Chapter Text
The first time Yuji notices, the night is pitch black and there’s blood everywhere.
What exactly does he notice? Well, he’s not entirely sure – but he notices something. Beyond the adrenaline pumping through his veins, past the exhaustion dragging his limbs down, and buried under the paralyzing relief of having saved everyone, there it is. The faintest, briefest hint of worry. That would be quite normal considering they all just nearly got annihilated by an army of special-grade curses -yes, a worrisome situation indeed- except for this: this worry is originated within him, but not from him.
And it’s definitely not targeted towards him.
“Sukuna?” he asks, unsure. He raises to his feet, wipes some blood off his cheek, and then taps said cheek twice. “Oi, are you there?” A mouth opens right in his face and bites his finger. “Ow!”
“You and all your little friends nearly died, and you want to talk to the murder demon inside you?” the mouth asks, dragging the words lazily.
A fair point, but Yuji shrugs nonetheless. “You’ve been very quiet the whole time. It’s my job to check the murder demon inside me isn’t up to something while I’m getting my ass kicked.”
“How noble,” Sukuna slurs, but there’s something about his voice that doesn’t sound right. Yuji tilts his head and, with the next beat of his heart, he feels it throbbing again: that same gust of worry, subtle yet undeniable.
Maki has picked Fushiguro up and is walking towards them, her expression stern. Her hair is down and messy, there’s a massive cut on her cheek that will surely leave a scar, and her glasses are crooked and cracked – but she’s otherwise fine, steps firm as she approaches, and… they can’t really say the same for Fushiguro. Unconscious in her arms, he looks more bruised and battered than Yuji’s ever seen him, his forehead covered in blood and his left arm twisted in an unnatural, grotesque angle with the shoulder sticking out of its socket. His mouth is bloody too -Yuji saw him spit out two teeth earlier during the fight- and there are three deep open gashes running down his clavicle. Yuji is no stranger to pain and tolerating it, but that looks… pretty damn painful. He’s silently grateful Fushiguro has passed out and they’ll get to heal the worst of it before he wakes up. Hopefully.
“He’s alive,” Maki assures him, “but we really should-”
The rest of her words trail off in an unintelligible murmur pushed to the back of Yuji’s mind. He wants to listen to his senpai, he really does, but he’s suddenly frozen in place by the sheer relief that washes over him and almost knocks him over. And don’t get him wrong, he’s very, very glad that Fushiguro is still alive and kicking, sure, but up to the point that his knees feel weak and his hands start shaking?
“Oh,” Yuji says, breathless. Without really thinking about it, he presses his palm to his cheek again as it all makes sense at once. “You were worried about him.”
Sukuna opens his mouth and bites two of Yuji’s fingers off.
“Nobody will believe you,” Sukuna tells him a month later after he finally, finally grows Yuji’s fingers again.
He’d asked Sukuna to please get to it already at least a dozen times, but Sukuna had stayed stoic and quiet the whole time, as responsive as a wall. Until now.
Yuji absent-mindedly wrinkles his nose in distaste at the black colour of his new nails – they look gross. Still, at least now he’ll be able to eat with chopsticks again.
“About time,” he cries with a smile, flexing his fingers. “Thanks, Sukuna! Whoa, it tickles. Feels kind of funny, actually.”
“Did you hear me, brat?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Yuji says, and lies down on his bed. He raises his hand and admires the silhouette of his no-longer-missing fingers under the light of his room. When he turns it around, an eye is looking back at him sharply from the center of his palm. “Don’t sweat it, I won’t tell anyone.”
Instead of being satisfied by his answer, Sukuna narrows the one eye.
“Why,” he asks dryly.
Yuji blinks, confused. “Because you’re asking me not to?”
“I didn’t ask–”
“Right,” Yuji cuts him off, waving the eye-infected hand dismissively. “You never ask, you demand, you’re the big bad cursed spirit that can obliterate us all, I know. The point is, you don’t want me to tell anyone you like Fushiguro, so I won’t.”
Sukuna’s silence is long enough that Yuji thinks he’s retreated back to wherever he goes when he’s decided he’s had enough interactions with humans, but then as Yuji is nodding off with his arms pillowing his head, both Sukuna’s eye and mouth open again on his face.
“I have killed thousands of people for less than that. I will remember this disrespect when I kill you.”
Yuji yawns. “I’m sure you will.” He pauses, stirs, and rubs his eyes sleepily. “I don’t respect you and I never will, sorry. But I can respect what you feel, so… your secret’s safe with me. Now shush, it’s bedtime. And thanks for the fingers again!”
“Say, sensei,” Yuji asks after class, taking advantage of the fact that Sukuna feels absent and dormant within his -their?- body. “Strictly hypothetically speaking, do you think it’d be possible that every finger I eat strengthens the bond between me and… you know?” He vaguely gestures towards his chest, avoiding saying the name out loud in case it catches the spirit’s attention.
Gojou brings a hand to his chin and tilts his head, letting out a long ‘Mmmm’. Even through the blindfold, Yuji notices his brow is furrowed in a serious, pensive expression. Yuji matches it with one of his own, straightening up in tense attention. Suddenly, he doesn’t feel as light-hearted about this as he did a moment ago – actually, now that he thinks about it, he should have definitely brought this up earlier. Like, before-the-tenth-finger earlier.
Gojou claps his hands together and nods vigorously. “Yep! Don’t see why not.” He lowers his voice into a conspirational tone and, bringing his hands to his hips, bends slightly so that he can invade Yuji’s personal space. “Why do you ask?”
Yuji takes a step back.
“N-no reason.”
Gojou takes a step forward.
“You are,” he says with a dangerous smile, “a very bad liar, did you know that?”
Yes, Yuji absolutely knows that. He swallows in a very visible manner, retreating some more as subtly as he can. There’s no way he can escape Gojou’s multiple eyes, but maybe if he moves very, very slowly… if he plays dead…
“And lying to your sensei is really not cool,” Gojou adds, mouth turning down into a mock-frown. “Have I not done so much for you?”
“Y-yes.”
“I have taken you under my wing!”
“But-”
“Raised you with my own two hands!”
“Uh…”
Having cornered him against the wall with no possible escape routes, Gojou brings a hand up to his blindfold and tugs it down in a very deliberate motion. The blue of his eyes always makes Yuji’s head spin, strips him naked to his very core. How can someone’s eyelashes be so, so long.
“Pleeease?”
Shit.
This might be a school for sorcerers and magic and curses and dark, ugly things no one in the world should ever know about but, at the end of the day, it’s still high school. And Gojou Satoru is… well, Gojou. Within a couple of days after wrenching the truth out of Yuji, the rumor spreads like wildfire, and Yuji is praying to all the gods he’s ever heard about that Sukuna remains dormant for the next, uh, five hundred years give or take.
“A crush,” Nobara says, raising her eyebrows up to her hairline. She leans back against a vending machine, spinning a soda can in her hands. “Sukuna has a crush. The Sukuna. On… Fushiguro.”
Make it a thousand years.
Yuji rubs the back of his neck, looking away. He knows he doesn’t actually owe Sukuna anything but, damn it, the guilt is eating him alive anyway.
“It must be a trick,” Nobara goes on, shaking her head. “He’s trying to lure you into a false sense of security, making you think he’s weak. Smart, but not really. Do not,” she says firmly, pointing a finger at him, “fall for it, Itadori.”
Yuji, who after ingesting the fifteenth cursed finger feels every single one of Sukuna’s metaphorical butterflies-in-the-stomach every time Fushiguro approaches, laughs nervously.
“Ha, ha,” he croaks, as stiff as a board. Gojou was right, he’s a terrible liar. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”
“Does Fushiguro know of this yet?”
Dear god, Yuji will throw up if he does.
“I don’t think so.”
“Good.” Nobara takes a sip of her drink and narrows her eyes. Then she lowers the can and reveals the most pleased, sinister smile Yuji’s ever seen on her. “I want to see his face when he finds out.”
Inumaki, hands in his pockets, scares the living shit out of Yuji when he silently appears behind him and agrees with a solemn ‘Tuna mayo.’
Fushiguro does not, in fact, find out.
Or at least not that Yuji is aware of. But he’s sure he would be if that were the case. Hearing the whole school gossip about the ancient curse’s alleged crush is surely bound to end up with a confrontation from Fushiguro, but no such thing happens during the next week and a half since Gojou spilled. All the teachers know. The students know. Nanami knows. A talking panda knows.
So why, Yuji ponders as he paces the school’s gardens, doesn’t Fushiguro know?
“Know what?”
Fuck.
Sukuna stirs, stretching his consciousness all over the inner domain he shares with Yuji’s body. After the thirteenth finger, he had stopped needing a mouth to talk to him – his thoughts flew freely and directly into Yuji’s mind on the rare occasions when he had something to say. Which weren’t many, nowadays. Since that night he had restored Yuji’s fingers and Yuji had promised not to tell anyone about his secret (yikes) Sukuna had been distant and lost deep in his own cursed territories. The only times his presence had sparked back into existence were when, figures, Fushiguro was close. Those were the times it hit Yuji like a brick: that possessive fondness, the fierce want, all of the weight of Sukuna’s dark and twisted desires to own every single fiber of Fushiguro’s body and mind and soul. Once the truth was out Sukuna had stopped holding it back, and oh had he been holding it back before. The way Sukuna craved and yearned for Fushiguro Megumi reminded Yuji of the weird, empty feeling of having his heart ripped out and lying bloody on the floor. It itched. It hurt.
It felt weird as hell.
“Know what,” Sukuna growls.
Unfortunately for him, the connection that has grown stronger over these last few months works both ways, and Sukuna senses Yuji’s tension and immediately jumps into action. He prods and pokes and kicks down all of Yuji’s mental barriers as if they were as frail as paper, and when he finds what he’s looking for, Yuji’s eyes roll back into his head. He’s dragged into Sukuna’s mind palace at once, landing on the wet floor with a dull thud.
On his throne of bones and decay, Sukuna is sitting upright (danger) and looking down at him with such sheer hatred that Yuji flinches.
This is not good.
This is really, really not good.
“I didn’t mean to!”
“You...”
Sukuna’s never been particularly talkative, but rather than out of his usual aloofness, now it’s because he’s at a loss for words. He trails off, hands clenched tight, mouth a tight line. The anger coming off of him in waves is so solid, so burning, Yuji feels a drop of sweat run down his back.
He drags his hands down his face and holds an arm out with a sigh, closing his eyes.
“Fine, fine, I know I deserve it this time! You can have the whole arm!” He did make a promise and broke it, so fair is fair, Sukuna has earned this torture session. Thanks, Gojou. “But can you give it back sometime this year?” Yuji cracks one eye open to peek at him.
“Your arm?” Sukuna’s eye twitches. “I will have your head, human. All of your limbs. I will flay every single inch of your sorry skin and make you swallow it. Then I will cut your tongue out and make you swallow it too. And when I rip your throat out and you’re choking on your own blood thinking I’m done with you, I will give you your body back just as new, and I will do it again. And again. Right here. Forever. I’ll do it so many times you will regret the day you-”
‘…Itadori?’
Yuji blinks. Sukuna stops dead.
The voice is familiar, extremely so, but it is so jarring in a place like this, Yuji can only gape like a moron. The walls of Sukuna’s domain, which had been closing in on him with every word of the demon’s -frankly terrifying- threat, start to crumble. Web-like cracks are expanding, widening, and light is filtering through them. Yuji shields his eyes from it, and looks up at Sukuna in disbelief. The spirit collapses back on his throne, and now it’s his turn to drag his hands down his face tiredly.
Their following exchange is wordless, lighting-fast thoughts bouncing back and forth.
‘It’s this strong?’
‘Weak, brat. It is weakness.’
‘No.’ Yuji thinks of Nobara’s words, and Sukuna’s, and decides he doesn’t agree with them. At all. Fushiguro’s voice is calling out his name again and the desperate longing that courses through him is overwhelming, paralyzing. He feels it all around Sukuna, himself, every single finger that links them, every thought and feeling and sense shared between them – he sees it painted on the tumbling walls, under his feet, everywhere. Yuji wants to flay his own skin now, anything to get rid of this want. Sukuna’s want. A want so utterly strong, all of Sukuna’s being self-destructs for it, crawls towards it. Yuji smiles gently. ‘I don’t think it is.’
Fushiguro calls out for him a third time, and Yuji wakes up.
“Bad dream?”
“…Kinda.”
Yuji tries not to think too much about the electrifying feeling of Fushiguro’s hand closed around his arm, helping him get up. It’s sort of confusing, this burn isn’t even his own yet it eats him up from the inside out all the same, but he supposes he’ll just have to get used to it and learn to cope. There’s still five fingers left. It’s going to get interesting, to say the least.
‘Want me to hold his hand for you?’ Yuji teases.
‘Die,’ Sukuna snaps, and the jealousy that kicks Yuji’s stomach is nauseating.
‘Ow. Get a grip, dude.’
“Oh,” Fushiguro says, blinking. “You didn’t pass out. You were talking to him.”
“Whoa.” Yuji’s eyes widen. “How did you know that?”
“You were making this face,” Fushiguro deadpans, pointing at Yuji. “A stupid face. It’s hard to tell from your usual one, but I think I’m starting to get it.”
“Oi!”
Inside him, Sukuna chuckles. Like a damn schoolgirl. Yuji mentally rolls his eyes, but this is admittedly better than the whole ‘ripping your throat out’ business. ‘Really? Come on, it wasn’t even that funny!’
Fushiguro takes a step back and sticks his hands into his pockets. “What were you two talking about?”
Wincing, Yuji takes his sweet time wiping his hands on his pants. “Uh, nothing. Vessel stuff. It’s, uh, confidential.”
Fushiguro shoots him an exasperated look that is so stupidly adorable (Yuji seriously doesn’t get paid enough to endure these intrusive secondhand thoughts) and he thinks, tiredly, I’m going to literally die for this, Sukuna. They will sacrifice me for hosting you and your big stupid crush.
“Gojou-sensei told me,” Fushiguro says, and Yuji’s blood runs cold. “About Sukuna’s feelings for me.”
His short life briefly flashes before his eyes.
“He… did?”
“Yeah.” Fushiguro looks up at the ceiling, sighing. He seems to be struggling with some traumatic flashbacks himself which, considering Gojou’s fondness for surprises and drama when it comes to delivering news, makes sense. “He thinks it’s hysterical.”
“And what do you think?”
The words that come out of his mouse are actually synchronized. There’s Yuji’s intrinsic curiosity, the need to know what the hell they’re going to do about this now that it’s out in the open – and for his own part, Sukuna is asking this too, mortified but intrigued as well, full of that interest that he can only hold for Fushiguro Megumi himself.
Fushiguro looks back down at him, expression neutral and thoughtful.
“So it’s true then.” He pauses. “Is it going to be a problem between you and me?”
Yuji hesitates. He doesn’t usually measure his words this much before speaking, but this situation kind of calls for it. He shakes his head. “I don’t think so, no. I mean, he’s kind of intense about it, not gonna lie, but I know where I stand.” He looks up at the blue of the sky for a second, beautiful and imposing, and this time the want that hits him is only his own.
Gross, Sukuna complains.
“Good. That makes it simple then.”
Yuji is… really not following. He’s going to need some practice with this having-two-conversations-at-once new routine. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Fushiguro says, turning his back to him and walking away, “the next time you let Sukuna out, let me have a talk with him. Alone.” His posture is careless, his hands are still in his pockets.
The back of his neck, however, is tinted a deep red.
“Fuck,” Sukuna breathes out through Yuji’s mouth.
Yuji whole-heartedly agrees.
Notes:
i know this needs a sequel where sukuna puts his four hands to good use on fushiguro but for now this is all i have. someday!!! i will come back!!!!! this is a promise.
as always, it's all gojou's fault
my twitter if you wanna hold hands
Chapter Text
The next time Sukuna is let out of his prison, Itadori Yuji doesn’t really get a choice in the matter. A particularly fast cursed spirit has impaled him during a fight and his right lung is all but shattered, not to mention his spine is broken in at least five places from when he was thrown out a window of a four-story building.
Sukuna, boredly lying on his throne watching the show, feels his vessel begin to shut down. It’s funny how Itadori thinks he’s above the laws of nature and tries to stay on his feet to keep fighting (well, being fair, the kid did come back from death once) but soon enough he drops to his knees when his body loses the struggle and reaches its limit. His limbs are going numb, his head fogging with the lack of oxygen. Within a fractured ribcage, his heart is crawling to a slow stop as the fight drains out of him. The last thing he sees before his vision goes out too is the curse approaching him with an ugly smile full of razor-sharp teeth, tongue licking its lips.
‘Let’s switch already,’ Sukuna demands, irritated. ‘I’m not about to become that thing’s next meal.’
‘No’, Itadori thinks back through the last of his consciousness, though his mental voice is as fierce as ever. ‘I won’t let you out without Gojou-sensei around.’
What a fool. And stubborn as hell to boot. Well, at least he’s not all that stupid – despite the last months sharing a body with a demon through a magical bond that grows stronger every day, Itadori hasn’t lost sight of who Sukuna is. What he is. And what he could do should he ever be allowed to break free with no one around to stop him.
‘Suit yourself, brat.’
With a sigh, Sukuna stands up and presses the tips of his fingers together.
“Enchain.”
As per their binding vow, he’s only got one minute to deal with this clusterfuck.
Sukuna destroys the curse in five seconds, chopping its head off with a lazy flick of his wrist.
Then he spends the next ten fixing his vessel’s body, snapping bones into their correct places, spitting out mouthfuls of blood, and growing back all the missing flesh and organ tissue. He bumps his chest with his fist a couple of times, satisfied when his heart jolts awake and resumes its beating again.
Honestly, being human is such a pain he almost feels bad for the kid. This body is supposed to be one of the strongest there are, yet he’s still so relatively fragile, so… squishy. A thousand years ago, Sukuna had disposed of his own mortal form and replaced it with a far improved cursed one the moment he had been granted the knowledge and power to do so. It’s hard not to miss his extra limbs sometimes, though he’s not giving up on getting them back soon.
With three quarters left of his pact, Sukuna looks up as he bends his knees and jumps all the way up to the building’s rooftop. He carelessly steps over Nobara’s unconscious body on his way to Fushiguro’s, who’s passed out as well a few feet away. Grabbing him and propping him up against a wall, Sukuna wipes a thin trail of blood running down Fushiguro’s forehead and then brings his thumb to his mouth. He licks it clean, relishing the iron-like taste, before he presses his index and middle fingers between Fushiguro’s brows.
“Up.”
Fushiguro awakens with a gasp. He coughs, blinks, and blearily looks up at the curse staring down at him.
“Su…kuna,” is the first thing he says. His voice sounds weak and dry as all hell. Then his eyes widen. “Itadori–”
“Asleep,” Sukuna cuts him off. “I took care of all of it. Tsk, sloppy of you, very sloppy of you all. Lucky for you sorcerers, I was feeling helpful today.” Fifteen seconds left. Impressively enough, he can feel Itadori starting to wake up within him. No one can say the kid isn’t committed to his task of keeping Sukuna in check, that’s for sure. “So,” he adds, coming down into a casual squat, “I heard you wished to talk to me.”
Fushiguro frowns in confusion before realization sets in. “What– not now.”
“No,” Sukuna agrees. Only five seconds to go, but he can’t tell Fushiguro that; the whole advantage he holds from this pact relies on its secrecy. “But I’m done waiting any longer and you don’t want to test my patience, shaman. Leave this place and rest up, I’ll pay you a visit tonig–”
The last thing he hears before he blacks out is Fushiguro’s startled ‘Oof’ when Sukuna’s body goes limp and collapses on him.
“Nope,” Itadori says firmly. He sits cross-legged on his bed, staring with a frown at Sukuna’s eye on his palm. “Forget about it.”
“You are aware I could have killed all of you and feasted on your guts, right,” Sukuna lies, casually leaving out the fact that no, actually, he couldn’t have according to the vow’s condition of not hurting anyone in that minute he’s allowed to take over. “But I didn’t.”
“Your kindness is impressive. And the answer is still no.”
They’re taking turns speaking out loud with the same mouth, voices switching back and forth. It’s mildly annoying, and Sukuna is sorely tempted to drag Itadori into his inner domain and chop off a couple of limbs until he reconsiders his refusal.
“Oi, I heard that!”
“Good. Now let me out before I force my way out. Last warning.”
At least he still inspires some semblance of fear in this brat, since Itadori scrunches up his face, lies down on the bed, rolls onto one side and then the other, turns on his stomach to bury his face into his pillow, lets out a low Ughhh into it, and finally throws his hands up in defeat.
“Fine. But only because you actually helped today. And don’t get any ideas! I’m not going anywhere, the moment you try anything I’m taking control again. Remember it’s my body, so… uh, behave, Sukuna.”
“Back in my day, I skinned sorcerers alive for talking to me like that,” Sukuna reminisces fondly.
“Look, you’re not helping your case,” says Itadori with distaste. He closes his eyes and lets out a loud sigh. “Alright, do it before I change my mind.”
Ah, the freedom those words give him is a tangible thing at once. Quite literally. Sukuna feels as if two heavy shackles have dropped from his wrists, as if the tightest of chains has loosened around his body enough for him to slip out. He does so eagerly, taking ahold of his vessel and sitting upright on the bed with his first deep breath back in the real world.
‘Wait,’ the kid urges with dread, ‘don’t–’
Sukuna stands and rips the shirt off his chest.
‘That was my favorite!’ Itadori cries. ‘You really are evil.’
With a motion of his fingers, he slides open the door of Fushiguro’s bedroom without even touching it.
At once, the owner of said room stands up and regards him warily, with bandages around his head and dressed in comfortable clothes. They stare at each other in silence for a long moment before Fushiguro’s eyes trail down to take in Sukuna’s bare, marked chest. His eyebrows raise slightly but he doesn’t comment on it.
“You came,” he says plainly, and Sukuna notices the slightest hint of disbelief in his voice. “Is Itadori here?”
“Worried about privacy?” Sukuna taunts, stepping in and closing the door behind him. “Or just scared? Relax, shaman, I’m here with permission. Tell him, brat.”
“He is,” Itadori confirms, taking over the mouth. “Hey, Fushiguro.”
Fushiguro doesn’t even blink, but his shoulders do lose a bit of their tension.
“I take it you two are getting along better.”
“It's not like I have a choice,” Sukuna drawls, annoyed by the Itadori-centric route this conversation is taking. If this is what Fushiguro wanted to talk about, he might as well leave now and go burn down a village or two for fun before his time is up, instead of wasting it here.
‘Don’t be so dramatic’, Itadori thinks out loud, alarmed.
“You do have a choice.” Fushiguro leans back against his desk, crossing his arms. “Not so long ago, your choice was to rip Itadori’s heart out and laugh about his death.”
Ah, good times. Sukuna’s mouth twists into a pleased smirk as he remembers what a thrill it had been – he really ought to do it again sometime.
“I see I made an impression.”
“But you haven't tried to kill any of us in a long time since then,” Fushiguro goes on, ignoring Sukuna’s remark. “If I didn’t know better, I’d even say you’ve been cooperating.”
For a demon who thrives causing chaos, the implication alone of the sorcerer’s words is enough to make Sukuna’s skin crawl. And the worst part of it is that it’s technically true. Maybe. Sort of. He shrugs his shoulders indifferently, and Sukuna Ryomen definitely does not pout.
“Things change.”
And this thing, whatever it is called, is definitely not going the way Sukuna thought it would. He takes a step forward, barefoot and suddenly serious, his presence thickening and expanding, commanding the small room with its sheer power. Fushiguro uncrosses his arms and straightens up, eyes on him the whole time.
Sukuna could get used to that. He returns the favour with four very open eyes of his own.
“Enough of this. I told you not to test my patience. So ask your question, Fushiguro Megumi, whatever it is.”
The way Fushiguro holds his gaze without faltering is exhilarating, and Sukuna admires the way his body moves as he pushes himself off the desk, his posture no longer aloof. Every single inch that separates them is a personal offense to Sukuna now, and if that distance were a solid thing he would slice through it and bleed it dry for daring stand between them.
“What do you want me from me, King of Curses?”
Everything. Everything there is. The answer burns so fiercely inside him -all of you I want to consume you I want to haveyoudestroyyouownyoudevouryou- that Sukuna is briefly tempted to damn it all to hell and cut Fushiguro’s throat on the spot. He’d bleed out before he even knew what happened, before any of them could try to stop him, and then Sukuna would drink his blood until the last drop and swallow every bit of his flesh and leave no trace of him for anyone else to ever find. Mine. You would be forever mineminemineMINE.
“If you had been my worshipper back when I was alive,” he says instead, “you and I could have had the world at our feet.”
Fushiguro frowns, and clearly the answer doesn’t satisfy him. “If this is about you ditching Itadori and convincing me to become your next vessel, you're wasting your time.”
Not a bad idea -the thought of sharing a body with Fushiguro hits him like a bolt and twists inside him like a knife- and maybe doable with the right amounts of cursed sorcery, but Sukuna dismisses it with a loud bark of laughter.
“Tempting, but I’ll pass. This body is an acquired taste, but I have grown rather fond of it.” Not to mention it already hosts a significant amount of his preserved corpse. Sukuna trails his fingers down his own arm, lingering on the black bands around his wrist before he closes his hand into a fist. “I'll enjoy it even more when it's completely mine.”
‘That’s not going to happen,’ Itadori complains. ‘And I don’t like this. I’m taking over now.’
At once, Sukuna’s mind crushes him like an annoying bug buzzing by his ear. Did the brat really think he would always be capable of restraining him at will without resistance? How naïve.
“…and I’ll enjoy making you my slave when I rule this world again.” Sukuna licks his lips, his non-human eyes glinting with dark joy. His steps are deliberately slow as he moves in, threatening to cross the invisible borders of Fushiguro’s personal space. “I do have a feeling you’ll put up a good fight, and I have no doubt you’ll be a personal favorite.”
Fushiguro’s lips are pursed, the lines of his body hardened with growing tension. He looks just as disgusted as anyone would expect, but then his face relaxes into a cool expression and Sukuna feels a cold chill of surprise wash over him when he sees the sorcerer smile calmly. Were it anyone else, Sukuna would deem it mocking, though there’s no trace of such thing in Fushiguro’s voice when he speaks with a steady, certain tone.
“That’s a lot of words to say you’ve taken a liking to a human and want to keep them by your side at all costs.”
Sukuna freezes on the spot, and Itadori Yuji takes that chance to surge forward and crush him.
Two days later, Yuji wakes up to someone knocking on his door first thing in the morning. Dragging his feet on his way out of bed, yawning, bedhead like a bird’s nest, he finds Fushiguro out in the hallway waiting for him.
“Hey–”
His greeting is cut off by Fushiguro shoving a package into his chest. It’s wrapped in plain brown paper and feels light and soft when Yuji takes it in his arms, blinking sleepily and understanding absolutely nothing of this.
“What,” he says eloquently.
“Sukuna,” Fushiguro explains, not quite meeting Yuji’s eyes. “Tell him to take this if he’s going to make a habit of sneaking into my room at night to torment me whenever he feels like it.”
And disappearing as quickly as humanly possible, he’s gone before Yuji can even open his mouth. He gapes at the empty hallway like an idiot, then retreats back inside to open the package on his bed with growing confusion.
Inside, he finds a cream-colored kimono, new and silky to the touch, folded and wrapped neatly with a dark belt.
Notes:
i accidentally slow burn? trust me, i surprised even myself that this didn't end up with sukuna getting laid. poor thing. i'll be getting there though, so i suppose there's more to come! thank you for the amazing, warm reception to this little silly thing back when it was just a crack oneshot.
have a nice new year, people!!!!!!
also the thought of fushiguro shopping for a kimono just so sukuna wont saunter into his bedroom half-naked in the middle of the night is so (chef's kiss) if i may say so myself. love the headcanon of sukuna hating modern clothes thanks
Chapter Text
For the next couple of days, Yuji is quite literally bouncing all over the school's hallways with ecstasy, Sukuna's joy beaming so potent that it drives him like a puppet pulled by strings. How strong their connection has gotten thanks to the fingers is terrifying to say the least, but Yuji keeps the secret quiet and locked inside his chest like a high-security vault, determined to deal with it on his own for as long as he's able to. He has no doubt that at this rate Sukuna will be able to break free someday and take over his body as he pleases, but hopefully by the time it reaches the point of no return the King of Curses will have already been restrained and offered to Gojou-sensei for the ritual in which both demon and vessel will be sacrificed for the greater good.
It’s a dark train of thought, but Yuji is coming to terms with it rather calmly. If anything, he finds an odd sense of comfort in the fact that Gojou Satoru’s eyes will be the last thing he’ll see before he closes his own for the last time.
‘How pathetic,’ Sukuna taunts cruelly, but he still can’t mask the delight in his voice.
Yeah, Yuji will take a happy-for-non-murderous-reasons Sukuna over an angry one any time.
Well, maybe 'happy' is too strong a word. Too wholesome a feeling. No, it's more like... satisfied. That's it. Sukuna has been entirely, disgustingly pleased since that morning when Fushiguro knocked on Yuji’s door and shoved a present into his arms; he’s been gloating endlessly all over his inner domain day and night. Truth be told, at first Yuji had found his reaction amusing enough. Endearing even, in some twisted demonic kind of way. With his mood influenced by Sukuna’s pleasure, Yuji had gone so far as to tease him about it, only to be shut down with a cold ‘Do not mock what you do not understand, human.’
And that night, Yuji had dreamed.
And in his dream he wasn't himself. He had more limbs that he knew what to do with, and his field of vision was impossibly wide – he could see the sky and the ground all at once, he could make out every ancient tree that framed the looping path leading up to a temple.
His temple.
Inside, the thick scent of incense invaded each nostril of his two noses, yet it wasn’t quite strong enough to conceal that of the sacrifices left for him on silver plates. Human hearts, children’s charred skulls, mutilated eyeballs reflecting the light of the candles illuminating the interior. Long braids that smelled of warriors and virgins, some of them willingly cut off, others still attached to headless scalps. Severed hands, too, the hollow of their palms holding piles of fingernails and teeth – milk ones from babes, and older ones with rotten roots. By every corner of the shrine, goblets were full up to the rim with women's moon blood and men's guts in an equally viscous blend.
And scattered all around it, a display of weapons and ornaments. Dozens of them, the older ones covered in dust and the newest additions marked with fresh blood to catch his attention and earn his blessing. His four eyes took in the sight of rusty steel swords and shiny golden daggers, both battle-worn and never wielded before; arrow heads of iron and glass and bone, bows of wood with carvings that spoke of chaos and destruction. Inside more chalices, he found countless necklaces and bracelets, rings with gemstones, leather belts and anklets.
The two-faced specter laughed, setting fire to his temple on the way out with a snap of his fingers, and vowed that all those who worshipped him would be spared.
Yuji Itadori had woken up sweating buckets in his bed, hands with a white-knuckled grip on the sheets.
“Yuuuji.”
He’s snapped out of it by a hand being waved in front of his face. Gaze coming into focus and idly following the motion, Yuji marvels at how long the fingers are.
“Your food is getting cold,” Gojou tells him, sitting back and pointing with his chopsticks at Yuji’s ramen bowl. “If you won’t finish it, I’ll gladly take one for the team.”
After a long moment, Yuji slides his meal over to the other side of the table. “Have at it.”
It’s honestly impressive how much childish disappointment Gojou can convey with half his face covered, particularly when he pouts like he’s doing now.
“I thought you’d put up more of a fight,” he laments, and makes a point of pushing the bowl back to Yuji again. His smile is kind, albeit slightly playful. “I was just kidding. Eat. You’re a growing boy in high school, you need all the strength you can get.”
Yuji looks down at the seasoned ramen and his stomach churns a little. He remains silent, however, not quite sure how to put into words that his body is craving… Well. Guts and blood. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, disgusted with Sukuna’s tastes that have awakened with the dream (or rather, all-time ultimate nightmare). At least it’s only a couple of times of day, and so far it always goes away when Yuji can’t take it anymore and ends up throwing up with his head neck-deep into the toilet bowl.
As discreetly as he can, he wraps his arms around his middle to give his twisted belly some comfort.
Gojou leans his chin into his hand, elbow on the table. “Is he giving you a tough time?”
For all that he can joke and play around, he’s infinitely perceptive, and Yuji doesn’t think for a second that this is some innocent chit-chat over dinner for fun. He thinks of lying, downplaying it for everyone’s sake and peace of mind, but Gojou already knows how awful he is at it and Yuji ends up rubbing the back of his neck and looking away.
The best way in which he can be of help now is… telling the truth. As frustrating as it is.
“Yeah.”
Gojou encourages him with a hand gesture. “Go on.”
Well, shit. Yuji doesn’t even know how to begin. As knowledgeable as Gojou is, he’s never hosted a demon inside of him (maybe? Not that Yuji knows of, anyway) and the bond between one and its vessel is, he’s finding out, impossible to put into words in a coherent way.
He tightens his arms around himself and thinks, Sometimes I feel like I’m burning from the inside out, other times I feel like I’m myself and alone like before any of this happened, and then he’s back and he kicks me in the teeth and reminds me of all the things I’ve ever disliked and feared and regretted in my entire life, even those I wasn’t even aware of. He ducks his head and thinks, When he’s angry I fear for the world and when he’s happy I also fear for the world and when he’s away I’m relieved but I fear for myself. He swallows back a gagging sound at the smell of perfectly delicious food and thinks, I don’t know what he’s planning and I don’t know if I can stop him and, by the way, it also scares the shit out of me that he’s obsessed with Fushiguro so much he makes me forget he’s a curse sometimes. He makes me want to help him.
Ah yes, that too. Yuji feels like he’s stepping into insanity levels every time he remembers that Sukuna positively ate up the whole present thing with a greed only a curse revered like a god could be capable of. No pile of corpses and sacrifices and war trophies had ever pleased him the way that silky kimono did (with the price tag still there – tacky). He considered it a clear sign of worship like the good old days at his shrines, something akin to an offering meant to appeal to him, his common sense gone out the window the moment he got the slightest hint of his attention being returned.
Fushiguro Megumi would be spared, and protected, and made his and his only.
(‘It was just a kimono from the shopping mall.’ Yuji had sputtered, stunned. ‘At a discount. What the hell is wrong with you?’)
“It’s complicated,” is the answer Yuji settles for giving Gojou. “He’s very intense. And loud. At first it was just annoying, but now it’s getting a little painful. Like a constant headache if I let my guard down for a second.”
“That’s good, though,” Gojou says, nodding with approval. “I’d be more worried if he were hiding in there playing it cool, waiting for his moment, for the perfect chance…” He wiggles his fingers ominously. Then he drops his hands and sighs. “But I suppose it’s a pain for you, isn’t it, you poor thing.”
God, not the pity. Yuji frowns, and Gojou leans over the table to rub at the crease between his brows until it loosens.
“Relax.”
“I’m trying.” It’s Yuji’s turn to pout now, hand coming up to absent-mindedly touch the place Gojou just smoothed out.
“What does my dear Megumi think of all this?” Gojou asks, leaning back again. His arm remains a little more outstretched than necessary, though, idly lying on the table with limp fingers, and Yuji wonders for a crazy second if he’s being expected to try to take it. If he’s being baited into it, really. What for? He has no idea. Maybe some secret sorcery lesson regarding infinity, or something like that. “I tried to ask him last night and he slammed the door in my face.”
Sukuna’s metaphorical ears have perked up at the mention of Fushiguro, however, and Yuji’s wonderings are crushed by that sheer second-hand interest again.
“I’m not sure what he thinks, we don’t talk about it often… or ever,” he admits. “But he doesn’t seem to mind Sukuna very much when he’s not being a menace.” That much at least he can say. He remembers Fushiguro’s smile from that night Sukuna visited him in his bedroom, the way he twisted the curse’s words against him and left him staggering enough for Yuji to restrain him and take over. “I think he’s handling it really well,” Yuji decides with a nod.
“Of course he is.” Gojou’s smile widens, showing the white of his teeth. “Give us both some credit, I wouldn’t have let him know about this if I hadn’t known he’d be able to handle it.” He pauses, then sticks his tongue out. “Aaand okay, guilty, I just really wanted to see his face. You should have been there. First time I’ve seen him check out of reality like that. He was gone, poof! I snapped a pic and all, wanna see it?”
Yuji feels the tension slowly drain out of him as a smile of his own makes its way across his face, and he’s pleasantly surprised when he realizes his stomach is no longer resembling a furious washing machine. It’s still a little uncomfortable and tight though, but filled instead with something far less violent, a lot more… fluttery.
That picture of Fushiguro sounds funny, but Yuji’s got something more important to say. He reaches up to take his bowl of ramen again.
“Thank you for talking to me, Gojou-sensei.”
Gojou’s hand catches Yuji’s halfway there, playfully and gently pinches the skin of his thumb, and disappears again in its shroud of infinity.
“You’re very welcome, Yuji.”
It’s movie night and Yuji wants to die.
He loves movie nights actually, so that’s not the reason he wants to die. No, the reason is that Nobara has canceled on them in favour of ‘sparring with Maki’ (Is that what they call it these days, Sukuna deadpans) so now it’s just him (them) and Fushiguro, and a bed that is too small for three people when Nobara is here but just comfortable enough for two now that she’s not. They sit up against the headboard, clothed legs touching, bare arms touching even more, and Yuji’s laptop (Nanamin’s birthday present for him) balanced on his thighs and casting shadows over their faces in the darkness.
Fushiguro’s munching on popcorn – he seasons it with plain salt instead of sugar and butter and Yuji suspects that maybe he really does belong in a demon-worshipper cult of some kind – and Yuji, repeating here for the tenth time, wants to die.
Sukuna’s desire is a fist punching him in the gut with the force of a boulder.
Yuji’s picked a classic that he knows can’t go wrong – Kill Bill. It’s got just the right amounts of plot for this time of the night (minimal), blood and guts (lots of it, and he’s really not craving them now), and narrative pay-off (he always gasps when Lucy Liu gets her head sliced off). And he’s already seen it a dozen times, so he doesn’t have to pay too much attention and can focus instead of holding back the way Sukuna is going feral inside his mind.
Fushiguro nudges him once.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, why?”
“The movie ended ten minutes ago and you haven’t said a word.”
Fuck.
Yuji blinks and realizes that yes, the screen is paused on the last of the credits – that’s why it’s even darker now, the black background dimming the laptop’s glow. Shifting, Yuji closes the device, and now the only thing keeping them from pitch black darkness is the moonlight filtering through the curtains. It makes his next words a little easier to blurt out, as if he were talking to no one but himself.
“Sukuna wants me to let him out.”
Fushiguro doesn’t move, only exhales. Calmly, as if Yuji had told him that next time they’ll watch Pulp Fiction.
“You're strong,” Fushiguro’s voice says, impossibly close. “But he's stronger. You should stop fighting him so much.”
Yuji’s head turns so fast he’s surprised it doesn’t come off his neck. “You're telling me to stop fighting the thousand year old king of curses living in my head plotting the world's demise?”
“No.”
“Then wh–”
“I'm telling you to pick your fights with him more wisely.” Fushiguro’s voice is serious, the outline of his face somehow managing to look stern even though Yuji can’t make out any of his features. “You already keep him in check most of the time. No one will blame you for taking a break once in a while, as long as you can take him back.”
And with the sheer simplicity of Fushiguro's words Yuji realizes that it sort of makes sense, in a convoluted way. Letting Sukuna out while fighting curses in the middle of the city? Dangerous. Potentially apocalyptic. Letting him out during movie night so he’ll get his crush out of his system? Slightly less apocalyptic if approached with proper caution.
“Just so we’re on the same page: you want me to let him out. With you. You’re fine with this.”
Fushiguro squares his shoulders.
“If he wished me harm, he's had plenty of chances.”
“You trust him.” Yuji wonders what kind of fever dream this is.
“I don’t trust curses,” Fushiguro snaps, irritated. “But I’m not scared of him.” He pauses for a moment, his voice lowering. “Not anymore. And just because you're his vessel it doesn't mean it all falls on you. I was there that day too, I... If I can help contain him, if I can placate him while we get the rest of the fingers... then I will.”
Sukuna kicks his head so hard (letmeout let me OUTLETMEOUT) Yuji winces.
“Uh. Okay. I’ll think about it.”
“Thanks.” Fushiguro gets up from the bed, empty popcorn bowl in his arms. He’s a bit stiff, but expressionless as always when he turns on the lights and turns to Yuji. “It was a good movie. Goodnight.” On his way out, he pauses by the door. “Goodnight, Sukuna.”
Notes:
we could all use a little more Kill Bill in our lives
1) i love writing about old temples and customs and weird worshipper shit
2) sorry sukufushi wasnt the main dish in this chapter but they'll be back FULL FUCKING FORCE for the next one
3) i have lost control of this fic (is it comedy? is it serious? is it plotty? is it a romcom? all of the above?) and im just winging itmy endless thank yous to everyone who reads, comments, etc etc, i wish i could get you all discounted kimonos
Chapter Text
Nanami Kento approaches him after class, fidgeting with his glasses, and Megumi knows -he knows deep in his gut- that this is going to be painful and potentially traumatizing.
“Regarding the demon Sukuna’s affections…”
Megumi closes his eyes.
He wonders if sheer force of will could be enough to get the earth to split open and swallow him whole, proceeds to give it a try, and is disappointed to find out that his sorcery is not yet quite developed for that.
“…my duty to tell you should you ever need someone to talk to, whether it’s for protection, or support…”
“I’m fine.”
“…be taken seriously, a student’s well-being is no joking matter…”
“You don’t have to do this,” Megumi mumbles, opening his eyes again and watching a single solitary drop of sweat running down the man’s temple.
Nanami’s voice falters, but he looks straight ahead and bravely soldiers on.
“…a-as one of the few responsible adult sorcerers trusted with your care…”
“Stop.” Megumi ducks his head respectfully and adds, “Please.”
“…no reason to carry such a burden on your– ah, shit,” Nanami abruptly cuts off, letting out a shuddering puff of breath like he’s ran five miles and reaching up to loosen his tie. “My apologies. Thank you.”
Megumi looks up at him, expressionless for a long moment before his eyes narrow in understanding. “Did Gojou-sensei put you up to this?”
Nanami nods once, stern, and Megumi feels a sudden pang of pity and long-suffering solidarity for this ex-salaryman who clearly does not get paid enough for this.
“Ask for a raise,” he suggests bluntly, and carries on his way.
“Oi!”
There can’t possibly be any reason for Todou to ambush him like this by the vending machines at five in the morning. Megumi, drenched in sweat from his early morning jog, takes a sip of his juice box and watches the third-year passively.
“I respect everyone’s choices and tastes,” Todou starts solemnly, his impressive traps flexing, “but a curse is where I draw the line.”
Birds are chirping somewhere close. Megumi sips his drink louder.
“Now, I understand my best bro Itadori is an unwilling participant in this mess and – stop with that thing! – matters of the heart can get confusing when a good friend is involved…”
“I’m not confused,” Megumi interrupts, speaking around the straw.
“…but you must remember a curse will never be capable of offering you any feelings aside from those vile ones they’re born from. They might try to lure you with an imitation of human emotions, but it won’t ever compare to the real thing. The tender touch of a woman, the love in a man’s eyes that would do anything for her…” Todou trails off, looking into the distance with glassy eyes, clearly lost in some idol-induced daydream. He shakes his head and snaps out of it, coming closer and placing both hands on Megumi’s shoulders. They’re as heavy as rocks, anchoring him to the spot, and his large figure shadows Megumi’s considerably slender one. “Do not fall for a demon’s cheap seduction. Tell your senpai, is Sukuna courting you?”
Megumi gathers the strength to shake the hands off of him and steps back, unimpressed.
“Senpai,” he says, marking the word with an edge, “leave me alone.”
Todou frowns, serious. “Your answer is telling. And worrying.”
“And this is none of your business.”
“Wrong! Like I said, my best bro is involved in whatever mating ritual Sukuna’s inflicting on you both- where are you going?!”
Megumi pulls his hood up and breaks into a sprint.
Inumaki finds him reading a book outside later that day in the gardens. He wordlessly sits next to Megumi, legs crossed and hands on his lap, and looks up at the sky.
“No,” Megumi warns.
“Leaf mustard?”
“Oh. Sorry. I thought you were going to ask about–”
“Bonito flakes,” Inumaki cuts him off, still looking up peacefully.
“So you don’t care?”
“Bonito flakes.”
“You don’t have an opinion on it?”
“Bonito flakes.” He points up at the clouds and closes his eyes, a gentle breeze curling around white locks of hair. “Tuna mayo.”
Megumi puts the book down and his mouth curves into a subtle smile, his shoulders untensing. Yeah, his upperclassman’s right – it is a beautiful day.
“Thank you, Inumaki-senpai.”
“Tuna, tuna.”
“What we talked about…” Itadori starts. “I’ve thought about it. I’ll do it.”
Megumi looks at him for a long moment and nods once.
He meant what he said some days ago during movie night: Itadori is not alone with this. Just because he’s Sukuna’s vessel, it doesn’t mean he has to live miserably for the rest of his limited days enduring a curse’s growing power tearing him up from within. If Sukuna’s odd fixation on him is something Megumi can help with, then tough luck, that’s exactly what he’s going to do. Because he’s a sorcerer and this is a curse. Because he wants to help people who deserve it. Because Itadori is his friend.
And because Sukuna might just be worth helping, too.
Maybe, even, saving.
This time when his bedroom’s door slides open in the middle of the night, Megumi is expecting it.
He takes a deep breath, doesn’t move an inch from his position on the floor, and opens his eyes.
“Fushiguro Megumi.”
Sukuna is wearing the kimono Megumi gifted him through Itadori, his chest finally covered up. It looks loose and comfortable on him, and on his feet he’s wearing Itadori’s flip-flops with dark socks. If it weren’t for the marks on his face and the black bands around his wrists, he’d look just like Itadori did that day when Gojou took them all to a spa session to celebrate a successful mission. Itadori had pushed his hair up, had Kugisaki paint his fingernails black, and chased Gojou around the place yelling I’m the King of Curses! The memory of all of them laughing loudly around him settles between his ribs and Megumi thinks, fiercely, I don’t want to lose that. I won’t lose that.
“Is Itadori–” he begins, but Sukuna cuts him off.
“He’s fine. And not here.” His mouth twists with distaste. “You bringing up the brat first thing every single time we meet is starting to get really annoying. I tend to get a little dramatic when I’m annoyed. Things on fire, heads rolling, you get the picture.”
Megumi stares back blankly, refusing to engage with death threats in his own damn bedroom.
Sukuna sighs. “Why are you on the floor?”
“Meditating.”
“Oh?” There it is again, that glint of interest in his eyes. “I see. Go on then.”
“What,” Megumi asks, confused.
Sukuna takes his own seat on the floor.
“I said, go on. Don't stop on my account.”
A crease appears between Megumi’s brows. “You’re free after being imprisoned a thousand years and you want to watch me meditate.”
Looking genuinely lost, Sukuna tilts his head. “Are you saying you'd rather have the fire and beheadings?” He throws his hands up and makes to stand up. “Alright then, as you wish.”
“No!” God. Megumi wonders if interacting with Sukuna will ever stop feeling like stepping into a minefield. “No,” he repeats, lower. “Don't- don't do that. Stay here.”
Sukuna sits again, runs his hands through his hair, and demands, “Say that again.”
Megumi swallows, a drop of sweat running down his spine under his cotton t-shirt. “Stay.”
The art of meditating is not an easy one. Even for someone as stoic as Megumi.
It requires the utmost concentration and a sort of skill not even the greatest sorcerer might be able to pull off: emptying your head of all thoughts and reducing yourself to the simple act of being. Existing in a state that doesn’t give nor take, only remains. In a way, taming one’s mind like this is a hundred times harder than mastering the most powerful of cursed techniques. Gojou might be able to snap his fingers and hold the world’s fate in the palm of his hand, but he can’t be alone with his own mind for more than two minutes without his sanity cracking, and the most valuable lesson he’s taught Megumi throughout the years is that he won’t let himself reach that point.
A sorcerer’s burden is a heavy one, and it won’t be getting any lighter. The same way Itadori holds onto his grandfather’s dying wish, Megumi relies on daily meditation to anchor himself and not lose sight of who he is. What he is. What’s important.
It’s hard enough without an ancient cursed spirit watching him across the room.
He breathes in, then out. Deep inhale, long exhale.
Credit where credit is due, Sukuna has so far behaved – he’s quiet and still, and Megumi’s not sure he’s even breathing. That raises a question (does Sukuna need to breathe?) and a subsequent answer follows (probably not, since he could walk around just fine without a heart). Megumi can feel his focus slipping (would Itadori die if Sukuna stopped?) and he struggles to keep it together, his dulled senses stirring. He’s suddenly hyperaware of the room’s light filtering through his eyelids. The solid surface of the floor’s wood under him. The soft fabric of his pajama pants in contact with the skin of his knuckles as he keeps his hands on his knees, palms open and facing the ceiling.
“You were doing so well.”
When his eyes snap open, Sukuna is close enough that Megumi’s heart skips a beat and his stomach drops.
His hard-worked concentration falters, not quite shattering entirely but cracking like glass, rendering his jujutsu fragile and unstable. When did Sukuna move so fast? He hadn’t made a single noise, yet here he is squatting before him and leaning in, blocking every angle of Megumi’s field of vision. The cursed energy flowing out of him is so strong that Megumi’s instincts are completely thrown off balance. Every nerve-end is on edge as they scramble to choose whether to fight the source of it or flight in the opposite direction.
“Not bad, though. Not bad at all.”
And yet… it’s not malign energy.
Once the initial shock wears off and gives place to a less primal reaction, Megumi’s body senses power surrounding him, but not danger. Intensity, yet no hostility. He’s been on the receiving end of the King of Curses’ desire to harm and kill him personally, and this is nothing like it – if anything, instead of imposing its way in, Sukuna’s corrupted aura seems to be molding itself to fit Megumi’s, enveloping it rather than suffocating it.
It’s a hundred times more disorienting.
He moves away from Sukuna, sliding back over the floor until his shoulder blades hit the bed behind him. Sukuna for his own part remains where he is, watching his retreat with mild amusement.
“What,” Megumi asks.
“I was thinking,” Sukuna says, every syllable dragging slowly. “I've seen armies fight wars over women who weren't half as beautiful as you.”
Megumi frowns, taken aback.
(‘Is he courting you?’ Todou’s voice demands in his head, and Megumi feels the back of his neck heat up.)
All of this intimidation, only to deliver some kind of twisted compliment? Far from flattered or relieved, Megumi finds himself rather annoyed with the dramatic nature of it all. It's that irritation that has him coolly replying, “And I've never seen a curse try half so hard as you.”
One of Sukuna’s eyebrows twitches, and this time he moves again. He’s once more impossibly fast when he surges forward in one fluid motion and corners Megumi against the bed, Megumi’s legs with knees up the only barrier standing between them.
“Careful,” Sukuna warns, tone dropping low. Then he rests his forearms on Megumi’s knees and his chin on top in a resting pose, letting out a tired sigh. There’s a weird quality to his voice when he speaks next, something more high-pitched and youthful. “But you’re not wrong, shaman. I am trying, so you could give me a break and just say thank you, you know.”
Megumi wonders what kind of alternate reality he just stepped into, where Sukuna Ryomen is in his bedroom trying the most bizarre, archaic, backwards flirting he’s ever witnessed (and that’s saying something, having witnessed Gojou’s). Probably the same upside-down reality where Megumi now feels oddly guilty for snapping at him.
“Th…thank…” he starts, clearly out of his fucking mind due to the sheer absurdity of it all, before his sanity comes back and snaps his mouth shut. His frown gets more pronounced and Megumi looks away, letting out a matching sigh of his own as the last couple of weeks catch up to him. “Just go back to wanting to kill me. You’re making this weird.”
“No.” Sukuna straightens up and places his hands on Megumi’s calves, parting his legs with ease and shifting forward to settle between them, effectively caging Megumi and leaving no possible escape routes. The wooden frame of the bed digs harder into his back as Megumi uselessly tries to regain some non-existent distance between them. “You are making this harder than it needs to be.” Sukuna pauses thoughtfully, as if considering his own words, and then a wide grin spreads across his face that sends chills down Megumi’s spine. “Though maybe that’s exactly what you’re after…?”
Before Megumi can ask exactly what the hell he means, Sukuna grabs him by the chin and tilts his head up to take a long look at his face. He seems satisfied with what he sees in Megumi’s expression, because his grin only gets bigger. There’s nothing left of Itadori Yuji on that face, nothing even human to be found among that animal-like sharpness.
“Is that it, Fushiguro Megumi?”
“I don’t know what you–”
“Would you rather I take you the way you keep expecting me to?” To highlight his words, Sukuna presses in even closer, and the hand on Megumi’s face tightens and digs clawed fingers into his cheek. Not hard enough to injure just yet, if Megumi doesn’t move an inch. “Because I have thought of it. Plenty of times. And it seems you have, too. Anyone would think you're provoking me, even...”
Megumi’s eyes widen.
“That’s not–”
“Quiet.” Now Sukuna’s fingers are painful, holding his jaw with a tight grip that doesn’t let Megumi even move his mouth. “Good boy.”
Forcing his way through the pain, Megumi glowers and lets out the quietest, most tight-lipped ‘Fuck you.’
Sukuna blinks, then laughs and lets go of his face. “My favorite boy,” he rectifies cheerfully.
His hands drop to Megumi’s inner thighs, holding his legs still when Megumi’s first reflex is to try kick him away. It’s an invasive and possessive move, and Sukuna makes himself at home like he owns the place between Megumi’s limbs, trailing his fingers up and down, up and down, raising goosebumps on Megumi’s skin even through the fabric of clothes.
“I know you have studied everything there is to know about me. So tell me, what do the stories say about me and my lovers?”
This is going downhill fast. Megumi only keeps glaring, once more determined to disengage, but Sukuna digs his beast-like nails on him again, pressing down on the hardness of his leg muscles.
“Answer me.”
Megumi grits his teeth.
“You mean your victims.” Sukuna’s right on one account though; Megumi knows. Nausea churns his stomach and he wonders how exactly he ever thought this demon was worth helping. “You took whoever you wanted, whenever you wanted. Willing or not.”
Sukuna nods, pleased. “But I am not without mercy. I took them, yes, but all of them were given the choice to fight me for their right to freedom if they were opposed to laying with me.”
“It's hardly a fair choice when one option is certain death,” Megumi hisses, disgusted.
“I said I had mercy, not that I was fair,” Sukuna laughs. “Cheer up, the strongest ones even survived quite a few nights. The smartest made it out alive... sometimes. It was fun to see them try. My old form was not for the faint of heart.”
And with inhuman speed and force, he grabs Megumi and turns him around, pressing himself to Megumi’s back, trapping him against the bed’s structure. Sukuna’s hands catch Megumi’s, wrapping over them, closing them into fists and pinning them to the mattress. Megumi is suddenly aware that he could break every single bone in them with the slightest effort, but Sukuna only holds them still as he speaks sweetly into Megumi’s ear.
“Is that what you want, then? For me to claim you like I did them, use your body until you forget it ever belonged to you at all before I took it for myself? Because that’s what you look like. That’s what you talk to me like, shaman.” Megumi’s pulse picks up, and he can’t help noticing the bitter edge to Sukuna’s usually controlled voice. “I'm sure you'd last me quite a while with this new body of mine. And when I tire of you, I’ll get creative. Is that,” he snarls, definitely out of it now, hips pressing flush against Megumi’s, “how you think I want to have you, Fushiguro Megumi?”
Megumi shuts his eyes.
(A curse will never be capable of offering you any feelings aside from those vile ones they’re born from.)
“Yes,” he admits.
Sukuna makes an irritated clicking sound with his tongue.
“And is that what you want?”
“No,” Megumi breathes out.
“Good.” Sukuna lets go of his hands and runs his fingers down Megumi’s sides, lingering on his ribcage and waist and hips. Then he wraps his arms around Megumi’s middle in a tight, possessive embrace and reaches up with his right hand to shove two fingers past Megumi’s lips. “So mind that pretty mouth of yours then. Like I said, I’m trying, and you’re making it harder than it needs to be. Nod if you understand.”
Megumi’s reeling. Mouth stuffed full of Sukuna’s fingers, chest frantically going up and down with panting breaths, he nods once.
“I’m glad we agree.” Sukuna lets him go all at once and stands, leaving Megumi’s body to collapse against the bed. “Goodnight, Fushiguro Megumi.”
Notes:
Didn't get to reply to the comments from the previous chapter but please know that they're the highlight of my day and my fuel to keep going. I really, really appreciate all the support.
If this chapter had a title, it would be Sukuna screaming JUST LET ME LOVE YOU DAMNIT. Alternatively, INUMAKI AND MEGUMI ARE PLATONIC SOULMATES.
Also Megumi totally does yoga too. That boi flexible.
(shakes fist) Give Nanamin A Raise
Chapter 5
Notes:
Wikipedia: 'The boiling frog is a fable describing a frog being slowly boiled alive. The premise is that if a frog is put suddenly into boiling water, it will jump out, but if the frog is put in tepid water which is then brought to a boil slowly, it will not perceive the danger and will be cooked to death. The story is often used as a metaphor for the inability or unwillingness of people to react to or be aware of sinister threats that arise gradually rather than suddenly.'
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Itadori pulls the trigger rather mercilessly at lunch when he swallows a mouthful of rice and asks, “So what do you guys do together?”
Megumi chokes on his noodles, coughing up a lung.
The life-saving glass of water Itadori hands him is enough to buy him some blessed moments to regain his composure, but the damage’s been done. He’s now got a sore throat and aching chest from almost choking his way into the most pathetic of deaths (‘survived curses, killed by noodles’ Gojo would write on his tombstone) and he’s also got Itadori staring at him patiently, waiting for an answer to his deadly inquiry.
Megumi’s having so many issues with that question right now he doesn’t even know where to start.
In the first place, that word -together- makes his skin feel uncomfortable and itchy, not only because it doesn’t belong anywhere near the concepts of “myself” and “Ryomen Sukuna” he’s having so much trouble reconciling, but also because it’s bringing back memories he’d really rather not think about. At all.
Memories, in fact, that he’s been trying to dodge for two weeks and counting. Emphasis on trying.
‘Together’ brings back the feeling of being helplessly pressed up against his own bed, caged like a grounded animal. ‘Together’ paints in his head the picture of Sukuna’s body covering his own, chest curling into Megumi’s back, and his fingers forcing their way into Megumi’s unwilling mouth to shut him up. Sharp claws had dragged over his tongue like the most careful of knives, precise enough to avoid cutting it into shreds. Hard-muscled thighs had bracketed Megumi’s legs, and the deepest of voices had wrapped around his ear like a poisonous caress.
(Nod if you understand.)
(I’m glad we agree.)
However, beyond that, in second place–
“Aren’t you there with us the whole time?” Megumi squints a little, confused. He did tell Itadori to go for it and let Sukuna ‘have some fresh air once in a while’ (in Gojou’s words) but he certainly did not mean Itadori had to disappear in order to do so. Quite the contrary.
“I can hear some things if I focus hard,” Itadori explains, shrugging. “But mostly I just zone out.”
Megumi squints harder. “You what?”
“Vessel stuff,” Itadori says again like it’s his own personal mantra, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture that reminds Megumi a little too much of someone else. “It’s not that I don’t keep an eye on him, I do, I’m ready to take over at any time, but… you know.”
“No,” Megumi deadpans. “I don’t.”
I’ve never been a vessel, he thinks wryly, so I don’t know any of your “vessel stuff.”
“I have to sleep sometimes, okay? And… privacy…” Itadori’s mumbling to himself now, and Megumi doesn’t miss the way his ears have turned a shade of pink that matches his hairline. “Listen, it’s already hard enough sharing a body with him. I don’t want to share your moments too.”
If his throat weren’t still on fire, Megumi would scream.
‘Together’, ‘moments’, what does Itadori think is going on here exactly?
It’s been two weeks since Sukuna’s been visiting him during nighttime, here and there, randomly and at his whim, and most of the time they don’t even do anything. Sukuna will just walk in like he owns the very wood the floor is built on, and sit cross-legged without a word. Sometimes he’ll take a spot on his bed if Megumi isn’t already on it. Or he’ll hop on the desk like it’s some kind of throne, legs dangling, picking at the fabric of his kimono while he stares.
That’s, mostly, what he does.
He’ll stare and make a comment or two, stare and ask a question or three, stare and stare some more. Megumi offers him some one-worded answers to satisfy his curiosity, the conversation will naturally die there before it ever really takes off, and Sukuna will keep staring like that’s not a problem for him. He’s an ever-present entity in the background while Megumi meditates or reads (hard to do, considering the company), while he checks the unseen messages on his phone (mostly nonsense Nobara and Itadori send to their group chat), while he folds his laundry or does his “homework” (pointless essays Gojou tasks them with that have absolutely nothing to do with sorcery, curses, and the fate of saving or losing human lives).
Sometimes Megumi gets fed up with it and pointedly stares back, uselessly hoping it’ll make the King of Curses learn some basic co-existing manners and stop. But Sukuna doesn’t, of course, because nothing is ever that easy in Megumi’s life, is it? Unblinking, unmoving, he’ll keep the eye contact going until Megumi doesn’t have a choice but to look away and carry on with his night routine pretending he’s not serving as some kind of fascinating display for the dark spirit possessing the body of his best friend.
It leaves his nerves rubbed raw by the time Sukuna has decided he’s had enough. Coincidence or not, it’s usually right after Megumi’s started nodding off but stubbornly refuses to fall sleep until he makes sure Sukuna won’t bring on the end of the world as they know it. Sukuna always says ‘Goodnight, Fushiguro Megumi’ and doesn’t give the body back to its original owner until Megumi returns the farewell with his own quiet ‘Night’. Without fail, it always prompts a small, satisfied smile from the curse before all four of his eyes close and only two brown ones open some moments later. Itadori won’t go for any conversation either, merely stretching and yawning and saying sleepily ‘See you tomorrow then’ before walking out of the room like they just wrapped up some business meeting that’s scheduled to keep going tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that.
Megumi’s got the feeling they’re both being conditioned into something, the proverbial frogs in the boiling water, and he’s not sure what to make of that idea.
He doesn’t think he would like what he’d find, if he did.
At least, he thinks tiredly, he’s a self-aware boiled frog. That should count for something. Hopefully.
“Nothing,” he answers at last with a frown. He pokes his food with his chopsticks, fidgety. “We don’t do anything together at all. We don’t even talk.”
“Oh,” Itadori says, frowning right back. “Well, that’s weird.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, then why is he so damn happy after seeing you every night?”
Megumi chokes on his noodles again.
He stares at the text thread on his phone with a growing scowl.
“You can’t be serious,” he tells the device.
And as if Gojou could somehow hear him, he starts typing again. Three dots blink ominously next to his name on the screen as he writes a following message for Megumi.
>i’m serious btw
>it’ll be fun!
“No,” Megumi says out loud again, but this time he also types it. His fingers punch the buttons on the display with a little too much force and he takes a deep, calming breath as he hits ‘Send’.
>No
>I’m not doing it
>It’s useless
>fine grumpy face, then don’t
No way it was that easy. Megumi narrows his eyes, waiting for the punchline – and surely enough, it doesn’t leave him waiting long as Gojou types another quick text that makes him see red.
>but i’m not sending you on any more missions until you do it, so…
>shame, yuji and nobara will miss you!
And a stupid, infuriating, mocking kissy emoji.
Megumi sets his phone down, shuts his eyes, and counts down to ten. Slowly, making sure he visualizes each number in his head, and timing them with rhythmic breaths.
>Ok
>I hate you and I wish I never met you
He swears he can hear Gojou laugh all the way across campus.
>naw you don’t
No, Megumi really doesn’t. But at least it feels a little good, saying it.
>20 full pages. get to work, chop chop!
>You said 10??
>it’s 20 now, because you hurt my feelings :(
Megumi nearly snaps his phone in two.
It’s fine though, Gojou would just buy him a new one, god forbid he doesn’t have instant texting access to his 9-year-long-and-running favorite subject for psychological torture.
Sukuna takes a look at the mess on Megumi’s desk, pushes some papers aside, and claims the spot he’s just -forcefully and without permission- made for himself.
He can’t entirely and comfortably fit there since Megumi’s taking up most of the space, so the curse remains half-sitting and half-standing, one leg dangling carelessly. His casual posture makes the fabric of his kimono part and expose a glimpse of his leg, slightly tanned and very much naked, almost all the way up to his thigh but not quite making it there. Megumi averts his gaze the moment he catches himself looking, and his eyes linger instead on the black band tattooed around Itadori’s ankle and the dark pointy toenails that match Sukuna’s claws.
“Busy tonight, I see.”
Megumi snaps out of it and returns his attention back to his task, frowning.
“Homework,” he explains, short as always.
Sukuna hums thoughtfully.
“My offer still stands. Say the word and I–”
“Do not set the school on fire.”
Megumi turns him down immediately, but he doesn’t sound as stern as he usually does. For a change, tonight he’s actually half-temped to take Sukuna up on his generous offer, really, but that would make his hard work accomplished so far go to waste.
Not that he’s anywhere near done, though.
Megumi scratches his head with a pencil and lets out a frustrated sigh as he leans back on his chair and takes in the sight that has been torturing him for hours. Calling them books would be a kindness; that’s what they used to be once upon a time centuries ago, but the passage of time has turned them into fragile, battered bindings of ancient yellow paper with faded ink. Some of them have clearly gone through a hard, long life, surviving floods or -indeed- fires, judging by the spots and stains and burns on the pages. The margins curl stiffly, looking so dry any wrong move might make them crumble.
In fact, one page did pretty much disintegrate in Megumi’s hand when he turned it a little more roughly than he should have. After that, he’d resorted to handling them carefully with chopsticks, the only improvised tool he could come up with.
You’d think Jujutsu Tech would be a little more careful preserving the archaic scrolls written by the sorcerers of old, yet Megumi had soon learned that that was too much to hope for. The basement that served as the school’s library slash museum had been positively revolting when Megumi asked for access and was allowed to go inside. It was dark, damp, and dirty, home to a whole ecosystem of spider webs, and a thick layer of dust covered the boxes (boxes, as in made of cardboard, actual fucking cardboard) where the so called ‘books’ were stored and forgotten who knows how long ago.
He’d heard faint, animalistic noises that made him think for a moment he would have to battle some guardian cursed spirits for the privilege of the knowledge he was about to acquire. Instead, Megumi had to shoo away half a dozen rats whose bloodline probably went back at least four generations.
And that had been the easy part.
Trying to figure out next how the hell to read and translate ancient Japanese, however…
“Enjoy your education then,” Sukuna says, throwing a hand up. “Back in my day if you didn’t agree with your teacher’s approach, you could challenge them to a fight to the death. I suggest you bring old customs back, for your own peace of mind.”
It is a tempting piece of advice, but Megumi quickly forgets about it as Sukuna’s words sink in and a spark of an idea takes root in his head. His eyes progressively widen as he looks up at Sukuna, for once without distrust or fear, disdain or repulsion.
Back in his day, huh?
Was this what was meant to happen all along? Again, Megumi feels like a frog, and that water is boiling hotter than ever – but instead of Sukuna, the one turning up the temperature is Gojou, laughing cryptically as he does so.
“If you really want to help…” Megumi finds himself saying as if possessed, unable to shake off the feeling that he’s somehow dancing to Gojou’s tune, pulled by Gojou’s threads. It’s a terrifying enough idea that Megumi pauses, shakes his head, and decides, “Nevermind. Forget it.”
Sukuna tilts his head, interested.
“Your baiting is atrocious, but I’ll bite anyway. How may I help you, Fushiguro Megumi?”
“I’m not baiting,” Megumi says back, half irritated that Sukuna is going with it, and half surprised that Sukuna is going with it. “You came here uninvited.”
“Ah, we’re still pretending that’s how it is?” Sukuna taunts. “Alright then. Whatever helps you sleep better at night.”
Looking up at him when Sukuna gets in his narcissistic moods is unbearable, so Megumi stands from his chair and puts a considerable number of steps between them. His spine, neck and shoulders are grateful for the break after rigidly hunching for hours, and from this angle the view of his cluttered desk looks even more daunting.
Megumi swallows hard, and resigns himself to his fate leading him deep into scalding waters.
“I have to write a paper. About the golden era of sorcery.”
Clans, traditions, techniques of old, ancient rituals and beliefs. Domain expansions. Alchemy and transfiguration. Sympathetic magic and elemental manipulation. Twenty pages, to be exact. Extracted from the most disgusting, convoluted, tedious research process anyone could think of.
And, last but not least, “Up to and including… the rise and fall of the King of Curses.”
For a moment, he thinks he’s said the wrong thing. A terrible thing.
Sukuna’s expression seems made of stone, completely blank, and his eyes fix Megumi with a long, piercing stare that nails Megumi’s feet to the floor and doesn’t allow him to move an inch. It vaguely reminds him of the feeling of being unable to run away from the special-grade curse back at the detention center, and just like it happened back then, the curse responsible for causing that feeling laughs in his face.
It is a horrifying sound, hearing said King of Curses laugh so openly. Megumi’s sure that’s what hundreds of people, if not thousands, must have heard in their final, agonizing moments.
“I knew Six Eyes was not above using you to get to me. I was just wondering what was taking him so long.”
“He just thinks it’s funny,” Megumi desperately tries to convince them both, but mostly himself. There is something like dread settling in his stomach, brought by the realization that Sukuna also thinks something is really off about all of this. “He thinks all of this is one big joke. Like I said, forget it.”
Sukuna tsks.
“I asked how I could help, didn’t I?”
Megumi is stunned yet again.
“You… would talk?”
“I will.”
“I can ask things,” Megumi clarifies, speaking very slowly, “and you’re going to answer them?”
Sukuna nods once.
Megumi narrows his eyes, suspicious. “You’re going to answer them honestly?”
“Would you be able to tell if I didn’t? Ah, but it’s not lies you should worry about.” The curse leans back with his hands flat on the desk and grins pleasantly. “First, let’s talk payment.”
Of course.
Megumi crosses his arms and looks away, silently scolding himself for daring think Sukuna would help out of the goodness of his heart, or out of boredom at least. How very delusional of him.
One glance at the books on his desk gives him pause, however, and Megumi admits defeat. Temporarily.
“I’m listening,” he says with caution, making sure he’s not wording it in such a way that admits acceptance already, just in case Sukuna is trying to pull the sneakiest binding vow of all time on him.
The curse will most likely ask for something along the lines of chaos, murder, destruction, his usual favorite flavors of entertainment – and Megumi will have no choice but to turn him down, because no homework is worth that kind of deal, even if Gojou’s really pushing his luck, Megumi’s sanity, and Sukuna’s patience.
“I will ask for…” Sukuna holds a finger up and Megumi finds himself holding his breath. “…one…”
He tenses, bracing for the worst.
One what?
One life, one murder, to appease his bloodlust? One hour of unsupervised free time, to bring down as much chaos as he can possibly manage? One battle where Megumi will serve as Sukuna’s glorified punching bag, like the old times?
One what?
“…kiss.”
Sukuna smiles a sinister grin that makes the hair on Megumi’s arms stand up.
“What.”
“You heard me.”
He sure did. But hearing it and processing it are two completely different things. Megumi struggles for words, appalled.
“That’s not-” he starts, and his teeth audibly clash when he clenches his jaw, snapping it closed. “You can’t,” he tries again, through gritted teeth. “I don’t–”
“Easy,” Sukuna mocks, thoroughly enjoying this. “Take your time, I’m not in any hurry.”
It’s probably that mockery that snaps Megumi out of his astonishment, hitting him like a cold splash of water. The absurdity of the whole chain of events that has led him up to this moment strikes Megumi all of a sudden, and instead of making him stumble, it helps him find his footing.
He is a sorcerer. A fighter and survivor. He has made creatures out of shadows and defeated monsters people can’t even fathom in their worst nightmares. He’s fought and won, fought and killed, fought and almost died.
He didn’t do all that just to cower at the thought of a kiss.
A very, very reasonably priced kiss, besides.
The tales of old, legends lived by a legend himself, told by none other than Ryomen Sukuna in the flesh. Megumi’s hands cling tightly to his own arms as he becomes aware of the weight he carries in them now, the heaviness of a chance no mortal has ever gotten before.
Sukuna will talk to him, across the gap of a thousand years.
And Megumi – Megumi would have to be a fool to reject such an offer.
“Fine,” he agrees. “You’ll have your payment.”
Sukuna leans forward, eyes glinting. “Go ahead then, shaman.”
Upfront. Of course. Of course.
Megumi uncrosses his arms and in the fraction of a second it takes them to fall by his sides, he hears Itadori’s voice in his head, as if Megumi were his vessel in a way. Clear as day, an innocent question, yet awfully charged.
What do you guys do together?
This, apparently, is what they do. Megumi taking a step forward and then another, socks cushioning the sound of his feet as he crosses the small distance he established between them in his bedroom. Sukuna waiting for him by the desk, patient and confident, chin held up proudly and a curious smile on his face.
At some point over the last couple of weeks, Megumi had stopped thinking of it as Itadori’s face only. He realizes it now, because he doesn’t feel any guilt or shame for what he’s about to do, nothing other than some mild semblance of last-second hesitation. These aren’t Itadori’s eyes or gaze, that isn’t Itadori’s mouth or smile, and this will not be a kiss between Megumi and anyone other than Sukuna in whatever body has been chosen to act as his vessel, its identity irrelevant.
“Don’t tell anyone,” Megumi warns.
His voice sounds so quiet, lowered by instinct now that they’re close enough, it sounds more like a plea.
He’s suddenly aware of how dry his throat is, how dry his lips are, and how that probably won’t make for a pleasant kiss at all. That’s good, a sobering reminder – he’s not doing this to enjoy himself, regardless of the joy Sukuna takes from it.
Payment. Punishment.
Megumi wonders if Sukuna will close all of his eyes or keep his lower ones opened, watching, always watching him. He wonders if the press of his lips will feel as intrusive and corrupted as the fingers he shoved into Megumi’s mouth so long ago now. He wonders if he’s crazy, going along with this, throwing himself into the lion’s den, about to be willingly devoured.
Of course he’s crazy, he thinks. He’s a sorcerer.
Standing like this before Sukuna, Megumi’s arms feel out of place, not quite fitting anywhere. All of him feels out of place, really. He wonders if Sukuna can see the tension in Megumi’s body give in and relax, release, coming off of him in rippling waves. Tension that has been building since the moment Sukuna cornered him against his bed and talked of taking him, as if Megumi were his to possess on a whim. Since that night, Megumi had braced himself every following encounter of theirs, expecting Sukuna to change his mind and decide that no, he was done trying, he was done waiting, and he was done with Megumi’s lack of reaction to his twisted affections.
It had been unbearable, that uncertainty.
There’s an odd sense of relief that comes with this proximity finally coming true instead of looming over him ominously, then. And, as well, a sense of ownership in being given the option to choose.
He’s not cornered now, but rather the one caging Sukuna against the desk, hands finally finding purchase on the polished wood of the furniture. The sides of his wrist brush against Sukuna’s kimono, and the soft exhale of the curse’s breath washes over Megumi’s lower lip and chin.
He closes his eyes, leans in–
–and Sukuna presses a finger to Megumi’s forehead, keeping him from coming any closer.
His long fingernail leaves an indentation on Megumi’s skin; a small, sharp ache that he can barely feel, numbed down by shock.
“Your enthusiasm is flattering, Fushiguro Megumi,” the King of Curses drawls. “But I meant you could go ahead with your questions.”
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Megumi briefly wonders what it is about him that makes everyone, absolutely everyone, even a thousand-year-old cursed spirit once revered as a god and now walking the earth as a demon, take such pleasure in tormenting him.
But mostly, he’s just thinking about how much he wants the ground to split open and swallow him.
He steps back, mortified, feeling the unmistakable rush of blood to his cheeks, the traitorous warmth of embarrassment. All the way up to his ears and forehead, and down to his neck and chest, even. Sukuna regards him calmly, shifting his weight and straightening up, and he looks downright unaffected by all of it – up until Megumi tries to avoid his eyes at all costs, looks down, and sees how tightly Sukuna’s fingers are clinging to the edge of the desk.
“You…” Megumi’s dry throat makes his words come out as a pathetic croak. He closes his eyes, grounds himself, and lets out a shuddering, resigned sigh. “Were you like this back then too?”
“Like this?” Sukuna echoes.
“This strange,” Megumi elaborates. It’s not exactly eloquent, but it somehow conveys exactly what he means.
Strange. Fickle. Unpredictable.
And, why not, such a raging, sadistic asshole.
But the books and stories have already gone into detail about that one.
“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Sukuna laughs again. Slowly, one finger at a time, he loosens his grip on the desk and brings his hand up to his chin, pensive. “First, we’ll talk about the sorcery of old. Then, if we still have time, we’ll talk about me. Patience, my sorcerer, is a virtue.”
Notes:
my apologies for the delay with this chapter, i've been Going Through It and didn't have the timenergy to continue.
i know i blueballed you all here but i needed to set up the stage for going balls deep next chapter into sukuna backstory and sukufushi bonding. this is more of a transition chapter and for that i apologise (again). i hope you enjoyed anyway, regardless. as always, i am an endless puddle of gratitude for the support and comments!!!
and yes, gojou is doing Stuff And Things, now that i finally think i have an idea of where i want this fic to go / how i want it to end. hopefully it'll all one day make sense and pay off, lmao.
in the meantime, i have posted quite a few other jjk fics, some of them sukufushi, so if you want to go check them out, you know where to find them.
as always, here's my twitter if you wanna stay tuned with me!! beware, nsfw posting and manga spoilers! https://twitter.com/araykita
Shameless self promo time: my friend and I are now posting a Sukufushi arranged marriage AU here, if you want to check it out as well. We are having the time of our lives writing it and we'd love for you enjoy it as well.
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