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UNTIL YOU

chapter two: you, again.

✦ SUMMARY: After the district meeting, you try to forget Yuji Itadori. Then something follows you home. So does he.

✦ AUTHOR’S NOTE: gege, respectfully, what the hell. anyway, let me cope by rewriting the ending to jjk with my way more interesting older yuji spin-off.

✦ NOTE: this is part two of until you, my modulo-inspired obsessive older yuji series. this is a darker romance au/rewrite, so yuji is older, more damaged, and absolutely not handling his feelings normally. reader is 18+.

✦ PAIRING: modulo obsessive!yuji itadori x f!reader

✦ CONTENT WARNINGS: mdni. explicit sexual content, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, dark romance themes, stalking-ish/window scene, protective but unstable yuji, rough sex, oral sex/f receiving, throat holding, biting/marking, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, emotional dependency, “mine” used possessively, yuji being deeply unwell about reader.

✦ WORD COUNT: 6,784 words / ~30 mins

You’re fixing your hair in the mirror, trying to look like you didn’t just have life-altering bathroom sex with a stranger.

Yuji stands behind you, quiet enough that it should make you nervous.

It does, a little.

You tug your collar higher, trying to hide the mark on your neck, but his hand comes up before you can cover it. He doesn’t grab you. He just catches the fabric between his fingers and pulls it aside again.

“Leave that one.”

You stare at him through the mirror. “Excuse me?”

He still isn’t looking at your face. His eyes stay on the mark, focused in a way that makes your stomach twist.

“That one stays.”

*****

When you finally emerge from the bathroom, you’re trying very hard to look normal.

Yuji is not helping.

His hand finds your lower back almost immediately. He isn’t guiding you anywhere. His hand is just there, warm through your clothes, like touching you has already become a habit he doesn’t care to question.

His eyes move over the room. Slowly. Quietly. Anyone who looks at you for more than a second gets his attention, and not in a friendly way.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. There’s something different in the way he stands beside you now, in the careful placement of his hand, in the slight angle of his body toward yours, like the space around you has become something he intends to guard.

You feel it.

Apparently, you’re not the only one.

Nobara Kugisaki is watching him.

Age has sharpened her instead of softening her. Her expression doesn’t change as she takes in Yuji’s hand on your back, the way he’s standing too close, the mark on your throat that he told you to leave alone. Then her eyes flick to his face.

Yuji doesn’t look away.

That tells her enough.

This isn’t him being reckless after a hookup. It isn’t even him getting attached too fast in a way she can laugh at later. This is worse. This is Yuji looking at a girl he met less than an hour ago like the rest of the room has already gone quiet.

Nobara’s jaw tightens slightly, but she doesn’t approach.

Not while you’re still standing there.

The interruption comes in the form of a Gojo clan attendant, polished, professional, and completely oblivious to the tension coming off the man next to you.

“There you are,” the attendant says, a little too brightly for the moment. “The elders are ready for you now. The representatives have been waiting.”

You glance between them and Yuji.

It should be easy. You barely know him. You shouldn’t feel the need to explain anything, or apologize, or stay for even one more second.

Still, you do.

Yuji’s hand slips from your back to your wrist, loose enough that you could pull away if you wanted to. He doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t even try. He only holds on for one second too long, like he needs one last point of contact before you go.

“Go,” he says.

You raise an eyebrow. “You sure?”

His jaw flexes.

“No.”

That answer stops you. You expected possessive, maybe arrogant. You didn’t expect honest.

Then he lets go.

You leave with the clan representatives, but before the hallway turns, you glance back.

Yuji is still standing where you left him, his hands half-curled at his sides like he forgot what to do with them once you were gone. He doesn’t look embarrassed when you catch him staring.

He just keeps looking.

Even after you turn the corner, you swear you can still feel it.

*****

Nobara waits until the representatives pull you around the corner before she crosses the room.

Yuji doesn’t move when she comes up beside him. His hand is still half-curled at his side, like his body hasn’t figured out what to do with itself now that it isn’t touching you anymore.

“Planning on breathing anytime soon,” she asks, “or is the hallway doing that for you?”

His jaw shifts. “Nobara.”

“Oh, good. You remember other people exist.”

That gets him to look at her, but only for a second. His eyes keep drifting back to the corner you disappeared around, and Nobara’s expression tightens before she can stop it.

She’s known him too long to mistake this for a crush, or lust, or whatever excuse he might’ve tried to give her fifty years ago. She’s seen Yuji after funerals, after missions, after anniversaries he pretended not to remember. She’s watched him turn grief into discipline so many times that, eventually, it stopped looking like grief at all.

But this is different.

This is him staring at an empty hallway like someone just gave him a reason to ruin his life.

“You’re eighty-three years old,” she says, keeping her voice low enough that no one nearby can hear.

“I know.”

“Then act like it.”

His eyes flick back to her, and there it is, the smallest crack in his expression. Nobara hates that she recognizes it. Hates that after all these years, she can still look at him and know exactly where to press.

“You met her an hour ago, Yuji.”

He doesn’t answer.

“That’s not me judging,” she continues. “That’s me reminding you, since apparently somebody has to.”

His hand curls tighter at his side.

“She’s not Gojo coming back. She’s not everyone you lost. She’s not proof the universe finally decided to apologize.”

“I know that.”

Nobara looks at him for a long moment.

“No,” she says. “You know how to say that. I’m not sure you know how to live like it.”

That shuts him up.

She exhales through her nose, tired in a way that has nothing to do with age.

“Don’t make that girl your reason to keep breathing unless she asks for the job.”

Yuji looks away first, and that tells her enough.

“You’d die for her already, wouldn’t you?”

Still nothing.

Nobara gives a small, humorless laugh. “Of course you would. Dying for someone has always been the easy part for you.”

His expression tightens.

“What worries me,” she says, quieter now, “is what you’ll do if living for her starts sounding easier than living without her.”

For the first time tonight, he looks almost young. His face hasn’t changed, Sukuna took that from him a long time ago, but something in him does. It’s in the way the words hit, the way he looks caught between wanting to deny it and knowing he can’t.

Nobara hates him a little for making her say it.

She hates the world more for leaving so few people alive who can.

“Be careful,” she says.

Yuji’s eyes drift back toward the hallway.

“With her,” Nobara adds. “And with yourself.”

He nods once, but it doesn’t reassure her. It isn’t enough, and they both know it.

It’s just all she’s going to get from him.

*****

The clan meeting room is as suffocating as you expected.

The elders sit in a semicircle, with representatives from three districts placed neatly along either side of the room. A few distant cousins linger near the walls, all of them wearing the same careful expression people use when they’re trying not to stare too openly at the Six Eyes.

One of the elders has been speaking for several minutes.

“Your presence at public events will carry significant political weight,” he says. “The Gojo name still holds influence, and with your position…”

You shift in your seat and immediately regret it.

The ache pulls your attention clean off the conversation. You hide the reaction quickly, but not quickly enough.

The elder pauses. “Are you listening?”

“Yes,” you say, straightening. “Public appearances. The Gojo name. District involvement.”

His expression tells you he heard the summary for what it was, but he continues anyway.

“The district assignments will require your direct attention, particularly in negotiations with families who have been slow to reaffirm their support.”

You nod at what seems like the right place.

Your collar brushes the mark on your throat, and there goes your focus again. The fabric hides most of it, but hiding it doesn’t make you less aware of it. You can still feel his mouth there. His hand tugging your collar aside in the bathroom mirror. The way he looked at the mark like it belonged exactly where it was.

That one stays.

The memory hits at the worst possible time, and you have to look down at your lap before your face gives you away.

“Which is why,” another elder says, “we need to discuss your public image.”

That brings you back.

You lift your eyes. “My public image?”

“There have been concerns about your conduct tonight.”

You keep your expression polite, even as your patience starts thinning. “Concerns.”

“You were seen with Yuji Itadori.”

Hearing his name from one of them feels strange. Too formal. Too far away from the way he said yours, like he needed to remember it.

“I spoke with several sorcerers tonight,” you say.

“Itadori is not just any sorcerer.” The elder’s voice sharpens around his name. “His history with Sukuna, his current status, his absence from public sorcerer society. He isn’t someone the Gojo clan should be associated with carelessly.”

You want to ask what they mean by current status. You want to ask why half the room reacted to him like a ghost had walked in. You want to ask why a man who touched you like he couldn’t bear to stop is being discussed like a political hazard.

Instead, you sit there and nod because that’s what they expect from you.

The meeting moves on. One of the younger representatives starts talking about district negotiations, dates, formal appearances next week. You answer when prompted and agree to something you barely hear.

Your mind is still in the bathroom.

Yuji’s hands on your face. His thumb at your pulse. The way he kept touching you afterward, almost absently, like stopping hadn’t even occurred to him. The way he looked at you in the mirror when he told you the mark could stay.

Your fingers drift toward your collar before you catch yourself.

One of the elders notices anyway.

“Are you feeling well?”

“Fine,” you say. “Just tired.”

It’s close enough to the truth to pass. Your body feels wrung out and oversensitive, every small movement reminding you of what happened less than an hour ago.

The conversation continues around you until one phrase cuts through clearly enough to catch.

“Itadori’s influence has been largely absent for years,” an elder says. “His reappearance tonight was unexpected. His interest in you is concerning.”

You look up. “Interest?”

The elder doesn’t soften. “Itadori doesn’t attach casually.”

The room goes quiet.

Not dramatically. Not all at once. Just enough that you notice it.

No one looks surprised by the statement, and somehow that bothers you more than the warning itself.

“And when he does,” the elder adds, “consequences tend to follow.”

You think of Yuji outside the bathroom door. Yuji in the mirror. Yuji watching you walk away like every inch of distance offended something in him.

“I can handle myself,” you say.

“I’m sure you believe that.” The elder folds his hands on the table. “But the Six Eyes are valuable politically and strategically. You represent more than your personal preferences. Any entanglement with someone like Itadori could complicate…”

“My personal life?” you ask.

The room goes still.

The elder’s mouth tightens. “Your public image.”

You hold his gaze for a second longer than you probably should.

“Right,” you say. “That’s what I meant.”

No one says anything for a beat. Then one of the representatives clears his throat and returns to district security, as if the room hasn’t just adjusted itself around the reminder that you aren’t as easy to steer as they’d like.

The rest of the meeting drags.

They talk about obligations, alliances, appearances, bloodline expectations. Someone uses the phrase “legacy maintenance,” which makes your skin crawl. You nod when you need to and give answers that sound appropriate enough to keep them satisfied.

But beneath all of it, you’re still thinking about Yuji Itadori.

About the warning in the elders’ voices. About the way the room went quiet when they said he didn’t attach casually. About the fact that everyone here seems to know something about him except you.

And somehow, that doesn’t make you less curious.

It should.

Instead, it makes him worse.

More interesting. More dangerous. Harder to put back into the category of stranger, even though that’s technically what he still is.

By the time the meeting finally starts to wind down, you’ve learned almost nothing useful about district negotiations and far too much about how quickly Yuji Itadori has become the only thing in the room you actually care to understand.

*****

A curse surfaces near the eastern district before the meeting has fully ended.

By the time Yuji arrives, three assistant supervisors are already standing behind a barrier, trying very hard not to look relieved that he showed up. The curse is small, half-formed, more nuisance than threat. Nothing that should require him.

No one tells him that, though.

He steps through the veil and kills it before it finishes taking shape.

It only takes one strike. Clean, efficient, almost casual, until the curse breaks apart and the air goes quiet around him.

A few people murmur thanks from behind the barrier. Yuji nods because that’s what he’s supposed to do, but he barely hears them. Fighting is easy. His body knows what to do with a curse.

His mind is still back at the meeting hall.

Your collar. Your throat. The mark he told you to leave uncovered. The feeling of your wrist under his fingers when he let you go. Whether the clan elders are still talking to you. Whether they’re close enough to touch you. Whether you thought about him after turning the corner.

Yuji exhales slowly and flexes his hand once at his side.

It doesn’t help.

“Brother.”

He closes his eyes. “Don’t.”

Todo Aoi comes up beside him anyway.

Age hasn’t made Todo less impossible. It’s only made him quieter about it, which is somehow worse. He stands there for a moment, studying Yuji with the kind of attention that makes most people regret being seen.

Then he says, very seriously, “Your soul has turned its face away from the battlefield.”

Yuji opens his eyes. “I said don’t.”

Todo ignores that. “A woman.”

Yuji says nothing.

Todo’s expression shifts. Whatever amusement was there fades into something more careful.

“Ah.”

Yuji looks toward the city.

Todo follows his gaze, though there’s nothing there for him to see. “Not just a woman, then.”

Yuji’s hand curls once at his side.

Todo notices. Of course he does. For all his nonsense, Todo has always noticed the worst things first.

“The woman,” Todo says, quieter.

Yuji doesn’t answer, and this time the silence is enough.

Todo’s brows draw together. “Yuji.”

Yuji’s head snaps up.

The cursed energy is faint, almost nothing. A thin, oily thread moving where it shouldn’t, slipping through the city in a direction that makes something cold settle in his chest.

Toward you.

Everything else drops away.

Todo says his name again, but Yuji is already moving.

“Something found her.”

He doesn’t explain. He doesn’t wait to see if Todo follows. The curse is weak, probably harmless, barely worth calling a threat.

That doesn’t matter.

It found you.

By the time Todo steps forward, Yuji is gone.

*****

You make it home still feeling a little unreal, like your body got there before the rest of you did. You shower, change, and spend too long standing in front of the mirror trying to convince yourself you’re a normal person who didn’t just let Yuji Itadori fuck you in a bathroom during a district meeting.

The attempt fails for obvious reasons.

The mark is still there, darker now that the heat in your skin has settled, and your fingers move to it before you can stop them. You touch the place his mouth had been and then grab your phone.

Yuji Itadori.

The public results are easy enough to find, the kind of basic records anyone with a connection to sorcerer society could pull up.

Yuji Itadori - Former Vessel of Ryomen Sukuna Shibuya Incident - Key Participant Culling Game Survivor Associated with: Satoru Gojo (deceased), Megumi Fushiguro, Nobara Kugisaki Known Abilities: Superhuman strength, cursed energy manipulation, Black Flash Current Status: Unknown

You stare at the last line longer than the others.

Unknown.

That’s where the public record stops, which only makes the Gojo clan archive feel more necessary. Your Six Eyes clearance opens doors most sorcerers never even learn exist, and the secure database isn’t something a normal search engine can touch. It requires bloodline authentication, elder authorization, and the kind of access that’s made more than one person in that meeting room look at you like an asset they haven’t figured out how to control yet.

You pull up the secure portal. Your credentials load.

Six Eyes. Clearance Level: Six Eyes Authorized.

This time, there’s more.

CLASSIFIED - CLAN ARCHIVE Subject: Yuji Itadori Mahito Encounter - [REDACTED] District, 7 years ago Status: Extreme Caution - Approach with extreme caution Physical Status: Non-aging body due to residual Sukuna influence Estimated Current Age: 83 years Last Confirmed Active: [REDACTED] Current Status: Presumed Inactive Associated Operations: [REDACTED], [REDACTED], [REDACTED] Note: Itadori is considered one of the strongest living sorcerers. Recommend extreme caution in all interactions.

You sit there with the phone in your hand, rereading the same line until the words start to blur.

He told you he was eighty-three in the bathroom, but there’s a difference between hearing a man say something impossible while his hands are on you and seeing it written in a classified archive like a fact everyone else already accepted. You scroll through the redacted sections again, trying to make the pieces line up. Multiple high-grade curse eliminations. Operations you don’t have clearance to open. Years of missing activity cut into black bars and empty brackets. The public record treats him like a ghost. The private archive treats him like a weapon everyone knows is still loaded.

So why was he there tonight? Why did no one announce him? Why did conversations die when he crossed the room? Why did the elders say his name like they were touching something sharp? And why did a man listed as presumed inactive have his hand around your throat two hours ago?

You reread the note about his body. Non-aging. Residual Sukuna influence. Estimated age: eighty-three. Then you think of what he said in the bathroom.

I’ve spent eighty-three years teaching myself not to reach for people.

He meant it. Not as a line, not as some strange attempt at seduction. He was really telling you the truth while looking at you like he had no idea what to do with the fact that he wanted you anyway.

You close the archive, but the information stays with you. Presumed inactive, except he isn’t inactive. He’s here, in your city, moving through rooms full of sorcerers who clearly know far more about him than they’re willing to say.

You say his name once, quietly, just to hear what it sounds like in your apartment.

“Yuji Itadori.”

It feels different here. Less like a name from a file and more like something you shouldn’t be saying alone.

That’s when you feel it.

At first, it’s only a faint smear of cursed energy at the edge of your awareness, moving where nothing should be moving. Your Six Eyes catch it immediately, tracking the oily thread of it as it crawls up the side of your building. You go still, one hand tightening around your phone.

It’s outside and it’s drawn to you.

You move toward the window with your hand already reaching for the latch, but the presence stops before you touch it. A second later, it’s gone. Not faded, not exorcised in any slow, ordinary way. Gone all at once, snuffed out with such clean force that the empty space it leaves behind feels louder than the curse itself did.

Your hand is still on the latch when you look through the glass.

Yuji is standing on the fire escape.

Rain clings to his hair and darkens his clothes, city light cutting unevenly across his face. He looks guilty, but not surprised. Worse, he looks like he knew he shouldn’t be there and came anyway.

Neither of you moves at first. Then you open the window, and cold air rushes in sharp enough to clear your head.

“Are you insane?”

“Probably.” His voice is rough and quiet.

“You’re outside my window.”

“I know.”

“… Yuji.”

His gaze drops to your throat, to the mark still visible above your collar, and you watch him find it. His expression changes before he can hide it, something in his face going softer and more dangerous all at once. His hands curl at his sides like he has to remind himself not to reach through the window and touch you.

“You left it,” he says.

Your pulse jumps. “You told me to.”

He takes that in like it means more than it should, like he understands exactly what you’re admitting without saying it outright.

“Something followed you,” he says after a moment. “From the meeting. I tracked it here.”

He should’ve stopped there. Killed the curse, made sure you were safe, and left before you ever knew he’d come close. That would’ve been the right thing, and from what you’ve read, Yuji Itadori has spent most of his life doing the right thing until there was almost nothing left of him but restraint and ghosts.

Then you left the mark uncovered.

You raise an eyebrow, trying very hard to ignore your racing heart. “And you followed it?”

“Yes.”

“That’s all?”

He’s quiet long enough that you already know the answer.

“No.”

There’s no politeness to it. No excuse. Just the truth, rough and immediate, and somehow that’s worse.

You should tell him to leave. A man showing up outside your window after knowing you for a few hours is objectively insane, regardless of whether he just saved you from a curse. You should close the window, call someone, ask one of the elders exactly what they meant when they said consequences followed him. Instead, you stay where you are.

“I won’t come in,” Yuji says, careful now, like every word takes effort. “Unless you tell me I can.”

That makes it harder, not easier. He’s standing outside your apartment like something dangerous out of an old clan warning, and he still waits. His whole body looks tense with wanting to move, but he doesn’t. He leaves it to you.

You look at him through the open window, at the man the world thinks vanished, at the man the archive told you to approach with extreme caution. At the man who found you anyway.

“Yuji—”

“Please.”

It’s barely more than a breath, and that’s the problem. He doesn’t sound smooth or sure of himself. He sounds like he knows he shouldn’t ask and can’t stop himself anyway.

Please.

You step back and to the side, one hand still on the window frame. It’s barely a gesture, barely permission, but Yuji understands it immediately.

He climbs inside with perfect control, but the moment his feet touch your floor, your apartment feels smaller. He’s close enough now that you can see the rain on his eyelashes, the rise and fall of his chest, the way his hands stay at his sides like he doesn’t trust them near you yet.

He doesn’t move closer. He waits, and you hate how much that affects you.

“You acted like I belonged to you,” you say, “then disappeared before I could decide whether that was crazy or flattering.”

His jaw tightens. “I was called away.”

“And I was supposed to know that how?”

“I should’ve told you.” His voice is low, almost pained. “I know I should have..”

You almost smile despite yourself. He looks too intense for the conversation you’re actually having, like asking for your number might somehow require more courage than putting a curse through a wall.

“Yes,” you say. “You should have.”

He takes one step closer, then stops. His hands clench before going still again at his side.

“I didn’t know how to ask for your number without sounding like I was begging.”

For a second, you just stare at him. Then a laugh almost escapes you, more from disbelief than amusement.

“You had your hand around my throat an hour after meeting me, but asking for my number was too much?”

Yuji looks at you like he wishes that wasn’t true.

“Yes,” he says.

And somehow, from him, it sounds like a confession.

You take one step toward him, and Yuji closes the rest of the distance before you can think better of it.

Yuji is on you before you can take another breath. His hands catch your waist, turn you, and then your back is against the wall, his body pressed close enough to make thinking useless. When he kisses you, it isn’t careful or controlled. It’s messy, rough, impatient, and you grab at his shirt because there’s nowhere else for your hands to go.

The second you open your mouth for him, the kiss turns messy. His hands go from your face to your throat, then your hips, then back again. He can’t seem to keep them in one place, like touching you once only makes the need worse.

“Tell me yes,” he growls against your mouth.

“Yes—”

His hands fist in your shirt and rip. Buttons scatter across the floor as he tears the fabric open, yanking it off your shoulders.

Then he freezes.

Yuji looks at the shirt first, then at his hands. Like he forgot for one second what those hands can do. Like wanting you made him careless, and realizing that scares him more than the wanting itself.

Your hand slides up his chest.

The apology in his face disappears.

He kisses you again, rougher this time, and you feel the last of his hesitation go with it.

His mouth is back on yours before the apology can become anything real. This time, he doesn’t hesitate. He unhooks your bra, pulls it off, and the sound he makes when he sees you is gruff.

“Look at you,” he breathes.

Then his mouth is on your throat, biting down hard enough to make you cry out. Yuji groans at the sound, rough in his chest, and his hands come up to cup your breasts. His thumbs circle your nipples until they harden under his touch, and when your back arches, his grip tightens like he felt it happen somewhere in his own body.

He doesn’t speak after that. He just keeps touching you. His mouth moves down your throat to your collarbone, teeth scraping skin before he goes lower. When he bites your breast, you gasp his name.

Yuji goes still for a second. Then his grip changes. His fingers dig into your waist, and his mouth presses harder against your skin like hearing his name from you did something worse to him than touching you.

His hands slide down to your waistband. He hooks his fingers into your pants and underwear together, yanking them down in one motion before dropping to his knees to pull them off completely.

He looks up at you from the floor, breathing hard through his nose, his hands already moving back to your thighs.

Then he grabs your leg and throws it over his shoulder, spreading you open.

The first touch of his mouth makes you cry out before you can stop yourself.

He’s not gentle. Just hungry. His tongue moves over you, then inside you, then back to your clit with a focus that makes your knees buckle. His hands grip your ass, keeping you where he wants you every time your hips try to move away from the pressure.

“Yuji, oh god.”

He groans against you, and the vibration makes your legs shake. When his tongue slides inside you again, deeper this time, your hands fly to his hair because you’re already too close.

It hits fast. Your body goes tight, your breath catches, and Yuji doesn’t stop. He keeps his mouth on you, licking and sucking through it like pulling away hasn’t even occurred to him.

When your legs finally give out, he catches you easily, lifting you before your feet can find the floor again. He carries you across the room, but he doesn’t make it to the bed. He presses you against the nearest wall instead, chest to chest, still breathing hard like he hasn’t recovered from the way you moaned his name.

His hands are shaking as they frame your face.

“You let me in,” he says, voice breaking. “You have no idea… You have no fucking idea what that does to me…. I would’ve stayed outside.”

The worst part is, you know he means it. He doesn’t say it like a line. He says it like he already pictured himself out there all night and accepted it.

“I would’ve stayed out there as long as you wanted.” His thumb brushes your cheekbone. “But you let me in..”

You reach up to touch his face, and Yuji leans into your palm before he can stop himself. His eyes close for a second, and the want in his face looks almost painful.

He wants to protect you. You can feel that much. It’s in the way he holds himself near you, in the way he moved before his mind could catch up when the curse found your window. The curse outside. The clan elders picking over your future like vultures. Every sorcerer who looks at the Six Eyes and sees a weapon before they see a girl.

His hands slide down to your waist and tighten.

Who protects her from me?

His forehead presses to yours, and when he speaks, his voice sounds strained enough to be unfamiliar.

“I shouldn’t be here. You should tell me to stop. You should…”

Because if you told him to stop, he would. You know that. He’d tear himself apart before he hurt you on purpose, and maybe that should make this feel safer than it does.

But it doesn’t… because the problem isn’t whether Yuji would listen. It’s that he wants you to let him stay.

So you kiss him before he can finish.

He doesn’t need anything else.

A sound catches low in his throat, rough and wrecked, and then his hands are on you again. Your waist, your ass, the back of your thigh as he lifts you. His mouth moves to your throat, teeth finding skin while your legs wrap around his waist.

His mouth moves to your throat, teeth finding skin while your legs wrap around his waist. His cock drags through your folds before pressing against your entrance, and your nails dig into his shoulders before he even starts to push in. You remember the bathroom too clearly. The stretch of him. The way your body had to take a second even when you wanted him closer.

Yuji feels you tense. His mouth pauses against your throat, and his grip tightens on your thigh.

“I know,” he says, voice rough. His mouth presses to your throat, almost gentle now. “Breathe for me.”

He waits until he feels you inhale.

Then he pushes inside in one hard thrust, and both of you go still.

Even after the bathroom, even after knowing what to expect, your body still has to adjust around him. Your mouth falls open, but nothing comes out at first. Your nails dig harder into his shoulders, and Yuji groans against your neck, his whole body shaking like it takes everything in him not to move too soon.

“Fuck—fuck.” His forehead drops to your shoulder. “Eighty-three years. Eighty-three fucking years and nothing, nothing, has ever felt like this.”

Then he pulls out and drives back in, and the sound you both make is almost embarrassing in how immediate it is. His hands grip your ass, holding you against the wall as he starts fucking you in deep, rough strokes that knock the air out of you each time.

“Look at me,” he says.

You do.

His face almost makes you regret it. He’s still Yuji, still the man who waited outside your window because you hadn’t told him he could come in, but he looks different like this. Less controlled. Less careful. Hungry in a way that seems to scare him as much as it scares you.

“Don’t look away.”

His mouth catches yours again, swallowing every sound he pulls out of you. One hand slides up to your throat, gripping you but not squeezing, and you clench around him. Yuji groans like it hits him harder than he expected.

“Say my name.”

“Yuji.”

“Again.”

“Yuji— please.”

He carries you to the bed without pulling out, lowering you onto the mattress while his breathing stays rough against your mouth. His hand remains at your throat when he starts moving again, harder now, deeper, his hips snapping into yours while his eyes stay on your face like looking away would cost him something.

“Fuck—yes.” His voice catches, but he doesn’t slow down. “Again.”

“Yuji— too much.” You gasp, the pleasure almost overwhelming.

His eyes snap to yours immediately. “Stop?”

You shake your head and drag him closer. The relief on his face almost hurts to look at.

Then he pulls out, turns you over, and hauls your hips up onto your hands and knees. Before you can catch your breath, he’s inside you again, deeper from this angle, enough that your arms nearly give out under you.

One hand slides up your spine before fisting in your hair. He pulls, forcing your back to arch, and the angle shifts. You cry out, and Yuji groans in response, the sound low and unsteady, like he hates how much he likes it.

His other hand comes down on your ass—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make you gasp.

“Mine,” he growls. “Say it—”

“Yours—”

His hand wraps around your throat from behind, pulling you back against his chest. From this angle, every thrust lands deeper, enough that your breath keeps catching before you can settle into it. His palm stays firm against your throat, not enough to hurt, but enough to make every sound come out smaller and every feeling sharper.

His teeth sink into your shoulder, and you come again, so fast it knocks the breath out of you. He groans at the feeling, his grip on your throat tightening as he fucks you through it.

“That’s it—” His breathing is uneven now, his rhythm starting to slip. “One more—need to feel you again—”

“I can’t—”

He lets go of your throat immediately, pushing you forward until your chest hits the mattress. Both hands grab your hips, holding you still as he drives into you harder, rougher, like the words only made him more desperate.

“You can— I’ve got you.” He breathes out.

His hand slides around to your clit. Two fingers find where you’re already too sensitive, rubbing until your legs shake and you fall apart again. His name tears out of you before you can swallow it.

That gets him. Your body tightening around him. His name in your mouth. The last of his control going all at once.

“Fuck—fuck.” He buries himself deep and goes rigid, coming with a low, broken sound. You feel him pulse inside you, filling you, and then he says your name once, rough and helpless.

“Mine.”

He collapses over you, both of you shaking through it. His arms come around you immediately, too tight for a second, until he seems to catch himself and loosen just enough to let you breathe. He keeps his face pressed into your neck.

“I can’t let you go,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “Can’t… Won’t.”

When he finally pulls out, you both groan at the loss. He rolls onto his back and pulls you with him immediately, tucking you against his chest while his arms lock around you like he still doesn’t trust the room to keep you there.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, his hand moving through your hair.

You nod, still trying to catch your breath.

Yuji doesn’t look satisfied with that answer, but he doesn’t push. His hand keeps moving anyway, through your hair, down your back, over the marks he left on your skin. He touches them carefully, like he needs the reminder more than you do.

“Are you staying?” you ask, already half asleep.

His arms tighten around you. “Yes.”

There are more questions waiting. You can feel them. But your body is heavy now, your cheek pressed against his chest, his heartbeat steady under your ear.

You mean to stay awake a little longer, but you don’t. You can’t.

*****

Yuji stays awake.

Sleep doesn’t come, not with you tucked against him like this, warm and breathing under his hands. He keeps touching you even after he tells himself to stop. Your hair first, then your back, then the curve of your spine beneath his palm. His fingers find the marks he left on your throat, your shoulders, your hips, and then they linger there with a care that feels almost worse than guilt.

He should regret it. At the very least, he should be afraid of how quickly he lost control, of how easily wanting you turned into something with teeth. He’s spent too many years learning what happens to people who get close to him, and still, lying here with your heartbeat steady under his hand, he can’t make himself wish he’d left you alone.

You’re here. Alive. Warm. His, somehow, in a way he has no right to believe in yet.

The thought should scare him more than it does.

He could protect you from curses. He could protect you from the clan, from the elders already circling your future, from every violent thing this world still has left to offer. Yuji knows how to stand between someone and death. He’s done it his entire life.

What he doesn’t know is how to protect you from the shape he becomes when he wants something.

That’s the part he can’t stop thinking about.

For eighty-three years, he taught himself not to need people. He lived carefully. Kept distance. Carried grief like discipline. Then you looked at him with those eyes, let him touch you, let him in, and every careful thing he’d made came apart in a matter of hours.

It isn’t love, not yet.

Or maybe it is.

He can’t bring himself to name it that. Maybe this is what love becomes when it has nowhere safe to go, when it’s been starved too long and finally finds something warm enough to hold onto.

He presses a kiss into your hair, slow and careful, like that might make the apology mean more.

I’m sorry.

Sorry for finding you. Sorry for wanting you. Sorry that if the world came for you, he would burn through all of it and still not know how to let go afterward.

I’m sorry, but I can’t leave you alone.

Even if he should.

Even if it kills you both.

You shift in your sleep and curl closer, your cheek pressing against his chest like you chose him even there, unconscious and unguarded. His arms tighten before he can stop them.

Mine.

The word moves through him quietly this time. Less like a claim, more like a prayer he knows better than to say out loud.

Mine.

He stays awake until the city lights fade and dawn starts to creep through your window. Even then, he doesn’t let go of you.

#until you

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