愛 : the heart beneath the curse
synopsis: post shibuya leaves yuji a hollow shell of the sunshine boy he used to be, grief carving through him until his perception of love begins to warp. trapped between constant arguments over your safety and the unbearable fear of losing him, you’re left pleading for him to let you in—until he drops to his knees all marred skin and tears, and you’re left searching through the wreckage for the heart buried beneath the curse.
content warnings: yuji itadori x fem reader, smut, p in v, heavy angst, arguments, hurt/comfort, post shibuya arc, sorcerer au, jujutsu college au, yuji + reader attend jujutsu college, guilt, grief, self-blame, emotional breakdowns, lots of praise + reassurance, soft/sensual smut, emotional, possessive/protective yuji, crying, happy ending (i promise). word count 6k, reblogs are appreciated!
The rain pours relentlessly, carving jagged lines into the pavement while thunder growls somewhere in the distance, low and violent. Lightning flashes close enough to bleach the world white for half a second before everything sinks back into muted gray again, the sky completely drained of color.
The only thing that seems to cut through the deafening silence is the sound of footsteps splashing through puddles on the walk back toward the shared hideout, an abandoned building you and Yuji have been calling home for the time being.
You trail behind him quietly, eyes fixed on the broad line of his back beneath his rain-soaked jacket. The orange fabric clings to him, damp and worn thin, outlining every shift of muscle underneath, the muscles in his back rippling as rain trickles down the expanse of him. Even now, angry and closed off, he feels painfully familiar.
You can still smell him through the rain, something sweet and citrusy, green tea mixed with something warmer, deeper. A scent you only ever catch properly with your face buried in the crook of his neck, tangled together beneath blankets while his calloused hands hold yours tightly against his beating heart, fingers tapping absentmindedly against his chest.
It feels like a memory you’re walking through.
A smell that transports you back into his arms, back to when things were simple.
And you’re stuck watching him unravel, all while his back is turned toward you, refusing to look at you.
Please, just turn around and face me.
It’s the only thought that seems to ring endlessly through your skull.
His fists clench and unclench over and over again, fingers stretching taut before curling shut hard enough to make his knuckles pale. His shoulders are tense, rigid, but there’s something shaky beneath it all. He’s angry, exhausted, but underneath it, he’s trembling.
It’s rare seeing him like this.
A few steps behind him, your hair hangs damp and frizzed from the storm, eyeliner smeared beneath your eyes from rain or tears. You’d bet on tears.
Your chest aches with that awful kind of melancholy that settles deep between your ribs and refuses to leave, pulsing there in a dull, persistent ache.
You’ve been arguing for nearly fifteen minutes now. The rain softened it for a while, drowned the words out enough to pretend things weren’t splintering apart between you. But the closer you get to being alone with him, hidden away from everything else, the more that fragile pause begins to feel like it might snap.
And he still won’t stop clenching his fists.
Clenching. Unclenching. Clenching again.
“Can you fucking quit that, please?”
His footsteps stop immediately.
The sudden silence twists something ugly in your stomach.
His head tilts slightly, almost like he’s trying to understand why you even spoke in the first place. Rain drips from the strands of pink hair hanging in his face, sliding down the sharp line of his jaw.
“Why do you care?” he spits, voice low and rough, stripped completely of the warmth that usually accompanies his words. One scarred hand drags through his soaked hair, pushing it back shakily. “Why should I stop doing something you don’t like when you never listen to what I want?”
The words hit your lungs hard, knocking the breath out of you. You feel it in the way your heart responds to him, rattling violently inside your chest at the way he disregards you so easily.
Hot tears, warm against the cold rain pouring down your face, begin to prickle your vision, frustration tightening painfully in your throat as you scrape desperate words out.
He cuts you off immediately, tone clipped of any emotion. His voice sounds like static buffering through a speaker, completely unrecognizable in its morphed sound.
Your body goes still for a moment, frozen there in the rain.
It takes a second too long for you to remember how to move again. His words lodge themselves into the valves of your heart, pressing painfully against something already fragile, your heart beating too rapidly yet somehow feeling painfully still. For a fleeting second, you think his tone alone might be enough to stop it entirely.
You and him used to never fight.
Before Shibuya. Before this world stole pieces of Yuji until there was barely anything left untouched. Before he was doomed.
Before this society ripped pieces of his humanity out one by one. Before being a vessel became a death sentence hanging over his head. Before his life was valued by the higher-ups only when he was useful to them, a puppet forced to dance in a world that would discard him the second he stopped serving a purpose.
He’s still kind. Still loving. Still the boy who holds doors open for strangers, cries over movies, and kisses your forehead absentmindedly when he thinks you’re asleep.
But he’s lost hope. Lost passion.
He exists because he has to.
Because Jujutsu society has its claws buried straight through his beating heart, and if he dares to squirm, to defy it, that same heart will still and grow cold.
You remember when you first met him.
Radiant, dewy smile. Bright yellow hoodie. Pink hair.
As silly as it was, he reminded you of Fluttershy.
You remember how quickly he intertwined himself with you, how he understood you in a way no one else ever could. You remember the foggy night spent in his dorm, legs pressed against the wall, a flimsy magazine discarded between the two of you while you passed around a bag of sour candy, neither of you able to sleep.
You remember when Yuji started talking.
About his home life. His old school. Friendships long gone. His grandfather.
And you remember the way his voice cracked ever so slightly over the word.
The way he tried to hide it.
The way he finished everything off with a bright laugh and an almost nostalgic tone.
“Y’know, I always wanted to be a firefighter.”
The lamp cast his face in a hazy glow as he toyed with the end of your jacket, a nervous habit of his, always needing something to fidget with. He let his head rest against the wall, a soft sigh slipping from his lips.
“If I wasn’t a jujutsu sorcerer, I think that’s what I’d do. I could fulfill my grandfather’s wish that way.”
Ever since that night, you saw through the cheerful facade.
You saw the way it was beginning to crack, slowly, carefully, like a neglected porcelain doll left untouched for too long, revealing the rot he tried so desperately to bury beneath all the good.
He just wants to be good.
But sadness has stolen him from himself.
And now there’s something heavy living inside him, something worn painfully thin by the endless need for others. It feels like there isn’t a single organ in his body functioning for himself anymore. Everything inside him beats in the name of someone else.
The rusted handle to the underground bunker creaks as his large hand wraps around it.
For a moment, petty and irrational, you think he’ll slam it in your face and disappear from you completely.
You lose your breath waiting for it, eyes blinking shut for half a second, a decision you regret immediately.
Because when you open them again, the door is being held open by his fingers stretched wide, palm steady as he waits.
“Come,” he urges, voice barely above a whisper.
You oblige, following him inside.
The air changes immediately, drier, heavier, strained with tension. Floorboards creak beneath your shared weight. His pace quickens while you linger near the now-closed door, nerves buzzing beneath your skin in a strange, bittersweet way.
Staring at the back of the boy you loved, heart hammering violently in your chest as you tried to gather the courage to say the not-so-secret secret lodged at the tip of your tongue.
Struck by love, Halted by nerves.
Hopelessly in love with the loud boy who smiled too easily and held your hand like it was second nature.
Except now, you’re standing in front of another version of that sunshine boy, one where things are no longer trapped beneath a golden haze.
A nervous laugh escapes you anyway.
You decide that instead of withering away in silence, you’ll play it off.
“Yuu, c’mon, let’s just drop thi—”
His feet stop abruptly, shoes scraping against the floor as he steadies himself. The sharp inhale he takes leaves him rough around the edges, exhaled out like gravel, shaky and uneven.
And his expression is something you know will torment you for the rest of your life.
The sullen expression. Lips drawn tight. Eyes wide for only a moment before narrowing into slits.
His gaze is empty in a way that makes your stomach twist. Desolate and vacant.
Like something alien has taken hold of him.
“Why can’t you just listen to me?” he raises his voice, rough and cracking at the edges. “If you would’ve just listened instead of being so careless—”
His words are harsh, stinging like cigarette burns pressed into skin, ash ground into a table.
Everything he says is cold.
yet your eyes catch it the way his lips wobble at the very end, knowing he’s the one about to break.
The faint twitch at the end of his sentence, like his body is betraying him, something in him still reaching for you even while he does everything he can to push you away.
You catch it for only a second.
But you see it because you always see him.
Even the ugly parts he tries to bury far away from you.
Just like you catch the way regret flickers across his face the second the words leave him.
Your lips part instinctively before pressing shut again.
His eyes lock onto your mouth almost immediately.
Glossy. Lower lip trembling, That familiar expression he’s memorized too well.
The same one you wear whenever you’re trying not to fall apart.
The same softness he’s traced with his lips and tongue, soft pecks dissolving into scattered makeouts.
And for one selfish moment, you wish he’d stop fighting with you.
You wish he’d pull you close, warmth vibrating between your bodies.
You wish he’d kiss you hard enough to bruise your lips, hard enough to taste the salt lingering there, hard enough to taste your tears.
But you’re not going to shrink yourself for him.
You’re not going to sit here, and stay quiet, he needs to understand that you aren’t going to quit him.
You scoff, voice crying out, every word sounding like a plea. A desperate, ever-clinging, hopeless plea. He can hear it lingering on the edge of your voice, hear the way it trembles despite how hard you try to bury it beneath anger.
Shame you’re both pleading for the opposite.
“Careless? How is me wanting to fight being careless when everyone else I love is throwing their lives out on the line and I’m supposed to stay back because you love your girlfriend a little too much?”
You find your eyes refusing to meet his as you scream it.
The last line drags a jagged hole straight through his skull.
Dumbfounded, he’s left lost in the words you seethe through such pretty lips. Lips he now knows can leave behind a stinging, bloodied bite in their wake, all bitten tongue and swallowed frustration.
He opens his mouth, closes it again.
Stumbles over whatever defense he was about to spit back.
Confrontation has never been something he likes.
Especially not like this.
He’s used to yelling, to fighting, to blood splitting marred skin and bones aching until they feel like they’ll break, but this?
This sick, twisting feeling in his chest whenever the person he loves looks at him with tears staining their cheeks and hurt spilling from their mouth.
It’s something he doesn’t think he can survive.
Something that hurts more than any curse he’s ever fought.
Something entirely different, a feeling so foreign he isn’t sure he could even describe it.
Something that can only be felt.
Lately, life has been forcing him to confront too many things all at once.
Things he’d rather avoid.
An endless cycle repeating itself, pressing against the awful realization that loving someone means knowing exactly where to hurt them.
You don’t let him get another breath out before exhaling cruelly, words sharp with irritation but laced with something softer beneath it.
For half a second, you sit there studying the hopeless, contorted expression stretched across his face with something almost sympathetic.
A martyr wrapped in broad shoulders and bruised hands, so desperate to be your knight that sometimes he forgets how to just be your lover.
Your life does not hold more value than his, despite what he tells himself, despite the way he twists himself apart trying to shield you from dangers you knowingly signed up for.
“I want to stop fighting with you,” your voice comes quieter now, exhaustion bleeding into your tone.
“I’m tired and done, Yuji.”
His gaze drops to the floor, jaw tight enough to grind his teeth, aching beneath the pressure before he finally looks back up.
He wants to run over and hug you.
To cradle your head, or let you cradle his, to intertwine so deeply your hearts beat in sync.
He also wants to walk away.
To curse you, to say something so cruel it would make you stop loving him entirely, something hateful enough to finally sever yourself from the hopelessness he drags behind him, to let him go and stay safe.
But more than any of that, he wants to protect you so badly he thinks he’d willingly let you despise his very existence if it meant you stayed alive.
Even if you were the one dragging the sword through his heart, twisting until it carved through the very organ keeping him alive. Even through every sharp pang of hurt, every mistake lodged deep within him, he knows he’d still remember the sound of your voice calling out to him, clinging to it long after pain begins to blacken his vision.
He’d do all of it if it meant you survived.
He thinks somewhat bitterly, maybe this was the heartbreak Gojo-sensei was talking about.
“There’s no curse more twisted than love.”
Gojo had said it so often it became engraved into the walls of his memory, imprinted so deeply he could hear it even now. But there’s a difference between simply knowing something and understanding it.
Yuji had never understood what Gojo meant by those words until now.
There should really be a rule written in stone somewhere.
Mapped across jagged rock that says you will always fall in love, and it will always feel like your throat is being cut open. And even as scarlet red pours from your mouth and severed flesh, you’ll still cling to that last breath, fighting to keep your eyes open, desperate to see them one last time, gasping out a confession meant only for them.
Loving someone is a weakness.
And weakness is a fault, something jujutsu sorcerers aren’t allowed to have.
See, jujutsu sorcerers aren’t meant to love.
They’re simply born to be strong, forced to bear any and every burden alone.
They’re made to absorb the emotions of others, it’s their job to notice and fix it. It’s their job to lose sense of self, buried in the carcass of a curse who’s only a mangled mix of everyone’s pathetic suffering in life, the polluted decay swallowing a body of water whole.
They aren’t allowed to be selfish, or greedy, only good, only strong.
Maybe that’s why he’s failing so badly at this whole sorcerer thing.
Because when it comes to you, Yuji has always been selfish.
Ever since the moment he saw your smile.
The way your eyes caught sunlight, tiny flecks trapped inside your irises, making them shine in a way he couldn’t stop staring at.
The way he could never get enough of your voice, always hanging onto every word with something embarrassingly intoxicated written all over his face. Waiting for excuses just to hear you talk again. Sitting there looking at you for too long, too soft, too enamored with everything you are.
The inhale that leaves him is sharp and involuntary, his chest seizing tightly, burning his throat and making it hard to even breathe.
He struggles to stop the tears cresting over his lash line, fingers turning bone white where they curl tightly into themselves, fighting against the sting burning behind his eyes.
He takes a few slow breaths, trying to regain his composure.
When he finally looks at you again, his eyes are red-rimmed, lashes low, expression tinged with softness, but still, the shadows on his face contort with anguish.
“Because I’m trying to protect you,” he says quietly.
His voice is so quiet it almost sounds broken.
You feel wound impossibly tight, muscles weak, exhaustion dragging heavily through your bones. Your head throbs with a sharp, pulsating ache at your temple.
All you want to do is cry. All your body calls for is the rush of his skin against yours, aching with the simple want of needing to be engulfed by his muscled arms, to be held by him, humming with contentment, wanting to curl inward into the cavity of his chest, and bloom anew from his soul, to sprout and flourish, to become one with him.
It feels like a sickness, a spreading poison that roots itself in your heart. Love is a sickness, causing you to always want someone no matter how frayed things are, to crave them even in the cruelest moments, it’s always blindly loving them.
Even when they stand in front of you, ripping themselves apart with blunt fingers, all because they care, all because of their love for you.
Love is cruel in the way it lingers, the way it blinds even the clearest judgment.
You find the courage, or maybe it’s the blind rage pooling into your veins, the overwhelming need that overpowers it, to spill your truth at his feet and pray he’s gentle.
“You never let me protect you, though,” you say softly, sadness bleeding into every word. “What about you, Yuji? Someone has to care about you when you’re too busy taking care of everyone else.”
His features strain, skin stretched as his jaw tightens, teeth grinding together for a mere second as the expression settles.
The sharp click of his tongue comes next, frustration flickering across his face before something close to regret settles in, his gaze dropping to the floor. His expression falls flat into something almost helpless, lips turned into a soft pout, brows scrunching together before relaxing again, bottom lip wobbling slightly.
His voice comes out hoarse, emotion spilling through the cracks in every word.
“Every second you spend with me…” he swallows hard, throat tightening, “every single second you’re around me, you’re in danger.”
His fingers dig hard into his clenched fist. Nails burrowing into flesh until skin breaks beneath the pressure, velvet blooming steadily as it drips from his scarred hand.
He doesn’t seem to notice.
You watch helplessly as tears finally spill over, clinging to his lashes, droplets morphing into tiny specks of glitter in the dim light, hazel eyes boring such a somber gaze before slipping down his cheeks.
His hands drag harshly against his face, rough palms scraping skin hard enough to redden it, smearing metallic blood and salty tears together, only aggravating lingering injuries.
Ugly, matted purples blooming beneath skin.
Forceful swipes of his palm against his face continue, the tears continuing until he’s a complete, blubbering mess, grief cracking through him so violently it’s intrusive to witness.
He finally yells, the words tearing from somewhere so deep inside him that it causes your skin to erupt in goosebumps, making you physically flinch away. You’ve never heard him yell with this much pain and sorrow embedded into every word, so raw it feels as though both your soul and his are cracking beneath the weight of it all.
“It’s because of me!” he shouts, voice wavering. “It’s my fault. Everyone is dead!”
“It’s because of us,” you cut in, voice louder than his in a way that surprises even yourself.
Your tone lowers as you repeat yourself.
Bottom lip trembling into something pitiful, brown eyes wide and glassy as he blinks back tears.
“No,” he says, voice hoarse. “Me. It’s because of me, y/n.”
His breathing turns uneven.
“I ate the goddamn finger,” he chokes out. “I started all of this. It’s my fault Gojo-sensei is gone. My fault Kugisaki got hurt. Nanami—”
Breaking apart completely now.
His knees buckle beneath him as another sob tears free, rough hands desperately wiping at tears that won’t stop falling, his entire face crumpling beneath the unbearable weight of grief he’s been carrying alone for far too long.
You rush over, moving before you even realize it, pure instinct guiding your every step as you catch him in your arms, pulling him close. He folds into you immediately, his body giving out as ragged sobs wrench from his throat, hiccups catching between uneven breaths, the wet sound of him trying and failing to pull himself together.
He feels fragile. You can tell from the way he shakes, from the way his knees finally knock against the cold wooden floor.
You go down with him without hesitation, cradling him there, fingers trembling despite how gently they comb through petal-pink strands, nails lightly scratching at his scalp, trying to soothe him, to quiet the storm inside him the way a lullaby might.
Your hand eases toward his jaw, careful, soft, coaxing his tear-streaked face upward.
You blink back your own tears.
You need to stay strong for him.
“Yuji,” you murmur gently.
He looks up at you, pupils dilating at the sound of your voice, your fingers still cradling his jaw, skittering softly across flushed skin.
“I begged Gojo to save you,” you whisper, your voice catching despite yourself. “That day, I faltered, not you. I kept you alive knowing what it could mean, knowing what it might cause.” Your voice shakes, quieter now, thick with honesty. “I let my feelings cloud my judgment. I listened to my heart instead of my head, and maybe… maybe that will always be my fault.”
Your thumb strokes slow circles against the warmth of his cheek.
“But I don’t regret it.” Your voice steadies, firmer this time. “I don’t regret keeping you alive, Yuji. Not for a second.”
He stares at you, frozen.
“So when I say it’s my fault, I mean it.” Your breath catches. “It’s mine to carry, my burden to bear… but I know you.” A small, shaky laugh escapes you, fond despite the nauseous pang curling in your chest. “And I know you won’t let me carry something like that alone.”
Your forehead nearly brushes his.
The word fills the space between you.
“Ours to survive. Ours to grieve. Ours to carry.”
Your fingers tighten ever so slightly against his jaw, afraid he’ll disappear if your touch slips away.
“So let me, Yuji Itadori,” you whisper, your voice cracking at the edges of every word. “Stop pushing me away because somewhere along the line, you convinced yourself you’re just a cog in some cruel machine.”
Your brows draw together, pinching tightly as tears finally slip free.
“You’re not.” Your voice turns impossibly kind. “You’ve never been just that. You’re kind even after everything. You keep trying even when everyone is against you. You constantly carry the wants and needs of others with you, even when you’re breaking.” Your thumb brushes beneath his eye again. “You’re so much more than what suffering has convinced you you’re worth.”
Yuji only blinks at you. He finds it hard to breathe in this moment, all the air trapped in his lungs. His mouth parts silently before shutting again.
“You really…” His voice cracks, rough from crying. “You really mean that?”
“Let me be your hope,” you whisper. “And you can be my forgiveness.”
Your thumb smooths over heated, damp skin, tender and patient.
“And I’ll forgive you too. Again and again, if that’s what it takes.”
Something inside him caves.
He surges forward, crashing his lips against yours, asking for permission with every clumsy plea of his mouth against yours, begging for forgiveness in the only way he knows how, in a way words can’t replace. His lips taste of salt from smeared tears, and there’s blood streaked across the pads of your fingertips where they rest against his injured face.
His breath is warm against your lips as more tears begin to well in his eyes.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, baby. I’m sorry for yelling and pushing you away, and I’m sorry I’m constantly throwing myself into danger—”
He starts to hiccup, tripping over his own words and sobs, his breath uneven and broken between apologies.
“Shh, shh, it’s okay, it’s okay, really, Yuu.”
He lets his forehead rest against yours, his hands slowly crawling toward your own, cradling where your palms are splayed across his cheeks.
“No, it’s not,” he says, his voice trembling. “I made you feel weak when you’re not. It’s my insecurities I pushed onto you… my fear of losing you that made me push you away.”
He’s a pathetic mess of tears when he leans in again, muttering sorry over and over in quiet, hushed whispers while your reassurances melt softly into his feverish skin. He swallows the unbearable heaviness of it with a searing kiss.
Your bodies slot together, limbs tangling as you fall back against the floor, his hand cradling the back of your head while you lie beneath him.
The kiss turns heated, messy in the way only something starved can be. When you finally pull away, breathless, you whisper, “I’m going to enter the Culling Games. I’m gonna fight beside you. You can’t stop me.”
He hovers above you now, golden-brown irises fixed on yours, your shared gaze melting into something soft, something hauntingly intimate. He laughs quietly, the sound making your heart flutter, cheeks dusted pink despite everything.
“Yeah, I know,” he murmurs, almost defeated, though there’s fondness buried beneath it.
“But…” A small grin pulls at his lips, canines glinting pearly white in the dim light, “I’m still gonna do everything I can to protect you.”
You smile as his head falls against your shoulder, pink strands of hair wisping against your skin and softly tickling you. His hands are warm where they settle against your waist, large palms engulfing your frame as though he can anchor himself here, tied only to you.
“Just this is okay… right?” he asks quietly, his face buried in the scent of your shampoo, slow kisses scattered against your neck as you exhale shakily. His hands grow restless against your skin, fingers kneading gently before he lifts his head again, eyes blown wide with devotion, still shining from crying.
“Can I make it up to you?” he asks, voice breathy, hesitant in a way that only speaks to your heart.
“Yes, please… I’ve missed you so much…” Your voice dips at the memory of the past week spent alone, the arguments, the self-blame, how badly you longed for him while he kept himself hidden away from you.
His hand reaches up, thumb brushing loose strands of hair away from your eyes before he presses a soft kiss against your temple.
“I know, I know, baby. I missed you so bad too,” he says quietly, huffing out a small, sheepish laugh, guilt still lingering in his expression.
“Man… I’m such a dumbass.”
You laugh softly, pulling him in for another kiss, desperate to lose yourself in him, to bury the sadness somewhere between his warmth and the way his fingers dig into the plush of your flesh.
His hands are quick but careful, and with every kiss and touch there’s always a quiet check-in following, “Is this okay?” or “Do you like this?” You nod, your skin tingling with need as his fingers skate down toward your inner thigh, his touch featherlight.
Then he’s spreading you open for him, fingers kneading the plushness of your thighs, bunching your skirt up at the waist with one large hand while the other tugs your tights down, careful not to rip them in the process.
The cool air hits your exposed pussy, already glistening with need, the fabric of your cotton panties turned sheer against you. His breath hitches. “Jeez, baby… you’re really wet. Is this because of me?”
It sounds teasing, but you know it isn’t.
His eyes widen, nerves flickering through him as he swallows. You grin and lightly smack the side of his head.
His face goes blank for a second before realization hits.
A sharp, bright grin spreads across his face as he hovers above yours, the scar on his lip caught in the moonlight spilling through the window. Pink strands of hair tickle your skin, his lashes brushing softly against you as he kisses your nose, your cheek, your eyebrow, your eyelids—murmuring a soft “sorry” over and over until the words dissolve into kisses.
His hand finds yours, fingers threading together against the floor. You feel the way his grip flexes. He glances up at you for a split second, a small wobbly smile breaking across his face, warm amber eyes glowing like the last flicker beneath ash, faint traces of orange burning in the dark. He chews lightly on his lower lip, teeth pressing into the skin, leaving faint marks against chapped flesh.
“S’okay,” he says softly, almost to himself.
You feel him then, the sticky tip of his cock tracing your folds, his pants and boxers pushed down just enough to free himself. “Just the tip, okay? I’ll be slow. Gentle.”
His hand brushes sweat-slick strands from your forehead, his deep, bark-colored eyes fixed on you, studying every shift in your expression, drinking in the way your body reacts, intent on your pleasure.
You suck in a sharp breath as he pushes in, half of him easing inside you, the first stretch making your body tense before slowly melting around him. He savors the way you cling to him while he rocks his hips, pushing the rest of his length into you.
He tries to keep himself together, but the way you take him—soft gummy walls warm and tight gripping around him, sucking him in inch by inch—has him faltering fast.
His head drops into your neck, soft groans leaving his throat, words abandoning him completely as he presses closer, hips nudging deeper until the tip of him grazes your cervix and steals your breath.
Instinctively, he keeps pressing into your cunt, hips meeting yours in a relentless rhythm, as the rush of pleasure builds alone, He rocks into your greedy heat, his thrusts slowing, your fingertips dancing around his jaw, ghosting over warm skin as he keeps unwavering eye contact with you—eyes honey-brown, soft in their focused, devoted gaze.
His lips find yours, and suddenly the air he just breathed is filling your lungs—what keeps him alive now yours to take in. His breath is warm against your tongue, sweet and unsteady as his mouth melts into yours, kissing you with a desperation that pulls his whole body into you.
Your hands leave his face, sliding into the soft pink at the nape of his neck, gripping, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between you at all, bodies collapsing into one another, everything blurring at the edges as souls claw at the confines of skin and muscle, desperate to merge and become one.
His hips rock in and out of you, soft squelching sounds filling the room. The friction builds as his pace quickens, and your nails dig into his tanned skin, flush against the broad expanse of his back. The scars littering his skin form constellations beneath your touch, long red scratches drawn across taut muscle. He breaks the kiss with a sharp gasp at the sensation, only for his lips to find yours again immediately, kissing you feverishly, teeth catching your bottom lip just enough to sting.
Your hips are locked around his waist, molded to his body, clinging to him with quiet desperation. His lips are puffy and flushed red, messy with spit as he trails kisses down your exposed neck and collarbone. One hand bunches the fabric of your shirt, fingers ghosting across your back before undoing the clasp of your bra with practiced ease.
His hands settle at your waist as he glances up at you, flushed and beautiful, utterly wrecked with desire.
Petal-pink hair falls messy around his face, pushed back just enough to reveal his forehead, the jagged scar through his eyebrow more prominent now. His cheeks burn red, hazel eyes glossed over and warm.
He’s asking for permission, and you nod.
His lips close around your nipple, tongue circling your areola, making you squirm beneath him from the feel of him inside you and the wet heat of his mouth. Soft nips follow, each one soothed by the slow sweep of his tongue.
He sinks deeper into you, burying himself in your warmth. His head lifts, strands of hair falling around him like a halo, his lip caught harshly between his teeth, hard enough to bruise. He fights back the urge to spill inside you, desperate to see your face twist with pleasure when he finally brings you to release.
His thrusts grow slower, his thumb rubbing steady circles against your clit as he continues to fill you. Your legs tighten around him as you moan his name in drawn-out, breathless whines. Yuji looks close to whining too, overwhelmed by the way your body orbits his.
“Shit, baby, gonna cum, she feels so good. You feel so good.”
“Come on, baby, come for me. I wanna cum with you.”
You nod, hair damp with sweat, hands buried in his hair as you tug at soft strands. Your body trembles, warmth coiling tighter in your stomach as your cunt flutters around him. Your hips roll, chasing the feeling, your body buzzing at the edges until the tightness in your stomach snaps, his final sharp thrust pushing you past the brink as a rush of ecstasy washes over you.
“Yuji,” you gasp, cursing. “Pull out.”
His head spins with pleasure, barely holding himself together. “I know, I know, shit.” He pulls out with a soft plop sound, spilling his milky white seed across your lower stomach and inner thighs, his cock coated in the shared release.
He steadies himself, head tilted slightly as his hair falls with the movement. He looks completely awe-struck, eyes dazed and blown wide with adoration.
His lips part at the sight of you, legs sticky with his kids, skirt bunched at your waist, skin flushed, hair clinging to your sweat-slick face, chest rising and falling unevenly. He’s staring, cock already hard again.
“You’re so beautiful. So pretty. My gorgeous girl.”
His words come out like hushed confessions, etching themselves into the hollow of your ribs. His fawn-like eyes blink slowly as his thumbs rub soothing circles into your skin. He leans down, pressing soft, tender kisses across you, murmuring soft I love yous against your flesh until the words lay to rest in your beating heart.
masterlist - kofi - emergency commission info!
note: i fear my writing in this is horrible plz stick with me. . this fic sat in my drafts for two months because i was scared to post and kept wanting to rewrite and change stuff </3 divider creds @/mieluno
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