night; no supervillains threatening to wipe out NYC, no petty criminals running around causing chaos, no cats on extremely high trees needing saving.
Someone asked him for directions, so there was that.
(A man can't even escape his thoughts in peace, smh)
Hours passed, and it was getting later and later. Frustration, worry, and exhaustion started to catch up with him. He was tired, his body screaming for rest and his heart begging for an end to this whole ordeal. After a couple of hours of killing time by meaninglessly swinging around, Peter decided it was finally time he returned home- to her.
Peter returned to the apartment, his body tired and aching, frustration still gnawing at his. On his way back he wondered whether or not he'd find her there. She could've gone to a friend's or at her parents’ house to avoid him. She could’ve completely ignored him and left to play vigilante again. He prayed that wasn't the case. Honestly? He half expected her too, if anything just to spite him.
He quietly entered, not knowing what to expect, but the place was quiet and empty. He scanned the room and the first thing he noticed was the food on the kitchen counter, a silent gesture from her.
He grumbled to himself, still somewhat irritated by her behavior. But the mere sight of the food, still warm and waiting for him, softened his frustration just a bit. Despite everything, she still cared enough to think about him.
He walked over to the counter, his stomach rumbling with hunger. He sat at the table, quietly eating the food, his mind still going over the events of the night. He couldn't stop the frustration from bubbling up, but he also couldn't ignore the fact that he was exhausted. The food tasted good, but it didn't do much to satisfy his frustration. He still wanted answers, he still wanted her to stop this nonsense.
He let out a quiet sigh, the sound echoing in the empty room. He was tired, both physically and emotionally. He knew he needed to sleep, to rest and recharge.
Peter opened the door to their bedroom and was immediately hit with a wave of surprise. Y/n was asleep in their bed, looking deceptively peaceful. Peter's eyes narrowed as he watched her.
He wanted to wake her up, to confront her and put an end to this. But seeing her there, asleep and defenseless, made him pause. Peter grumbled internally, torn between his irritation and the sight of her peacefully sleeping in their bed. He knew he should wake her and confront her, but something about seeing her there, so calm and vulnerable, made his anger soften just a little. Instead of waking her up, he opted to sit on the edge of the bed, his eyes watching her as she slept. The frustration was still there, but there was a hint of worry and care underneath it all.
“Hey, baby. There's food on the kitchen”. Her voice was soft and muffled, more like a murmur than actual speech, as though weighed down by sleep.
As Y/n spoke in her sleep, Peter's annoyance melted away just a little more. Her sleepy voice was almost endearing, and her concern for his well-being, even in her half-conscious state, touched a softer part of him.
He let out a soft sigh and ran a hand through his hair, his irritation fading into the background. Seeing her like this reminded him that beneath all the chaos and recklessness, she was still the girl he cared about.
He couldn't bring himself to wake her up or to confront her right now, especially not when she was in such a vulnerable state. Instead, he sat there, watching her sleep, his mind swirling with a mix of frustration, care, and a bit of tenderness.
He still had so many questions, and he was still upset about her antics, but for now, he was content to just sit there, listening to her gentle breathing and feeling a strange sense of peace in the room. Tomorrow would be another day for confrontations and discussions.
Peter sat there for a few more minutes, just watching her sleep. The silence of the room was soothing, and the frustration he felt earlier was slowly fading away.
With a deep sigh, he finally decided it was time to get some sleep himself. He carefully got up and made his way out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him.
As he settled into the couch, he couldn't help but wonder what tomorrow would bring. He knew he'd have to talk to her again, to get answers and hopefully put an end to her vigilante streak.
This is bad, she thought.
Peter's presence –or absence- had woken her up from her already somewhat disrupted sleep. She kept replaying today's events in her head, almost as if she were trying to make herself angrier and more anxious. She didn't like fighting with him. Sure, she didn't agree with him in the slightest and his words angered her to no end, she couldn't deny that she missed him terribly, especially now that she had the whole bed to herself, feeling like it'd swallow her whole.
Since when does he sleep on the couch, anyway? Why did he get to act immaturely and petty? Why didn't he want to sleep in bed with her? He was the one in the wrong, blowing things out of proportion.
After staring at the ceiling for God knows how long, she decided she'd just go for it. She could be stubborn; she was certainly not above acting petty after a fight. But she missed him. A lot. She yearned for the warmth of his body, the feeling of his arms around her. She decided pettiness (and the talk they're bound to have) would have to wait until tomorrow morning.
She pushed the covers aside sluggishly, her arms moving as though weighed down by invisible chains. Her feet slid off the bed and onto the floor, landing with a dull thud, her movements slow and deliberate. She sat at the edge of the bed for a moment, hunched over, before finally shuffling to her feet with a soft groan. She shuffled toward the door, each step a reluctant scrape, the sound faint in the stillness of the room.
She slowly made her way to the living room. Her eyes immediately landed on Peter's sleeping form on the couch. Without giving herself another moment to think this through, she started walking towards him.
She carefully climbed on the couch and settled in an awkward position on top of him/ against the back of the couch. It was very uncomfortable but she could manage. What she couldn't manage was Peter-less sleep.
Peter was pulled out of his half-asleep state by the sudden movement on the couch. He blinked a few times, his vision slowly adjusting to the dim light.
At first, he was confused. Was he dreaming? But then he felt Y/n's weight on top of him, her awkward positioning making him wince a little.
He felt a surge of irritation bubble up once again. Seriously? She had the whole bed to herself, why was she cramping up the couch like this? He was about to protest, to tell her to go back to the bed where she would be more comfortable, but something held him back. Maybe it was the softness in her half-sleeping gaze, or the warm weight of her body on top of him. But instead of pushing her aside, he found himself pulling her closer, instinctively wanting to hold and comfort her.
“Are you mad at me?”
He let out a resigned sigh, his frustration giving way to a mixture of annoyance, care, and a hint of affection. Peter's eyes widened slightly at her unexpected question. He had been caught off guard by her words, and there was a moment of hesitation on his part.
But her voice, tinged with vulnerability and hesitation, stirred something within him. Maybe it was the softness of her tone, or the genuine concern underneath the question, but the irritation that had been brewing in him suddenly lost some of its sharpness.
He let out a long, quiet sigh before whispering back, his voice gentle but firm.
"Yes, I am."
They drifted into a quiet pause, the air between them tinged with hesitation. That was until she spoke again in an almost hushed tone.
“Are you very mad at me?”
Peter paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady his emotions. Her quiet plea made his chest tighten, his heart conflicted between the lingering irritation and the instinctive need to comfort her.
"Yes,", he whispered back, his voice softening a bit, "I am very mad at you."
She hummed softly, acknowledging his response before speaking up once more.
"Mad enough not to give me a goodnight kiss?"
Peter couldn't help but feel a small spark of amusement at Y/n's words. Despite everything, despite his frustration, she still knew just how to disarm him with her playfulness.
After a moment's hesitation, he relented, his voice still soft but with a hint of a smile.
"I suppose I can manage a goodnight kiss. But then you need to promise you'll go back to your bed."
"I don't like sleeping without you"
Peter's heart skipped a beat. He was taken aback by her raw honesty and the vulnerability in her voice. It softened his frustration a bit more, reminding him of the love they shared beneath their disagreements. He let out a sigh, a mixture of annoyance and affection in his voice.
"Why? Why can't you just... behave and make things easier for both of us?"
That was... *not* what she expected to hear. She suddenly felt very awake, like a bucket of freezing cold water was dumped over her. It made sense that Peter wouldn't ignore the problem at hand just to let her cuddle with him in peace. Did she like it? No, not really. But that's Pete for you. Always wanting to do things right and always in proper order.
But she was really not in the mood for that. Feeling rejected didn't help either. It was a quiet devastation, not loud or dramatic, but a slow, persistent ache she couldn’t ignore. The heat crept up her neck and into her face, her body betraying the humiliation she tried to suppress. Guess she won't be getting that goodnight kiss after all.
She got off him just as quickly and awkwardly as she had previously climbed on top of him (she may or may not tried to discreetly knee him in the process).
“You came here because you needed space. I need to respect that. I'll leave you alone", she said quietly as she got up from the couch.
"Goodnight, Peter", she mumbled without giving him the chance to respond before walking back to their room with her head hung low, her shoulders slumped.
Peter watched her walk away, her dejected expression pulling at his heartstrings. He wanted to call out to her, to tell her not to go, but another part of him wanted space to think, to process everything. It was all just too much too quickly.
With a heavy sigh, he leaned back on the couch. The night was still young, and there were so many thoughts swirling in his mind. He needed time to sort through his feelings, to figure out what to say to her when they talked.
While Peter was busy staring at the ceiling and gathering his thoughts, Y/n was pacing back and forth in their shared room. She was feeling anxious.
She knew her participation in any superhero related activity -let alone playing hero all on her own, in NYC of all places- wouldn't really appeal to Peter.
She knew that, yet she did it anyway. She wanted to help, she knew she could help, so she did. Turns out all that training really paid off. She did good, if she said so herself. Criminals were caught, civilians were safe, the press was eating it up. It was a win in her books.
Despite all that, she couldn't ignore how her actions affected Peter. He seemed pretty pissed off. And him being that mad at her wasn't a common occurrence, like at all.
She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep. She was too emotional for that right now. Would they bounce back from this? Was he... done? Done with her? With them? She started giving through his closet, trying to find something to wear. She needed comfort, and if Peter wasn't about to provide that, his clothes would have to do.
In true teenage girl fashion, she put on some sweatpants and one of Peter's hoodies. She put some sad, break up songs -Taylor Swift most likely- playing softly in the background, as she pulled her laptop and played a Star Wars movie, Peter's favorite. She was very well aware of how ridiculous she was being. But she really couldn't find it in herself to care. She was allowed to wallow in self-pity if she wanted to.
As the movie started, her eyes began to tear up. She started thinking back to the day they first met, when they got together, when they moved into this house, essentially making herself cry more. What if this was their end?
She didn't know what possessed her to act like this. Maybe it was the crippling fear that he'd break up with her. Maybe he was done with her. Maybe that's what tomorrow's conversation would bring. Because why on Earth would he want to sleep on the couch -without even giving her a goodnight kiss-, if he wasn't planning on breaking up with her?
She cried even harder.
Lost in his thoughts, Peter was startled when he heard a soft sniffling sound coming from the room he shared with Y/n (what a great day to have paper-thin walls!). Instantly, his irritation vanished, replaced by a sense of worry and concern.
Was she crying? Was she upset? He couldn't bear to see her in distress, especially if he was the cause of it. And though part of him was still angry, the other just couldn't stand by and let her suffer.
Silently, he got up from the couch and made his way to the bedroom door.
Peter gently opened the door, trying not to make a sound. The sight that greeted him hit him hard. Y/n, dressed in his hoodie and sweatpants, sitting on their bed with her laptop in her lap, the screen lit up by the familiar glow of the original Star Wars trilogy playing. It was both sweet and heartbreaking.
Tears were streaming down her face, and her small sobs filled the room. Peter could feel his heart cracking, torn between his lingering anger and his overwhelming love for her. He stood there for a moment, frozen, until the sight of her broke the last shred of his resolve.
Peter moved forward slowly; his steps gentle yet firm. He approached her with care, as though she were made of fragile glass.
“I could hear you from the living room”
"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up... I'll keep it down”
"No, no," he murmured, sitting beside her.
"You don't need to apologize. I just...I just can't stand seeing you upset.", he reached out to brush the tears off her cheeks, his touch gentle and comforting.
Tears spilled freely down her face as she leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand against her cheek softening the jagged edges of her emotions. Her shoulders trembled with quiet sobs, each one a wordless apology for the harshness of the argument that still lingered in the air. And yet, she didn’t pull away—instead, she melted into the comfort, clinging to the embrace as if it was the only thing keeping her from breaking completely. The touch was steady, almost forgiving, and despite the ache between them, it felt like a fragile truce beginning to take shape.
"I don't want us to break up", she blurted out suddenly.
Peter blinked in surprise. He was taken aback by her sudden outburst. It hadn't even crossed his mind that they would break up.
"What? No, of course not. Whatever gave you that idea?"
He pulled her gently into his lap, his arms wrapping around her in a protective embrace. In return, she clung onto him and cried in his shirt.
"I'm sorry. I really don't want us to break up. Ever. I hate it when you're mad at me. I don't want to lose you, Peter. You mean so much to me, I don't-"
Peter held onto her tighter, his heart aching at her outpouring of distress and love.
"Y/n, angel, listen to me," he said, his voice a calm and gentle assurance in the storm of emotions. "We're not breaking up. Not now, not ever. I love you. Mad, not mad, I love you. Do you understand what I'm saying? This is not a fleeting thing. This is us. Together. Forever."
"I'm sorry for worrying you. I just wanted to do the right thing. I just wanted to help; I promise that's all I was trying to do. You're so busy and overworked and don't even complain because you're such a great person and I just wanted to help you and do something good for the world, too. I'm so sorry for making you worried. I didn't mean for things to come to this. I'm sorry, Peter. I'm so sorry-"
She cried even harder in his arms, making Peter's heart shatter at her tear-filled confession. He held her closer, feeling every word as if it weighed a thousand pounds.
"Shhhhh, shhh," he whispered, trying to soothe her. "You don't have to be sorry for wanting to help, Y/n. That's who you are. That's one of the reasons I fell in love with you. But there are other ways. Safer ways. We'll find them. Together. But I need you to promise, to actually promise me, that you won't do that again, that you won't go out risking your life again."
She pulled away slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes, her own still filled with tears.
"Peter..."
She shook her head. Her tone was quiet and soft, almost a desperate plea.
Peter's heart clenched tightly in his chest again as she pulled back to face him. Seeing her tear-stricken expression, his resolve nearly faltered. But he steeled himself, knowing this conversation needed to happen.
"I need to hear you promise, Y/n," he repeated firmly, his tone unwavering, "promise you won't do this again. Promise me right now, or I promise you we're done."
His words hung heavy in the air, laden with the weight of their love and their future together. Suddenly, she started feeling slightly lightheaded. Did he just-? No, he wouldn't...would he? But he just said-
"W-what? You can't be serious”
“I'm sorry, Y/n, but you have to choose”
As the gravity of what he had just said sunk in, Peter felt a wave of nausea wash over him. Had he really just threatened to end their relationship if she refused to comply? He loved this girl with all his heart, yet here he was, holding their relationship hostage like some sort of bargaining chip.
He swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving hers. He needed her to know he was serious. But he also needed her to understand this was for their own good. For her safety. For their future.
"Y/n," he said softly, but firmly, "promise me."
"But you just- you just said this isn't a fleeting thing. That we are in this together. You just said-", her voice broke and a fresh set of tears ran down her cheeks.
"And I meant it. I meant every word. But..." Peter paused, his gaze still fixed on her tear-streaked face. "But I can't watch you put yourself in danger like this. I can't stand idly by, watching you risk your life, your future, your everything just to prove a point. I can't promise you my undying love and then stand idly by and watch you throw it away. This isn't some game, Y/n. It's real life. And in real life, people get hurt. People get killed."
"No. You don't understand. I'm always very careful. I follow protocol. I do everything right-"
The words came out uneven, trembling as if her emotions were fighting their way through every syllable. Each word seemed to catch in her throat, rasping and shaking as she struggled to speak through the tears.
"This isn't fair. You can't do this. Peter, you can't-", her own sobs prevented her from speaking. The hesitation in her voice mirrored the vulnerability in her eyes, wavering as though afraid to break completely.
“No, Y/n, it's not fair!" Peter retorted, his emotions boiling over. "It's not fair that I have to sit here, worrying about you every second of every day. It's not fair that you get to waltz into a dangerous situation, risking everything, and leave me here wondering if I'm ever going you to see you again. That is not fair. But it's the reality of who we are. And I can't watch you do this to yourself, to me, to us."
After he spoke the room fell silent. All that could be heard was the heaviness of Peter's breathing and Y/n's soft sniffles.
“Would you do it?”
“Would I do what?”
"Would you quit being Spider-Man if I asked you to?", her voice barely above a whisper.
"Wh-what?" Peter blinked, completely taken aback by Y/n's sudden question. It felt like a punch to the gut, the very thought of giving up being Spider-Man. It was a part of him, just as much as the love he had for her, and he couldn't imagine living a life without it.
"Why would you-? No, Y/n," he sputtered, the words stumbling out before he could stop himself. "It's not the same. What I do, it's different. I have powers. I have responsibilities-"
"Okay, then.”
There was a hint of disappointment and an even bigger hint of finality in the way she said it. That was all she said. Such small and insignificant words, but in that moment, it could potentially signify the end of an era, the end of their era.
The silence that followed was stifling, the weight of Y/n's words hanging heavily in the air. Peter stared at her, his heart in his throat. This couldn't be it, could it? After everything they had been through, was this really how it would end?
"No. Y/n, you can't-" Peter's voice broke, his voice hoarse with emotion. "You can't possibly want me to choose between you and my duty as Spider-Man. It's...it's not a fair choice. It's not fair to ask me to give up-"
“I'm not. I was just... wondering if you'd do the very same thing you're asking me to do”, she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Peter's heart clenched as he watched the tears stream down her cheeks. The realization of what he had done hit him like a ton of bricks. Had he really just demanded she choose between her desire to help and her love for him? Had he really just issued an ultimatum that threatened their entire relationship?
His shoulders slumped, his resolve suddenly shattered.
"I...I didn't mean..." He stammered, his voice cracking under the weight of his mistake. "Y/n, I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I'm-"
"At least you won't have to deal with my recklessness anymore", she chuckled bitterly, her tone only half joking. Her voice was quiet and tired as a result of all the crying.
She really didn't want their relationship to end, especially not like this. Maybe if she took a moment to calm down (if only she could just close her eyes for a minute) she'd see they were both overreacting. They both had their point. Maybe they could even hug it out. That could work, right? It works for kindergarteners; it could work for them, too. But in her emotional and restless state all she could think about was one upping him, making him feel guilty for ever threatening to end things.
Peter's heart cracked at Y/n's half-hearted attempt at humor. He knew he had a lot of apologizing to do, but right now all he wanted to do was make it right. He didn't want to lose her. He couldn't even begin to imagine a life without her.
He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, his Spidey-Sense suddenly flared, causing him to freeze mid-breath. "Hang on," he interrupted, his brow furrowed in concentration, his senses now fully alert. He stood silently, focusing on the signals his Spidey-Sense was sending him. Something was off, something was wrong.
His eyes darted around the room, his attention flicking to the window. Was that... movement? A shadow? A flicker of something out of the ordinary. Y/n's eyes followed Peter's line of sight on the window behind them, noticing something. Before she had the time to let Peter know, the object she noticed was already on its way to their room.
Acting purely on instinct, in a fragment of a second, she had pushed Peter off the bed, and fell on top of him, concealing him from whatever was going to burst through the window.
Peter's Spider-Sense blared again, a split second later than it would have been if he hadn't been so wrapped up in his own emotions.
The force of the blast sent a wave of debris and smoke swirling through the apartment. Glass shattered around them, raining down like sharp, shiny confetti.
The rush of adrenaline barely let her register the feeling of glass breaking her skin. Peter's eyes widened as he realized what was happening. Y/n had flung herself on top of him, shielding him from the impending explosion. He tried to push her off him, his strength kicking in, knowing he could withstand the blast.
But it was too late. The shockwave of the blast hit them, sending them crashing against a nearby wall. Peter instinctively wrapped his arms around Y/n, trying to protect her as much as he could. The explosion was deafening, the pain momentarily blinding.
Once the dust began to settle, Peter slowly let go of Y/n, trying to catch his bearings. Peter's eyes darted around the destroyed room, trying to assess the damage. The devastation was staggering — shattered windows, smoke filling the room, debris everywhere. But his focus was on Y/n; the only thing that mattered right now.
He gently grasped her shoulders, pulling her towards him, trying to assess her injuries. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice shaky with worry. "Please, please tell me you're okay."
She barely noticed the sharp ache on her side or the warmth of blood trickling down her temple as she looked over the charred remains of what had once been their home. Her eyes stayed fixed on the crumbled remains of their house, where years of memories now lay in twisted, blackened ruins. The faint ache in her ribs with each breath was nothing compared to the hollow thud in her chest as she stared at the space that had once been their home.
Her breathing was shallow, ragged—not from exertion, but from the weight of what she’d lost. Every step sent a jolt of agony through her body, but she ignored it, her focus locked on the blackened timbers and ashes that used to hold their memories, their life. What was a little pain compared to this?
Peter's grip on her shoulders tightened slightly, his fingers digging into her flesh. "Y/n, look at me," he demanded, his voice firm. "Look at me and tell me you're okay."
He needed to know she was alright. He couldn't handle the alternative. The thought of losing her was more terrifying than any explosion or villain.
"Pete, our home. It's... it's gone”
Her words stumbled out, disjointed and hollow, as if her mind was still scrambling to catch up. ““The picture wall, the stupid chemistry pun posters... they're all... gone.” Her mouth hung slightly open, her voice barely above a whisper, like she couldn’t trust the weight of her own thoughts. Every sentence felt like a question, her tone wavering between incredulity and desperate denial, as if speaking it aloud might somehow undo the reality before them.
Peter's heart ached at her words. The thought of everything they had built together being destroyed was almost too much to bear. But right now, the only thing that mattered was Y/n.
He took a deep breath, pushing aside his own emotions.
"It's just stuff, Y/n. Things. We can get new stuff. None of it matters as long as you're okay."
“But it won't be *our* stuff”
Peter's heart broke at her words. She was right. Nothing could replace the sentimental value of their shared belongings — their collective memories and shared experiences. But he had to remain strong for her. He couldn't afford to break down when she needed him.
"We'll make new memories. Better memories. I promise," he said softly, his hands still on her shoulders. "We'll find a new place, and we'll make it ours. It'll be even better than before. You have to trust me."
"Trust you? You just broke up with me!”, her tone was almost accusing as tears began running down her face.
Peter's heart felt like it was tearing in two as the words left Y/n's lips. He hadn't meant it, he *never* would have meant it. He only wanted to protect her, to keep her safe. But he realized his own fear and anxiety had caused him to make a mistake, a terrible mistake.
"Y/n, baby, please," he pleaded. "It wasn't real. I was scared. I was worried about you going out and putting yourself in danger. I... I panicked. Please, you have to know... I love you."
"You have a funny way of showing people you love them", she muttered sarcastically under her breath. “Anyway, is that supposed to make me feel better? You gave me an ultimatum, we kinda broke up and an explosive device literally demolishes our home". Angry tears were running down her face.
"What is going on today? And you were mad because what? Because I risked my life? NEWS FLASH, PETER. THAT'S WHAT YOU DO ALL THE GODDAMN TIME. But I TRUST you and BELIEVE in your need to contribute to the greater good"
"And I'd never- ah, fuck", she hissed and pressed down on her side
Peter's eyes widened. Immediately, all other thoughts faded into the background. He quickly moved to her side, lifting up her shirt to assess the damage. His eyes fell on a nasty cut on her side, blood slowly seeping out.
"You're bleeding," Peter said, his voice trembling with panic. "Why the hell didn't you say something earlier?"
"Because I was in need of a red shirt- obviously I didn't know!"
Her tone sounded sarcastic and frustrated; a hint of fear mixed in there as well.
Peter huffed, feeling an emotional whirlwind. Mainly relief and the tiniest bit of irritation. Of course, she couldn't resist a snarky comment even in a crisis.
"Right, because bleeding is the current trend," he quipped, trying to match her tone. "Red's not really your color, by the way. You're more of an orange gal."
He couldn't help but feel a hint of affection towards her, even as he berated her.
“Parker, I swear to God, if you don't zip it right now, I'll make you regret ever asking me out on that first date”
Peter paused for a moment, caught off guard by her comment as it reminded him how he just threatened his lovely girlfriend -who he's madly in love with and would literally die for- he'd break up with her if she didn't stop doing something she loves. Her words sent a jolt of guilt through him; he could hear the hurt in her voice, and he knew he was the cause of it.
He shook his head, pushing the weight of his mistake to the side for now. Y/n was bleeding, and that was his first priority. He would deal with the fallout of his ultimatum later.
"Hang on," he said softly, gently lifting her up. "We need to stop the bleeding. Then we'll talk."
He gently wrapped his arm around her waist, supporting her weight as they made their way to what was left of the kitchen. The sink miraculously survived the explosion, and he helped her lean against it. Grabbing a clean cloth, he ran it under the faucet, wetting it.
"This might hurt," he warned, gently pressing the cloth to her wound.
“I'm not talking to you”, she said almost right away.
Peter paused at Melina's response. Her voice was laced with frustration, and he couldn't blame her. He had screwed up, big time. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. She was being stubborn, and he knew she had every right to be.
"Look, I get it. You don't want to hear from me right now. I messed up, and I know that," he said softly, his gaze fixed on her. "But you're bleeding. I have to help you. Please, let me help you. Then you can go back to giving me the silent treatment if you want, okay? Plus, you don't have to talk. I'll do all the talking. Just let me patch you up, okay?"
His voice was gentle, the frustration and anger from earlier having faded into the background. He knew that making things right with Y/n was going to take more than just words. It was going to take action.
"I don't want to hear you talk either", she mumbled childishly.
Peter raised an eyebrow at her petulant response. He had no doubt she wasn't in the mood to engage in conversation right now, but he refused to let her bleed out on her own floor because she was mad at him. He had to patch her up.
He exhaled softly, gathering a bundle of supplies from a nearby first-aid kit.
"You know, you're adorable when you're angry," he commented, unable to help himself. He started carefully cleaning the wound, his hands moving with precision and care.
"And you're still talking"
He couldn't help but smile at her stubbornness. He had truly fallen for a strong, independent woman. "Sorry, I just can't resist when my girlfriend's bleeding and fuming. It's a dangerous combination."
He carefully began stitching up her wound, his hands steady and sure. "Just remember, a little bit of anger and banter make for the best love stories. We might be the next big blockbuster, with how dramatic we are."
“Ex girlfriend", she corrected with an eye roll at the irony of it all.
"And no love story for us. You can pursue your romance with the Becky from down the street now", she said grumpily, the thought alone tugging at her heartstrings
Peter let out a sigh of exasperation at Y/n's correction. He knew he had made a mistake, and it hurt to see her refer to herself as his ex-girlfriend, but for now, her cut had his full attention. He couldn't get sidetracked.
"You're right, I'm sorry. But you know, we could be the next enemies to lovers, if you play your cards right. A little banter, a little fighting, and then some dramatic make-up scene. The audience will love it."
He finished stitching up her wound, his touch gentle despite his words.
She wanted to stay mad at him, she really did. But it was hard to when he was making silly little comments like these. A small smile made its way to her face but she quickly bit down on her lip to stop herself before he saw and got cocky about it.
Peter's keen Spidey senses picked up on the shift in her demeanor. He caught the subtle smile she tried to hide, and it warmed his heart.
"Oh, is that a smile I see?" He said in a teasing tone. "I knew my charm would get to you eventually. Just imagine, if you're already smiling after breaking up, what could happen if we make up? The world might just explode from our awesomeness."
"No one's smiling, you must've hit your head"
Peter chuckled at her quick defense of her smile. He finished applying an antiseptic to the wound and gently covered it with a clean bandage.
"Right, of course, I'm just seeing things," he replied with a playful wink. "But hey, if I did hit my head, maybe I'm having a vivid dream where you and I are the star-crossed lovers in the epic love story that is our lives. And you know what that means, right?"
He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Wake me up with a kiss, Melina."
"That was the corniest thing I've ever heard. Plus, I have this rule of not kissing ex boyfriends, sorry"
"You're really gonna play hard to get?", Peter countered, a grin spreading across his face. "Well, I guess I'll just have to win you back then. I've defeated villains and battled super-powered monsters. Winning your heart back can't be much harder, right?"
He stood up, helping her up as he did so. He couldn't resist pulling her towards him, his hands lightly settling on her hips. "And just so you know, I'm a great kisser."
"Really? You'd think I would know, considering we spent the last four years of our lives together"
"Touché. But you know what they say, practice makes perfect. Maybe I should give you a refresher. After all, I can't have you going around thinking I'm a bad kisser, can I?"
He gently brushed a lock of hair away from her face, his gaze filled with affection.
"So what do you say? For old time's sake?"
"Old time being... yesterday?"
Peter shrugged with a sheepish grin. "Well, technically yes, but you know what I meant. Besides, yesterday was a lifetime ago. We've had an explosion, a break-up, and a reunion. That's a lot more than most couples experience in a lifetime."
He paused for a moment, a genuine warmth seeping into his voice.
"In all seriousness, Y/n, I messed up. I've regretted it this entire time. I'm so sorry. Please give me another chance to prove it. To prove that we're... perfect together."
“ ‘This entire time’ being...what? Thirty minutes?"*she said with a snort of amusement.
Peter chuckled, his smile widening. "Alright, alright, I get it. We can't all be as patient as you with our ex-boyfriends. But seriously, Y/n, I mean it. I regret what I said. I was scared, and I made a mistake."
He paused for a moment, his gaze growing serious. "I love you. I want you. And I'm willing to do whatever it takes to win back your trust and heart."
He took her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers. "Can we... just start over? Please?"
She pulled her hand away from his and just stood there, watching him for a moment. After a bit she extended her arm towards him and introduced herself.
"Y/n Stark", she said with the tiniest of smiles evident on her lips.
“Who's being corny now?”, he rolled his eyes in a playful manner before wrapping his hand around hers, savoring the feel of her skin against his.
"Y/n Stark," Peter echoed, his voice soft with affection "It's a pleasure to meet you, Y/n Stark. I'm Peter Parker. But you can call me anytime."
With that, he gently pulled her closer, his free hand reaching up to caress her cheek. He leaned in, his lips gently brushing against hers, sealing their newfound beginning with a tender, heartfelt kiss. She laughed softly against his lips, the pickup line catching her off guard. Peter couldn't ignore the fluttering in his chest as her laughter met his lips. The sound was like music to his ears, and he deepened the kiss, his arms wrapping around her waist.
Pulling away slightly, he whispered in her ear, "Did that meet your witty standards, Miss Stark?"
"I'll let it slide", she said with a serious expression, nodding slightly before a smile made its way on her face again.
Peter grinned, his eyes sparkling with adoration. "Only let it slide? I'll have to step up my game, then. How about this?"
He leaned in again, his voice a low murmur against her lips. "I swear I'll be your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man if you let me swing by your place every night."
She snorted in amusement “That was so bad”
“Was it now?” With that, he captured her lips in a kiss, expressing the depth of his feelings for her with each lingering moment.
Their lips met softly, tenderly, as if every touch was a gentle reminder of how much they meant to each other. It was unhurried, each moment lingering with the quiet depth of love that words could never capture. There was no urgency, only a profound warmth, a silent apology woven into the way their hands cupped each other’s faces. The kiss held forgiveness, not as a plea, but as a gift, an unspoken promise that they were ready to move forward together. It wasn’t just an expression of love—it was a vow, a renewal of everything they’d shared and everything they still hoped to build.
After a bit, they pulled away to catch their breath.
“So, we're together again?”, she asked playfully.
He looked at her, his eyes sparkling with amusement as before he softly kissed her forehead "Please, we were never not together”
With that, they fell in silence.
The silence wrapped around them like a soft blanket, warm and steady, filling the spaces where words weren’t needed. It wasn’t heavy or awkward but gentle, a quiet acknowledgment of shared understanding. The only sounds were the subtle rhythm of their breathing and the faint rustle of the world outside, creating a calm that felt almost sacred. In that stillness, there was no need to explain, no need to fill the air with chatter—it was enough just to be there, side by side, letting the silence speak what their hearts already knew.
“Are we going to ignore the fact that we're homeless?”
A small chuckle left Peter's lips as he pulled her closer.
"You always have to ruin the mood”, he said jokingly, “We'll figure it out, baby. Just you and me. And your dad. We should probably call him and beg him to let us crash because we're kind of screwed otherwise”
