Proven Real: The 2067 Sendai Tunnel Log 📹
❝ I wish I had more than just a human lifetime to give you. ❞
[main pairing] immortal!itadoriyuji x mortal!reader
disclaimer: THIS IS MERELY A WORK OF FICTION. note that there may be a lack of research or description. THIS IS NOT WRITTEN WITH PEAK ACCURACY. About 67%.
[tags] MDNI. the year 2067, jjk au, curses exist, slow burn, eventual smut, self-indulgent, subconsciously flirty yuji, age gap that makes sense (reader is 32, yuji is 64), death, angst, fluff, friends to lovers, implications of occultism, afab!reader, reader is an expat, an attempt at comedy, reader is SO unhinged like fr, both r virgins—early honeymoon s (ye, they couldn't wait), implication of multiple rounds, pvssydrunk yuji, handjob, oral rec (fem only), some references (like the wedding proposal, etc), marriage life w yuji, bittersweet open ending.
filename: SEND_TUNNEL_LOG_2067.mp4
Ever since you were a teenager, you refused to believed that ghosts didn't exist. While the rest of the world moved on to a digital future, you stayed behind to document the things that shouldn't exist. When your mother asks you to manage the family inn, you expect a quiet break. Instead, you run into Yuji Itadori: a guest who is as physically impressive as he is stubbornly skeptical. He doesn't believe in curses, in your so-called research, and in the infamous Sendai tunnel near your family's inn. You set out to prove him wrong, armed with high-res recorders and military-grade filters. It should be a simple mission: get the footage, win the bet, and wipe that smug grin off his face.
You thought you were going to be a martyr for the truth. You didn't realize you’d end up being saved by the very guy who claimed ghosts (or curses, rather) don't exist. Now the footage is grainy, your nightgown is ruined, and the man you considered a fool is looking a lot more dangerous than the spirits you were hunting.
word count: 24k+ | check other works here.
You dreaded the numbers 6 and 7. Whether it was a lingering meme from the 2020s or just a collective obsession with the date, the year 2067 meant the joke had officially outlived its welcome. Society, unfortunately, refused to let it die.
You had been an expat for over a decade now. You left home at twenty, and now, at thirty-two, you were well-settled. Thanks to the seamless integration of global tech, you’d made the leap to permanent residency in Japan four years ago.
Mostly because your family insisted it was the sensible choice.
You maintained the life of a digital nomad, juggling virtual assistant roles and various remote gigs during your free time from morning to afternoon. It paid the bills and kept you under the radar... which was exactly how you liked it. On the other hand, by night, you had a more specialized hobby. You investigated the things that went unnoticed by ordinary people.
You refused to believe you were ordinary, after all.
u/ilovespookysht69 • 2m ago
Does anyone here in Sendai agree that this seems shady???
[Attachment: 1 Video File - Sendai_Alleyway_Distortion.mp4]
You had footage from all over the country. While most of the internet dismissed your findings as clever CGI or camera glitches, your small corner of forums online knew better.
You were certain something was lurking in the periphery—something the human eye wasn't evolved enough to see. The patterns were there if you knew where to look. You’d seen the anomalies in police records and the strangely high mortality rates in specific districts. The Shibuya Incident decades ago, the total devastation in Shinjuku—the official reports never quite added up.
At least to you and your fellow curious spooky researchers.
Your obsession had started early, back when you were finishing your degree in Forensic Behavioral Science. What began as a supposed thesis on unexplained clusters in urban casualties had spiraled into a lifelong pursuit. Now, the real work only happened when the sun went down.
“Can you look over the inn here in Sendai for a few days?” your mother requested, her voice carrying that specific tone that made a refusal impossible. “I’m going to pay a visit to your father’s grave, and it really doesn't help that it’s miles away. Please?”
“That traditional inn?” you grumbled into the receiver. “Ma, no one goes to those old ryokans anymore. You know we’ve got much better hotels now—actual climate control, for one—”
“I did not raise you to talk back like this when I ask for a simple favor!”
“Tsk! Just get down here. Believe it or not, the place is actually packed. People are still obsessed with staying near the mountains to disconnect, as they like to call it. Besides,” she added, her voice dropping into a knowing lilt, “this might actually be productive for that stupid hobby of yours. I heard there’s a nearby abandoned tunnel opened—”
From what you remembered of the regional maps, that specific area still had decent signal—a rarity for the mountain outskirts.
More importantly, Sendai had always been a hotbed for sightings. The local forums were constantly buzzing with reports of blurring in the woods.
Your mother was right, even if you hated to admit it. Taking over the inn wasn’t merely a family favor. It was also gonna be a helpful one for yourself. If the stories were true, you were about to be perfectly positioned for some of the best field research you’d done in years.
An exaggeration, sure! But you'd been bored for years now...
You packed your high-end laptop first, followed by your toiletries—you were a bit of a clean freak, and everything had its specific place. Your clothes were neatly folded into a streamlined suitcase. Once packed, you zipped into a lightweight windbreaker, pulled your hair back into a practical tie, and slid your headphones on.
Stepping out, you headed toward the terminal to catch one of the high-speed transit links. With the way GPS had evolved, the specific coordinates of the family inn were already synced and glowing on your HUD, guiding you straight to the mountains.
“So, get away... Another way to feel like you didn't want yourself to know and let yourself go...”
You hummed under your breath, your head nodding in time with the beat pulsing through your headphones.
You stepped off at the station, unaware that a fellow passenger was trailing toward the exact same exit. The clack-clack of your suitcase wheels echoed against the traditional stone pavement as you walked.
The area was still quaint and stubbornly old-fashioned, yet the nearby park was buzzing with the usual weekend crowds.
You noticed someone up ahead who seemed just as disoriented (or worse) by the winding paths as you were. Pulling your headphones down around your neck, you raised a hand in a cool, casual wave. The guy had his hood pulled low. If you hadn’t stepped closer, you wouldn’t have even been able to make out his features.
“You lost?” you asked him in a steady voice. “My family owns the inn everyone's heading to. I can show you the way.”
“Huh?” With the way his eyebrows were knitted, he was as baffled as you expected him to be.
You went on as to even introducing yourself—telling him your name before mentioning your family's inn, “If you're looking for the Matsuyama Inn, my family owns the place,” you said, sliding into the effortless marketing pitch you used whenever you spotted a wandering tourist. “We’re open twenty-four-seven. Best hospitality in Sendai.”
The guy just stared at you, his gaze unnervingly intense. You tried to catch the color of his eyes in the shadows of his sweatshirt until he finally reached up and pulled back his hood. “Can you lead me there?” he mumbled in a low tone.
That’s when you noticed the shock of light pink hair. You weren't sure whether to be amused by the bold style or baffled that he was traveling so light.
“Sure... but, uh, do you have any luggage?” you asked, glancing at his empty hands. “I mean, we can accommodate you, but you’ll have to pay a bit extra for the essentials if you're staying overnight and...” You trailed off, noticing the way he seemed to look right through you, his expression distant. “Is everything okay?”
“I’m Itadori Yuji,” he said, voice snapping you back to the present. “You can call me Yuji.”
“Right... Yuji-san. Come on, then. It’s this way.” The eagerness at your expression gave away your intention but it seemed that Yuji here was really planning to go there in the first place.
“Has there been any accident lately around this area?” Yuji asked, breaking the awkward silence.
“I haven't done a deep dive into the local police logs this week,” you replied, your brain shifting gears even though you sounded a bit too advanced right now. “But the most recent one was an incident in the abandoned tunnel nearby. Why? Are you interested in the supernatural, too?”
You practically stopped in your tracks right at the entrance of the inn, your eyes widening with sudden, genuine excitement.
Finding a fellow enthusiast in the wild was the ultimate high for a researcher like you.
Yuji pursed his lips, clearly weighing his words. He looked like he was trying to decide how much to reveal to a civilian—someone who seemed a bit too fond of things like cursed energy and spirits. “No,” he answered finally, his tone flat. “I don’t really believe in those.”
The light in your eyes vanished instantly, replaced by a very apparent frown of disappointment. “Huh. Seriously? Why not?”
“They just don’t make sense,” Yuji muttered, his voice tinged with a heavy, unspoken irony. “There’s no real proof.”
“Tch.” You didn’t even bother hiding the eye-roll as you pivoted on your heel. Your demeanor shifted instantly from welcoming to professionally distant, walking several paces ahead of him. The sudden cold shoulder clearly baffled him—he looked like he couldn’t believe someone could be this petty over a difference in opinion.
Maybe you were being a little childish, but in the year 2067, no proof was the weakest excuse in the book.
“Ma,” you called out as soon as you stepped into the lobby.
Your mother’s eyes darted from you to the pink-haired boy trailing behind you, and a knowing, mischievous grin spread across her face. Before she could even open her mouth to ask if he was the reason you’d finally come home, you shook your head in disbelief. “He’s just a guest. He was looking for the inn, so please get him settled.”
“My ride is already idling out front, so I’m heading out,” she said, checking her watch. “I’ve already messaged you the task list. Your brother will be by to check in on you next month, so try not to get too stressed. And... have fun at that tunnel.”
“Oh, you know me so well, okaasan!” You pulled her into a tight, brief hug before watching her disappear through the sliding doors.
While the front desk staff began the check-in process for Yuji, you noticed your own arrival kit was already waiting on the counter.
After spending just three days at the inn, you'd already decided right then and there: you did not like Itadori Yuji.
He was infuriating. You ran into him constantly in the narrow, creaking hallways, and that perpetually nonchalant look on his face rubbed you the wrong way.
You eyed him, noticing his change of clothes. A charcoal haori draped over his shoulders. Underneath was a deep muted indigo pinstriped kimono, pulled tight and secured by a white obi belt.
You gritted your teeth. There was no denying it. He was in peak condition. The way his clothes fit, the noticeably casual strength in his posture. It was safe to assume his physique wasn't just luck, but most likely the result of relentless discipline.
Attempting to reclaim your composure, you tore your eyes away and focused on your meal. You just wanted a quiet evening, but the universe clearly had other plans. A shadow fell over the table as he pulled out the chair directly across from you, settling in like he hadn't been pissing you off with that indifference of his these past few days.
He caught your glare mid-air, meeting it with a look of innocence. “What?” he asked, a sharp grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he raised his chopsticks in a mock salute. “This seat is free, right?”
“And now, you're smiling?” you huffed, the frustration finally bubbling over.
He leaned back slightly, tilting his head with a look of mock confusion. “Why the sudden frown?”
“Why wouldn't I be frowning?” you countered, voice tighter now.
“Because the food is incredible, for starters.” He gestured with his chopsticks toward your bowl, pointing at the noodles you’d been subconsciously stirring into a swirl. “And isn't this your favorite? You’re going to let it get cold just to spite me?”
“Why would I want to spite you?” you snapped, though the heat in your voice felt forced even to your own ears. “Also, how do you even know this is my favorite?”
He didn't look up, expertly catching a few strands of noodles with his chopsticks. “The cook is your aunt, right?” he asked, finally meeting your gaze with a look that was far too observant. “Your family must really love you if they talk about you that eagerly. She didn't leave out a single detail once I asked.”
“First of all, what the hell did you even ask her?” you demanded, the heat rising to your cheeks. “For all I know, she’s back there assuming you’re my boyfriend now or something.”
He paused, a stray noodle halfway to his mouth, and let the silence stretch just long enough to be provocative. That infuriating grin returned, slower this time.
“And would that be such a tragedy?” he mused, leaning in just an inch closer. “Because from the way she was bragging about you, I’d say I’m the one who needs to keep up.”
Wow. He was good at the taunting, you’d give him that.
“I won't forget that you don't believe in ghosts,” you muttered, stabbing at a piece of meat in your bowl. “Don't think a little sweet talk is going to erase my memory all of a sudden.”
He let out a low, dry chuckle, seemingly unfazed by the frost in your tone. “You sure are dedicated. A simple opinion you don't agree with and you're already against the person.”
He leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table as he watched you. “Is it always that black and white for you? or do i just get the special treatment?”
You chose to ignore the bait, deciding that silence was your best weapon as you focused intensely on finishing your bowl. This guy was flirty as hell. Anyone more naive would have fallen for the trap, assuming there was some grand romantic intention behind every smirk.
But no, you knew better. He probably wasn't even trying. It was likely something he did subconsciously, a natural byproduct of a man who moved through the world with far too much confidence and far too little filter. He exhaled charm like it was a secondary occupation.
You aggressively stirred your noodles though you could practically feel his gaze lingering on you, waiting for a reaction that you were determined not to give him. If he wanted to play all charming and fake, he'd have to find a more willing audience than you.
The following night, you were peeking out the window, the view stretching wide from your vantage point. The routine was practical—checking for intruders or the occasional sleepwalking guest, which happened more often than anyone cared to admit.
But then you spotted a figure you knew for a fact wasn't sleepwalking.
You smirked to yourself. If he was out this late, and headed in that specific direction... he was most likely going to check on that tunnel. It was too perfect of an opportunity to pass up. If he wanted to play investigator, he wasn't going to do it alone.
You were going to prove him wrong.
One, no one—and you really meant no one—checked those tunnels unless they believed the ghost stories. Sure, in horror movies, people always poked around abandoned warehouses acting all mighty, but real life had its own rules.
You were fond of the supernatural. It scared you but your curiosity always managed to shove your fear aside. If he was going in there, he was either a liar or a fool, and you weren't about to let him have the last word on what was real.
You threw a jacket over your long white nightgown, not caring how ridiculous the layers looked, and shoved your legs into a pair of jeans since the night air was way too chilly to resist. You tied your hair up in a messy knot, your mind already miles ahead of your movements.
You tiptoed in sandals—or tried to, as much as one could—following the trail where broken branches, shallow craters, and muddy puddles choked the path. The hem of your white gown was already stained, but you couldn't care less. Your eyes were fixed on him.
He was standing near a line of high grass, his back to you. You moved in, intending to jump out and scare the daylights out of him, but before you could even draw a breath to shout, he had already turned, his hand snapped around your wrist. He was breathing hard, a thin sheen of sweat on his face.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked, his eyes raking over your haphazard outfit. He was in heavy sweats and a zipped-up jacket—a look he seemed fond of. His hood was down, exposing the tension in his jaw.
“Shouldn't I be asking you that?” you retorted, twisting your wrist but not quite pulling away. “You’re the one who doesn’t believe in any of this, remember? So why are you out here this late? And looking like you've seen a ghost, too.”
“Yeah? You came all the way out here? To follow me wearing that?!” He gestured wildly at your haphazard layers, his voice a mix of disbelief and genuine concern. His grip on your wrist tightened slightly as his eyes darted back toward the dark mouth of the tunnel. “You shouldn't be wandering around in the mud in a nightgown, curiosity be damned, woman.”
“I was going to prove a point!” you shot back, trying to ignore how his hand felt against your skin. “You said you didn't believe in any of this, yet here you are, sweating bullets in the middle of the night. So, what's the excuse? Just out for a midnight jog in the most haunted spot for miles?”
He let out a sharp breath, finally letting go of your arm to wipe the sweat from his forehead. “I'm not here for the ghosts,” he muttered, though he didn't look entirely convinced of his own words. “Ah. You know what? Just walk back with me, will you? Please.” He ran a hand through his hair, already turning to head toward the inn.
You huffed in disagreement but followed anyway. The trek back was a pain in the ass, having to step on the mud and ruin in sandals, but his voice had an edge to it that made you stay quiet. He actually sounded serious.
“I can't believe you'd go to such lengths just to prove a point,” he said, tone a mix of gentleness and frustration. “Sometimes, you have to set a line.”
“I co-own this inn,” you countered, lifting your chin. “My customers' business is my business.”
“Yeah? And do you always go around stalking your customers wearing that?” He looked away, his jaw tight with irritation. “Just go back inside. Please. I assure you I'm not going back there.”
Well, your plan had failed spectacularly.
Now what? You were back at square one, hunched over your screen and scrolling through endless online footage. The grainy videos showed narrow shadows stretching where they shouldn't, flickering lights that defied logic, and even... people. Humans caught on camera doing things that didn't quite look human.
The frustration from earlier still simmered under your skin, but the evidence in front of you only fed your obsession. If he wasn't going to admit what he saw out there, you’d just have to find the proof yourself—one unsettling clip at a time.
The grainy footage flickered on the screen, illuminating your face in the dark room. You leaned in closer, your eyes tracing the movements of a figure in one of the more recent uploads.
It was a person—or at least, it had the silhouette of one. The quality was abysmal, all motion blur and digital noise, but there was something hauntingly familiar about the way they moved. They seemed to be leaping across distances that should have been impossible, their form a mere smudge of pinkish-grey against the concrete backdrop of an alleyway. You squinted, trying to make out a face, a name, anything, but the pixels refused to cooperate.
You clicked on another related video. Then another. The deeper you dove, the more frequent this specific figure appeared. In one clip, they were barely a shadow in the corner of a convenience store’s security feed. In another, a bystander's shaky phone recording captured them sprinting past a crowd with terrifying speed.
“Who are you?” you whispered to the empty room. Even if the world wanted to call these edited clips, you knew better.
There was a pattern here, a thread connecting the weirdness at the tunnel to these sightings in the city.
2 AM was your usual time for catching a breath of mountain air, but lately, that routine had a new, irritating centerpiece. From your vantage point, you’d catch glimpses of him—Yuji Itadori—slipping past the gates and heading straight toward the very tunnel you’d been yearning to investigate. You wanted to be fully geared before venturing that far, but for now, watching him was enough to set your teeth on edge.
For someone who claimed not to believe in supernatural shit, why was he prowling around the woods in the dead of night?
“This is incredible, as always,” you told your aunt in the dining hall later that morning. She’d been making your favorite noodles since you were a kid, and the familiar spice was the only thing keeping your stress levels from redlining.
Of course, the universe, once again, had other plans. Your mood plummeted the second Yuji strolled into the hall.
Wearing... whatever he was wearing! Why did you even care?! He was just a customer who simply kept paying for his stay. And his outfit or however he looked was none of your business.
You were already pushing your chair back, intent on a clean getaway, when your aunt appeared with two steaming bowls. But you were already done eating!
Before you could protest, she set one in front of you and the other directly across the table—effectively trapping you (the mischievous grin on her face is not so subtle, mind you). She then motioned for Yuji to sit there.
You let out a low, defeated grumble, but your upbringing won out. You managed a polite nod of thanks before sinking back into your chair. The silence was thick, broken only by the aggressive sound of your chopsticks. You didn't look up, focusing on your noodles so much so to make it clear you weren't interested in talking to him or hearing his contrasting opinions.
Once the hall emptied (yes, there were other people around) and only the hum of the ventilation remained, you finally broke.
“So,” you began. You couldn't look up to meet his gaze but you made sure to keep your tone sharp and clear. “Still sticking to the story? You still don't believe in ghosts... or... curses?”
Yuji paused, his chopsticks mid-air. He blinked, seemingly unfazed by the sudden interrogation, and took a slow, thoughtful bite instead of answering right away.
“Nah,” he said simply, voice muffled by a mouthful of noodles.
“Liar,” you shot back, finally locking eyes with him. You searched for a flicker—a twitch, a blink, anything that hinted at the truth.
And yet he just swallowed and looked you dead in the eye. Perhaps a bit too calmly. “I really don’t.”
“Tch.” You let out a sharp, dismissive sound and looked away, your irritation flaring. For a guy who spent his nights stalking toward an infamous tunnel, he was a remarkably committed actor. You weren't sure if you were more annoyed by the lie or the fact that he was so damn good at it.
“One day,” you said, voice dropping into that determined register you reserved for when a case became personal. “I’m going to prove you wrong. I’ll get the footage, and you’re going to have to eat every single word.”
“Yeah?” Yuji’s expression shifted, that deadpan calmness replaced by a sudden, mischievous grin that actually reached his eyes. It was the first time he looked truly present. “You want to bet on it?”
“Of course,” you countered without a second’s hesitation. Your brain was already firing on all cylinders, calculating the odds. “Name your stakes.”
Yuji actually laughed at that—a genuine, chesty sound that caught you off guard as he finished the last of his meal. “You're funny,” he said, setting his chopsticks down with satisfaction.
“Excuse me?” Heat rushed to your face, your ears burning with a mix of indignity and fluster. “Are you backing out after being the one to start it?! That’s a cowardly move, Yuji-san!”
“Yeah, yeah, sure,” he chuckled, the mischievous glint still dancing in his eyes as he rose from the table. He gave you a quick, mock-polite bow before leaving.
You sat there fuming, face still hot with a mix of fury and stubborn pride. You watched his retreating figure, the easy slouch in his shoulders only making you more determined.
Your fingers tightened around your phone as you checked the battery levels on your high-res recorders. You were so going to that tunnel tonight. And you were going to bring back proof that would wipe that smug, funny grin right off his face.
Windbreaker on, zipped tight. You pinned your hair up securely with a stylized hair stick. Before stepping out into the night, you pulled up your private bookmarks, scanning the specialized forums for a refresher on tunnel protocols.
The seasoned investigators you'd consult on r/cursedspiritsarereal had a few non-negotiable tips for approaching a site like this:
— Tunnel Investigation Protocols —
i) Never stare directly into the dark at the end of the tunnel. Keep your gaze soft. Movement is often caught in the corners of your eyes first.
ii) Record thirty seconds of silence. before entering. This helps identify any EVP (Electronic Voice Phenomena) or unnatural hums that don't belong to the wind.
iii) Always announce your presence mentally or quietly. Whether you believe in spirits or energy clusters, acknowledging the space can sometimes prevent attachments.
iv) Keep your primary beam low. Sweeping a high-powered flashlight too quickly can create false shadows and disorient your own vision.
You checked your gear one last time, the glow of your HUD reflecting in your eyes. You were ready. Tonight wasn't about doing your long-awaited research—it was about winning that bet against him.
You clicked the small, high-sensitivity recording device onto your lapel and tapped the lens of your stabilized camera.
“Test, one-two,” you whispered, checking the levels on your HUD. “It’s April 2067, local time 02:14. I’m currently on the perimeter of the Sendai mountain districts, approaching the site of the reported tunnel anomalies.”
You adjusted the strap of your bag, your voice dropping into the familiar, slightly cynical cadence of your online vlogs. “Despite what certain skeptics at the inn might think, the energy readings in this sector have been spiked for the last seventy-two hours. If there's ever a night to catch a glimpse of what's lurking in here, it's tonight. Let's prove them wrong.”
You crept toward the mouth of the tunnel, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. You hesitated for a split second, the dampness of the concrete walls making the air feel thick and heavy.
Get it together, you scolded yourself.
You’d been chasing shadows since you were a kid, turning every bump in the night into a data point for gaining information. This wasn't a moment for nerves. Not your first time to come across these things.
So, why would you feel nervous?
This was exactly why you’d agreed to come to Sendai in the first place.
Reaching into your inner windbreaker pocket, you pulled out a sleek, heavy-framed pair of glasses. They were a black market special, sourced from a deep-web vendor who claimed they were repurposed military tech designed to filter light spectrums invisible to the human eye. According to the forums, these were the only way to see the residuals that the government tried to scrub from official reports.
You slid them onto the bridge of your nose. The world shifted into a high-contrast violet hue, the edges of the tunnel walls vibrating with a strange, static-like energy.
“Digital filters engaged,” you whispered into your lapel mic, voice steadying as the investigator in you took over. “Entering the tunnel now. Let's see what you're hiding, Sendai.”
The stench was the first thing that hit you—a thick, cloying rot that seemed to cling to the back of your throat. You had to pinch your nose every few steps, gagging slightly, but as you pushed deeper, the tunnel became unnervingly quiet. The silence was made the world outside feel like had been completely erased.
You knew you should probably turn back, but that stubborn curiosity... the one that had carried you through a degree and a decade of remote work—pushed you toward the dead end.
“I’m approximately two kilometers in,” you whispered into your lapel mic, voice trembling slightly now. “The atmospheric pressure feels... off. Visual sensors are—”
You stop talking. Heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed from the darkness behind you. You spun around, heart leaping into your throat, and snapped your high-powered flashlight toward the sound. The beam cut through the violet haze of your specialized glasses, but it illuminated... nothing. Just empty, damp concrete and a swirling mist of dust.
This is it, you thought, a strange sense of calmness washing over your terror. Your pulse thrummed in your ears. If this was your final moment, at least it was an honorable one—a martyr for the truth you’d been chasing since you were a kid.
Dying as a thirty-two-year-old virgin suddenly didn't seem so tragic if it meant finally seeing the lurking reality that the rest of the world was too blind to acknowledge.
You squared your shoulders, finger hovering over the record button. You weren't going down without getting the footage.
But the adrenaline spike vanished as quickly as it had come, replaced by a wave of pure annoyance. The silhouette in the dark—the broad shoulders, the familiar oversized hood, that specific, steady gait—was unmistakable even through the high-contrast violet tint of your glasses.
“Oh,” you deadpanned, your shoulders slumping. “Wow. Fantastic.”
It was just Yuji. So much for a glorious, paranormal martyrdom for the sake of science. The most dangerous thing in this tunnel was apparently a teenage-looking skeptic with a penchant for late-night walks.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you grumbled under your breath, muttering a string of choice curses into your lapel mic that definitely weren't part of the official investigation log. You clicked off your high-powered beam, the sudden shift back to the dim tunnel light matching your souring mood. “What are you doing here, Yuji? Following me now?”
“Don’t. Move,” Yuji said, his voice dropping into a register that was stripped of all its earlier playfulness
You didn’t buy it for a second. You just crossed your arms, the fabric of your windbreaker rustling in the stagnant air as you rolled your eyes behind your specialized lenses. “I have you on camera, you doofus. There’s literally nothing here but—”
“Please,” Yuji interrupted, his words coming out in a low, strained hiss. “Don’t. Fucking. Move.”
Now, that made you freeze for the first time (at least in a while now) in your life. You’d never heard him sound like that.
For a heartbeat, the tunnel went deathly silent. Then, you felt it .
Even though your black-market glasses showed nothing but violet-tinted concrete, a crushing pressure began to materialize directly behind your shoulder. It was a gravitational pull, a density so thick it felt like the oxygen was being vacuumed out of the air before it could reach your lungs.
Your vision blurred at the edges as the atmosphere slowly got heavier.
You couldn't even process what the hell just happened—only the sudden, sickening spray of dark fluid across your lenses and the guttural roar of something that shouldn't exist. Through the high-contrast filter of your glasses, you’d caught a glimpse of it: a pulsating, translucent mass of limbs and eyes that had been inches from dragging you into its body.
He had moved with a speed that you didn't know were even possible for a human to do so, tearing through the blob-like creature as if it were nothing more than paper.
Now, you found yourself tucked against his chest, his arms locked around you in a protective hold.
You were shivering, a violent, full-body tremor that you couldn't suppress. You’d seen it. In so long, you'd finally seen that it had a face, and it was horrifying.
But as the initial shock began to recede, a different kind of adrenaline took over. Your instinct, honed by years of skepticism and late-night vlogging, kicked back into gear.
First things first, you thought, your breathing still ragged. Did the sensors catch it?
With a shaky hand, you pushed back from his loose grasp, nearly stumbling as you fumbled for the recording device on your lapel. You didn't even look at him. Your eyes were glued to the tiny LED indicator on your camera.
Yuji stood there, his hands still half-raised as if he were still braced to catch you. His expression shifted from raw concern to a deep, baffled frown as he watched you ignore your near-death experience to check your playback.
“Are you... seriously checking the footage right now?” he asked, his voice flat with disbelief.
“It didn’t catch it!” you groaned, the frustration in your voice sharp enough to cut through the lingering tension. In the chaos, the hair stick had finally given up carrying your naivety, and your hair tumbled over your shoulders in a messy, tangled curtain.
You ignored the fact that your heart was still hammering against your ribs. You ignored the way your hands were shaking. Instead, you squared your shoulders and leveled a finger at the center of the tunnel.
“But,” you panted, a defiant, triumphant glint returning to your eyes. You pointed directly at the shimmering, putrid smear of slime and dark residue he’d just blasted across the concrete. Even through the violet tint of your glasses, the mess was undeniable—bloody, stinky, and completely defying the laws of biology.
“I still win that bet, Yuji-san,” you declared, voice regaining its usual competitive edge. “No proof, my foot. I just watched you rip a hole through a physical manifestation of a ghost... Or whatever it was. Maybe a slime. Either way, I’ve officially proven you wrong.”
Yuji just shrugged, his expression shifting back to that maddeningly casual demeanor as if he hadn't just torn a monster apart with his bare hands. “I don't really remember agreeing to any specific stakes,” he said, his voice maddeningly calm.
“You’re going to testify, that’s the stake!” you shot back, your voice echoing off the damp tunnel walls. The adrenaline was making you bold, bordering on manic. “And wait—you aren't even fazed! You didn't just survive that. You knew exactly how to kill it!”
In a fit of impulsive frustration, you ripped the black-market glasses off your face. You stared at the expensive, useless frames for a split second before dropping them onto the concrete and stepping on them. If they couldn't suffice in capturing the truth, they were just expensive plastic.
“You’re going to talk, Yuji,” you demanded, stepping closer into his space, your hair disheveled and your eyes wild with the thrill of the breakthrough. “No more ‘I don't believe in ghosts’ crap. You’re telling me everything.”
And that is how he ended up in your room, sitting on your only desk chair while you hovered over him like a seasoned detective.
The interrogation was in full swing. You were currently scrolling through his recent chats, your brow furrowed in deep concentration, while he leaned back, seemingly unbothered by the invasion of privacy.
“Who’s Megumi?” you asked, voice suspicious.
“My friend,” Yuji answered simply, watching you with an amused tilt of his head.
“What’s lmfao?” you demanded, pointing at a recurring string of letters.
You paused, squinting at the screen as if trying to decode a cipher. “What about the f?”
“It’s just an expression that exaggerates it,” he explained, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know, the f-word—”
“So, you also have lmao,” you interrupted, your investigative gears turning at maximum speed. You looked him dead in the eye, dead serious. “Who is lmao? Is it the sister? Or is it Megumi’s cousin?”
Yuji stared at you, his mouth hanging open slightly as he fought the urge to burst into laughter. He couldn't decide what was more overwhelming: the fact that you looked ready to add lmao to a most-wanted list, or the fact that you were somehow this brilliant researcher while remaining absurdly naive about basic internet culture.
How could someone who bought dark-web glasses not know what lmao meant?
It was absolutely ridiculous.
“You can also add a b,” Yuji started, trying to keep a straight face as he explained the variations.
“Lmfao, lmao, and now lmbfao?” You cut him off, your fingers hovering over the screen like you were mapping out a sophisticated crime syndicate. You looked up at him, eyes narrowed in deep thought.
“Who are these people? Is it a family? A cell? Are they all working with Megumi?”
“Pfft—” Yuji couldn't hold it back anymore. A genuine wheeze escaped him before he broke into full-blown laughter, doubling over in your desk chair.
“It’s not a secret society!” he managed to choke out between gasps, his shoulders shaking. “It’s just... oh man, you really don’t get out much, do you?”
You felt that familiar heat rising to your cheeks again, your ears burning as you realized you might have just made a massive error in your interrogation.
“Don’t dodge the question, Yuji!” you snapped, though your voice lacked its usual bite. “Explain the connection between Megumi and the creature in that tunnel! Look! This chat was a few months ago!”
[Fushiguro Megumi]: You're taking a while
[Itadori Yuji]: I had to go kill a curse
[Fushiguro Megumi]: Hurry up if you don't want me dead
[Fushiguro Megumi]: Friendship over
“Simply put,” Yuji began, finally sobered up from his laughing fit, “the thing you saw... you could only see it because of those glasses. People like you—non-sorcerers—can't really see them for whatever reason.”
“Uh-huh...” You didn't even look up, your stylus flying across your tablet as you transcribed his every word like a reporter. “Non-sorcerers. Got it. Note: Vision is tech-dependent.”
“And I only stayed at this inn so I could find it. It was causing trouble in the area, so I had to... you know. Deal with it.”
“You go around... killing blobs?” you asked, voice flat and entirely too serious for the absurdity of the sentence. “Is that a full-time occupation? Does it have a benefits package?”
Yuji let out a long, amused sigh, leaning back in the chair and watching you with a mix of wonder and pity. “You really want to know everything, don’t you? Honestly, how old are you, anyway? Aren't you a little... mature for this kind of hobby?”
He really did it. Ask a woman the worst possible question.
The stylus stopped moving. You looked up, eyes narrowing. “You think I’m old?”
“You’re... not?” he asked, suddenly cautious, sensing he’d stepped into a conversational minefield.
“Wow. Okay. Points for honesty, I guess,” you said, leaning back and crossing your arms over your windbreaker. “Go ahead. Try guessing my age.”
He winced, his eyes scanning your face—the determination, the high-end gear, the complete lack of modern slang. “I’d say... twenty-two? That’s not exactly young, but it’s not old, either. It’s just... maybe not the most appropriate thing to be obsessed with while you’re still finishing up college.”
You stared at him for a long beat. The silence in the room became thick enough to rival the tunnel's atmosphere. “I’m... thirty-two.”
“What?” Yuji’s jaw practically hit the floor. He bit his lower lip, his eyes darting over you as if he were trying to find a hidden wrinkle in your skin’s texture. “You look way younger than I... expected. Honestly. And you’re quite tall, too.”
You felt a flicker of pride at his disbelief, though you quickly smoothed your expression back into a professional mask. “And how old are you, then? Because if we’re being honest, you don't exactly look like you've seen much of the world, either.”
Yuji paused, the playful energy from before suddenly evaporating. He reached up, scratching the back of his head with a shy, almost sheepish grin that didn't quite match the weight in his eyes. “I’m sixty-four,” he said softly.
The room went dead silent. You stared at him, your stylus frozen mid-air. It didn’t add up—the smooth skin, the athletic build, the way he’d moved in that tunnel. He looked like a teenager, yet he was claiming a lifetime you hadn't even reached halfway.
“Excuse me?” you managed to choke out, your brain finally hitting a wall it couldn't climb.
“It’s complicated,” Yuji said, his voice dropping into a quiet, weary tone that finally betrayed the decades he was claiming. He looked down at his hands, the same ones that had effortlessly dismantled a monster only an hour ago.
“It’s impossible!” you countered, your voice rising a few octaves. It didn't make sense to you. But then, the image of the tunnel flashed in your mind—the violet-tinted gore, the inhuman speed. “But then again... you did just kill that blob.”
“It was a Grade 1,” he corrected, leaning back as if the classification was common knowledge.
“Grade 1?” You immediately pulled your tablet closer, the stylus poised and ready. You’d spent years categorizing anomalies by energy spikes and frequency disturbances, but this sounded like a structured system. A hierarchy. “Is that a power ranking? A threat level? If that was a one, what does a five look like?”
Yuji let out a dry, short breath that wasn't quite a laugh. “In our world, the smaller the number, the worse the nightmare. And trust me, you don't want to meet anything higher than what was in that tunnel.”
“What world?” you asked, your stylus practically blurring against the tablet screen as you scrambled to keep up. Your eyes were wide, the reporter in you completely drowning out the fear from earlier. “Is it a parallel dimension? A hidden society? Come on, keep talking! Don’t stop now!”
Yuji leaned back, the chair creaking under his weight. He looked at your frantic note-taking with a mix of pity and exhaustion, his expression flickering with the weight of someone who had explained this a thousand times over several decades.
“The world of Jujutsu,” he said, the word sounding heavy, like an old secret. “It’s not some distant place, either. It’s right here, layered over yours. All those accidents you research? The disappearances in the Sendai tunnels? Those aren't accidents. Those are curses.”
You didn't blink. “Curses. Like... magic?”
“Like human emotion,” he corrected, his voice dropping an octave. “Pain, hatred, fear—it leaks out of people and pools in places like this. It stays there until it takes shape. That blob was a manifestation of every person who ever felt terrified of being trapped in that tunnel.”
He paused, his eyes locking onto yours. “And people like me? We’re the ones born with the gift to see them and the duty to exorcise them before they eat someone like you for breakfast.”
“I knew it,” you murmured, your stylus tapping a frantic beat against the tablet. “There’s something far more to this than just optical perception. But look, even with the current advancements in bio-tech and sensory enhancement... is it really impossible for someone like me to become one of your kind?”
You leaned in, your voice dropping into an indulgent, persuasive tone. “I’m not saying you’re a different species, Yuji-san. I’m just saying you have a higher baseline of sensory input. If I can calibrate my gear to match your frequency, or maybe undergo some kind of neurological priming—”
The word was flat, final, and utterly devoid of room for negotiation.
You froze. The stylus slipped from your hand, clattering onto the desk. In one single blow, all your professional aspirations, your childhood dreams of the hidden world, and your meticulously crafted theories were crushed.
“Just...‘nope’?” you repeated, your voice cracking slightly. “No ‘it takes years of training’? No ‘you need a specific lineage’? Just a flat-out refusal of my potential?”
Yuji gave you a look that was almost apologetic, but mostly just exhausted. “The lineage works. But it’s not about potential. You’re either born with the spark, or you aren’t. And trust me,” he glanced at the abandoned crushed remains of your dark-web glasses on some box, “no amount of gear is going to bridge that gap.”
With just that one word, you completely lost it. The finality of his nope sent your professional composure your sanity into a tailspin. You were pacing the small confines of the bedroom and gesturing wildly at your equipment as years of research crumbled into a pile of unusable data.
“Thirty-two years! Thirty-two years of tracking frequencies and buying shady tech for a nope?” you hissed, voice climbing into a panicked, manic register. “I’ve spent my entire adult life looking for these things, Yuji! You can't just—”
“Hey, hey! Calm down!” Yuji finally snapped, jumping up from the desk chair to intercept you. He had to grab your shoulders to stop your frantic pacing, grip firm but careful.
He was looking at you with a mix of alarm and genuine concern, his expression softening as he realized just how much this meant to you. “Look at me. Breathe. You're going to wake up the entire floor.”
He didn't let go until your breathing leveled out, his presence grounding you even as the world you thought you knew continued to dissolve.
“It's not the end of the world,” he muttered, though his eyes told a different story—one of a man who had seen exactly how the world ended, over and over again, for sixty-four years.
“You're the only one who gets to say that, sixty-four-year-old!” you hissed, voice cracking with a mix of betrayal and pure, manic frustration. You shoved him back toward the desk, the force of it barely even budging him, but you didn't care. “Easy for you to say it’s ‘not the end of the worldʼ when you’ve lived my entire life twice over! You have the privilege of being bored by it!”
You paced the small space of the bedroom, your hands flying up to grip your hair, the strands messy and loose without the hair stick.
“You're one of those gatekeeping, elite Jujutsu people!” you accused, pointing a trembling finger at him. “The ones my fellow researchers and I theorize about on forums late at night! We knew you existed—the secret executioners who keep the rest of us in the dark while we waste our lives trying to prove what you already know!”
Yuji just sat there, the desk chair creaking slightly under him. He didn't have the urge to get angry, just watched you with that heavy, ancient look in his teenage eyes, letting you vent your decades of academic frustration on him.
“You think we're just ‘curiousʼ?” you continued, voice dropping into a bitter, ragged whisper. “We're looking for meaning. And your response didn't really help.”
“What are you looking at?” you snapped, catching his stare, your chest heaving.
“It's just...” Itadori mumbled, his gaze dropping to the floor, his brow furrowed in a way that made him look his actual age for a split second. “Why? Why go this far?”
“What do you mean, why? You probably don't get it, being on the inside, but—”
“These curses have to be removed,” he interrupted, his voice gaining a sudden, hard edge. “They have to be destroyed to protect mankind. That’s the only way people stay safe.”
“Are you sure you're not the one breaking the natural order of the world?” you challenged, stepping into his space, the researcher in you overriding the fear. “Think about it. A world without corrupt political figures or criminals—why do we have crime in the first place? It exists so there’s a role for police officers and lawyers to fill. There is a balance, a role for everything.”
You gestured wildly at the room, at your notes, and then back at him. “Just like you—whatever you call yourself—you have a role. You're the janitor of the supernatural. And I have a role, too. My role is to find those curses, to document them, to prove they exist. Whether it kills me or not, that is the equilibrium. You don't get to nope my place in the system just because you have the power and I have only the camera."
Yuji looked up at you then, the amusement was completely gone. He looked at you like you were the most dangerous thing he'd encountered all night.
“You’re thirty-two, right?” he asked quietly, his voice low and contemplative as he leaned back against your desk. He looked you over again, but this time it wasn't with the gaze of a sorcerer—it was something more human. “And you’re... still single?”
The audacity of the question made your eye twitch. You scoffed, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “So what? Life doesn't mean you have to settle down just because you hit a certain milestone. I have a career! I have a mission!” You leveled a finger at him, narrowing your eyes. “And for the record, you’re sixty-four! You’re literally a senior citizen in a hoodie! Also, you can stop hiding under that thing. You look like an emo kid trying to disappear into the drywall.”
Yuji let out a genuine, airy chuckle at that, the tension in his shoulders finally bleeding away. He reached up and hooked his fingers into the fabric, pulling the hood back to reveal his spiky pink hair and a face that still looked unfairly youthful despite the weight behind his eyes.
“Right,” he murmured, a lopsided grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “An emo. Haven't heard that one in a few decades.”
“Why do you look so young?” you demanded, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorframe, your skepticism finally bubbling over. “I refuse to believe you’re a senior citizen. It’s biologically impossible.”
“It’s just ... supernatural stuff,” Yuji said, his voice trailing off as he ran a hand through his hair. He looked remarkably unbothered by the fact that he was a walking medical miracle. “Energy, contracts, vessels... it’s a lot of things you don't want to deal with.”
You ignored the warning, your eyes lighting up with a sudden, dangerous spark of curiosity. If he could do it, why couldn't you? “Could you do the same to me?”
Yuji blinked, clearly thrown off by the shift in your interrogation. “Do what?”
“What you usually do,” you pushed, stepping closer until you were well within his personal space. Your brain was already calculating the possibilities—longevity, extended time for data collection, a career that could span centuries.
“Like?” he asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.
“What you did to stay young forever,” you whispered, voice thick with a mix of desperation and awe. “Whatever ritual, or—or energy you used. I want in.”
Yuji stared at you, his expression falling into something that looked less like amusement and more like profound, ancient pity. He looked at your smooth face, your sharp eyes, and the way you clung to your humanity like a shield you didn't know you were carrying.
“You don’t want this,” he said, his voice reaching a depth that made the floorboards beneath your feet feel thin. “Trust me. Living a hundred lives in one body isn't a gift. It's a sentence.”
“Oh. Do you want to share your experience then?” you pleaded, your voice dropping the sharp, investigative edge and softening into something more vulnerable. You sank onto the edge of your bed, leaning forward with your chin in your hands. “If I can’t live it, at least let me record it. Tell me what it’s like to see the world through sixty-four years of... whatever you are.”
Yuji stayed silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the scuff marks on your floor. The playful teenager from the tunnel was gone, replaced by a man who looked like he was weighing the cost of opening a door that had been shut for a very long time.
“It’s heavy,” he finally said, his voice barely a murmur. He looked up at you, and for a second, the youthful mask seemed to thin. “You see everyone you started with—friends, family, the people who actually knew the ‘real’ you—get old. You watch them move on, and then you watch them leave. And you? You stay exactly like this. A snapshot of a kid who died a long time ago.”
He let out a short, dry breath. “You want to know what it's like, right? It's not all as good as you expect it to be. Immortality isn't about living forever. It’s about outstaying your welcome.”
You didn't reach for your tablet anymore. You just watched him, the silence in the room no longer feeling like a battle of wits, but a shared weight.
“Is that why you’re here?” you asked softly. “In a random inn, chasing blobs in a tunnel? Because you have nowhere else to grow old?”
“Oh, I’m leaving,” Yuji said, standing up and stretching his limbs with a casualness that belied the weight of his previous words. The heavy, ancient atmosphere evaporated, replaced by his usual easygoing energy. “I’ve killed what I needed to here. To be honest, I came because I thought it might be a Special Grade—something way worse than that blob—but it’s a relief it wasn’t.”
He paused, glancing around your room one last time before his eyes settled on you. A small, surprisingly gentle smile touched his lips. “At least the area is cleared now. It’s good to know, especially since your family runs an inn around here. You should be able to sleep a little easier tonight.”
You felt a strange pang of disappointment. The investigation was ending just as the real mystery was beginning. He was already heading for the window, moving with that fluid, predator-like grace that made his age feel like a secondary thought.
“Wait—that’s it?” you asked, standing up as he hooked a leg over the sill. “You’re just moving on to the next tunnel? The next ‘blob’?”
“Duty calls, young one,” he joked, throwing a wink over his shoulder as the night breeze caught his pink hair. “Stay out of the dark. And seriously... learn more slangs. It’ll help with not looking naive.”
“I’ll cover for your accommodation,” you blurted out, the words tripping over each other in your haste to stop him. You stepped forward, your hand outstretched as if you could physically catch the secrets he was about to carry out the window. “Stay a little longer. Just... a few more days.”
Yuji paused, one hand gripping the window frame, his body halfway balanced between your world and the night outside. He looked back at you, his expression unreadable in the low light of the bedroom.
“You’re going to pay for a sixty-four-year-old’s room?” he asked, a hint of his earlier amusement returning to his voice, though it was tempered with something softer. “That’s a lot of payment for information that can be fabricated anywhere.”
“But it's not fabricated. YOU'RE REAL. Plus, it’s an investment!” you countered, trying to regain your professional footing even as your heart hammered. “You haven’t even finished explaining the grade system. And I still have three pages of questions about everything.”
Yuji let out a short, huffed laugh and pulled his leg back inside, landing silently on the floorboards. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked at you not as a nuisance or a victim, but as someone who was stubbornly, bravely trying to make sense of a world that wasn't built for her.
“A few more days,” he repeated, his voice dropping into a quiet, almost contemplative register. “Alright. I guess I can spare a little time before the next mission. But on one condition.”
“Anything,” you said, reaching for your tablet.
“Put the stylus down,” he commanded gently. “If I’m staying, we’re talking. Not interviewing. Just ... talking. Deal?”
“Okay, oldie,” you conceded, finally setting the tablet face-down on the desk. You crossed your arms, trying to regain some semblance of the authority you usually held in your digital circles, even if you were currently haggling with a supernatural senior citizen who looked like he belonged in a boy band.
Yuji winced at the nickname, but the grin remained. “Ouch. Didn't think hearing that would hurt.”
He moved away from the window and settled back into the chair, looking much more relaxed now that the interrogation had shifted into something else.
“So,” he said, leaning his head back and looking at the ceiling. “Since you're paying for the room, I guess I'm officially your guest. What does a thirty-two-year-old researcher do for fun when she isn't hunting ghosts in haunted tunnels?”
You opened your mouth to give a scripted answer about data cross-referencing and forum moderation, but then you stopped.
You looked at the sixty-four-year-old man trapped in a teenager's body before you and realized that you didn't want to give a pre-written response.
You wanted to be genuine.
“I... write,” you admitted softly, the heat returning to your ears. “Stories. Narratives. I try to make sense of the things I can't explain by turning them into something else. Of course, they're mostly about ghosts and spooky shit.”
Yuji tilted his head, his amber eyes catching the light. "Stories, huh? Well, I’ve got sixty-four years of those. Hope you brought a lot of ink."
“Let’s say it’s a hobby,” you said, waving a hand dismissively as you leaned back against your headboard, finally letting some of the rigid tension out of your shoulders. “As for what I do for a living, I do remote jobs. Freelancing, consulting, data analysis... I don't really settle for just one.”
Yuji hummed, tapping his chin with a look of mock-concentration as he processed this. “Oh, I get it. So it’s like... polygamy with work.”
You nearly choked on your own breath. “That is a terrible wording! Seriously, that’s the worst way you could have possibly described a career path!”
“What? You’re committed to a bunch of different things at the same time,” he argued, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Sounds like work-polygamy to me.”
“It’s called being a multi-hyphenate professional, you fossil!” you shot back, though a small, involuntary smile was starting to tug at the corner of your mouth.
He laughed. A sound that made the room feel a lot less like an investigation site and a lot more like a place where two people were just... talking.
“Multi-hyphenate,” he repeated, testing the word out. “See? I’m learning.”
Yuji Itadori was no longer a massive pain in the ass, but the more he spoke, the more the researcher in you clawed at the surface. You wanted—no, wait, you needed—to know more.
But as it turned out, knowing more definitely had its cons.
“I can’t really tell you everything,” he mumbled around a mouthful of food as you treated him to a late-night meal at a small, quiet spot near the inn. Now looking more like a hungry teenager, though the way he scanned the perimeter of the room was purely instinctual.
“Uh-huh...” You pursed your lips, your fingers twitching near your bag where your tablet was tucked away. “Then tell me about your friends. Let's start with this ‘Megumi’ person.”
Yuji’s chopsticks paused mid-air. A shadow flickered across his face—a brief, sharp pang of something that looked like grief, smoothed over by decades of practice. It was clearly a sensitive topic, but your curiosity was a runaway train.
“Fushiguro Megumi,” he said softly, his voice taking on a nostalgic, reverent quality. “He was my friend back at Jujutsu High. Along with Kugisaki Nobara. We were... a team. I had a sensei who passed away ages ago, Gojo Satoru. And then there was Okkotsu—”
“Uh-huh, okay—Fushiguro, Kugisaki, Gojo... got it,” you muttered, already scribbling the names into a small physical notepad you’d pulled out. The researcher in you was practically vibrating at the mention of a ‘High School’ for these people.
Yuji’s expression shifted from nostalgia to a deep, weary frown. He laid his chopsticks down across his bowl with quietly.
“I asked you to just talk with me,” he reminded you, his voice firm. “Not catalog my life like it's a police report.”
You froze, the pen hovering over the paper. You looked up and saw the man looking back at you, tired of being a subject of study. “Oh... Sorry, grandpa,” you mumbled, slowly closing the notebook. “Force of habit.”
“You know that’s unfair, right?” Yuji went on as you both stepped out of the ramen shop, the cool night air hitting your faces. He stuffed his hands into his hoodie pockets, his shoulders hunched in a way that looked suspiciously like a pout. “If I’m giving up all this top-secret info, you’re going to have to take me to the movies.”
“Eh?” You blinked, stopping in your tracks as you tried to find the logical thread. “I don’t see how those two things are even remotely related—investigative compensation usually involves credits or—"
“It’s a trade,” he interrupted, not even looking back at you. “Information for a night out. That’s the deal.”
“Yuji-san, I’m thirty-two. I don’t ‘hang out’ at the cinema with teenagers who are secretly senior citizens,” you argued, catching up to his side. “Besides, shouldn't you be busy saving the world from more blobs?”
Yuji didn't answer. He just kept walking, his gaze fixed stubbornly on the pavement, his expression falling into a full-blown sulk. The legendary sorcerer, the man who had outlived his entire generation, was currently giving you the silent treatment because you wouldn't take him to see a blockbuster.
“Are you... are you seriously sulking right now?” you asked, incredulous.
He let out a heavy, dramatic sigh. “It’s been a long sixty-four years. A guy just wants some popcorn and a screen that isn't showing a curse for once.”
“Fine!” You groaned, reaching out and grabbing his wrist to steer him back toward the inn. “We’ll do it in the basement. It’s basically a home theater anyway, and I’ve got to check on the night staff. If my mother finds out I’ve been out this late neglecting the family business for investigative research, she’ll actually be the one to kill me.”
Yuji perked up instantly, his sulky demeanor vanishing like a curse hit with a black flash. He let you lead him along, a satisfied, boyish grin returning to his face. “A home theater? Man, being a thirty-two-year-old researcher with an inn-owning family has some serious perks.”
“Don’t get used to it, grandpa,” you huffed, though your grip on his wrist didn't loosen. “And you’re picking the movie. Nothing with ‘blobs,’ nothing with ‘sorcery,’ and absolutely nothing that requires me to take notes.”
“Deal,” Yuji said, his pace picking up to match yours. “But I’m warning you, my taste in movies stopped being current about forty years ago. Hope you like the classics.”
As you pulled him through the back entrance of the inn, you caught the confused look of one of the desk clerks. You just offered a sharp, don't-ask nod and kept moving toward the basement stairs. The researcher in you was screaming that you were wasting valuable interview time on a movie night, but as you looked at the sixty-four-year-old teenager actually looking excited about popcorn, you figured all of that could wait.
“By the way,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you reached the heavy basement door. You glanced over your shoulder, checking the hallway one last time. “If my brother by any chance comes across us and asks, tell him you’re just a distant friend visiting from Sendai. Got it?”
Yuji paused, his hand halfway to the doorknob. He gave you a look that was part amusement and part genuine confusion. “I mean, I do actually live here in Sendai, so that's not even a lie,” he muttered, before snapping a crisp, mock-salute that looked far too practiced for a teenager. “But sure. Got it, boss.”
You huffed, already imagining the headache of explaining a pink-haired friend to your overprotective family. “Just... try to act your physical age, okay? No unnecessary talk while my brother is in earshot."
“Understood,” Yuji said, his eyes glinting with mischief as he followed you into the cool, quiet dimness of the basement. “I’ll be the most convincing, non-threatening teenager you’ve ever met. Now, where’s that popcorn you promised? My metabolism isn't what it used to be—wait, actually, it’s exactly the same. Let’s go.”
“Human Earthworm... What? You actually watch this kind of shit?” you asked, staring at the screen in unfiltered judgment. You had the remote gripped like a weapon, ready to change the film at the slightest provocation. “I thought you'd pick something classic, or—I don't know—something with a plot that doesn't involve garden bait.”
Yuji’s eyebrows shot up, and he immediately frowned, looking genuinely offended on behalf of the movie. “Hey! It’s good!” he insisted, leaning forward in the basement chair. “It’s a cult classic! The character development is actually really deep if you look past the, uh... slimy parts.”
You rubbed your temples, feeling the thirty-two years of your life weighing heavily on you. “Yuji, there are no deep parts in a movie titled Human Earthworm. It's a B-movie nightmare.”
“Just give it ten minutes,” he pleaded, his tone sounding more like the stubborn enthusiasm of a teenager. “If you don't like the transformation scene, we can watch something else. Deal?”
You sighed, sinking into the sofa and grabbing a handful of popcorn. “Fine. Ten minutes. But if I lose brain cells, you're paying for my medical consult.”
To your utter surprise, it was actually kind of decent—in a really bizarre sort of way. Or you just had a thing for a grotesque, which was a given.
It definitely seemed like the kind of niche, earnest thing Yuji would unironically enjoy. However, your focus kept drifting away from the screen. You found yourself staring at him instead, watching the way the blue light from the projector caught the sharp line of his jaw and the strange, faded marking (or bruises?) on his face.
Looking back at the night’s chaos, he had been incredibly polite for someone you'd practically harassed with a tablet. And he had saved your life from that thing in the tunnel back then without a second thought.
Wait—why were you even thinking about this right now?
Maybe it was the adrenaline wearing off, or maybe it was the fact that at thirty-two, your romantic history was a desert and having a physically attractive (even if technically ancient) guy in your basement was making your head spin. You felt a sudden, frantic need for personal space and shifted toward the far end of the sofa, trying to put some professional distance between you.
Yuji didn't even look away from the screen, but he patted the cushion right next to him.
“You're way over there,” he noted, his voice casual but grounding. “There's still plenty of space here if you want to actually see the screen.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?” you mumbled, the words slipping out before your brain could catch them. You almost facepalmed right there on the sofa.
Professionalism. Data. Facts. Not his dating life!
“No,” Yuji answered simply. He didn't look away from the screen, where a giant earthworm was currently terrorizing a suburban kitchen.
He finally turned his head, the flickering blue light of the movie casting long, weary shadows across his youthful face. “I don’t want to watch her... you know. Grow old. Go through everything I can't.”
“Oh.” The air in the basement suddenly felt much heavier than it had a moment ago.
The reality of his sixty-four years hit you all over again—the isolation of being a permanent teenager while the rest of the world moved toward the finish line.
“Why?” he countered, echoing your question. “What about you? Thirty-two and still ‘polygamous’ with your work?”
You felt the heat crawl up your neck. “So... you’ll never date? Like, ever?”
Yuji went quiet, his gaze drifting back to the movie. He let out a small, huffed breath that wasn't quite a laugh. “It’s a long time to be alone, I guess. But it’s better than being the only one left at the end of the story. Unless...” He trailed off, giving you a sidelong glance that made your heart do a weird, unscientific stutter. “Unless I find someone stubborn and doesn't know when to quit.”
“I haven't been in a relationship like, ever,” you admitted eventually, pulling your knees up to your chest and looking anywhere but at him. “I’m basically married to my work. Information... media, they don't break your heart or grow old without you.”
Yuji hummed, a thoughtful sound that vibrated through the couch cushions. “First kiss?”
“I lost it to a jerk in high school,” you snapped, the memory of a mediocre school hallway encounter resurfacing with a sting of annoyance. “Not exactly the cinematic masterpiece you're watching on screen. Why?”
“Oh,” he said, his voice dropping into that quiet, neutral tone he used when he was actually being serious.
“What about you?” you countered, turning the tables. “Sixty-four years and you’re telling me you’ve never had some legendary romance?”
“I don't really have one,” he stated simply.
You nearly choked on a piece of popcorn. You turned fully toward him, your eyes wide with genuine shock. “But you’re sixty-four! You’ve had two entire lifetimes to find someone to stand in a rainy alleyway with! How is that even possible?”
Yuji shrugged, leaning his head back against the sofa. “I was a little busy dying and coming back to life for most of the first half. And the second half... well, I told you. It’s hard to start something when you know how the movie ends before the opening credits are even over.”
He looked at you then, a small, lopsided smile playing on his lips that didn't quite reach the ancient exhaustion in his eyes. “Besides, I guess I was waiting for someone who wouldn't be scared off by my taste in films and the things I encounter every day.”
“You know, uh...” You rub the back of your neck, suddenly feeling a little shy. “... I can be your friend,” you said softly, the professional walls you’d built around yourself finally crumbling. You looked at him and felt a pang of genuine empathy that no data point could ever capture. “I guess it’s a little lonely being sixty-four. Honestly... it’s already lonely enough for me at thirty-two.”
Yuji’s lopsided grin faltered for a second, replaced by a look of quiet surprise. He turned his head fully toward you, the flickering light of the Human Earthworm forgotten in the background. The basement suddenly felt smaller, the distance between you on the sofa feeling less like a safety barrier and more like a void.
“A friend, huh?” he repeated, the word sounding heavy and unfamiliar on his tongue. He let out a breathy, self-deprecating laugh. “It’s been a long time since someone offered me that without wanting a curse removed or a world saved first.”
He shifted, closing the gap between you just enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him—a reminder that despite the decades and the supernatural stuff, he was still very much alive.
“Thirty-two isn't that old, you know,” he murmured, his amber eyes searching yours with a depth that made your heart skip a beat. “You’ve still got plenty of time to find something that isn't a job or a hobby. But... I’ll take the offer. Having a friend who doesn't mind getting in trouble is probably a good investment for the next sixty years.”
He held out a hand, palm up, in a silent gesture of agreement. “Deal?”
The logic center of your brain was screaming—this was a catastrophic breach of professional conduct and a flat-out social disaster. But maybe it was the adrenaline of the blob hunt or the weight of his sixty-four years of loneliness, because as you reached for his hand, your trajectory shifted entirely.
Before you could talk yourself out of it, you leaned in and landed a quick, desperate peck right on his lips.
It was over in a fraction of a second—a soft, warm collision that tasted faintly of salt and cheesy popcorn.
The silence that followed was deafening. Yuji froze, his hand still suspended in mid-air, his amber eyes blown wide in genuine, rare shock. For the first time tonight, the legendary sorcerer looked completely defenseless.
“I—I have to check the... the laundry! The staff! The inventory!” you stammered, your face erupting in a heat so intense it felt like a cursed technique.
Without waiting for a response, you bolted. You scrambled off the sofa, nearly tripping over a stray cushion, and flew up the basement stairs like a marathon runner. You didn't look back, leaving Yuji sitting alone in the blue glow of the television, with the Human Earthworm still squelching away in the background.
You slammed your bedroom door shut and leaned against it, your heart hammering against your ribs. Thirty-two years old, you thought, burying your face in your hands. Thirty-two years of being a rational, calculated researcher, and you just drive-by kissed a sixty-four-year-old in a man's body.
Man? But you said he looked like a teenager.
You touched your lower lip with one finger from the right hand.
Downstairs, the basement remained silent, save for the muffled sounds of the movie and the ghost of a touch that definitely wasn't in your research notes.
You started avoiding him like the plague. Even though he had nearly a week left of his stay at the inn, you turned evasion into an art form, making sure your paths hadn't crossed for three days straight.
You became a ghost in your own home. You memorized his patterns—the sound of his door creaking, the specific time he went down for breakfast, the heavy but rhythmic thud of his boots in the hallway—and you moved in the exact opposite direction.
If he was in the lobby, you were in the laundry room. If he headed for the garden, you suddenly had urgent accounting to do in the attic.
Your thirty-two years of life had never prepared you for this level of middle-school-style panic. Every time you thought about that basement—the blue light, the smell of popcorn, and the impulsive audacity of that peck—your face heated up so fast you felt like you were developing a fever.
On the third night, you were flattened against the wall of the kitchen hallway, holding your breath as you heard him whistling a low, familiar tune just around the corner. Your heart hammered against your ribs, and for a second, you only seem to realized that three days of hiding hadn't made the memory of those lips any less vivid.
This was so embarrassing. Just a peck and already this flustered?!
You were avoiding the fact that, for the first time in your life, the data felt secondary to the person.
It was well past midnight. You’d just finished a grueling stretch of remote work, your eyes stinging from the blue light of your laptop, and the only thing on your mind was a steaming cup of instant noodles from the communal kitchen.
That was, until you rounded the corner and walked straight into a solid chest. The impact sent you stumbling back, and your heart nearly leaped out of your throat when you looked up and saw those familiar, lopsided tufts of pink hair. After three days of flawless evasion, your luck had finally run dry.
“I—I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking, I just—I really needed a snack and I thought everyone was asleep, I’m so sorry—” The apologies tumbled out of your mouth in a frantic, disjointed rush. You were already backing away, your hands up in a defensive gesture as if you could physically push the awkwardness out of the hallway.
But Yuji didn't let you retreat. He moved with that supernatural speed you remember seeing in the tunnel, his hand catching your wrist before you could bolt again.
“You’ve been busy,” he murmured, his voice unbearably low in the narrow space. There was no teasing in his tone—just a tone that made your breath hitch.
“I—I have a lot of deadlines! Work-polygamy, remember? I really have to go—”
You didn't get to finish the sentence. Before you could spin another excuse, Yuji leaned down, his hand sliding from your wrist to the back of your neck to tilt your head up. He didn't hesitate, just simply closed the distance, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was firm, deliberate, and far more sophisticated than the clumsy peck you’d left him with in the basement.
The world narrowed down to the scent of the night air surrounding the warmth of his skin. For a sixty-four-year-old, he certainly didn't kiss like a fossil. He kissed like a man who had been waiting three days to finish a conversation you’d started.
The kiss was nothing like the chaste, panicked peck from the basement. This was a contact of decades of restraint and three days of agonizing tension.
Yuji tilted his head, deepening the contact with a practiced hunger that made your knees weaken. His lips were startlingly soft but firm, moving against yours with a demanding pressure. He caught your lower lip between his, a deliberate tug that sent a jolt of electricity straight down your spine. It was a sensory overload—the faint scent of the night air clinging to his hoodie, the heat of his large hand splayed across the small of your back, and the insistent, velvet glide of his tongue tracing the seam of your lips.
You found yourself clutching the fabric of his sleeves, your fingers bunching the cotton as you finally stopped thinking like a researcher and started feeling like a woman.
This wasn't an investigation.
When he finally pulled back, just an inch, his thumb lingered on your jawline, grazing the dip of your dimple. He was breathing heavily, his amber eyes dark and focused on your swollen lips.
“Three days, huh,” he murmured, his voice in a low, gravelly vibration that felt like a caress. “That’s a long time to keep a guy waiting for a proper answer.”
Your brain was complete mush. The remote work, the deadlines, the polygamy with work—it all felt like a lifetime ago. You could only stare up at him, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs that definitely wasn't in any of your medical notes.
“I... I was busy,” you breathed out, though the excuse sounded pathetic even to your own ears. How many times are you going to say that?
Yuji let out a small, huffed laugh, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. “Right. Busy. Well, I hope your schedule is clear for the rest of the night, because I’m not letting you bolt again.”
“Itadori, wait—my room is a mess,” you managed to breathe out, though the protest lacked any real conviction. Despire being obsessively clean, the peck you'd initiated in the basement wouldn't leave your mind, so you clearly didn't have the motivation in you to clear up your shit.
He had you pressed firmly against your bedroom door, his hands framing your face as he trailed soft, lingering kisses along your jawline and the corner of your mouth. The heat radiating from him was making it impossible to care about stray papers or unmade beds.
He paused, his lips hovering just a fraction of an inch from yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Didn't I tell you to call me by my first name,” he murmured in a tone so intimate that made your toes curl.
“A-ah, right? I must have forgotten,” you stammered, your fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket. You wanted to unzip it free.
He leaned in again, nipping gently at your lower lip before pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes. The ancient, weary sorcerer was nowhere to be seen. There was only the man who had been waiting decades for someone to actually see him.
“Yuji,” he corrected softly, his thumb tracing the curve of your dimple. “Just Yuji, okay?”
You swallowed hard, “Okay... Yuji. Sorry, I just. You're kissing me and I...”
The way he grinned at that, a genuine, boyish expression that reached his amber eyes, told you that everything else can wait especially when he had that look in his face. He didn't wait for another word, leaning back in to claim your lips with a slow, deep passion that made the mess in your room the very last thing on your mind.
“Yuji, are you sure we’re not going too fast?” you managed to breathe out, your hands flat against his chest to create just an inch of space. The heat in the hallway was making your head spin, but the logical researcher in you was frantically trying to recalibrate. “Maybe you’re just—”
“What? Lonely?” He finished the thought for you, his voice dropping an octave. He leaned in closer, his thumb tracing the shell of your ear.
“You’re sixty-four,” you reminded him, your voice trembling slightly. “And I’m thirty-two. That’s... that’s a massive gap in experience, even if you look like you’re eighteen. I don't want this to be just because I'm the first person in decades who didn't run away.”
Yuji stopped, his forehead resting against yours. He let out a long, slow exhale that fanned across your lips. “I’ve lived two lifetimes,” he murmured, using your name for the first time with a weight that made your heart skip. “I know the difference between being lonely and wanting you.”
He pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, his amber gaze steady and uncharacteristically grave. “Decades of you being married to your work and sixty-four years of me waiting for the world to stop ending... I’d say we’ve both waited long enough. Don't overanalyze it. Just feel this.”
He didn't give you a chance to rebut anymore. He tilted your chin up, his mouth capturing yours again, his tongue grazing your lower lip in a slow, possessive invitation that made the age gap feel like a meaningless number.
“I don't want to do it all the way,” you mumbled, the honesty cutting through the haze of the moment. You looked down at his chest, your fingers twisting the fabric of his hoodie. “You're great and all, really, but... I’m saving that. For someone I’m actually settling down with.”
Yuji’s hands, which had been resting warmly on your waist, stilled. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression falling into something soft and genuinely apologetic.
“Is that so?” he asked, his voice quiet. He looked almost sheepish, the intensity from a moment ago flickering into a gentle concern. “I’m sorry. I didn't mean to push or make you feel like you had to—”
“No, no!” you interrupted, reaching up to catch his jaw before he could spiral into guilt. “You're a great kisser, Yuji. In fact, you're a devastatingly good one. I'm just... very traditional. I've spent thirty-two years being the ‘responsible one,’ and I guess some habits die hard.”
A small, relieved smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He leaned his forehead back against yours, his thumbs grazing your hip bones through your shirt.
“Traditional, huh?” he murmured, his amber eyes locking onto yours. “I’ve lived through several eras. I can handle a slow burn. In fact, after sixty-four years, I think I’ve finally learned the value of not rushing the good parts.”
He leaned in, but instead of the passionate heat from before, he pressed a lingering, tender kiss to your forehead, then another to the tip of your nose.
“So,” he whispered against your skin, his voice humming with a newfound playfulness. “Does ‘traditional’ include finishing that terrible worm movie, or are we skipping straight to the part where I try to convince you to let me stay another week?”
“What about the curses you have to handle?” you asked, blinking up at him as the reality of his life started to sink in. The passion of the moment was still humming in the air, but you were already calculating the logistics. “Or...” You trailed off, a wild, completely unscientific idea forming in your head. “What if! What if I just come with you?”
Yuji froze. The playful glint in his eyes vanished, replaced now by a sudden, sharp clarity. He looked at you as if he were seeing a ghost.
“You?” he repeated, his voice dropping into a low, protective rumble. “The things I hunt... they don't care about research papers or traditional values. They’re visceral. They’re ugly.”
“I’ve already seen the tunnel blob!” you countered, your grip tightening on his hoodie. “I’ve got the gear, I’ve got the data-tracking, and clearly,” you gestured vaguely between the two of you, “I’ve got the stomach for the unconventional. Besides, someone needs to make sure you don't spend the next sixty-four years only watching B-movies in basement theaters.”
Yuji let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-sigh, his forehead dropping back against yours. The weight of his experience seemed to settle on his shoulders, but his hands stayed firmly on your waist.
“It’s not a hobby, and it’s definitely not a remote job,” he warned, though his thumb was tracing the curve of your hip in a way that felt like a silent concession. “It’s dangerous. It’s messy. And I’ve spent a long time trying to keep people away from it.”
“Well, you’re stuck with a thirty-two-year-old multi-hyphenate now,” you whispered, a defiant smile finally breaking through your nerves. “And I’m not exactly easy to shake off once I’ve started a project.”
Yuji searched your face for a long moment, looking for any hint of hesitation. When he found none, he leaned in, pressing another soft, lingering kiss to your temple.
“Fine,” he murmured against your skin. “But if we’re doing this, you’re officially the brains of the operation. I don't want you to get hurt in any way.”
Ever since you started dating him, the curtain had been pulled back, revealing the reality of the Jujutsu world. Thankfully, you were no stranger to conflict. Your life had always been a series of problems to solve and mysteries to untangle.
But even though you constantly assured Yuji that you were safe—reminding him with a soft smile that you were his, and he was the strongest shield you knew—anxiety still flickered in his eyes. He carried the weight of the world, and you made it your mission to remind him, every single day, that you weren't going anywhere.
“A-ah, Yuji... Yes, right there, please...”
Your voice hitched, echoing slightly in the your new office in Sendai. With Yuji’s help, you’d finally established a space where you could balance your schedules. As a linguist, you spent your hours teaching languages online. Sometimes, even conducting deep-dive research, often helping him deal with the paperwork that came with his official duties. It was a peaceful setup, or so you had thought.
It didn't help, however, that he seemed to have a sixth sense for when you needed a distraction.
Your professional pencil skirt was hitched high around your waist, and he had you pinned against a sturdy table tucked into the corner. You had originally thought he’d bought that specific piece of furniture just to fill the space, but as his tongue worked with a devastating locked-in focus, the truth became clear. He hadn’t bought it for decor.
The skeptic you had once tried so hard to impress with evidence was now a man obsessed with you and everything that involved you, and right now, his only research interest was exactly how loud he could make you moan in the middle of a workday.
“Am I doing well?” he asked, his voice vibrating against your bare skin.
He pulled back just enough to look up at you, his eyes dark and heavy with a primal sort of focus. He was a complete mess—his pink hair was disheveled, spiking in every direction where your fingers had been gripping it, and his face was flushed, slick with the evidence of exactly how hard he’d been working.
Despite the heat of the moment, that familiar, mischievous glint was back in his gaze. He looked like he knew he’d just won the ultimate bet, waiting for you to grade his performance while he held you on the edge of the world.
“Yuji,” you whispered, your voice trembling with exhaustion.
You reached down, your fingers trembling slightly as they hooked under his chin to pull him up. You wanted to see him. As he rose slightly, your palms came up to cradle his face, your thumbs caressing the sharp line of his jaw. The playful arrogance that usually defined him had softened into something raw and expectant.
“I’m in love with you, too,” you confessed, the words feeling heavier and more real than anything you had ever recorded in your life.
You weren't looking at him through a lens or a screen anymore. You were looking at the man who had torn through the darkness just to keep you whole, and for the first time, you didn't need any proof to believe it.
He grinned, a triumphant, boyish look that made you let out a breathless laugh as the tension finally broke. You reached for a pack of wipes on the desk, your movements still a bit shaky as you began the task of cleaning both of you up.
“I’m satisfied,” you murmured. You paused, your gaze dropping from his messy hair to the unmistakable bulge straining against the fabric of his trousers.
A slow, knowing smile played on your lips as you glanced back up at him. “What about you? Do you really not want me to... handle that?”
You gestured toward the rising heat between his legs, your eyes challenging him. For all his talk about being a skeptic, he certainly couldn't deny the very physical evidence of how much he wanted you.
“No,” he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, grounding tone that always made your heart skip. He leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss against your cheek before pulling you back against him, his arms locking around your waist in a firm embrace from behind. “I don’t want my wife’s lips to be stained.”
You went still in his arms, the word echoing in your mind. “...Wife? Still on that even though we've been dating for six months?”
You could feel the vibration of his chest against your back as he let out a soft, contented hum. He didn't hesitate, his grip tightening just a fraction as he tucked his chin over your shoulder, pulling you closer into his warmth.
“Time doesn’t matter if it’s with you,” he said simply.
There was no playful deflection or mischievous glint in his voice. It was just a statement of fact—as undeniable as the man holding you. In his world of life-and-death stakes, six months was an eternity, and he had clearly already seen enough of his future to know exactly who he wanted in it.
You spun around in his arms, using your momentum to shove him back until his shoulders hit the wall. You caged him in, your hands planted firmly on either side of his chest, your expression devoid of any teasing.
“Don’t you dare get killed by the seventh,” you commanded, your voice low and vibrating with a sudden fierceness. You looked him dead in the eye, your focus narrowed down to this singular point. “Because on that day, I’m the one proposing to you.”
You weren't joking. You weren't looking for a reaction or a way to win a bet. You were laying down a claim, a deadline that didn't allow for failure or accidents in the line of duty.
Yuji stared at you for a heartbeat, stunned by your mere words. Then, his face split into a wide, helpless grin, and he let out a laugh—a genuine sound that bounced off the walls of your quiet office. It wasn't a laugh of disbelief, but one of pure joy, as if he couldn't believe his luck that a woman such as you was actually trying to schedule his future.
Two months ago was the first time your brother met Yuji, and... he didn't like him immediately. It was a classic case of sibling synchronicity. Like sister, like brother, his skepticism was a mirror of your own. He spent most of the evening squinting at Yuji from across the table, his protective instincts flaring as he tried to figure out how someone so seemingly shady and nonchalant had managed to bypass your obsession and filters.
Your mother, however, was operating on an entirely different level. She was practically over the moon, already humming to herself about wanting to have three more grandkids—just in case you two were planning on making things official anytime soon.
Which was too early, of course.
“I knew you liked him! I could see it happrning!” she teased, nudging you as Yuji stepped out to help your brother with the heavy lifting outside.
“Ma, stop! It was a spontaneous feeling, okay?” you hissed, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “A slow-burn, at best, too.”
“Thirty-two is never too late for such spontaneous feeling,” she countered with a knowing grin. She leaned in, her voice softening into that sincere register. “Your brother who’s been happily married for seven years now told me to have faith that you’d find someone who could actually keep up with you. I’m just glad I listened.”
On your brother’s seventh wedding anniversary, you had volunteered for the ultimate endurance test: looking after his three children. At seven, five, and three years old, they were a tripod of both too much adrenaline and too little rest, requiring constant surveillance. Normally, you’d have your darling assistant nearby, but Yuji had decided to check on a string of problems in a neighboring city, leaving you to manage the kids alone.
Your phone buzzed against the kitchen counter while you were mid-struggle with a juice box.
[yujiii]: Hey. I'm back in Sendai but the office is locked. Where are you? Hehe
You quickly dictated the address of your brother’s suburban home, assuming he’d head back to the inn to rest. To your surprise, a familiar figure could be heard stomping in from outside less than twenty minutes later.
When Yuji walked through the front door, you noticed he looked soft.
He’d ditched his outfit for a simple shirt, and the moment the kids saw him, the atmosphere in the living room shifted from controlled riot to hero worship.
“Who’s the pink giant?” the five-year-old whispered, eyes wide.
“I’m Yuji,” he grinned, dropping to his knees so he was at their level. “And I hear you guys are the bosses around here.”
The next three hours passed by quick with him around. You watched from the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame with a mug of lukewarm coffee, absolutely mesmerized. You’d spent so much time seeing Yuji as a protector that you’d forgotten he had the heart of a big brother.
He let the seven-year-old climb onto his back like a mountain climber conquering a peak, and then proceeded to do airplane laps around the living room with the five-year-old tucked under one arm. He was careful, ensuring no one bumped into sharp edges of any of the furniture around.
When the three-year-old got fussy, Yuji didn't panic. He sat cross-legged on the carpet, pulled a deck of cards from his pocket, and started performing simple sleight-of-hand tricks.
“Where’d it go?” the toddler gasped, staring at Yuji’s empty palms.
“Magic,” Yuji whispered with a wink, pulling the card from behind the little boy's ear.
By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, the trio was exhausted. The two oldest were draped over Yuji like koalas, watching a cartoon on the tablet, while the youngest had actually fallen asleep with his head pillowed on Yuji’s thigh.
You walked over, your heart feeling dangerously full. He handled these three little lives with a reverence that felt almost spiritual.
“You’re surprisingly good at this,” you murmured, reaching down to brush a stray strand of pink hair from his forehead.
Yuji looked up at you, his expression peaceful and tired. “I grew up fast,” he said softly, careful not to wake the sleeping toddler. “Besides, I figured I should get some practice in. Since I’m planning on being around for a long time.”
He tucked the three of them into their bedroom, moving with a surprising, practiced gentleness that made the floorboards barely creak. Once the door was clicked shut and the hallway fell into a domestic silence, he turned his attention back to you.
“They were such a hassle,” he sighed exaggeratedly, though the lingering softness in his eyes betrayed the complaint.
“Pfft. Right. That’s why you spent three hours playing human jungle gym,” you teased, leaning against the doorframe. “You looked like you were having the time of your life.”
“I had to put in the work,” Yuji countered, voice dropping into a lower register as he stepped closer. “Had to make sure I made a good impression. You know... for future purposes.”
You blinked, your eyebrows knitting together as the weight of his words sank in. You were rendered completely speechless, your brain momentarily short-circuiting. For the sake of hiding the sudden fluster creeping up your neck, you turned toward the kitchen, intent on grabbing a glass of water to cool down.
You had barely reached the counter when you felt a presence nearing. Before you could even reach for a glass, Yuji appeared instantly at your back, his presence a sudden, solid wall that boxed you in against the marble.
“You wouldn’t mind that, right?” he murmured into the crook of your neck, his breath ghosting over your skin. “The future purposes part?”
“I don't want you to suffer, Yuji. You know that. Ever since you told me about your immortality, I...” you said quietly.. “When I eventually pass away... I’d want you to move on. I don't want you to be trapped, watching our children grow old and fade while you remain exactly as you are. I don't want you to be alone in a world that keeps moving without me.”
Yuji leaned in closer, his forehead resting against the back of your neck, his breath hitching. “Stop,” he pleaded, the word thick with ache.
He turned you around slowly, his hands sliding up to cup your face with a reverence that made your lungs ache. “I don't exist if not to be completely, irrevocably in love with you,” he whispered, his golden eyes searching yours with a desperate, ancient intensity. “I don’t see a future with anyone else. I don’t want a future that doesn't have you in it.”
He took a shaky breath, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones as if he were trying to memorize the very texture of your skin. “I’ve spent decades watching the world move past me like I was nonexistent. I was just a nobody until I met you. This—what I feel for you—it’s the most real I’ve felt in a lifetime of hiding. If I have to face an eternity, I’d rather spend every second of yours by your side than a thousand years without you. You aren't just a certain point in my life. You're the whole story.”
“Yuji...” Your voice was barely a breath, breaking under his confession.
You looked at him and realized your mind couldn't find a single way to quantify the devotion in his eyes.
“You don't have to say it back yet, okay?” he murmured, his hands sliding down to rest steadily on your waist. He gave you a small, reassuring squeeze, his expression softening into that patient, grounding warmth. “I just needed you to hear it.”
You didn't trust your voice to hold, so you simply nodded, stepping into his space and pulling him into a fiercely tight embrace. You tiptoed, burying your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent that was uniquely his. “I wish things were different,” you whispered against his skin, the reality of your flickering mortality pressing against the vastness of his existence. “I wish I had more than just a human lifetime to give you.”
He hummed, letting it settle deep in your bones. He wrapped his arms around you, shielding you from the rest of the world as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
“Things will get better, hmm?” he promised. “We’ll make them better. Together. Just stay with me for now, and let the future worry about itself.”
You pulled back, a soft, genuine smile tugging at your lips. “Thank you, Yuji. For everything.”
He nodded lightly and pulled back slightly. His gaze drifted, tracing a slow, heavy path from the collar of your blouse down to the sharp line of your trousers. You’d changed into something practical for the whole babysitting thing, but under his sudden scrutiny, the simple fabric felt like it was going to tear apart.
“What? Is there something wrong with my outfit?” you asked, smoothing a phantom wrinkle over your hip. “Too casual for a Saturday night?”
Yuji let out a long, strained exhale, his jaw tightening as he looked back up at you. “I respect you,” he began, his voice shifting into a rough growl. “I respect you a lot. But right now? I don’t feel like doing anything respectful at all. It's taking every bit of my self-control to remember that this isn't our house.”
You reached out, hitting his chest with a weak, playful smack that did nothing to move him. The heat from his skin radiated through the thin cotton of his shirt, grounding you even as your pulse began to race
“If that’s your version of a compliment, I’ll take it,” you teased, voice dipping into a matching register. You let your hand linger over his chest, feeling the steady, powerful rhythm beneath your palm. “Besides, I think you look much better without that jacket anyway. It was standing in the way of the view.”
“Should we just get out of here?” he sighed the words against the sensitive hollow of your throat. His hands slid down to your hips, pulling you flush against him with a sudden, restless hunger.
“Hey!” You gasped, though your hands were already tangling in the hem of his shirt. “We can't just leave. The kids are right down the hall.”
As if to emphasize his point, you felt the insistent press of him against your thigh. You bit your lip, a playful but shameless pout forming as you reached down, boldly patting the distinct ridge through the fabric of his trousers.
“Be patient,” you whispered, your eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and promise. “I’ll make it up to you later. I'll give you a proper hand next time we're alone.”
Yuji let out a rough, choked laugh, the sound muffled against your shoulder as he buried his face there. Instead of pulling away, he simply tightened his hold, anchoring you to his chest as if he never intended to let go.
“Let’s just stay like this for a minute,” he murmured, his voice thick and steady. “I can wait. I’ve waited decades for someone like you—I can wait for tonight. Besides, I'm serious about that wedding. I can't wait to actually marry you.”
“Sure,” you teased, a playful glint in your eyes as you leaned back in his arms. “But do you actually want to know the secret? Why I managed to stay single for two whole decades?”
“Because none of them were me,” Yuji countered instantly. His smirk was insufferable—smug, confident, and entirely too attractive for his own good.
“No, I’m being serious!” You laughed, swatting at his chest. “There’s a legitimate reason behind the streak.”
Yuji didn’t take the bait. He merely let out a soft, contented huff and buried his face in the crook of your neck, his arms tightening around you until there wasn't a centimeter of space left between your heartbeats.
“Don't care so don't tell,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin as his smugness melted into something sweet and grounded. “I just want to cuddle, babe. Let me show you I’m staying right here.”
You laughed, the sound muffled against his chest. “It’s because none of them believed in ghosts, you doofus.”
Yuji paused, his chest rising and falling in a deep, silent chuckle that vibrated through your entire frame. He pulled back just enough to look down at you, that signature lopsided grin returning to his face.
“So, what you’re saying is... the only way into your heart was through a haunted tunnel in Sendai?” He shook his head, his eyes softening as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “All that specialized tech, the military-grade filters, the black-market glasses—and all you really needed was a guy who’s actually seen the things you were chasing.”
He leaned his forehead against yours, his breath warm and steady. “Well, I believe you now. I believe in the digital occultist who caught me. I guess that makes me the only one qualified for the job, right?”
He didn't wait for an answer, instead pulling you back into his arms, content to just let the world and the ghosts wait outside the kitchen.
You weren’t exactly counting down the days with a sense of dread, but the coming date wouldn't leave your mind even while you were asleep.
Today marked exactly seven months since you’d let an immortal into your life.
And you were going to do it. You were going to beat him to the punch.
You weren't lying that night in the office. You wanted him by your side for every second of your remaining timeline. Even if your mortal years were just a blip compared to his unchanging existence, you wanted every single one of them to belong to him.
“Honey,” you murmured, reaching up to poke his cheek. It was just a quarter past 4 in the morning but Yuji was already used to getting woken up by his wonderful girlfriend (the earliest bird he knew).
You were tangled together in your Sendai apartment, the morning light filtering through the blinds in soft, dusty streaks. He was shirtless and radiating a comforting heat that made you want to vanish into his side. You were buried in one of his oversized hoodies, the scent of him doing nothing but grounding you.
“I want to go somewhere. Today.”
“Yeah? We'll head there.” He immediately complied, pressing a kiss to your temple.
That was how you found yourselves at Lake Yamanakako, the water a shimmering mirror reflecting the towering, snow-capped majesty of Mount Fuji. The air was crisp, biting at your cheeks as you stood together on a weathered wooden bridge that stretched out over the water.
This was it. The perfect place for an occultist to make a permanent claim. You were just about to tell him to turn around—to look at the view so you could reach for the ring hidden in your pocket—but he wasn't even interested in the scenery.
“I'm gonna do it,” he said suddenly, a mischievous, boyish glint in his eyes. “I'm gonna do a Kamehameha.”
You laughed, shifting your weight and dropping into a mock combat stance to humor him. It was a classic Yuji distraction, and you were happy to play along for a few seconds before the real surprise. “Okay, let's see it. Show me your power.”
He drew his wrists back, his focus intensifying as he gathered his so-called energy. With a sudden, dramatic shout, he thrust his palms forward toward you—but instead of an imaginary blue light, there was a velvet ring box nestled perfectly between his calloused hands.
Your brain stalled, your knees buckled, and in your frantic attempt to process the sight of the diamond glinting in the sun, you lost your footing entirely.
With a startled shriek that echoed across the water, you tumbled backward, over the short railing, and plunged straight into the icy depths of the lake.
“That was definitely not part of the mission,” Yuji muttered against your ear as he pulled the thick wool blanket tighter around your shivering shoulders.
You were huddled together in a small, lakeside cafe, the steam from a fireplace nearby competing with the chill still clinging to your skin. The Yamanakako waters had been unforgiving, but Yuji had fished you out in seconds, his face both of panic and laughter.
Now, you sat with a mug of hot cocoa cradled in your palms, watching the mist roll off the lake's surface outside the window. Your hair was a damp mess and your nose was pink from the cold, but the weight of the ring—now safely on your finger—felt like the most solid thing in the world.
You also had prepared one for him and he was already wearing it. He'd known you'd follow through your words so he decided to surprise you back,
You took a slow sip, feeling the heat travel all the way down to your chest, before looking up at him.
“I say yes, of course,” you whispered into the steam, a small, triumphant smile breaking through your shivering. Your answer was delayed mostly because you two were drenched and were focused more on staying alive.
Yuji paused, his hand still rubbing warmth into your arm. He looked at you, the teasing glint in his eyes softening into something so devoted it made the cold feel miles away. He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath hitching.
“Good,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. “Because I wasn't planning on a no after my fiancé nearly drowned.”
Thank goodness for the rapid advancement of modern tech. While you were still shivering under that blanket, Yuji decided to ask the staff for a portable thermal stabilizer—one of those high-end, compact heaters designed for extreme environments.
The moment he pressed the sleek device into your damp palms, a gentle, calibrated warmth surged through your nerves, effectively neutralizing the chill from the lake. It was slowly bringing your core temperature back to a human baseline.
“Feeling better?” he asked, his hands hovering over yours to trap the heat.
You nodded, the artificial warmth spreading through your fingertips. It was a perfect irony: here you were, a woman who lived by high-tech solutions and evidences, being saved from a romantic disaster by a gadget Yuji bought on a whim.
“Much,” you breathed, the mist from your breath finally thinning. “Though I think drowning during a proposal is a narrative we should probably leave out of our official story.”
Yuji couldn't hold back a soft chuckle at that. “Do you want to take a warm bath?” he asked, his voice low and concerned as he tucked a stray, damp lock of hair behind your ear.
“Together?” you teased, a playful shiver running through you. You leaned into his warmth, your brain already recovering its sharp edge. “Careful, Yuji-kun. At this rate, we might as well call a staff member in here to officiate a partial wedding right now.”
It was a joke—a classic bit of deflection to mask how fast your heart was actually beating.
Yuji didn't laugh at the attempted joke. His eyes locked onto yours with a terrifying sincerity. He reached for the bedside phone without breaking eye contact, his thumb already hovering over the button for the front desk.
“If that’s what you want,” he murmured, his voice dead serious, “I’ll have someone up here in five minutes. I’m not playing around anymore.”
“I mean, I would love for us to be intimate, but if you think it’s a bit much for a first-day engagement—” You trailed off, a flush creeping up your neck that had nothing to do with the heater.
Yuji let out a sharp, breathy laugh, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulled you flush against his chest. He looked down at you, his eyes dark with a hunger that suggested he’d been counting down the minutes for this specific opportunity.
“Too soon would have been four months ago,” he countered, his voice dropping into a rough, low register that sent a fresh shiver down your spine. His fingers already dialing the concierge. “I’m calling whoever I have to. We're getting that bath, and I’m finding someone to make this official before the sun goes down.”
The ceremony was anything but traditional, but it was undeniably effective. Yuji hadn't waited for a city hall appointment, though, he managed to find a local priest—likely a retired Kannushi from a nearby shrine who was enjoying a quiet afternoon by the lake—and convinced him to perform a private blessing on the spot. A generous donation to the shrine’s upkeep ensured that the vows were exchanged right there in the shadow of Mount Fuji, under the witness of the ancient trees and the fading afternoon sun.
It wasn't a legal filing, at least not yet, but the way Yuji looked at you as the old man chanted the prayers made it feel more binding than any government document.
Which was exactly how you found yourselves at an exclusive ryokan, bypassing the usual post-engagement pleasantries for the earliest honeymoon in history. The suite came with a private outdoor onsen, the water steaming in the cool evening air. The only sound was the steady trickle of the spring flowing into the stone basin.
Yuji led you toward the water, his fingers already working at the ties of his robe, his movements devoid of his usual playful hesitation. The officiant might have given you a spiritual green light, but the look in Yuji's eyes as the steam began to fog your vision suggested he was planning on a very physical celebration of your new status. A man making good on seven months of suppressed longing, and the onsen was about to become the site of a very thorough investigation.
You felt the heat rising in your cheeks as you fumbled slightly with the final layers of your clothing. Under his unblinking gaze, even your practiced composure began to fray.
“What’s wrong?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper, breathless and trembling with vulnerability.
Yuji stepped closer, the water rippling around his legs as he closed the distance. He reached out, his calloused fingers catching yours to gently pull them away from where you were instinctively shielding yourself.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured. He tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet an expression that was raw with a terrifyingly honest admiration. “Stop hiding. I’ve been waiting seven months to see all of you, and I’m not letting a single second of this go to waste.”
As the last of your clothes pooled on the smooth floorboards, the cool air hit your skin for a fraction of a second before he was there, drawing you into his heat.
He tracked the path of a single stray droplet of water as it rolled from your collarbone down to the swell of your breast, his gaze dark and heavy with a hunger he was no longer trying to hide.
“Yuji...” you breathed, your hands finding purchase on his shoulders. His skin was already burning, the muscles beneath your palms tight with a restraint that felt like it was about to snap.
“I've spent the whole time in our relationship wondering if you were real,” he murmured, his voice a rough, honeyed growl against your lips. “Wondering if I’d wake up and find out you were just another ghost I was chasing. A dream I was living in a slumber.”
His large and calloused hands slid slowly up your ribs, his thumbs tracing the underside of your breasts with an agonizing slowness. You gasped, your head falling back as he trailed a line of biting kisses down the length of your throat. Every touch felt like a surge of electricity, a sensory overload that was crashing through your defenses.
He backed you toward the edge of the stone basin, his palms finally cupping you fully, squeezing with a possessive firmness that drew a low moan from your throat. His tongue flicked against the pulse point in your neck, tasting the heat of you.
“You're so warm,“ he whispered, his breath hitching as he felt you tremble. “Tell me you want this as much as I do.”
In response, you arched into him, your fingers tangling in his damp, pink hair to pull him down into a searing, desperate kiss. A messy, urgent claim that tasted of cocoa and cold lake water and a lifetime of waiting.
He groaned into your mouth, his hands sliding down to your hips to hoist you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist, the friction of his skin against yours sending a jolt of pure fire through your core. He held you there for a moment, suspended over the steaming water, his forehead pressed against yours as you both panted for air.
“The bath can wait,” he rasped, his eyes locking onto yours. “I need you now.”
“We’re married,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you leaned into him. “You can take your time. We have all night.”
Yuji let out a shaky, frustrated breath, his forehead dropping onto your shoulder. “Shit,” he mumbled, his voice thick with a sudden, uncharacteristic hesitation. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his ears tinged a deep, embarrassed red. “Actually... it’s my first time. So, you’re going to have to teach me if I’m doing anything wrong.”
You froze, your eyes widening as you stared at him in genuine shock. “Huh? But Yuji... you’re sixty-four!”
“People can stay chaste for that long,” he countered, his jaw tightening as he looked everywhere but at you. “And I happen to be the living example of that. I wasn't exactly looking for a connection until you showed up and ruined my streak.”
The heat in your cheeks intensified until they felt like they were on fire. You bit your lip, your voice dropping to a barely audible murmur. “This is... this is also my first time, though...”
You shifted slightly, and the reality of him pressed firmly against your thigh. Your heart skipped a beat, your breath hitching in your throat as you realized the scale of what you were dealing with.
You looked up at his face, then quickly averted your gaze to the rising steam of the onsen, your pulse thundering in your ears. “I guess... we'll just have to figure it out together,” you managed to say, your fingers curling into the damp fabric of his robe.
The robe slipped from his shoulders, tossed to who knows where. You initiated the kiss this time, rising on your tiptoes beneath the swirling steam to pull him down to you.
Your palms slid over the broad, hard expanse of his chest, feeling the frantic thrum of his heart against your skin—a rhythm that matched your own erratic pulse.
Yuji let out a low, guttural sound, his hands finding your waist and lifting you effortlessly. He settled you on the smooth, warm edge of the stone basin. The cool night air hit your damp skin for only a second before he was between your knees, his large hands sliding up your inner thighs enough to make you ache.
“I want to know all of you,” he rasped, his gaze dark and focused as he looked up at you from his knees. “Every single part.”
Before you could breathe, his head dipped. The first touch of his tongue was hesitant, a flickering warmth that made your toes curl into the stone. You gasped, your head falling back as he began to explore you with a slow, agonizingly thorough curiosity. He was a man of action and observation, and he applied that same intensity here—learning the way you arched when he swirled his tongue around your center, the way you whimpered when he added the gentle pressure of his teeth.
The sensation was overwhelming. You tangled your fingers in his damp, pink hair, pulling him closer as the heat built behind your navel. He was relentless, his breath hot against your sensitive skin as he drank you in. He tasted the sweetness of you, his thumbs spreading you wider so he could reach deeper, his tongue mimicking the rhythmic thrusts he was clearly craving.
“Yuji-kun—” you choked out, your hips bucking instinctively against him.
He looked up, his lips slick and his eyes blown wide with a raw hunger. “You're perfect,” he breathed in a rough growl. “Stay right there, please.”
He went back to work, his pace quickening as he felt the tremors starting to rack your body. He was patient, devastatingly so, refusing to stop until you were a trembling, breathless mess beneath him, your mind finally surrendering.
Yuji’s strength was effortless as he hooked his large hands under your knees, lifting your legs until they rested heavily over his broad shoulders. The position left you completely exposed, the cool night air biting at your skin before his heat reclaimed you.
You scrambled for purchase, your knuckles whitening as you gripped the smooth, wet edge of the stone basin to keep from sliding.
“Yuji, wait—” the words died in your throat as he leaned back in.
His tongue licked upward, tracing the entire length of your slit from the base to the sensitive peak. You let out a sharp, fractured cry, your hips jerking upward as he buried his face against you. He was relentless, using his nose to nudge your hood aside so he could focus his attention on your clit, swirling his tongue around the nub.
You felt the suction of his mouth as he drew you in, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh just enough to make you whimper. He hummed against you—a low, vibrating sound that resonated deep inside your core—while his fingers slid inside, stretching you open to mirror the work of his tongue.
“So tight,” he rasped against your skin, his voice muffled and thick with a hunger that had been decades in the making. “You’re so incredibly drenched for me.”
He quickened the pace, his tongue flicking faster and harder against your clit while his fingers began to pump inside you, mimicking the friction you were both dying for. You were a mess of raw nerves and gasping breaths, your head lolling back as the tension in your lower stomach coiled tighter and tighter. You could feel the climax building up. Faster.
“Please,” you choked out, your heels digging into the back of his shoulders as you neared the edge. “Yuji, please, I’m—”
He didn't slow down. Only drank every drop of you, his hands gripping your thighs so hard he’d surely leave marks, keeping you pinned as he drove you over the brink. Your vision went white as the first wave of the orgasm hit, your internal muscles clenching desperately around his fingers while he stayed right there, tasting every bit of the release he’d fought so hard to earn.
Your words were nothing more than a fractured breath, lost to the steam as he pinned you there. Your knuckles were white against the stone, and your back arched so sharply it felt like you might snap. Every time you thought you’d reached the ceiling, Yuji found a way to push you higher, his tongue working with a terrifying rhythm that felt more like a calculated move on your senses than a first-time effort.
“H-how...” you gasped, your voice breaking as a fresh wave of electricity surged through your nerves. “How do you know how to do that?”
He didn't have the air for it. He only groaned deep in his throat—a sound of hunger—and pressed closer, his nose buried in your heat as he used his thumbs to pull you open even wider. He was learning you in real-time, adjusting his pressure to every hitch in your breath and every desperate jerk of your hips.
He caught your peak with a suction that sent a violent jolt through your entire body. Your vision went hazy, the silhouette of Mount Fuji blurring into the dark sky as the tension in your core finally snapped.
You couldn't hold it back. A sharp, high-pitched cry left your throat as your body buckled, a sudden, hot rush of fluid splashing against his face and chest. You were completely undone, your muscles twitching in the aftermath of a release so intense it left your legs feeling like lead on his shoulders.
Yuji stayed there for a long moment, his breath heavy and ragged against your skin, savoring the taste of you and the heat of your pulse finally slowing down. When he eventually looked up, his face was slick, his eyes dark and blown out with a pride that was almost predatory.
He let your legs slide down, catching you before you could collapse into the water. He pulled you against his chest, his skin burning hot against yours.
“I’m a fast learner,” he rasped, his voice a rough, shattered version of its usual self. He pressed a kiss to your sweat-damp forehead, his hand sliding down to possessively cup your hip. “And I’ve had sixty-four years of imagination to get the theory right. I think it’s time we move on to the practical application, don't you?”
You reached down him, your fingers trembling and your breath still hitching from the aftershocks of your release. The moment your skin made contact with his length, you felt a jolt of heat that rivaled the volcanic springs.
It was intimidating—starkly real and pulsing with a heavy, rhythmic life of its own. Your hand could barely wrap halfway around the base, the velvet-smooth skin stretched taut over a frame that felt like solid iron. In the dim light of the onsen, the size of him was undeniable. Thick, heavy, and leaking a clear bead of heat that smeared against your palm.
“Can I?” you whispered, your voice small and thick with a mix of wonder and sudden, sharp nerves.
Yuji let out a sound that was half-groan, half-snarl, his head falling back as his eyes fluttered shut. The muscles in his abdomen rippled, corded and hard, as he leaned into your touch.
“Please,” he rasped, his voice sounding like it had been dragged over gravel. “Touch me. I’ve been... I’ve been losing my mind wanting to feel your hands there today.”
You slid your palm up the length, marveling at the way he twitched in response to the slightest friction. He was so much larger than you had remembered, a physical manifestation of the period of restraint he’d finally decided to break for you. Every inch of him felt like a promise. Demanding everything you had to give.
“You’re so...” you started, but the words failed you as he reached down, his large hand covering yours to guide the rhythm, his knuckles brushing against your own as he showed you exactly how much pressure he needed.
“Don't stop,” he commanded softly, his hips beginning to roll in a slow, desperate search for friction. “I want to feel every bit of you, my love.”
He groaned, a low, guttural sound that seemed to vibrate from the very stones beneath you as he began to move. He rode your palms with a desperate, heavy rhythm, his eyes squeezed shut and his jaw locked tight. The restraint he’d held for so long was disintegrating in real-time. With one final, sharp inhalation, he buckled against you, his body corded with tension as he came, the heat of him thick and startlingly abundant against your skin.
For a moment, the only sound was the panting of two people who had just crossed a significant threshold. Yuji slumped against your shoulder, his forehead resting there as his pulse slowly began to settle.
You looked down at your hands, then, driven by curiosity that even the steam couldn't dampen, you brought your fingers to your lips. You took a slow taste, the flavor salty and sharp—the essence of the man you’d just married.
Yuji’s head snapped up, his face turning a shade of red that rivaled his hair. He let out a startled, breathless laugh, reaching out to gently tug your wrist away. “Hey! You... you definitely didn’t have to do that,” he managed, his voice cracking with a mix of embarrassment and genuine amusement. “I wasn't expecting a lab report on it.”
“I wanted to know your taste,” you murmured, your own cheeks burning as the reality of the situation fully set in.
“Well, now you know,” he teased, though his hands were still shaking slightly. He cleared his throat, shifting his weight as he looked at the steaming water and then back at you. “So... I guess we should... actually try the other part?”
There was a fair amount of clumsy maneuvering as you both tried to figure out the physics of the onsen. You were slippery, he was massive, and neither of you had a manual.
“Wait, move your leg—no, the other way,” Yuji whispered, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. He tried to guide himself in, but his angle was off, and he ended up sliding uselessly against your hip. “Sorry. My bad. I thought I had it.”
“It’s okay,” you breathed, trying to find a grip on his wet shoulders. “Maybe if I... lean back more?”
You tried to adjust, but your foot slipped on the smooth stone, sending a spray of water into Yuji’s face. He blinked, wiping his eyes with a frustrated chuckle. “Okay, okay. New plan. Not even sex education's gonna help us here, huh?”
He tried again, this time with more care. There was a lot of awkward bumping, a few quiet apologies for accidental pinches, and a general sense of two people trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces. It was messy, slightly uncoordinated, and filled with the obvious nervousness of two beginners.
“Is that... okay?” he asked, his voice strained as he finally found the right alignment, the tip of him pressing tentatively against your entrance.
“Yeah,” you whispered, your heart hammering against your ribs. “Just... go slow. I don't think we’re built for much speed yet.”
He nodded seriously, his face a mask of intense focus as he prepared to inch the gap, the two of you suspended in that fragile, clumsy, and entirely perfect moment of discovery.
“I don’t really watch porn,” you confessed, your voice hitching as the blunt, heavy head of him began to stretch your entrance. “I only ever looked at gore... forensic stuff.”
Yuji let out a strained, ragged groan, his hands gripping your hips to keep his own trembling weight from crushing you. “I’ve seen both,” he managed to rasp, his eyes squeezed shut in a mask of pure concentration. “The things I’ve seen in the field... and the things I’ve seen on a screen... nothing prepared me for how real you feel.”
He paused at the entry, thewidth of him beginning to fill you in a way that felt impossible. You felt a sharp, stinging pressure, your internal muscles clenching instinctively against the intrusion.
“Does it hurt?” he whispered, his voice cracking with a sudden spike of anxiety. He hovered there, half-in and half-out, his body vibrating with the effort of holding back. “Please, tell me when to stop. I don’t want to be the reason you’re in pain. Not today, not ever.”
“It’s just... a lot,” you breathed, your fingers digging into the hard muscle of his forearms.
He waited, anchored by a patience only a man who had lived sixty-four years could possess. He began to nudge forward again, inch by agonizing inch, his breath hot and steady against your ear. You felt the slow, heavy slide of his shaft—smooth, wet, and thick—stretching you until you felt completely occupied.
The stinging eventually gave way to a throbbing heat. You arched your back, a low moan vibrating in your chest as you felt him bottom out, his pelvis finally clicking against yours with a soft, wet sound.
“You’re okay,” he murmured, his voice a soothing anchor as he began to retreat and then push back in, a slow, shallow rhythm meant to ease you into the sensation.
“You’re doing so well. Just breathe for me.”
He was being devastatingly gentle, his movements careful and deliberate, but the friction of him—the way his length dragged against your sensitive walls—was starting to turn the discomfort into something much darker and more urgent. Every slow, heavy thrust felt like it was recalibrating your entire nervous system, replacing your detachment with an undeniable hunger for more of him.
The slow, rhythmic friction was becoming a language of its own. With every careful push, Yuji leaned in to press his forehead against yours, his voice a constant, ragged stream of reassurances.
“You’re doing amazing,” he whispered, his breath ghosting over your lips. “You’re so brave. Just tell me if it’s too much, okay? I’ve got you. I’m right here.”
He was being so impossibly patient, treating you like something fragile and precious, even as the sweat beaded on his brow from the effort of holding himself back. He wanted to protect you, even from himself.
But as the initial sting faded into a heavy, pulsing ache that felt more like a promise than a pain, you felt a surge of overwhelming affection that bypassed all your usual logic.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down until his ear was brushed against your lips.
“I love you,” you breathed, the words vibrating against his skin. “I love you so much... my husband.”
The effect was instantaneous. Yuji’s entire body went rigid, a sharp, choked-off sound leaving his throat. The endearment seemed to shatter the last of his sixty-four years of restraint. His grip on your hips tightened until his knuckles were white, and the careful, gentle rhythm he’d been maintaining vanished.
“Shit,” he groaned, his voice dropping into a dark, primal register. “Say it again.”
“M—my husband,” you whimpered, your hips bucking upward to meet him as the heat finally boiled over.
He lost it. He buried his face in the crook of your neck and began to drive into you with a sudden, desperate intensity. The gentleness was replaced by a raw, heavy hunger—a deep, rhythmic pounding that sent the water splashing over the stone edges.
He called your name like a prayer, his movements becoming faster and more urgent as he chased the sensation of you clenching around him. The affirmations were gone, replaced by low, wordless growls of possessiveness. He drove deeper and harder, his breath coming in short, jagged gasps until he finally collapsed against you, his entire frame shuddering as he poured himself into you, anchored by the new title you’d just given him.
The sudden change in his pace didn’t scare you. It only ignited a spark you didn't know existed inside you.
“Don't stop,” you sobbed into his shoulder, your nails dragging down the damp skin of his back. “Yuji, please, it feels—it feels so good. Don't be gentle anymore.”
You bucked your hips to meet every heavy, deep-seated thrust, your internal muscles clenching around him with a greedy, frantic rhythm. You were begging, your voice a fractured melody of pleas and praise that seemed to drive him to the brink of madness.
“I want all of it,“ you choked out, your legs locking around his waist to pull him even deeper. “Harder, Yuji. Please, husband, just—give me everything.”
He let out a low, predatory growl, his fingers digging into your hips to pin you firmly against the stone as he obliged. The sound of skin hitting skin and the slosh of the water echoed in the private space, a rhythmic, primal percussion. He was relentless, his focus narrowing down to the exact point where you joined, his breath coming in hot, ragged bursts against your ear.
“You're so tight,” he rasped, his voice sounding completely shattered. “You're taking it all so well. My lady... my wife...”
You were drifting, your vision blurring as the friction built into a localized sun between your thighs. You leaned your head back, your throat exposed and your eyes rolling as the pleasure became something you could no longer carry.
“I'm close,” you screamed, the sound echoing off the cedar walls. “Yuji, I'm—”
“I've got you,” he promised. He didn't let up, driving into you with a final, devastating series of thrusts that ensured your release was as explosive as his own.
You felt the hot, heavy pulse of him filling you, a final claim that proved, once and for all, that you belonged exactly where you were.
And you wanted to be there.
The encounter in the onsen was merely the beginning. Once the initial barrier was broken, any lingering hesitation or sixty-four years of abstinencr evaporated into the air.
Instead of collapsing into the heavy futons for a much-needed sleep, you found yourselves caught in a relentless cycle of rediscovery. It was as if you had stumbled upon a brand-new hobby—one far more addictive and consuming than any investigation or study. The so-called quiet of the ryokan was punctuated by the creak of floorboards and the low, hushed sounds of two people who had just realized exactly how much lost time they had to make up for.
You were both fast learners, trading the clumsy uncertainty of the first hour for a instinctive synchronicity. Every time you thought you were too exhausted to continue, Yuji would press a lingering, possessive kiss to the pulse point of your neck, or you would pull him back down by the shoulders, and the fire would reignite.
By the time the first grey light of dawn began to touch the peak of Mount Fuji, you were tangled together in a mess of sheets and cooling skin. Your muscles ached in a way that felt like an unexpected triumph.
You had spent seven months as partners, but as you watched the sunrise, it was clear that the next seventy years wouldn't be nearly enough time to make it worthwhile.
“I’d choose you every single time,” you murmured hours later, your voice thick with sleep and the lingering haze of the night before. You were idly twisting a lock of his pink hair around your finger, tracing the familiar lines of his face in the soft dawn light. “If I were given a thousand lives, I’d spend every one of them looking for you. But, then again... if it ever came down to it? If giving up my life meant you could reunite with them—with your friends and your teacher from back then—I’d do it in a heartbeat just so you could have that again.”
Yuji’s hand, which had been resting contentedly on your thigh, went still. He shifted, tilting his head back to look up at you from where he lay in your lap. You were both draped in nothing but the loose, soft yukatas provided by the ryokan, the scent of cedar and shared heat still clinging to the fabric.
“That’s a terrible thing to say,” he said, his brow furrowing into a deep, genuine frown.
The usual warmth in his eyes had been replaced by a sharp, protective intensity. He sat up slightly, anchoring himself against you, his expression uncharacteristically stern.
“Don't ever say you'd give up your life for a memory,” he told you, his voice low and firm. “I’ve spent enough time living in the past. My friends, my teacher... they’d be the first ones to tell me I’m an idiot if I let anything happen to the person who finally gave me a reason to look forward. I don’t want a reunion at the cost of you. You’re my present, and you’re the only future I’m interested in.”
You leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the tip of his nose, the scent of clean skin filling your senses. “Yuji, can I be honest with you about something?”
“Always,” he murmured, his gaze softening as he traced the line of your jaw with his thumb.
“I don't think I want children,” you said, the words feeling heavy yet liberating as they finally left your lips. “Can we... can it just be us?”
Yuji didn't flinch, pull away, or frown. He simply looked at you with a profound understanding, as if he had already sensed the coming of that decision behind your eyes.
“Is it because you're scared of what might happen?” he asked gently. “Or is it just not the path you see for us?”
You looked away for a moment, watching the way the light caught the dust motes in the air. “Maybe in another life, things would be different. Maybe then. But here? Now?”
Yuji let out a soft, warm chuckle that vibrated against your legs. He reached up, cupping your face to bring your focus back to him. “We’ll go with whatever makes you comfortable, baby. My life didn't start until I met you; I'm not about to complicate it with expectations that don't fit who we are.”
“You're supposed to be the baby, not me,” you teased, trying to deflect the sudden swell of emotion in your chest. You reached out and gave his ear a playful pinch, but he didn't even flinch. He just kept looking at you with that same unwavering devotion, making it clear that as long as he had you, he already had everything he needed.
Throughout your marriage, a persistent insecurity lived in the back of your mind—a fear that as the years etched lines into your face, Yuji would eventually wake up and realize he wanted someone who moved at his pace. Someone better. Someone different.
Especially by the time you reached your mid-forties. Despite being functionally seventy-nine years old by 2082, Yuji still looked like the man you’d married back in 2068, his presence remaining as bright as ever, while only you felt the never-ending pull of time.
But Yuji never faltered. He remained the funniest, most incredibly patient man you had ever known, respecting every choice you made and staying by your side, ensuring that you remained untouchable to anyone who'd possibly harm you. Even during the long stretches where his duties as a sorcerer kept him away to ensure your safety in an increasingly unstable world, the distance only seemed to sharpen his devotion.
Your mother had passed away in 2075, just seven years after you two had wed. She had died at sixty-six from a lingering illness that had gone undetected until it was too late. Though you hadn't fulfilled her wish for grandchildren, she had died with a smile, comforted by the sight of her children—you, and your older brother born back in 2026—all settled down and loved by your partners. Oddly enough, she didn't question Yuji’s unchanging appearance.
She’d also joked that she couldn't wait to tell your father, who had been gone since 2054, the news.
What you didn’t realize then was that a similar fate was already tracing the map of your own DNA.
The diagnosis came in 2078. It was a rare, aggressive neurodegenerative condition that doctors in the late 21st century still struggled to classify, often complicated by early-onset failures. It was a hereditary problem that had been coiled in your genes since your birth in 2035. When the doctor delivered the news on 2079, Yuji had sat beside you, his large hand enveloping yours, his face a mask of stunned disbelief. You both lived clean, healthy lives. There was no environmental reason for your coordination to begin fraying or for your memory to start slipping through your fingers.
It was a hereditary illness that had bypassed the typical symptoms until it was ready to claim you in your prime. At your forties, the brightest part of your life was supposed to be just beginning. Yet when Yuji looked at the medical charts, the strongest sorcerer in the world looked smaller than you had ever seen him. He could kill a thousand curses, but he couldn't even exorcise a mutation in your blood.
And that made him feel more useless than he ever had before.
Your life mirroring your mother’s was perhaps the cruelest part of the diagnosis, though her battle had been a collapse of the pancreas and kidneys that had staged a coup by the time the doctors found it in 2073.
By the time the entirety of your complications was confirmed in April 2080, Yuji sat in that place, his large hand trembling as it enveloped yours.
“They're gonna tell me it's not slowing down anytime soon,” you whispered.
Yuji just pulled your hand to his lips.
By 2082, the sophisticated medical interventions of the late 21st century had reached a limit. Technology could replace organs and map genomes, but it could not stop the dismantling of your nervous system. You were only forty-seven, but the involuntary movements had become constant. A violent internal tide that tossed your limbs around until your muscles screamed with exhaustion. It was a physical restlessness that looked like a frantic dance, but felt like being a passenger in a car with no brakes.
He stayed through the nights when the rigidity set in, making your muscles lock into painful, claw-like positions.
He recalled the first clumsy summer when your balance first started to fray. Instead of retreating, you had laughed, leaning into his strength. He remembered slow-dancing with you in the kitchen, his hands steadying your swaying hips, turning the involuntary tremors of your disease into an intimate stumbling waltz.
“See?” you had whispered then, breathless and determined. “I’m still here, Yuji. I’m not going anywhere yet.”
He stayed through the dysphagia, as you began to lose the ability to swallow, turning every meal into a terrifying ordeal of choking and gasping for air.
The cognitive decline was also stripping away your filters and your memories. You had moments of profound irritability and depression, lashing out at the only person who remained by your side. You’d scream at him to leave, your voice a raspy, broken version of the one that had once called him husband, and Yuji would just take it. He’d catch your flailing hands in his large, steady palms and hold them until the tremors subsided.
“I’m right here,” he’d whisper, even when you didn't recognize his face. “I’m not going anywhere.”
But the worst was the aspiration pneumonia. Because your muscles no longer protected your airway, fluid began to settle in your lungs. You spent your final weeks drowning on dry land, your chest rattling with every shallow, agonizing breath. You were skin and bones, the woman who had once teased him now reduced to a fragile shell.
Oh, how you had fought through it all.
You had fought through the cognitive fog, leaving sticky notes all over the house to remind yourself of the little things—where the tea was, the date of his birthday, and the fact that you loved him. You fought the irritability, biting back the sharp words that weren't yours, reaching for his hand instead of lashing out.
One day, your breathing simply stopped.
The silence that followed was deafening. Yuji couldn't move. Couldn't cry out. He just stared at your face, waiting for the next hitch of your chest. The door slid open softly. The attending physician stepped in, checked your pupils, and placed a cold stethoscope against your chest.
“Time of death: 06:07 AM, April 12th, 2082,” the doctor announced. “Cause of death: Respiratory failure secondary to neurodegenerative complications.”
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