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“Again,” Sukuna urges with a yawn, rolling his eyes as the boy slipped and promptly fell onto his face. Rubbing beneath one of his eyes, he flicks his wrist outwards. He couldn’t believe he had woken up for this.
The floor beneath Megumi splits and with only the last fraction of a second does his shikigami sweeps down from overhead, the masked bird wrapping a claw around his forearm and jolting away.
“I don’t understand what has that guy been teaching you?” he yells, watching with mounting frustration as the boy rolls into another defensive position, most likely searching for some piece of rubble to hide behind. “Stop running.”
Megumi offers him no sort of response, most likely either very out of breath or trying to hide. The swarm of rabbits that rush at him nearly makes him groan, sparing barely a thought as he makes mincemeat of the white fur. “This is getting boring,” he mutters, “how disappointing.”
Sukuna picks at a nail when suddenly his mouth twists into a wide snarl of a smile. Locating the boy easily, he darts to stand behind him, catching the coughing Megumi off guard. Sensing the immense increase in cursed energy behind him, the boy spins eyes wide and panicked.
“What will you do,” Sukuna questions, “when you’ve got nowhere to run Fushiguro Megumi?” With glee, he gathers a bit of his power, reaching out for the young sorcerer’s torso. Recognizing his intent, Megumi rushes to his feet, attempting to once more run. But Sukuna’s faster, stepping into his path once more and reaching out at him with a faster strike.
Shit. The kid was definitely not going to avoid the blow, he realized with growing irritation. He tries to redirect the blow, but it’s too late and he rationalizes that at least he’ll be able to heal him after.
Before Megumi’s insides can familiarize themselves with the crushed floor below though, Sukuna’s hand swipes down into nothing but empty hair. With a blink, he traces the boy’s signature, brows furrowing. His lower eye catches a puff of smoke, looking down at the slash across his arm.
“Are you out of your mind?” a gruff voice yells from across the clearing. Megumi hangs from the collar of his shirt, his arms crossed as blood drips from his forehead onto the floor below.
“Huh,” Sukuna says, squinting his eyes against the bright glare of the sun, “who the fuck are you?” The man grimaces, squaring his shoulders as Sukuna tries harder to scope out the newcomer. He’s tall, so much so that he’d probably easily tower over most people, perhaps close to Satoru’s height. But he’s much larger, the tight black shirt he wears doing little to obstruct the curves of defined musculature, straining with each shift of his body as he sizes up Sukuna. His eyes pierce at him from underdark messy bangs, while the scar that slices through his lips twists as he bares his teeth in growing frustration. But there was something else about him that made absolutely no sense.
“The boy’s father,” the strange man answers, “and who the hell might you be?” Sukuna wracked his brain for any information he might have on Megumi’s father, but he’d most likely just previously tuned it out.
“His teacher.”
“Not his executioner?
He couldn’t sense him, Sukuna realized with a start. Somehow, for the first time in a thousand years, someone had gotten the drop on him. Try as he might, he couldn’t pick up on any sort of technique or ability from the strange man. The mortal that stood before him so unflinchingly was not only just a mortal but one without so much as a drop of cursed energy within him, and yet was openly challenging him. He had no form of backup, carrying a completely liable target, but was not backing down an inch.
And even now, without his eyes confirming the source of the voice, Sukuna would not have been able to tell he was there. His skin crawls. “Oh? I wasn’t aware you were here to critique my teaching methods?”
“So aiming to kill the boy is a form of teaching?”
“Dad,” Megumi complains, trying to scramble for the floor. His father holds him up higher.
Sukuna smiles with a flash of his teeth, sizing up the man in turn. Just because Sukuna couldn’t sense him didn’t mean much; he didn’t need to see his opponents to dice them up. There wasn’t anything else to this…interest. “Would you like to come over here then and show me how it’s done?”
The man takes a step forward.
“Woah, woah! Gentleman, please hold your horses!” Sukuna’s grin crumbles instantly, already predicting the oncoming headache. “What seems to be the issue here?” The white-haired man looks between the two men, taking in the split earth and his student dangling from the fisted grasp of his frowning parent.
“Gojo,” he snarls, “care to explain why I come to pick up my son and find him moments away from getting blown to bits?”
“Oh my,” Satoru says, tugging at his collar and wringing his hands together, “Uh Sukuna’s one of our new instructors, he’s just started teaching the kids. I was actually just supervising their training but um, I had to step out for a leak.”
“And you trusted this psychopath around my son in the mean time?”
“He would have been fine,” Sukuna cut in, angered at being so easily disregarded. He couldn’t explain it but his frustration was increasing with each moment the other teacher captured the man’s attention.
“You were about to kill him,” he says with a glare.
“I would not have,” Sukuna argues, lying.
“Whatever,” he says with a sigh, “Gojo, I hear anything about you leaving this freak around my child alone ever again, and I’ll kill you a second time.”
“Dad,” Megumi complains again, hiding his hands behind his face.
“And as for you,” he says, shaking his son a bit, “you were just going to let this piece of work kill you?” He turns, beginning to walk away as he continues scolding the shikigami user.
“Sukuna,” Satoru bemoans, once the pair out of earshot, “You really couldn’t have tried not murdering Megumi for one more minute?”
“How else is the brat supposed to learn?” Sukuna says with an eye roll, unable to stop watching the other man’s retreating frame. Every time he so much as looked away, he would instantly disappear from his senses, and only fixing his stare back onto him assured him of his presence.
“Whatever,” Satoru sighs, “You’re lucky Megumi’s dad isn’t one of those PTA crazies or we’d be facing some sort of civil suit.”
“What about his mom?” Sukuna asks, choosing not to bother with the rest of the unfamiliar words, not wanting to lengthen the conversation.
“Not in the picture luckily,” Satoru exhales, “I mean shit, unluckily for Megumi but good for us I guess.”
“Who cares about the opinions of some measly human?” Sukuna says, trying to shake off the interaction, “Let them have their civilized suit; what will it matter? How weak you’ve become Six Eyes that even a curseless bug might cause you this much stress.”
Satoru groans, “It’s called a civil suit, and trust me, cursed energy or not, you do not want to underestimate that guy.”
Sukuna scowls, walking away with a huff, not bothering to respond to echoing calls of his name. Despite how much the other sorcerer might frustrate him, he knew Satoru to be skilled enough to accurately judge an opponent's prowess. So for him to have even Satoru rattled and uneasy made Sukuna’s confusion grow, unanswered questions swimming around in his mind. How interesting.
That night when Sukuna wakes up panting, he’s only partially surprised by the fading image of piercing green eyes and raven dark hair accompanied by a split lip. It’d been ages since he was last interested in something, and the man had surprised him. Simple as that. It was only natural he found himself mildly curious as a result. Though he was a bit uncertain about the increase in his heart rate, wondering if he was just feeling some rando bout of exhilaration.
“Boy,” Sukuna drones, choosing to not grin at the way the young boy jumps, spinning to pin him with a glare. Another teacher lies a few paces away, lecturing some of the other first years about curses, “Come here.”
Megumi shuts his book, looking back to see that Suguru had not yet spotted his disobedience before eyeing where Sukuna was sulking in the shade a couple of paces away. “What.”
“Is that any way to speak to your instructor?” Megumi offers him a withering book before he’s cracked open his novel again. Sukuna sighs, siphoning a bit of his energy to appear behind the boy, throwing him over his shoulder, and immediately side-stepping back into the shade, depositing him unceremoniously. Megumi lands with an oomph, staring up at Sukuna with flared nostrils.
“Calm yourself,” Sukuna orders, seating himself once more on a raised grassy hill, leaning back against a sturdy trunk. “About the other day,” he begins, Megumi instantly freezes, appearing to recall his near-death experience, “I was wondering if you might answer a few of my questions regarding your father.”
“What about him?” Megumi asks suspiciously.
“First off, what name does he go by?” Sukuna fakes a yawn, brows furrowing as for a second he wondered why he was forging nonchalance to someone as unimportant as a student.
“Why do you need to know that?”
“Why are you being so weird about this? I am your teacher, it is only natural that I inquire about your guardian.”
“His name’s Toji.” Toji, Sukuna mutters internally, rolling the name around his tongue, tracing over the constants as it echoed through his mind.
“What is his current involvement?”
“Involvement?”
“With the Jujutsu world.”
“Why does that matter?” Sukuna momentarily considers using his cursed technique, but ultimately swallows down his mounting frustration. If the child was going to be this stubborn, then he either had two ways of going about this, but perhaps only one that wouldn’t result in long-lasting annoyances.
“Gojo asked me who I think the one-on-one team-ups should be for the upcoming curse hunting. Wouldn’t it be interesting if I suggested to him that we have yet to see the pairing between Fushiguro Megumi’s methodological approaches and the brat’s quick thinking?”
Megumi’s expression grows worse, all of the light seeming to leave his eyes. For a moment a yell can be heard in the silence between them, bickering between some of the second years before Suguru quiets them down. “He works for hire for both sorcerers and non-sorcerers alike. Basically whoever pays the most, he does what the want.”
Sukuna smiles, “Was that so hard?” He files away the information, thinking about what skill level a non-curse user could offer a sorcerer.
“Is that all?” Megumi asks, clearly displeased and eager to return back to avoiding his studies.
“Sure,” Sukuna drawls, convinced he’s definitely heard enough.
“Well,” Sukuna says, leaning back with a knowing grin.
“No,” the girl responds in muted horror, “but we just began! You can’t have it already; it’s not fair.” Her anger builds with each second, leg jumping under the table at a rate in which he’s certain will most likely send everything flying.
“Gin,” Sukuna says, regardless, delighting in the girl’s scowl.
“Bullshit,” she says.
“Read ‘em and weep,” he responds—laying down his ten cards with a smack onto the wood table below, the two sets of three and final set of four splayed out to mock her failure—delighting further at Nobara’s deepening frown. With a huff, she begins scrutinizing his hand with pinpoint precision, eyes peeled for any deviation.
“You cheated,” she counters, holding on tightly to her hand even when Sukuna tries to yank the unbonded cards away.
“Perhaps,” he says with a shrug, “You got any proof?”
Nobara quickly reaches for the deck once Sukuna’s finished calculating his winning, eagerly reshuffling the cards with suppressed rage. “I will one of these days, just you wait.”
“I’ll be waiting then,” he taunts, watching as her blue nails part the roughened deck once more, catching on the peeling back of one of the cards, mumbling under her breath.
“Nobara,” he says after a few minutes of her bellyaching, “what do you know of Fushiguro Toji.”
“Toji? Like Megumi’s dad?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You children and your questions,” he sighs, “I need to know for this pea tea eight thing.”
“The PTA? Jujutsu High has one of those?” Sukuna shrugs. “Fine I’ll talk but what’s in it for me?” she asks, squinting at him.
“I won’t report you to Kento for skipping class.”
“You’ve never reported me before.”
“I haven’t reported you for Gojo’s class, and that is purely because I hold no respect for him.”
“I don’t buy it; you’ve already had all morning to report me.”
“Don’t mistake the past for the present. I have had full intentions to turn you in from the moment you sat down here, I was merely waiting for our game to conclude.” A statement that was mostly true.
“Sukuna,” she groans, dragging out the last syllable in his name, “I have cramps, so don’t turn me in; I’m in too much pain. Pay me instead if you really want to get serious.”
“You had cramps two weeks ago.”
“Shit, fine, you strike a hard bargain.” she sighs in defeat. “Toji let’s see, hm,” she purses her lips in concentration, chin wrinkling, “Well for starters I think Megumi kind of hates him a little. But Megumi hates everything that’s not pink and annoying. What else? Hm…Oh, there was this one time he mentioned that his dad used to kill people? Something about being a sorcerer killer?”
“A sorcerer killer?” Sukuna echoes, curiosity defrosting in the weak morning rays of this mysterious man.
“Yeah, I don’t really know much more about it except, oh! Right, he’s like tutoring Maki I think—giving her lessons basically. And she says he’s a commendable teacher which is Maki for he’s likely a badass.”
Sukuna recalled how the man had had no cursed energy, immediately remembering the few times he’d dueled the Zen’in brat. If his memory was anything to go off of, her style had been much more bloodthirsty than the usual lackluster performance of Satoru’s students. How curious indeed.
He watches the dummy explode from the impact of Yuuji’s palm, making the carefully crafted curse unravel into millions of pieces as it splatters onto the matted floor below.
“Tch,” Sukuna grunts.
“What?” Yuuji says, spinning toward him and lowering his wrapped fists, “There’s no way you had an issue with that one too.”
“It wasn’t anything special.”
“You’re not anything special,” Yuuji grumbles, setting up another unbroken target.
“What was that?” Sukuna crosses his arms, raising a brow.
“Nothing,” he sighs, massaging his no doubt sore hands. “So what did you want to talk about?” he asks, alluding to the vague order Sukuna had given him to practice with him alone in the secluded room.
“It’s about Fushiguro.”
“Megumi?” he asks, perking up in a way that makes him want to immediately roll his eyes.
“No, his father.” Yuuji visibly deflates, turning back around.
“Oh him.”
“Not a fan?”
“Nah,” he says, widening his stance before he freezes, “Wait don’t tell him I said that. He’s not all that bad, I just don’t get along with him. Why are you asking anyway?”
“The PTE.”
“The PTE? Oh you mean the PTA? No way Toji is a part of that, he can barely be asked to be a part of Megumi’s life.”
“This is why I need to speak with him,” Sukuna lies instantly, “To prompt his joining.”
“Tough luck, the man barely shows.”
“He was around to interrupt Megumi’s training.”
Yuuji seems to brighten at the news, “Oh really? Maybe he has been listening. Tsumiki was right.”
“Is that the easiest way to find him then?”
“Is this really about the PTA? Why do you care about that?” Sukuna’s not even quite sure why he’s asking about the man’s location, not having thought he’d ever want to see him again. But with all of the intriguing pieces of information he had no way to validate for himself, and thoughts that were increasingly about a man he knew very little of, he assumed perhaps it was finally time he sought out this Toji—conclude if he was worth the piqued interest. At worst, Sukuna would find himself drifting back into the mundanity of sorcerers that either trembled before him or refused to shut up, and at best he might find something to help pass the long days of mentorship.
“Ask another question and I’m making you stay behind to watch the next dangerous mission your friends embark on.” Yuuji snaps his mouth shut. “Now, where can I find this man?”
“Honestly, I’m not entirely sure. Him showing at training was already pretty rare. I think usually Megumi has Gojo drive him out to him when it’s his weekend, so Toji barely comes up here. Gojo says he’s got bad blood with the place but sounds convenient if you ask me.”
In any other situation, Sukuna would have just hunted the man down himself. But this Toji character’s lack of any sort of presence had forced him to lie at the beck and call of these terrible children. At first, he’d thought the frustration of reliance would make him drop the search, and yet with each passing day he found that he was growing restless with excitement, hunger peaking with meager scraps of who this confusing man was. “Is there no other way to find him then?”
“You could always text him.”
“Text him?”
“You know, that thing I showed you and Uraume how to do. With your phone, remember.” Sukuna thinks back on the day of dry eyes and tumultuous exasperation, somehow spawning from such a small yet astoundingly bright and obtrusive device.
“So I shall find him in there?”
“No like,” Yuuji holds up his own block, waiting for Sukuna to squint as his higher eye read the sprawl that read as ‘Fushiguro Toji (Gumi’s dad)’, “you can message him with this thing. Like sending a letter.”
“I see, alright then, give me your device.” Yuuji snatches his phone away.
“No with your own phone; you can’t use mine.”
“And how do I reach him then with mine?”
“Through his number.” Yuuji says, “Which I’m not giving you without Megumi’s permission.”
“You’re useless,” Sukuna says with a frown. Yuuji sighs.
“Can I go back to practicing with my friends now?”
“I don’t care what you do so long as you get out of my face.”
“What’s that?” Megumi questions, eyeing the folded paper Sukuna held in front of his bowl of cereal.
“A list of the brat’s favorite foods.” Megumi’s brows raise, darting out a hand for the paper. Sukuna reaches upwards with a sneer.
“Not so fast,” he says.
“What do you want?” Sukuna slides him a similar-sized piece of paper and pen.
“Your father’s number; write it down.”
Megumi’s face bunches up, “Don’t sleep with my dad.”
Sukuna’s face drops, “What? Get your mind out of the gutter, I need to speak with him about the PTA.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Sukuna shrugs, “Fine.”
“Wait,” Megumi says before he’s made it halfway out of the room, his shadow against the wall flicking before a small piece of paper is dropped into his hand. Looking down at the sprawl of dried text, he grins. Chucking the folded paper in his other hand, Sukuna walks out without so much as a glance behind him.
He makes it about one hour before he loses at his own gambit of indifference, another day of Gojo insisting he bring down the intensity level, hovering over his shoulder and constantly critiquing. Another day of poor cursed energy manipulation and unfounded cries of ‘you’re going to kill us at this rate!’ Thus he finds himself in his issued dorm room, hovering over the minuscule box with strained eyes, attempting to work the confusing contraption.
Me: Hello.
Unknown: yo
Sukuna: Is this Fushiguro Toji…
Unknown: yea this is him
Me: Fortunate then…
Unknown: ? who the fuck is this
Me: Sukuna…
Unknown: who
Me: Your son’s teacher…
Unknown: uh never heard of no sukuna
Me: We met a few days ago…
Unknown: not ringing a bell
Me: Regardless, I was hoping we could meet to discuss something pertaining to your son…
Unknown: listen man i have no idea who u r and id appreciate if ud stop txting me. im in the middle of a set and u keep interrupting my music
Sukuna: I don’t understand…
Unknown: yeah ik theres a way around it but my dumbass kids wont show me how to fix the setting so lose this number
Me: What…
Me: What is a set?..
Unknown: [IMAGE ATTACHED]
Sukuna squints, holding the screen further from his face as he struggles to discern what he was looking at. It’s a man or rather the arm of a man holding a smaller phone up to a reflective surface, capturing the other arm wrapped tightly around a heavy-looking metal. He recognizes the tight-fitting black shirt now darkened around the center of his torso and by his shoulders.
Swallowing thickly, Sukuna stares until the image dims. Shit.
“The brat needs more experience with domains,” Sukuna says, moving to block off the rest of the walkway with his larger frame, “Satoru has suggested Yuuta and his Mutual True Love crap for the task.”
Megumi frowns, “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I was just thinking that perhaps it’d be better for him to learn from you instead of the one-on-one session with Yuuta. I haven’t decided yet though.”
“What do you want?”
Sukuna smiles, “The name of your father’s gym.”
“You’ll really make sure they won’t get paired up?”
“Most definitely. Have I led you astray so far? With this matter,” he continues when Megumi opens his mouth to retort.
He sighs. “I don’t understand it” he mutters under his breath, “He’s really not all that.”
“I’m not the first to inquire?” Sukuna asks with a frown.
“Hardly,” he says, “Whatever just, don’t blame me if he is…the way he is. You can find him at the Metropolitan Gym during the least staffed hours.”
“Pleasure doing business with you Megumi.”
“Ugh, don’t tell Yuuji about this; he told me you guys talked about him too.”
“Trust me, I don’t care about either of you nearly enough for that to be a concern.”
Sukuna adjusts the covering over the right side of his face even tighter, warily eyeing the other attendees. Though many curses found the company of humans, especially those without cursed energy, to be repulsive, Sukuna was mostly indifferent. Still, it wasn’t that he particularly cared for their attention, especially as he was forbidden to react in the ways that he would have normally preferred.
Fortunately, he locates Megumi’s father easily, tracking the lever he pulls downwards on a set interval, watching as the muscles in his shoulders shift with each extension and lowering of the bar.
“What can I do for you, sir?” an attendant asks. Reluctantly, Sukuna peels one of his eyes away from the man, fixing it on the widely grinning teen. He slaps down the few papers Uraume had given him the other day wordlessly.
“Uh,” they begin to count the paper, “would you like a day pass?”
Sukuna grunts, unsure what they mean. It seems to do the trick though and a few seconds later he’s being timidly slid a thin plastic card and wishes to enjoy his ‘workout.’ Snatching up the small card, he turns back to where he’d seen Toji, walking up to him without much fanfare.
Toji seems to notice him long before he makes his way over, pulling one of the circular objects off of his ears before he even looks up at him. “Oh? What can I do for you?”
“I’m Sukuna.” he replies. Toji blinks at him.
“Who?”
“Megumi’s teacher,” his expression remains blank, “We just telecommunicated the other day? And met a couple of days before that?”
“Sorry,” he says with a shrug, “I don’t make a habit of remembering guys’ names.” Sukuna smiles in disbelief, slapped across the face with his indifference. Here was the guy who had been plaguing his thoughts in both his waking hours and restless nights at an accumulating and alarming rate. Yet, he looked absolutely bored by their conversation, already beginning to eye the machine in front of him again.
Something in Sukuna strummed to life at his behavior, “Don’t worry, you won’t be forgetting my name.”
Toji pauses, the whitened skin around his lips shifting as his lips move downwards before lifting. “That so?”
“Yes,” he says, blood thrumming under his skin with the full weight of the other man sizing him up once more, “you’ll become quite acquainted with it.” Originally, Sukuna hadn’t had much of a plan before sauntering into the gym, just knowing he had to finally put the incessant thoughts to rest. Yet he finds his mouth working for him, words springing forth as each second with Toji was another piece of dry wood tossed into a growing flame.
“How bold,” he says, “and how do you plan on making that happen?” When he looks at him, Sukuna gets the sense that from the knowing spark in his eyes, he’s got a much better read on him than the way most non-curse users let their vision drift over him. Yet it’s different from how Satoru or even Suguru appraises him. It’s difficult to explain it exactly but there’s something sharp and all-encompassing in how Toji watches, even when his vision shifts Sukuna can feel the weight of his attention work asynchronously from it. Truly curious.
He’s cut off from any response by a woman’s voice. “Toji,” she calls, “you getting my tickets or what?” Toji turns to the blonde woman as she drops her weights, pulling a towel around her neck and sipping from a canister of water.
“We’ll see,” he sneers, “You going to pay me back?”
“Always about the money with you man, I know you get them for free.” She leans on Toji’s machine eyeing Sukuna over. From the notes of cursed energy swirling around her, and from the way she’s still tense around him, Sukuna figures she’s a sorcerer. “I’m Yuki by the way,” she says, “How do you have the displeasure of knowing this guy?”
“This is” Toji answers measuredly, gesturing to him while Sukuna notes the way something in him twists, “the boy’s caregiver or something.” Normally he’d have balked at someone answering for him, not one to let the slight go. But for once, he finds himself attuned to something else entirely.
“Teacher,” Sukuna corrects. It wasn’t that he particularly cared for the exact truth of it being relayed, rather he took the opportunity to insert himself into the conversation, already feeling a pull to regain what he’d lost.
“With you and Satoru as fathers, it’s a miracle that the boy has made it as far as he has.”
“Whatever,” says Toji, “You going to bet again?”
“What, you nervous for it?” Yuki asks, “Should I have not put that much on you?”
“Nah, I was just going to offer you a guarantee of my victory for a cut.”
She groans, “You’re the worst.”
“A bet?” Sukuna asks.
“Over his next match,” Yuki answers, “You know at the fight rink?” Sukuna looks back in time to see how Toji averts his gaze. No one had mentioned anything about a fight rink. “Wait,” she says, “you mean to tell me you’re willingly chatting with this guy about something other than his match?”
“He’s the boy's teacher,” Toji interrupts.
“Still,” Yuki says, “I assumed you owed him money from a bet or something.” She laughs at his unamused expression.
“You fight for compensation?” Sukuna asks, mind still caught up in the fresh new tidbit of information.
“Basically,” Toji says nonchalantly.
Yuki sighs, “What he means is he graces us with his presence whenever there’s a new champ and the betting pool is the hottest.”
“Can’t deny the people what they want,” Toji says with a smirk.
“Especially when giving the people what they want ensures that you’re paid handsomely.”
“That’s just a perk.”
“Sure, let's call it that,” Yuki says, before she looks back at Sukuna, “Anyhow you should come to his next match, see what it’s all about.”
“Hm,” Sukuna hums as if he was not already planning to witness whatever they were alluding to the moment it had been introduced, “How does one get entry to such an event?”
Toji shifts, tilting his head up, “I’ll take care of that.” Sukuna watches, feeling as if a mirror was being held up to his own bubbling curiosity.
“Hah?” Yuki protests, whacking the back of his head, “Since when do you treat men? Toji you cheapskate, pay for me too.”
“Promise me a margin of your winnings and then we can talk. Now both of you shove off so I can finish my reps,” he grouses, pulling the piece of plastic that’s still hugging the back of his head back up to his ear. Yuki immediately leaves with a finger protrduing to Toji as she walks away. Sukuna runs his tongue along the back of his teeth, shocked as the man before he essentially turns his back to him. Even the sorcerer woman still had her eyes on him, as Sukuna could tell something cursed was watching his every move. Toji though had dismissed him without much forethought, choosing to be done with the conversation and unbothered as Sukuna continued to stare at him.
With a clenched jaw, Sukuna finally peels himself away. There was clearly nothing to be gained from standing there, his resolve not proved in any way by groveling for attention. As the glass door to the gym slides close behind him, he hopes desperately that the aforementioned match will take place as soon as possible.
Unknown: [LINK ATTACHED]
Sukuna: What is this?..
Unknown: the place
Sukuna: ?..
Unknown: just say yk toji at the door
The man looks him over once, no doubt noting the pulled-down cap that hopefully hides the second eye he’s sure the cursed user would otherwise be able to spot. Although he’s smaller in this form, he still has more than a head on the guy and tries to angle his head such that he wouldn’t be able to peek under the hat. With a bit of reluctance, he acknowledges that Uraume’s suspicions had been correct—the place was crawling with cursed users.
Though he was still standing at the meager restricted ingress, a ratchety black door barring his entrance, he could feel the pooling energy that exuded from behind the chipping wood.
“I’m a friend of Toji’s,” he says gruffly, perhaps not an exact truth but he hoping to avoid providing his name. It wasn’t that this was exactly against the rules he had agreed upon but at the same time, nothing would displease him more than white-haired annoyances poking their noses around if he slipped up.
“No chance.” The man shakes his head.
Sukuna’s eye twitches, contemplating if he should forgo the caution and keep a looser lid on his abilities, “I can assure you, he knows I am coming.”
“Listen here—” the guard begins to say, not budging.
“Wait,” another interrupts, leaning over to whisper in his ear. The man grunts, sweeping another gaze over Sukuna. Eventually, he moves to the side, letting him walk in.
Sukuna doesn’t waste the opportunity, appeased he was able to get in without any needless struggle. He soon discovers though that his attempts at blending were almost entirely in vain as he ducks into the now opened door, shouldering past the security guards into a dark room.
It’s packed to say the least, sorcerers of all kinds pushing past one another with impatience as they vied for the center of the room. Even with his adept vision, Sukuna can’t make out much apart from the raised platform that everyone is pushing toward. Luckily, Sukuna finds himself to be one of the tallest in the room, not struggling to take in the scene above even as he meanders around the edge of the masses.
The room vibrates with a heavy bass, shaking nearly everything and making it close to impossible to hear anyone around him. People push in close at repeated intervals but Sukuna pays it little mind, transfixed with what he’s taking in.
Upon the stage stands three figures. On one end a traditionally dressed sorcerer smirks, waving around the room as the audience roars. From the announcer standing in the middle, Sukuna takes this to be the new undefeated rising star. But it wouldn’t have been hard to suss out as much from his poorly hidden exuberance. Across from him though, and the real reason Sukuna can’t bear to look away, is Toji. He’s calm, dressed in just as laidback of an outfit as the previous two times Sukuna had seen him. When introduced the Sorcerer Killer merely yawns and stretches his arms behind his back.
Sukuna briefly wishes he was closer, wanting a closer look at the impressive range of motion, the undulation of his trapezius as he clutches his hands together pulled taut like a bowstring above his head.
He’s not used to this. Standing outside of the limelight, attention shifted from him. After all, it wasn’t often anyone overlooked the King of Curses. But for once, Sukuna found himself waiting with bated breath, uncaring of how no one was currently interested in him. He was eager to see this man in action, to make any sense of the words he’d heard and stories he’d been spun.
Luckily, a moment later the announcer is taking a step back and a bell sounds out and Sukuna quickly learns why Gojo Satoru fights the way he does with his hands.
Before his opponent can so much as mutter an incantation, Toji is on him. Sukuna nearly rips off his eyepatch to get a better look at how he’s on the other side of the rink in half a second, swinging as naturally as he breathes. It’s precise and even though it seems the sorcerer is partially ready for it, he catches a good chunk of the hit, stepping back with an huff as he shifts the floor beneath them.
He must be a rock manipulator of sorts, Sukuna notes with how he immediately puts distance between himself and Toji—launching himself upwards with a pillar of earth. Toji instantly gives chase in a way that reminds Sukuna of a dog, rabid and uncaring of anything but the hunt, running at him without heistation. With a laugh, the sorcerer though just summons more pillars, tripping Toji when he can and surrounding him in a sea of unclimbable columns and destabilizing floors. He moves to box him in, pulling together a stretch of ground to envelope him.
Sukuna sighs, he’d been expecting this. After confirming that the man had not a drop of cursed energy anywhere within his body, Sukuna assumed him to possess extreme physical prowess. But there was only so far one could get with just their body against a cursed technique. And though Toji was fast, what lay before him was physically impossible. Disappointingly, Sukuna feels exhaustion and boredom begin to once more snake their way within, feeling robbed of something exciting.
He’s fighting back a yawn when a blade swipes through the earth as if it were water. Then, a blur of motion as something darts out. Sukuna follows it much easier this time, eyes wide, though with a bit of confusion at the small trace of cursed energy. Had the rumors been wrong?
The sorcerer yells something too in confusion, looking around, trying to find the source of the rising bits of rock that fall away from pillars around him. He tries bringing them down, shattering them, creating new ones. But it doesn’t matter, pieces of rock flying away as Toji climbs without issue, finally working up the pillar he’s made his watchtower. The sorcerer howls when a knife sails through where his head had been moments ago, a path of winding chain following it. Then it’s pulled back and Toji is advancing again, forcing the other man to draw up as many walls as he can. But this time, Toji is faster, as if he’s been gaining speed since their match began, jumping from wall to wall. He’s smiling, Sukuna realizes, taking in the set of teeth Toji flashes as he closes the distance once more.
They begin to exchange blows in close quarters. As the sorcerer had managed to advance as far as he had, Sukuna’s unsurprised by the earth he hardens around his hands as he continues to brawl Toji. Regardless, Toji continues to handle the solid rock as if it were nothing more than sand.
He’d been wondering from the moment he met Toji, how he’d manage to leave an impact on the Six Eyes user. But he can immediately see aspects of Satoru’s own malicious, unending, brigade of fisticuffs from the other man as he relentlessly slashes and repositions his blade. Sukuna had always had the feeling there was a reason Satoru got so vicious when he would turn off his shield, why Maki would spin around blades like they were claws she was trying to sink them into her prey. The answer was that they’d both been influenced by the might of this man, by the purely sadistic way he was pursuing his opponent. It takes only another instance before Toji angles a cut down the man’s torso that’s met with blood as no wall is able to mount fast enough and the other sorcerer defaults to his arm.
It’s the same arm that Toji’s blade freezes against when the man announces his surrender with a plea. The raised platform they’re on lowers, and for the first time Toji is standing still enough for Sukuna to tell he’s barely winded. The announcer scrambles forward with the declaration of Toji’s victory as the crowd roars. Toji picks at his face but Sukuna can still see the sharp glint to his expression, the unmistakable bloodlust of a shark who has just smelt blood in the waters. He’d stopped only out of necessity.
When he looks out into the screaming masses, Sukuna doesn’t have the time to wipe his expression. Yet, even though he’s standing with his back against the wall of the room, Toji's eyes find him easily, raising a brow. Sukuna clenches down on his teeth so hard he nearly breaks his jaw.
“I need to schedule a PTA meeting.”
“Huh?” Satoru questions, pulling back the small brick of plastic he’d been trying to shove away when Sukuna had barged through the door, “Oh it’s just you.” He sets the device back, letting the cheery music blast as he begins tapping away.
“Wait,” he says, seeming to process the words, “What?”
“A parent and I need to speak urgently about their student.”
“Which student?”
“That’s confidential.”
“Oh?” Satoru taps his chin, “Hm, we don’t have many students, and even fewer of them with parents. Should I just start guessing?”
This was useless. “You are useless.”
“Hey, man—” Satoru began to say, but Sukuna was already out the door, wondering if Shoko would have the authority to arrange for such a thing.
Sukuna blinks awake from his nap with a start, sensing the sudden extinction of the large pool of cursed energy. Sitting up, he watches as the veil begins to drip out of the sky, piles of abandoned buildings vacated of the curse that had previously been thrashing about.
A training in close quarters, Satoru had lectured before disappearing for whatever frivolous task. Now looking out and head counting the same amount of teens walking out of the cramped wreckage, he pats himself on the back, assured in having successfully avoided some idiotic scolding.
With the immediate concern of a migraine-inducing tongue lashing, he looks upon the massive rotting corpse of cursed flesh with curiosity, an eye stopping as it lands on an eighth head. One more than the original seven.
“Sukuna,” a voice booms through the wreckage, “what the hell were you thinking?”
(Somewhere amongst the grouped teens, Megumi groans into his hands.)
“Hm?” he says, lips immediately curling up at the head of familiar hair, “You got another issue with my training?” Some of the kids begin oohing as they pick themselves back up from their failed exorcism.
“My issue,” Toji says, walking closer, and sheathing his forearm-long sword into the small curse curled around him, “is wondering how it is that I'm finding you nearly ending my bloodline again?”
“Ending? Why can't you just make more?”
(“Damn,” Nobara whispers, “you just going to take that Megumi?”)
“Hah,” Toji chuckles, “you’re quite the comedian.”
“Who says I’m joking?” With just a couple of seconds, Sukuna was already beginning to feel the cloud of languor of the last few days begin to dissipate. Having tried fruitlessly to establish contact, he’d been mired in a fog of sluggishness.
Toji’s expression tightens, “I thought I warned you and your clown of a boss what would happen the next time something like this happened.”
“What you said was that you better not find, and I quote, ‘this freak around my child alone ever again.’ However, as you can see, Megumi and I are not alone,” he counters, gesturing to the children who had begun inching toward the exit. Toji doesn’t bother looking back, instead leaning in closer. With a mounting glee, he notes that the other man is a bit shorter than him even in this form, barely reaching to his chin. “Listen Mr. Fushiguro, if you have any issue with my lesson plan, I’m sure there’s something we could figure out.”
“Is that so?”
“If you have any suggestions for how I should run things, I’m open to hearing them,” Sukuna offers a wide grin, “if, of course, you can prove to me that you are deserving of even giving me such critiques.”
“Oh?” Toji questions with mocking sincerity, “And how should I go about proving such a thing?”
“It’s quite simple really,” Sukuna answers, “All you have to do is manage to land one hit on me. Do that and I’ll be open to remedying my ways.”
“That’s it?” Toji asks, anger bleeding into something else as his pupils expand.
“That’s it,” Sukuna confirms.
(“Shit,” Megumi says, “Ichiji’s here, let’s get out of here.”
“What but it’s just getting good,” Yuuji complains.
“No, trust me; nothing is about to get good.”)
“Ah wonderful,” Toji says, shifting his weight between his feet, “and here I was thinking I’d have to come up with some excuse to beat the shit out of you.”
Sukuna’s heart beats faster, nearly shaking as he takes in the pre battle preparations from up close this time—how he fine tunes such a well oiled machine. Pulling away his mask, and quickly tearing through his shirt, he’s sure his expression does nothing to hide his enthusiasm.
Toji doesn’t comment, probably having already been aware of his peculiar identity. “Don’t hold back,” he urges, tongue swiping around the roof of his mouth as saliva floods in.
“Trust me,” Toji says, stepping back, “that’s not going to be an issue,” he pulls out a small napkin from within the pockets of his sweats, “We’ll start when this hits the floor.”
“Works for me,” Sukuna says. Toji mimics his simper patting the body of the cursed spirit that clings to him, pulling out a long sword from its mouth. He tosses the dirty napkin between them, standing tensely as it drifted slowly to the floor.
Sukuna licks over his molars, barely able to keep himself standing still as his muscles twitch with anticipation. Finally, just as the tiny piece of fabric brushes so briefly against the ground, does Toji launch forward.
Even though he’d been expecting the speed, Sukuna still has to devote considerable concentration to fleeing the maw of his blade as it swings for him, its sharp edge following his movements as he darts away. Toji had never seen him fight, but was acclimating at an impossible rate with each second Sukuna moved.
He wondered if Toji was actually aware of who he was. Whilst not a traditional sorcerer, it’d be hard to find someone who hadn’t heard of Ryomen Sukuna. Furthermore, he hadn’t batted an eye at the armored side of his face nor at the thick bands of black ink that sprawled across his torso and limbs. Moreover, each swing of his blade aimed at his arms, seemingly aware of how he cast his incantations.
So, why wasn’t he hesitating? Why was his smirk only growing when Sukuna landed on an unstable section of some foyer, quickly slashing through the material and sending it flying at him? Why was he seamlessly dodging and gunning for Sukuna as hard as ever even when he could at any time be met with a litany of ruthless strikes?
Curious, he flings one of those same dismantling strikes. Toji doesn’t stop his path though, merely pulling out another shorter weapon in the time of singular heartbeat, deflecting the attack by slashing at it. He brings back his previous longer blade and digs into the base of the building Sukuna was currently resting on, slashing through the concrete as if it were silk, destabilizing the platform as he flew upward with confusing and increasing momentum. It should have been impossible, but Toji made it look like it was something he could do in his sleep, already anticipating with which foot Sukuna would dive back on as he stumbled to the earth below, which way he’d twist to avoid his airborne weapon, which angle he’d send the next slash in.
This was somehow even more dynamic of a response than the last time he’d seen him fight, finding himself endlessly astonished with how Toji was consistently eliminating the space between them, offering a collection of uninhibited close-quarter strikes, until Sukuna separated them again. It was beautiful to put it simply, there was something truly mesmerizing about getting to first-hand witness the effortless shift between fighting styles, the unending stamina, and confidence. Seeing it from afar had been one thing, but getting to actually experience it with his own flesh and blood was an experience he could never have fully predicted.
Doding his next attack, Sukuna notes the appearance of the linked chain he’d seen before as it tore through the air for him. He forgets about the weapon once more though as Toji is close again, grunting as a slash finally catches a bit of his waistband, causing the material to precariously balance against his hip. Sukuna’s attention pinpoints before he can stop it, directing another slash. This one breaks into a bit more of the building than he had expected, caught up in his shortsightedness, as Toji dodges once more, causing Sukuna the need to sidestep the falling rubble. He focuses on the small trace of cursed energy he knows Toji to now carry, swiveling toward its now almost stationary signature. Perhaps the other man had found himself pinned under a bit of rock? Sukuna rushes over with unexplained need, unsure as to what exactly drove him.
He darts upward even as the building becomes more unstable, rushing without much thought. Yet, staring down at the offending inching worm, he pauses, brows furrowing in confusion. With startling realization, he turns. But it had been a moment too late, and suddenly there was a loop of metal surrounding his waist, launching up to encircle a wrist and pin him to the side of some piece of rock that sticks out with a jagged edge. The momentum causes the piece to break off, sending Sukuna straight for the floor. Any attempts at fleeing are instantly forgotten as in the next second Sukuna feels sizable thighs dig into his torso, staring up with all four eyes at the vicious grin, murderous snarl of teeth, and feral gaze of the man above him as he sinks his blade right into Sukuna’s shoulder, pinning him to the concrete beneath him right as they slam to the floor.
Sukuna barely feels the pain of the fall, unable to look away as Toji breathes heavily admiring his handiwork. A moment later, the rest of the chain loops to pin his other arm to the slab. He can’t find it in himself to be startled as his technique refuses to heal the wound in his shoulder, mind glossing over the secondary piece of information.
“I win,” Toji snarls triumphantly. Without much thought, Sukuna shifts. He’d never been one to deny himself his hunger, and now that he’s starving, he’s barely coherent to any rationality.
“Huh,” Toji begins to huff, puzzled as Sukuna’s hands sink into his waist, and then a moment the ones restrained are tearing through the rock beneath as he pins him to the ground. The blade in his shoulder follows the moves, loosening as he grows, but Sukuna can’t bring himself to care.
“I win,” Sukuna hisses, bending down, crowding Toji, entrenched by every little reaction, every small breath, every glance of confusion. The two hands around his waist renew their grip as another gather his wrists together and holds them above his head.
“Interesting, I knew you were hiding something,” he comments, probably addressing the new hands that clutch him tightly, the additional tongue that spills saliva onto his tattered shirt, the added feet of height, “but you’re wrong; I landed a hit on you. I win”
“Mm,” Sukuna says, pleased with how Toji’s eyes were tracing over his wider and much larger frame, “I suppose that’s right. What are your suggestions then?” Before he can stop himself, his eyes glance downward, tracing the scar that runs through his lips as his head falls lower.
Sukuna isn’t sure which of them surges forward first, as nearly a second later, his lips are pushed fervently against Toji’s, thrusting his tongue forward to trace over his sharp teeth. Belatedly, Sukuna concludes that Toji kisses the same way he fights, pursuant and incessantly, as he matches Sukuna’s demanding pace.
“Shit,” Toji says as he pushes against Sukuna’s shoulder to breathe, using the still lodged blade to create a sufficient reaction, “I wasn’t sure if you had wanted to eat me or fuck me to be honest.”
Sukuna grins. “Why not both?” he purrs, lower tongue eagerly tracing against the pronounced muscles in Toji’s shirt, teeth pulling the tightened fabric aside to reveal flushed and tanned skin. He lets go of Toji’s hands to aid the process along, quickly tearing through the material.
“Hah, I can do both” Toji says, a hand tugging at his hair as he pulls his mouth back against his, Sukuna follows eagerly, already agonizing to memorize his taste, drinking up every small and new tidbit of Toji he was being offered. “How do you want to do this?”
“I want you,” Sukuna grunts, newly freed arms pulling out the blade in his shoulder before grabbing handfuls of Toji’s legs, pulling his thighs to once more bracket his waist.
“I already know that,” he says, “I mean how do you want me?”
“Everyway,” Sukuna admits greedily, rushing out his words so quickly that Toji chuckles, “but first, I want to feel you, want to be inside you.”
Toji tightens his thighs, gripping on with the amount of strength Sukuna expected from such built musculature and then some. “Figurued,” he smirks, tugging on Sukuna’s hair again, “you want to fill me up, big guy?”
Sukuna kisses his approval into his neck, lapping over salty skin, and sinking in his teeth a second later.
“‘M not a chew toy,” Toji complains, pulling his head away. Sukuna follows with a reluctance, knowing he’d get his chance later. Instead he pivots to bringing Toji even closer, pulling him off the floor with two of his hands around his bottom, shifting him to nudge against the front of his restrictive pants. Following the movement, Toji loops his arms around his neck.
“Damn,” Toji comments, breath stuttering as Sukuna rocks forward, “you feel big.”
Sukuna fights a grin, “Don’t worry it’s nothing you can’t take.” He pushes against Toji even harder, delighting in the burn of arousal that shocked him every time he rubbed against his ass.
“Guess we’ll see,” he grunts, “just wondering how much prep I’m going to need.”
“I’ll handle that,” Sukuna urges through grit teeth, already finding it a bit difficult to focus on anything that wasn’t the feeling of Toji’s warm, and sizable body in his hands, against his skin.
“Be my guest,” Toji says. There was centuries of years between them, but Sukuna felt his inexperience sink into him. While he’d messed around a bit as a youth, that was already centuries upon centuries ago and never something he’d ever felt strong desire for. Not like now.
Toji on the other hand seems barely affected, content to cling onto Sukuna as he continued rutting and groaning. It was infuriating, especially as Sukuna felt himself get embarrassingly close. So, eager to buy himself some leverage, he lowered Toji back down.
“Get on your knees,” he demanded.
“You’re out of your mind if you think that at this age—” Sukuna cut him off, placing him delicately before shredding his clothing until nothing but bare skin was present.
“But this is much better access,” he explains with a smirk, settling hand on his hips to keep him in place. “You’re clean?” he questions.
“I wasn’t born yesterday.” Is what Toji says. With a start Sukuna realizes that unless he’d had plans with another, something he refused to entertain, Toji had been expecting this in some way. He’d come to see him.
“You came to see me.”
“Don’t go getting a big head about it,” he chuckles, “I was curious is all.”
“You’re going to be more than curious,” Sukuna jeers, thumbs pulling part his ass with excitement. Whatever Toji is going to say next is cut off by the warm tongue that laps across him. He moves forward a bit, perhaps fidgeting away in surprise, but Sukuna has just gotten a first taste of a meal that he feels he’s been craving for year,s the first drop of ambrosia like water after wandering directionless in a desert of heat and discomfort, and quickly pulls him back with a tight grip.
“Shit,” he curses, sounding a bit breathless from the sudden touch on such a sensitive area, “guess neither of those mouths are for show.”
Sukuna hums, licking faster. When he was younger, the most sex he’d venture into was odd hand stuff with a buddy, just to satiate his curiosity. He’d found little interest in the act or in having a partner around for that matter. Yet, just tasting Toji was making him hungrier, pushing a hand against his own dick as he searched for some relief.
Once he’d gotten a sufficient taste and begun to loosen him did he start to prod a finger against the warm skin. “Pocket,” Toji says, beginning to sound much more affected, voice hoarser and rushed, “was in my pocket.”
Sukuna reaches blindly with one of his hands, pushing his tongue back with impatience. Toji breathes a bit lounder. Closing his hand around a small bottle, Sukuna pulls his the oil close. Dosing a considerable amount around his hand and onto Toji’s hole.
“So wet,” he comments, transfixed and unable to stop himself from rubbing the smooth liquid around his skin.
Toji lets out a huskier noise, something lower pitched that lights Sukuna’s nerves on fire. Desperate for more, he begins to slow process of working in a finger. Another hand still covered in the oil reaches for his front, encircling his wet cock and fisting him to make the motion even smoother. Hissing, Toji drops onto his forearms, giving Sukuna more access.
“Please tell me that was like two fingers,” Toji groans in that same low voice.
“Just the one,” Sukuna says, pushing in as his first finger slides through, “shit you’re tight.” He has to remind himself to be gentle, the addicting warmth already beginning to ensnare his mind.
“It’s been awhile,” Toji says, lowering his head.
“Good,” Sukuna say, appeased.
“Good?”
Sukuna ignores the question, “Not to worry, I’ll have you loose in no time.”
“I mean with those fingers, I’m sure.” He stops momentarily, holding his breath a Sukuna strokes, searching.
“Here?” he questions, trying to remember how he’d enjoyed it himself—trying to remember the exact angle and location. Though from Toji’s shuddering back, and thighs that threaten to snap shut, straining against his hands, he knows he’s been successful. With a hum of satisfaction, he begins to properly push against the spot, working in another finger with the distraction of his pleasure.
When he’s finally got three fingers in does Toji protest, flinching as a fourth presses into his rim. “Are you really that big?” he asks, wiggling a bit as Sukuna manages to slide it in, making a lecherous squelching noise as his finger pushed in way in.
“Bigger,” he boasts, groaning audibly as he watches the other finger slide its way in. “How’s it feel?” Sukuna asks with a tight jaw. Feeling himself grow even harder in his pants with each throatier noise that slipped passed Toji’s lips, with each time his hips quaked or shoulders bowed in pleasure.
“Like I’m ready, or ready as I’ll ever be for whatever you’re packing.” With relief Sukuna pulls out his fingers. As much as he’d enjoyed opening the other man up on his fingers, and was already certain he’d be hungry for it again soon, he was practically shaking with the promise of what was to come.
He manouvers Toji onto his back, holding him up with his hands to keep him from the rocky floor below. His eyes rake over his flushed expression, looking much more affected than he’d seen him last, a blush touching the tops of his ears and just dusting his cheek bones. His large chest was heaving, nipples moving distractinly with each breath. His dick was similarly flushed and soaked, curled against his stomach. In short he looked so good Sukuna fought to keep around some level of concentration as he spared a hand to push his pants down.
“God,” Toji sighed in disbelief, eyes growing wide and smile growing, “of course there’s two.”
Sukuna isn’t sure what expression he makes as he dumps the rest of what’s left of the oil on his cocks, slicking them both up.
“Wait, Sukuna,” he urges, Sukuna nearly moans at the sound of his name in his voice, making him want to kiss it out his mouth, “you know I’m only taking one of those, if even that.”
“Yes,” he reassures him, “for now.” Toji lets out a bark of laughter but doesn’t correct him.
“I’m durable but even just one might break me.”
“I prepared you sufficiently,” Sukuna argues, “you’ll take it.”
“Are those piercings?” Toji asks, while Sukuna pulls his legs apart. Sukuna can barely grunt his answer, dizzy as the head of his cock slides acorss the wet skin. Toji similarly breathes out a moan, holding on tighter as Sukuna nudges forward.
They both watch transfixed as Sukuna sinks in the lower cock, head finally slipping in. Sukuna moans low and unrestrained, sagging against Toji with the rush of unbelievable warmth. “Toji,” he mumbles, “moving.”
“Mhm,” Toji says, or at least Sukuna thinks he does, unable to process much apart from how good and tight he feels. Still, the slide is rather effortless, even the barbs of metal finding little resistance with how slick his hole is. Toji freezes though as the first one brushes against his walls, curling his toes. He lets out a much breathier moan, pracitcally hiccupying as Sukuna slides in deeper.
He moans even louder when his cock brushes against Sukuna’s other cock, practically shouting when Sukuna’s lower tongue descends to wrap their lengths together in a warm and wet pulsating blanket.
It’s without much of Sukuna’s own conscious decision as he loses sight of everything the moment he bottoms out. “Toji, hey,” he says tensely, trying to get the other man’s attention desperately as he struggled to hold himself, “going to move now.”
“Huh,” Toji, looks up at him, seeming confused.
Sukuna snaps his hips forward before he can stop himself, digging in his fingers at his clouded expression, the way his hair lies ruffled and lashes flutter, his slicked and reddened lips, the bite marks he’d managed to leave.
Toji doesn’t complain, moaning loudly, doing nothing but holding onto Sukuna as he begins to set a relentless pace. He’d wanted to make it more gradual, more pronounced and skillful. But Toji kept letting out the cutest of noises, panting and moaning with each thrust, eyes rolling back and clenching madly along his cock. It was impossible to do anything but fuck him senseless.
He bites at his neck, bites anywhere he can reach, latching his teeth in as he ruthlessly thrust forward. “How’s it feel?” he asks, licking up tears that spill, “Mm you’re so messy, making such a mess. What am I going to do?” The words flow out in a rush, eyes watching eagerly for every shift, every one of his Toji’s reactions as he fucked faster, harder, as his piercings pulled on him, his tongue licking up his pre, his mouth carving into his skin.
“Sukuna,” he moaned, “iss…is good. Feels,” he squirms, “Sukuna—”
“Say my name again,” he demands, biting his earlobe, licking around its shell, “Say it.”
“Sukuna,” he chants like a mantra, “-Kuna.”
“What a mess,” he sneers.
“Sorry,” Toji bumbles, most likely unaware of what they were even talking about as clenched down again, cock throbbing in Sukuna’s mouth, “Sorry Sukuna, please please. Sukuna, give it.”
“Mm,” he runs his teeth along his shoulder, thinking of earlier, “Beg me to bite you, and I’ll fuck you hard enough to come.”
Toji’s answer is immediate, “Bite me. Sukuna need you to bite me now. Sorry, please bite me.”
Sukuna’s pleasure rushes through him so intensely that he can barely respond, biting down harshly and managing a last few intense thrusts as Toji writhes and orgasms, bursting across his tongue and rhythmically clenching down. He pulls his legs as close as he can, uncaring of anything else as he pushes him down toward the floor, using the extra support to thrust in as far as he can, coming deep and all over his stomach.
Riding out his waves of pleasure, Sukuna refuses to remove his teeth, practically tasting blood as he falls against the man beneath him. Once he’s finally stinging with sensitivity, does he unlatch, pulling back his head.
“God,” Toji rasps eventually, voice sounding wrecked and wonderful, “Oh my God.”
“Told you,” Sukuna says, boastfully, unable to stop from gloating, “told you you’d remember my name.”
“Shut up,” Toji says without much bite, carding a hand through Sukuna’s hair as they catch their breath.
“Was that satisfactory,” he grouses, amused, “or do you have more tips to give me?”
“Hm,” Toji hums, flinching a bit when Sukuna shifts ontop of him, “I think there’s a couple I still have in mind.”
“Sukuna, care to explain what’s this mark on my stomach?”
“Don’t worry about it; it’s nothing.”
“This shit looks exactly like your tats, this is definitely not nothing you freak.”
“No,” Megumi groans, “dad no. Not him, anyone but him.”
“What?” Toji questions, turning around toward the front door, arms supporting a large bowl that he mashes a spoon into, some of its contents spilled across his poorly tied apron. “What’s the problem with him?”
Megumi looks back at him, as Tsumiki hops off the counter, making her way to their guest with a warm smile. Before she makes it Megumi hisses quietly, “You said you weren’t going to fuck my dad.”
“I never once said that,” he smirks, “Now behave squirt before I tell Yuuji about that embarrassing shrine you have.”
“It is not, hey,” he complains when Sukuna ruffles the top of his head, stepping aside to hand his sister the large bouquet of flowers.
“Nice to meet you,” she offers, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Sukuna shuts the door behind him, “Oh really? Do tell. All good things I’m sure.” He walks into the kitchen, swiping a bit of batter off of Toji’s cheek and popping the finger in his mouth.
“Dad,” Megumi complains, “please put me up for adoption. I’m sorry for all the times I’ve been bad.”
Toji rolls his eyes, “Help set the table or I’m pulling out the baby pictures.”
The young boy groans, glaring at Sukuna, “This better be some fling.”
“Oh trust me,” Sukuna grins wider, “this is the opposite of a fling. You’re never getting rid of me.”
“Play nice,” Toji says with a sigh.
“But he started it,” Megumi complains.
“Megumi,” Tsumiki chastices, “he’s our guest!”
“He’s right, I did start it,” Sukuna smiles back, helping Tsumiki carry cutlery to the table. Toji rolls his eyes, but otherwise laughs as they settle down around the table. The squeeze he gives Sukuna’s hand under the table makes him drop the number of Megumi’s embarrasing training tales from ten to five, feeling somehow both content and alive, electrified, for the first time since his unsealing just sitting beside the other man.